Joey’s dead.
Heart attack.
The other details are slim to none. There are calls to be made to get the body home, and funeral services to arrange.
He has to tell each of them not to rush to Maggie’s house. She’s asked to be alone. But Kane’s sister Maeve insists that she’ll call, just to see if Maggie will see her.
“Good luck with that,” he tells her. “Our sister’s stubborn.”
For the first time since we arrived at Maggie’s house, Kane smiles.
“Yes, we all are.”* * *It’s been four days since the news of Joey’s death, and two since I last saw Kane. I have a business to run, so I came home when I originally planned to and dug into work immediately. Kane didn’t ask me to stay. If he’d needed me to, I would have arranged it, but I’m new to Kane’s life, and I don’t want to try and insert myself where I’m not needed.
Or wanted.
But we’ve talked each evening. He sounds tired. He’s worried about Maggie because she’s closed in on herself. She sleeps, she cries, then sleeps some more. Maeve has been with her for four days, and Kane’s parents are on their way.
The family is with her.
Kane’s full of worry and a sense of responsibility. He wanted to call in a counselor for Maggie, but she refused his offer.
I suggested he be patient with her. Give her a little time. My heart hurts for her. I almost lost my father last year and thought my world would fall apart. I can’t imagine the grief of losing a husband.
And I suspect, once the dust settles and they bury the man, she’ll have her moments of falling apart.
We all grieve differently, that’s what my mama always says.
I just finished placing the final sugar leaf on a fall wedding cake and put the tier in its box when there’s banging on the front door.
I scowl and wipe my hands on a towel as I walk through the bakery to the showroom and then hurry to the door and unlock it. Kane rushes inside, instantly pulling me into his arms.
His lips are sure and insistent as he kisses me. He reaches back to flip the lock on the door and lifts me into his arms, carrying me back to the bakery and out of sight of any passersby.
“Well, hello there,” I say when we finally come up for air. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“I couldn’t stay away,” he admits and then sets me on the countertop before burying his face in the crook of my neck. “You’ve been gone for days.”
“Two,” I remind him and gently run my fingers through his hair, trying not to think about how unsanitary it is to sit on this countertop. “Just two days.”
“Too bloody long,” he mutters and kisses my jawline.
“How’s Maggie?” I ask.
“I don’t want to talk about Maggie,” he says. His green eyes meet mine. They’re full of emotion, but what those feelings are, I can’t tell. “I don’t want to talk about funerals, or bodies, or any of it.”
His hands are firm on my ass, rhythmically squeezing my flesh, just this side of too much.
Kane is intense on a regular day, but tonight, he’s even more so.
“We don’t have to talk about anything at all.”
He grins and covers my mouth again with his, nipping and searching, taking and giving back to me tenfold.
I’ve never been swept up into anything so profound before. So necessary.
“Boost up,” he says. He has my jeans undone, and when I push up on my hands, he pulls them over my ass and down my legs. He rips the panties as if they’re paper.
The next thing I know, he’s inside me, the push and pull urgent. His eyes are on mine as he drives himself in and out, and then, without a sound, he closes his eyes and comes apart, taking me with him.
Our breathing is harsh and loud in the small kitchen. I probably have flour on my ass.
And I don’t care.
“Come upstairs with me.” I drag my fingers down his cheek and smile when he places a gentle kiss on my nose. “Stay with me tonight.”
He simply nods. “I already dropped Murphy off with Maggie.” He scoops me up, and takes me up to my home, where he holds me all night, and finally falls asleep.* * *I’ve not been to many graveside funerals. Actually, I’ve not been to many funerals at all. Which is a blessing.
But one thing I’m sure of is that most widows probably cry at their husband’s funeral.
Maggie is wearing a simple black dress with black flats. She’s surrounded by her family. The casket is made of rich mahogany and is covered in calla lilies.
We’re standing in the rain, listening to the priest talk about walking through the valley of death, and Maggie’s holding a handkerchief in one hand at her side, but her face shows no emotion as she stares blankly at the casket. There are no tears now. It’s as if she cried all of the tears in the world already. She’s still pale with chapped lips, and her red hair is wet from the rain since she refused the umbrella offered to her.