Part 297 (2/2)

She would call for help. If it didn't get there in time, she would help

herself Her heart tatooed against her chest as she lifted the receiver.

”Emma! I'm drowning out here.”

”Michael?” The phone slipped out of her fingers and fell to the floor.

She let the poker drop as well as she rushed to the door. Her fingers

weren't steady as she fumbled with locks. She could hear him swearing.

By the time she pulled open the door and threw her arms around him, she

was laughing.

”Sorry, I don't get the joke.”

”No, I'm sorry. It was just that I-” But when she drew back, she saw

something in his eyes she hadn't seen before. Despair. ”Here, let me

help you. You're soaked through.” She helped him peel off his jacket.

”I've got some tea. I wish I'd thought of brandy, but there's probably

a bottle of whiskey somewhere.” She nudged him over by the fire, then

went into the kitchen. Moments later, she returned with a cup. He

hadn't moved, she noted. He just stood there, looking down at the

flames.

”It's a nice Irish tea, heavy on the Irish.” She handed it to him.

”Thanks.” He sipped, grimaced, then downed it.

”You should get out of those wet clothes.”

”In a minute.”

She started to speak again, then changed her mind and went quietly

upstairs. When she came back, she simply took his hand. ”Come on. I'm

running you a bath.”

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