“Oh, all right. Business is quiet. Otherwise I wouldn’t.” His eyes glistened at her behind his glasses. “Can I interest you in a brass umbrella stand? Turn of the century, and in near perfect condition.”
“No, I think this will be all for now.” Claire opened her purse to get her wallet.
“Fine.” Once more his gaze swiveled over to Harrie. “I hope she doesn’t drop any of that mess on my carpet.”
Glancing at Harrie, Claire saw she’d almost finished the ice cream. She also saw the resentment on the little girl’s face and decided it was time they left. Quickly she wrote out a check and picked up the heavy urn in her arms.
Harrie was already at the door, waiting to open it. Claire thanked the perspiring dealer and headed out the door, grateful to be breathing fresh air again.
“I hate him,” Harrie muttered as they waited to cross the road again. “I wish he’d fall in front of a car or something.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say,” Claire murmured. She wasn’t really paying much attention. Her mind was too busy dealing with the prospect of the coming evening.
Whatever had prompted her to accept the invitation, she was now beginning to regret it. Turner Mitchell had a potent effect on her each time she saw him. She just hoped she had enough sense to resist whatever chemistry existed between them.
Up until now he had kept his distance, making it clear he didn’t trust her. But lately she had sensed a softening in his attitude. Perhaps it was just because she had stepped in to help look after Harrie, saving him from having to worry about her.
Whatever the reason, it didn’t help her resolve to stay unaffected by him. She couldn’t afford to get emotionally involved with him. Or with any man. And if Turner knew the reason why, he wouldn’t want her, anyway.
* * *
Turner surprised Claire that evening by preparing a shrimp stir fry that tasted better than anything she’d eaten in months. The wine helped, of course, a wonderful, light Oregon chardonnay that eased the tension she’d been fighting all afternoon. Or possibly the company added to her pleasure. Whatever it was, she enjoyed the meal immensely.
Harrie kept up a steady stream of chatter throughout dinner, while Claire managed a few exchanges in between pauses. Turner seemed content to listen for the most part, adding comments now and then when he could get a word in.
By the end of the meal Claire felt a sense of well-being and contentment that would have been exhilarating had it not been for the little warning voice in her head. Every time she met Turner’s gaze, every time he made her laugh, every time her pulse leapt when he looked at her or spoke to her, she couldn’t ignore the fact that he stirred her feelings on a totally primitive level.
She watched him tease Harrie, enjoying the banter between the two of them. It was obvious they had a special relationship, an understanding of each other built on trust and love that was beautiful to see.
Turner Mitchell might be strong, stubborn and, at times, intimidating, but with his daughter he displayed a tenderness and thoughtful charm that would be devastating if turned on a woman.
No wonder Stacey had loved him so, Claire thought with a twinge of nostalgia. Whatever had gone wrong between them, if indeed something had, it was sad that they’d had so little time to work things out.
She wondered if Turner would ever consider marrying again, for Harrie’s sake if not his own, and she felt a very real stab of envy for the fortunate woman who would one day capture his heart.
When Harrie insisted that she read her a story at bedtime, Claire was quite relieved to escape for a while. She couldn’t think straight when she was that close to Turner Mitchell.
Just as she turned the last page of Harrie’s book, the feeling of anticipation that had plagued her all afternoon returned. With Harrie in bed she’d be alone with him.
Angry with herself, she made an attempt to clear her mind of such treacherous thoughts. Tucking the sheet in the side of the bed, she leaned over and dropped a kiss on Harrie’s cheek. The little girl surprised and delighted her when she wound her arm around Claire’s neck and hugged her.
“I’m glad you came to look after me,” Harrie said, smiling up at her. “Better than those stuffy old housekeepers.”
“Harrie.” Claire sat on the edge of the bed, trying to form the right words in her head before she spoke them. “You do know how much I enjoy being with you, don’t you?”
An understatement if there ever was one, she thought wistfully. This was the closest she would ever come to having a child of her own. It was a bittersweet relationship, but one she wanted to enjoy for a long time to come.
She could still feel the pain she had felt thirteen years ago in the doctor’s office after the emergency surgery she’d undergone earlier that month. It was her final checkup, and she’d expected a clean bill of health.
She hadn’t been prepared for the shock of hearing the doctor’s report. The surgery itself had been a success. However, the doctor told her, the ovaries had been more severely damaged by the tumor than first suspected. They’d had to remove them both. She would never give birth to a child.
It had taken many long months before she had come to terms with the news. Even now, in the warmth of Harrie’s hug, she felt the pain of a deep and irrevocable loss.
“I like being with you, too,” Harrie said, disturbing her thoughts.
“But you do understand that I can’t be here all the time. And that sooner or later your daddy will find a housekeeper to take care of you.”
Harrie pulled back, as if trying to escape the inevitable. “I don’t want a housekeeper. I want you.”
“I’ll come and see you often,” Claire promised, disturbed to see the resentment on the small face.
Harrie didn’t answer, and after a moment Claire added, “Well, we don’t have to worry about it right now. I’m here for the time being and we will enjoy being together while we can, right?”
