Free At First Touch (The Malone Brothers) by Cindy Miles

against the piling and turned back to watch Reagan. There was no way he was leaving her on the river after dark. Not in her condition.
    As he stared, it struck Eric as ironic that in the haze of dusk, she could easily be one of her painting subjects. Only a silhouette existed, nondescript with undefined lines, yet clearly there was the small frame of a woman, sitting, knees pulled into chest. Thinking. Crying. Remembering.
    He understood all of that.
    He’d lost people, too. Coast Guard brethren. More than one to death.
    And his heart had been robbed. Robbed like hell. Yeah, he knew.
    As the sun fell behind the horizon, and the moon’s glare settled over the river, Eric kept his eyes fixed on Reagan’s shadowy figure. Finally, she rose, and the light tap-tap-tap of her walking stick preceded her cautious steps. The closer she grew, Eric retreated, until he reached the Quinns’ front porch where Matt and Emily sat together on the porch swing. Both looked at him as he climbed the steps to the veranda, then Emily’s eyes darted over Eric’s shoulder as she caught a glimpse of Reagan.
    With her head held high, Reagan climbed the porch and stopped next to Eric. “I don’t need a babysitter,” she said. “I don’t.”
    Then she walked into the house, the screen door creaking across the night air.
    “What did you do?” Matt asked.
    Eric eyed his brother. “Not too much,” he answered. “Yet.”
    “You can’t push her, bro,” Matt continued. “I know where she’s at. Been there myself.”
    Eric nodded, rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he answered, and pushed away from the post he leaned on and started down the porch to head home. “Me, too.” He threw a hand up. “Thanks for supper, Em. Night, lovebirds,” he said, and headed toward the pathway between the Quinns’ and Malones’.
    Fast, soft footfalls rustled the leaves on the trail behind him, and he turned to see Emily’s tall, slender figure jogging toward him. In the shadows, she grasped his hands with her slight ones, and the moonlight caught the shine of her eyes as she stared up at him.
    “Push,” she said. “With Reagan. She’s in a dark place, Eric, and I’m scared that if she doesn’t come out soon she never will.” Her slender fingers squeezed his, and Eric smiled and nodded.
    “Push it is,” he replied. “But tastefully and tactfully.”
    Emily nodded fervently. “Oh, absolutely. Yes. Much taste. Much tact.” She rose on tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You and Reagan click. Your...auras blend beautifully.”
    Eric cocked his head. “That may very well be the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me.” When Emily giggled, he ducked his head to look at her closely. “How can you tell? That our auras...blend?”
    One side of Emily Quinn’s mouth quirked up. “Because she hasn’t punched you in the face yet.” She gave him a quick hug. “Just don’t give up on her. Even if she gets mean—and she might. She has been through a lot, and I know she doesn’t mean half the things she says. She’s just frustrated beyond belief. So independent, she doesn’t like having to depend on anyone for anything. Even on me. Deep down, my little sister is the sweetest, kindest soul alive. Right now, though? She’s built a proper wall around her heart. I don’t know... I think she might listen to you. Night.”
    With that, his oddly adorable soon-to-be sister-in-law turned and jogged back to her side of the path, and Eric just stood there watching through the darkness. Soon, tinny music from another time washed over the night air as Emily played one of her favorite records from the thirties, or twenties—he couldn’t tell which. He listened for a moment, wondering what it would’ve been like back then. So much simpler, as Emily claimed. Eric could easily imagine it.
    When he walked inside, Jep and Eric’s dad, Owen, were playing cards at the kitchen table. With his forearm resting against the doorjamb, Eric watched until