His Daughter...Their Child

by Karen Rose Smith

  He took in Celeste lifting her case to the floor and pulling up the handle.

  “Something I said?” he asked with an attempt at humor.

  “Is Abby okay?”

  “I forgot to put a glass on her bed stand. She’s supposed to call me instead of getting out of bed because once she gets out of bed, it will take me an hour to get her back in it. Tonight, she really did just want a drink.”

  He gestured to the suitcase. “So you’re leaving now? You don’t want to wait till morning? What about what happened here?” he pointed to the bed, and she felt herself blush.

  “If we would have had sex, what would that have meant, Clay?”

  He was standing in the doorway shirtless and shoeless, his eyes dark, hot and unsatisfied. He’d never looked sexier. She wanted to run into his arms and stay there forever. But she knew as well as she knew her own name that tonight had been about sex for him. A lack of an immediate reply told her that.

  Finally he said, “We would have had a hell of a good time.”

  “And how would we have looked at each other in the morning?”

  “I don’t understand, Celeste. We would have been two adults, sharing a night of pleasure.”

  “I don’t do that on a whim, and neither do you. We still haven’t figured out visitation, when you’re going to let me be with Abby, when you’re going to let Abby stay with me. If we had gone through with it, everything would have changed between us. We have to keep some objectivity—”

  “Don’t you think everything has changed anyway?”

  His gray eyes were simmering with what they’d shared and she knew what he meant. But their confusion would have been so much worse if their bodies had actually joined. She just knew it.

  He wasn’t approaching her. He wasn’t trying to win her over with a sensual touch. It was as if he had put an imaginary boundary between them now, too.

  She wheeled her overnight case to the doorway. “I’d better go.”

  He studied her carefully and then moved aside. “What should I tell Abby?”

  “That I’ll see her in a few days. You can let me know whatever’s convenient for you.”

  “Right now, nothing feels convenient,” he muttered.

  She continued to the front door, knowing exactly what he meant.

  On Wednesday, Clay’s mother returned to Miners Bluff. That evening she sat with Clay on his patio, watching the sun drop behind Moonshadow Mountain as Abby played on her swing set. She’d stopped in with a lemon meringue pie her housekeeper had made.

  “Dad doesn’t like lemon meringue anymore?” Clay asked facetiously.

  “Your father’s trying to lose a few pounds and I’m trying not to eat sweets. I ate too many while I was away. I had to taste too many suggestions for wedding cakes.”

  Clay laughed. “Then why did Lila bake the pie?”

  “Because she thinks it’s part of her job. She likes to bake so I let her.”

  Clay chuckled. “As good a reason as any. What’s Dad doing this evening?”

  “Playing golf. I just can’t see the point of it. I mean, if he actually walked the greens, he’d be getting exercise. But he rides in that golf cart!”

  Again Clay had to smile. “So were you lonely this evening or did you have something specific on your mind?”

  “I missed you and Abby. I wondered how her first day at preschool went. Can’t I visit my son and my granddaughter without an ulterior motive?”

  “Yes, you can. But did you?”

  Now it was her turn to smile. “I thought Celeste might still be here,” she commented innocently.

  “No, she left late Sunday. Abby was unhappy about that.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I just told her that Celeste had to go back to where she lives.”

  “Do you wish she was living here with you?”

  “Mom…” he said with a cautionary note.

  “All right.” She held up her hands. “Off-limits. I understand. Actually I wanted to run something by you.”

  “Concerning Celeste?”

  “Yes. I assume she knows her way around the internet.”

  “Probably better than I do.”

  “That’s what I thought. Do you think she’d be interested in working with me on a family history project?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.”

  “I understand that. I just wanted to feel you out first. See how you felt about it. It’s Abby’s history, too. I think it’s time I write it all down—what the families have passed down to each other over the years, stories, history, personal relationships. But I need someone to help with the research. I’m not very computer savvy and I know you certainly don’t have time to do it.”

  “Did you get this idea from the Preservation Society?”

  “Yes, I did. And that’s another thing. You know I came back for the fundraiser Friday night. Will you be there?”

  “To eat overbaked chicken, soggy vegetables and ice cream parfait for dessert?”

  She swatted his arm. “Sometimes you sound more like your father than you think.”

  He scowled at that comparison. He didn’t like to think he was anything like his father.

  “You have his genes, Clay, there’s no denying that. Be proud of your heritage.”

  He was proud of his heritage. He just didn’t want to think he shared some of his father’s less admirable traits.

  “So you want me at the fundraiser as a show of family solidarity?”

  “Something like that. Besides, we haven’t done anything as a family in a long time.”

  He sighed. “I guess I could ask Celeste to look after Abby.”

  “Maybe you could ask someone else to sit with Abby. She likes Celeste’s friends, Mikala or Jenny.”

  “And why not Celeste?”

  “I spoke with Anna and she mentioned Celeste would be coming to the fundraiser.”

  Clay kept silent. Why was his mother trying to draw Celeste into her project? Was she going to see if Celeste was really going to stick around and become involved in town affairs? Was she suggesting he attend a fundraiser because Celeste would be there?

