Hope ignored Nick and beat against the front door again. Her mother had to be home. She had to be. They couldn’t have come all this way for nothing.
“Hope.” Nick placed his hand on her arm, gently stilling its movement. “She’s not home.”
“She has to be.”
“We can come back later—”
“She’s home. She just doesn’t want to see me.” Hope shook off his hand and left the front porch, making her way around to the back of the house. If her mother thought she could hide in the house and wait for Hope to leave, she had another think coming.
As she made her way around the side of the house, she stopped and peered into the windows. But just as she remembered, curtains blocked each window, making it impossible for her to see inside. She reached the back door and without even knocking first, she tried the knob. Locked tight. A sinking sensation settled in the pit of her stomach. Maybe Nick was right. Maybe her mother wasn’t home.
No, she had to be.
Images of Joshua floated through Hope’s mind and a fresh surge of anger poured through her. Damn her mother if she thought for one moment she could ignore her grandson.
Hope banged her hand against the fiberglass door. And then she did it again. And again. And again until she lost count. Her fist began to throb but she ignored the pain. She was going to get into that house and see her mother. Nothing was going to stop her.
“Open up, Claire. Open up,” Hope yelled. She slammed her fist against the door again, but even as she did, the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach came back.
“Hope,” Nick said quietly from behind her. She hadn’t even realized he was there. “Hope—”
“Don’t. Don’t you dare tell me she’s not home.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“I’m going to get in.”
“I know.”
“Don’t you dare try to stop me.”
“I won’t.”
That brought her up short. “Then what were you going to say?”
Nick’s wide stance didn’t change, but Hope felt a subtle shift in him nonetheless. “If she’s in there, she’s not going to answer the door.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Hope dropped her forehead to the cold door, her balled fist quiet by her head. It throbbed with pain. The rush of adrenaline that had fueled her only moments ago was gone. “I have to see her,” she said, her breath fanning against the door. “I have to.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
The hard edge in Nick’s voice penetrated Hope. She lifted her head and looked at him.
“He’s my son too, Hope. But banging on a door Claire’s never going to answer is getting us nowhere. I think we should . . . Never mind. Just follow me.” Nick turned and left.
Hope hesitated. She didn’t like Nick’s highhandedness, but she’d run out of her own options. Plus, right or wrong, there was a kind of comfort to be found in his strength, the conviction with which he spoke. Like he had all the answers. He was a presence she couldn’t ignore even if she wanted to. And right now, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Besides, getting to Claire was all that mattered.
Hope found Nick at the back of the house, looking up to the second floor, looking up to her old bedroom window. At her approach he glanced down and to her. “We have a few options.”
“Which are?”
“I can get in through a door.”
“They’re locked.”
He gave her a look. “Do you really think a locked door can stop me?”
No. A locked door would have no chance against Nick.
Nick reached down and picked up a large rock lying by his feet. “I can smash a window to get in. Or . . .”
Hope wasn’t opposed to a little property destruction if it meant getting her to Claire. But she’d save it as a last resort. “Or?”
Nick looked at the old drainpipe attached to the side of the house. He grabbed hold and took several hard tugs on it, and then looked back to Hope. “It’s not as sturdy as it used to be but I think it’ll still hold.”
She didn’t even have to ask him what he meant. She knew. When they’d been teenagers and being together had been the only thing that mattered, this drainpipe had been Hope’s train ride to freedom. And she’d bought more tickets than she could remember. But Nick wasn’t asking her to climb, he was already making his way.
“Wait,” she yelled, and rushed forward to tug on the back of his shirt, halting his progress. She had been the one to shimmy up and down the thing when they were younger. Didn’t he think she could do it now? But more importantly, she weighed less than Nick and that drainpipe didn’t look too sturdy.
“What?” Nick turned around.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“What does it look like?” Nick grabbed hold once more, and hefted himself up. A creak sounded from the pipe.
“You’re too heavy.”
“I can make—”
Before he could even finish his sentence, the pipe creaked in protest again.
“Move.” She stepped around him and placed herself between him and the pipe. “I’m going up.”
“Hope, you could get hurt. This was a foolish idea. Come on. Let’s just wait. She’s not—”
“If you say she’s not home, I’m going to pull this pipe from the house and bash you over the head with it. And besides, the idea wasn’t so foolish when you were going to be the one to climb up.”
Not waiting for his response, she grabbed hold with both hands and began to hoist herself up.
Nick’s arm circled around her waist, pulled her back. He turned her around in his arms. Gently he lifted her chin until they were face to face. She found herself forgetting all about the pipe, all about Claire, as her gaze rose and met his blue, blue eyes. Compassion and a gentle understanding softened his features.
“I know how important this is to you. To us,” he said. “But getting hurt will not help. Let’s wait.”
“I can’t.” Her voice was whisper soft. “I just can’t.” She broke out of his embrace and went to tackle the pipe. She knew he was right, or at least partly so. But she also knew she couldn’t give up now, not when she was this close. She wasn’t even sure she could still climb the thing. But she was going to try.
