Paul locked the kickstand into place and pulled a blanket out of the bike’s storage bag, flicking it open on the grass. The blanket made her nervous. Paul had clearly planned this.
“It’s Chief Chipaway,” Claire said, pulling off her helmet, “the disappearing Indian.”
The rock formation had once looked like an Indian chief’s head. However, since limestone was soft and easily eroded, the chief’s features had vanished one by one until only the locals could find the resemblance to a human being. Paul used to bring her here to drink contraband beer.
“He’s lost an ear since you lived here,” Paul said, pulling two Budweisers out of the storage bag, twisting off the tops, and handing her a bottle. He clinked his beer to hers. “Here’s to old friends.”
“Cheers!” Claire tilted her head back and let the nearly cold liquid run down her throat. “Mmm, that first sip is the best.”
“Have a seat,” Paul said, dropping onto the blanket and tugging at her wrist.
She was afraid she had made a mistake in accepting Paul’s invitation. She sank down cross-legged on the plaid fabric and hoped she was misinterpreting his intentions.
Paul shrugged out of his jacket and took another swig of beer before leaning back on his elbows.
“It’s hard to imagine you as a two-term mayor when I see you in your biker gear.” She twisted her beer in her hands.
“I’m a man for all seasons,” he said, grinning at her. Then his smile dropped away. “You know, I heard from Peter Van Zandt after I got elected mayor.”
“You didn’t tell me that before!” Claire sat up, nearly spilling her beer. “Where is he? What did he say?”
“He said he was glad someone who rode a motorcycle was mayor. He’s living in Atlanta.”
“Teaching?”
Paul shook his head. “After the incident here, he couldn’t get a job in a school.”
Claire felt all the old fear and loneliness boil up. Mr. Van Zandt had been her champion; he had understood and believed in her dream of a career in the field of art. When he had been driven out of Sanctuary, she had nearly given up.
“He’s a house painter. Likes it, though, he said.”
“What a stupid waste of a brilliant teacher!” Claire felt angry tears burn in her eyes. “This town ruined his life.”
“Hey! Sanctuary has changed since then.”
“Really? Has that aspect of Sanctuary changed?”
“I like to think it has.” Now she could see clearly the man he had grown into. His jaw was squared, his gaze level. “I ran for mayor to fix some things I thought were wrong here.”
She was still upset, but she took a swallow of Bud and leaned back on her elbows. “I’m sorry. It’s ancient history, isn’t it?”
“You know, there’s something I always wanted to do back in those ancient times, but I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.” He had rolled onto his side and was looking down at her, blocking the sunlight. Dipping his head, he kissed her, his lips tasting of beer and fresh air.
For the sake of the past they shared, she wished she could respond the way he wanted her to, but all she could think of was how different Tim’s lips had felt on hers. She put her palm on Paul’s chest and gently pushed.
“Thank you, but we’re not those kids anymore,” she said as he let the pressure of her hand move him a few inches away.
“No, we’re older and wiser and capable of appreciating the people in our lives.”
She pushed a little harder, but he had become immovable. She sighed. This wasn’t something she’d wanted to say to him. “I’m involved with someone else.”
Regret and something she thought might be resentment flashed in his eyes, but he lifted his head. “One of your sophisticated New York friends, I guess. Tough to compete with that.”
It seemed easier to let him think that. She wasn’t certain whether she was actually “involved” with Tim. It had only been one night, after all, and he still hadn’t called. She slipped her hand into her pocket to verify her frustratingly silent cell phone was still there.
“Now I know why you’re in such a rush to get back to New York,” he continued.
She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. She wasn’t going to keep misleading him. “I’ve got a dream job waiting for me in the city. A new gallery to open where I can exhibit whatever artists I choose.”
“You could do that here. Davis thinks you hung the moon. He’d probably make you a partner in the gallery.”
“That’s really nice, but New York is one of the centers of the international art world. It’s an amazing opportunity.”