Harrie seemed unconvinced, but she muttered a quiet “I guess so.”
Smiling, Claire kissed her on the cheek again and left the room.
Turner had switched on the lamps in the living room, sending a soft glow across the walls. He sat in one of the armchairs, one leg balanced across his knee, as he read the newspaper. He looked up as Claire entered and gave her a smile that set her spine tingling again.
“All settled down?”
She nodded, disturbed by the domestic ambience between them. “She’s waiting for you to go in and say good-night.”
“In that case, I’d better go, or she’ll be yelling for me at any minute.” He folded the newspaper and stood, adding, “There’s more coffee if you’d like some.”
“Thanks, I’ll pour you one, too.” She filled two cups and carried them back to the living room. Settling herself on an armchair by the open window, she watched the last of the daylight fade into darkness. It was peaceful here in the woods, with only the sounds of the wind in the branches and the rustling of night creatures in the undergrowth.
The breeze ruffled the curtains, bringing the cool, damp smell of grasses and pine into the room. She could understand Turner’s preference for living in this environment, though it must have been a culture shock after living in the city.
She wondered what had made him decide to leave, and her mind still pondered the question when he walked back into the room.
“She’s almost asleep,” he said, lowering himself onto the armchair again. “How I wish I could fall asleep that quickly.”
“The sleep of the innocent,” Claire said with a smile.
“I don’t know about that.” Turner reached for his coffee. “Sometimes I wonder just what goes on in that mind of hers.”
“She’s very bright.”
“Almost too bright. She seems to be able to stay one step ahead of me all the time.”
“She takes after her mother. Stacey was always one step ahead of everyone.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
Unsettled by the
bitter note she’d heard, Claire said hesitantly, “Turner, I know it’s none of my business, but Stacey was my best friend. I’m sorry if things weren’t going well between you. I don’t know what went wrong, but I’m sure, if you’d just had more time, you would have worked it out. Stacey loved you very much.”
He put his cup down again, with an abrupt movement that startled her. “Yeah,” he said harshly, “she loved me so much she got herself killed while she was on a date with another guy.”
His words seemed to hover between them, chilling the warmth that had filled the room just moments ago. Claire wasn’t sure if she was more shocked by his words or by the expression on his face.
“Look,” he said, his voice tight, “forget I said that, okay? I don’t know why it came out then, but I’m sorry I said anything.”
“I’m sorry, too.” Claire shook her head. “Are you sure? That doesn’t sound like Stacey.”
“Of course I’m sure. The guy was driving the car. They’d been to a bar and he’d been drinking. Apparently it was no secret to anyone except me.”
“Oh, Turner, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” She didn’t know what else to say and lapsed into a miserable silence.
“Yeah, well her parents hushed it up, of course. Money can come in very handy at times.” He gave a quick shake of his head, as if wanting to rid himself of the unpleasant memories. “It’s past history. There’s no sense in hashing it over again now.”
“I agree.” Reluctantly Claire put down her coffee and stood. The former ease between them had vanished, leaving an awkward tension that disheartened her. It seemed as if there would always be some kind of barrier between them. Then again, considering the circumstances, perhaps it was just as well.
Even so, the thought saddened her. “I had better get going,” she said, glancing at her watch. “It’s getting late.”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Turner said, rising to his feet.
“No, I’ll be fine. It would be better if you don’t leave Harrie alone in the house at night, even for a few minutes. You never know who might be watching.”
“I don’t like the thought of you walking through the woods alone at night.”
She smiled at him. “It’s not far. Really, I’ll be all right.” She moved toward the door, conscious of his eyes on her.
“Claire.”
His voice stopped her and she paused, half-afraid to look back at him for some reason.
“Thanks for taking care of Harrie for me. I’ll try not to impose on you for too long. I know you have your own life to get on with.”
“I’m enjoying it. Really.” She hesitated. “But if you want to get this thing settled with the Bridgemonts, you will have to make a permanent arrangement soon. They’ll know it’s only temporary with me.”
“I know. I’m working on it.”
She looked at him, hoping he wouldn’t resent her interference. “Turner, wouldn’t it be better to make peace with the Bridgemonts? If you explained to them—”
“What makes you think they’ll listen to me? They don’t want visits with Harrie. They want to own her. They want me out of the picture completely. They made that very clear the day of the funeral.”
“Oh, Turner, surely not.” She couldn’t believe these people she had known half her life could be so callous.
He shrugged. “I didn’t realize, until you mentioned it, that they blamed me for Stacey’s death. Though I still don’t understand why.”
“Neither do I.” But she was going to do her best to find out, Claire added inwardly. Maybe then she could see a way to resolve this feud between them.
Much as she knew Harrie loved her father and wanted to be with him, she couldn’t help realizing that the Bridgemonts could give the child a much more secure and comfortable life than Turner was able to provide. That could go against Turner in a custody fight. Even if he was doing his best to take care of her.
She turned to leave and heard him come up behind her.
“I do appreciate everything you are doing to help,” he said quietly.
She looked back at him over her shoulder. “You are both very welcome.”
