by Anna Adams
Zach opened the kitchen door and stepped onto the deck. He shoved his hands into his pockets, tilting back on the heels of his hiking boots. “We should have called them sooner. I think storms are coming.” He raised his voice. “Evan, Lily, time to come in.”
“Awww!” Lily shouted.
“Awww,” Evan echoed.
“Hot chocolate might warm you up,” Zach said. “Lily, you have to help Evan pick a mug.”
“A mug?” Olivia asked.
“Every night she’s here, Lily and I have chocolate milk before she goes to bed. Cold or hot, we drink from the same mugs. I think Evan’s going to want his own mug.” His smile acknowledged the way brother and sister copied each other when they weren’t fighting for top-dog spot.
“I hope you have another one to match Lily’s.”
Zach came back into the house, leaning a fraction of an uncomfortable inch too close. “You’ll probably have to pick one, too.”
“I’m not—”
“Part of the ritual? Might as well be while you’re here. You have nothing to lose.”
He could say that. He didn’t remember last time.
BETH LOCKED her doors and windows. All afternoon she’d felt as if someone were staring in at her. She hadn’t even gone out to cover her plants, and the weather felt cold tonight. She was turning out the lights when someone pounded on her door.
She shrieked. Whoever it was had slammed his weight into the door, obviously intent on getting in. Where was a shotgun when you needed one?
“Are you all right in there? Mrs. Calvert, do you need help?”
She went to the window beside the porch and caught Olivia’s father, searching for a way in. Before he could toss a planter through her window, she opened up.
“You scared me out of my wits. I didn’t hear your car.”
“But you’re all right?”
She nodded.
James Kendall brushed his flying white hair out of his eyes. “I’m sorry. When you screamed I thought you might be hurt.” He looked disgusted. “Why play around? I thought someone had broken in. I haven’t been out without Ian and Jock in so long—never mind—where’s my daughter?”
“Putting Evan to bed, I assume.”
“I’ve just been to the B&B. That woman wouldn’t let me see Olivia and Evan, and she wouldn’t tell me a thing. I had the feeling they weren’t there.”
“Eliza’s helping us hide Evan. Hasn’t Olivia called you?”
“Then it’s true.” His face expressed true dismay. “She’s staying with Zach tonight. She and Evan.”
He couldn’t expect her to share his consternation. “They’re safe. Would you like coffee?”
“No, I don’t want coffee. I want my daughter to stay away from a man who’s hurt her in the past. No one will say where your son lives. You’re going to tell me.”
“I don’t think so.” His arrogance, despite its flavor of frustration and worry, drained all her sympathy. “And I think you need to leave my house. I don’t normally accept visitors this late.”
He opened his mouth and then closed it, forcing himself to act calm. “I might have come earlier, but I spent all afternoon buying up film that made every man in this town look like a thug.”
Her respect for him rose. “Why would you do that?”
He seemed to lose enthusiasm for his story. “They used their pitchforks to keep the reporters off Zach and the children.”
“Your rivals let you buy them off?”
His egotism flooded back in a smile that suggested he was no mortal man. “You’d be surprised how much money I have.”
She tried not to laugh. He seemed so earnest. She wouldn’t laugh at Evan for showing off. “I thought the rich didn’t talk about their bank accounts.”
“You look as if you need impressing.”
He was probably right, since wealth didn’t often impress her. “I owe you for protecting my town, and probably my son, since I assume those others would have said he instigated the misuse of the farming implements.”
“There weren’t any pitchforks. I may have exaggerated.” The truth made him uncomfortable. “A problem I have.”
She liked a person who could turn human when you least expected it. “Step inside. I already have the coffee made.”
“Maybe I will.”
“But I’m not going to tell you where Zach lives.”
“Maybe you will.”
She’d reacted to no such challenge since Ned’s death. But this man needed setting straight.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ZACH HAD ALREADY wished Evan good-night. While he was singing “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” which Lily simply called “Mary” and required each time he put her to bed, her eyes drifted shut. He kissed her forehead, thanking any power listening for the generous little girl who’d so happily welcomed her older brother.
