Claire touched the brake as she reached the outskirts of the city. Thousands of lights glittered in the dusk settling over the tall buildings, and the reflection sparkled on the ruffled waters of the Willamette as she crossed over the bridge.
The wind lost much of its power by the time it reached this part of the city, though the dust swirled along the sidewalks now and again.
Personally, Claire thought as she passed through the tunnel leading to the west side, she felt that a child belonged with its parents, even if it was only one parent. If Turner could work something out, at least one problem could be solved. But then there were the Bridgemonts.
Although Claire had no doubts about the love father and daughter shared, it wouldn’t be that difficult for someone as determined as Pauline Bridgemont to prove neglect in at least some degree. Although Turner meant well, his circumstances didn’t exactly provide for all Harrie’s needs.
After seeing the way he lived, she could understand the grandparents’ concern. But the animosity between Turner and them didn’t help matters. Sighing, Claire turned off the freeway and headed up the hill to her apartment complex. It looked as if it would be up to her to find some way to resolve the problem in a manner that worked out best for everyone.
No easy task, she thought with a surge of apprehension. And it didn’t help that her pulse leapt at the thought of seeing Turner Mitchell again.
* * *
Early the next morning, Claire arrived at the Bridgemonts’ house, feeling more than a little apprehensive. She wasn’t sure how to handle the upcoming meeting. The last time she had spoken to them, her sympathies had leaned toward the concerned grandparents, but now Claire had very mixed feelings about the situation.
Tact, she told herself, would be an absolute must. Emotions obviously ran high over this issue. And neither party seemed prepared to say too much about what had actually caused their differences.
Sitting with a cup of coffee in the sun-room, Claire did her best to field Mrs. Bridgemont’s terse questions. “I really don’t think Harrie is suffering any ill effects from living at Coopers Landing,” she said when her attempts to reassure the older woman appeared to make little impression. “She seemed very content and well adjusted to me.”
Not strictly the truth, she thought, a little uncomfortable with her evasions. But she had promised Turner to try to buy him some time, and she was going to keep that promise.
“I don’t know how content and well adjusted a child can be when she’s allowed to run around in that filthy state all day long.” Mrs. Bridgemont lifted her glasses from her nose, stared at them for a moment, then replaced them.
She was a well-built woman, tall and a little severe looking. With her short, iron-gray hair and careful makeup and a remarkably shapely figure for her age, she fitted the picture of city commissioner far better than she did that of grandmother.
Yet Claire couldn’t help feeling sorry for the woman. It was bad enough she’d lost her daughter, without losing her granddaughter in the process, as well. For a moment Claire felt angry with Turner for his insensitivity.
“He can’t possibly watch over the child if he is working in that dreadful shack all day,” Mrs. Bridgemont added. “Running around wild in the woods like that, well, anything could happen to her. One hears such dreadful stories nowadays, I just shudder to think what might happen to that poor child.”
“Turner promised me that he would attempt to find another housekeeper,” Claire said, uneasily aware of some truth behind the other woman’s words. “He hasn’t had much luck with them so far, I admit, but I’m sure he will find the right one soon.”
“And meanwhile the child is in danger. If he had allowed us to take care of her, the way we wanted to, we would not have to deal with these problems now.
Claire sought the right words, knowing anything she said would sound like prying. “Perhaps if I knew why he feels so strongly about it...” She let her voice fade, watching Mrs. Bridgemont in the hope she’d enlighten her.
“I have no idea why he is behaving in this ridiculous manner. After Stacey died...” The older woman’s voice cracked, and she took a moment to compose herself.
“At first,” she continued, “he brought Harrie around all the time. Then, after a while, he seemed to resent us spending time with her. When he told us he was going to quit his job and move out to the woods to live, we were horrified, of course. He had a wonderful position at Markham’s Manufacturing, in line for the chairman’s seat, so I heard. Instead he just up and quit for no good reason and took my granddaughter to that...that dump in the woods.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s that bad. I saw it myself yesterday and it looked quite cozy—”
Claire broke off as Mrs. Bridgemont narrowed her eyes. “Cozy? I see Turner has apparently been using his charm again. Of course, he always did have a way with ladies. Look what he did to my daughter.”