For a moment his gaze held hers, stirring the excitement that always seemed just below the surface whenever she was close to him.
“Good night, Claire. Be careful.”
“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He nodded, and for a moment his gaze flicked down to her mouth. “Tomorrow.”
It sounded like a promise, and her heart lifted as she hurried down the path toward her car. She was almost there, when she saw the light through the trees.
At first she thought she’d imagined it, but then she saw it distinctly. A flickering light that danced in and out of the shadows. She drew in her breath sharply, afraid that it could be a fire. But it was too controlled for that. After a moment or two of watching for it, she knew it was the glow from a flashlight being carried through the woods.
Her nerves tightened as she realized it was the narrow trail that Harrie used to get to the Landing. Who would be walking through there at night? she wondered. The only people who would use that trail would be Turner and Harrie or someone coming to see them. But the light was moving away from there.
In fact, after another moment or two, she couldn’t see it at all. Her uneasiness growing, she hurried on toward her car. Could someone be spying on Turner?
She couldn’t believe that the CSD would stoop to such underhanded methods. She didn’t want to think the Bridgemonts would, either, but she couldn’t help remembering Turner’s terse comments about how they used their money to get what they wanted.
She would mention it to Turner in the morning, she thought unhappily. She didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily, but he should know if there was someone skulking around his cabin at night, keeping watch on him.
The anxiety stayed with her most of the night, disturbing her sleep. She resolved to drive out to the cabin early the following day so she could talk to Turner before he left to open the shop.
* * *
Turner’s rush of surprised pleasure caught him unawares when he opened the door the next morning and saw Claire standing there smiling at him. She looked wonderful, as fresh and clean as the forest after morning rain. Dressed in white slacks and a blue shirt that bared her arms, she appeared vigorous, healthy and incredibly enticing.
He recovered quickly and managed to sound casual when he said, “Well, look who got up with the dawn this morning. You’re just in time for breakfast.”
“Pancakes,” Harrie announced, peering around his waist from behind him.
“Sounds wonderful.” Claire sniffed the air as she walked into the room. “But I’ve already had my cereal and fruit.”
“Ah, health nut, I assume.” He waved a plate of fluffy pancakes under her nose.
“Do that too often and you’ll convert me back to my bad habits.”
“You had bad habits? Never!”
“Nobody’s perfect.” She grinned at him, and his body reacted immediately.
“I am,” Harrie declared.
They both laughed, and Harrie grinned back. Turner felt his stomach muscles tightening and decided it was time to finish cooking the bacon.
He managed to enjoy his breakfast, in spite of Claire’s comments on the calories he had consumed.
“I can’t imagine how you keep so trim if you eat like that all the time,” she said, her gaze skimming over his stomach.
He felt the impact of that scrutiny throughout the rest of the meal. “So what do you two have planned today?” he asked after he and Harrie had finished eating.
“I thought I might take Harrie into town to the bookstore I was talking about.”
“Oh, yeah! That would be cool!” Harrie exclaimed.
He wished he could go, too. He’d enjoy spending the day with his daughter. And Claire. Especially Claire.
“Well, just behave yourself, young lady,” he warned Harrie as he headed toward th
e kitchen. “They’re not used to savages in the city. And you’d better put on some decent clothes.”
“Do I have to?” Harrie rolled her eyes to the ceiling in a gesture of despair. “It’s so hot.”
“Clean shorts and a shirt will do fine,” Claire said, sounding amused. “And sandals, of course.”
Harrie disappeared down the passageway to her bedroom, and after a moment Claire followed him into the kitchen. His hand shook as he stood at the sink, rinsing plates under the stream of hot water.
“I could have done that for you,” she said. “I have more time than you do.”
He turned his head to look at her and must have edged the plate too close to the faucet. The spray of water hit him right in the stomach.
The force of it stung more than burned. He yelped and jumped back, looking down ruefully at his wet shirt.
Claire laughed and reached for the tea towel. “That will teach you to pay attention to what you’re doing. Here, let me dry it.” She stepped up to him and dabbed at the wet patch.
The knot in his belly tightened painfully. She was so close he could feel the warmth of her body. Her fragrance tantalized him, faintly exotic, wholly feminine. The light pressure of the cloth on his stomach was sheer agony, and his entire body constricted with the effort to keep his hands from reaching for her.
He’d stopped breathing. He pulled air in through his nostrils, and it sounded like a gasp.
She must have heard him. Her hand stilled. He wanted to trap it with his own, to hold it against him, to feel the warmth of her flesh against his. Desperately he watched the flush creep across her cheeks.
Move, he begged her silently. Move away before I grab you and smother that incredible mouth.
Almost as if she’d heard him, she withdrew her hand with a jerky movement and stepped back. “There, the warm air should dry the rest of it.”
“The heat of my body will take care of it.” He hadn’t meant to say that. He saw her eyes widen, and she looked away.
“I don’t think you’ll catch cold,” she said, and took a long time to drape the towel over the rung on the oven door.
The ache in him threatened to choke him. He cleared his throat. “Claire—”
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