Songbird: A Linger Story Page 9

  “Greer?”

  He relaxed and reached to take her hand. “Nothing to worry about. Promise. There’s someone here to see you.”

  She cocked her head to the side, apprehension tracing a chilly path up her spine.

  “Who?”

  He grimaced and then said, “Frank.”

  Her eyes widened, and she took a step back.

  Greer stepped forward again and tentatively put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Are you angry?”

  She shook her head but wasn’t sure whether she was or wasn’t. No, she wasn’t angry. She was afraid, and that made her angry.

  “No. I’d like to see him,” she murmured. “I should have stayed in contact with him.”

  Greer’s expression softened. “He’s been worried about you, sweet pea. He just wants to make sure you’re okay. Talk to you. There’s no pressure, I promise.”

  He extended his hand, and she took a deep breath before sliding her palm over his. He squeezed reassuringly and tugged her toward the door.

  Taggert was in the living room with Frank when she and Greer entered. Taggert immediately rose, his gaze searching her features for—what, fear? Worry? She was such a coward. But with his and Greer’s strength and support, she could face anything.

  “Emily, my dear,” Frank said as he walked to where she stood trembling beside Greer.

  He waited a moment as if to gauge her reaction, and then he enfolded her into his embrace.

  “You’ve had me worried sick,” he said gruffly.

  She sighed, rested her head on his shoulder a moment and then pulled away.

  “I know. I’m sorry, Frank. I should have called. I just couldn’t… I just couldn’t deal.”

  “And now?” He peered at her over his glasses, his stare probing. “How are you now?”

  “Better,” she said quietly.

  He smiled. “That’s great. You and I have a lot to talk about, Emily Donovan.”

  “Frank,” Taggert growled. “You promised.”

  Frank raised an eyebrow as he turned in Taggert’s direction. “I promised I wouldn’t badger her. I just want to talk. No harm in that.”

  “I won’t sing,” she said flatly. “I haven’t sung in a year. I’m not sure I could even if I wanted to.”

  The memory of the haunting melody she’d sung from her heart at Sean’s grave shifted painfully through her. That was private. For Sean. She wouldn’t do it in public again.

  Frank’s expression softened. “Come out on the porch and talk to me, Emily? I can’t stay long. My return flight is in a few hours. I have to be back in Nashville.”

  She nodded reluctantly. She owed him this much. It was too bad he’d come all this way for nothing, but it finally solved the issue of her facing him again. Better to have it over with so she could dispense with the demise of her career.

  ***

  Taggert stepped onto the porch as Emily stood watching Frank tear down the long dirt driveway toward the main gate.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  She turned, and he could see the haunted grief in her eyes again. Eyes that for the space of one night had been clear and beautiful. He sighed. He and Greer had a long road to travel with Emily.

  Her long blond hair lifted in the back, carried on the light breeze blowing over the porch. It was like liquid sunshine. He’d always loved her hair. In the past it had always been indicative of her carefree personality. When she smiled, she glowed, the silvery strands adding to her warmth. It served as a reminder of all he and Greer wanted to get back. But could they ever truly go back?

  “Yes,” she said simply. “He won’t return.”

  Taggert held out his arms, and she went willingly, burying her face against his chest.

  “I don’t mind if you never want to sing to crowds again. Or go into the recording studio. But baby, you love to sing. It’s part of who you are.”

  She stiffened and curled her fists, gathering his shirt tight in her grip.

  “It’s part of who I was,” she said dully.

  He brushed a kiss across the top of her head, wishing he knew what to say, what he could do to make it all better. It wasn’t that he had to hear her sing again, though he wanted it more than anything. Singing was just Emily. It had always been Emily. There was never a time she wasn’t humming a tune, plucking her old guitar or scribbling lyrics down on every scrap of paper she could find.

  It hurt her not to sing. He knew it as much as he knew anything else. She’d never fully heal until she could put what happened to Sean behind her and embrace her gift again. Even if it was just for her and she never made a public appearance again.

