He looked for an instant as if he wanted to say more, maybe even to plead his case once again. Heather waited, wondering if he was about to take a step closer and kiss her the way he might have done a few months ago. His kisses, always intoxicating, always persuasive, never failed to move her.
But the joy and contentment she found in his arms was fleeting. Once her feet touched down on solid ground again, she had to face the same reality. She and Connor were as close as they would ever be. They couldn’t grow together as married couples did.
Instead of reaching for her now, though, he backed away. He shoved his hands in his pockets as if he feared making a move that would be rebuffed.
“I suppose I should get on the road,” he said. “I have some case files I need to go through tonight.”
“More divorces, of course,” she said. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted the bitter, judgmental tone of them.
As she’d expected, his expression immediately turned defensive again. “Of course. That’s the kind of law I do.”
“And you’re very good at it,” she admitted. “Your clients are lucky to have you. I just think it’s sad to be surrounded by people who are so miserable and embittered.”
He held her gaze, tried to make his case. “Heather, don’t you get it? People who are going through a tough time emotionally need to have someone in their corner they can count on to protect their interests.”
“Of course I get that,” she said. “But it’s as hard on you as it is on them. Every time you get caught up in their stories, you become more and more disillusioned about marriage.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said impatiently. “I’m the objective outsider, remember?”
She smiled wearily at the characterization. “If only that were true.”
“It is true,” he insisted.
“No, Connor, you take every case personally and add it to that mental ledger you keep as proof that marriage can’t work. Tell me, whose side are you on these days? Always the husband’s? Or have you started taking the wives as clients, at least some of the time?”
He seemed thrown by the question. “Most of my clients are men. What’s your point?”
“That in every single instance, you’re still trying to get payback for what you believe your mother did to your father all those years ago. As I said earlier, you’re still that little boy trying to get revenge because his mom walked out on his dad and on him.”
“That’s absurd!”
She held his gaze. “Is it?”
He was the first to blink. “I’m not having this discussion again,” he said finally. “I need to get on the road.”
She let the subject drop and nodded. “Drive safely.”
At the door, he hesitated again, looking torn, but then he walked out without another word. Heather stared after him and sighed.
Forget their fractured relationship, she thought. How could he not see that as long as he focused his law career on disintegrating marriages, he’d never find the kind of happiness he deserved?
One of little Mick’s toys landed at her feet just then. Relieved by the distraction, she laughed as she walked over to his playpen and picked him up.
“Tired of being ignored?” she teased, holding him close.
“Mama,” he said, patting her face.
She breathed in the scent of baby shampoo and powder. “No matter how bad things are for your daddy and me,” she told her boy, “I have you, and that’s the greatest gift anyone could ever have given me. I will always love your daddy because of that.”
“Da?” Mick said, looking hopefully toward the door.
“He’ll be back soon,” she promised. And she had to figure out how she was going to prepare herself for the next encounter, because clearly they weren’t getting one bit easier.
Thoroughly disgruntled by the parting conversation he’d had with Heather and by the way his family seemed to have accepted Heather and his son into their lives, Connor returned to Baltimore determined not to give any of them another thought. He had plenty of work to keep him occupied, including a couple of high-profile cases that were going to be very complicated and messy.
In fact, first thing Monday morning he had an appointment with a film director who’d been working on location in Baltimore, had established a residence here and then moved the movie’s star in to share the place with him. Naturally the tabloids had gotten wind of it. The director’s wife back in Los Angeles had been furious about the publicity, if not about the infidelity, and intended to take him apart in the divorce. Despite the man’s egregious behavior, Connor didn’t intend to let her get one penny more than she deserved.
To be honest, he’d taken the case more for its publicity value than out of any desire to defend the man’s bad behavior. If he could keep Clint Wilder from being taken to the cleaners, it would seal his status as the top divorce attorney in the region. He’d make partner at the law firm by the end of the year for sure.
Even as the thought occurred to him, he remembered Heather’s disdain for his motives. Okay, she was right, at least to an extent. But what was wrong with wanting to be successful? Wasn’t that what most people wanted, to be the best at whatever career they’d chosen?
Still, on Monday morning as he listened to Wilder’s side of the mostly sordid tale, he couldn’t help thinking what Heather’s reaction would be. She’d be horrified that Connor would take the husband’s side over his wife’s. Connor had a momentary twinge about it himself, especially as Wilder boasted that it wasn’t the first time he’d slept with the leading lady in his films, just the first time his wife had gotten wind of it and been publicly humiliated.
“I don’t know what she expected,” the director said, sounding genuinely bewildered. “She stays at home with the kids. What am I supposed to do? Look, just offer her the house, support money for the kids and some kind of monthly alimony. Make it all go away.”
He handed Connor a piece of paper with some suggested figures. Connor glanced at them and shook his head. Even by his usually conservative standards, these would never fly. Not when this man made millions.
“Look, I’ll do what I can, but it may not be so easy to make this go away. You’ve been married a long time, and this isn’t the first time you’ve strayed. Her lawyer could rip you apart. If she gets a sympathetic judge, you’ll wind up paying three or four times this amount.”
