honey,â he said automatically. His green eyes narrowed and glittered on Melody. âI can ride as well as I ever did!â
âAm I arguing?â she asked in mock surprise.
He got up from his chair and towered over her. âNobody tells me what to do.â
âI wasnât,â she replied pleasantly. âBut when those kids reach their teens, do you really think anyoneâs going to be able to manage them? And what if something happens to you? What will become of them?â
She was asking questions he didnât like. Heâd already started to ask them himself. He didnât like that, either. He went off toward the bedroom to call the boys and didnât say another word.
Melody worried at her own forwardness in mentioning such things to him. It was none of her business, but she was fond of Amy and Polk. Guy was a trial, but he was intelligent and he had grit. They were good kids. If Emmett woke up in time to take proper care of them, theyâd be good adults. But they were heading for trouble without supervision.
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Emmett came back wearing a checked shirt and black boots. Being fully dressed made him feel better armored to talk to Miss Bossy in the kitchen.
âTheyâre getting up,â he muttered, sitting.
âIâll warm everything when they get in here.â She busied herself washing the dishes and cleaning the sink until the boys came out of her room, dressed. Then she escaped into the bedroom and closed the door. Emmettâs stare had been provokingly intimate. Sheâd felt undressed in front of those knowing eyes and she wondered why he had suddenly become so disturbing to her.
Seeing him without his clothes had kindled something unfamiliar in her. Sheâd never been curious about men that way, even if she did daydream about love and marriage. But Emmettâs powerful shoulders and hair-roughened chest and flat stomach and long, muscular legs, along with his blatant masculinity, stuck in her mind like a vivid oil painting that she couldnât cover up. He hadnât even had a white streak across his hips. That was oddly sensual. If he sunbathed, he must do it as he slept: without anything on. He looked very much like one of those marble statues sheâd seen photographs of, but he was even more thrilling to look at. She reproached herself for that thought.
She looked at the rumpled bed where Emmett had lain with the boys and her pulse raced. Tonight sheâd be sleeping where his body had rested. She wondered if sheâd ever sleep again.
After she was dressed, she went to the kitchen and warmed the food before she put it on the table. The kids all ate hungrily, even Guy, although he wouldnât look atMelody. He was just as sullen and uncommunicative as ever.
But now, Melody was avoiding looking at him, too. Guy noticed her resentment and was surprised that it bothered him. He was guilty about the cat, as well. It had been an ugly cat, all scarred and big and orange, but it had purred when he petted it. His conscience stung him.
He had to remember that Melody was responsible for his motherâs departure. Heâd loved his mother. Sheâd gone away, so it had to be because of him. Heâd given her a hard time, just as heâd been giving Melody one. Heâd been much more caring about his father since his mother left, because he knew it was his fault that sheâd run away with that Randy Cartman. If heâd been a better boy, a nicer boy, his mother would have stayed. Maybe if he could keep his father single, his mother would come back.
Blissfully unaware of his sonâs mistaken reasoning, Emmett smiled at the boy. He was a bit curious about Guyâs behavior. The boy and Melody were restrained with each other. Melodyâs eyes were accusing, and Guyâs were guilt-ridden. It wasnât a big jump from that observation to the subject of the cat.
He could ask Guy about it, but it would be better to