The Passions of Chelsea Kane

by Barbara Delinsky

  “My Emma is special,” Leo said, looking up with a hopeful smile. “Will she be here soon?”

  “Soon, dear,” Sarah said. “Ah, but look, here’s more chicken. Such tasty chicken.” She speared a piece with Leo’s fork, handed it to him, then watched to make sure that he remembered to put it in his mouth, chew, and swallow.

  Chelsea tried to imagine Kevin being reduced to such a state. It would devastate her to see him so disabled. She could imagine what Judd felt.

  A sound came from the hall. She looked at Sarah questioningly.

  “The shower,” Sarah said with caution.

  When Chelsea left the table this time, Sarah didn’t stop her. “Judd?” she called from outside the bathroom. She knocked on the door. “Judd.” She tried the handle, but the door was locked. She knocked again. Either he didn’t hear or he wasn’t answering. She jiggled the doorknob. “Judd!”

  In the end, she had to wait, leaning against the wall outside the bathroom, wondering whether he was alive and standing or had sunk to the floor and drowned, until the water went off. Then she pounded on the door with a fist. “Open up, Judd!”

  He opened the door just enough to say, “What’s the problem?” But his voice was as pale as his face.

  She slipped inside. “You weren’t supposed to get that shoulder wet.”

  “I didn’t.”

  She checked the bandages. They seemed all right. He must have covered them somehow. The rest of him was dripping wet.

  “There’re clean sweatpants in the second drawer in the dresser. Get them?”

  She wanted to help dry him off but, with Sarah’s advice fresh in her mind, opted for the sweatpants. It only took her a minute. By the time she returned, Judd had done a cursory job drying himself. He was leaning against the sink, holding the towel closed at his waist.

  She knelt down and held the sweatpants ready for the first foot.

  “I can do that,” he said.

  “Indulge me.”

  “Chelsea.”

  “Come on, Judd. I’ve seen it before. You’re only wasting time.”

  He resisted for another minute, at which point she assumed his strength waned. She had the sweatpants over his legs and hips in no time, but when she thought for sure that he would stumble back to bed, he continued to stand there, braced against the sink.

  “Show me your stomach,” he said quietly.

  Her pulse skittered. “I did before.”

  He shook his head.

  She swallowed. “You ought to be lying down.”

  “Show me.”

  The door was right behind her. She could have turned and left. But she didn’t. Instead she smoothed the sweater over her stomach.

  “Lift it,” he said.

  She lifted it to a point just beneath her breasts.

  “I want to see skin.”

  Her pulse flipped, then raced on. Unsteadily she slipped the stretch denims down until the softly rounded belly was revealed.

  He stared at it for the longest time, just stared, then, before Chelsea could stop him, put his hand there. He moved it lightly over the mound.

  Her breath came faster in an effort to release the heat that was gathering inside.

  He turned his hand over and ran the back of it over her skin. “Jesus,” he whispered, and covered her once more with his palm.

  She wanted more, so much more, the ache inside grew intense. She wanted him to touch her with both hands. She wanted to move closer to him, wanted him to wrap her in his arms and hold her tight. She’d been dying for that. She hadn’t realized how much until now.

  Unable to bear not having it all, she grabbed his hand and held it still. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” His voice was hoarse.

  “Tease me.”

  “You’re the one who’s the tease,” he said. Tugging his hand free, he moved past her out of the bathroom.

  It was a minute before she’d recovered her wits enough to straighten her things and follow him, but the wits scattered again the instant she saw him sprawled on the bed. His hair was damp and disheveled, his chest bare and damp as well, his hips and legs lean, his sex pronounced. It was all she could do not to touch it or him.

  “How am I a tease?” she asked, stowing her hands under her arms for safekeeping. “You were the one who said you wanted to see the baby.”

  He remained still.

  “Tell me, Judd.”

  But he wouldn’t. After the longest time, she retreated to the chair. Gradually the pronounced state of his sex grew less so.