“Especially for a hillbilly girl made good.”
“You see, you understand.”
“You talked about it a lot when you’d had a couple of shots. In fact, you wouldn’t stop talking after a couple of shots.”
“Jerk!” Claire gave him a friendly shove, unbalancing him so he toppled backward onto the blanket.
He called her something equally unflattering, and they fell into their old, friendly banter. Claire wasn’t fooled, though. Paul didn’t like to lose; he would be riled up when he found out her love interest was a local.
Assuming she still had a local love interest.
CLAIRE STOOD ON Holly’s little cement-floored porch, collecting herself before opening the front door. When Paul dropped her back at the gallery to pick up her car, she made sure to dodge his attempt to kiss her. She blew out a sigh. Life in Sanctuary was becoming more complicated than she’d expected.
Walking through the kitchen door, she stopped dead. Robbie McGraw sat at the table, with a mug of coffee and a half-eaten slice of pie arrayed in front of him. Holly sat opposite him, dressed in a pink blouse with a ruffle around the collar, her hair falling in shining waves around her face. Even more amazing, she was wearing makeup and a smile.
“Well, I’ll be,” Claire said, falling into the country speech patterns of her youth, “Robbie’s here. And spoiling his dinner with pie first.”
He stood as soon as he saw her. “I guess it’s okay to get that hug now that I’m off duty,” he said with a grin.
Claire laughed and walked over to wrap her arms around him and give him a peck on the cheek. “It’s nice of you to come by when you’re not working.”
“Well, a slice of homemade cherry pie makes it worth the trip.”
“Homemade, is it? I think I need a piece too. I’m a big believer in eating dessert first.” So Holly felt well enough to make a pie for Robbie. That was good news. As her sister started to push her chair back, Claire said, “Stay put. I’ll get it.”
She cut a wedge of pie, poured a glass of milk, and sat down. Holly shifted in her chair and kept her eyes on her mug. “Robbie called to say he would come by to take a look at the locks on the garage windows. I thought the least I could do was make him a snack.”
“Excellent idea, since I get to enjoy it too,” Claire said, savoring the buttery crust and sweet fruit. “You’ll have to drop in more often, Robbie.”
“How was your ride?” Holly asked, making Claire choke on a bite of pie. Fortunately, her sister turned to Robbie and continued with a note of censure in her voice. “She went off on a motorcycle with Paul Taggart.”
“It was great,” Claire said after taking a gulp of milk. “We visited Chief Chipaway.”
“Nice spot up there,” Robbie said. “I haven’t seen Paul on his Harley in a while.”
“He and Claire used to roar around on a motorcycle back in high school. It gave Ma and Pop fits.”
“Only when you told them,” Claire said.
“I was afraid you’d get maimed or killed.”
Claire snorted before she grinned at Robbie. “Don’t let Holly fool you. She was just using Paul’s motorcycle to get the pressure off her for taking Pop’s Oldsmobile to the movies without permission. Let’s see, which boy was that with?” Claire cocked her head and put her finger on her chin. “Grady? No. Lester? No. I think it was—”
> Holly’s lips twitched. “Stop that right now, Claire Adele! I never once went out with Grady or Lester, and you know it.”
Claire just smiled and shook her head.
“I guess I’d better be going,” Robbie said, having polished off the rest of his pie. “It’s dangerous to get between sisters when they’re fighting.”
“That’s right,” Claire said. “You’ve got, what, three sisters?”
“All older,” Robbie said. “They bossed me around something fierce. Thanks for the pie.”
Claire got up to lock the kitchen door behind him and then started to load the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.
“Oh, Tim called for you,” Holly said as she stacked some plates for Claire.
A fork clattered onto the linoleum floor. “Oops,” Claire said, scooping it up and hoping Holly hadn’t seen the grin she couldn’t quell. “Did he leave a message?”