She’d forced Evan to take her ceremonial mug for hot chocolate—a thick stoneware one Zach’s gran had made for her in the kiln up at the baby farm. She’d then claimed her second-favorite mug, the one that matched hers, except for a slight chip in the rim.
Zach tucked the quilt beneath her chin and turned off her lamp. He left her door open just a crack in case she needed him during the night. Neither child seemed as upset about this afternoon’s confrontation as he and Olivia were, but he’d be sleeping farther from Lily than usual in the living room and he wanted to make sure he could hear her if she called out.
Unusual darkness blanketed the hall. Olivia had shut his bedroom door. Through the thick wood came the murmur of her voice and Evan’s sleepy-sounding responses. Now would be a good time to call Helene.
When she came to the phone, her hello sounded surprised, which meant none of this afternoon’s photos or film had leaked into her house.
“It’s me,” he said.
“So I was told. Is something wrong with Lily?”
“She’s fine. She’s already asleep, but we ran into some trouble at Henderson’s today, and I wanted to tell you about it myself.”
“What kind of trouble?” she asked almost before he could finish.
“Nothing too serious, just the reporters again. Mike Henderson and some of the old boys who hang out there helped us.”
“Boys? Those guys are ancient. How could they help you?”
“They surrounded the reporters while Lily and Evan and I left.” Or fled, but he didn’t want to scare his ex-wife any more than he had to.
“This won’t do, Zach. Why don’t you face them and stop running?”
“It’s none of their business. This isn’t the same thing as six years ago, Helene.” He wasn’t about to discuss his future with Evan outside his own convoluted family.
“If you don’t do something I’ll have to make Lily a prisoner in her own home.”
His fingers tightened on the phone. “Don’t threaten me. You can’t take Lily away from me just because you’re angry. How many times do I have to remind you we share joint custody?”
“Unlike the Kendalls, I can’t afford bodyguards to keep strangers off her back. When I drop her off at day care or at a lesson, she’s on her own. You tell your concerned little girlfriend about that.”
“My—huh?”
“Olivia Kendall. She’s all talk about making Lily happy, fitting our daughter into a family with her son. Well, if her son causes my daughter problems I don’t want that boy in this town.”
“When did you talk to Olivia?” Had Olivia gotten in touch with Helene in a Kendall preemptive strike? “Did you call her?”
“Give me a break. I’ll call your sweet Olivia if I want to. She doesn’t need your protection, Zach Calvert.”
Her resentment was clear, but he was still unraveling the steps of her chat with Olivia. “I’m asking if Olivia decided she’d fix any difficulties by talking to you.”
“No.” Helene breathed hard. “But you can tell her for me I won’t believe she’s worried about Lily until she insists her reporter friends leave our child—ou
r child, Zach—alone.”
“If she could make them leave any of us alone, she would have stopped them already. That’s the problem. And Helene, I won’t let anything happen to Lily.”
“So far you’re reacting to the problem. Do something about it.”
“I’m trying to become Evan’s father, and in the meantime, he and Lily are learning to be brother and sister. Talking to reporters along the way won’t make them less curious.”
“Not good enough. I don’t want to see Lily running from cameras.”
“Neither do I, so we’re going to hang around up here all weekend.”
Her silence asked if “we” included Olivia. Well—ingrained guilt wouldn’t let him tell her. He’d lived with Helene, tried with Helene, for nearly three years longer than he should have. He’d done her no favors trying to love her, and she’d probably hate him till he died for trying and failing.
“You’ll return Lily to me on Monday morning before you go to work then?”
“Yes. Helene—I’m sorry.”
“I don’t give a damn about sorry. Sorry never did any of us any good.” She hung up.
He turned off the phone and set it on the counter. That Scotch in the cupboard sounded pretty good again.
