Turner swung around with a muttered exclamation. “You had better get back to bed right this minute, young lady.”
“Daddy!”
“It’s all right,” Claire said, standing up. “I’ll do it. I can hold off on the business for a while. Just until you find someone else.” Her glance flicked across Turner’s face as Harrie let out a delighted shriek. He looked as if he had just set the timer on a bundle of explosives.
Then Claire grunted as Harrie’s small body slammed into her, her free arm clutching Claire around the waist. “Oh, that’s super. We’ll have such fun—”
“Only if you behave and don’t bring me any snakes,” Claire said, trying her best to sound stern.
Harrie let go and lifted her face, her wide grin revealing a gap in her small white teeth. “I’ll be good as gold,” she said breathlessly. “Honest!”
“You had better be,” Turner said, doing a more convincing job of sounding as if he meant it. “This is your last chance, young lady. Any more goof ups and I’ll have to send you away to that special school I told you about.”
For a moment fear crossed Harrie’s face, then she grinned up at Claire. “Will you teach me how to sew doll clothes?”
“Of course I will. As a matter of fact I’ve brought some patterns with me.”
“All right!” Dropping Melissa onto the couch, Harrie pounced on the package. “And I’ll teach you how to throw knives,” she said happily, as she tore open the wrapping.
Claire’s stomach turned. “Oh, thank you. I think.” She glanced at Turner.
He looked at her, a small grin tugging at his mouth. Then he lifted his shoulders and spread his palms in a gesture of defeat.
She smiled back at him, aware of the warmth spreading through her, and a very distinct feeling that this could be the biggest mistake she had ever made.
* * *
Chet Warren arrived at the cabin the day after Claire took on her new assignment. Shortly after noon, just as she and Harrie were about to sit down to lunch, a light tap on the door announced his presence.
Claire was surprised to see that the caseworker was around her own age, judging from his looks. For some reason, from Turner’s description, she’d imagined him to be much older.
She liked him on sight, despite the anxiety of watching everything she said and praying that Harrie didn’t say the wrong thing. Turner had already told her how Harrie had talked about the rug catching fire. It hadn’t been a promising beginning.
Claire was determined to rectify the situation and give the man a good impression. She invited him to have lunch with them. When he opened the conversation with Harrie, she hoped she wouldn’t regret the impulse.
“So how do you like living out here in the woods?” Chet Warren said, after taking a hefty bite out of the ham salad sandwich Claire had prepared for him.
“I like it fine,” Harrie mumbled, without looking at him. She seemed afraid of him, and Claire wondered what Turner had said to make her fear the caseworker. He seemed very pleasant, he spoke in a quiet, calm voice that Claire found very soothing, and he had a nice smile that appeared frequently as he talked.
She could find nothing threatening about him, except for the fact that he worked for the CSD and could very well cause a lot of heartache for Harrie and Turner.
Claire found herself sitting on the edge of her seat as Chet Warren skillfully drew out answers to his questions from a very reluctant Harrie. Although she was ready to jump in at the first sign of trouble, Claire didn’t want to look as if she were unduly concerned. The more nervous she appeared, the more he would think she had something to hide.
Even so, her shoulders ached with tension as she listened to Harrie’s grudging responses.
“What’s your favorite game, Harrie?” the caseworker said as he picked up his glass of iced tea. “What do you like to do when you’re on your own with no one to play with?”
Claire prayed Harrie wouldn’t mention the knives. In spite of Turner’s assurances that his daughter knew how to handle them, she was quite certain Chet Warren would not approve.
“Mr. Warren,” she said, while Harrie considered her reply, “you must meet a lot of children.”
His gray eyes met hers briefly, before returning to Harrie. “Call me ‘Chet,’ please. Everyone does. And yes, I do meet lots of children in my line of work. Unfortunately most of them need help of some kind.”
“It must take a very special kind of person to do the work you do.”