“Nope. Just asked if you were here. I told him you’d be at your place around nine.”
Claire looked at her sister. Now that she wasn’t putting on a bright face for her guest, the dark circles under Holly’s eyes stood out against her pallor. She’d put concealer over the bruise on her cheek, but even then, it showed through. Claire tamped down the excitement fizzing through her veins at the news of Tim’s call and concentrated on her sister. “Robbie’s a nice guy.”
“I had a crush on him when I was fifteen.” Holly drew a circle on the vinyl tablecloth with her fingernail.
“I remember,” Claire said. “We talked about it in the rhododendron cave. That pie was great.”
“It was out of the freezer from last summer. I can’t even remember the last time I had the energy to bake fresh,” Holly said.
“I know, Holl, but you will get better.” Claire squeezed her sister’s shoulder gently. “Where are the girls?”
“Over at the Defibaughs’. They should be home in half an hour.”
Claire hesitated. She hadn’t had a chance to think about the best way to approach Holly about what Brianna had said, but this was the perfect opportunity. She sat down across from her sister. “I know you wanted to do this with Frank, but I think you need to tell Brianna and Kayleigh about the divorce.”
If Holly had been wan before, she looked like a ghost now. Claire pushed on. “Something Brianna said yesterday made me realize she knows there’s a chance of divorce, and she’s very frightened. She even thinks she and Kayleigh would have to live with different parents.”
“Oh no, I would never let that happen!” Holly said. “I’d let Frank have the girls before I would split them up.”
“It won’t come to that, I promise you,” Claire said fiercely. “Look, if you don’t want to talk to them alone, I’ll do it with you.”
Holly looked like a deer in headlights. “I don’t know what to say. I have to tell them their world is going to be torn apart, and it’s my fault. How do I explain that?”
Claire flashed back to how Milo had systematically undermined her confidence in herself. Not only had he convinced her that it was her fault he no longer wanted to be married to her, he had convinced the judge that his expertise had guided her in buying the paintings she had acquired, which were now worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. He’d even made her believe it.
The memories brought a rush of clean, strong anger. If she could see the error of Holly’s brainwashing so clearly, how could Claire continue to let Milo’s ugly words undermine her own confidence? She put the question away for later as she reached over and took one of Holly’s hands. “Don’t even think it’s your fault. Brianna and Kayleigh’s world will be fine because they are lucky enough to have you as their mother.”
“Oh God, I’m so scared!” Holly said, clutching Claire’s hand convulsively as tears streaked down her cheeks. “How can I tell my children everything will be okay when I don’t know what’s going to happen myself? I don’t understand Frank. He’s the one who asked for the divorce. Now he acts like it was all my doing.”
“He wants to be in control, and you’ve taken that away from him.” Claire gave Holly’s hand a little shake. “Get mad, sis! Frank has no right to treat you this way.”
Holly stared at her for a long moment, her eyes liquid with tears. Then she sat up tall. “You’re right. I have to fight for the girls.”
“Damn straight! Don’t let the bastard cheat them out of what they deserve.” She knew she was channeling her anger at Milo into firing her sister up. It felt good to use it for something constructive. “Shall we discuss what you want to say to them about the situation?”
Holly’s shoulders sagged slightly. “Let me think about it tonight. I promise I’ll talk to them tomorrow.”
Holly laid her free hand on top of their already entwined fingers. “I’m really, really grateful you’re here.”
Claire felt her throat tighten with emotion at the trust Holly was placing in her. “You know what I always used to tell myself when I was going through this with Milo?”
“What?”
“It will be all right in the end, because if it’s not all right, it’s not the end.”
AS CLAIRE DROVE up to her rented home, her headlights flashed on the dark sheen of a big SUV parked in front of the double garage door. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch.
She’d forgotten to turn on the outside lights, but she could see a silhouette sitting in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch.
It was 9:15. Tim was waiting for her to come home.
