Kasha spent the night at her parents’ house. They had a long discussion about her past and Emma, and they reassured her that they would help any way they could as she assumed custody of her sister.
By the time she arrived at the ranch on Saturday morning for Axel’s therapy session, she felt both relieved and recommitted to keeping a tight leash on her emotions. She could resist her attraction to Axel. She would.
When there wasn’t an answer, she remembered that the Creedys were out of town for the weekend. But where was Axel?
Concerned that he might have slipped back into old habits and was pushing himself too hard again, she slipped around the back of the house, went through the gate, and walked past the pool. Her gaze penetrated the glass building, searching the workout machinery for Axel’s ripped, bare-chested body.
It took her a minute to find him because he was not on a machine. Nor was he, as she feared, outside throwing balls into the rebounder without her supervision.
Finally, she spied him. He was sitting in one corner of the gym, an art easel in front of him with his fully clothed back to her. He was intent in his work as sunlight flooded the canvas.
Painting.
He was painting. He’d taken her at her word, and gotten involved in a hobby. Would you look at that? Progress.
Kasha stepped closer, watching him paint. He was in the beginning of a project, the subject as yet to be revealed. Strong, controlled movements, the paintbrush an extension of him, languid strokes; his whole body fully engaged. He was painting in oil, gliding the hessian surface with a broad flat brush, weaving a banner of soft yellow over the existing dark merlot, the tip dancing, conducting an engaging interplay of light and dark.
Awestruck, Kasha stepped closer to the glass wall.
Clearly, this was not a new skill. He’d been painting for a while, and he did it the same way he pitched, with everything he had in him—passionately, wholeheartedly. Standing outside the building, watching him work, encapsulated, engulfed, Kasha felt strangely isolated, and nostalgic for something she’d never had.
He was in a world of his own. Intense. Focused. Persistent. Impassioned. Even through the distance of the glass, she could feel his energy, and his joy. He pulsed with it.
And Kasha was jealous. She wanted what he had, even as she feared it with every fiber of her being.
“Should I bring you a bib?”
Kasha jumped, spun around, saw Breeanne standing behind her, grinning. Sheepishly, she straightened, and tried to come up with a reason she was spying on Axel.
“I’ve never seen you drool over a guy,” Breeanne mused.
“I wasn’t . . . I’m not . . . it’s not . . .”
“Or stammer for that matter.” Breeanne looked like she’d found a secret door leading to a cave filled with pirate treasure. “It’s cute.”
“Good grief, Bree, he’s my patient!”
“Which is what makes your fan-girl crush so absolutely adorable.” Breeanne clapped her hands together in delight.
“I do not have a crush on Axel Richmond.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What are you doing here?” Kasha asked, shifting the subject, spinning things back under her control.
“Um . . . let’s see. This is my house too since I married Rowdy.”
“Why aren’t you in Dallas with your husband?”
“I’ve never missed one of Mom and Dad’s Memorial Day parties. Plus they were going to help me start the adoption process.”
Oh yeah, that. Kasha felt a twinge of guilt for being so wrapped up in her own problems she’d forgotten about Breeanne’s fertility issues.
The sound of their conversation must have seeped into the gym, because Axel turned from the easel, his eyes still glassy from the dreamy zone of artistic creation. But as soon as her gaze met his, Axel’s pupils widened, and a slow, easy grin—like the sun coming out after a long round of thunderstorms—broke across his face.
Kasha’s insides turned to jelly, all sweet and melty, and she thought, Oh hellz to the no. But she was already a goner and she knew. Had known it for days now.
It’s okay. Just because you feel it doesn’t mean you have to act on it.
“Ooh,” Breeanne said. “He’s looking at you the same way you’re looking at him.” And then she started humming “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.”
“Stop it,” Kasha mumbled from the side of her mouth as Axel got up from the easel and waved to them.
Breeanne launched into the lyrics, altering them to suit the situation. “Kasha just can’t handle it.”
“Sister, I love you to the full extent of your life, but I swear if you don’t knock it off . . .” Kasha knotted her fists teasingly.
“I’ll leave you to him.” Breeanne snickered and made a beeline for the house.
“Don’t you dare run out on me! Get back here. Don’t leave me alone with him.”
“Call me and tell me all about it later,” Breeanne called over her shoulder and disappeared inside.
Her heart jackhammered. She wanted to tell him to stop being so charming, but that would call attention to the fact he’d beguiled her. She was beguiled. Dammit.