“Not really. Just someone who cares.”
Touched by his sincerity, Claire would have liked to ask more questions, but already his attention was fully on Harrie again.
“Don’t you ever get lonely with no one to talk to?” he asked, watching the little girl carefully balance a spoon across the top of her glass.
Harrie waited a moment before answering. “Nope. I have my dad, and Aunt Claire, and all the people in the shops on the Landing.”
“Ah, but that’s not the same as having kids to play with, is it?”
Harrie gave him a scornful look. “It’s better. Kids are always fighting and cheating at games and stuff.”
“Not all of them, surely,” Chet said, raising his brows and wriggling them at Harrie until she gave him a reluctant smile.
“Most of them. The ones at school do, anyway.”
“You like school?”
Harrie shrugged, “It’s okay. I like it better here. There’s more to do.”
“Like what?”
Claire curled her fingers around her empty glass. She could hardly jump in again without raising some question in Chet’s mind. He might seem like a nice, amiable teddy bear, but the shrewd glint in his eyes suggested he was much sharper than he looked.
“I like to watch the animals and birds and go ’sploring, go swimming sometimes with my dad and practice throwing—” She broke off as the spoon clattered loudly inside the glass.
“Maybe I should take the glasses into the kitchen,” Claire said quickly, pushing her chair back. “Before something gets broken.”
She was quite sure Chet heard her sigh of relief when he said, “I have to get going, too. I have a couple of other calls to make.”
She walked with him toward the door, leaving Harrie still seated at the table.
Reaching the door, Chet turned and looked back at the little girl. “Is it all right if I come back and visit with you soon?”
One of Harrie’s shoulders moved just slightly. “It’s okay.”
“What time does her father get home?” Chet asked as he stepped out into the warm sunlight.
“Around five or so.” Claire shaded her eyes to look at him. “I stay until he gets here, then I leave.”
“I see.” He studied her for a moment. “Is this a permanent arrangement?”
For some reason she felt warmth steal across her cheeks. She had simply introduced herself as a friend taking care of Harrie. She could imagine what Chet Warren must be thinking.
“Temporary,” she said, managing a smile. “Until he can find a permanent housekeeper.”
The caseworker nodded. “Well, let us hope he finds one soon,” he said quietly. Lifting his hand, he added a friendly “Goodbye” and strode off down the path through the trees.
Claire found herself smiling as she closed the door. It seemed as if Chet Warren was on their side. Oh, she knew he must have to be impartial when making a report. Still, his last comment made her feel hopeful that he would give a favorable account of Harrie’s situation.
Now, if only Harrie stayed out of trouble. At least until all this was officially settled. Shaking her head, she went in search of her goddaughter.
She found Harrie in her bedroom, sorting through a large cardboard carton of miscellaneous toys. As Claire sank onto the bed, Harrie straightened, grinning triumphantly. In her hand dangled a rather dilapidated-looking Barbie doll. One arm of the doll was twisted behind its back, the long blond hair was matted and had one of the doll’s high-heeled san
dals tangled in it. It wore a ragged pink bodysuit and nothing else.
“Well,” Claire said, taking the mangled doll from Harrie’s fingers, “she looks as if she could use a new wardrobe, all right.”
“Can we do it now?” Harrie asked eagerly, already rummaging through the contents of the carton for something else.
“We’ll do it later.” Claire straightened the doll’s arm, removed the sandal from its hair and laid it on the bed. “Right now I’d like to go and look at the shops on the Landing. I haven’t had a chance to explore them yet. I thought we might get an ice cream in the grocery store.”
Harrie had looked bored by the suggestion until she heard the words ice cream. “Can I have a double chocolate fudge with cream and nuts?”
“You can have anything you want, providing you can eat it all and not waste it.”
“I can eat two of them,” Harrie declared, bouncing across the room to the door.
“I think one of them will be enough,” Claire said, smiling as she followed the child out of the house.