All the chaotic emotions of her day converged into one searing bolt of joy: He had come to spend the night in her bed again. Practically leaping out of her car, she forced herself to slow down as she approached the porch.
“Evening.” Tim’s deep voice rumbled through the still night air. She felt it on her skin.
“Hi. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” she said, feeling shy as she walked up the steps.
He was standing now, holding a dark shape out to her. “Here’s something to apologize for not calling sooner.”
She flicked on the outside light switch. The yellow bulbs threw deep shadows over Tim’s face, but sent warm highlights dancing over his hair. She remembered the delicious tickle of it brushing against the inside of her thighs less than twenty-four hours ago. “Queen Anne’s lace and black-eyed Susans,” Claire said, taking the bouquet. “These bring back such memories!”
“The florists aren’t open on Sunday, so I had to make do with wildflowers.”
“Wildflowers are better than a store-bought bouquet,” Claire said, looking up at him, wondering why he didn’t kiss her. “Come in and have a beer.”
His hands were shoved in his pockets, and for a moment, she thought he was going to refuse. In fact, he made an almost imperceptible movement toward his car before he pivoted toward her door. “A beer sounds good.”
Her incandescent happiness flared and died at his strange response. There would be no throwing herself into the comfort of his arms. Instead, another strand of pain went twisting into the dark tapestry of emotions she carried with her tonight.
For the entire day, Tim had wrestled with his demons, taking such a long tramp through the woods that he had to carry an exhausted Sprocket home. Sanctuary was supposed to keep his ugly phantoms at bay, and here he was, facing ghosts again.
His night with Claire had brought him a pleasure and peacefulness he hadn’t felt in months. Today he was paying the price.
He didn’t know how to deal with this. He had no idea what he should say to Claire.
He knew he had to say something, offer an explanation or an apology. He flinched away from the thought of delivering either.
As it got later, he paced around his house while Sprocket watched him from the sofa. He picked up the phone and dropped it again. Then he forced himself to dial Holly’s number. A flood of relief washed through him when Holly told him her sister was not there.
Now here he was, two feet away from the woman who had let him sleep without nightmares last
night. He had watched her expression shift from excited welcome to stunned bafflement, and felt the guilt of it.
He wanted to leave before he said words that would wound her. Last night had included an unspoken declaration of trust and respect. He was about to ruin both of those things.
He followed her into the pine-paneled kitchen. As she bent to rummage in the refrigerator, her pants outlined the shape of her hips and bottom. His hands twitched with the urge to trace those curves again. She turned with a bottle of Molson in each hand, saying with a forced smile, “Hope you don’t mind imported.”
Something in his face made her smile vanish. “Tim, what’s wrong?”
He opened his mouth, but no words coalesced in his brain. He had nothing good to say, so he did what he’d been holding back from since she walked onto the porch.
He took one stride toward her and, with both hands, tilted her face upward. Before she could react, he dropped his head and devoured her mouth. As her arms came around his back, he felt the chilled glass of the bottles through his shirt. She opened her mouth and let him explore at his leisure while she clung to him. Her pliancy threw gasoline on the flames.
He shifted his grip to her behind and lifted her onto the beige Formica of the kitchen countertop, spreading her legs so he could come up against her.
“Tim!” Her voice was part laughter, part shock. “Let me put these bottles down.”
He gave her just enough room to twist sideways and slide the beer onto the counter. Then he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her to him. The V of her legs rubbing against his erection tore a groan from his chest and snapped any control he might have been holding on to. He wanted to slip into the forgetfulness of being inside her.
“Ahhh, yes,” she said, pushing her hips forward to bring the friction to an exquisite pitch.
He felt the tightness spiraling into his groin and brought his hands around to the button of her pants, almost yanking it off in his haste to undress her. He jerked her zipper down and bent to pull at the cuffs while she worked the waistband down over her thighs. She started to toe off her hot high heels.
Take Me Home Page 14