A smiling Axel opened the door. His body strong and hard. His brown eyes lively under thick black lashes. Every cell in her body vibrated and hummed.
“Hey, you,” he said.
“Um . . . hey.”
“Where did Breeanne go?”
“She had . . .” Kasha flapped a hand over her shoulder. “. . . a thing.”
Axel’s eyes grazed her body from the top of her head to the feet shod in sensible work flats, but he was looking at her as if she were dressed like a calendar pinup girl. “How long have you been standing here?”
“Uh . . . just walked up.”
He shook his head. He wore a pair of old gray cotton gym shorts and a plain white T-shirt dotted with flecks of paint. For the first time since she met him, he looked utterly and completely relaxed. It was a delicious look for him. “Fibber.”
“It’s the truth,” she said stubbornly.”
“I could see your reflection in the chrome of the exercise equipment,” he said. “You’ve been here for several minutes.”
“If you knew I’d been standing out here for a while, then why did you ask?”
“I wanted to see if you’d tell me that you were spying on me.” His tone teased.
“I wasn’t spying. How I could I be spying? You were in a glass room. Anyone walking by could see you.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” He was smirking now.
“You don’t have to be so smug about it.”
“You enjoy watching,” he accused.
She smiled.
“Voyeur.”
“You’ve been holding out on me. You said you weren’t passionate about anything but baseball.”
“Baseball is my love.” His smile softened. “Painting is my therapy.”
“How long have you been painting?” she asked, struggling to keep from ogling him.
“Since I was five years old. My mother is an artist, and she gave me an art set for my birthday, and from the moment I picked up the brush, it felt natural.”
“You have so much talent,” she marveled. “Why did you choose baseball as a career over art?”
“Baseball was something my dad and I did together,” he said, his tone full of nostalgia, “and then later with my friends, and Little League. Art is solitary. I guess I’m just an extrovert at heart.”
“It was the sense of community that won you over?”
“That and I really love baseball.”
When he grinned, she could see him as a gap-toothed seven-year-old with a recalcitrant cowlick, and her heart gave a crazy little skip that terrified her. “And you don’t love painting?”
“I do, but I knew I would never be as good at art as I am at baseball.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about your painting before?”
He gave a boyish shrug as if to say, Sharing ruins it. “I do it just for me.”
“It’s private.”
“Yeah.”
“I get that.”
“Do you?” He stepped closer, his gaze hooked on her lips.
Her pulse quickened, and her breath shortened. Purposefully, she lengthened her exhales, getting back on keel, asserting control. “Privacy keeps it sacred.”
“What about you?” he murmured.
“What about me?”
“What sacred things don’t you share?”
“If I shared them, they would no longer be sacred.”
“Think of it as a bonding exercise,” he said. “I know you’re a physical therapist, and you love yoga, and that you have an illegitimate half sister who lives in a group home, and you haven’t told your family about her yet . . .”
“Actually, I told my parents about Emma last night.” She tried to keep her voice level, which was hard to do when unexpressed emotions torqued her chest up tight.
“How did it go?”
She met his eyes. “Better than I expected. Stirred up some tough memories, but we worked through it.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
She toyed with the end of her braid. “No.”
“Okay.” He took measure of her. “Got anything else you want to share? Those tough memories?”
“Not really.”
“It’s not fair. You know my secret, and I know nothing about yours. We’ve got an imbalance of power.”
“We already had an imbalance of power.” She folded her arms, cupped opposite elbows with her palms. “I’m in charge of your healing.”
“So.” He lowered his voice, leaned in. “Let’s level the playing field.”
“You feeling vulnerable with all your secrets exposed?”
“Exactly.” His eyes twinkled.
She shook her head, but she couldn’t ignore him. The man was so alive, so compelling, so freaking hot.
“Come on,” he cajoled, tapping his ear with an index finger. “Whisper to me. Your secrets are safe. I won’t tell another soul.”
His grin was so beguiling that she was coaxed to tell him something small and inconsequential. Kasha lowered her voice, her eyelashes, and her reserve.
“Tell me.”
“Promise not to laugh.”
“I promise.”
“Shh.” Her laugh came out huskier than she intended, and she couldn’t quite tear her gaze from his, ensnared in a sweet spell she had no business being caught in. “When I was thirteen, I had a major crush on Nick Carter.”
“From the Backstreet Boys?”
“That’d be the one,” she admitted.