She was surprised to find how quickly they could arrive at the Landing by cutting through the trees. The highway must curve in a half circle, she thought as they came out across the road from the shops.
“Be careful,” Harrie warned as they paused by the roadside. “Cars whiz by here real fast.”
“So I see,” Claire said as a red sports model flashed past them in a blur of speed. She waited until the road was clear, then followed Harrie as she darted across to the other side.
“Shall we go say hello to Daddy first?” Harrie stood on her toes and peered through the murky window of Turner’s Bait Shop. “He doesn’t have any customers.”
Trying to convince herself that that wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she’d suggested the trip to the stores, Claire followed Harrie into the cool, musty shadows of Turner’s shop.
Chapter 5
He sat at a small desk beneath yards of fishing net that hung from the ceiling. He smiled when he saw Harrie, and Claire felt the warmth of it as he included her.
“We’ve come to get ice cream,” Harrie announced, sprawling her top half across the desk.
“I don’t sell ice cream,” Turner said, looking serious.
“I know, Daddy. We’re going to the grocery store.”
“We stopped in to see if there was anything we could pick up for you,” Claire said, seizing on the excuse.
Turner’s gaze lingered on her face, interfering with her breathing. “Can’t think of anything right now. I usually pick up stuff as I leave the shop. Spur of the moment thinking.”
“Okay, just thought I’d ask.”
She turned to go, with Harrie dancing in front of her, when he said quietly, “Unless...”
Looking back at him, she found him watching her with the same intent look in his eyes that always managed to destroy her composure. “Unless?”
“If you’re not doing anything, of course...would you like to stay to dinner?” He dropped his gaze and fiddled with the pen in his fingers. “I just thought...it might be company for Harrie.”
“Oh, great! Aunt Claire, you will, won’t you?”
She looked down at Harrie, confused by the sudden rush of pleasure. “Well...”
“Please? Oh, please?”
Claire laughed as Harrie clasped her hands in a pitying gesture of pleading. “How can I refuse that performance? I’ll stay on one condition.”
“All right! What is it?”
“That you stop calling me ‘aunt.’ Just ‘Claire’ will do fine. You make me feel so old when you call me ‘Aunt Claire’ all the time.”
Harrie grinned. “You’re not a bit old, is she, Daddy?”
“Not a bit,” Turner echoed.
Still smiling, Claire looked up, and in that instant saw a different message in Turner’s silver blue gaze. It vanished almost at once, and she told herself she’d imagined the sudden approval. Even so, her heart began to thud as she tried to sound unconcerned. “So what can I pick up for you at the store?”
“I’ll get it when I leave. My surprise.”
“Ah! Does that mean I get to sample your cooking?”
“Daddy’s a super cook,” Harrie said, edging toward the door.
“So you told me,” Claire murmured.
“You can give me your verdict tonight,” Turner said, his smile spreading warmth through her again.
“I’ll certainly do that.”
“I’ll expect you to be honest.”
“I’m always honest. Even at the risk of hurting your feelings. I can be very blunt sometimes.”
“I like people to be honest and straightforward,” Turner said, his gaze still holding hers.
“So do I.” She had the feeling they were talking about something else, but she wasn’t quite sure what.
“Then we understand each other.”
“I guess we do.”
“Can I get an ice cream now?”
Startled by the plaintive voice, Claire looked across at Harrie, who stood on one foot in the doorway. “Yes, of course we can.” She sent a quick glance back at Turner and found him watching her, the intent look back in his eyes.
“I guess we’ll see you later, then,” she said, feeling breathless again.
He nodded. “Later.”
She escaped into the heat of the afternoon, wishing she’d had the sense not to accept his invitation. The longer she was around Turner Mitchell, the deeper the hole she dug for herself.
Inside the Bait Shop, Turner sat for a long time staring at the doorway. The impulse had been just too damn compelling to ignore. He wanted to see her again. He didn’t want her rushing off the minute he got home. He wanted to talk with her, watch her laughing with Harrie. He wanted his head examined.
