Oh, yeah. He’d like to be part of this small clan.
He must have gasped, because Pippa raised her face to his, wariness tightening her lips. He hoped she could read the strength of his feelings on his face. Understanding warred with surprise in her expression as she gazed at him, lost in the moment. A grin split his lips as he gave her an encouraging nod, but didn’t say anything, knowing that any words would prematurely end a moment he’d like to prolong.
“Mommy?”
As the child’s voice broke the spell his thoughts had woven, Pippa blinked and looked toward her young daughter.
“I’m sorry I opened the door when I shouldn’t have. I won’t do it again.”
Pippa pressed a kiss to Mia’s forehead then leaned back on her heels and pasted a stern look on her face. “I hope not. Your bedtime is fifteen minutes before Mason’s tonight.” She pushed to her feet and held her hand up, stopping Mia’s protest. “Honey, we’ve talked about this. You broke the rules and you knew there’d be consequences. That’s how you learn the most important lessons. You two say good night to Mr. Clay and behave for Brianne. I’ll look in on you when I get home.”
Clay reached out and grabbed a dark blue raincoat from the hall tree while the kids kissed Pippa. Next, Mason and Mia came over and threw their arms around his waist. He shouldn’t be surprised to be on the receiving end of this show of affection. Their mother was a tactile woman who used touch to convey her feelings. Something swelled inside his chest, growing like a suddenly inflated balloon against his heart. He bent at the waist and returned the hugs.
“Mr. Clay, will you look in on us too?” Mason asked.
“Sure, if it’s okay with your mom.” He cleared a sudden frog from his throat before he continued. “You two behave tonight, okay?”
The kids each bussed his cheeks with their small lips and murmured their goodnights. When he lifted his eyes, he caught a look of contentment on Pippa’s face. He surrendered to the idea that he belonged to them now.
And they belonged to him.
The twins ran to the sitter and pulled her toward the kitchen, chattering about the snack their mom had prepared. He shook out her coat and helped her into it. Sliding it up her arms, he checked to make sure the kids were out of sight, then put his hands on her shoulders to pull her back against his chest. Lowering his head, he nuzzled the sweet spot behind her ear, smiling at her soft groan as he flicked his tongue against the sensitive skin there.
“Clay, the kids…”
He spun her around and pressed his lips to hers. These stolen moments were pretty damned amazing. As much as he wanted to deepen the kiss and pull her hips to his, to show her how she stirred him, he held back. Now was not the time, or the place.
Little footsteps echoed through the living room and Pippa jumped away just as Mia skidded around the corner to the front hall. “Mommy, please tell Mrs. Sarah I love her. Oh, and I’m real sorry about Mr. Roberto.”
Color flooded her cheeks at nearly being caught in a lip-lock with him. Pip hugged her child tightly, burying her flaming face in the girl’s dark curls. “I love you, Mia. Don’t ever forget that.”
Mia tipped her head to the side, a crooked smile lighting her small features. “I love you too, Mommy.”
She skipped toward the kitchen as Pippa turned a watery smile Clay’s direction and gestured toward the door. “I promised Sarah I’d try to be early, so we’d better go.”
Should he say he loved her too? God knew he wanted to tell her more than he wanted to breathe. He’d never been in love before, only in lust. He’d never willingly made room for a woman in his life. Had never put a woman’s needs above his. His priorities had been his jobs, his writing. There hadn’t been time for distractions.
With Pippa, it was different. And it had been since he’d met her at the cemetery. He woke in the morning to thoughts of her. If he went the whole day without talking to her, he felt lonely. He’d never been lonely in his life. But the spitfire had flashed into his world and claimed his time, his attention and his heart. His desire—no, his need—to spend every available moment with her had surprised him more than he cared to admit. Until now.
Some might argue a visitation and funeral weren’t the best time to tell a woman you were in love with her. He could argue right back there was never a better time to affirm that life and love went on.
