“Yes.” She tensed, waiting.
He surprised her by smiling. That smile made the transformation complete. They had traveled back in time. They were young and in love, and nothing else mattered.
The smile must have taken him by surprise, too. He quickly wiped it from his face. But not before Lily had seen true joy in his eyes. It was there for one unguarded second, then gone with a blink.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said, shifting her weight nervously, but not moving any closer. Would he be angry, thinking she’d been spying—which, of course, she had? “I was just walking….”
For a long moment he simply looked at her, his expression unreadable. He no longer resembled the boy; nor was he the hard-hearted man she’d been dealing with. He stood up and pushed the hair from his face.
She started to back away. She could feel his silence building into a cold wall. He was angry. The rock-hard set of his jaw said so.
Then he stopped her by speaking. “This is the first time I’ve been back here.” His gaze moved from her to the ledge overhead and back to her again.
“Me, too.” She wasn’t going to admit that, it just fell out of her mouth.
“It hasn’t changed like I thought it might.” He held himself still, as if afraid that any movement would shatter the moment and send shards of the past like shrapnel toward their hearts.
With equal care, she took a step closer. There was a twining of past and present, love and fear, anticipation and dread that she couldn’t untangle in her soul. It seemed too dangerous to speak what was on her mind, so she followed his lead.
“Someone has been here,” she said. “Someone uses it.”
He nodded and gave his head that once-so-familiar tilt that tugged deep inside her. “I hope it’s kids.”
“Luke said something like that to me once, a long time ago.” A long time ago—but it felt like yesterday. “I told him that adults might use it a few times then forget about it. Kids would fight for it.”
“And we did.” That beautiful smile crept back and Lily’s heart surrendered its brief battle to remain free.
She smiled, too. “That you did.”
After a moment, during which she could tell he was fighting the memories, he finally said, “I’m willing to share now.” He motioned for her to come and sit with him.
She knew she should say no. She should turn right around and walk out of this woods. But her feet moved forward, not in retreat. She purposely sat more than an arm’s length away from where he sat, her back against a tree. Any closer and she might give herself away, might reveal to him that she’d never really let him go.
She couldn’t stand the silence, the way they patently avoided looking at each other. “How is it that you’re not at the marina today? Sunday is a big lake day.”
“Cecil couldn’t take real retirement. After the first month, he came and asked for Sundays back. He wanted a day when it would be busy and he could catch up with all of the people he used to see. I think his wife was driving him crazy.”
“I see.” She swatted a fly that was pestering her.
They sat in heavy silence for some time. Reminiscing was one thing, but where were they to go from here? In this place, they could ignore their differences for a short while. But ignoring wouldn’t solve anything. If they were ever to find a common ground, which she firmly believed would be in Riley’s best interest, it couldn’t be done by ignoring the unpleasant.
Might as well really get the ball rolling. “I saw that boy you fired. At Kingston’s Market. He’s working in the produce section.”
He nodded but his expression remained closed. “I knew it’d work out.”
Lily’s spine stiffened. “Really? It sounded to me like you didn’t give a damn about that kid.”
“Kevin was an accident waiting to happen at the marina. If I didn’t fire him, he was going to end up in the hospital.”
“You didn’t have to be so mean to him. He seems like a nice kid.”
“He is.” He looked pointedly at her. “But I’m not a nice man—I’m a coldhearted jerk. Everybody knows it.”
She looked sharply at him, but he looked away and picked a weed nearby and began to shred it.
The realization hit like a blinding light. He did it so the kid could save face. Kevin wasn’t incompetent; Clay was an impossible boss, a bad guy. The juxtaposition of the Clay she knew and the Clay she now saw clicked into sharper focus.
He looked at her and apparently read her mind. Raising a palm, he said, “He was going to get hurt. I had to fire him. He was a lawsuit in the making.”
“Whatever you say.” She wanted to reach out and place her palm against his. Good thing she’d put the distance between them, or she might have done it.
“Don’t make things what they aren’t.” There seemed to be a resonance to that statement that went beyond the current topic.
She ignored it. “I suppose you have an equally self-serving reason for paying for Jason McGuire’s summer camp?”
He shifted and drew his knees up again, but didn’t look at her. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Don’t forget who my dad is. Nothing gets by him in this town. Just because the bar’s down doesn’t mean he’s out of touch.”
“Sure hope he’s back in business soon. Friday nights just aren’t the same with bottled beer.”
Lily didn’t miss the deliberate shift in conversation. She obliged, momentarily glad for a topic that wasn’t a minefield; it gave her time to adjust her opinion of Clay, the man. She’d been convinced he was a heartless bastard. And that played well with the version of him she’d created in her memory—the version that made the pain less sharp, that made it easier to pretend she was glad he’d left her. Now she could see, under all of that gruffness lived a very good man. There were questions that begged to be asked, but she didn’t want to take a chance and sabotage their conversation.
“Bottled beer will have to do for a while,” she said. “It’s going to be a few weeks before the Crossing House will be open again. He’s doing some major renovations. It’s going to be really nice, more upscale.”