  He had to admit he wanted to see her again. He wanted to be around her.

  Should he attend the dinner and fuel the desire that still surged at the sound of her name? Or should he just stay home and take a cold shower?

  Late Wednesday night, Celeste had given up trying to sleep and was working on her laptop when her cell phone played a popular song. As she took it from her nightstand and saw Clay’s number, she didn’t know what to think.

  “Hi,” she said, modulating her voice so it was calm and even, although she didn’t feel that way.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No. I couldn’t sleep so I’m working.”

  After a few beats of silence, he admitted, “There’s a lot of that going around. I would have waited until tomorrow to call you, but I have to be in Sedona by seven. I wanted you to know Abby has been asking for you.”

  Guilt washed over Celeste. She’d left so abruptly the other night and for the past few days she hadn’t tried to see her. “I should have come over.”

  “You were waiting to hear from me, and I thought we both needed a little time to cool down.”

  Cool down. She wasn’t sure that was going to happen between them, but maybe Clay could turn his desire on and off.

  “Celeste?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Could you come over tomorrow and spend some time with her?”

  “Of course, I can. I told Anna I’d help her prepare for new guests in the afternoon. But I’m free all morning.”

  “Mom will be here. I have that fishing trip. There’s a project she wants to involve you in.”

  “What type of project?”

  Clay explained about research for their family history.

  “I’d be glad to help her.”

  “She heard from Anna you’ll be attending the fundraise
r Friday evening.”

  “Yes, I will. Anna’s great at subtle arm-twisting. Are you going?” she asked, not knowing if she should.

  “Yes. In fact, I called Jenny to see if she’d look after Abby. She said she would.”

  “I could just stay with Abby and forget about the dinner.”

  “That’s up to you. But Abby is going to have to learn you’re a steady presence in her life, even if you aren’t there twenty-four hours a day.”

  “Maybe she needs someone to be with her twenty-four hours a day.”

  “What are you suggesting, Celeste?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just saying a sense of security doesn’t have anything to do with reason or logic.”

  He was quiet for a few moments. “We’ll have to talk about this, among other things. I can’t stop thinking about Sunday night…and you. And maybe the interruption was useful, even though it was damn frustrating at the time.”

  “Useful because we were making a mistake?” She hoped that wasn’t what he was thinking, but she knew it could be.

  “Useful so we can both figure out what we want.”

  She didn’t have a whole lot of figuring out to do. She knew now exactly what she wanted. She wanted to explore her feelings for Clay and become a full-time mother to their child. But the road she wanted to take might be very different from the one Clay intended to forge ahead on.

  “Are you naked now?” he asked.

  “Clay—”

  “Humor me. Are you?”

  If he wanted to indulge in this game, she had to admit she was willing. “No. I’m wearing a silky nightgown, very much like a slip. It’s midnight-blue with lace just covering my breasts.”

  His silence made her wonder if she’d gone too far…or not far enough.

  “Well, I asked. It will be my own fault if I still can’t fall asleep.”

  She smiled. She’d never been a risk taker, but she realized now she had to take some risks with Clay. “And you’re wearing…” she joked.

  “Briefs. I’m ready to shuck them and jump into the shower. A cold shower.”

  An excited tremor jumped up her spine—she was able to incite his arousal. She felt desired and wanted and scared.

  “I won’t get back until late tomorrow night,” Clay said after a pause. “The Phoenix news crew will be following me around on the fishing trip.”

  “Alicia will be lively company.”

  “Alicia will be a pest. She’d better be quiet when the fish are biting or my clients won’t be happy.”

  “She likes you.”

  “She’s doing her job. She thinks a little chemistry will make the interview better. There is no chemistry. So we’ll see what happens.”

  She so wanted to say, I think I love you, Clay. Yet she knew, as with having sex, once those words were out or the act completed, neither could be put back into the bottle.

  Chapter Ten

  As Celeste helped Anna slip loaves of banana bread into her oven on Thursday afternoon, she thought about playing with Abby that morning. Anna was expecting guests around five, and she wanted to be ready for them. Mikala was tied up with students in her studio, so Celeste had offered to help her prepare the third floor guest suite and bake.

  Anna Conti had been beautiful in her youth. Her black hair was now steel-gray with some black strands throughout. Her hair was wavier than Mikala’s and framed her oval face. She was pleasantly rounded in a way that made hugs comforting.

  As Anna measured loose tea into a ball for the kettle to make iced tea, she cast Celeste a sideways glance. “You’re awful quiet this afternoon, dear. Is something on your mind?”

  After Celeste had lost her mother in her twenties, she hadn’t looked for an older woman to confide in. But Anna was easy to talk to and wise in her advice. “I have so many things on my mind, it’s hard to pick just one,” she joked.

  “But I think one is pressing more than the others, right?”

  “Mikala told me you’re a mind reader.”

  Anna laughed. “No, maybe just a heart reader. What’s troubling you?”

  “I saw Abby this morning. I could tell she missed me the past few days. I’m not sure how much time I should spend with her.”