But he’d wait to tell her another time, when the pain from helping her friend Sarah say goodbye to Roberto wasn’t freezing her heart. When the idea of another military funeral wasn’t dredging up memories of the most awful moments of her life, and sorrow and grief weren’t etching themselves around her watery eyes.
Pulling himself back to the present, he pressed a soft kiss to the furrow on her brow, put his hand at the small of her back, and walked her through the front door. There’d be plenty of better times for his admission. He held the truck door open and helped her up to the seat before walking around to the driver’s side to hop in. As the truck roared to life, he gave her a tight smile and prayed she could read his feelings in his eyes.
She returned the smile, then busied herself with fastening her seat belt.
He’d pick his moment. After the funeral, when they were alone. When he dared to hope she’d tell him she loved him too.
* * * *
Damn Clay Mathers! That son of a bitch was always nosing around the singing widow. Dewey was going to have to be careful when he put his plan into action tomorrow. His plot was critically timed and left no room for screw-ups. He’d have to get it done before Pippa Sanders left for the funeral.
Dewey sneered when the taillights on Mathers’ truck flashed to life when the vehicle turned the corner. Bad enough they were fucking like bunnies, in the middle of the damn afternoon, like a hooker and her john. Oh yeah, he’d seen them on the porch getting busy. Didn’t take a degree in rocket science to know what happened once they disappeared into the house.
He’d lingered too long after they went inside, taking himself in hand to relieve his tension, and had nearly been busted by her brother. Fortunately, he’d finished only minutes before and was already on the road to town when he passed Kerrigan’s truck heading the opposite direction. Jesus, he’d like to be a fly on the fucking wall when Jackhole discovered his widowed sister was doing the dirty with a shithead like Mathers. They were acting like a married couple. Together all the time, making moon-pie eyes at each other when they thought no one was looking. But Dewey had been watching. Waiting to put his scheme into play. Anger tightened his shoulders, squeezing the back of his neck in a vise-like grip. He pounded his fist on the steering wheel to release his building anger.
They were all going to get what was comin’ to ’em and it fuckin’ served them right! His own kid did nothing wrong and got locked up like a common criminal, and they were breaking all kinds of God’s laws and walking around scot-free.
That would change tomorrow. Yessirree and hot damn. Once he put the wheels in motion, it would be a thing of beauty. He’d spring his kid from juvie while the mourners at the military funeral got what was coming to them. Not that he’d be there to witness the shock and awe that was sure to ensue. The rest of his Liberty Battalion comrades giggled like freakin’ schoolgirls when he’d first used that phrase, turning the government’s words back on them. Yeah, this operation was a definite shocker. And friggin’ awesome.
Too bad his plan didn’t include sticking around for the festivities. He was going to use the Sanders slut to break his son out of jail, then hightail it to the swamps of Louisiana to hide during the fall-out.
A frown creased his brow. His little delinquent had evaded discussing the plan the last time he tried to talk to the puny shit. And the two times before that when Dewey had called, the fucker never picked up or called back. Dewey squared his shoulders up and grunted, hitting the wheel again. That boy could use some toughening up. And his daddy would be the one to help him do it.
Yep, tomorrow, everything in Granite Pointe, Massachusetts
was gonna change.
23
As the nightmare of the visitation ended, Pippa sighed with relief. Only one more day to get through—the most horrible of all days.
Sarah had held it together well, until her mother-in-law gave in to sorrow and began to sob inconsolably. Mrs. Eleni had draped herself over the closed casket holding her son’s body and refused to budge. Pippa had to turn away from the tears streaming down Roberto’s father’s cheeks as he pleaded, unsuccessfully, with his wife to come away. Struggling to catch her breath and hold back tears, she’d turned into Clay’s arms. He had been a rock who hadn’t moved from her side through the entire ordeal. He cemented his place in her heart when he blinked back tears and opened his arms to pull Sarah into a group-hug with him and Pippa, letting both of them cry on his broad, strong shoulders.