Lodging her foot between the house and the pipe, exactly like she had done all those years ago, she began the process of hoisting herself up all over again.
Before she even cleared the ground, Nick was there. Helping her. His hands on her back, supporting her, lifting her. She looked to him.
A wry grin creased his mouth. “If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it with my help.”
“Thanks.” She positioned her foot and grabbed the drainpipe. It was cool in her grip. As she wrapped her hands around the pipe, her fingers brushed against the house’s rough siding. With a little bounce, she began the process of pulling herself up. One step. Two. Three. With each inch gained, confidence returned. She could do this. But as quickly as she had the thought, her shoe began to slip. She dug in deeper. Grabbed tighter. But for naught. She gave a cry as she began to fall, knowing she was going to hit the ground.
But she didn’t.
Nick was there.
He caught her easily, his arms wrapping around her, holding her tight. His embrace felt so good, so right. Too good. Too right.
She wiggled to free herself, but oddly, the more she tried to free herself, the tighter his hold became. It was almost as if he didn’t want to release her. But that couldn’t be right. His grip was firm but comfortingly so. In his arms she felt safer and more secure than she could ever remember feeling. As if the two of them together could conquer any problem life threw their way. But those type of thoughts were not the type of thoughts Hope should be having. Maybe she hadn’t been born strong like Nick, but she had learned how
to be strong the moment her babies had been placed in her arms. And she would continue to be strong for her, for them, and on her own.
“Let me go.” Her words were spoken softly, half demanding, half pleading.
“Hope.”
It took every bit of strength she had to hold his gaze. “Please.”
His arms tightened even more protectively around her before slowly—oh, so slowly—loosening ever so slightly.
Still in his arms, she began to slide downward. Down the long, solid length of his body. He kept her close to him. Her soft breasts pressed firmly against his muscled chest, her less than firm stomach molded against his granite abs. And as her descent continued, she felt the hard ridge of his Levis’ waistband, his muscled thighs.
Time seemed to slow. Stop. Each breath became more labored than the last, each slide, each rub, more sensual than the one before. It was torture to feel him like this. She wanted it to stop. She wanted it to go on forever. After too long (too soon? she still couldn’t decide), her feet landed on the grass.
Nick’s arms dropped away from her sides. Their loss was felt more keenly than she’d ever dare to admit.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, readjusting her shirt back down, smoothing it into place. She refused to look up at him again, knowing how much strength it had taken her to do so just moments before. And also knowing her eyes might reveal too much.
“For?”
“Falling on you.”
“I’m not.”
She couldn’t help herself; she looked up, caught the grin that curved the corner of his mouth. She felt the impact of that smile low in her belly and if she’d been back on that drainpipe, she would’ve slipped right back off. “I’m a little out of practice.”
“I hope so,” he said as his smile spread across his whole face. Without saying anything further, Nick bent at the waist and cupped his hands together.
She took a deep breath, shook off the thoughts and feelings he caused her to have whenever he was near, and got back to the business at hand. She placed her foot in his cupped hands. She found a foothold and once again lodged her toe in. Her hands wrapped around the pipe and she struggled to pull herself up. She lifted her other foot and wedged it in. Using hands to pull and feet to push, she shimmied up a couple of inches. “I think I’ve got it,” she managed to pant. When had she gotten so out of shape?
His hands landed squarely on her butt and he gave her a push.
Oh God. Warmth from his hands permeated her backside. Spread to places it had no right to go. “No, really, Nick, I think I’ve got it.”
In response, he gave her another supporting shove, holding most of her weight.
Heat seeped up her backside and tingled through her spine. Why couldn’t he just let her fumble through this on her own? And why did he—oh, God, another thought hit her. He was supporting her. Why hadn’t she laid off the stress-induced binge-eating of Cheetos?
“Nick, you can let go. I’ve got it.”
He ignored her. “Here.” His hand wrapped around her ankle and he gently positioned her foot farther up the pipe.
Unable to do anything else, she jammed her foot into the narrow gap between the house and the pipe and tried to lever herself up. Before she’d even budged, Nick was there, or, more accurately, his hand was on her backside helping her again.
“I’ve got it,” she said again, sounding like a broken record. But damn it anyway, when was he going to get the hint? Okay, enough with trying to be polite. She looked down to him and all but groaned in misery when she saw that she was only a couple of feet from the ground. “Nick.”
He looked up. “What?”
“Let. Go.” She made a point of looking directly to where his hand was and then to him. Surely, surely, he’d get the hint this time.
Another one of those bone-melting sexy grins spread across his face as comprehension dawned. And in that instant she realized her blunder. The rat! He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Let go of what?” he asked a little too innocently, the pressure from his hand increasing ever so slightly on her backside.
Clamping her mouth shut, Hope dug deep, found new strength, and pulled.
