“Digger,” she said breathlessly when his mouth slid from hers. “I can’t stop you from following me, coming to the school or showing up at my house. I can’t stop the way I feel about you. But I can’t go on like this, either. Make up your mind. Either there’s going to be a relationship or there’s not. Stop playing me like a yo-yo.”

  “I know it’s unfair. I don’t know what comes over me. I saw you limping and something inside me snapped. You look tired, and you need my help.”

  “It’s harder than I thought it would be—Sam, the school, grief. I spend the whole night talking to her, trying to get her to understand why her world has changed.”

  “Go in. I’ll get Sam.”

  Erin headed for the inside garage door and hit the button that automatically closed the outside doors. Digger opened the van’s sliding door and found Sam asleep. In her hands was a picture frame. He picked it up and looked at it. It was the one from the bedroom. Lying it down he unhooked her harness and lifted her out of the seat.

  She woke up and saw him.

  “Hi, Sam.” He smiled. She started to scream, fighting in his arms, trying to get down. Digger held on to her to keep her from falling and hurting herself.

  Erin appeared in the doorway. “Digger, her picture.”

  “What?” He couldn’t hear what Erin said. Sam was fighting him for all her forty pounds were worth.

  “The photograph.”

  Erin started down the steps. He saw the photo and grabbed for it. He showed it to Sam. She grabbed it from him, holding it to her small breast as if it would save her life. Digger breathed hard.

  “What was that all about?” he asked when he got her in the house. Sam was holding on to Erin’s arm as she sat at the kitchen table.

  “She never lets it out of her sight,” Erin explained. “It’s like her security blanket. She needs it until she feels secure again. Right now she thinks the people she loves will go away and not come back.”

  Digger glanced at Sam. She was a different child from the one he’d met that first day, the one he’d caught in his arms many times since. She was sullen and lost. He recognized the symptoms. He knew where they could lead. Erin lifted her onto her lap and held her, stroking her hair and talking to her. That was the best that could be done.

  “Take her into the other room and you both put your feet up.”

  “I have to get her something to eat,” Erin said.

  “I’ll do it.”

  He went over and helped her up. Whatever she’d been doing for the past week was catching up with her. Her hip was in pain, and he felt like it was all his fault.

  Back in the kitchen he fixed what he could find, mainly leftover dishes that he heated in the microwave. They came out too hot or not hot enough. Neither Erin or Sam complained. They all ate in the family room.

  He tried to make Sam smile. She did several times but he could see her heart wasn’t in it. At bedtime he gave her a bath, keeping the photograph in sight and put her to bed holding it.

  Erin lay on the sofa where he’d left her. She was asleep too, but opened her eyes when he approached her.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  She sat up. “Is she asleep?”

  He nodded. “What have you been doing?”

  “Crawling over cases to find things. I had to move everything out of my office so they could break the wall down and I can’t find anything.”

  “Why didn’t you ask Jackson to do that?”

  “They moved the heavy stuff. It’s why I can’t find anything. Then Sam is constantly clinging to me. Sometimes she wakes up during the night and cries.”

  “So you’re not sleeping well either?”

  She shook her head. “But I’m so tired now I think I’ll go to sleep and never wake up.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “I’m going to massage that hip. Stay here.” He left her and went to the kitchen. While cleaning up earlier he’d seen the coconut oil. Bath oil would probably be better but he wouldn’t go looking through her bathroom. This would do, and it had a nice soothing smell.

  He poured it into a bowl and set it in the microwave while he went into the garage and collected some things he could use to construct a makeshift table. Then he gathered all the towels from the downstairs bathroom.

  “What are you doing?” Erin called.

  “I’m nearly done.” The microwave bell rang, and he lifted the bowl of oil out and set it on the counter.

  “I need you to come to the kitchen,” he said, offering her a hand to help her up. Erin took it without argument and limped into the softly lit room.

  “What is this?”

