Where There's Smoke

by Doreen Roberts

  “Smoke from the barbecue—” Turner started to say. Then to his dismay, Harrie said frantically, “I didn’t do it on purpose. Honest I didn’t. The stuff fell out of the fire. I won’t do it again. I swear I won’t. We got it out before the house burned up. Please don’t take me away.”

  The pleasant expression on the caseworker’s face slowly faded. “I see,” he said, implying that he saw much more than Turner wanted him to. “I think perhaps we’d better talk about this. May I come in?”

  * * *

  Claire felt uneasy all the way back to town. She tried not to worry about it, telling herself that this was something Turner had to handle by himself. Hopefully, if it was the caseworker she’d seen, he would realize that Turner was doing his best to take care of the situation and would give him some time to work things out.

  Right now she had other things to worry about. Tomorrow she would be moving into her new apartment, and she had a hundred and one things to do before then. Even so, the niggling worry lay at the back of her mind, disturbing her sleep as well as her concentration throughout the next day.

  By the next evening she had more or less settled herself in her new home. Boxes of china and odds and ends still cluttered the kitchen, waiting to be unpacked, and the large trunk that contained the major portion of her wardrobe sat in the bedroom, but otherwise she had made the place look fairly comfortable for the time being.

  Exhausted, she glanced at the clock and decided she’d had enough for one day. A good night’s sleep and she’d be ready to tackle the rest in the morning. The phone sat on a small table next to her new couch, and she looked at it for a long moment. Then, obeying the impulse, she picked up the receiver and punched in Turner’s number.

  For a long moment, while she waited through four rings, anxiety gnawed at her, then with a rush of relief she heard the click as the receiver was picked up at the other end.

  Turner’s voice sounded brusque when he answered.

  “I was just wondering,” Claire said, hoping he wouldn’t tell her to mind her own business, “if the caseworker has been by yet.”

  “Yep. He was here last night.”

  Claire’s heart skipped uncomfortably. She could tell he wasn’t too happy about something. “Did he say anything?”

  “He didn’t say much at all. Asked a bunch of questions, wrote the answers all down and then left.”

  “Oh.” She gripped the receiver at her ear with nervous fingers. “How did he seem when he left?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t tell.”

  “Is Harrie all right?”

  “Yeah, she’s in bed asleep.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Claire said quickly, “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  She felt a twinge of frustration. This was going nowhere fast. “What about the housekeeper? Did you get anything settled?”

  Turner’s sigh echoed audibly down the phone. “Yes, I did. Harrie didn’t like any of them, but I got her talked into trying one of them out. I just hope it works. I’m running out of possibilities.”

  “Turner,” Claire said carefully, “I think Harrie is afraid she’ll lose your attention if someone else is there to take care of things. She needs to feel important to you.”

  “She knows she’s important to me.”

  She could hear the edge to his voice and decided to drop the matter for now. “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  “Sure.” He paused, then added, “Thanks, Claire. I appreciate your concern.”

  She smiled at the phone. “You’re welcome. I care about you both. Give my love to Harrie. Good night, Turner.”

  She put down the phone before he could answer, aware of her heartbeat speeding up. What had made her say that, for heaven’s sake? I care about you both. It was true, she thought ruefully. She did care about them. More than she should, perhaps. It was just as well Turner had managed to work things out. If she’d been around there too much longer she could have ended up getting hurt.

  The thought sobered her, and she felt depressed as she undressed for bed. Turner still had things to work out with the Bridgemonts. She was quite sure they wouldn’t give up on at least spending time with their granddaughter. But if the housekeeper worked out, Turner shouldn’t have too much to worry about from the Children’s Services Division.

  So why was she feeling so depressed? she asked herself as she turned out the light and snuggled down under the blankets. She knew why. She no longer had an excuse to go over to the cabin.

