No Knight Needed

by Stephanie Rowe

  Griffin grinned. “Sounds like just the thing I’d be looking for tonight.”

  Ophelia set another one down on a small pine table beside his swing. “For later.”

  “Thanks.” Griffin took a swig, and his head nearly blew off. “Damn.”

  Ophelia raised her brow. “Too much for you, Boston Boy?”

  “No.” But hell, he’d never look at beer the same way again. “What’s in this stuff? Dynamite and Tabasco sauce?”

  “No one knows. It’s a well-kept secret.” Ophelia peeked at Norm, then walked over and sat beside Griffin. “Hand me that beer, young fellow.” As soon as Griffin handed it to her, the gray-haired deli-owner took a swig twice the length of his. “Brilliant stuff. They really need to go regional with this.” Ophelia held up the beer. “Hear you’re looking for a new venture. Go with these guys. They’re going to change the world.”

  Griffin didn’t even bother to ask how she knew he was looking for a new business. He was beginning to suspect that even his thoughts weren’t safe from the town’s gossip channels. “I’ll think about it.”

  Ophelia leaned back and studied the sky. “She’s a good girl, our Clare Bear.”

  Griffin smiled. “She is.”

  “But she’s been dead for a long time.”

  Griffin glanced over at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Like you.”

  He shot her a quizzical look. “Me? I’m not dead.”

  “You’ve woken her up.” Ophelia took another long drink. “But if this venture with you goes south, we’ll lose her forever. She’ll never come back.”

  Griffin ground his jaw. “Clare’s not that fragile. She has amazing strength and courage. No one can stop her if she doesn’t want to be stopped.”

  “This is true.” Ophelia set the beer on her knee and swung her feet gently. She’d changed out of her day shoes, and was wearing a pair of faded, white house slippers that softened the edges of the tough old gal. “That’s the thing, Griffin. Clare has to want to come alive. If she wants to retreat, she’ll do that better than anyone has ever done in the history of this town.”

  Griffin spun the bottle in his hand. “What’s your point?” Was she about to give him grief that he was too much of an ass to be worthy of Clare’s time? He wouldn’t have thought it from Ophelia, but he supposed he should have. Women seemed to be of a mutually-shared opinion about him.

  “My point, young man,” Ophelia said, “is to stop thinking and start feeling.”

  Griffin turned his head to look at her, not quite able to decipher her unexpected comment. “What does that mean?”

  She tapped his forehead. “It means to shut this off.” She then banged her fist against the left side of his chest. “And turn this on. Then you’ll be just fine.”

  “Turn off my mind? No chance.” Griffin rubbed his chest where Ophelia had thumped him with surprising vigor. “That’s my greatest asset.”

  “Are you so sure about that?” Ophelia asked.

  “Of course I am.”

  “Well, then, there’s nothing more to say,” Ophelia sighed as Norm opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.

  A beautiful smile lit up Ophelia’s face as she rose to her feet, making her look a dozen years younger. “He’s all yours, Norman.”

  Norm’s face creased into a soft expression Griffin had never seen on the older man’s face. “I’ll be up soon. Wait for me.” He held out his hand as Ophelia passed by, and the couple clasped hands gently.

  Their fingers drifted off each other, but their gazes stayed on each other’s faces until the door shut behind Ophelia.

  And even then, Norm stood and watched his wife as she walked through the store, shutting the lights off as she went. “Have you ever seen a sexier female than that?” He set his hand over his heart. “Every man should be so lucky.”

  Griffin grinned as Norm turned toward him. “How many years have you been married?”

  “Fifty-three.” Norm eased down into an Adirondack chair, a Birch’s Best beer in his hand. “Met her when we were thirteen, but her father made me wait until she was eighteen before I married her. Longest five years of my life.”

  Griffin raised his bottle. “Here’s to another fifty-three.”

  Norm chuckled as he tapped his beer against Griffin’s. “Oh, it’ll be more than that.”

  Griffin raised his brows at the sincerity of the older man’s comment. “Will it?”

  “Yes.” Norm leaned back in the chair and rested his head against the wooden slats. “Ophelia and I are connected in our souls by an invisible thread that can never be broken. We’ll be together forever.”