  “Go home,” he finally murmured, sounding groggy.

  “Later.”

  “You need sleep.”

  “Later.”

  She didn’t hear from him again. He fell into a light sleep that deepened progressively. When she finally drew the quilt over him, he was dead to the world.

  By then Sarah had cleaned up the kitchen and seen that Leo was bathed and in pajamas, and was sitting with him in front of the large television set in the living room. Chelsea stopped only long enough to say a soft good-bye to each of them and to Buck, before climbing into the Pathfinder and heading home.

  THE INSTANT SHE TURNED ONTO THE BOULDERBROOK ROAD, she knew that something was wrong. Even with every window rolled up, she could smell the smoke, and it wasn’t the kind of smell that came so frequently from chimneys now that fall had come. It was the more ominous smell of something large aflame.

  Heart in her throat, she drove on. Boulderbrook was made largely of stone, but there was plenty to burn. There was the roof. And there were the insides that she had had so painstakingly redone.

  The trees broke to reveal the farmhouse. Smoke wafted all around it, but the glow of the flames came from safely beyond, where the old barn that had stood unused was in its last stages of fight before moaning mightily and toppling to the ground in a hail of sparks.

  Eighteen

  Judd felt as though his shoulder had been run over by a truck, but that didn’t keep him from driving Oliver to the barber shop the next morning, nor did it keep him silent while the selectmen of Norwich Notch nonchalantly discussed the demise of Chelsea’s barn. He was angry and was feeling reckless enough to let them know it.

  He waited until the first of the three was on Zee’s chair, until the other two had poured themselves coffee and taken up proprietary positions at the window overlooking the green, until the cymbalists had clicked out of their houses on either side of the clock, clapped their cymbals three times, and clicked back inside. Then he spoke.

  “Something’s not right in this town. I want to know what it is.”

  The two at the window—Oliver and George—looked at him in surprise, then at each other.

  “What’s he doin’ here?” George asked.

  “He’s with me,” Oliver muttered, “only he’s not supposed to speak.”

  “It’s about time someone did,” Judd said. “Chelsea Kane came here in good faith. She made a legal arrangement, and she’s keeping her end of the deal. But someone’s trying to either knock her off or scare her away. I want to know who.”

  “He’s talkin’ about the fire,” George mused.

  Oliver snorted. “Don’t know nothin’ about the fire.”

  “Then what about the truck that nearly drove her down?” Judd asked, directing himself to George and Emery since he’d already been through it with Oliver. “Or the phone calls she gets? Any of you know anything about those?”

  “How in the devil would we know?” Emery barked from the chair.

  “You all want her gone. Maybe you’re giving her a push.”

  “You accusing us?” George asked.

  Judd was ripe for the challenge. “If the shoe fits . . .”

  George snorted. To Oliver, out of the corner of his mouth, he said, “He’s sweet on her. Didn’t I say so?” To Judd he said, “That your baby she’s got?”

  “Not mine. But it’s someone’s. And I don’t want it hurt.”

  “How do you know
it ain’t yours?” Emery called.

  “Because she conceived before she ever moved here.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because she’s five months pregnant.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because she said so.”

  “You’d take her word on it?”

  “Damn right,” Judd said. “Her word hasn’t proven wrong yet. What she says, she does.” She didn’t necessarily tell the whole truth. More than anyone else, Judd knew that. But she didn’t lie, no, she didn’t lie.

  “Sweet on her, I tell you,” George muttered again. “Probably sore it ain’t his kid.”

  Judd ran a hand over the back of his neck. His muscles hurt, no doubt because of the mess he’d made of his shoulder, and the morning’s tension didn’t help. Probably sore it ain’t his kid. Damn right he was, which was the last thought he’d had falling asleep the night before and the first thought he’d had waking up this morning, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell it to George.

  “Look,” he said wearily, “you three pride yourselves on running this town. Well, you’re doin’ a lousy job if you can’t find out who’s trying to hurt her and get it stopped.”

  “That’s Nolan’s job,” Emery called.

