Color touched her cheeks and he thought he saw yearning in her eyes before they shied from his. “That’s just weird.”
He smiled at her. “Maybe. Of course, that’s not all I want, but it would be a start. Just…knowing you were sleeping soundly, right there next to me.”
“I don’t understand you,” Faith whispered.
His own voice low and husky, Ben said, “I’m willing to give you a chance to, any time you’re ready.”
A shiver traveled through her, and then she lifted her head and tugged her arm free from his hand. She met his eyes, her own stripped of emotion. “Your guilt isn’t comfortable for either of us. Get over it.” With that, she turned and walked away.
Frustration boiling in his chest, Ben had no choice but to watch her go.
No, she wasn’t interested in taking that white flag of surrender from his hands. She didn’t trust him.
For good reason.
He couldn’t figure any other way to convince her but with persistence and one hell of a lot of patience, both of which he’d already been employing without notable success.
Ben just wished he could see an alternative to wearing her down, when, in his opinion, she was about as worn down as she could be without giving up altogether.
It was a minute before he unlocked his 4Runner, got in and backed out of the parking spot.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“OH, CHAR.” In a rush, Faith’s blue eyes filled with tears. “You look gorgeous.”
The two women stood before a tall mirror in the generously sized dressing room of a bridal shop. The wedding was only two weeks away, and Faith had been the one to insist they go on an all-out shopping expedition. Given recent events, when Charlotte had thought at all about needing a wedding dress, she’d just figured she would find something at the nearest department store.
But now, gazing at herself in the mirror, she was astonished to feel her chest fill with emotion. Okay, damn it—she did want to look beautiful for Gray when she walked down the aisle to him. Not traditional-bride beautiful, which meant lace-encrusted pearls and miles of stiff white satin skirt and veil that just didn’t suit her. But this dress…
It was reminiscent of the 1920s flapper era, with a dropped waist and silk the color of gentle ivory, as if aged in a cedar chest in the attic. The thin straps were sewn with rhinestones, as was the very edge of the bodice. Otherwise, the dress relied entirely on drape. Fabric cut on the bias lovingly outlined her breasts, lingered at her hips and shaped to her thighs when she moved experimentally. It fit her perfectly, as if made for her.
And Faith—Faith was glowing, which she hadn’t done in weeks, maybe even months.
Charlotte’s chest burned at having to contain so much.
She didn’t know if she could express any of it, and didn’t even try. Instead, she twirled to peer at her back. “Dare I ask how much it is?”
Faith laughed and then sniffed. “Within your budget, or you wouldn’t be trying it on. Hmm…” She studied Charlotte in the mirror. “I wonder if we couldn’t do something flapper style for a headpiece, too. A band of some kind, with glittery fringe, or…”
The saleswoman, who had been standing back smiling, now narrowed her eyes and studied Charlotte, too. “With your short hair… Hats aren’t common in weddings these days, but… You need a cloche. They were very popular in that era.” Her hands shaped the hat she envisioned as if it sat on her head. “A soft fabric, ivory like the dress, with perhaps a vintage brooch on it. It could anchor a veil if you want one….”
“I don’t,” Charlotte said decisively.
The woman nodded. “You might have to hunt online for the kind of thing I’m imagining, but there are a couple of vintage clothing stores in Seattle. You could get lucky.”
They did get lucky. Charlotte hadn’t been sure how she felt about the idea of wearing a hat—it wasn’t as if she often did, and she had doubts that one would go with her wedding dress anyway—but at the third vintage clothing shop they went into she found a soft, ivory wool cloche. They showed the shop owner the dress, and she produced a brooch that was a spray of brilliant rhinestones to match the ones on the dress. “And perhaps a feather,” she murmured, and found one—or stole it from some other hat—that curved rakishly when clipped on with the brooch. They all sighed with pleasure at the sight of Charlotte wearing it and gazing into the mirror.
“Now shoes,” Faith said firmly.
Today was the first time Charlotte had seen Faith come out of herself since Rory’s death. From the moment she’d decided that they would go shopping, she had been just a little bossy and startlingly decisive.
They ate a late lunch in the café at Nordstrom, having chosen a dress for Faith there. Charlotte smiled at her sister over the table. “Do you remember when we went shopping for prom dresses our junior year?”
“Oh, Lord,” Faith groaned. “I kept picking pink with ruffles, and everything you liked cost the world.”
Charlotte grinned. “I always did have expensive taste, didn’t I?”
Of course, she hadn’t been able to buy any of those elegant, stylish dresses she’d coveted so. The Russell family budget hadn’t been up to that challenge. Heavens, thinking back, the cost of outfitting two girls for a prom had probably just about killed their parents, even though they’d both ended up sewing their own dresses.