  His fist curled in frustration. He wanted nothing more than to make the bastard who’d done this to his family pay. Bleed. The irony was that he was out there. Free. While Taggert’s family suffered.

  “Come inside. It’s time to eat, and you know Buck gets cranky when we keep him waiting.”

  She glanced up, her lips twisting into a rueful smile. “Not going to lecture me on getting on with my life and not letting that bastard win?”

  “Is that what Frank told you?”

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “He’s right. I know he’s right, but it doesn’t change anything, Tagg. Do you understand that?”

  The pleading in her voice tore at his heart.

  He tugged her into his arms and rested his chin on top of her head. For a long moment he just stood there, staring out over his land. His and Greer’s land. Sean’s land.

  “I understand, Emmy, I do,” he finally said. “I know this can’t be rushed. It’s hard for me. I’m a guy. Guys want to fix things. I can’t fix this, and it’s killing me.”

  He felt her smile against his chest.

  “Don’t give up on me?”

  He pulled away and nudged her chin up with his knuckle. “Never, baby. Do you get that? Greer and I aren’t going anywhere, and neither are you.”

  Her eyes were wide and luminous, shining with a silken veil of tears. But her smile lit up his entire heart.

  “I love you, Tagg. Do you have any idea how good it feels to be able to tell you that and for you to accept it?”

  His throat swelled, threatening to shut down his ability to speak. He wasn’t sure what the hell he’d say to that anyway.

  He kissed her instead. Clumsy. Desperate. Needy. He was all those things when it came to her. How was he ever supposed to pull it together when she shattered him with a simple word?

  He held her close so that their breaths stuttered erratically over each other’s lips. His fingers trembled as he stroked her cheek, the tips tangling with the single strand of hair that refused to stay behind her ear.

  “Let’s go eat,” he said, his voice cracking.

  She smiled, kissed him again as if she knew just how hard it was for him to process the barrage of emotions, and then she pulled away, taking his hand as they entered the house.

  “Everything all right?” Greer asked when they walked into the kitchen.

  Taggert eyed his brother and gave him a short nod.

  “What did Frank have to say?”

  Emily shrugged. “You know what he wanted.”

  “Did he come out and ask you to come back?”

  Greer’s voice was mild, but Taggert detected a hint of…what, insecurity? Worry? He cocked an eyebrow in his brother’s direction, but Greer ignored him as he continued to stare intently at Emily.

  Emily’s shoulders sagged. “No, but he didn’t have to. I knew what he wanted. He lectured me about hiding away from my destiny and then he pulled out the Sean card.”

  Taggert tuned in. “Sean card? What the hell is that?”

  “Yeah, the Sean-wouldn’t-want-you-to-live-this-way speech.”

  “He’s right about that,” Greer said quietly. “The question is how long are you going to ignore what’s so clear to the rest of us?”

  She shook her head and threw a bewildered look at Taggert as if expecting help from his quarter. Hell,
Greer was dead-on, but she’d already been hit over the head during Frank’s visit. There was no reason to rehash it all.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked helplessly.

  Greer crossed the room, cupped her cheek and stared down at her with a fierceness that even had Taggert taking a mental step back.

  “I want you to live, Emmy. I want you to be with me. Sean is gone. Do you understand that? He’s not coming back, and he’d be the last person to want you to keep grieving for him.”

  Emily flinched as though Greer had struck her. Raw pain and rage flared in her eyes, and she wrenched away from his grasp.

  “I get it, Greer. Believe me I do. I was there remember? I watched him die. I had his blood all over me. I’m not likely to forget that he’s gone. I don’t ever need you to remind me of that.”

  She was furious. Her entire body trembled. Her hands shook, and she curled her fingers, raising her fists in what looked like a fighting stance.

  And then just as quickly she folded inward. Her face crumpled and her knees buckled. She slid bonelessly to the floor, her sobs searing over Taggert’s shocked senses.

  Taggert dropped to his knees beside her, but Greer was already there, folding his arms around her huddled body.