A warm flush heated Claire’s face. She had always taken great pains to hide her attraction to Turner, but his mother-in-law had come a shade too close. “I am trying to be impartial, Mrs. Bridgemont. I honestly believe Turner is making an effort to do the best he can for Harrie. I don’t know what the problem is between you, and that’s none of my business, anyway. But everyone insists that they want what’s best for Harrie. I think what is best for Harrie is for you and Turner to patch up your differences.”
To her dismay, Mrs. Bridgemont put down her cup and saucer with a deliberate movement, her mouth tight. “I think it’s a little late for that. I’m sorry, Claire, that you seem to have been taken in by Turner. But I can assure you, I am not going to leave the safety of my granddaughter in the hands of an irresponsible, incompetent fool who is too wrapped up in himself to see sense.”
She stood, and Claire had a sinking feeling she knew what was coming. “I am putting in a call this morning to the Children’s Services Division,” Mrs. Bridgemont said with a slight toss of her head that reminded Claire painfully of Stacey. “They will know how to take care of this problem.”
Frustrated, Claire got to her feet. “I wish you would wait for just a few days longer,” she said, knowing from the other woman’s grim expression that her plea would be ignored. “At least give Turner a chance to find someone for Harrie.”
“He’s had all the chances he’s going to get. He is deliberately depriving my husband and me of our grandchild and putting her life in moral and physical danger, as well. I cannot stand by and allow him to get away with that. And to be quite honest, Claire, I am surprised at your attitude. I thought you were much too sensible to fall for Turner’s charm.”
Stung, Claire nevertheless held her temper. Nothing would be gained by alienating the woman now. “Well, Turner hasn’t barred me from seeing Harrie,” she said. “Not yet, anyway. I can at least keep an eye on her until something is settled.”
Mrs. Bridgemont seemed grudgingly appeased by that. She actually smiled as she accompanied Claire to the front door. “I would appreciate that, my dear. Someone certainly needs to keep an eye on her. And I would expect you to report to me if you think there is an immediate problem. Though I daresay the CSD caseworker will do that.”
She had to get back and warn Turner, Claire thought, feeling a little guilty at her disloyalty to the Bridgemonts. Something told her, though, that Turner wasn’t getting a fair deal in all this. What she really needed to know was why he seemingly turned against his in-laws without provocation. Perhaps if she knew that she could think of a way to resolve all this.
She mentioned none of her thoughts to Mrs. Bridgemont, however. Instead she bade her goodbye and left, determined to do everything in her power to bring about a satisfactory solution to the problem.
* * *
“Daddy, don’t you like Aunt Claire?”
Caught in the act of bringing the ax down on a stubborn log, Turner grunted as the blade thudded into the tough wood. The question shook him, and he waited a moment before answering. “I haven’t really thought about it,
kitten.”
He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. She had started it all up again. The stirring low in his belly, the heat in his veins, the pounding in his temple, the deep ache that woke him up in the middle of the night.
He didn’t need the physical reminders. He didn’t want to remember what it was like to hold a woman in his arms and feel the passion heating up between them, until he satisfied them both with the intensity of his lovemaking.
He hadn’t thought much about it since Stacey had died. Well, perhaps he’d thought about it. But he’d hadn’t wanted to do anything about it. Not until he’d looked into the warm hazel eyes of Claire Spencer again and had felt an immediate response as his body stirred.
He’d been rough on her, he knew. Part of it was his fear of the kind of trouble she could cause him with his in-laws. But the major reason was that she could provoke him in a way that was almost painful. It had bothered him a lot at first.
He’d been in love with his wife when he’d married her and yet, whenever he’d set eyes on Claire Spencer, he’d never been able to deny the chemistry that had leapt between them.