Sarah hadn’t asked Pippa to sing at the gravesite, so her only job was to stand at her friend’s side, reprieved from struggling to perform over choking grief. The ride in the truck to her house was silent as she lost herself in thoughts of what would come with the sunrise. Clay had respected her need to not talk. She’d invited him in for more coffee and he’d accepted, even taking over the chore of preparing it while she checked on the twins.
She’d stood in the circle of his arms in her kitchen, cradled against his muscular chest, listening to his strong steady heartbeat while coffee brewed. When it was done, they sat together on the love seat, talking softly. Pippa filling him in on details of the many stories they’d heard about Roberto in the course of the evening.
By the time Clay had kissed her good night at the front door, the clock had struck midnight.
Once sleep arrived, so did a vivid dream of Mark. He was in the back yard, under the majestic maple tree, pushing his children on the swings. Their excited laughter reached a crescendo each time they swung forward, legs pumping to help them fly higher. As Pippa moved slowly toward the trio, Mark smiled—his soft brown eyes glittering and happy lines crinkling around the corners. He beckoned her to join them.
I’ve been watching you. All these years, you haven’t been alone. I’ve been there to witness your lives. I haven’t missed anything, Pippa.
His voice in her dream was as she remembered…happy, filled with love, almost musical in its richness. Its smooth texture reminded her of the sound a bow made as it was drawn across the strings of a cello. She hadn’t realized how infrequently she’d heard it lately, and sadness filled her like sand falling through the hourglass. She couldn’t speak in the dream, but Mark nodded, an understanding look in his eyes. Then suddenly, she was flying through the air on the swings, not the kids.
I’m sorry I had to leave you. I’ll always love you, Pippa, but it’s past time to let me go. You and the kids have a future waiting for you. You need to seize it.
His words chased after her as she flew forward, leaving him behind.
Clay is a good man, I can tell. He’ll be a good fit for you and the kids, Pip. He’ll love you the way you deserve. The way I do.
The leaves on the tree over them rustled, suddenly bursting into color and drifting toward the ground. She twisted around, looking over her shoulder to where Mark stood, but he was hidden in the shower of leaves. Trying desperately to stop her forward momentum, to get her feet back on the ground, and hold on to him longer, she catapulted off the swing, crying out as she soared through the sky.
She landed by the pine trees Clay had planted. A variety of colorful packages lay scattered about, each sparkly gift bearing a tag with Clay’s name in bold, block letters.
That’s interesting. I’ll think about it later, when I’m awake.
She pivoted frantically toward the fiery maple tree where Mark had been. There was an outline of him in the swirling leaves, but nothing of substance to hold onto. She tried, but only came up with an armful of orange and red leaves.
Unshed tears clouded her vision as she dropped the leaves to the ground and called his name, panic forcing her voice an octave higher. In her mind, she heard Mark whispering he’d look in on them from time to time, the words sighing through her like a soft breeze. Then a comforting weight settled around her, melting the ice that had encased her heart with Mark’s final goodbye. And she instinctively recognized the safety of Clay’s arms and his strong presence.
Looking to where the leaves drifted after the retreating shadow that was all she had left of Mark, Pippa sighed her goodbye into the breeze.
* * * *
The house slowly came to life around Pippa as she lay in bed trying to wake up. Her eyes were dry and gritty from the tears she’d shed. Sleep had been elusive because of the coffee. She hadn’t been able to get back to sleep after her dream of Mark. She’d lain awake, watching the minutes click past on her digital clock. It beat closing her eyes and watching images of grief and despair flicker on the back of her eyelids.
Sun streamed through the blinds, slanting a glowing pattern on the wall. Shafts of light fluttered as the few leaves on the maple stirred with the breeze. Hearing Mason and Mia clomping down the stairs, she pushed back her comforter, found a pair of socks and followed them.