“Ain’t no shame in crushin’ on the boyz,” Axel joked. “Number one boy band ever.”
“How would you know the first thing about boy bands?”
“Because teenage girls compare teenage boys to the musicians in their favorite bands.”
“Ahh. Makes sense.”
They looked at each other and grinned, intrigued by the new secrets they’d found out. Her heart, so long held caged, safe from romantic emotions, filled with the most delirious kind of hope.
“Whenever you smile, Sphinx, it makes me feel as if heaven opened up and rained down gold.”
“Ouch,” she said, delighted and slightly embarrassed by the adoring expression on his face. “That sounds painful.”
“Not at all.” He leaned in, all muscles and male. “It hurts so good.”
What did he mean? What was he suggesting?
“Axel,” she whispered.
“Kasha,” he whispered back, his face on fire with light and energy.
She smelled sunshine and oil paint and Axel. She wanted to feel the scrape of his sexy beard stubble against her cheek, to taste his heated lips. As she stared into his beautiful dark eyes, almost the color of her own, she could have sworn she heard harps playing and angels singing. And felt the warm, strong grip of his imaginary embrace.
Too much.
It was all too much. Here she was again, taking a magic carpet ride to fantasyland.
She stepped back to clear her head, clear the air of the seductive sexual current sweeping them both along.
“Well,” she said, shaking herself out. “Put away the paints and canvas. It’s time to get down to work.”
They worked outside in the shade that morning, playing underhanded catch, doing exercises designed to specifically target his type of shoulder injury, practicing beginning yoga poses, following it up with Kasha guiding him through a meditation while he lay in a hammock underneath the trees.
Axel tried his best to shut down his sexual feelings for Kasha, but he was a lost cause. He wanted the woman. Fiercely.
Breeanne came out with a picnic lunch and blanket, but didn’t stay to eat with them. “I’m headed over to Mom and Dad’s,” she explained.
Axel spread out the blanket near the flower garden, sat down, and started laying out the food—pasta salad, raw veggies and dip, fresh fruit—light, healthy fare.
“Nice of her to make us lunch,” he said.
“That’s Breeanne,” Kasha said, hues of admiration, respect and love for her sister in her eyes. “She always puts the needs of others first, even as a kid when she went through heart surgery after heart surgery.”
“You’re lucky to have her.”
“I know,” Kasha said, her voice growing huskier, softer. “Things could have gone so differently for me if I hadn’t—”
She broke off, and busied herself with peeling a banana, and Axel couldn’t help wondering if she’d been on the verge of telling him about how she’d come to live with the Carlyles. The urge to protect her fisted around his spine, hard and insistent. He hadn’t felt protective like this about anyone since . . .
Well, since Dylan.
That drew him up short. What did his feeling mean?
Axel studied her.
She was watching butterflies flit among the blooms, her face soft and peaceful, fully absorbed by the beautiful float and grace of the insects. How did she achieve it, this sublime mindfulness?
The breeze ruffled her hair that had fallen loose from her braid, and rippled the material of her white silk blouse. The scent of her shampoo—floral and sweet—drifted over to him, and he admired the way the sun threw dappled lighting through the tree leaves to pepper her caramel skin with a creamy glow.
In that moment, Axel knew he had to have her. Not just in his bed. Not just for one night. But in his life.
Forever.
This was crazy. He’d never even kissed her, hardly knew her. And yet it felt as if he’d known her intimately all his life. They had a special, indefinable connection.
Question was how did he convince her? Not to mention, how did he fit her into his life? She was a small-town girl who was about to gain custody of her handicapped sister, and he was a hard-driving ballplayer with designs on pitching for the New York Yankees. How could two people with such different goals make it work?
Didn’t matter. He might not know how right now, but he would find a way.
Something had shifted in their relationship after Kasha discovered Axel was a closet painter. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what had changed, or why, but change it had.
The formidable sexual attraction was still there; if anything, it was stronger than ever. But there was something more. Something with more weight and heft. Behind the hot, hard lust in his eyes whenever he looked at her, there was added dimension that went beyond physical desire. She didn’t know what it meant, but it thrilled her and at the same time terrified her.
What was going on?
She left the ranch that afternoon feeling disoriented and giddy and worried. To calm down, she dropped in on a yoga class, which was much less attended than usual because of the Memorial Day weekend; only the diehard yogis showed up.