He didn’t need this now, he thought, glancing at Harrie. Not with a woman who was his wife’s best friend. Not with a woman who was enough like Stacey to be her sister.
He watched Harrie sit down under the low-hanging branches of an enormous cedar and cross her thin legs.
“Well, I like her,” she said. “I think she’s nice.”
Hearing the forlorn note in her voice, Turner paused in his task. “I’m sure she is, kitten. She brought you another bear. That was nice.” His heart turned over as he watched his daughter trace a finger down her shin. The wind rustled the leaves above her head, sending sprinkles of sunlight over her blond hair.
“She said she’d come back and see us.”
“And I’m sure she will, honey.” In spite of himself he felt a tingle of pleasure at the thought. He had to be crazy. Knowing how close Claire had been to his dead wife, it was inevitable that she would side with the Bridgemonts. He didn’t need that kind of aggravation. Nor did he need her setting his hormones off again.
“She’s very pretty, Daddy.”
“Mmm.” He turned back to the log and lifted the ax. He didn’t need his daughter to tell him that. It had been almost nine years since he’d first met her. Her hair had been longer then, past her shoulder blades, straight and shiny with a hint of auburn in the sunlight. When they’d been introduced he’d shaken the hand she’d offered, liking her direct gaze from eyes that looked sometimes brown, sometimes green.
He remembered how her laugh had caught his attention more than once after that, and he’d found himself watching her, until Stacey had dragged him away to meet yet another of her cosmopolitan friends.
And now Claire was back. Still attractive, still catching his attention. Surely he’d learned his lesson. Surely he wasn’t going to fall for that kind of subtle sophistication that had blinded him once before.
The ax thudded once more into the wood, startling a scrub jay so that it screeched in resentment as it flapped away through the sun-warmed leaves.
Harrie scrambled to her feet, her eyes on the fleeing bird. “I wish I could fly,” she said wistfully. “I’d fly all the way to the mountains and back.”
Turner smiled. At least she’d quit talking about Claire Spencer. The last thing he needed was for his daughter to get attached to her. She was too much like Stacey for comfort. That was understandable, since they’d practically grown up together. Like sisters. Just like sisters.
“I wonder if it’s going home to its mommy,” Harrie said, her gaze still following the path of the bird.
Startled, Turner let the ax swing to the ground. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked, concerned by the despondency in her voice.
To his relief, her face broke into a toothy grin. “Sure I’m okay. You okay?”
It was an exchange they used often. He dropped the ax altogether and strode across to her, smiling at her squeal of delight when he swung her up into his arms.
“More than okay, kitten. As long as I have you.” He buried his face in the tangled silk of her hair. A pang of emotion shook him to the core. He couldn’t lose his daughter. She was all he had, all he wanted, all he needed. Without her, he’d have nothing.
Afraid to transfer his worry to Harrie, he stood her back on her feet. He had left the city and all its problems in order to teach his daughter the values he’d grown up with, the beliefs that had shaped his character. Life in the city held too many temptations for a young mind, too much ugliness and greed, too much danger and corruption.
Out here, in the solitude of the forest, Harrie was learning the important things in life. How to think for herself, fend for herself. How to respect all living creatures, no matter how small, and to learn that everyone and everything had a right to a place in the world.
It was ironic that he had acted out of a firm conviction that he was doing the right thing for her, and now he was in danger of losing her because other people decided they knew better than he did what was best for her.
He could only hope that this was one battle he wouldn’t lose. But most of all, he hoped it wouldn’t be Claire Spencer who caused him to lose it.
* * *
Claire took extra care in choosing her outfit late that afternoon. She wanted to look her best. It would give her the confidence she needed to face down Turner. Though part of her knew quite well that she cared about his opinion of her and wanted to present the best image possible.
In the end she decided on blue cotton slacks and a white-and-blue striped sleeveless shirt. A pair of tennis shoes and a white straw shoulder bag completed the outfit.
