She and Harrie were discussing the menu when he finally arrived, looking almost formal in light pants and a knitted shirt after his customary uniform of cutoffs.
He seemed more relaxed than he had that morning and even teased Harrie as he always did. Claire began to hope that they had found the man who had killed the antique dealer and that their worries were over.
She soon learned otherwise after they finished their meal. Turner dropped the question casually enough, but Claire heard the strain in his voice when he asked, “Harrie, how would you like to go and spend a few days with Gran’ma and Gran’pa?”
Claire’s fork fell with a clatter to the plate.
Harrie appeared startled for a moment. “How long do I have to stay there?”
Turner smiled at his daughter, though his eyes held a look of defeat that tugged at Claire’s heart. “You don’t have to stay there long at all. I thought you might enjoy spending a few days with them. They have all kinds of fun things planned for you to do together.”
Harrie glanced at Claire. “Can Claire come, too?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” Claire said quickly, “but I have lots of things I have to do at my apartment. I won’t have time to stay, but I can come and see you, if you want me to.”
Harrie still appeared doubtful and Claire stole a look at Turner’s face. Whatever the police had told him must have been pretty intense for Turner to agree to this drastic move. Another thought occurred to her and her heart sank. Surely Chet hadn’t pulled strings to get Harrie to the Bridgemonts. She couldn’t see Turner standing still for that.
“It won’t be for long, kitten, I promise,” Turner said, looking more miserable by the minute. “Just a few days, that’s all.”
Harrie pouted. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you and Claire.”
“Gran’ma tells me the lady down the street has some puppies you can play with.” Turner looked at Claire for help.
“Just think,” Claire said, putting excitement in her voice, “if you’re in the city you get to do all those neat things, like go to the zoo, and the movies, and the swimming pool and the big stores.”
Harrie’s face brightened. “Yeah, and Gran’pa lets me stay up late to watch television.”
Turner winced, but said nothing.
“When do I have to go?” Harrie said, still looking uncertain about what she really wanted to do.
“Tonight, kitten. I’m taking you over there after we leave here.”
Harrie’s face dropped. “No, I don’t want to go tonight. Melissa will be all alone in my bed.”
“I took Melissa over to Gran’ma’s,” Turner said, his expression revealing how much he hated what he was doing. “And some of your other bears. And your clothes and books. I even took the patterns and stuff that Claire brought. Gran’ma says she’ll help you to sew them.”
Harrie gazed down at her plate for a long moment and chewed on her lip. “Okay, I guess Melissa will miss me if I don’t go tonight.”
“Yes, kitten, I think she will.”
“But I want Claire to come with us. I don’t want to say goodbye here. Please, Daddy?”
Turner flicked a look at Claire and she nodded. “I’ll be happy to come.” She didn’t want to say goodbye, either. Oh, how she was going to miss the little girl. But if what she suspected was true, and she couldn’t think of a single reason other than that for Turner to go against his beliefs this way, then Harrie would be safer with the Bridgemonts.
Turner confirmed her fears after they had said goodbye to Harrie, who seemed close to tears when they left. Mrs. Bridgemont had been coolly polite and obviously delighted to see her granddaughter. Paul Bridgemont had hidden behind the newspaper, saying very little at all.
As for Turner, he had been tight-lipped through the whole encounter, until he’d bent down to kiss his daughter goodbye. Claire had looked away when he’d held the child in his arms and hugged her. Mrs. Bridgemont had given an audible sniff of disdain.
Turner’s face mirrored his frustration as he faced Claire on the street outside the Bridgemonts’ house. She had followed his car in her own, and he stood with her as she unlocked her door.
“The police think Newberg’s murderer could be looking for Harrie,” he said, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. “He certainly knows she can identify him. In fact, the detective is coming over here tomorrow with mug shots. They don’t want to take her to the police station.”
“You know I would have taken care of her at the apartment,” Claire said, hating the look of despair on his face.
He gave her a small, tired smile. “Thanks, I appreciate that. As a matter of fact I suggested it to the detective. He said that could put you both in danger. Apparently, Newberg was mixed up with some real mean guys. He was receiving stolen goods and peddling them from the store. I couldn’t figure out how come he had so many customers come all the way out to the Landing. He told me he did a lot of advertising.”
“What do they think happened?” She suppressed a shiver, unwilling to imagine what might have gone on in the quiet peace of the woods that morning.
“He probably tried a double cross. He should’ve known better than to mess with guys like that.”
He cursed under his breath. “The cops think the guy might have hung around afterward, hoping to catch up with Harrie again. He could have seen her with either one of us. And that’s where he’ll be expecting to find her. It wouldn’t take him long to find out who you are and where you live, if he doesn’t know already.”
Claire felt a thrill of fear. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I think you’ll be okay as long as Harrie isn’t with you. He’s not going to risk hurting someone he doesn’t need to. It’s Harrie who can identify him, and she’s the one he’ll be after.”
“What about the police? Can’t they protect her?”
Turner shrugged, “They don’t even know for sure that the guy is after her. Until they have something concrete to go on, it’s out of their hands. They suggested I find a safe place for her more or less as a precaution than anything.”