One thing was for sure, she needed to get herself in hand, and concentrate on what was important. Finishing this job satisfactorily so she could get custody of Emma. That was her priority. This thing with Axel could not work even if she wasn’t his therapist. She was better off not even thinking about him, but even two hours of vinyasa flow could not unstick him from her mind.
She was falling hard and fast and didn’t know how to climb off the merry-go-round. But she had to, because everything good in both their lives depended on it.
On Sunday morning after church services, butterflies batted against Kasha’s stomach as she walked up to the group home to take Emma home for an overnight stay. She’d readied the guest room, and after consulting with Molly Banks about how she thought Emma would handle the party, she stocked her fridge and pantry with Emma’s favorite foods.
The entire household met her at the door to see Emma off. Cliff handed her Emma’s luggage, and Molly gave her a sack of medications.
“In the mornings,” Molly said, “she takes the pink liquid for her allergies, the white pill to keep her from having seizures, and the—”
Kasha blinked. “She has seizures?”
“Not if she takes her pills,” Molly said. “But I can see I’m overwhelming you. I wrote down the instructions, and put them in the sack with her meds. Feel free to call me if you have any questions. Oh, and her doctor’s phone number is on the medication list.”
“Uh, yes, thank you.” Kasha tucked the sack under her arm, as it hit her how little she knew about her sister’s medical condition.
Emma was amped up, jumping and smiling and singing a nonsense song. She wore red Bermuda shorts, a red and white striped T-shirt, and red Keds. Her hair was pulled into pigtails with red and white ribbons. Her glasses had slipped down the end of her nose and she looked utterly adorable.
“Try to calm her down if you can,” Molly whispered in Kasha’s ear. “It’s hard to contain her if she gets spun up. Don’t let her get spun up.”
Spun up? What exactly did that mean?
But Kasha didn’t have a chance to pull Molly aside for clarification. Emma was clutching her hand and dragging her toward the Prius parked at the curb.
Once they were loaded up and buckled into the car, Kasha turned to Emma and said, “Would you like to play a game?”
“Game!” Emma clapped her hands.
“Okay. Take a long, deep breath like this.” Kasha demonstrated.
Emma studied her, then followed suit.
“Now let it out slowly.” Kasha exhaled audibly.
Emma did the same.
“Here’s the game. I bet you can’t do that ten times in a row,” Kasha said.
Emma stared at her, arms crossed over her chest, bottom lips pouched out. “Lame game.”
Yes, okay, it was. “Take ten slow deep breaths and we’ll go to a party.”
“Party!”
“Deep breaths.”
Emma ignored her.
Don’t let her get spun up. Molly’s words of warning echoed in Kasha’s ears. What should she do?
She wasn’t going to insist Emma take deep breaths when she seemed so resistant. Kasha smiled softly, and took some more deep breaths herself. If she was calm, hopefully it would calm Emma.
“Would you like to listen to music?” Kasha asked.
“Mu’ic!”
Kasha turned the satellite radio to soothing spa music.
Emma crinkled her nose, reached over, and punched buttons on the radio until she found a hard-driving hip-hop song with shocking lyrics. Satisfied, Emma settled back in the seat, those red Keds bobbing in time to the beat.
Great. From the frying pan into the fire.
She reached over to turn the music down.
“No!” Emma grunted and turned it back up, louder this time.
Um, okay. Kasha bit her bottom lip. She’d not seen Emma like this before, but everyone had off days. No doubt it was the excitement. Patience. Compassion. Understanding. That’s what was needed.
Plus, picking her battles. She wasn’t going to escalate things by changing the music or turning it down again. Not worth it.
Besides, Molly’s warning might have prejudiced her for trouble. She was going to assume everything would work out just fine.
“We’re going to have a fun day,” she said to Emma.
“Fun!” Emma cried.
“Fun,” Kasha agreed, and felt her tension ebb. No expectations. No pressure. She could handle whatever challenges might come her way. In fact, she would look at any glitches as opportunities to get to know Emma better.
“I love you, titter,” Emma announced at the top of her voice and unbuckled her seat belt so she could lean over to hug Kasha as she drove.
“I love you too, sweetheart, but please sit down and put your seat belt back on.”
Emma was practically in her lap, throwing one leg over the gear shifter and one arm around Kasha’s neck, and planting a wet kiss on her temple.
Oh heavens.
Kasha eased off the accelerator and guided the car to the curb as best she could under the circumstances.
“Why we toppin’?” Emma asked.
