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shrug out of the towel. He helped her into the shirt and quickly buttoned it up.
    Taggert walked in and Greer looked up to see distress in his older brother’s eyes. Tagg wanted to say something. Greer could see it. He was battling with himself, not knowing whether it was the time.
    Greer shook his head, hoping Taggert got the message. Whatever it was could wait. Emily was at her end. There was no way she could process anything Tagg had to say anyway.
    Greer tucked Emily into bed, pulling the covers up so she would be warm. She was still crying, her shoulders shaking, but no sound escaped from her lips. He leaned down to kiss her and whispered a silent prayer that she would make it out of this.
    When he stood, Taggert was still standing by the door, his hand rubbing a stressed path through his hair. Greer motioned him out of the bedroom, and the two met in the hall.
    “She’s blaming herself,” Taggert said. “Goddamn it, Greer. She lost it when I told her that if I’d never sent her away Sean would still be alive. I did this to her. She went to pieces at his grave, and she apologized to me. Said it was her fault, not mine.”
    Greer blew out a long breath. “It had to happen, Tagg. Whatever the reason for it, she couldn’t keep on in denial, just existing day to day like some damn ghost. We’ll figure out why she blames herself later. Right now I’m just glad she’s finally letting herself cry.”
    “Why is it that I’m always the one to hurt her?”
    The self-condemnation in Taggert’s voice was strong, and as much as he didn’t like the idea of his brother in pain, Greer’s focus was Emily.
    He put a hand on Taggert’s shoulder. “Put it away, man. You’re not doing yourself or her any good. She needs us both right now. I’m going to go down and get her some soup. She’s cried herself hoarse.”
    “I’ll stay with her until you get back,” Taggert said as he turned back to Emily’s door.

Chapter Six
    Crying females had always made Taggert uncomfortable, but this wasn’t a woman pouting or crying because she hadn’t gotten her way. It wasn’t an effort at manipulation or an upset that she’d get over in a few minutes.
    He was completely and utterly baffled as to how to help her. Should he hold her? Touch her? Not touch her?
    Did he tell her he loved her—had always loved her—or would that just pile more on her when she couldn’t stand up under what she already bore?
    He stood by her bed, running his hand through his hair for the tenth time. Christ, but there weren’t rule books for these situations. What if he did or said the wrong thing?
    In the end, the decision was made for him.
    Emily turned her face and stared up at him, the silent trails down her cheeks ripping his heart right out of his chest.
    She tried to talk, but it came out in a hoarse cough. Instead she held up her hand.
    He grasped her trembling fingers and pressed a kiss to her knuckles as he slid onto the bed beside her.
    With a muted, strangled sob, she turned into him, clutching him as if he were her lifeline. And maybe in a way he was.
    “It’s going to be all right, Emmy,” he whispered against her hair. “I swear it.”
    She shook and fluttered against him like a wounded butterfly. He eased one arm underneath her then pulled her closer to his body as he leaned back against the pillows.
    Her mouth worked against his chest, and he knew she was trying to talk again. After the horrible screams that had assaulted his ears, he couldn’t imagine she had anything left.
    “Shhh,” he said as he rocked her back and forth. He rubbed his hand up and down her back, making little circles at her shoulder blades then pressing firmly against her spine. “Don’t talk. Give your voice a rest, Songbird.”
    She shuddered against him and turned her wet cheek into his throat as if seeking more of him, his warmth and strength. It was all he had to offer her right now, and he couldn’t deny her anything.
    His mouth found her temple