He looked at her, the way he used to, like he could clearly see deep into her soul, and her heart hit a double-beat. “You just can’t get over it, can you?”
“What?” Why did he have to look at her like that?
“Here you are, the richest lady in town”—he waved a hand in the general direction of the lake cottage—“and still you can’t get over the fact that you were raised over a bar. Don’t you understand? Nobody cared then, nobody cares now.”
Anger washed over her in a hot wave. She shot to her feet, unsure which pissed her off more, the fact that he called her rich (which she most definitely was not—at least not anymore) like it was an accusation, or the fact that he presumed to understand what her childhood had been like. He’d been raised in a respected family.
She pointed a finger at him. “Maybe you don’t understand. You didn’t have to grow up over a bar and live in a town where everyone knew your mother deserted her family—ran off with another man without even telling her children goodbye. Just left for the drugstore one day and never came home.” Her voice rose as she picked up speed. “You didn’t have to go through every day listening to whispers behind your back, having other kids’ moms not let them come to your house to play—having people watch to see if you’re as big a whore as your mother!”
Lily’s mouth snapped closed. Her breath froze in her lungs and her trembling hand covered her mouth. Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry. She’d never said those words to anyone, rarely admitted them to herself. But once they started coming, they were like a runaway train driven by pure emotion.
She turned away.
Clay got up and moved close behind her. Every cell in her body thrummed with his nearness. After a moment, his hands grasped her shoulders and he pulled her back against his chest. For the briefest second she held herself rigid, then she relaxed into him.
&n
bsp; “Lily.” His breath tickled her ear. “You’re not your mother.”
Clay didn’t know where in his heart those words had come from. For years he’d been convinced that she was exactly that—a woman driven by selfishness, mad for money, abandoning those who loved her for the promise of a better life.
But in the past few days, he’d begun to doubt.
He turned her to face him. He had to see her eyes, see the truth. He’d never had that chance fourteen years ago, had never been able to look into her eyes and ferret out the reason why.
She wouldn’t look him in the eye until he put his finger under her chin and forced her. His hand slid to the side of her neck and rested there.
When her eyes met his, an ice pick pierced his heart. Suddenly he didn’t care what she believed. The only thing that mattered was the moment—the look of need in her eyes, the softness of her skin under his hands, the wild throb of his pulse in his veins, the pulse that echoed his in the side of her neck. Holding her gaze with his, he was a boy again, that boy he’d been searching for for so long.
He should take his hands off her. But she felt too good, too tempting.
Slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, his heart hammering like an inexperienced teen’s. His lips grazed hers lightly, testing her response.
His mind spun wildly into the past, to the first time he’d wanted to kiss these lips—in the old fire tower, hiding from a horde of teenagers playing some stupid game. It had begun in innocence, but the feelings that swept through him while they’d been isolated on that dark summer night had taken him by surprise. He’d always felt close to Lily, protected her. But this was different. He’d looked into those blue eyes, at those smiling lips and his heart had slammed into high gear. He was in love with her. When it had happened he could never pinpoint, but that was the moment when he’d fully realized it. He loved her and he wanted her—all of her. The shock of sudden and unexpected desire had stopped him in his tracks—that and the fact that she was too young, too innocent.
Now she was neither young nor innocent. And her lips answered his in a way that couldn’t be misinterpreted. Her arms slid around his back, her hands knotting in his shirt, and she closed the space between their bodies.
He moved them as one, backing her up against the smooth-barked sycamore.
Then he drew away slightly, still close enough to recapture her kiss. He whispered, “Show me.” He held up his scarred right palm.
Her left hand released his shirt. Slowly, as she held his gaze steady with hers, she slid her palm the length of his arm, coming to rest on the back of his hand. She moved his hand, placing it on her collarbone. Kissing him once again, she moved his hand lightly over her body, guiding it steadily downward until it rested on her breast.
Clay pulled away from the kiss just enough to see her eyes. Oh, God in heaven, those were the eyes that haunted his dreams. Blue gone gray with wanting. Lashes half shadowing the iris.
He hovered there, feeling her breath on his lips, drinking in the look in her eyes, and wanted time to stop.
That thought made him realize the danger. He had to stop this now, before it was too late. He drew in a breath and tried to lift his hand from her breast. But she held it firmly against her. He could feel the frantic beating of her heart against his thumb.
“Lily—”
She stifled his words with a kiss.
He made one more halfhearted effort at extricating himself, but when her tongue began to tease his and her hand moved his down her ribs and over the soft curve of her hip, he was lost.
When fabric changed to skin under his touch, he knew he was almost there, to the place that connected the two of them through time and turmoil.
She halted his hand against her thigh for what seemed an eternity and he thought his heart would explode out of his chest. She’d captured his body, his soul, with just one touch.
Then she slid his hand under the hem of her shorts. When he felt the silky smoothness of her inner thigh, the scar on his palm tingled as if electrically charged. When their hands finally reached their destination, he pressed the scar on his palm against the one on her leg.
