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Stormy held her breath. She wanted to caress away the frown lines on his brow, kiss away the haunted look in his remarkable jade-colored eyes. She wanted to rub her cheek against the bristles of his day-old beard, put her arms around his neck, and pull him close so that their bodies and hearts and souls enmeshed.
She willed her arms to stay at her side while his voice wove itself around her in tight, raw threads of sound.
“Your name suits you.Stormy. I knew you were trouble the minute I laid eyes on you. For five years, I haven’t felt anything, couldn’t feel anything. Didn’t want to feel. Now I do. I just can’t decide if it’s good or bad feelings.”
Stormy couldn’t think of anything sensible to say.
He talked on, “When Priss died, a part of me died with her. I don’t know if all seven-year-olds look alike, but Liane is Priscilla all over again—the eyes, the giggles, the pigtails, the tilt of the head. I want to walk away from this job, from her, from you.” He laid his palm against her flushed cheek, his thumb softly tracing her cheekbone. He bent his head toward hers. “But, you see, I can’t.”
His lips brushed hers. A mere butterfly touch. It sent shock waves through her and had her head spinning.
“I need to slow down.”
No! Stormy balked inside. But she knew he was right. She was too needy, too vulnerable. And the talk of his dead daughter was a spike in her heart.
He kissed her eyes and feathered kisses down to her neck and lightly over her earlobe. No other part of their bodies touched, yet Stormy was certain she could feel the tempo of his heart pounding against her own, hear the blood coursing through his veins.
The screened door slammed, followed by the mingled voices of Liane and Janelle.
Tyler raised his head, grinned like a fool, and stepped away.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Stormy whispered, yet she felt as if he had pulled out of her everything that was vital to her survival.
Janelle and Liane bustled into the kitchen to get soft drinks from the fridge, then climbed up onto a stool at the kitchen peninsula and faced Tyler, who had retreated to the alcove.
Liane’s eyes searched him for a moment. “Did you solve your puzzle?”
“Nope, not yet. But I’m working on it.”
Stormy called up reality to counteract the bewildering present. She could not—would not offer up Liane to Tyler’s investigation.
She put a mug of coffee in front of Tyler. To the girls, she said, “You two better go wash up and—”
“Let them stay a moment,” Tyler pleaded. There was such a longing in his voice that Stormy acquiesced.
She understood he was holding her up for emotional ransom. “All right, but just for a few minutes. We’re going to some garage sales and, afterward, I’ve got to take Janelle home.”
“Mom and I are in business together again,” Liane informed Tyler.
“Again? That’s terrific. Tell me about it.”
Thus prompted, Liane did just that. “We used to have a sandwich shop. It had a counter and six stools. When I was little, I had a baby swing hung from the ceiling. Everybody pushed me or talked to me because I was so cute. But when I got bigger, I had to sweep the sand out before we closed. Then we would go to the beach, too. We fed the seagulls scraps people didn’t eat and chased the plovers. Those are little birds that have really skinny legs.”
Stormy struggled to disengage the sensations set in motion by Tyler’s kisses in order to monitor his conversation with Liane. Standing by, ready to attack, ready to challenge, she did not sit but leaned against the stove, sipping her coffee.
His interest keen but not overdone, Tyler questioned Liane as an equal, not a lesser being.
And Liane, the minx, was wholly bewitched by his attention.
Stormy reacted with guilt. While her grandfather was alive, Liane had had a surrogate father. Since Tully had not taken up that role, Stormy saw now that Liane missed having a man in her life as much as she did.
She snapped from her reverie when Liane was mid-sentence.
“Boxes and boxes of stuffed animals in the attic. Maybe people would buy them for their kids for Easter. I used to play dress-up with them—”
“Oh!” Stormy cried. “That’s it! I’ve been racking my brain for what we could sell. And it was right in front of our noses. We can buy up ones we find at garage sales, too. Wash them, repair them. Even dress them up in antique clothes. Liane, you are so smart.”
“I know,” replied the child, exasperation coating her every syllable.