“But the Bridgemonts? I know how that must have hurt.”
The look he gave her melted her heart. “I didn’t know what else to do. We couldn’t be sure of protecting her in the woods. It wouldn’t be safe for either of you. I’m going to take her away for a while, probably down the coast or something, but I can’t get away for a few days. I have to make some kind of arrangements if I’m going to leave. It was either leave her with people she doesn’t know, which she would hate, or the Bridgemonts.”
Knowing what a tough decision that must have been, Claire laid a sympathetic hand briefly on his arm. “I’m sorry, Turner.”
“I went to see them this afternoon, to tell them what had happened and what I’d decided. I made it clear it was a temporary arrangement.”
“And Mrs. Bridgemont agreed?”
He looked down the street, watching a group of teenagers playing basketball in a driveway. His face was etched in worry, and she longed to comfort him.
“She didn’t disagree. But I know what she was thinking. This would make things so much simpler.” He lifted his face in a gesture of despair. “Damn it, Claire, if there had been any other way. But I couldn’t let Harrie go to strangers. This seemed the best thing to do under the circumstances.”
She struggled for the words to comfort him. Overhead a jet droned by, on its way to the airport. The loud whack of the basketball hitting the net, punctuated by the pounding of feet, echoed up the street. Somewhere in the distance a chain saw buzzed, and from the house across the way she could hear the steady muffled thump of a base guitar. It was as if each sound vibrated in her mind.
“I’m sure it was, Turner,” she said softly. “I’m sure it will all work out. The Bridgemonts still have to prove that you’re not a fit father, and I really think this could work in your favor. You are obviously considering Harrie’s best interests in this situation and not your own.�
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“That’s for sure.” He sighed. “I hope you’re right. Thanks for the thought. I needed that.”
He needed a lot more, Claire felt, wishing she could give him the comfort he craved. “Well, I’d better get back to the apartment,” she said, moving to open the door.
“Claire.”
The urgency in his voice rippled down her spine.
“Come home with me tonight, Claire. I don’t want to be alone tonight. I...it will be tough there without Harrie.”
She was tempted. Oh, how she was tempted. But to be alone in the cabin with him, without Harrie to chaperon them? It would be asking for trouble, given the way she felt about him.
She knew it was just an impulse on his part. A cry for comfort from a desperate man. A few hours of forgetfulness to ease the agony of doubt and fear for his child.
For her it would be a very different thing. Once she knew what it was like to make love with this man, she would never be able to put him out of her mind. She couldn’t do that to herself. It wasn’t worth the pain it would cost her.
“Turner...” she started to say, but he’d obviously read her refusal in her voice.
“Look, it’s okay. Forget I mentioned it. It was a bad idea, anyway. It could even be dangerous with a killer on the loose.” He started to move away, then turned back to look at her. “Thanks, Claire, for everything you’ve done. You were wonderful and I really appreciate it. I’d better be getting back.” He hesitated. “Maybe I should come and check out your apartment, just in case.”
She shook her head. That would be just as difficult. “Thanks, but I’ll get the manager to come in with me. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
He gave her a long, brooding look, then nodded. Lifting his hand, he muttered, “Good night,” then strode back to his car.
She could feel the ache begin to spread before she had turned the key in the ignition. She watched Turner’s car roar down the street and disappear around the corner, and still she sat there.
The cold knot of emptiness seemed to reach down to her toes, in spite of the warmth in the car. The thought of the lonely apartment depressed her. The possibility, no matter how remote, that her home might be violated by a stranger worried her.
She would miss Harrie’s bright chatter, the warmth and coziness of the cabin, the quiet peace of the woods, the slow, simple way of life compared with the scramble and noise of the city.
Sighing, she slid the gear into drive and released the emergency brake. Most of all, she would miss Turner’s lazy smile and husky voice. The warm glance and the teasing glint in his eyes. Her pulse leapt as she remembered the touch of his lips on hers, the brief moment in her apartment with his body hot and urgent against hers.
She shook her head, trying to dispel the potent memories. She had known form the start that the relationship was only temporary. She had warned herself over and over again not to get involved. She only had herself to blame.
She pulled out from the curb and headed down the street toward the city. Turner would be facing a much worse night than she would. He would be so lonely without Harrie, out there in the woods all by himself.
Her stomach churned uneasily. What if the murderer came looking for Harrie? Her hands trembled on the wheel as she pulled up at the stoplight.
Turner was quite capable of taking care of himself, she reminded herself. He had a shotgun, she’d seen it in his bedroom. And she knew he must have a revolver somewhere; he’d mentioned that Harrie knew how to use one. He’d be fine.
She had to stop worrying about him or she wouldn’t get any sleep tonight. The light changed and she pulled forward, following the pickup in front of her. She could just imagine herself lying there, staring at the ceiling all night, fretting about him.
And wanting him.
Her vision blurred and she blinked hard. This might be the only chance she would ever have to know what it was to be loved by a man like Turner Mitchell. A man she had been attracted to for eight years. A man with whom she had fallen in love. A man she wanted more desperately than anyone or anything she’d ever wanted in her life before.
