“Oh, she is, is she?” Turner set his daughter back on her feet.
“Just like Mommy used to make for her dolls.”
“All right, kitten. But right now I think it’s time you washed up for dinner.”
Harrie nodded and skipped back toward the cabin. “Are you going to eat with us?” she asked Claire as she reached her.
Claire sent an apprehensive look at Turner. “As a matter of fact, I brought dinner with me. I thought you might like someone else to cook for a change.”
Harrie beamed. “All right! What did you bring?”
“I don’t think we want to trouble Aunt Claire to cook for us,” Turner said, digging his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. “I’m sure she’s got better things to do.”
“No trouble,” Claire said lightly as she opened the top of the sack and peered in. “Do you like fresh salmon?” she asked Harrie, who was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.
“Ooh, yes, we do, don’t we, Daddy?”
“And baked potato, with chives and sour cream? And chocolate cake for dessert?”
“All right!”
“Harrie—” Turner began, but she turned swiftly, a pleading look on her face. “Just this once, Daddy? I haven’t had any in such a long time.” She turned back to Claire. “I’m not supposed to eat chocolate. It makes me hype...hyper... What is it, Daddy?”
“Hyperactive,” Turner said grimly.
“Oh, well in that case, perhaps we—”
“Daddy, please?”
They had spoken in unison, and Claire broke off as Turner lifted his hands in defeat.
“I guess a small piece won’t hurt her.”
Harrie let out a whoop of delight, and Claire smiled. “Then you’ll let me cook dinner?”
“I don’t appear to have much say in the matter.” He looked at Harrie, who nodded with enthusiasm. “You’d better go wash up.”
Without another word, she skipped through the door and disappeared.
“I hope I—” Claire started to say, but once more, he cut her off.
“I would rather you didn’t mention Harrie’s mother to her. We don’t talk about her. It’s less upsetting for Harrie.”
Claire frowned. “She didn’t appear to be upset. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“I don’t want her name mentioned again, all right?”
Shocked by the vehemence in his tone, she said gently, “Turner, I understand it’s upsetting for you, but Harrie needs to talk about her mother. Trying to forget she ever existed isn’t good for either of you. Isn’t it better to face the issue and deal with it?”
“When I want the advice of a shrink, I’ll pay a professional for it,” Turner said smoothly. “Now, if you want to cook dinner for Harrie, I suggest we drop the subject.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say she was cooking dinner for all of them, but she decided it would be better to keep her mouth shut. Turner’s expression did not bode well for the evening.
Left alone, Claire unloaded the groceries in the small kitchen and then started hunting for dishes. Opening a cupboard door, she stared at the contents without really seeing them. She still smarted from Turner’s abrasive tone. It was very apparent that he had not recovered from the loss of his wife. He must have loved her very deeply to still be hurting that much.
A pang of envy touched her. How wonderful it must be to be loved like that. And how sad that a man who was capable of such devotion should have such precious little time to enjoy it. Her heart ached for him and for the lively, fun-loving friend she had lost. Stacey had left so many grieving people behind, not the least of whom was the little girl who missed her so much.
Claire jumped as Harrie bounced into the kitchen. “Daddy said I had to help you find everything,” she announced, pulling open a drawer. “This is where we keep the knives and forks.”
“How about you setting the table for me, then?” Claire suggested. “Then I have a surprise for you.”
“For me? What is it?”
“If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise. You’ll find out after you’ve set the table.”
With a clatter Harrie gathered up a handful of cutlery. “We don’t have a dining room like Gran’ma,” she explained. “So we eat in the kitchen.”
“Best place to eat.” Claire held a potato under the faucet and began to scrub with her thumbs.
“I’m finished.” Harrie came and stood by her elbow. “Do I get my surprise now?”
Claire nodded at the grocery bag. “In there. You get it. My hands are wet.”
Harrie grabbed the bag off the counter and looked inside. With a cry of delight she withdrew the pink tank top and held it up. “Neat! I don’t have one like this. Thank you, Aunt Claire. I’m going to show Daddy.”
“What are you going to show Daddy?” Turner said from the doorway.
The potato slipped from Claire’s fingers and she made a grab at it.
“Look what Aunt Claire gave me.” Harrie held the tank top against her flat chest. “I’m going to put it on.” She raced out the door, leaving a taut silence behind.
Turner broke it first. “Please don’t spoil Harrie with gifts,” he said quietly.
Trying to curb her resentment, Claire took a deep breath. It didn’t help. She laid the potato on the counter and turned to face him. His wary expression did nothing to ease her irritation.
“Turner, I hardly think an inexpensive shirt is going to spoil her.”
“That was the problem with the Bridgemonts,” he said abruptly. “They spoiled the hell out of her.”
A glimmer of understanding penetrated. “Is that why you won’t let them see her?”
He turned away and pretended to be looking for something in one of the cupboards. “I left her with them quite a bit at first. I thought they’d take care of her. What they did was try to turn her against me. They bribed her with expensive toys and fancy clothes, even though they knew how I felt about it.”
