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And her assumption proved right. Momma plowed to a stop but hovered over her, glaring in disapproval. But Willow didn't mind since she was still able to talk to the boy.
"Why aren't you crying?" she asked again, tilting her head to the side to send him an inquisitive look.
He merely stared back, gazing at her like he was lost. "I don't know," he rasped. "I just can't."
"Don't you miss him?" she wondered, ignoring her father's warning hand that landed on her shoulder.
The boy nodded. "Yeah."
"So then… cry already," Willow commanded, thinking that should be the obvious next step.
The boy's chin wrinkled as if he might start. But he shook his head frantically, fighting the urge. "I don't want to," he said in a voice that cracked.
Willow squeezed his hand supportively. "My momma says crying helps heal the soul." She blinked at him. "You don't want a broken soul, do you?"
The boy bowed his head, then shook it. "I don't know," he muttered miserably as the first couple of tears started to leak out the corner of his eyes and slide down his cheek. "I just want my dad back."
Willow let go of his hand and leaned forward to hug him.
When he actually hugged her in return and held on to her hard, the tears really started to pour, soaking through her hair and wetting her scalp. She smiled and patted his back. "See, you can cry. It'll be okay now."
"I am so sorry about this," Willow heard Momma say to the boy's mother. She had that nervous, wringing-her-hands sort of tone. Willow knew she'd probably be in big trouble once she let go of the boy, so she kept hugging him even though he accidently pulled her hair from squeezing her so hard.
"No, it's okay," the boy's mom assured. "This is the first time he's cried since we were told. I'm glad he's finally letting it out. I was getting worried."
Happy she'd been the one to help him release his pain, Willow patted his back in approval. His tears soaked her, and something grew in her chest. An attachment.
The adults let them be for a few minutes longer, but Willow was still reluctant to let go when her mother pried her away. She wanted to stay with him and help him heal. Her heart thumped hard in her ribcage as she watched his momma swoop in and scoop him into her own hug. As he clung to his mother and wept against her, Willow wished he'd turn back and seek her instead. But he didn't.
Daddy picked her up and carried her away, her mom and brother falling into step behind them.
As they started off, Willow looked over her father's shoulder, her eyes fierce with determination as the boy became smaller and smaller with the further away they moved.
"I'm going to marry that boy someday," she declared.
Eight
Intruder.
Raith knew someone else had breached the house the instant his eyes flew open. He was most definitely not alone. It took him a moment to orient himself and realize DeVane lay snuggled and warm in bed next to him, actually wrapped around him like a sexy human blanket.
Tempted to ignore his screaming senses and drift back into delightful oblivion, he jerked fully alert at the click of her back door closing and the soft shuffle of shoes across linoleum.
His arms tightened instinctively around the woman in his arms. For a split second, he panicked, two basic needs warring inside him. Go or stay. He wanted to stay and protect. If he left her, she would be open and unguarded. Then again, he also ached to go and attack. He wanted to capture her trespasser and inflict eternal pain.
No one broke into his woman's house in the middle of the night when she was vulnerable and defenseless. With that thought planted in his mind, the rage took over. In the dark, Raith slipped out of bed and silently felt around for his clothes. When he found his jeans, he figured that was good enough and slipped them on.
He wished he had his gun on him. But he'd left it in his truck, sitting uselessly in DeVane's driveway. Lacking any kind of weapon, Raith slinked toward the kitchen and paused at the doorway, where he could make out the shape of a man by his wide shoulders, short hair, and taller height.
The perpetrator moved past the window where moonlight filtered inside. When Raith saw a knife in his hand, he pounced. Without a sound, he grabbed the burglar's wrist and twisted, hoping to shake the knife out of the equation. Taking his opponent by surprise gave him a moment's worth of advantage, but that was it.
Letting out a sound of surprise, the intruder instantly resisted and started to struggle. In the process, he lost his grip on the knife.
When Raith heard the metal blade clatter and slide across the linoleum, he immediately jerked his knee up into the middle of his assailant's back. The man let out a grunt of pain, and Raith locked his arm around his neck, dragging him backward and to the ground. Hoping they didn't get anywhere near the fallen knife, he attempted to pin the trespasser.
Slippery as an eel, the intruder lurched up and threw Raith off him, but Raith kept his arm securely locked around his windpipe. Both of them careened into the side of the refrigerator. When they went rolling the other way, they smacked the table and knocked a chair over.
The tumbling stool must have landed on his opponent's leg and trapped him to the floor because Raith suddenly had the upper hand. He whipped the shadow around onto his stomach and straddled him, sitting on the base of his spine.