“Because the car doesn’t move unless everyone inside is sitting down with a seat belt on.”
“Okay.” Emma nodded agreeably, and returned to her seat.
Kasha blew out a pent-up breath. Rule established and followed. Good. Good. She started the car back up again, and Emma was a paragon of virtue for the rest of the ride to the party. Emma even reached over to turn down the music herself.
Everything was going to be all right.
Thirty minutes later, Kasha was rethinking her decision about bringing Emma to the party.
Even though her parents, sisters, and friends tried repeatedly to encourage Emma to take part in the festivities, the girl clung to Kasha’s side like a cocklebur. Every time someone spoke to Emma directly, she would wrap her arms tightly around Kasha’s waist and bury her face against her side.
Not once had Kasha seen her half sister act shyly, and she wasn’t prepared for it.
Belatedly, she thought about how Axel had told her to get a battle plan. She should have listened.
“Don’t worry,” Mom said to Kasha, as she sat at the kitchen table with a trembling Emma and a roomful of guests. “This boisterous bunch takes some getting used to. She’ll come around. I’ve told everyone to back off and give our girl some space.”
“I remember it took Kasha a while to warm up to us too,” Trudy said. “Lord, that was over twenty years ago.”
Kasha put her arm around Emma, and didn’t try to coax her to speak.
It wasn’t until Suki’s cat, Callie, sauntered into the room that Emma lit up. “Kitty!” she exclaimed, and charged for the calico.
Kasha, Suki, and her mother all sprang to their feet at once. With her PTSD, Callie could be unpredictable if someone grabbed her unexpectedly, and Emma looked bent on grabbing her.
“Emma no,” Kasha said, trying not to sound panicky. “Don’t lunge at the kitty.”
But Emma was already squatting in front of Callie, and the purring calico put her front paws up on her knees. The cat stretched out her neck and licked Emma’s cheek.
Emma giggled, plopped down on her butt on the kitchen floor, and pulled the cat into her lap.
“Wow,” Suki said. “I’ve never seen Callie take so readily to a stranger. Emma’s got the magic touch.”
“Kitty.” Emma stroked the cat gently, and Kasha felt her shoulders relax.
Callie was the icebreaker Emma needed, and suddenly she was chattering to everyone, and things were good again.
The next trouble came when Suki went outside and Callie went with her. Emma followed the cat, and Kasha followed Emma.
And there was Axel, coming through the gate into the backyard, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, a platter of chocolate-covered strawberries in the other. He wore beige chinos and a black polo shirt, with the collar spread open, showing a bit of tanned bare chest.
Having forgotten about Axel being invited to the party, Kasha stopped, the smell of barbecue in her nose and the sound of kids splashing in the swimming pool drumming through her ears.
He looked at her.
She looked at him.
They inhaled at the same time. Drawing in the same air. Oh no.
“Why did you bring me flowers and chocolate-covered fruit?” she asked. “We’re not dating. This isn’t a date.”
“Flowers are for your mom,” he said mildly, his eyes lively with amusement. “Chocolate for the party.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling stupid. Things were weirdly different now, and she had no idea where they stood.
“Did you want me to bring you chocolates and flowers?”
“No, no, no, no.”
“’Cause you made it clear we couldn’t date or—”
“We can’t. Shh. Someone will hear you.”
“You’re not going to get fired for talking to me, Sphinx.”
“I know. I’m just . . . thrown seeing you out of place.”
“You mean on your home turf.”
“I didn’t think you’d really come,” she said.
“Is that Emma?” he asked, motioning with his chin since his hands were occupied.
Kasha turned to see Emma talking to three neighborhood ten-year-old girls who appeared to have crashed the party without their parents. “Yes.”
“Can I meet her?”
“Relieve yourself of produce first.”
“Good idea.”
She walked with him to the back door and into the house, casting a glance over her shoulder at Emma. Gentle Breeanne took Emma’s hand and guided her over to the tire swing. And Kasha realized this party would stand out as one of the most pivotal days of her life.
It was the beginning of the change. Once she had custody of Emma, there would be no going back. Things would never be the same.
But she wasn’t in this alone. Her family had her back, and by extension, they also had Emma’s.
Breeanne pushed Emma in the tire swing. The girl pumped her legs and grasped the rope with both hands; her teeth sank into her bottom lip as if she were concentrating for all she was worth.