  “This is for the pain. It requires a little trust.”

  “Trust?” She immediately became defensive.

  “I’m going to have to touch you, massage your hip.” She looked as if she were weighing her options. “I promise it will make you feel better.” He tried to keep anything personal out of his voice. “Think of it as a doctor treating you.”

  “You’re not a doctor.”

  “Tonight I just want your pain to go away.”

  There was a load of meaning in his comment, but none of it sexual. He could help her and he was willing—if she would trust him. He’d massaged her hip before, but this time would be different.

  The bowl of oil was sitting on the counter and the smell of coconut wafted through the air. He’d lowered the shades, brought in some sawhorses and boards and used them to extend the kitchen counter to accommodate her height. He’d covered the counter and boards with sleeping bags he’d found in the garage. On top of those he’d spread the towels.

  “I need you to lie down on this.”

  A pain must have caught her for she squeezed her teeth together and waited a moment before she said anything. “What do I have to do?”

  “Just lie down here and put these over you.” He offered her the towels.

  “Without my clothes?”

  “Yes.”

  The single word hung in the air as if he’d said sex instead of yes. He wasn’t planning on sex. Not tonight.

  “I kept my clothes on before.”

  “This time I’m using oil.”

  “You’ve done this before?”

  He nodded. “In construction there are always aches and pains.” That was the truth, but he’d learned massage to take care of his foster father. He’d had an accident that had left him bedridden for six months. Digger had massaged his legs and helped him exercise until he recovered. Touching Erin would be different, but she was in pain and he could help.

  “I’ll get a robe and change.” She started toward the hallway.

  “I’ll get it. Where is it?”

  “Bathroom, through my bedroom.”

  She seemed reluctant to tell him, but walking all the way down the hall and back was obviously more painful than him seeing her bathroom. Or seeing the sexy nightgown he found hanging next to the robe.

  He handed her the robe, and she changed in the small bathroom off the kitchen. Digger turned the radio to a classical music station, then helped her onto the counter assembly and exchanged the robe for the large towels. He tested the heated oil and poured it into his hands. He began the practiced ritual.

  “Ohhh,” she breathed. “That feels good.”

  He didn’t say anything. He kept the pressure even, stroking in one direction, elongating the muscles, relaxing them and forcing them to release the pain that caused her discomfort.

  Erin didn’t want to concentrate on his hands. They were too warm and sent too many signals to her body.

  “Tell me about your brothers,” she asked to keep her mind off his hands. “Why aren’t any of them married?”

  “You’re supposed to be quiet.”

  “I will be quiet. You’re the one who’ll do the talking.”

  He laughed.

  “The last time you went to sleep. Sleep is good for you. You already told me you were tired.”

  She yawned as if on cue. He added more oil to her side and leg, pouring it over her brown skin, turning it a burnished gold. He massaged her muscles, using long strokes from waist to hip. With the music and the low light Erin eventually fell asleep. He continued the massage, doing her back and hips and legs.

  Then he covered her with the robe and towels and carried her to bed.

  “Stay with me,” she said as he lay her on the sheets.

  “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

  “You’re supposed to be made of stone. Let’s see if either of those are true.” She raised her head and her mouth met his. Digger let her body sink into the mattress and he sat down on it, taking her face in his hands as he looked into her eyes.

  “I could hurt you,” he whispered.

  “Only if you stop now.”

  She slipped closer to him, bringing her mouth back into contact with his. Digger held back. He didn’t think he could do this. She’d been limping badly. But her tongue crept into his mouth and he was lost. He cradled her closer, deepening the kiss, threading his fingers through her hair as the world tilted.

  For days, weeks, he’d dreamed of holding her in his arms, of her naked under him, of their bodies joined. Now he couldn’t deny himself any longer. He wanted to know everything about her. He wanted to hear the sounds she made in the dark, wanted to taste her, learn her body inch by inch. He wanted to know the pitch of her voice when she climaxed and the way she sighed when she was truly sated. If he were to go on breathing, he had to have her.