She’d bought a pink tank top for Harrie, with a fluffy bear embroidered on the front. She’d also bought three large potatoes, fresh salmon and the makings for a salad, as well as a bottle of wine and soda for Harrie. Perhaps if she offered to cook dinner for them, she thought as she piled everything in the car, she could relax Turner enough for him to tell her why he’d turned his back on the Bridgemonts.
Much to her discomfort, she could feel her heart thumping as she made her way down the path toward the cabin. The wind had died, leaving a faint breeze to chase the white clouds across the sky. Claire took a deep breath to steady her nerves, enjoying the clean earthy smell of pine and cedar.
She wondered if Harrie was out practicing with her knives. Claire hoped to see her before Turner got home, giving her a chance to talk with the little girl. She shifted the bag of groceries to her other arm, conscious of her damp palms and the quiver in her stomach.
It was ridiculous to feel so nervous about seeing Turner again. It wasn’t as if he were going to attack her or throw her out of the house. At least she hoped not, she thought with a wry grin.
She reached the cabin, and saw Harrie sitting on the steps, throwing stones into an empty soft-drink can. Melissa, the bear, sat next to her on a folded car blanket. Claire called out a friendly greeting and was pleased to see Harrie’s face light up when she saw her.
“Aunt Claire! You did come back!”
Claire sat on the step next to her and stood the bag between her feet. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
Harrie’s smile faded and she shrugged. “Daddy was cross with you. I thought you might not want to come back.”
Claire decided to ignore that. “Well, I came back to see you.” She reached for the bear and sat it on her lap. “And Melissa, of course. Is she behaving herself?”
Harrie nodded solemnly. “I guess so.”
“Well, I’m happy to hear that.” Claire studied the bear for a moment. “You know, this dress is a little too fancy for playing in the woods. I think we should get Melissa a new outfit.”
“I don’t play with the bears in the woods. They’d get dirty.”
“I see.” Claire watched Harrie pick up another stone and flick it expertly into the can. “Do you play with dolls?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“I’m too old to play with dolls. Besides, it’s no fun playing by yourself with them.”
Frowning, Claire put the bear back on the rug. “Don’t you have any dolls, then?”
Again Harrie’s thin shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Some, I guess.”
“Your mommy used to have lots,” Claire said carefully.
The small chin lifted immediately. “She did?”
“Yes, mostly Barbie dolls. We used to make clothes for them.”
A smile played across Harrie’s face. “I’ve got three. They don’t have many clothes, though.”
“I tell you what. How about if I buy some remnants at the fabric store, and I’ll show you how to sew some clothes for them?”
Harrie’s grin warmed Claire’s heart. “Oh, that would be super! Like the ones Mommy made?”
“Just like the ones your mommy made.”
The grin vanished as quickly as it had formed. “I wish she was here to help me sew them, too. And play with me, like she used to.”
Claire’s heart ached in sympathy. She put an arm around the slight body and held her tight. “So do I, honey. I miss her, too.”
At that moment, beyond the trees, a crunching of dry twigs warned them someone was approaching the cabin. Harrie jumped to her feet, her gaze on the pathway. “I think it’s Daddy,” she said, an expectant look on her face.
Claire’s pulse quickened and she got to her feet, brushing pine needles from her slacks with fingers that shook. She heard his footsteps coming closer and lifted the groceries into her arms as Harrie darted down the path toward him.
He wore jeans and a cream sport shirt and didn’t look all that happy to see her. Shocked at the way her blood raced through her veins at the sight of him, she did her best to smile.
His gaze met hers briefly as he swung Harrie up into his arms and gave her a hug.
“How’s it going, kitten?” he asked, ruffling Harrie’s hair.
“Guess what, Daddy. Aunt Claire’s going to teach me how to sew doll clothes,” Harrie announced, a note of rising excitement in her voice.
Where There's Smoke Page 3