A Baby For Emily. Ginna GrayЧитать онлайн книгу.
This time the look she shot him held even more confusion. “What? No, of course n— Oh. Oh, I see. You’re concerned about the baby.” Her mouth twitched. “Don’t worry. Your niece or nephew is safe. Physically I’m doing fine.”
Dillon ground his teeth, angry that she’d put that interpretation on his concern, but he forced himself to speak gently. “The baby’s well-being is important, but I’m more worried about you. This week has been rough.”
The bitter laugh that burst from her was tinged with hysteria. “Yes. You could say that.”
Dillon parked in the driveway and ushered Emily inside. He watched her shrug out of her coat and hang it in the entry closet then turn without a word and walk into the living room.
When Dillon had shed his own coat and followed he found her in the bay window alcove, staring out the window at the bleak winter landscape. She stood with her arms folded tight across her midriff, as though she feared she might fly apart at any second and was trying to physically hold herself together.
He stopped a few feet behind her. Everything about her telegraphed desolation—the angle of her head, the rigid set of her shoulders, her paleness. She looked fragile and tragic, and absolutely alone.
“Emily, we need to talk.”
“Not now, Dillon. Please.”
“I know you don’t feel like doing this now, but it’s urgent. You have to take stock, get an idea where you stand before you can make a plan.”
Her upper body began to jerk. Lowering her head, she hunched her shoulders and hugged herself tighter, but the convulsive jolts came stronger and faster. A small, choking sound tore from her throat. Then another, and another.
The hair on Dillon’s nape stood on end. “Emily?”
Unable to subdue the sobs any longer, she raised both hands and covered her face, and gave in to the gut-wrenching tears she had been holding back for days.
“Aw, Emily.” In two long strides Dillon closed the space between them, spun her around and snatched her into his arms. “It’s okay. Everything will work out,” he insisted. “You’ll get through this. You’ll see.”
The gruff pep-talk had no effect. Clutching his shirt with both hands, she wept uncontrollably against his chest. The wrenching sobs tore from her, so raw and raspy he knew that they hurt her throat. Her entire body shook with each agonized cry.
Dillon felt so helpless. He longed to banish her pain, to shield her from all the ugliness and betrayal, but he could not. At that moment he came close to hating his brother.
Powerless to do anything except let her grief run its course, he rubbed his hands in slow circles over her back and rocked her from side to side. “That’s right, let it all out. You’ll feel better when you do.”
His words made her cry even more forlornly. The great, wracking sobs seemed to come from the depths of her soul. They tore at Dillon’s heart and made him wince, and he held her closer still, as though doing so would allow her to absorb his strength.
Finally her tears ran dry and her sobbing slowed to watery sniffles and shudders, then to hitching little breaths.
“Oh, Dillon,” she mumbled against his wet shirt. “Wh-what am I going to d-do?”
Before he could answer he heard her sharp intake of breath, and he realized that she’d suddenly become aware of their position. She stiffened and scrambled back several steps, her expression horrified. “I—I…I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“I think you reached critical mass. After all that’s happened, a meltdown was probably inevitable. Don’t worry about it,” he said in a gravelly voice. “You’re entitled.”
Running a trembling hand through her hair, Emily pushed the long, auburn mass back until it cascaded over her shoulder, all the while eyeing him warily.
Dillon ground his teeth. Clearly, she did not expect sympathy from him.
“Well, uh…thank you for being so understanding.” Her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed and her eyelids puffy. Tears glistened on her cheeks and streaked her makeup. The tip of her nose was red and her face was pale and blotchy from crying. Her misery broke Dillon’s heart.
“No problem. And to answer your question, you’re going to get through this one step at a time. And I’m going to help you.
“The first thing you’re going to do is go upstairs and wash your face, maybe take a nap.” Taking her arm, he started leading her toward the stairs in the entry hall. “After that crying jag you probably need one.”
“But you said—”
“I know, but I changed my mind. You’re in no shape to dive into the legalities right now. Just go get some rest. I’ll take a look at Keith’s financial records. When you’re ready, we’ll sit down and go through everything together and figure out where you stand financially.”
Emily made a feeble attempt at a chuckle. “I can tell you that now. I have no money, no insurance settlement, no investments and no income.”
“Yeah, well, don’t worry about it,” he growled. “We’ll figure something out.”
“We?” She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned.
Dillon could see her pulling herself together. Drawing in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and tipped up that delicate chin.
“Look, Dillon, I appreciate all you’ve done, but this isn’t your problem. It’s mine. There’s no reason why you should be burdened with it. I’ll deal with it by myself.”
“How?”
“I…I’m not sure. But I’ll think of something. My point is there’s no need for you to concern yourself.”
“Really?” he snapped, struggling to contain his impatience. “I can think of several.”
Her chin came up another notch. “Such as?”
“Such as, it’s because of my brother that you’re in this fix.”
“So? You’re not responsible for Keith’s actions.”
“Maybe not legally, but that’s beside the point. You’re still a part of this family. And don’t forget, the baby you’re carrying is a Maguire.”
“All the same, I—”
“It’s no use arguing about it, Emily. I’m going to help.”
His implacable blue gaze bore down on her. She met that laser stare in silent frustration. She wanted to scream. She didn’t want to be around anyone, least of all him.
She felt guilty for the thought, but it was true. Ever since she’d received the news of Keith’s death, Dillon had been there for her, like a rock, offering silent support during the unpleasant meetings with the doctors and the police, making all the funeral arrangements, running interference between her and the gossipmongers. During the past four days he’d talked with her more and in gentler tones than he had in all the years she’d known him. In truth, she didn’t know what she would have done without him these past few days.
Even so, he was still a tough, taciturn man. And he still made her uncomfortable.
Emily sighed. No matter how she felt, the sad truth was, she needed help. She was still reeling and too depressed and bereft to function, much less deal with legal matters on her own. And there was no one else to whom she could turn.
“All right, you win,” she huffed finally.
“Good. Now why don’t you go get some rest?”
She shook her head. “No. I’d rather get this over with. Anyway, I doubt that I could sleep for worrying. I’ll just go up and wash my face. I’ll be right back.”