  Erin’s hand reached for the buttons on his shirt. The towels fell away from her, leaving her exposed to him. He touched her hot skin. Waves of heat radiated through him as the shirt opened and she pushed it over his shoulders and arms. He shrugged out of it as if it were an enemy. His hands took hold of her. Her body was slick with oil and his hands slid frictionlessly over smooth skin. She smelled of coconut, reminded him of tropical beaches, palms swaying in the breeze, dark waterfalls and mysterious secrets to be explored.

  He touched every part of her, sliding his hands over her arms and legs, tracing the zigzagging scar on her left leg, learning the contours of her waist and hips, outlining the length of her legs from her toes to her hipbone. Her skin was smooth, warm as wine and dark as the night.

  Her breath was ragged as his mouth seized hers. Passion built between them, leading them to some quest neither of them had been on before. Digger shed his clothes while he watched her lying naked on the bed. Her eyelids were half-closed, a sexy, drowsy kind of look that took in everything he offered. She looked coquettish and wanton at the same time.

  Digger closed the bedroom door. He snapped the lock into place and came to her, joining her on the bed and pulling her into his arms. Her mouth sought his as if he’d left her a hundred years earlier instead of the few seconds it took to discard his clothing.

  The arms that enclosed him were in no pain. The mouth that found his, that burnished it with want and need showed no vestiges of being tired. And when he entered her, the legs that parted had no need for massage. Digger tried not to hurt her. He set the rhythm at a slow pace. He heard Erin moan, heard the guttural sounds that came from her throat.

  He kissed her breasts, twin peaks that butted upward like brown cones. She raised her legs. He slipped further into her. Digger gritted his teeth and tried to hold back, but she arched upward into him, taking him fully inside her. Digger was lost.

  He slipped his hands under her, massaged her buttocks and slammed himself into her. The need to do it again and again swept over him. She was beautiful. Being with her made him beautiful.

  Erin met every thrust. Her back arched as her body accepted his invasion, craved it, thirsted for more pleasure. He rode her, rode hard and fast, as if something chased him, forced him to reach higher, go for something greater than he’d ever reached before. Erin seemed to understand. She was with him, reaching for the zenith, stretching upward. Her hands were on his back, raking down his skin. He could feel everything, his blood pumping, his nerves at skin level individually touched by the sensitized skin of Erin’s fingers.

  Digger had never felt like this, like there was a nirvana out there reserved for the two of them. That there was a quest he couldn’t refuse. That he had to get there. He had to reach it, had to go with Erin and no one else. He heard his voice, the groans that mingled with hers, the uncontrolled force that pushed the two of them toward each other, that took the two of them and made a single individual of them.

  Digger felt the wave begin, the trigger that flowed through his entire body, the rush that started near his belly and raced downward. He held back, holding it, keeping the rhythm going, continuing the pleasure he sought. He could feel it in Erin. She writhed under him, uncontrolled, hot.

  Then it happened. The explosion, the discharged dynamite, the eruption, with volcanic proportions that sent them to the place they had been seeking, the place of pure and honest pleasure.

  They clung to each other, breathing hard. Erin’s arms were around him, and he was lying on her. The smell of sex surrounded them, keeping them high for a few more seconds. Digger wished he could hold on to the moment. Keep it, relive it, but all too soon they were floating back to earth, back to the softness of the mattress.

  He rolled off of her, taking her with him as he removed any pressure from her hip. He kept her close, smelling her hair, taking in the sweet odor of their love and thinking that the reality of them together was so much greater than anything he’d dreamed.

  Chapter Ten

  Sunlight slanted across Erin’s face. She opened her eyes. Digger was gone. Disappointment streamed through her. She wanted to wake up with him, crawl into his arms and have him make love to her again. She wanted to run her hands over his body, feeling the taut muscles under his skin and knowing there was a tenderness inside him that was reserved only for her.