  “Shhh, sweet pea. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I swear.”

  Emily raised her tear-streaked face to stare up at Greer. “I know he’s gone, Greer. I sang for him today. Only for him, though. I didn’t know it would feel so good.”

  Taggert closed his eyes and cursed the timing of Frank’s visit. Maybe she’d come around on her own, but she was raw and hurting, and then Frank had arrived determined to make her see the light.

  Greer rocked her in his arms, holding her tight as he moved back and forth. “He loved your singing, Emmy. He was so proud of you. You were the reason he learned to play the guitar. It was his way of sharing your gift with you. Don’t take that away from him. Don’t take it away from us.”

  “It killed him,” she whispered.

  “No, baby. No.”

  No longer able to keep silent or remain back, Taggert pressed forward, putting his hand on her shoulder. Her eyes, deeply wounded, sought him out, looking, asking.

  “Emmy, you can’t think that. Your attacker was a sick bastard. Do you understand that? It wasn’t you. It was him.”

  She looked away, and Taggert blew out his breath in frustration. Then she looked back, a pleading expression in her beautiful eyes.

  “I know that. I do, Tagg. But every time I close my eyes I see him, I hear his voice, and I know that if I’d never sung Sean would still be alive, and that’s hard for me to come to terms with even if it’s stupid, and I know it’s not logical but guilt isn’t logical. God I wish it was. I wish I could just turn it off. I felt Sean today. I felt him, and I knew he wanted me to sing, and so I did. I even thought I could go on, but then Frank came, and all I could feel was that panic inside and the knowledge that I couldn’t take a chance on losing one of you just because I want something so inconsequential as to sing again. Isn’t that insane?”

  The speech came out all run together and ended in a laugh that verged on hysteria.

  “Emmy. Songbird. Our Songbird.”

  The words spilled past stiff lips and cracked with emotion. Taggert swallowed and stroked her hair, hoping he could come up with the right thing to say.

  “It doesn’t have to be now. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow. But one day, baby. One day you’ll feel safe. You’ll sing. And we’ll be here to help you fly.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Supper was quiet, and Emily could feel the stares of Greer and Taggert. A heavy sigh escaped her before she could call it back.

  She’d honestly thought she was through with the emotional breakdowns. Her visit to Sean’s grave had been freeing. And then Frank’s visit had brought old fears back.

  “Emmy, what are you thinking?”

  She glanced up to see Taggert studying her intently.

  “I’m okay. Promise. I’m sorry for freaking out on you. Again. It seems it’s all I can do lately.”

  “Cut yourself some slack,” Greer said in a gruff voice. “You’ve been through a lot.”

  She pushed her food around the plate, grateful that Taggert had dismissed Buck and the hands to eat in the bunkhouse. The last thing she felt like doing was pretending her world wasn’t crumbling around her.

  Be a little more dramatic, why don’t you?

  She made a sound of disgust.

  “My world is not ending,” she muttered.

  Taggert’s lip lifted in a half smile. “I should hope not. Greer and I aren’t that bad.”

  She laughed, relief soaring through her chest. It was so easy to love him. The idea that she could finally be open with that love floored her.

  Slowly she lowered her fork, her pulse speeding up as the two brothers watched her.

  “Take me upstairs,” she said huskily. “Please. I need you. Love me.”

  Taggert picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. “I do love you.”

  Greer shoved his plate aside and rose abruptly. When he reached for her, his hands shook. She took his hand and brought it to her mouth just as Taggert had done to her.

  The work-roughened fingers brushed across her skin, and she closed her eyes, imagining them on her body, caressing her, touching her intimately.

  “Take us upstairs, Emmy. Show us what you need.”

  Need? She needed them. Their love. She needed them to hold her and stand between her and the nightmares.

  Taking both their hands, she twined her fingers with theirs and tugged them toward the stairs.

  She was nervous. Her food churned in her stomach. Maybe she’d never really quite get over the idea that Taggert and Greer were here with her. Loving her.