  Griffin felt the contentment in the older man’s words, and it was a peaceful sensation. “That’s beautiful.” He used his foot to slide a stool over toward Norm.

  “Ah, it is.” Norm set his booted feet up on it, resting his beer on the flat arm of the chair. “The fact you realize it makes me think there’s hope for you, young man.”

  Griffin grinned. “I’m not so young, and I don’t believe in hope.”

  Norm closed his eyes. “And what do you believe in?”

  “Making sure I get what I want. Hope has nothing to do it with.”

  Norm smiled. “Hope is what gives us life.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Then what is it that gives us life?”

  Griffin’s mind immediately went to Clare. The way she laughed at him. The way she’d held him last night when he’d been freaked out. The way she glowed when she was baking cupcakes. Instinctively, he touched his front pocket, where he’d stashed the key to the Bean Pot that she’d left behind at the store. Astrid had seen him take it, and she hadn’t stopped him. “Women, maybe.” The answer surprised him. Wasn’t it work that gave him life? Wasn’t that the answer he’d intended to give?

  But Norm laughed, accepting his response. “Now, that is true. A wise man you are, Griffin Friesé.”

  “Yeah, well, I try.” Griffin glanced at his watch. It was already almost ten, and he was eager to get home before Clare went to bed. The kiss outside her office this morning had been on his mind all day while he’d been working with Phil on the In Your Face project. “I know it’s late, and I don’t want to keep you. What can you tell me about Dan Burwell?”

  “He’s a good man.” Norm pointed at the sky. “Have you ever noticed how many more stars there are in the Maine sky than in Boston?”

  Griffin didn’t look up. Now that he had his audience, he wanted to get the information about his daughter’s guardian, and then get back to Clare. “What are his weaknesses? How far will he go to keep my daughter from me?”

  “Look at the stars, my boy.”

  He realized Norm wasn’t going to answer until Griffin did what he wanted. Flexing his jaw impatiently, Griffin glanced up, then paused at the vast expanse of twinkling darkness. “Holy shit.” Norm was right. He’d never seen so many stars in his life. The sky was endless with more stars than he could even have conceived of.

  “We’re small in this earth, Griffin,” Norm said. “There’s so much beyond us. So much power that we don’t have to generate. It’s not our responsibility to make the earth turn, or to light up the night with the stars.”

  “Yeah, true.” He’d grant him that fact, but Griffin’s brain clearly wasn’t operating on the same wavelength as Norm and his wife tonight, because he felt just as confused with Norm as he had with Ophelia and her talk about being dead and turning off his brain. “But how does that help me with Dan?”

  Norm finally looked at him. His eyes crinkled around the corner, almost as if he found Griffin’s confusion amusing. “This is about human nature, Griffin.”

  “I’m in trouble then.” Griffin laughed softly. “People say I’m not very good with human nature.”

  “No, I can’t imagine you are, yet,” Norm agreed. “So, I’ll give you some advice. You’ve made your move with Brooke. She knows you’re back, and you aren’t going away this time. Let her digest
that. Hillary and Dan aren’t her voice, but as long as all three of you are yelling, no one will ever hear Brooke. Even she won’t hear herself.”

  Griffin mulled over that bit of advice. “It’s like when I make an offer on a company, and then stand back and let them come to me.”

  Norm smiled with a wisdom that befit his age. “Something like that, yes.”

  “Makes sense.” Griffin dangled his beer bottle between his fingers and watched it sway as he swung it from side to side. Norm was right. He’d made his move, and now he needed to give Brooke time to adjust. “I’ll give her a couple days, and then call her again.”

  Norm took a swallow of his beer. “Good choice.”

  “But you still haven’t told me about Burwell.”

  “Why? You want to bring him home, too?”

  Griffin snorted. “He’s in my way.”

  “Only if you notice him.”

  Griffin frowned, contemplating Norm’s words. “You mean, it’s about me and Brooke. That Burwell doesn’t matter?”

  “Not to you, no.”

  “I still want to know about him.”