  She grabbed his pillow and inhaled the scent of him. He had been there. It wasn’t a dream. She could smell him on the sheets and the pillowcase, feel that delicious stiffness between her legs that told her they’d made love, exciting love, the kind that changed lives.

  Erin got up and went to the shower. The bed looked as if they’d danced on it and indeed they had. She couldn’t remember a better dance. She got under the water. He’d been there. The shower was still wet and the air in the stall had the sweetness of soap and the tangy roughness that she thought of when she thought of Digger.

  Is this how people fell in love? she wondered. With the love coming one slice of life at a time? He’d come to her rescue, taken her under his hands and removed her pain, then made love to her like no other, like she didn’t know love could be made. Erin washed her hair and let the shampoo slide down her body in great bubbles. She should remember her vows, but she wouldn’t this morning. The vestiges of last night lingered with her, lifting her heart and making her feel happier than she had in years. She wouldn’t break the spell.

  She dressed quickly in shorts and a top and kept her hair inside a towel turban. Checking on Sam, she found her bed empty. Where was she? Erin wondered. Since her parents died Sam had clung to Erin every minute.

  Padding silently down the hall, she heard Digger’s deep voice speaking lowly. Erin was glad he was still there, that he hadn’t left her alone with another goodbye. She stood and watched them from the corner of the family room. Digger had Sam in his lap. She held the photo.

  “Who is this?” Digger asked.

  “Mommy,” Sam said without sadness.

  “And this?”

  “My dad.”

  “What does your dad call you?”

  “Sy.”

  “Who am I?”

  She laughed. Tears clouded Erin’s eyes. Sam hadn’t smiled in weeks and now she was laughing.

  “You’re Digger, silly.”

  “I’m Digger Silly?” He acted surprised.

  “No, Digger.”

  “Well, Sam, why don’t we get some breakfast. Maybe then you can wake up Erin.”

  “Awake now.”

  Sam looked over his shoulder. Digger turned around and saw her. Erin left the wall where she stood and came into the room. She stopped next to the sofa where he sat. His hand touched her leg and tremors of excitement rushed through her.

  “Good morning,” he said with a sly smile.

  “Good morning.”

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Better than ever,” she told him. She had slept well, but neither of them were talking about sleep.

  “Waffles?” Sam asked.

  Erin returned her attention to Sam. “Sure, we can have waffles.”

  Erin headed for the kitchen. The makeshift massage table was gone; presumably Digger had put it back in the garage. Sam sat quietly in Digger’s lap talking to him instead of clinging to Erin while she cooked. Erin had never seen a man as good with kids as Digger was. She wanted to ask him about his child, but she knew it would change his mood and she wanted to hold on to this moment.

  Sam surprised Erin by eating a whole waffle, part of her eggs and drinking milk and orange juice. She wouldn’t leave Digger’s lap and the photo was placed on the table at the head of her plate. Digger didn’t have a problem eating and holding the little girl. He put away three waffles, bacon, eggs, juice and coffee.

  “How’s your hip?” he asked when they were drinking their second cups of coffee.

  “It feels normal.”

  “I didn’t hurt you?”

  She shook her head. Warmth rushed into her face at his meaning. Erin thought she was too old to blush, but thoughts of the wild ride they’d had last night were enough.

  “I’d better leave.” He stood up, lifting Sam with him. Small hands reached for the photo and toppled it over. It hit the table. Digger quickly retrieved it and handed it to her. Sam clutched it like a lifeline.

  Erin got up and went with them. At the door, Digger set Sam on the floor. She immediately clung to Erin’s leg.

  They both looked down at Sam and knew they couldn’t do what they wanted, be in each other’s arms.

  “I’d like to take you out to dinner tonight,” he drawled. His eyes were bright and trained on her mouth. “But I guess we can’t leave her with anyone.”