  And indeed it was, but only to an extent. “You’re the selectmen. You make the rules. You can rule that she isn’t to be hurt.”

  Oliver stared broodingly out at the green. “I told her not to buy that place. I told her it was haunted.”

  “You also told her it ought to be burned to the ground,” Judd reminded him.

  “You sayin’ I did it?”

  “I’m sayin’ maybe you know who did.”

  “You want to know who did,” George put in, “go ask Hunter Love. He knows all about setting fires.”

  Judd wasn’t dumb. He’d checked Hunter out first thing that morning after Gretchen had come with the news. “Hunter was at the hospital in Concord until Wendell got out of surgery last night.”

  “Says who?” asked George.

  “Says Hunter.”

  “And you believe him? Fact is he’s been causing trouble since the day they found him wanderin’ down that road. They shoulda let him wander right on past Norwich Notch and take his trouble somewhere else, and they would have, but for Oliver and Katie Love.”

  “Shut up, George.”

  “Well, hell, Ollie,” George whined, “everybody knows.”

  “Shut up.”

  “All that’s neither here nor there,” Emery shouted from the barber’s chair. “The problem isn’t Katie Love and her boy. The problem’s Chelsea Kane. She shouldn’ta come here. We been sayin’ that all along. She shouldn’ta come.”

  Judd’s patience was wearing thin. “But she’s saving the goddamned town!”

  “She ain’t savin’ the town,” George argued. “Town’s solid as a rock. Always has been, always will be.”

  “You keep on believing that,” Judd said, “and you’ll go right down with the rest if anything happens to Chelsea Kane.” He made for the door. “And that’s a promise.”

  ———

  “THAT’S IT,” MATTHEW FARR TOLD DONNA THE INSTANT THE store cleared of customers. He slammed the cash drawer shut hard. “I don’t want you seeing her again.”

  Donna frowned in the direction of the woman who had just left, but Matthew gripped her chin and brought her face around fast. “Not Mary Lee. Chelsea Kane. There hasn’t been one person in here this morning hasn’t been commenting on her. Fire in the barn? Who cares about a fire in the barn. Did you know she was pregnant?”

  Donna contemplated lying, but something inside wouldn’t let her. Chelsea had been kind to her from the start. They were good friends now. She owed her something more than cowering before Matthew.

  “You did,” Matthew sneered. “Bitch.” He tossed her face away.

  She rubbed her chin, careful to keep an eye on him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, and thumbed his chest. “I had a right to know. She waltzes around my store and spends time with my wife and no one tells me she’s pregnant? They say it isn’t even Judd’s.” He spat. “Tramp. The first time I laid eyes on her, I knew she was on the make. I could smell it, I tell you. But I wasn’t falling for that. Not me. I wasn’t being fooled by those innocent eyes. You? You were taken right in. She knew a sucker when she saw one. She got you out introducing her to your aerobics class, then running with her, and you nearly got killed. Stick around with her, and it’ll happen again. That woman is a menace. I don’t want you seeing her again.”

  Donna had every intention of seeing Chelsea again. In fact, she was waiting for her coffee break to run over and make sure Chelsea was all right. The fire at the barn must have frightened her, and that on top of the accident at Kankamaug. Donna had been hoping Chelsea would spend the night at Judd’s. It would have been good for her.

  “Do you hear me, Donna?” Matthew said, exaggerating the movement of his mouth enough to make it an insult. “I don’t want you seeing her again.”

  “She’s my friend.”

  “Speak so I can understand you!”

  “She’s—my—friend.”

  “She’s a disgrace to this town. Nothing’s been the same since she arrived. And now this. Pregnant. She’s not even married, for God’s sake.”

  “So what?” Donna cried, then reeled when he slapped her across the face. She caught herself on the edge of the counter, regained her balance, and steeled herself to face him. But he was suddenly looking off toward the door, wearing a totally charming smile.

  “Morning, Ruth. You’re looking well today.” Pushing Donna aside, he strode forward.