  Norm looked at him. “Dan is a good man. He’ll take good care of Hillary and Brooke. If you go back to Boston, Brooke will grow up fully loved and taken care of.”

  A dark mood rolled over Griffin. “That’s not what I wanted to know.”

  “But it’s what you need to know.” Norm leaned forward, his gray eyes fixed intently on Griffin. “You have no responsibility anymore, Griffin. They’re okay without you.”

  “I don’t give a shit if they’re okay or not! I’m not here because of obligation! I’m here because she’s my daughter, and I miss the hell out of her, dammit!” He slammed his beer down on the table so hard it sloshed all over his hand.

  Norm said nothing, and the night echoed with Griffin’s shout as it faded into the darkness.

  “Shit.” Griffin laced his hands behind his head and took a deep breath against the sudden tightness in his chest. “I really do miss her.”

  Norm grinned. “And so we finally see the heart of the man begin to emerge.” He raised his beer. “It’s about damned time, Griffin. It’s about damned time.”

  * * *

  It was almost midnight by the time Griffin vaulted up the stairs of Clare’s house. After the conversation with Norm he was feeling restless and unsettled. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, but he just felt off.

  He knew he had to give Brooke space, but he wasn’t used to cooling his heels when he was in pursuit of something. And he was rattled by the realization that he missed her. Really missed her.

  He was too busy to miss anyone, and he wanted to re-ground himself with Clare. He needed to cleanse the conversation with Norm from his mind and get himself back on track. He had to be a ruthless man on a mission, not some sap who saw beauty in fifty-three-year old relationships and gawked at the stars when he had things he needed to do. He was uncentered and he needed Clare to find his balance again.

  Yeah, usually it was his work and his computer that got him back on line, but right now, it was Clare that he craved, and he was too restless to try to figure out why that was the case.

  Griffin eased open the side door and stepped inside. The house was silent. There wasn’t even a light on under the kitchen door. Damn. He knew he’d spent too long at the store. Norm had started telling stories about the town, and Griffin was pretty sure he’d still have been there if Ophelia hadn’t come downstairs in a cotton nightgown and given Norm a come-hither look that had gotten the old man off his chair in a hurry.

  He grinned, recalling the look on Norm’s face when his seventy-one-year-old bride had walked out on the porch in her sleeveless nightgown. Oh, yes, there wasn’t going to be any sleeping in the living quarters above Wright’s tonight.

  Or at Clare’s house, hopefully.

  Griffin strode down the hallway, not bothering to turn on the lights. The moon was casting white beams through the windows, breaking up the darkness of the house. And Griffin knew exactly where to step, as if he’d already claimed the place as his own.

  He reached the end of the hall and instead of turning toward his room, he headed toward the white door that protected Clare from the world. He strode up to the door and reached for the doorknob.

  And then, with the knob half-turned, he stopped, Ophelia’s words echoing through his head. Her warning about Clare’s vulnerability to him.

  He would be leaving as soon as he got his daughter back. Did he really have a right to turn Clare’s life upside down?

  He didn’t.

  He should leave her alone.

  But his whole body recoiled at the idea of walking away from that door. He wanted to see her. He wanted to connect with her. He wanted Clare.

  But he owed her the chance to say no.

  Griffin released the doorknob, and instead he lightly rapped his knuckles against the door. One signal was all he needed. One tiny sign that she was on board. That last night hadn’t been the mistake she’d claimed it was this morning.

  But there was no sound from the room.

  Griffin tilted his head toward the door, listening intently as he knocked again.

  No sound. Not a creak of a floorboard. Not a squeak of a mattress spring.

  Shit. Was she asleep? Or lying there awake, waiting for him to take the initiative? “Clare,” he called out quietly. “You up?”

  No reply.

  Griffin swore and leaned his forehead against the door, his hand resting loosely against the knob as he warred with the urge to throw that door open, invade her space and lose himself in the respite she gave him. “I’ll give you tonight, Clare,” he finally said. “But I’ll be back.”

  He blew a kiss at the door, and then gave her space.

  For now.