“Maybe I should go back to town.”
He froze. He couldn’t will himself to love Helene, but even the sound of Olivia’s voice started a storm in his bloodstream.
“You heard?”
“I tried to walk away, but you covered a lot of ground before I could go.”
“We’re like that.” He turned to face her. Holding Evan’s jeans and sweater and shirt, she looked anxious, like a maid who’d spilled something on the laundry. Not like the confident newswoman who’d swept into his office. “You also spoke to Helene?”
“I told her exactly what I’ve said to you, that I want us to make things good for the children.”
“This situation is turning us all into—”
“I know—a crazy kind of family. I never dreamed I’d have to consider another woman’s feelings when I make decisions about my son.”
“She said something similar.” Only she’d added the instinctive jealousy she couldn’t contain toward Olivia. How could he have forgotten Olivia if he cared for her? God knew he wouldn’t have intentionally hurt Helene, tying himself to a ghost.
“I can’t persuade her she’s wrong about you and me—although Evan and I seem to have made her realize she does want you in Lily’s life.”
He nodded, also puzzled by the change. “She wanted the divorce, but she’s still angry about our marriage. I don’t think she’s ever said anything to Lily, so I put up with whatever she says to me.”
Olivia narrowed her gaze as if she could sense the leftover pain from his bad relationship. “Maybe you married too soon after the accident.”
“Worse than that,” he said, “we had Lily too soon, and I just hope she never figures it out.” He loved his daughter as unconditionally as he’d wished he could have loved her mother.
Olivia stared down at Evan’s things, which she’d begun to crumple in her hand. “Could I wash Evan’s jeans in case it’s too cold for shorts tomorrow?”
“Sure.” Her discomfort spread tentacles to him. She already knew more than enough about his past. She’d raised their son on her own while he’d tried to make his marriage to Helene work. Burning inside, he realized he didn’t want to know about men Olivia might have been with after he’d left. “The laundry room is back here.” He started across the kitchen. “Do you want to wash your own clothes?”
She hesitated, but then threw off her reticence. “I’d be grateful.”
“Let me get you something to put on.” She nodded, and he eased into his room where Evan rustled beneath the bedclothes.
“Dad?”
“Sorry, son. Were you dreaming yet?” He took gray cotton sweats and a white thermal pullover out of his dresser.
“Not yet.” Evan held up his arms and Zach went to hug him. “Did I hear you singing to Lily?” Evan asked.
Zach nodded against his clean, boyish-scented head. “We sing ‘Mary’ together every night.”
“Will you sing ‘Frosty’ to me?”
Evan sounded a little less sleepy. A bad omen, since Zach wanted to sing the song he’d asked for, but he could hardly make up the words if Evan was alert. “Do you know how it goes?” Zach asked.
Evan started belting it out, and Zach followed along, meandering off course a few times. Evan didn’t seem to mind. At the end, he hugged Zach so tight he might have been making up for lost time.
“Why ‘Frosty,’ Evan?”
“It’s my favrit.” Slurring the last word, he rolled over, immediately falling asleep again.
As Zach stood, Olivia moved back from the open doorway. He followed her down the hall, mesmerized by her slender, unhurried grace. “You didn’t have to leave,” he said in the living room.
“I suddenly realized I was watching you and I felt nosy.” She smiled, and her mouth, which he’d thought perfect, tilted a little crookedly.
He couldn’t look away from the slight flaw that made her even more beautiful, but he didn’t know he was staring until she covered her mouth. She gazed at him as if she were seeing him through a haze of the past.
“You always said I had a crooked mouth.” Her voice, low and husky, played on his nerve endings.
Tension woke between them. He felt its touch in the muscles that tightened in his legs and arms. Olivia shuddered as it reached for her. A deep inhalation lifted her breasts, and he matched his breathing to hers. He took a step toward her, but she reached for the clothes in his hands and he released them from nerveless fingers.
