Page 20 of The Talk Around Town

Especially when it was so unwanted. He had no intention of leaving himself open to a woman again. Not after Sami had cheated on him and had acted like he should be able to ignore the fact that she only loved his bank account.

It still stung when he thought about it. Being told you had nothing to offer a woman other than a comfortable life cut deep. He didn’t consider himself a catch by any stretch of the imagination, but after spending over two years with her he’d believed she loved him. More fool him.

No woman, Emma included, would make a fool of him like that again.

The phone in his back pocket buzzed, catching his wandering attention. He pulled it out and answered. His mood soured further, the longer he listened. He looked up, catching his father’s eye.

Stabbing a finger at the phone to end the call, he turned to Emma.

“Sorry, Emma, but I really have to go.” He looked at Ed. “Jezebel’s in trouble. The calf is breech.”

Ed placed his sanding block on the floor near his feet. “You may need some help. We’ll come pick up this mess as soon as it’s over, if that’s all right with you?”

Emma nodded at them, a bemused expression on her face. “Your cow is having a baby?”

His reaction to that comparison momentarily overrode his worry, and he let a small grin slip free. He didn’t have time to think about Emma, or his mother’s yearning for grandkids. She’d have to pester Darby to find some guy, or Simon and Amy to have children.

“Yes, she’s having a baby. Come on, Dad.”

Chapter Nine

Emma stared atthe last load of furniture and boxes that had just been brought through the door.

She helped the removalists place the furniture where it was to go. They dragged and moved every last piece until all that was left were the boxes.

She eyed them with distaste. Damn, she hated unpacking. The boxes, the paper, the mess.

The deliveryman nodded. “That’s the last of it. Everything that you shipped.”

Emma bit her lip hard and kept her eyes on the man. She didn’t want to look at the boxes while the men were still here. Most cartons would be fine; they contained things she’d been waiting for. But some held items she couldn’t bear parting with, objects that she couldn’t have an audience for when she opened the boxes and saw them again.

Maybe she should shove them in the spare room as-is and be done with it.

“Thank you.”

She closed the door, waiting to hear the sound of the diesel engine before she braved looking at the boxes in her hall. There weren’t all that many, if she was honest. Maybe a dozen. Not much to show for almost thirty-two years on this planet. Not much at all.

Two large boxes of slightly different composition, with vibrant pink daisies painted on the tops, caught her attention.

There they are.

She walked carefully toward them. Nausea and nerves swamped her the closer she got. It had been so long since she’d looked at the contents of those particular boxes. They’d been packed up a couple of years ago now.

Longing ate at her. She ached to look in those cartons, to hold some of the items, but at the same time a cold sweat broke out on her skin atthe thought.

She stopped in front of one and reached out a shaking hand.

Her fingertip found a pink daisy and traced its outline. Daisies. So very pretty, but so fleeting in life.

Tears pricked the backs of her eyes.

No.

She wouldn’t think like that. Couldn’t. She’d come here for a new beginning, one without all the baggage from before. Some things would never be resolved, she understood that, but others, well, avoidance was a wonderful thing.

Unopened boxes with pink daisies fell into the latter category.

Her traitorous fingers found the edge of the packaging tape and began picking at it, lifting the end. Unable to help herself, Emma drew back the tape—carefully, slowly.

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