with the joke. “I’m not sure what she’s into now, but when she was a teenager, she liked the B-52s...Fine Young Cannibals...Madonna...U2. How’s that sound?” As a little girl, Tara used to copy moves from MTV videos to practice with Faye, who’d been an uncoordinated teenager.
Rita made a face. “That’s nasty. Better bring headphones.”
Tara laughed, praying Faye would make it to a room, even if it were to torture Rita with bad music. She felt a rush of gratitude and lunged to her feet to give Rita a quick hug. “Thanks for taking such good care of her.”
Rita’s mocha coloring deepened. “No need to fuss over a person just doing her job, which I need to get on with right now.” Rita hurried off and Tara turned back to Faye.
She looked so small, so still, so beat-up. Sadness built to a huge crashing wave Tara knew she wouldn’t be able to hold back. She turned to go, to find the privacy of a bathroom, just as a man stepped in. Dylan.
“Tara?” He seemed to read her face, then opened his arms.
She went straight into them and burst into tears, muffling her sobs against his shirt, breathing in starched cotton, feeling the familiar comfort, the safety of Dylan’s embrace. He rubbed her back, palms pressing hard, easing the muscle cramps she got when she was upset. He remembered.
If Faye was her family, then Dylan Ryland had been her home.
They’d been so close, so in love.
Until they weren’t.
As the sadness ebbed, she realized how stupid this was. The first time she’d seen him in ten years and she bursts into tears in his arms? How clingy. How weak. She’d done the same thing years ago, when he’d told her he wasn’t coming with her to college.
Ashamed, she broke away. “Sorry.” Then she saw she’d left a wet blotch and streaks of mascara on his crisp blue oxford. “I ruined your shirt.”
“Forget it.” He whipped a tissue from the box on Faye’s tray and held it out.
Tara took it and wiped his shirt, aware instantly that his chest was broader and more muscular than before.
He stopped her hand, his palm warm. “That was for you. My shirt’s fine.”
“Oh.” She looked at him. He was as handsome as ever—maybe more so. His skin was the same golden-brown, his hair chestnut with glints of blond. He had the same ready smile and smoky gray-green eyes that used to make her catch her breath when they looked at her.
Her breath caught now. Startled, she stepped back, wiping her cheeks with the tissue, scrubbing under her eyes for the rest of the mascara, wishing he’d stop staring at her.
She felt a warm glow, that tight feeling down low, that ticking awareness of him as a man, of her as a woman. It jangled her nerves, already in turmoil from sadness, worry and the humiliation of sobbing in his arms.
“It’s good to see you,” he said softly.
The glow flared into a steady flame, warming her, softening her, tightening her, too. What was wrong with her? This was no way to feel. Not here. Not now. Not ever really.
It’s good to see you, too. She couldn’t deny that, but she didn’t have to say it out loud.
Looking closer, she noticed changes—his cheekbones and jaw were more defined, his eyes more knowing. There were laugh lines outlining his strong mouth. He’d been more boy than man at eighteen. Now he was all man. All man.
The thought made the flame shoot through her like the adrenaline of sudden danger. She had to get control. “What are you doing here?” she asked more abruptly than she intended.
“I was in Tucson on business and I wanted to touch base with your mother.” He glanced past Tara at the bed where Faye lay. “How is she?”
“The nurse says she’s a fighter,” Tara said, her voice cracking. “Sounds like the standard buck-up-the-family speech, doesn’t it?”
“Faye’s a strong person,” he said firmly, as if that would be enough to save her. Tara hoped it would be. He studied Faye for a long quiet moment, as if sending her healing strength. It made Tara feel less scared.
“How are you holding up?” He looked at her the way he always had, searching, missing nothing, his gaze piercing but tender. He’d understood her without words. As a teenager in the throes of first-love, she’d been wild about that, basked in it, adored it.
Now it made her feel naked...vulnerable.
“Oh, I’m a fighter, too,” she said, forcing a smile. She didn’t