Was this memory or longing? Born of attraction or loneliness? Or both, buried in need so deep he never let himself feel it. But now was not the time. Zach searched the room for something he should be doing.
“While you change, I’ll bring in some firewood.”
She didn’t seem to hear him at first, and then her gaze faltered. She swerved her head toward the open woodstove.
She’d probably never seen anything so primitive. He nodded. “It looks decorative, but it heats the house.” Maybe this idiotic conversation would distract her, too. “My great-grandfather built the place, and my dad added vents from the stove for central heating.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The low tenor of her voice pulled him back to the desire he was trying to ignore. If he didn’t do something else, he was going to touch her. The firewood. Carrying firewood took a man’s mind off impossible situations. “We’ll be warmer tonight if I bring in enough logs to keep the fire going.”
She nodded, but irritation slowly fed into her gaze. Surely she understood he was trying to protect her and Evan as much as himself. He headed for the woodpile, willing to be a coward if he kept from hurting Olivia or anyone else ever again.
SHE CHANGED in the bathroom, yanking off her jeans and shirt. Her socks came off and flew toward the toilet, fluttering to safety at the last possible second.
She must be out of her mind giving Zachary Calvert one more chance to reject her. She stopped as those moments in the living room washed over her again. She swore as she felt herself swaying toward him. And she should have sworn out loud when he’d started rambling about firewood and heating.
She glanced at herself in the mirror, naked except for the blush that spread from her breasts to her throat to her cheeks. Tomorrow she’d call up Helene and ask if she wanted to start a damn club for women the sheriff had dumped. For tonight she’d better stop herself from blasting him from his own bathroom in case she woke both their children.
She put on his sweats, refusing to imagine the slide of thin cotton against his taut skin. While she hauled his thermal shirt over her head she held her breath for fear of catching some faint remnant of his scent.
She’d never known such a weak woman. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t stop thinking
of him that way? She splashed water on her face and ejected herself from the bathroom’s safety. Stiffening her spine, she marched down the hall. Kendalls gave way for no man.
In the laundry room, she loaded her clothes and Evan’s jeans into the washer. Water sloshing into the machine blocked all other sound. With any luck at all Zach would brain himself with a log. Short of that, maybe he’d finish his chore and resort to the cliché of a long cold shower.
She helped herself to detergent and shut the washer lid. Restless, knowing she’d whirl like a dervish and disturb Evan’s sleep if she tried to go to bed, she opened the kitchen door to the deck and stepped outside.
Clouds floated past the face of the moon. Olivia smoothed her palms across her own face. She’d come to this house, to Bardill’s Ridge for Evan. The swaying pines seemed to whisper his name in a warning, or maybe they were gossiping about how foolish she’d almost been. The wooden planks froze her feet in no time, but the cold night proved more effective than a dip in one of the icy springs that gurgled somewhere up there on the dark ridge.
Maybe Zach had a point. Instead of being insulted, she should thank him. If he’d taken her up on her silent offer, they’d have to decide where to go next. This time he’d left her in no doubt. He’d wisely stated his intentions of going nowhere.
She might feel hungry and discarded, but as long as she kept her hands to herself, she’d have no regrets. Her son’s bond with Zach mattered. She had no other connection with him anymore.
She tucked her hands in the loose hem of her borrowed shirt for warmth, but shuddered anyway. Glancing back at the house, she hoped Zach would pass the windows, turning out lights so he could go to bed.
“Olivia?”
Startled, she turned toward the lawn and the sound of his voice. “Where are you?”
He climbed the steps to the lower deck, into a spill of light from the kitchen window. “I’m making mistakes with you.”
“I know you think so.” She swallowed the rest. If he flat out said he didn’t want her, she’d have to throw the grill at him.
“I meant when I ran out here.” He crossed the lower deck and quickly strode up to her level. “I wanted to—” He stopped, but clenched his hands in fists in front of her. “I don’t know what I wanted. Most of all I want to know if I remember you—if I can—”