Kasha waited at the screen door, keeping one eye on Axel, one on Emma, while her mother gushed over Axel’s flowers, and set the strawberries on the sideboard already laden with a massive amount of food.
“How’s she doing?” Axel asked close to her ear, his chin hovering over her shoulder as he leaned in to follow her gaze.
Kasha jumped, not realizing he’d snuck up on her. “Rocky start, but things are looking up.”
“That’s the thing about rocks, eventually they smooth out.”
“That sounds uncharacteristically philosophical.”
“Maybe I’m starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.” He rotated his shoulder. “Thanks to you.”
“Want some lunch?” she asked.
“Those burgers your dad is flipping are making my stomach rumble. Okay if I eat meat?”
“Free country,” she said, and toed the screen door open, feeling swoony and claustrophobic from being so close to him.
He followed her down the steps, right on her heels. She could feel him behind her, big and imposing.
“Emma,” she called.
Emma was sitting at the picnic table with the three neighborhood ten-year-olds, who were eating watermelon slices and seeing how far they could spit the seeds.
Kasha got an uneasy feeling about the three girls, who were usually quite cliquish. Why were they being so chummy with Emma? “Come here a minute. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Is she your mom?” one of the girls said to Emma. “If she’s not your mom, you don’t have to do what she says.”
“My titter,” Emma explained proudly.
“Ahmm, you said ‘tit.’” Another girl slapped her hand over her mouth, a calculating gleam in her eyes.
“What’s a titter?” giggled the third girl. “Is it anything like a uni-boob?”
Emma’s smile slipped, and she looked confused. “Tit-ter. ’He my titter.”
“That guy is your titter?” The first girl snorted with laughter.
“Oh,” said the second girl. “I get it. You don’t know how to say sister. It’s sis-ter. Repeat after me, sis, sis, sis.”
“Tit, tit, tit,” Emma said.
The three girls were laughing so hard they clasped their bellies and one even rolled right off the picnic bench.
Tears filled Emma’s eyes, as she kept crying out, “Tit, tit, tit.”
Overwhelmed by a protective rage balling up in the back of her chest, Kasha forcefully exhaled. She wanted to snatch up those tacky girls and toss them out of the yard by the scruff of their necks.
“Emma,” she said. “Please, come here.”
“Easy there, Mama Hen.” Axel put a restraining hand on Kasha’s shoulder. “I’ve got this.”
He sauntered over to the picnic table, moving with the loose hips and low-slung gait of a gunslinger.
The three ten-year-olds suddenly didn’t look so smug or cocky. They squirmed and glanced down at their watermelon slices. He sat down across from them, right beside Emma. Kasha stood watching him, anxiety climbing up her throat.
“Hello young ladies,” he said, his voice light, upbeat, but his eyes dark as thunder.
The girls mumbled, shifted, did everything but meet his gaze. They got up, were about to sidle off when he pointed at the bench. “Sit.”
They exchanged uncertain glances.
“Sit,” he invited in an obey-me tone.
Simultaneously, all three of them plunked back down.
“I know you girls were just teasing Emma, but I think you might have hurt her feelings. Apologize.”
The boldest girl finally raised her eyes to meet Axel’s cool stare. “I’m sorry.”
“Not to me.” Axel’s voice was as flat, hard, and level as an anvil. “To Emma.”
Kasha’s pulse thumped double time. What should she do?
“Sorry,” the girl muttered in Emma’s direction.
“Not good enough,” Axel said amicably. “Tell her why you’re sorry.”
“Sorry we made fun of the way you talk.” The girl tossed her hair.
“It okay.” Emma bobbed her head.
“Now you.” Axel nodded at the second girl, pointed at the third. “And then you.”
Looking unhappy about it, the other two girls apologized.
“Wow,” Suki whispered from behind Kasha. “He’s my hero.”
Mine too. Kasha’s heart swelled against her rib cage.
“You should be jumping his bones,” Suki said. “Why aren’t you jumping his bones?”
“He’s my patient,” Kasha murmured.
“So quit that job.”
“Can we go now?” The first girl raised an insolent chin.
Axel nodded. “But I’m watching you. Toe the line.”
The girls got up to leave.
“Don’t go.” Emma wailed in distress.
The girls turned. Emma chased after them. The girls linked arms and took off.
“Wait, wait for me,” Emma cried.
Kasha’s stomach roiled, and she went after her sister. “Emma, let’s have some ice cream.”
