by Metsy Hingle
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t intend to make another mistake. I’m not going to let you or anyone else use me again. You’ll have to find someone else to help you fight Martha for Summer.”
He clenched his hands into fists. “Have I ever asked you to help me? Have I once said anything about needing you to testify in court?”
“Not yet.”
“And I doubt that I will. I told you, Martha Winthrop isn’t going to risk having her precious family name dragged through the press and letting the people in this town know she has an illegitimate granddaughter.”
Suddenly her own problems faded. Amanda’s stomach knotted. She could feel the color drain from her face as she realized he really didn’t have any idea how dangerous Martha was. “Don’t make the mistake of underestimating her, Michael. She wants Summer and she’s determined to get her. I doubt if she cares what the press or anyone else thinks.”
Michael frowned; he narrowed his eyes. “You sound like you really believe that.”
“I do. Martha came to see me Sunday morning. Somehow she found out I’d been counseling Summer. She asked me to help her.”
“What did you tell her?”
“No, of course.” Did he even need to ask? “She was very angry. She said she’s going to fight you for custody.”
Michael slammed his fist against the tabletop, rattling the spoons and china against the Formica. Several heads turned in their direction, but he seemed unaware, his thoughts obviously elsewhere.
“She also told me what happened to your father...how he’d been killed while working for her company.”
He pinned her with eyes that had turned hard and cold. “What else did she tell you?”
“That your mother...that she took your father’s death very hard.”
Michael scoffed. “You don’t have to dress it up for my sake, Amanda. She told you my mother was crazy. Didn’t she?”
“Michael, don’t.” Amanda reached out to touch his hand but he pulled away.
“Don’t what? Admit the truth? Why not? My mother did have a nervous breakdown when my father died and she never recovered. Did your pal Martha tell you what everyone used to call my mother?”
Amanda’s heart twisted at the pain in his voice.
“Crazy Alice. That’s what everyone called her. After my father died, she’d just sit on the front porch, day after day and wait. Her eyes were always on the corner street, watching, waiting for my dad to come home. She was so crazy in love with him. She just couldn’t accept the fact that he wasn’t coming back. That he was dead.” There was such hurt and bitterness in his voice. “It didn’t even matter that Sara or I were still here, that we needed her. She didn’t want to live anymore—not without him.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, knowing how inadequate the words were, how terrible it must have been for a younger, more vulnerable Michael to see his mother that way.
“Well, your friends the Winthrops weren’t sorry. Not even a little bit.”
At her puzzled expression, he continued. “It was bad enough my dad was killed working on one of their construction sites, but old man Winthrop said the accident was my father’s fault...that he’d been drinking on the job before he slipped off the girder.”
“Oh, Michael. How awful.”
“It wasn’t true,” he said with such bitterness Amanda nearly shrank from him. “Sure, my dad drank a few beers now and then, but never on the job. Winthrop was just covering his own skin. He didn’t want any questions raised about the safety of his equipment. He’d gotten some stiff fines the year before when a man had been hurt on the job. The last thing he needed was for my family to file a lawsuit.”
“Did you?” she asked.
“No. My mother wasn’t in any condition to do that and I was only sixteen, not old enough to do much.”
“But surely you could have contacted a good lawyer—”
“And how many lawyers do you think would have touched a case like that? What lawyer would have been willing to take on people as powerful as the Winthrops?” he snapped. “We didn’t have any money. And Winthrop had already warned my mother that any further investigation might hold up the insurance money. And I was afraid to do anything that would draw too much attention to us because of my mother’s condition. I didn’t want the courts to come in and take Sara and me away from her. I could have handled it, but my mother couldn’t have. And neither could Sara.”
So much injustice, Amanda thought, her heart aching for Michael. No wonder he harbored so much resentment. But that resentment would destroy him if he wasn’t careful. And it didn’t make him denying Martha all access to Summer right, either. “So you’re meting out your own justice,” she said, more to herself than to Michael. “You’re keeping Summer from her grandmother to get even with the Winthrops.”
“I’m doing what I have to do to protect her from the Winthrops,” he corrected.
“Martha said you were a street fighter.”
“If you mean, do I fight dirty, the answer’s yes. If I have to, I will. What else did she tell you about me?”
“She warned me to be careful. She said you’d use me if I gave you the chance and once I’d outlived my usefulness, you’d toss me aside.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I’m not sure. But I do believe you love Summer and that you’d do anything to keep her—including using me.”
Eight
Amanda pedaled her bicycle down the street, slowly riding through the quiet neighborhood. She passed house after house with neatly trimmed yards and gardens filled with bright spring flowers. A squirrel scurried up a moss-laden oak, bringing a slight smile to her lips—the first one she’d managed in more than a week.
She lifted her face to the bright May sunshine, and the heat of the morning sun warmed her cheeks. The weather was perfect for the opening of Saint Margaret’s school fair, she thought, pumping faster as the street inclined slightly. She really should go to show her support for Gracie and the schoolchildren. Besides, she’d promised Summer she would be there.
Summer.