  They followed her into the bedroom, and they stood waiting as she slowly turned around to face them. Her heart fluttered wildly, and she swallowed as she curled and uncurled her fingers at her sides. Then she squared her shoulders and took that step.

  In her wildest fantasies, she’d done this a million times, but the reality threatened to steal her breath away. Her hands shook and her fingers were clumsy as she worked at the buttons on Greer’s shirt. She worked down, her gaze never leaving his face, watching as his eyes flared and simmered like coals.

  When she reached his belt, she left the shirt and yanked at the buckle. In a few seconds she had his fly open and she pulled impatiently at his shirt until it was free of his jeans.

  Drawn to the bare expanse of skin, she placed her palms on his tight belly and let them glide upward to his chest and then to his shoulders. Inhaling, she pressed her lips to the hollow of his chest, closing her eyes as his scent filled her.

  He didn’t touch her or make the effort to undress her as she did him. He seemed content to let her lead and for him to follow. Part of her wanted to tear off his and Taggert’s clothing and indulge in hot, passionate lovemaking, ending it almost before it began. She was eager to feel their hands and mouths on her body. But the other part of her wanted to savor the sweet, slow symphony, to indulge in hours and hours of exploring their bodies while they pleasured her.

  She wanted it hard and fast. She wanted it hot and edgy. She wanted it long and slow. Sensual and loving. Her mind blazed with the possibilities.

  “Do you want help, Emmy?”

  Greer’s huskily voiced question brushed over her ears and elicited a trail of goose bumps down her back. She’d been standing here, her mouth against his skin, unmoving while she imagined the many ways she wanted to be made love to. Her lips curved into a rueful smile, and she shook her head. She wasn’t a complete coward.

  Stepping away, she slid her hand down his belly, into the springy hair at his groin until her fingers circled his length. He flinched and rocked back on his heels when she went lower to cup his balls.

  “Take your pants off,” she murmured, suddenly eager to see him.

  His thumbs hitched into th
e waistband of his jeans, and he yanked. The denim gathered around his feet, leaving him deliciously exposed. Not waiting for her dictate, he shrugged out of his shirt, allowing it to fall behind him.

  Her gaze was riveted to his lean hips and to the dark hair at his groin. His erection jutted outward, an invitation. She dropped to her knees and reached to circle him with both hands.

  She stroked. Up and down, enjoying the way he came to life in her palms. He grew harder, pulsing over her fingers. Her tongue darted out. A taste. She wanted to taste him, to bring him the ultimate pleasure.

  She circled the head, teasing, with light little licks, keeping him from the depths of her mouth. When he tensed and let out a groan, she smiled, confident in her ability to drive him wild.

  “Stop teasing me, damn it,” he rasped. “Suck me, Emmy. Swallow me whole. Do something, but stop tormenting me.”

  In response she took him deep. His fingers tangled roughly in her hair and he thrust forward, wanting deeper.

  His taste danced on her tongue and his scent filled her nostrils. He was in her, on her, living inside her heart and soul. They were both frantic, and she didn’t know who was doing the most work. Her fingers dug into his hips as she pulled him closer. His hands twisted in her hair, holding her as he bucked against her.

  And suddenly he left her. She rocked back, her hand going to the floor for balance. His harsh breathing filled her ears as he gasped for breath.

  “Not yet. I don’t want it to end yet.”

  She understood, and she gifted him with a wavering smile. He’d been close. She turned, wanting to find Taggert. She wanted to undress him too and run her hands and mouth over his hard body.

  He was already naked, standing a few feet away, his hand coaxing his cock to full erection. She watched in fascination as he rolled the foreskin up and down and how thick and long he looked when he pulled it all the way back.

  Before she realized what she was doing, she licked her lips, and Taggert let out a harsh expletive.

  “You’re killing me, Emmy. I want your mouth, baby.”

  “Then come and take it,” she challenged.

  He was there before she could blink. He put one hand on the top of her head to hold her in place while he positioned his cock at her lips with his other hand.