AFTERSHOCK Read online

  "You don't want him?"

  "This is very complicated. I can't seem to think straight."

  "Of course you can't! Where's my head, pressing you to talk to me before you're ready. Maybe you haven't even decided if you like me—"

  Now Amber did laugh. Emily McCall could wear down a saint. "I like you, very much," she assured the older woman. "It's just that—"

  "That you don't think of me as your family yet." Emily sniffed, clearly insulted. "I understand."

  "You know that's not true."

  "No, it's okay, you don't owe me anything."

  "Emily, please. I think you're an amazing woman."

  "You do?" Pleasure quickly replaced hurt. "Really?"

  "Yes." It had never been easy for Amber to share herself, but for some reason, the words came now. "I think the way you love your family is beautiful."

  "It's no more than any mother would do."

  Maybe it was the late hour or the emotions of the day, but suddenly it was easy for Amber to admit the truth. "Not any mother."

  "Not yours?"

  Emily's sympathy and pity didn't frighten her as she thought it would. "Definitely not mine. But I used to dream about it, and if I could have drawn my mother the way I wanted her to be, she would have been just like you."

  "Oh darling, now you're really going to make me cry."

  "Don't you dare." Amber laughed through her own impending tears. "You'll get me started. And after what we've been through this evening, I may never stop."

  "Dax is careful, you know. He's the best at what he does."

  He was the best at everything he set his mind to. His work. Fatherhood. She could only imagine what a husband he'd make. The warm glow that came from that thought no longer surprised her.

  "I imagine you have a lot on your mind," Emily said. "Especially with the thought of babies and marriage and all the like."

  "I thought you didn't want to be nosy."

  "Oh, you." But Emily had the good grace to laugh at herself. "You already have my number. Just like all my children." Her voice went stern and demanding. "Now bring me Taylor. You go to my boy."

  * * *

  In the end, Amber didn't drop off Taylor, figuring Dax would want to see her. He seemed to thrive on any opportunity to do so.

  Plus she needed Taylor to hold, needed to feel that small, warm bundle of life against her, reminding her that no matter what happened with Dax, she mattered to someone.

  Dax had given her a key to his house, insisting he didn't want her waiting for him outside if he was ever late when they were supposed to meet. Amber had felt uncomfortable with that, had assumed she would never use it, but it came in handy now.

  Less than one minute after she arrived, Dax pulled into the driveway, setting her nerves to leaping. Head down, shoulders tense, he opened the front door and stepped inside. As if he sensed her, he stilled and slowly raised his head to reveal a weary, hollow face.

  When he saw her his eyes warmed. So did Amber's heart.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  "Hey." Dax acknowledged her, but he didn't move into the room.

  Amber's nervousness tripled. Was he bothered by the fact that she'd let herself in? Was he sorry he'd given her his key?

  Why didn't he say something, anything? "I hope you don't mind," she found herself saying awkwardly.

  With an audible sigh, he kicked off his shoes.

  "I … used the key you gave me."

  He dropped his jacket where he stood and the leather hit the floor with a thud.

  "Taylor's here, too." She felt stupid and intrusive, but a search of his expression told her nothing. A first. "Your mom offered to baby-sit, but I thought you'd want to see her."

  He rolled his head on his neck, winced and then sighed again.

  "If you're too tired, I'll just…"

  He spoke then, though the words were muffled by the sweatshirt he was pulling off over his head. "I'm never too tired for Taylor." He tossed the sweatshirt aside, his words in direct opposition to the exhaustion on his face. "Or you, for that matter."

  "Because I could just scoop her up and leave…"

  He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "Didn't you just get here?"

  "Yes."

  His face was bleak, his eyes red-rimmed, and his big, tough body so weary she imagined he was standing on his feet by sheer force of will. "I saw everything on the news," she said. She watched as he dumped out the contents of his pockets into a small bowl on the low table in the entry.

  His silence was killing her.

  "I couldn't tear myself away from the television," she added.

  He nodded and rubbed his eyes, but still didn't speak. Her heart was racing so fast she didn't know what to do.

  "When the roof collapsed—" she drew a shaky breath "—and those firefighters fell through the gaping hole…"

  He flinched and her heart ached at the stark pain she saw so clearly in his eyes. "Oh, Dax."

  He hadn't stepped toward her, hadn't really looked at her, not once. He hadn't made one move that told her how he felt about her being there. "Would you rather I go?"

  "Actually, I'm hoping you're going to tell me the real reason you're here."

  "I … I thought … I just wanted to be."

  He came toward her, his face still bleak and grim, but now there was something new in his gaze. He stopped a mere foot away from her. "I've never known you to stutter."

  "I don't. N-n-not—" Ruthlessly she bit her tongue. "Not usually anyway." Frustrated, she reached up to shove back a loose strand of hair at the exact same moment his fingers came up to tuck it behind her ear. His hand slid over hers and he brought those joined hands to his chest. "You've been biting your nails. A new habit?"

  "Another one that I've not had for years."

  "What's the matter? I've never seen you so unsettled."

  "Unsettled. I guess that's what you'd call worrying myself sick." All her pent-up fear spewed out. "I went through hell tonight, watching the news."

  "It's my job."

  "I know. I know! That's not what I'm saying."

  "What are you saying?"

  "That I worry, okay? I don't want to, but I do."

  He let out a long breath and all the tension suddenly draining out of him, immediately replaced by a new, different sort of tension. "Yes," he whispered, his eyes glittering with emotion. "Yes, that's what I wanted to hear."

  "I suppose then, that you'd love to know I couldn't even breathe, thinking that you'd be hurt. Or worse!"

  His other hand slid up her spine, around to cup her face. His thumb brushed over her lower lip before his fingers sank into her hair, holding her head still. Closing that last gap between them, he nudged her up against his body. "Yeah. I would love to know that."

  She flattened her hands against his chest and had to tip her head back to look into his eyes. "Is that ego talking?"

  "No. It's not even remotely related to anything in my brain." He smoothed his hand over hers, holding it close to his chest. "It's right here, where pride has no place. And if you think you should be ashamed about worrying for me, think again. Not when I do nothing but think about you, worry about you, want you. It feels incredible to know you're capable of doing the same."

  Had she been so selfish to keep that from him? "I care about you, Dax. So much it hurts."

  For the first time that night, his eyes heated, his mouth softened. He closed his eyes and with an aching tenderness, rubbed his jaw to hers, drawing her so tight to him she could feel his every breath.

  Then he pulled her even closer, burying his face in her neck. "We lost twenty-two people tonight. Six of them children. One was a baby girl, the same age as Taylor."

  Shock reverberated through her and she hugged him as tight as she could. "I'm so sorry."

  "I had to tell her mother—" He swallowed hard. "I kept seeing Taylor, kept imagining how I'd feel if I had to face you, tell you that— God."