  Oh, she could see Harrie now and again, as long as Turner didn’t object, and she couldn’t see why he would. But her main reason for going, her argument that she was concerned about Harrie being on her own, was no longer valid.

  Claire turned over and pummeled the pillow. It was just as well, she told herself. She had her business to take care of, and she was the last person to go where she wasn’t wanted. She would just make sure she saw Harrie once in a while and took her on an outing now and again.

  It was a long time before she fell asleep that night.

  * * *

  Over the next two days she spent some time going over the various inquiries she’d received about her answering service. By the response she was getting, it looked as if she would be able to begin the service by the beginning of September, she decided.

  She also enjoyed putting the finishing touches on her apartment and making it look lived in. Just because she was going to run a business from there didn’t mean the entire place had to look like an office.

  Late that afternoon, just as she balanced herself on the back of the couch to hang a large seascape on the wall, her phone rang.

  She almost didn’t answer it. But so far the response to her advertisement in the newspaper had been slow, and she didn’t want to miss a potential client. After lowering the picture onto the couch, she scrambled down and caught the phone on the third ring.

  “Spencer’s Services,” she said brightly, crossing her fingers it would be something worthwhile. Her pulse leapt when Turner’s deep voice answered her.

  “Claire? This is Turner Mitchell.”

  He sounded upset, and Claire said quickly, “Is Harrie all right?”

  “Yes, well...no. Look, could you possibly come over this evening? I know it’s short notice, but I—”

  “Of course I’ll come. What’s the problem?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not desperate. I’d like to talk about it when you get here.”

  “All right.” She frowned, unsettled in spite of his words. “What time?”

  His relief echoed in his voice. “Around seven-thirty? I wouldn’t ask, but there isn’t anyone else....”

  “I’ll be happy to come. I’ll see you at seven-thirty.” She put down the phone, her heart racing. She couldn’t imagine what he wanted, but right now she had to grab something to eat and make herself look decent... She caught herself, the warning sounding loud and clear in her mind.

  Don’t get too involved. She shook her head, willing herself to listen to her own advice. The path would only lead to heartache. She couldn’t afford to care too much. She kept telling herself that over and over as she drove the forty-five minutes to Coopers Landing.

  The sun sent long shadows across the highway as her car sped alongside the river. The hot wind blew steadily down the Gorge, rippling the fast-running waters and whipping the branches of the firs into a frenzied dance.

  Tiny layers of white cloud floated across the fading sky, looking like rows of gentle waves in the sand. The edge of a low, Claire thought. Maybe they were in for some rain in the next day or two. It would certainly help the tinder-dry conditions of the forest, not to mention the parched lawns and flowers in the neighborhood gardens.

  With the window down she could feel the heat of the wind, even though the sun had lost the bulk of its power for the day. She wore a lime green sleeveless top with her white shorts and white leather thongs. Even so, she felt a little too warm and
wound the window up again before turning on the cool air in the car.

  In spite of her anxiety over what the problem could be, she couldn’t rid herself of the little rush of pleasure at the thought of seeing Turner and Harrie again. She smiled, remembering Harrie’s face when she’d offered to help her sew clothes for the Barbie dolls.

  She’d stopped in at the fabric store on her way out of town, and on the seat next to her sat a package of remnants and patterns for the dolls. Hopefully she’d have time to sort through them with Harrie before the little girl had to go to bed.

  Her smile faded. Something serious must have happened for Turner to ask her to come out there. She pressed harder on the accelerator, anxious to be there and find out for herself what was going on.

  Turner opened the door immediately when she rang the bell. He wore denim cutoffs and had apparently thrown on a blue sport shirt, since it was not yet buttoned. His hair look rumpled, as if he’d run fingers through it, and his forehead was creased in a frown. He didn’t smile when he saw her, but stood back to let her in, saying, “Thanks for coming. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Alarmed, Claire looked around the empty living room. “Harrie?” she asked, half-afraid of the answer.