Inch by inch she wedged herself farther up the pipe. Nick’s hands fell away as she climbed beyond his reach and even though she refused to look down—somewhere between teenage years and carpool mom, heights had started to bother her—she could feel Nick’s gaze watching her every move. She paused, drew in a deep breath, and looked up to her bedroom window, certain she’d climbed the distance of Mount Everest, only to realize her window was still several feet away.
She slid her hand up the cool pipe, along the back, near the house, and searched for a gap. Just when she didn’t think she’d find one, her fingertips slipped into place and she grabbed hold. Not for the first time did she wonder just what in the world she was doing up here. But then an image of Josh would flash before her, and that was all it took. As she lifted her foot a creaking sound came from nearby. Hope looked around, startled.
“Hope,” Nick yelled from the ground. “Get down.”
“No,” she said through her tightly held breath. “I got it. I got it.”
“Get down now,” Nick all but shouted up at her. “That pipe is going to give.”
“No, no. It’s okay.” But to prove her wrong the thing wiggled and came away from the house. She looked back to her window, felt tantalized by its nearness. She toyed with the idea of continuing on. She was so close. But even as she did, the pipe swayed again.
“Hope!” This time Nick did yell. Loudly. “Get the hell down!”
It galled her to have to give in. She hated to give up. She looked up to the window and hesitated.
“Hope!”
She let out a deep, deflated breath. “I’m coming.” She began to make her way down, but obviously she’d tempted fate a little too long. Before she’d even moved an inch, the pipe broke free from the house. Hope fell right along with it.
For a terrifying moment she felt herself plunging through the air. She was going to land in a heap, in her mother’s backyard, undoubtedly with a broken bone or two. Oh God, what would Josh and Susan do?
She flung her arms wide, windmilled through the air, tried desperately to find something to grab hold of. But only air filled her grip. A sickening dread filled her as the ground rushed closer. She was falling. And falling hard.
But the crash to earth never materialized. Before she connected with the hard ground, Nick caught her.
A loud grunt rushed out of him as the full force of her weight landed on him.
“Goddammit, Hope. I knew I shouldn’t have let you climb that.” He didn’t even wait until she was out of his arms to start yelling at her. As a matter of fact, he didn’t even let her out of his arms. “Goddammit,” he said again. “Don’t you ever do anything that stupid again. Do you hear me?”
The whole neighborhood could hear him. She opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t give her the chance. His grip wrapped around her once more.
“Just what in the hell were you thinking?”
“I—”
“You nearly killed me, scaring me like that!”
“You don’t need to shout!”
“I’ll shout if I damn well want to shout!” His voice rose even higher, which she would have thought impossible only a moment before.
“What were you thinking?” He repeated his earlier question.
Hope didn’t think he wanted an answer, but she was going to give him one anyway. “I was thinking about my son. And helping him.” She was getting as worked up as he was. Who did he think he was? Yelling at her like that.
Nick’s arms tightened around her as he shifted her in his arms until her eyes were mere inches from his. He gave her a hard look, but somehow, she didn’t feel threatened by it. If anything, oh God, if anything, all she f
elt was desire.
The fight drained out of him. “Our son, Hopeful. Joshua is our son.”
She looked into his eyes and felt herself . . . falling. But not down. She was falling back under the spell of Nick Fortune. And she didn’t want to do anything to stop it.
“HELLOOOOO?” A voice called from the side of the house, and Nick and Hope broke apart with a jerk. An older woman with tight white curls, wearing an outdated housedress and apron, rounded the corner of the house. “Hellllllooooo,” she called out again.
Hurriedly Hope brushed the wrinkles out of her clothes and smoothed her hair into some semblance of order.
“Hello,” Hope said, wondering who this woman was and what she was doing at her mother’s. The Claire Hope remembered never had visitors.
“Well, land alive, I thought I heard someone over here. And then when I saw the car in the driveway, well . . .” The woman walked closer and Hope caught a whiff of vanilla.
“I’m Mrs.—” The elderly woman broke off as she caught her first good glimpse of Hope. “Oh, my. It’s little Hope Marie. Goodness. It’s been a fair stretch but I’d recognize you anywhere.”
Hope was still a little unsteady, but it wasn’t from her fall. She tried to smile but felt it wobble as she remembered the look in Nick’s eyes and the feel of his arms around her. “Mrs. Roseburg. It’s nice to see you again.” Mrs. Roseburg had been her mother’s neighbor for as long as Hope could remember.
“This is a surprise. Claire never mentioned one word about you coming.”
“A surprise, for Cl—my mom, too,” Hope said with a smile. “I—we,” she clarified, gesturing to Nick, “were in the area and thought we’d stop by.” The words rang hollow even to Hope, but really, there was nothing to be gained by delving into the truth.
Mrs. Roseburg seemed to notice Nick for the first time. Scrunching up her eyes, as if that somehow made her vision clearer, she zeroed in on him and gave him the full once-over. Hope knew the instant she recognized him.
“Aren’t you Jack Fortune’s boy?”
Hope had nearly forgotten how this town had treated the son of the town drunk. She almost had, but obviously the town hadn’t.
Boardwalk Summer Page 15