The director leveled a look at him that probably intimidated every actor on his set. “Don’t let that happen,” he said quietly. “Understand?”
Connor nodded. All he could do was offer his best advice. In the end, it was his client’s decision. “I’ll be back in touch as soon as I’ve spoken to your wife’s lawyer.”
“Tell that little weasel I have plenty of dirt of my own I can throw at her,” Wilder told him. “If he wants to get tough, I’ll be tougher, and I’ll walk away with the house and the kids. She’ll wind up with nothing. She was barely one step out of the gutter when I met her, and I can see that she winds up back there.”
Connor felt his blood turn cold at the man’s vicious words. For all of his go-for-the-jugular tactics, he still clung to at least some sense of respect for women. Sadly, though, he had dealt with enough men who thought their own behavior should be exempt from scrutiny to recognize a man willing to play hardball. Usually he liked having the kind of leverage necessary to make the other side squirm. Maybe because of last night’s conversation with Heather, today he was the one squirming. The whole thing suddenly seemed so darn sleazy and cruel.
Ironically, it wasn’t Heather’s face he saw in his head, but Gram’s. He heard her reminding him over and over that Megan deserved his respect, even when he was angriest at what she’d done to the family. Gram would be appalled by Clint Wilder, a man willing to publicly sully his wife’s reputation out of greed.
In the end, though, Connor knew he would win for the director in court, because that’s what he did. But for the first time, at the end of the
day, he didn’t feel entirely good about it.
When the firm’s senior partner, Grayson Hudson, walked into his office and asked about the case later, Connor shrugged. “It’ll get a lot of publicity,” he said, as if that were all that mattered.
“Just make sure the firm looks good,” Grayson told him. “You’re very good at what you do, Connor. That’s why I used you myself when Cynthia and I split up. But your tendency to go for broke can stir up sympathy for the other side. You make sure that man’s wife isn’t going to come through this looking like Mother Teresa, you hear?”
Connor thought about Wilder’s veiled references to his wife’s past. “Doubtful, sir,” he said confidently.
“Just do your homework, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Not to worry. I always do.”
After all, Connor reflected, wasn’t he the one who was known in his family for having very little faith in the human race? He left next to nothing to chance. Even though he had Clint Wilder’s word that his wife had skeletons in her closet, he’d put a private detective to work checking her background within five minutes of the man walking out of his office. He wasn’t about to enter a mediation room or a courtroom without knowing everything there was to know about the other side.
Using the dirt, though? That was another matter and one he had no idea how he would handle.
Though he was immersed in work, Connor still wasn’t able to keep Heather out of his head. Every time he drew up a line of attack in another case, he heard her voice questioning his tactics and his motives. It was getting annoying.
In fact, just being unable to get her out of his head was annoying. The only way he could think of to change that was to put his social life on a fast track.
For the next couple of weeks, he spent his evenings hitting every bar in town with various colleagues from his law firm. Though he met plenty of attractive, intelligent professional women, not a one of them held a candle to Heather. Her image haunted him.
He reached for the phone a half-dozen times a day, tempted to call so he could hear the sound of her voice. He even had a built-in excuse, wanting to get updates on their son. It was downright pitiful that he even considered resorting to that.
In the end, he resisted because he knew she’d see through the excuse. Anyone in his family could tell him what was going on with little Mick. It wouldn’t take frequent calls to Heather to learn how his son was doing. Besides, she left him regular messages herself. They were too short, too unsatisfactory. What he needed was a real conversation.
His inability to get on with his life clearly meant that he needed to try harder.
The next woman he met, he asked on a date, then spent an evening in one of Baltimore’s finest restaurants being bored out of his mind. It seemed all she cared about was whether he’d met any of the stars in Clint Wilder’s movie. He repeated the pattern for another couple of weeks, then finally conceded he was wasting his time.
On the Saturday morning of Easter weekend, he got in his car and drove once again to Chesapeake Shores, using the excuse that it had been too long since he’d seen his son. He somehow managed to blame Heather for that, even though several of her messages had included an offer to bring little Mick for a visit.
When he arrived at the house, he found Gram in the kitchen with all of the kids coloring Easter eggs. Though the room was a disaster and Gram looked harried, her eyes were twinkling when she spotted him. She handed off his son, who clung happily to his neck. The boy’s smile of delight at Connor’s arrival immediately improved his mood.
“Get out of those fancy clothes and come in here to help me,” Gram commanded. “If I’m not careful, I’m going to wind up with my hair dyed pink.”
“It would be beautiful,” Caitlyn told her solemnly.
“We can do mine, too,” Carrie said. “But I want blue.” She danced around. “Don’t you think I’d be beautiful?”
“Gorgeous,” Connor agreed, laughing. He felt lighter than he had in days. His twin nieces, with their unexpected observations and uncensored comments, could lift his spirits in a heartbeat. Spending time with them and the rest of the family was exactly what he’d needed.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised his grandmother.