With a groan he dropped the pen onto the desk and ran both hands through his hair. He was rushing down a one-way street to certain disaster. It was bad enough that he’d asked her to take care of Harrie. He’d promised himself it would only be for a day or two. Until he got fixed up with a housekeeper.
Now he had to go and complicate matters by asking her to dinner. That was the effect she had on him. Scrambled his brain so bad he couldn’t think straight. Well, he had better think straight, he warned himself, or he would be inviting more trouble than a bear in a bees nest.
Sighing, he picked up the pen again and tried to concentrate.
Down the street in the grocery store, the frail-looking man behind the counter greeted Harrie when she bounced up to the counter, and gave Claire a brief nod. If he recognized her from her visit a few days earlier he gave no sign of it.
“This is Aunt—I mean Claire,” Harrie said, resting her thin arms on the counter. “She’s looking after me now. And I’m going to have an ice cream.”
“Please,” Claire murmured automatically.
“Please,” Harrie repeated. She looked up at Claire and grinned. “Mr. Webb has got two cats and one of them had kittens. You want to see them?”
“Most of them have gone now,” Mr. Webb said, looking worried.
“That’s all right.” Claire guessed he wasn’t too thrilled about the invitation. “Some other time, perhaps.”
She bought Harrie her ice cream, but refused one for herself. Instead she bought a diet soft drink and sipped it as they wandered up and down the short, narrow aisles, which were crammed with provisions.
Packets of cookies sat next to boxes of cereals, candy and coffee shared the same shelf and canned fruit had been squeezed into spaces between bottles of cooking oil and salad dressings.
How anybody found anything in there, Claire thought as she pulled the door open to the jingling sound of a bell, she couldn’t imagine.
Outside again, Harrie ran her tongue up the side of her ice-cream cone. “Where are we going now?” she demanded, and deftly caught a blob of ice cream on her chin with her tongue.
“How about the antique store?” Claire suggested. “I want to buy something for my new apartment
. Something special.” She looked down at Harrie’s scowl in concern. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t like going in there,” Harrie said, flashing a dark look down the street. “I don’t like Mr. Newberg. He’s mean.”
Remembering her own impression of the antique dealer, Claire was inclined to agree. “We don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to,” she said. “But I would like a quick look in there as long as I’m here. You can wait outside if you like.”
“No, I want to come with you.” She’d sounded sure of herself, but hung back as they entered the shop, staying behind Claire.
The shop appeared to be empty, to Claire’s relief. Mr. Newberg must be taking a coffee break. She caught sight of a large brass urn and walked over to examine it. It had only a slight dent in the side and was reasonably priced.
She heard Harrie sneeze and glanced over at her. She stood near the door, looking as if she wanted to run. Unlike Turner’s shop, the mustiness here came from decaying fabrics and aged wood. In spite of the turpentine, Claire thought, she preferred the Bait Shop. She turned back to the urn and felt, rather than heard, the movement behind her.
“That’s a very nice piece of brass,” Mr. Newberg said in his parched voice. “A very good price on it, too.”
Claire turned to face him, and as she did so, his gaze slid past her to rest on Harrie.
“What do you want?” he said sharply.
“She’s with me.” Claire sent Harrie a reassuring smile, but the child had her eyes fixed on the dealer.
“Well, keep her out of the merchandise.” He looked at Harrie as if he would like to throw her out of the shop. “Kids should be in school full time, anyway. They don’t know what to do with themselves all summer and that’s when they get themselves into trouble.”
“I don’t think she’s doing any harm,” Claire said mildly. “Would you take ten dollars off for this dent in the side?”
He immediately switched his attention back to Claire, apparently sensing a possible sale. “I could go five less, no more than that.”
“Ten and I’ll take it,” Claire said firmly.
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