A quiet yet demanding little moan came from the back of Lily’s throat. Her hand left his and pressed against the zipper of his jeans.
Jesus, he was going to come right now if she didn’t stop.
Kneeling in front of her, he held her shorts hem high and kissed a circle around the white scar on her leg. When he traced the scar with his tongue, she buried her hands in his hair. Her knees buckled slightly, but she caught herself.
“This brand makes you mine,” he said as he looked up at her. “No matter what happens. Always and forever. Mine.”
Her knees did buckle then. He steadied her as he stood once again.
Running his hands under her shirt, he peeled it over her head. Her hair fell onto her face in a cinnamon-colored fan. He pushed it back with both hands as he cradled her head and kissed her again. His tongue explored her mouth; he pushed the strap of her bra from her shoulder and cupped her breast.
The way she clung to him, the way she pressed herself against him, forced the last shreds of reality away. There was nothing in this world but the taste of her, the feel of her skin, the need to make her completely his.
The button popped from her shorts as he tried to undo it. It only served to make him more frantic. Working together, they peeled away her shorts and panties. She kicked them off while they switched their efforts to ridding him of his jeans. He felt her hands trembling as she slid them inside to shove the fabric away. The clothing disappeared as quickly and completely as their hesitancy.
He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around him. Her back was against the tree when he entered her. She threw her head back and he watched the rapid pulse in her beautiful neck as he moved within her. His body demanded more, drowning out the sweet ways of his heart.
He rocked her against the tree. Her eyes closed and her teeth bit down on her lower lip, making him want to do the same. But before he could lower his lips to hers, she moaned, pulling him deeper with her legs. He was lost.
She came and the feel of her body welcoming his was like a remembered dream.
It was over in the brilliant flash of a falling star. They clung together, breathing raggedly.
When he finally felt like he could take a step without collapsing into a puddle, he kicked off his jeans and carried her to the overhanging rock.
He held tightly onto the past, beating the doubt back into the darkness. He’d had but a taste of what he’d dreamt about for years, he couldn’t let go just yet.
Standing her on her own feet, he reached for the plastic garbage bag he’d discovered earlier. She smiled at him when he produced the blanket and spread it with a flick of his wrist.
Then he saw the hesitation bloom in her eyes.
Don’t leave me, baby, not yet. He pulled her to him and kissed her. At first she tensed and he feared she’d already shut him out. But soon he felt her tentative touch slide under the shirt on his back. He lowered himself to his knees, his lips and tongue tracing a line down her body until he reached the place that made her shiver.
Pulling her down with him, he stretched out on the blanket. Rolling her onto her back, he raised to his knees to get rid of his shirt; he wanted nothing between them.
As he was kneeling, he saw her hand reach for the edge of the blanket to cover herself. He locked one hand around her wrist and she released the fabric. He held her arm firmly on the ground and looked at her.
She actually blushed.
He could hardly believe how beautiful she was—more beautiful as a woman than she’d been as a girl.
Lying next to her, he pulled her against him. She snuggled there, her breath tickling the hollow of his throat. They’d woven a delicate web of illusion and by unspoken agreement, they weren’t going to ruin it with talk.
They spent a long while in silence. Then her hands began to caress and explore.
He remai
ned quiet, allowing his body to say what his heart could not. He treated her with the devotion of the twenty-one-year-old he’d been, allowing himself, for a single afternoon, to once again pretend that love was possible.
Despite his sweet intentions, before long he had to fight the need to possess her totally. But her mouth demanded, her nails dug into his back and her legs opened, telling him she needed the possession as much as he.
Just as he came, he heard her cry his name and her fingers dug into his hips. Two into one. The violent clash of spirits and the flawless joining of flesh. It was perfect.
Their bodies remembered, even if they’d forced their minds to forget.
Chapter 10
Riley looked through the crowd gathered in the park, disappointment swelling in his chest. He tried to ignore it, deny the feeling altogether. He’d told Mickey he’d meet her at noon by the stationary steam locomotive in the park. It had been twelve twenty-five when Gramps finally dropped him at the limestone-pillar-flanked entrance.
He had thought his grandfather would never finish with the touring and the stories. It wasn’t that Riley wasn’t interested in hearing about Uncle Luke and Mom as kids, but he was having trouble associating the “Lily” Gramps talked about with the woman who was his mother. With each new story, the picture was becoming clearer. He actually liked hearing Gramps talk; it gave him a totally different view of his mom. However, being late had made him miss Mickey.
Standing in front of the locomotive, he looked at his watch again. Twelve-forty. Either she’d given up or hadn’t showed at all. That was probably it. You just couldn’t trust a girl.
Last Wednesday he’d gone to that place in the woods on his way home from work. He hadn’t let himself hope she’d really be there. It was one thing to hang out in the woods by yourself when you were ditching school, but the first day of summer vacation had to have a whole lot more going on—even in Glens Crossing.
That thought had brought another. What if someone was out here with her? He’d almost turned around and headed back to the road when he heard her singing.
The Road Home Page 15