  “You want to be with her all the time, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “What would be the perfect solution for you?”

  Celeste knew what she wanted the perfect solution to be, but happily-ever-after was a pipe dream, she supposed. Clay’s heart was still too wrapped up in the past to give it to her. Yet after the conversation last night, wasn’t there room to hope?

  When she didn’t answer Anna immediately, Mikala’s aunt put the lid on the tea kettle and looked at her directly. “You’ve always had feelings for Clay. I know that.”

  Surprised, Celeste blurted out, “How do you know that?”

  “Oh, Celeste. How well do you think a seventeen-year-old hides her emotions? I saw you look at Clay whenever he and Zoie were around. I heard you talk about him with Mikala. There was always something in your voice. Granted, that might have been a high school crush. But all these years later, with you and Clay both free, I can’t help but think those feelings have been resurrected. Am I right?”

  “You’re too right,” she confessed. “The thing is, I don’t know if Clay is free. I think he’s bitter and resentful of what happened with Zoie. Besides, I’m her sister.”

  “That shouldn’t matter if he cares for you.”

  Celeste laid the pot holders on the counter. “Do you really believe that? Even if the gossips talk about us from here to next year?”

  “I don’t put much store in gossip. Sure, some people in town do. But what matters is whether two people are kind to each other, care about each other and are committed to each other. Don’t you think?”

  “But we have Abby to think about. This could be so confusing for her.”

  “I suppose, you being her surrogate mother and all. But do you think it would be any different if a stranger had been her surrogate mother, and Clay had feelings for her? Or even if he brought a woman into her life who wanted to be her mother? Would it be any less confusing then?”

  “Any of it would be confusing for a child. I don’t know how we’ll ever explain it to her.”

  “Maybe if you love her enough, the explanations will come later, when she’s old enough to accept them.”

  Wasn’t that what Celeste herself had told Violet? It had seemed much simpler when she was standing outside the circle looking in, when she wasn’t so personally involved with Clay.

  Celeste’s cell phone, deep in her jeans pocket, started to play. She’d been carrying it with her in case Clay called. To say he wanted her to sit with him and his family at the dinner? Maybe Violet had already arranged that. Her screen read “Private Caller,” and she didn’t recognize the number.

  Anna said, “Go ahead and take it. I’m fine here.”

  “I won’t be long,” Celeste said as she opened the phone. “Hello?”

  “Celeste, is that you?”

  Startled when she recognized the voice, she answered, “Yes, it is, Mr. Sullivan.” She waited. After all, he was calling her. She had no idea what he wanted.

  As if he was uncomfortable with the silence, too, he cleared his throat. “I wondered if you could stop by my office at the bank tomorrow morning.”

  “Can I ask what this is about?”

  “It’s about your future and Abby’s.”

  “I see.” She didn’t want to be rude to Clay’s dad. She didn’t want to brush him off or give him another reason not to approve of her.

  “This isn’t something we can discuss on the phone?”

  “No, I think it’s better if we talk in person.”

  “Did you have a particular time in mind?”

  “Around ten would be good for me. I have meetings in the early morning and lunch with a colleague.”

  “Ten o’clock will be fine.”

  Her vo
ice still must have held a bit of uncertainty because he reassured her, “This won’t take long, Celeste. I promise.”

  But as she closed her phone, she had to wonder what Harold Sullivan’s promises were worth.

  Miners Bluff’s town hall was situated across the street from the park and next to the courthouse. The town hall, however, was the older of the two buildings and even had its own small bell tower. Celeste and Zoie had once sneaked up there when they were little to find the big bell that rang at noon every Saturday and at midnight on every holiday. The echo of that bell rolled around the whole town, seemingly going up into the mountains and down into the valley. On that same day, Celeste had glimpsed large rooms used for meetings, mahogany conference tables, the grand stateroom on the first floor big enough to hold election rallies and any town function large enough to need a spacious room. Tonight’s dinner was being served there.

  But dinner and architectural drawings of the new museum were the last thing on her mind. Unfortunately, Clay’s father was front and center, stirring up her thoughts, infuriating her all over again. If she saw him tonight, she was afraid she’d be absolutely rude, turn around and walk in the other direction. She couldn’t forget his words once she’d settled in a chair in front of his desk this morning.

  “I’ll keep this short, Celeste,” he’d said. “I know you have things to do, and this might make those things even easier. In fact, you might want to go back to Phoenix to do them.”

  “Mr. Sullivan—”

  “Hear me out.”

  His tone had given her no choice. But instead of discussing family history, instead of discussing anything, he’d held out a check to her. “What do you think about this, Celeste? Five-hundred-thousand dollars, just for you, to use however you want. Half a million dollars to give your life a boost anyplace you want—as long as it isn’t here.”

  She’d been absolutely flabbergasted. The silence in the room had hung between them as she gathered her thoughts. Then she’d stood, taken the check from him, watched the smile spread across his face as she did, watched it change to a look of dismay and disbelief as she’d torn the check up into tiny pieces and dropped it onto the leather blotter on his desk.