Amanda chided herself silently as thoughts of the dark-haired little girl filled her head. Wasn’t it bad enough that she had started to care for the uncle? How could she have allowed herself to become attached to the child, as well? Would she never learn from her mistakes? There was no place for her in Summer’s life—especially not now, not after the way things had turned out between her and Michael.
Irritated, Amanda pedaled faster, trying to outrun the restlessness that seemed to plague her whenever she thought of Michael.
Turning the corner, she braked in front of her own yellow-and-white house. The little cottage was still as cheerful as ever. Bright-covered azaleas and phlox bordered the width of the wooden structure, adding to its charm. But today the sight failed to lighten her mood.
Snap out of it, she told herself. Dismounting her ten-speed, Amanda stored it in the attached garage. She had every reason to be happy. She was on the verge of finishing her studies. She had parents who loved her, and wonderful friends like Gracie. And she had just avoided a very narrow escape where Michael was concerned. What in the world did she have to be gloomy about?
The answer was simple. She missed Michael. She’d ordered him out of her life. But how did she get him out of her heart?
After unlocking the door, Amanda entered the house and walked through to the kitchen. Sighing, she grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit on the counter and polished it against the leg of her jeans. She took a bite, noisily munching on the sweet, juicy fruit before heading into the den. Taking another bite, she set the apple on the coffee table and plumped up the cushions on the green-and-white couch. Flopping down, Amanda stretched out her legs and crossed them at the ankles.
She cut a glance toward the window. Bright sunshine streamed into the room, reminding her once more just how happy and cheerful she should be and how completely miserable she was.
And it was Michael Grayson’s fault.
Amanda wanted to scream. She had to stop thinking about him. But every time she closed her eyes, Michael was with her again—inside her head, inside her heart—just as he had been almost from the start.
He haunted her. Even after eight full days, she could still see his face, remember the way he’d looked that night—his lean, chiseled features pulled into tight, angry lines, his mouth set and unsmiling.
Amanda squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears with her hands, but she could still hear Michael’s angry voice, his biting words...
* * *
“So, it’s over. Just like that—” He snapped his fingers in front of her face. Anger radiated from every muscle in his body. “—No discussion. No trying to work things out. You just tell me to get lost...that we’re finished. And for what? Because you’re too damn scared to take a chance?”
Amanda tilted her chin defiantly. “This has nothing to do with me being afraid.”
“The hell it doesn’t.” His voice was a furious hiss and Amanda was vaguely aware of heads turning around them. “Admit it. I broke through that ice wall you’ve built around yourself and made you feel again. And it’s got you so scared, you can’t run away fast enough.”
“That’s not true.”
“No? Then why are you calling it quits between us?”
“I’ve already explained why.”
“Explained? No, Amanda. You haven’t explained anything. What you’ve done is convince yourself that I’m like your ex-husband. You’re only too happy to believe anything Martha Winthrop tells you because you’re scared silly and have just been looking for any reason to push me away.”
Amanda shrugged, striving for nonchalance. “Believe whatever you want.”
Michael leaned across the table, bringing his face so close to hers that Amanda could smell the spicy scent of his after-shave. “What I believe is that you’re a coward.”
Stung by his assessment, Amanda gritted her teeth. “Why? Because I came to my senses and decided not to go to bed with you?” She met his gaze evenly. “I’ve no doubt you’re good, Michael, but sex would have only made things more complicated. And I’ve already told you, I don’t like complications.”
Michael pulled back as though she’d slapped him. “Is that how you see me? As a complication? Are you trying to tell me that what was happening between us the other night was just sex?” he demanded. “Is that all it was to you?”
“Isn’t that what it was for you?” Amanda shot back, determined not to be intimidated by his outrage.
Turning away, Michael swore. The veins in his neck throbbed angrily as he clenched and unclenched his fists.
When he turned back to face her, his eyes were as hard and cold as steel. The knot in Amanda’s stomach tightened.
“It was a lot more than that for me. I thought we had a relationship—one that’s emotional as well as physical.” He drew a measured breath, then continued. “I wanted us to be able to talk to each other. To go places together. To share things,” he finished softly.
His gentleness unnerved her, zapped her anger. Why did he have to make this more difficult? He wanted to use her, she told herself, marshaling her defenses. “How can you say that after what almost happened between us? After...after the things you said a few minutes ago?”
“After what? Admitting that you turn me on?”
Her throat tight, unable to speak, Amanda nodded.
“Why not? It’s true. I wanted you last night. I still want you,” he said, his voice low, husky. “I want to take you to bed, to explore every inch of you with my mouth, with my hands, until I know your body as well as I know my own. I want to lie with you naked, bury myself deep inside you.”
Amanda’s pulse grew frantic.
“I want to make love to you for hours...slow and easy until we’re both desperate with need, then fast and hard because neither of us can wait a moment longer. And then I want to start all over again and not stop until we’re both so weak neither one of us can lift our heads.”
Breathless, Amanda’s heart raced at the provocative images his words created. She gripped the edge of the table unable to do anything more than stare at him.