The girls slipped through the back gate and hustled down the alley. The gate swung closed behind them, leaving Emma in the backyard, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Wait,” she called after the girls. “Wait for me!”
Kasha snagged Emma’s elbows before she could push through the gate in pursuit of the girls. “There’s homemade ice cream. Let’s go get some.”
“No!” Emma shrieked, and shook off Kasha’s arm.
Kasha was acutely aware that people were watching them. She lowered her voice, flashed the biggest smile she could muster. “Strawberry,” she coaxed. “Molly told me you loved strawberry ice cream.”
Emma’s bottom lip protruded in a petulant pout, and she crossed her arms over her chest, a deep frown cleaving between her eyebrows. “No!”
“We have cookies too. Chocolate chip.”
Emma’s eyes widened. She glanced down the alley to the backs of the departing girls, and then swung her gaze back to Kasha. “No!”
“Then let’s go put on your swimsuit so we can go swimming.” Kasha took Emma’s arm again, gently but firmly, and tried to guide her half sister toward the house.
“No!” Emma rooted her feet into the ground, solid as stone. Clenched her jaw. Narrowed her eyes. Defiantly wrenched her arm from Kasha’s grasp. Balled up her fists. Things were escalating fast.
What now?
Feeling every eye in the yard watching them, Kasha sucked in a fortifying breath. It was starting to dawn on her what it was going to be like to take care of an eight-year-old in an adult’s body.
Gone was the sweet young woman Kasha had encountered on her visits to the group home. Emma changed before her eyes, growing hostile and churlish. The same girl who, less than an hour ago, had pressed herself shyly against Kasha’s side and clung to her for comfort was becoming aggressive and angry.
Emma planted two palms against Kasha’s chest and shoved.
Hard.
If Kasha hadn’t been so adept at maintaining her balance she would have fallen backward at the force. As it was, she teetered, wobbled, but quickly righted herself.
Hurt and disappointment flooded her body. Her mouth tasted metallic. Her blood went icy with alarm.
Don’t take it personally, she reminded herself.
This wasn’t about her. This was about Emma. She’d taken the girl from the safety and structure of the group home and dropped her into a stimulating environment with strangers. What had she expected was going to happen?
Had she expected rainbows and unicorns and cotton candy skies?
Unwise. It had been unwise of her to bring Emma into a crowd on her very first visit.
She’d told Howard Johnson she was prepared for the challenges that came along with custody of her half sister. It was time to put her money where her mouth was. Prove it.
From the corner of her eyes, she saw Axel moving toward them as if to intervene, but Kasha held up a restraining palm. I’ve got this.
He nodded and stepped back, but never took his eyes off them.
Kasha switched back to hold her sister’s belligerent gaze. “Emma,” she said quietly, calmly. “We don’t shove. It’s not nice.”
Emma’s bottom lip quivered.
“I know you’re scared,” Kasha murmured. “I know those girls hurt your feelings.”
“I . . .” Tears misted Emma’s eyes, and all the fight went out of her. Her shoulders slumped and she hung her head. “I not normal.”
Kasha’s heart broke. Just broke right in two pieces. Emma knew she was different, and Kasha couldn’t fix it.
“You are exactly who you are meant to be, sweetheart,” Kasha cooed. “You are perfect just as you are.”
“I bad. I puhed you.”
“We all do things we shouldn’t do when we’re hurt and scared and upset. It’s okay. It’s going to be all right.”
“I torry.” Tears streamed down Emma’s face. “I torry Ka’cha. I torry.”
“Oh, Emma. I’m sorry too.” Kasha opened her arms and enveloped her sister in a hug.
Emma wrapped her arms around Kasha, buried her face against her breasts, and sobbed for all she was worth.
Kasha held her tight. Embraced her. Embraced the bittersweet moment full of dread and shame and disappointment and understanding and healing and forgiveness.
For Emma.
For herself.
For them both.
Kasha held her sister for a long moment, blocked out everyone and everything else around them. Existed for a time in the perfectness of those few minutes.
Not judging. No more expectations. Just accepting what was.
Those serene ticks of the clock were calm, blissful, and huge.
Finally, Emma’s sobs subsided.
“Would you like to go swimming now?” Kasha whispered. They could fix this. The day could be salvaged. “Or would you like ice cream and cookies? What would you like to do?”
Emma pulled back, looked up into Kasha’s eyes, her face rippling with uncertainty and worry and fear. “Ka’cha,” she said. “I wanna go home. Plea take me home.”