She reached the next corner and slowed to take it. The restaurant parking lot was almost empty. With a strange feeling that she was challenging destiny, she pulled into the open space and turned around.
Then, refusing to question anything in her mind except the firm knowledge that she was doing what she wanted to do, she headed in the opposite direction, toward the highway and Coopers Landing.
* * *
Turner parked the car and strode swiftly down the trail to the cabin. His back tingled as he scanned left and right of him, his muscles tensed and poised to spring.
It was almost an anticlimax when he arrived back at the cabin, having seen nothing more than a chipmunk and a pair of crows cross his path.
He let himself in the door and stood just inside, listening, feeling almost stupid for his caution. But he couldn’t get the image of Newberg’s dead body out of his mind. He had no desire to end up the same way.
After a moment he moved quietly throughout the cabin, looking in every conceivable place a man might hide. Finally satisfied that he was alone, he went into the kitchen, intent on pouring himself a large Scotch to settle his nerves.
He just hoped it wouldn’t end up being a night on the booze to drown his sorrows. He didn’t usually drink more than a glass or two of wine, but tonight was different. Tonight he really needed something inside him to warm the cold place where his heart should be.
He opened the cupboard door and reached for the Scotch, then froze when he heard the rap on the front door. Telling himself that the guy wasn’t likely to announce his arrival, he lowered the bottle quietly to the counter.
The rap came again, louder this time. Moving swiftly, Turner headed for his bedroom. He kept his revolver at the head of his bed, under the mattress. He reached for it, feeling the comfort of the smooth handle in his palm. Just in case.
He tucked it into the back of his waistband, then headed back to the living room and across the floor. Shielding himself with the sturdy door, he eased it open and peered through the crack.
“For heaven’s sake let me in,” Claire said, her voice sounding wobbly. “I’m getting the jitters standing out here.”
Shock stunned him for a minute, then he dragged the door open and pulled her inside. Closing the door again, he bolted it, then turned to look at her. She appeared pale and shaken, her usual air of calm assurance seemed to have deserted her.
Somewhere deep in his belly a warm, throbbing glow started to spread. “What are you doing here?” he asked softly, hoping he already knew the answer.
She glanced up at him, then away, as if afraid to meet his gaze. “I...thought you could use some company.” She uttered a nervous laugh, still not looking at him. “You scared me when you didn’t answer right away. I thought...” Her voice trailed away, and she looked helplessly around the room.
He realized she was close to tears, and the tenderness he felt for her almost overwhelmed him. “You thought what...?” he said, his voice barely above a husky whisper.
He saw her throat working when she swallowed. He wanted to kiss it in the worst way.
“I thought...perhaps...the...he might have been waiting for you. I was frightened.”
Finally she looked at him, and the expression in her eyes started his heart pounding.
“Damn it, Turner, I thought you might be dead. When you opened that door I had no idea who would be on the other side. I—”
He did what he’d been aching to do from the second he’d seen her standing there. He reached for her, pulled her against the length of his throbbing body and smothered her words with his mouth.
For a second she tensed, then, as he deepened the kiss, she relaxed, her soft body sinking against him, her arms creeping around his neck.
Her mouth tasted wonderful. He gathered her closer, aware of every seductive inch of her body. She fitted down the length of him, her soft, full
breasts pressed against his chest, her belly tight against his.
He probed her lips with his tongue, opening them wider, and moved his hips to establish his need of her. She moaned softly beneath his mouth and the sound drove him wild.
He ran his hands down her sides to her hips and pulled her against him, then felt a new thrill race through him when he clasped the round, full flesh of her buttocks.
Lifting his head just a fraction, he murmured, “I want you.”
“I want you, too,” she whispered, her lips moving against his.
Right then, he knew that never in his life had those words meant so much. Gently he put her away from him. “Wait a minute,” he said, his voice thick with his need. “I want this to be right.”
He moved quickly around the room, his fingers nervously hunting for the power switches on the lamps, until only one glowed softly in the corner. Then he removed the revolver from his waistband and laid it on the table.
He came back to her, eager to feel the warm, silky flesh of her body under his fingers. She reached out her arms to him, and the gesture of eager compliance almost destroyed him.
“I would put on some romantic music,” he said, taking her back in his arms, “but I don’t think Songs from Mary Poppins quite cuts it.”
She laughed, a low gurgling sound that charged his body with an almost unbearable urgency. “We don’t need music,” she said, tilting her head back to look up at him.
“I could hum.”
Again she laughed, and he lowered his head to sink his mouth into her soft, silky neck. He felt her hands in his hair, and his body tugged painfully.
It was time. Lifting his hands, he began to unbutton her blouse. As he reached the fourth button his hands brushed her breasts. He heard the sharp intake of her breath and again desire coursed through him. Knowing she wanted him as much as he wanted her filled him with hot excitement.
He parted the sides of her blouse and slipped it off her shoulders. Her breasts swelled against the silky fabric of her bra. He lifted his finger and drew it over her pointed nipple.
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