“All grandparents spoil their grandchildren,” Claire said, feeling uncomfortable. “And the Bridgemonts have lost their daughter. It’s natural—”
“It isn’t natural to turn a daughter against her father.” Turner shut the door hard and faced her. “When I complained about all the gifts they were showering on her, they told Harrie that I wouldn’t let her have any more toys and clothes. They let her get away with murder. It got so I couldn’t do anything with her. She openly rebelled against me. She’d say stuff like...Gran’ma let her eat chocolate, Gran’pa let her stay up late to watch television....”
His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “I don’t know why I should expect you to understand.”
“Turner.” Claire sought the right words. “I think I do understand, and I’m sorry. But if you explained to them—”
“I tried that. They said I was jealous of the things they could afford to buy and I couldn’t.” He made a sound of disgust. “Jealous. That’s a good one. There was this doll that Harrie wanted. She saw it in an advertisement. A five-hundred-dollar doll, one of those collector things. I tried to explain to Harrie that it wasn’t the kind you played with. She never played much with dolls, anyway. But she threw a fit, and a few weeks later when she came home from the Bridgemonts she was carrying that doll.”
He opened a drawer and shut it again. “I warned them I’d put a stop to the visits if they didn’t quit spoiling her. They just couldn’t see what they were doing to her. They were turning her into the same—”
He broke off as Harrie erupted into the kitchen, her face almost as pink as the tank top.
“Daddy, how do I look? Doesn’t it look super? I love the bear on the front.”
Turner nodded, his scowl smoothing out at once. “You look like a princess.”
Harrie giggled. “He always says that when I ask him how I look.”
“That’s because you always look like a princess.”
Listening to their banter, Claire could see that whatever problems Turner might
have had in the past with his daughter, apparently they seemed to have been resolved.
Even so, she thought as she slid the potatoes into the oven, it seemed a bit drastic for Turner to cut off all communication with his in-laws simply because they spoiled Harrie. She couldn’t help feeling there was more to it than that.
And she still hadn’t warned him about Mrs. Bridgemont’s call to the CSD. She wasn’t looking forward to that. It could wait until Harrie had gone to bed, she decided. That’s if Turner let her stay that long. She didn’t want to say anything in front of the little girl that might upset her.
Determined to make the evening a success, she put her worries behind her and concentrated on the dinner.
Although Turner did his best to be sociable throughout the meal, he knew he was making a hard go of it. Even Harrie looked at him a couple of times with a puzzled frown on her face.
“Great salmon,” he said after he’d sat without contributing to the conversation for a good five minutes.
“Thank you.” Claire watched him, a slight smile curving her mouth. For the life of him he couldn’t stop himself from looking at those lips. His entire body ached with the need to lean forward and kiss her. He should never have had that second glass of wine.
“You’re welcome.” She could be the enemy, he reminded himself. She could cause him more heartache than he’d known already. It didn’t seem to help. God help him, he still wanted her.
“Do you do much fishing? Living right on the river like this, I would imagine you would.”
“I like fishing,” Harrie said, her voice muffled by a mouthful of potato.
He made an effort to concentrate. It wasn’t the first time a woman had been inside the cabin. He’d had no end of housekeepers and home helps. None of them had set his blood on fire the way this woman did just by looking at him with those dark, mysterious eyes. He wanted to drown in them.
“We go sometimes. We don’t usually have too much luck. Harrie frightens them all away. She talks too much.”
“I don’t like it when the hook gets caught in their mouth,” Harrie said, shuddering.
Claire laughed. The sound of it shivered down his belly and into his groin. He shifted on his chair. He had to get out of there. He needed air. Anything to get away from the subtle spicy fragrance of her perfume, the sensual movement of her hair against her cheek and the almost unbearable sight of her mouth, curving in a way that promised to drive him wild.
He’d been too long without a woman. Too damn long. That’s all it was. He’d always been able to control it before, he could control it now.
“Are you okay, Daddy?” Harrie said, leaning forward to peer up at him. “You’ve got a funny look on your face.”
“I’m fine, kitten.” He grinned at her and forced himself not to look at Claire again. Instead he struggled to enjoy the rest of his meal, while Claire held an animated conversation with Harrie about books.
Aware of the tension humming between them, Claire finally gave up trying to draw Turner into the conversation. “I’ll have to take you into town with me,” she said to Harrie as the two of them cleared away the dishes. “I’ll take you to my favorite bookstore. It’s the biggest in the country and has hundreds of children’s books to choose from.”
Although Turner said nothing, she saw his swift glance in her direction. Remembering what he’d told her about giving gifts to his daughter, she changed the subject. She didn’t need him mad at her when she let him know about Mrs. Bridgemont’s decision.
It seemed as if Harrie would never go to bed. She watched her favorite show on television, then insisted on showing Claire all of her books, finally asking her to read one of them aloud to her.
“I’ll read it to you in bed,” Claire promised, and was rewarded with Harrie’s wide grin.
“Then I’ll go to bed now,” she said, heading for the door.
“Not until after you’ve had a bath,” Turner reminded her.
Harrie pulled a face, then sighed. “All right, first I’ll have a bath. Then will you read it to me?”