  Donna flattened her hands on her skirt, straightened her back, and took a deep breath, but no amount of outward composure could ease the turmoil she felt. She didn’t know why he had to hit her. He was hurtful enough without that. She didn’t know why she couldn’t bring charges against him. She didn’t know why she couldn’t divorce him. Joshie knew things weren’t right. So did half the town. So what if they talked? So what if her parents were mortified? So what if Matthew spread cruel stories?

  Desperate to be out of his sight if only for a minute or two, she ran back through the aisles and slipped into the back office. There, without conscious intent she found herself opening the bottom drawer of the desk, removing a small revolver, and gathering it to her chest.

  She could say it was an accident, that Matthew had been showing her how to use the gun and it had gone off and killed him. She could say that she had mistaken him for a thief. She could even say it was self-defense, since both Nolan and Neil Summers would testify to earlier bruises. It would be an interesting trial. A Farr against a Plum. It would certainly give the people of Norwich Notch something more to think about than Chelsea Kane’s being pregnant.

  She felt footsteps and looked up in alarm just as Nolan came through the back door. Her face must have given away some of her anguish, because he was suddenly inside the office and closing the door.

  He touched her cheek. “It’s red. He hit you, didn’t he?”

  She wondered what it was about some men that made them sensitive and kind, while others were mean. She wondered why some were honest, while others twisted every word to suit themselves. She wondered why Nolan hadn’t come to town just a few years sooner, before she’d married Matthew. She wondered what it would be like to wake up to a smiling face and a kiss.

  “Donna,” he said with a look of pleading. He took her face in both hands and held it with care. “Why do you let him do this to you? You don’t deserve it.” With a whisper touch he kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose. When he drew back, the look of pleading remained. “You don’t have to put up with it. I’ve told you that before, and I’m begging you now. We have assault and battery ten times over. But it wouldn’t even have to come to that. If you filed for divorce, just the threat of going public might keep him away.”

  She shook her head in a way th
at said it might not.

  “We can get a court order,” Nolan argued. “He wouldn’t have any choice. He’d have to stay away from you and Joshie then.” He looked down at her hands and for the first time saw what they clutched. “Where did you get this?”

  She shot a look at the drawer.

  “Good God, you don’t want to use it.” He took it from her and was about to pocket it when she clutched his arm. “It’s Matthew’s? I don’t care. There’s no need to have it around.”

  “He’ll be angry if it’s gone,” she said, and prayed she’d said it softly enough so that Matthew wouldn’t hear. She looked nervously at the door.

  Nolan slipped the gun back in the desk and closed the drawer. Then he pulled Donna to him, holding her hands in his, right between her breasts where the gun had been. “Promise me,” he said. “Promise me that you won’t ever use that unless he comes at you first. Anything else and you call me. Promise?”

  She didn’t want to promise any such thing. There were times when she was filled with such hatred that the gun seemed the only answer. There were other times when the despair was such that she was almost tempted to turn it on herself. But there was Joshie. And Nolan. And even Chelsea. Chelsea wouldn’t take her life in despair. She would fight. Donna was working on that. She really was.

  Nolan kissed her. He rubbed his knuckles against the side of her breast in as intimate a touch as he’d ever given her.

  “I love you,” he said.

  She let out a breath, not knowing whether any sound came out with it and not caring. Leaning against Nolan was wonderful. So was letting him touch her. He made her feel whole and worth having and so very feminine. She loved him, too.

  He tipped up her chin with an easy finger. When her eyes were focused on his mouth, he said, “Someday you’ll be mine. I don’t care how long I have to wait. But you’ll be mine. I promise you, Donna. You will be.”

  She wanted to believe him, wanted it so badly.

  “You will be,” he said again as he gently set her back.

  The words gave her the strength to pull herself together and return to the front of the store.

  HUNTER LOVE LIVED ON THE WEST SIDE OF TOWN, PAST THE hospital, in a neighborhood just shy of Cutters Corner.