CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

      FAITH COULD CRY for a very long time, Levi noted. He was thinking it might be time for a tranquilizer. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any.

      He’d led her across the hall to his place, because, well, frankly, he had no idea what to do with a sobbing woman, and being on his own turf might help him a little. He got a box of tissues and sat her on the couch, where she continued to cry, burying her face in her dog’s neck, sobbing.

      Those noises were like shrapnel to the heart, recalling the other time he’d been helpless to comfort her—her wedding day. “Want me to make you something to eat?” he asked, setting down a box of tissues. She shook her head. “A beer? Wine? Whiskey, maybe?”

      Another head shake. She grabbed a tissue, blew her nose and kept crying.

      Well, hell. He patted her shoulder awkwardly, and she kissed his hand again. Blue put his paw against Levi’s leg and licked his hand as well, then put his muzzle on Faith’s lap.

      A bath. Women liked baths, right? A bath it would be. Also, he could get away from the crying for a second, because it made his insides hurt. His bathroom was needlessly enormous, and it did have a pretty amazing bathtub. Last time he’d used it, Blue had been the beneficiary of all those water jets. He turned on the knobs, checked the temp. Went into his sister’s bathroom and found some stuff under the sink—vanilla almond bubble bath, like Faith needed anything to make her smell any more edible—and went back to his bathroom and dumped in about half the bottle. Checked on Faith, who now had a pillow clutched to her stomach.

      “Come on, Holland. Bath time.”

      She looked up at him, so reminiscent of that little ghost who’d come back to sixth grade, that his heart gave a hard tug.

      “Levi,” she began.

      “No talking,” he said. He didn’t need to hear it, and she didn’t have to say it.

      A half hour later, Faith’s sobs had stopped, though the tears continued to pour out, almost like she didn’t notice, starring her eyelashes. Even so, she looked like an old-school Playboy bunny, albeit a very sad one, her hair piled sloppily on her head, bubbles up to her neck. She’d accepted the glass of wine he’d pressed into her hand and was putting a fair dent in it. Her dog sat with his chin on the edge of the tub, slightly wary either of his beloved’s mood or the memory of his own stint in this tub.

      Levi sat on a little footstool, watching her. Those tears made him want to beat someone up. He wanted to drive to the Holland house, pound on the door and grab John by his shirt and shake him. How could she have thought this accident was her fault all these years? What kind of father lets his twelve-year-old think that she in any way was responsible for a fatal car accident? How could he miss the fact that she felt that way? Didn’t anyone talk to her? How could she have kept that in for so damn long? Walking around, thinking of yourself as the reason your mother died, carrying that kind of guilt from the age of twelve on... It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

      He handed her another tissue. This was his job of the night, apparently. She blew her nose, then gave him a bleary smile.

      “You’ve been really great tonight, Levi.” Her voice wobbled.

      “Good.” He paused. “Truth is, I have no idea what the hell to do here.”

      For some reason, this caused a smile, followed by a fresh stream of tears. “Well, you’ve been wonderful. I’ll never be able to thank you for what you did.” Her face creased like she was about to start sobbing again, but instead, she rallied and took another swallow of wine.

      For some reason, her words made him feel like utter crap.

      All those years played back in his head. He remembered that girl from sixth grade and now saw, clear as day, that there was something darker, something heavier about her than simply a girl who’d lost her mom. Saw her being Princess Super-Cute on all those committees that no one else joined, Environment and World Justice and all that crap, maybe trying to make up for something, maybe trying to avoid the secret she carried. Maybe just trying to avoid going home.

      Saw her with Jeremy, grabbing on to him like a lifeline, because maybe that’s what he’d been. Marry the perfect boy next door, join your vineyards together, somehow create a kind of absolution.

      No wonder she hadn’t looked a little deeper at Jeremy. He’d been her redemption.

      “You want to come in?”

      The question startled him. “In the tub?”

      She gave a little smile. “Yes.”

      He paused. “Sure,” he said. Pulled off his shirt, then unlaced his boots and pulled them off, followed by his jeans and boxers, then got in behind her, her wet, slick skin sliding against his.

      Now is not the time, his conscience barked. She’s in mourning. Or something.

      Well. Faith wasn’t crying now. She was quiet, her head against his shoulder.

      “You doing okay?” he asked, slipping his arms around her. Impossible to avoid touching breast, so why bother trying?

      “Mmm-hmm.”

      He kissed her hair. Wasn’t sure what else to do. She relaxed into him, all soft, warm, wet sweetness. The dog eyeballed him like a disapproving chaperone. Right. Levi was supposed to be comforting Faith, not lusting after her.

      She slid around so she was lying on him, causing some water to slosh over the side, and the lust factor shot up into the red zone. Her dog lapped at the puddle on the floor.

      “Faith,” he said, and his voice was rough, “I can’t believe you’ve thought the wrong thing for so long. Someone should’ve told you it wasn’t your fault.”

      “Oh, they did,” she said. “But they...well, I told them I had a seizure. That’s what they meant. It wasn’t my fault because I couldn’t help having a seizure. And I just couldn’t tell them I didn’t.”

      “You should’ve told the truth, honey.”

      “No,” she said. “I couldn’t break my father’s heart even more. ‘Daddy, I’m sorry Mommy’s dead, but she was going to leave you.’ No. I couldn’t do that.” Her eyes were full again.

      “I hate this crying stuff,” he whispered, and for some reason, it made her laugh, even as the tears slid down her cheeks.

      “Well, take me to bed and make love to me, and maybe I’ll stop.”

      She was unpredictable, he’d give her that. “You sure?” he asked. “I could bake you cookies instead.”

      “You can bake me cookies after.”

      “All right then. You’re the boss.” He kissed her, that soft, pink mouth, then wrapped her legs around him and stood, keeping his mouth on hers, and lifted her out of the tub, resulting in a great rush of water