  He shook his head in the tight-lipped way that told her he was holding back his temper. “In the bedroom. I sent her to bed.”

  Claire dropped the package and the purse onto the coach and sat down next to them. “What happened?”

  She watched Turner pace back and forth across the floor, as if giving vent to his nervous energy. “I hired Mrs. Palmer, the new housekeeper. She started work yesterday. I thought Harrie was going to behave for this one. She promised me she would.”

  He tilted his head back and made a sound of disgust. “When I got home last night I actually thought it was going to work. Mrs. Palmer seemed a little tense, but she said things had gone fairly well for the first day and that she’d be back today.”

  He paused and looked down at Claire. “The minute she’d gone, Harrie started in complaining. About how Mrs. Palmer had made her wash her hands when they weren’t even dirty, how she’d had to eat carrot sticks when she hates carrots, how she’d been made to sit in the corner with a book for hours because Mrs. Palmer wanted to watch a soap opera on television....”

  He lifted a hand to run his fingers through his hair. “It went on and on.”

  Claire had stopped listening. The gesture had bared his chest, and she couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away from the expanse of smooth, tanned skin and the fuzz of dark hair down the center of it.

  As she looked at him, she saw his stomach muscles contract, forming ridges in his bare flesh. It could only have been seconds, yet when she heard his voice fade, embarrassment brought sudden warmth to her cheeks. She looked up and met his gaze.

  He stood perfectly still in the middle of the room, one hand still in his hair, staring at her as if he’d never seen her before.

  Her mouth felt dry. She wanted to moisten her lips, but didn’t want him to know the effect he had on her. She could feel her heart pounding as he went on gazing at her with a strange, intent look in his eyes that sent shivers tripping up and down her spine.

  Say something, her mind urged, yet her body seemed powerless to obey. She couldn’t draw air into her lungs and she felt as if she were about to suffocate. She parted her lips, and her breath came out in a shaky sigh.

  “So did she come back this morning?” she managed to say, though her voice sounded odd to her.

  Turner blinked and dropped his hand. “Er, yes, she did.” He turned away, took two paces toward the kitchen, then paused and looked back at her. “Iced tea?”

  She nodded, still holding her breath, and waited until he had disappeared before letting it out in a rush. She had a few seconds to get her composure back under control. She looked down at her hands and saw they were twisted around each other.

  This was crazy, she thought with a growing sense of dismay. She couldn’t feel this way about him. She didn’t want to feel this way about him. She couldn’t let herself feel this way about him.

  That look he’d sent her meant nothing. He’d caught her staring at his bare chest. That was embarrassing. He was probably wondering what on earth to say to her that would defuse the tension she’d created.

  She jumped nervously when she heard him come back into the room. It took all her willpower to look up at him and smile casually as she took the frosted glass from him. It didn’t help matters at all when she saw that he’d buttoned up his shirt.

  “Anyway,” he said, carrying his glass across the room to an armchair in the corner, “when I left this morning, everything seemed fine. Until I got a phone call early this afternoon. It was Mrs. Palmer and she sounded hysterical. I couldn’t understand one word of what she was saying, so I told her I was on my way. I dropped everything and rushed home.”

  Forgetting the upheaval going on in her mind, Claire stared anxiously at him. “What was wrong?”

  Turner took a mouthful of tea and swallowed it. “Everything. According to Mrs. Palmer, Harrie had been acting up all morning. Mrs. Palmer finally lost patience with her and told her to sit in the corner with a book until she could behave herself. Harrie said something rude to her—she wouldn’t tell me what—and took off out of the house.”

  “And went into hiding,” Claire finished for him.

  Turner gave a grim nod. “Right. But not before she’d found a snake and dumped it in the middle of the carpet. It was only a garter snake, of course. Apparently Harrie had been watching a nest of them, but Mrs. Palmer apparently has a phobia when it comes to snakes. She threw a fit and Harrie just laughed at her, then took off into the woods.”