Pippa had opted to leave the kids with Jem, rather than put them in harm’s way at a funeral Liberty Battalion had declared a protest zone. Clay had agreed wholeheartedly with her on that point. The plan was for him to pick them all up and to drop Mia and Mason off at Jem’s on their way to the church. Over their morning meal, her precocious six-year-olds, who loved Sarah and Roberto, tried to persuade her to allow them to attend the funeral
“Mommy, we’ll be good, we promise. You won’t even know we’re there.” Mia widened her eyes, pleading in a whiny voice that grated worse on Pippa’s nerves than fingernails on a chalkboard. She ground her teeth and dug deep for patience to answer calmly, instead of snapping at her child to stop acting like a baby. Sweet Jesus, she was tired!
She laid a hand on top of Mia’s. “Oh, baby. I know you’d be good. That isn’t what worries me.”
How much should she explain? Her children knew about bad people but they hadn’t been exposed to any. Having been at one protest with the Battalion, and her scary encounter after it, and knowing they planned something over-the-top at Roberto’s funeral, she’d have to be crazy to lead them into harm’s way.
“There are going to be people at the funeral who will say ugly things. Things young children shouldn’t hear. That’s why I want you to go to Jem’s today.”
“But, Mom,” Mason said. “Mr. Clay is going to be there. He’ll make them stop.”
“It’s complicated, Mason. These people have a right to say what they want, and nobody can take that away from them. Mr. Clay would stop them if he could. His friends in the Patriot Honor Guard and the government are going to be there because they’re afraid something bad will happen. It’s safer if you stay with Jem. I won’t have to worry about you then.”
“Will Mr. Clay keep you safe?” he asked, his eyes scrunched with fear.
“Yes, he will. He promised to stand next to me and Sarah the whole time.”
“Mommy, will Roberto’s ghost be at the cemetery? Will you be able to see him?” Mia asked, her brown eyes, so like Mark’s, alight with curiosity, reminding her of the dream she’d had this morning.
“No, baby. We won’t see him. But we’ll all hold the memory of him close. It will be like he is there with us.”
“Oh.” She tipped her head to the side, her thinking posture. “That’s good. Sarah won’t miss him so much then.”
Oh, if only that were true. Pippa doubted there would ever be a time that Sarah didn’t miss Roberto. Like she still missed Mark, or Seeley Tombaugh missed her husbands. “Enough with the questions. Clear your dishes and then go get dressed while I hop in the shower. Mr. Clay will be here soon. After you make your beds you can watch television until he gets here.
The kids jumped up, took their plates and cups to the sink and headed upstairs. Mason turned at the door and walked back over to where she sat and climbed up in her
lap. He wrapped his arms around her neck and hugged, snuggling up against her comfortably. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, Mason. Now scoot, or we won’t be ready when Clay gets here.”
“I like Mr. Clay. A lot. So does Mia.”
“So do I, Mason. So do I.”
* * * *
Pippa walked out of the bedroom with shoes in her hand when the slamming of the front door echoed up the stairwell. Darn it! I told them yesterday to not open that door without me! Someone is getting grounded for this.
“Hey… Mommy!” Mia’s voice squeaked with alarm as she called out.
Pippa hurried down the stairs. “Mia, didn’t you listen to a word I said last night? I told you—” She skidded to a stop at the foot of the step when she recognized the burly man standing in her entry hall.
Dewey Evans, dressed in Army fatigues, held her daughter with one hand, and had a wicked looking pistol clutched in the other. Mason crouched in the door to the living room, staring nervously at the weapon Dewey waved menacingly. Pippa’s blood iced while her heart sped up to marching band speed when the ugly bore of the pistol swung in her direction.
“Hey, bitch. Why the fuck wouldn’t you teach your kids to not open the door to strangers? Not that I’m complaining, cuz it worked for me. Haven’t you told them it’s dangerous? What kind of lazy-assed mother are you?” Dewey cackled, revealing snaggly, yellow teeth.
Protective mother bear instincts growled to life and she reached for her child. “Let her go.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Dewey rested the barrel of the gun on Mia’s shoulder, making the girl whimper. “Stay back. I wouldn’t want this gun to go off accidentally.”
“I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m really sorry,” Mia mewled, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I forgot I shouldn’t open the door without you. I’m so, so sorry.” Her voice hitched and died away.
Hearts in Harmony Page 20