  * * *

  By two o’clock the next afternoon, Griffin was pretty sure he was going to lose his mind. He had three goals: Brooke, Clare and his new business, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about any of them.

  Phillip was doing follow-up on In Your Face, and further action had to wait until they had the additional information.

  Brooke: waiting mode.

  And Clare? She’d been out of the house before he’d gotten up, and he’d intentionally been up and in the kitchen by six. A trip to Wright’s hadn’t revealed her, and she hadn’t been in her office. It had been more than twenty-four hours since the kiss, and he hadn’t been able to follow up. Seal the deal. Assess her state of mind. He was hamstrung, hog-tied and restless as hell.

  Inaction was not his forte.

  Three things. All of them on hold. And without another business to run, he didn’t have a single thing to do with his day. Was this what retirement would be like? Nothing to do? Why in God’s name would any man want to retire?

  He’d split and stacked all the firewood he’d found in Clare’s backyard.

  He’d been up on the roof to inspect the damage, and found it was as extensive as she’d claimed.

  And he’d even folded his clothes and put them in the dresser in his room.

  What the hell did people do who didn’t work all day?

  Griffin braced his palms on the window frame and peered out his bedroom window. Woods. Grass. Flowers. A trickle of vehicles heading past the house. His truck was sitting in the driveway, the only brand new vehicle he’d seen. But it didn’t look new anymore. It fit right in, thoroughly covered in mud and dirt.

  He could wash it, he supposed. He hadn’t washed his own car in twenty years, but he hadn’t seen any sign of a car wash in town. He laughed softly to himself as he headed toward the back door. Norm would probably think it was great he was washing his own truck—

  “Mom!” The side door swung open and Katie raced past him into the house, throwing her backpack to the floor with a crash. She was wearing jeans and a shirt that was tighter than Griffin thought a fifteen-year-old should be wearing, just like Brookie liked to wear.

  “Mom!” She sounded frantic as she raced down t
he hall, running into Clare’s room.

  Upon finding it empty, she screeched in frustration, and then came running back down the hall toward Griffin. Tears were streaming down her face, and he realized she was crying. Shit.

  “Hey.” Griffin caught her as she tried to run past him to the stairs. “She’s not here, Katie.”

  Katie stared at him, as if she hadn’t even noticed him standing there. “Where is she? I have to talk to her.” Her lower lip was trembling, and she looked devastated.

  Protectiveness surged through Griffin as he gripped her shoulders. “What’s wrong? Who hurt you?” Son of a bitch. He’d go bust ass—

  “No one! Let me go! I need my mom!” Katie tried to pull free as a fresh sob spilled from her.

  “She’s not here.” Something snapped inside Griffin at the sight of those tears, and he softened his grip and rubbed her shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong, Katie. Maybe I can help.”

  She gazed at him through teary blue eyes that were so much like her mother’s. “Jeremy just wants to be friends,” she sobbed.

  “The naked guy?” Oh, shit. This was about dating stuff? He’d been ready to go out and take down someone who’d tossed her against the side of a bus or stolen her favorite bracelet. Kissing and boys was not what he was equipped to handle.

  “Yes!” Katie began to cry again. “He kissed me on the mountain, you know?”

  “Yeah, okay.” Griffin looked around, trying to find something to give to her. A box of tissue was sitting on the front hall table, so he grabbed it and held it out to her. “Here.”

  “So, Jeremy’s been avoiding me all week, you know?” Katie took a tissue and plunked herself down on the bottom stair, clearly deciding that he was going to have to suffice to help her through this crisis.

  Now that he knew it was about boys, however, Griffin wasn’t so sure he wanted the green light. “I didn’t know, but now I do.” Griffin hesitated, then he eased himself down beside her. Where the hell was Clare? This was mom territory. “Boys can be bastards. I mean...” Hell. “Boys can be jerks.”

  Katie blew her nose, making a noise that sounded like a goose on a bender. Shit. Since when could someone that small make a noise that big? “So, today, after school, on the bus ride home,” she sniffled, “he didn’t even sit with me. We always sit together, ever since second grade.” She held out the dirty tissue to Griffin. “Here. Can I have another one?”