“Look at it this way.” Emerson shifted toward her on the couch, sliding himself along under her legs until he was close enough to pull her onto his lap. “I’m hardworking. I know the value of a dollar. And I don’t expect anyone to wait on me, because no one ever has. That makes me pretty good husband material, right?”
Wye sat still, bracing one hand on his shoulder. “If so, I guess I’d make a pretty good wife.”
“In what way?” He wanted to know more about her. Would she open up to him?
“My mom walked out on us when I was twelve. I was instantly promoted to head housekeeper,” she said wryly. “Dad saw no reason a girl my age couldn’t fill my mother’s shoes. I cleaned, I cooked, I shopped and I treated my father and brother like the kings they thought they were.”
Emerson stroked her arm. “That was a lot for you to take on.”
“I went from being a kid to an adult overnight. No one seemed to think I might miss my mom—or need to mourn her. We never talked about her again. It was as if she never existed. She didn’t call or text or email. No Christmas cards—she was just gone. I began to think that if I didn’t do my new job perfectly, maybe I’d disappear, too. Over time, I began to wish I could.”
“I bet.” Emerson wished he could go back in time and tell that little girl she was worth far more than the way her family was treating her.
“I got a job as soon as I could. Started saving my money. Moved out when I was seventeen, which pissed off my dad no end. Ward was gone by then—went to school on a hockey scholarship, although he never went any further with that.”
“I haven’t heard you mention your father before now,” Emerson said softly. “What’s he like?”
Wye laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “The day I moved out was a Sunday. I’d taken three loads to my new place before he even woke up. He shuffled out of his room in his robe, blinked at me a couple of times and bellowed, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ I told him I was moving.” Wye wouldn’t meet Emerson’s gaze. “‘Who’s going to keep this place up?’ he called after me as I hauled the last box down the walkway to where I’d parked on the street.”
“What did you tell him?” Emerson asked.
“He’d have to do it himself. Ward had already moved on. You know what he said?”
Emerson shook his head.
“‘Then you can fuck off, just like your mother!’ He slammed the door before I could come back and say a proper goodbye. I thought about going in for the last couple of jackets, scarves and gloves I’d left on my bed, but I decided it wasn’t worth another confrontation. I got in my car and drove away.”
Emerson found he could picture the whole thing, and his chest burned with indignation. “Did you find a way back to each other?” he made himself ask evenly.
“No.” She shook her head. “Dad sold the house and left town several months later—without giving me a forwarding address. I’ve never heard from him since.”
“Hell, Wye.” Emerson sought for words that could encompass his disbelief. “He doesn’t deserve you. Neither of your parents do.” He wrapped his arms around her, wishing he could protect her from every kind of harm. How could people leave their children? He’d never be able to do that.
“You didn’t deserve to have your parents die,” she said.
He had no answer to that, so he bent to kiss her.
Wye gave a little sigh as his mouth moved over hers, and all the desire Emerson had been holding back lurched up inside him. He tightened his arms around her, sliding one hand down to the base of her back. Things always felt right when Wye was close to him.
Very right.
To hell with her parents—and his aunt and uncle. To hell with anyone who didn’t understand what real love meant.
He promised himself then and there he’d be everything Wye ever needed. A whole family in one person. He’d never let her down.
Emerson deepened the kiss, savoring the feel of her mouth under his. Warmth spread through him along with a need that threatened to overwhelm his better nature. A moment later he bowled her gently over, laid her out on her back on the couch and covered her with his body. He kissed her thoroughly, and when she threaded her arms around his neck, he took that as an invitation. She was soft underneath him.
Wonderful.
Bracing himself on one elbow, kissing her all the while, Emerson began undoing the buttons of her blouse. He had just exposed her bra when the front door crashed open, sending both of them scrambling to sit up and set their clothes to rights.
“What the hell is going on here? Where’s Elise?” Ward bellowed.
Of all the times for Ward to come home, Wyoming thought as she rose to her feet, quickly buttoning her shirt again. She was sure her face was flaming. At least her brother didn’t look drunk—just angry.
“Ward, this is Emerson Myers. Emerson, this is my brother, Ward,” she managed to say.
Ward ignored Emerson’s outstretched hand. “You’re screwing on my couch when you’re supposed to be watching my daughter? What are you thinking, Wye?” His gaze roved between them, his jaw set in a familiar way. He was gunning for a fight.
“We weren’t screwing around.” Wye kept her voice even, refused to rise to the bait. “Elise is sleeping, and you’d better not wake her, because she cried all day. My friend brought me dinner. I don’t see any harm in that.”
“You’re supposed to be babysitting.” Ward finally entered the room fully, dropping his coat on the floor she’d vacuumed only hours ago. He’d better not expect her to hang it up. He wasn’t a toddler.
“I held Elise for ten hours today. She was