Taking little Mick with him, he changed into an old T-shirt and a pair of cutoff jeans, then hurried back to the kitchen and settled his son in a high chair.
“How’d you get roped into doing this?” he asked Gram.
“Everyone’s working today,” she explained. “It’s a busy weekend in town, so Shanna, Heather, Bree and your mother are all at their shops. Abby went to help Bree deliver flowers. It seems everybody in the universe is sending an Easter bouquet to someone in Chesapeake Shores this weekend.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Mick took one look at the mess in here and mumbled something about checking on one of his Habitat for Humanity sites.” She chuckled. “I’ll have my revenge, though. Once we’re finished, I can walk off and leave this for him to clean up. That’s the joy of being able to go back to my own place these days. Now, you help your son. He doesn’t quite have the knack for dying eggs, instead of his hands.”
“Help me, too, Uncle Connor,” Davy pleaded.
Henry, who was still adjusting to this boisterous new family of his, stood back, looking on shyly.
Connor plucked three boiled eggs from a basket on the table. “Come on, guys, let a master show you how it’s done. Each of you grab a crayon. We’ll draw on a design first, okay?”
The designs weren’t much, but it hardly mattered. Connor guided little Mick’s tiny fingers as they drew a barely recognizable duck. Davy drew something that looked like Santa, though turned upside down it could have been a bunny. It was impossible to tell and probably risky to ask.
Connor glanced over to check on his other nephew, Kevin’s adopted son. Henry printed his name with careful letters, then thoughtfully did two more eggs for Kevin and Shanna. It hurt Connor’s heart to see how hard the boy was trying to fit in with his new family. All the caution was his. Kevin and Shanna, who’d been Henry’s stepmother in a previous marriage, adored Henry. And Davy was thrilled to have a big brother.
Henry glanced hesitantly at Connor. “Do you think I should do one for my dad, too? I sent him and my grandpa and grandma a card already. Shanna helped me pick it out.”
“If you want to make an egg for your dad, we’ll find a way to get it to him,” Connor promised, trying to imagine how hard it must be to be separated from his biological family because his father’s alcoholism and failing liver had made it impossible for Henry to remain with him.
Henry’s little face immediately brightened. “Cool!”
In the meantime, Carrie and Caitlyn were drawing elaborate patterns with bright colors, then dipping the eggs into the brightest dyes.
“Ours are best!” Carrie announced, jumping up and down.
“It’s not a contest,” Gram chided.
“That’s right,” Connor told her. “The contest comes tomorrow, when we see who can find the most eggs in the yard.” He tickled his boastful niece. “And I guarantee you I’ll win.”
“You’re too big to play,” Caitlyn said, dodging his attempt to tickle her. “Only kids get to hunt for eggs.”
“Hey, I’m a kid,” Connor protested.
“Are not,” Carrie said, giggling.
“Oh, honey, I’m afraid your uncle Connor is just a big kid,” Gram said sorrowfully. “I haven’t seen a sign of maturity yet.”
“Hey,” he protested.
“I doubt you want me to explain all my reasons for feeling that way,” Gram said, her gaze steady.
Connor sighed. “No need.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Maybe I’ll get my boy here cleaned up and take him back to his mother,” he said.
“That sounds like a fine idea to me,” Gram said approvingly. “Be sure she’s going to join us for Easter dinner tomorrow after church.”
; Connor nodded. Somehow the prospect of issuing that invitation to a simple family gathering and getting the hoped-for “yes” held more allure than all those endless bar crawls and dates he’d been on for the past few weeks.
And spending a carefree afternoon dying Easter eggs with his son, his nieces and his nephews was a thousand times better than dealing with the Clint Wilders of the world. Apparently, despite Heather’s oft-stated fears, he hadn’t gone so far over to the dark side yet that he couldn’t see that.
6
During Connor’s absence over the past few weeks, Heather had once again been able to establish a new rhythm for her life and put him out of her mind. Her days were occupied with the store, getting to know her regular customers, even making a few friends among them, and keeping her son out of mischief. Nights were harder, when the darkness settled around her and the brand-new bed she’d purchased felt too big, too empty.
Of course, there were reminders everywhere. For one thing, her son looked exactly like his daddy and his granddaddy, but she’d gotten better and better at keeping the two separate in her head. Little Mick was her life now. Connor was her past. She just needed to keep reminding herself of that. She assured herself she was getting better at it every day.
Unfortunately, though, there was more she couldn’t control. Connor’s family tended to pop up everywhere she turned. It was both a blessing and a curse.
Still, with every day that passed, she felt herself growing stronger, her initially uncertain resolve deepening into real conviction that she was on the right path with her life. Everything was falling into place just as she’d hoped.
And yet, all it took to change her perspective was one quick, unexpected glimpse of Connor in the doorway of her shop, holding their exhausted son in his arms. Her resolve immediately turned to mush, and her traitorous heart skipped several beats.
Driftwood Cottage Page 7