  “Oh, heavens.” Claire stood her glass on the table. “So what did Harrie say about it all?”

  “Well, I was pretty steamed by the time she got back here. Mrs. Palmer stomped off, saying she’d never seen such a little hellion in her life, that the child was uncontrollable and needed professional help, among other equally complimentary comments.”

  “Oh, Turner, I’m sorry. Didn’t Harrie have anything to say?”

  “Oh, she had a whole lot to say. She said Mrs. Palmer was mean to her. She swears she didn’t do anything wrong, and that Mrs. Palmer only made her sit in the corner because she wanted to watch the soaps. When I asked her about the snake she said she’d brought it inside to play with it. She said she told the woman she’d play outside, but she wouldn’t let her do that.”

  “Do you think she was telling the truth?”

  Turner swore under his breath. “I don’t know what to believe. All I know is that no matter what I do, I can’t seem to find anyone who is willing to stay with my daughter longer than a couple of days. I can’t believe that those women are all as mean and nasty as Harrie makes out. At least some of it has to be her fault.”

  “It could be that Mrs. Palmer wanted to relax with her shows and didn’t want to have to worry about Harrie being outside. Lots of women are addicted to the soaps, you know, and will do anything to watch them.”

  Claire’s pulse gave a little jump as his gaze settled on her. Anxious not to get caught up in her awareness of him again, she added, “Do you want me to go and talk to her?”

  “It doesn’t make much difference whether or not she was telling the truth. Mrs. Palmer has left, and once more I’m without a housekeeper.”

  “That does present a problem.” She was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He had that intent look in his eyes again, as if he were trying to make up his mind about something. Her mind was playing a lot of crazy guessing games. None of them in the least bit sensible.

  “The thing that bothers me,” Turner said, “is that damn caseworker. He made it quite clear he wasn’t satisfied with my answers to his nosy questions and left me in no doubt that he would be back.”

  She stared at Turner, a growing suspicion in her mind as to what this was all about. No, she thought, it couldn’t be. He’d made no secret of the
fact that he resented her presence. That he didn’t trust her. That he thought she was spying on him for the Bridgemonts.

  Even as she tried to convince herself, she saw his expression change. “Claire, I know this is a big imposition. Believe me, I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. But I need time to resolve this problem once and for all. I can’t deal with everything at once and now I’ve got this guy on my back—”

  “Of course I’ll do it,” Claire said, cutting him off. “I’ll be happy to look after Harrie until you get something settled.”

  His brooding look was full of uncertainty.

  “That is what you wanted to ask me, wasn’t it?” she added, wondering if she’d misread his intention.

  “I don’t want to make things awkward for you,” he started to say, but again she forestalled him.

  “Turner, I’d love to have her. Really I would. There’s plenty of room in my apartment—” She broke off as his expression changed again. “What’s wrong?”

  “That wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” he said quietly.

  Her skin began to tingle as she met his intense gaze. “I thought you might consider coming out here,” he went on. “I know it’s a long way to travel every day, but I’d be happy to pay your gas bills. And for your time, of course. I just think Harrie would be better off out here than in the city. I would rather she stayed here.”

  Claire struggled for long moments with this new development. To be here at the cabin every day. To be in his home every day, surrounded by his furniture, his books, his personal belongings. To see him every day. It wouldn’t work. It would be a big mistake....

  “Look, it’s all right,” Turner said, rising abruptly to his feet. “I know you’re busy getting your new business off the ground. You don’t have time. I shouldn’t have asked you. I don’t know why I thought—” He broke off as a voice sounded from the doorway.

  “Oh, please, Aunt Claire. Please?”

  Looking across the room, Claire saw Harrie, dressed in a T-shirt that reached her knees and clutching Melissa under one arm as she peered around the door. The beseeching expression on her face would have been comical if Claire hadn’t been struggling so hard with her doubts.