“But I’m not interested in meaningless sex, Amanda. I never have been.”
He pinned her with his gaze and Amanda felt as though his blue eyes could see through the facade she’d tried so hard to erect and into her wanton soul.
“But then, maybe that’s what you want,” he continued. “Empty sex. Maybe that’s your idea of a relationship...”
He made it sound so ugly, so cold. The warm feeling his erotic expounding had caused withered, leaving her chilled, hollow.
“Because you sure as hell don’t have a clue about what a real relationship is or what it takes to make one work.”
Stung, she snapped, “And I suppose you do?”
“Yeah, I do,” he said arrogantly. “At least I have a lot better idea of what it takes than you do.”
She shot him her haughtiest look, the one that had successfully banished many an unwanted suitor.
It didn’t faze Michael.
“I know it takes a lot of guts to put your feelings on the line, to leave yourself open, to risk being hurt.” He gave a short, mirthless laugh that chilled Amanda even more. “And you know what’s so ironic?”
“No doubt you’re going to tell me,” she said, trying for sarcasm but falling short.
“I asked you to meet me here so I could apologize. I thought I’d overreacted the other night when I accused you of being afraid. I wanted to tell you that I was wrong.
“I told myself, here’s a woman who’s chucked everything, who’s picked up the pieces of her life and started over. But you weren’t starting over. Were you, Amanda?”
She didn’t even attempt to answer him.
“You were running,” he said, not bothering to hide his scorn. “And now you’re running again—only this time, you’re not running from an ex-husband or unhappy memories. Hell, you’re not even running from me. You’re running from yourself. And the sad part about it is, you don’t even know it.”
She’d had enough. Pushing back her chair, Amanda stood. “Thank you, Dr. Grayson. Now, if you’ve finished your amateur analysis, I’m leaving.”
Michael’s hand flashed out and caught her wrist before she could take a step. Amanda looked down at her imprisoned wrist, locked in his powerful grasp. She brought her gaze back up to his angry face.
“Someday you’re going to get tired of running,” he told her, his voice low, dangerous. “I only hope when you do, it won’t be too late for us.”
* * *
Amanda shook her head, trying to clear away the memory, but Michael’s words continued to echo in her mind.
Had he been right? she asked herself for the dozenth time. Had she been running from herself and her feelings? True, she hadn’t wanted the emotional risk a relationship with him represented. But had she deluded herself into believing if she shut him out of her life that her heart would be safe?
Had she succeeded? Or was it already too late?
The telephone rang, saving her from searching for answers that wouldn’t come. Sitting up, she swung her legs to the floor. The shrill sound continued to pierce the quiet as Amanda walked over to the table and picked up the receiver. “Hello?” she answered in the middle of the third ring.
“Miss Amanda?”
Amanda knitted her brows. “Summer? Summer, is that you?”
“Yes,” Summer returned breathlessly, the relief in her voice evident. “I was afraid I had the wrong number. I asked information for your phone number, but it didn’t sound like you at first.”
“Summer, honey, is something wrong?” Amanda asked, beginning to feel worried.
“It’s Uncle Mike.”
Amanda froze. Suddenly her legs grew weak. “Has something happened to your uncle?” she asked, fighting to keep the panic from her voice.
“No. He’s all right, it’s just
that...that he’s going to ruin everything.”
“Ruin everything? Honey, what are you talking about? What’s going to be ruined?”
“Everything,” Summer declared, her voice breaking on a sob. “Please, will you come help us?”
“Help with what?”
Summer mumbled something, but the words were drowned out by what sounded like a loud crash.
“Summer, what was that noise?” Amanda demanded.
“Please say you’ll come, Miss Amanda. You said you were my friend and Sister Mary Grace said friends help each other. Will you help me?”
“Help with what?” There was another crash and Amanda was sure this time she heard glass breaking. “Summer, what’s going on?”
“Uh-oh. I gotta go. Please hurry. We need you. Bye.”
“Summer, wait—”
But it was too late, the dial tone was already buzzing in Amanda’s ear.
Amanda stood for a moment, looking at the receiver she held in her hand. She depressed the button and punched out the digits for Information.
Amanda jotted down Michael’s phone number and address. Picking up the receiver again, she punched out Michael’s number.
The line was busy.
She dialed again. Again, she got a busy signal.
Please come. We need you. Summer’s pitiful voice kept playing over and over in her head.
Amanda started to dial a third time, but hung up the phone instead.
She was probably making a mistake by going. Only a fool would risk becoming more involved with either Grayson, she told herself.
Evidently, she was a fool.
Grabbing her purse and car keys, she rushed out of the door, ignoring common sense and following her heart.
Twenty minutes later when Summer opened the door and threw herself into Amanda’s arms, Amanda was glad her heart had won.
“I knew you’d come,” Summer said, clinging to her.
Amanda swallowed, moved by the little girl’s faith in her. After a moment she held Summer at arm’s length and stood. “Now suppose you tell me what’s wrong?”
“It’s the school fair,” she said, her green eyes filling with tears.