Page 174 of Secondhand Smoke

He frowned.

“You look like you need a hug. Come here, Michael.”

“Hol, that’s real sappy.” But his feet propelled him forward and when he sat down on the edge of the bed, Holly snuggled up to his side and put her arms around his neck.

He closed his eyes and breathed deep: the soft scents of her shampoo and the soap they shared, the sweet cherry of her chapstick. He felt the brush of her hair, the press of her breasts, the beat of her heart, and his nerve endings tingled pleasantly.

“I’m very glad you’re okay,” she whispered against his throat.”

He looped an arm around her waist. “Me too, baby.”

~*~

All done. At clubhouse if you need me. Walsh’s text came in around three, and Emmie chewed on the words, reflecting that they were the words he always used.If you need me. Was there a subtext she didn’t get? Only call him if she really needed him? Was it the equivalent of a Do Not Disturb Sign? Only bug me if it’s an emergency?

What about if she just wanted to see her husband?

At five, she gave up on sleeping, rolled out of bed, and fired off texts to Fred and Becca, asking them to cover the morning feeding. She dressed, left a note for Bea downstairs by the coffeepot, and headed for Dartmoor.

A sleepy hangaround stood sentry outside the gates and waved her through when he recognized her. A sense of tired peace enfolded her when she climbed out of her truck. Yes, it was dark and shadows lurked between the pools of light thrown by the overhead lampposts. And yes, it was cold, and she shivered. The air stank of the river and frost rimmed the roofs of the club cars and trucks. But there was no charge, so sense of danger or doom. Perhaps it was her own exhaustion; perhaps it was Dartmoor taking a deep breath after completing its mission of the night.

The clubhouse was open and warmly lit by lamps. Candyman lay snoring on one of the sofas. Behind the bar, Colin was pouring a liberal amount of whiskey into a steaming mug of coffee. And her Walsh sat at one of the round tables, fingers gliding over the keys of his laptop.

Colin gave her a nod as she crossed the room and she nodded back.

Walsh glanced up when she pulled out the chair beside him and sat. “You’re up early, love.” He sounded only a little surprised to see her. “Or late.”

“Both.” She reached to scuff her knuckles along his stubbly jaw. “I’m guessing I look better than you, though.”

“Obviously.”

She withdrew her hand and folded it together with the other in her lap.

He noticed, and did a double take. “Something wrong?”

“No, I…” She smiled, out of reflex, a little embarrassed now that she’d come all the way down here at five in the morning. “I was worried about you,” she said. “I guess I just wanted to see you with my own eyes and know you were okay.”

He pulled his hands away from the computer and stared at her. “I just…” A shifting behind his blue eyes, curiosity, wonder maybe? “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?” she echoed, frowning.

“Well,” Colin announced loudly. “I’m going to bed. Wouldn’t want to accidently overhear anyone’s relationship bullshit.”

Walsh snorted.

“Night,” Emmie said dryly.

“Morning,” he returned, and was gone down the hallway.

Walsh was still staring. “Yeah. Bother you.”

“King, why would calling me to let me know you’re alive be a bother? If our roles were reversed, wouldn’t you want me to call you?”

His expression didn’t change, but his Adam’s apple jumped as he swallowed. “Yeah.”

She sighed. “I’ve gotten clingy, haven’t I?” She hadn’t been at first, right after their disastrous sham of a wedding. But as she grew more comfortable, as she came to love him more, she was acting more and more wifely, and she didn’t suppose, what with his apparent aversion to children, that Kingston Walsh wanted a wife in the true sense of the word.

“I’ll go home,” she said, starting to rise. “I know you’re busy.”

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