“I’ll be happy to.” Claire laughed as the little girl disappeared through the door. “She can probably read better than I can,” she said, picking up the empty coffee cups.
“She reads pretty well.” Turner got up from his chair and walked over to the front door. “As long as you’re going to stick around for a bit, I think I’ll run back to the store, if that’s okay with you. I’ve got some supplies to stock up on.”
Claire tried to ignore the stab of disappointment. He was making it very clear he didn’t want her company. “I’ll be happy to stay with Harrie until you come back,” she said, determined not to let him see her dejection. “But first there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
He paused at the door and looked back at her, his expression instantly wary.
“I think you should know,” Claire said, lowering her voice, “that Mrs. Bridgemont informed me she was calling the CSD today.”
He continued to stare at her for a long moment, until she felt little shivers of apprehension run down her spine.
“So?” he said finally.
“I think it’s very likely that they’ll send a caseworker out here to check on Harrie.” She saw his brows draw together and added hastily, “Just to make sure that Harrie is all right.”
“And what if they decide that she isn’t all right, as you put it?”
“Then they’ll probably file a report,” Claire said unhappily. “If Mrs. Bridgemont puts enough pressure on them, they’ll open an investigation. Which means you’ll have someone visiting on a regular basis, until they make a decision one way or another.”
Turner’s mouth tightened and he gave a brief nod. “Then I guess you’ve accomplished your mission,” he said, and turned to leave.
Chapter 3
“Turner, wait a minute.” She didn’t know why it mattered to her what he thought, since he seemed to have already made up his mind. But she couldn’t bear to let him go on thinking she was behind this decision.
“I tried to talk Mrs Bridgemont into waiting until you’d had a chance to find a suitable housekeeper,” she said as Turner once more looked back at her. “I told her I thought Harrie was well adjusted and content, even though I’m not fully assured of that. I’m afraid Mrs. Bridgemont wouldn’t listen. She seems to have made up her mind that Harrie is being neglected and that she will be better off having a home with her grandparents.”
“You mean the Bridgemonts will be better off,” Turner said, his voice clipped. “I really don’t think they have considered Harrie’s feelings in all of this. Have they ever asked her what she wants? Have you?”
“No, I haven’t,” Claire admitted. “I think I know what Harrie’s answer would be.”
“Well, why don’t you ask her to make sure? And then when she tells you, maybe you’ll leave us alone. I don’t need Harrie being upset by all this.”
“Turner, I want Harrie to be happy. I want you both to be happy. That’s why I want to help. I’m not here to cause trouble, I promise you.”
“Then let me take care of my own problems in my own way, all right? I’ll find a housekeeper for Harrie if that’s what it’s going to take. I’ll find one if I have to fly her in from Alaska. What I don’t want is for Harrie to get attached to someone who is going to drop out of sight as soon as she finds something better to occupy her time.”
Heat flooded Claire’s face. “That’s not fair, Turner, and you know it. You’re condemning me without giving me a chance to defend myself.”
“Harrie and I have managed perfectly well on our own for the past two years. Now all of a sudden you decide to take an interest in her welfare.”
“I told you,” Claire said evenly, “I have been out of the country with my job.”
“Yeah, you told me.” He turned his back on her and opened the door. “I won’t be long, just enough time for you to read Harrie her story. Then you can leave.”
Claire let out he
r breath as the door closed behind him. He seemed determined to be hostile. She could understand why, in a way. After all, she was as much a threat to him and Harrie as were the Bridgemonts. If he would just trust her a little and believe that she truly wanted to help them both.
It hurt. More than it should. She couldn’t let it, she reminded herself. She couldn’t get involved with Turner Mitchell. Or any man for that matter.
It was with a heavy heart that she went into Harrie’s bedroom to read her a story. It didn’t make her feel any better when Turner returned later and bade her a curt good-night.
* * *
For the next two days, Claire occupied herself with preparations for her new business. She had decided on the east-side suburbs for her new location and managed to find an apartment large enough to provide her with a sizable office in one of the bedrooms. It would be perfect to house the equipment for the answering service.
That done, she spent an entire afternoon choosing furniture for the apartment and arranging delivery. Her next stop after that was the newspaper offices, where she took out advertisements for the service.
She would wait, she decided, until she knew how many potential customers she could expect, before deciding how much to invest in the system she would use.
On the third morning after she’d visited the cabin, she received a call from Mrs. Bridgemont. She’d phoned the CSD, the older woman told Claire, and they would be sending out a caseworker to check into the situation.
“They won’t give me a definite response on my complaint,” Mrs. Bridgemont said, “until they have looked into the matter. But I told them that my granddaughter is allowed to run wild in the woods without supervision all day long, where anything could happen to her.”
Claire winced. “What did they say to that?”
“Well, they said that it didn’t necessarily constitute neglect, but they were concerned enough that they would talk to Turner Mitchell and analyze the situation.”
Somehow that made Claire feel a little better. Until Mrs. Bridgemont added, “I also told them that he leaves her alone in that dreadful shack all by herself, at all hours of the day and night, and that she wasn’t dressed or fed properly, and heaven knows what she gets up to when he’s not around.”
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