“I’ll bet Mom and Dad couldn’t afford to have another kid after us,” she mused. “With twins, they couldn’t take advantage of hand-me-downs like they would’ve if we’d been stair-stepped in age. And every time one of us grew and needed new shoes or a winter coat or whatever, so did the other.”
“We did get hand-me-downs from the Smiths and…oh, from Lisa! I hated having to wear her clothes!”
Funny, Charlotte hadn’t known that. Probably there hadn’t been anything wrong with the clothes at all, but neither of the twins had liked the daughter of their mom’s best friend. And the idea of showing up at school in something any of Lisa’s friends would recognize hadn’t been very welcome to Charlotte, either.
But apparently less so to Faith.
“Because you cared what you wore,” she realized. “And I really didn’t most of the time.”
Faith snorted. “In fifth or sixth grade, you’d have worn your soccer shorts and jersey to school, if you could have gotten away with it.”
“Yeah, and it was okay if they were muddy, too.”
They both laughed, remembering their very first soccer practice when Faith had fallen in a mud hole and realized her pristine white shin guards were now filthy and would never be pretty and white again. Trying to make her sister feel better, Char had taken a slide into the same mud hole, as if she were stealing second base. Of course, unlike Faith she’d laughed at how dirty she got. Their mother, rolling her eyes, had made them sit on newspapers for the drive home.
The thought made her smile waver. “I wish Mom could be here.”
Faith clasped her hand. “Me, too.” After a moment she said softly, “Maybe none of this would have happened.”
None of what, exactly? Charlotte wondered.
“Would you have told Mom about Rory?” she asked.
Faith removed her hand under the pretext of picking up her spoon. “I don’t know,” she said after a minute. “Maybe.” Her mouth twisted into a small, painful smile. “Or not.”
“I’ve never understood….”
“I know. I guess…I don’t either. Not altogether.”
Charlotte nodded, not wanting to press the issue. It mattered now only because she knew that her sister had to learn to open up to somebody if she was going to survive this last tragedy whole. And despite all the ground the two of them had regained, Faith wasn’t talking to her twin. Not really.
“Ben’s around a lot,” Charlotte remarked, seemingly at random.
Faith didn’t quite meet her eyes as she picked up her half sandwich. “He feels guilty.”
“Are you sure that’s all there is to it?”
> “What else would it be?” Faith asked flatly. “He seems to think he can put me back together again, like Humpty, and satisfy his sense of responsibility. I can live without his brand of superglue.”
Charlotte watched her. “Can you? I think you ought to at least talk to him, Faith. Unless you’re willing to find a counselor who has experience in working with victims of violence.”
“I wasn’t the victim this time.”
Her own appetite deserted her on a wave of anger. “Sure you were. You are. And you need to come to terms with it, Faith.” This might be cruel, but she had to say it. “You’re crumbling day by day. That makes you a victim as long as you let yourself be flayed by remorse you shouldn’t be feeling.”
Her sister was silent so long that Charlotte’s resolve faltered and she longed to say, I didn’t mean it.
Faith’s gaze met hers. “Easier said than done. You didn’t pull that trigger. Or see the blood, and the way his eyes…” She swallowed and set down her sandwich. “Today is supposed to be about you. Can we not talk about this anymore?”
Charlotte all but tumbled from her chair on her way to hug her sister, hating the new fragility of a body that had always been slender but strong. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Darn it.” Now her eyes threatened to overflow, and she had to blink hard to quell the impulse. “Shoes,” she said. “We still don’t have shoes. And stockings. Something pretty.”
Faith’s smile might have been strained, but it was real. “Definitely something pretty,” she agreed. “And you can’t show any of it to Gray. You need to let me take it all home, so he doesn’t sneak a peek.”
“He wouldn’t…”
“He would.”
“And anyway, that’s a silly tradition.”
Faith grinned at her, far more naturally now. “Traditions survive for a reason. Come on, you want to blow him away, don’t you?”
She found herself smiling back. “Yep. But you know he’s already broken with tradition, don’t you? Moira is going to be his best man, so to speak.”
“Good for him.”
Charlotte thought the same. She and Moira Cullen, Gray’s partner in their architectural firm, had become good friends. She was Gray’s best friend, and should be standing beside him when he made a lifetime commitment to the woman he loved.
Charlotte, of course, wouldn’t have had anybody but Faith. She’d always assumed it would be Faith beside her, just as she had stood up beside Faith at her wedding, despite her puzzlement at her sister’s choice of husband. No matter what had gone wrong between them, they were still essential to each other.
Once, she would have felt smothering panic at the idea of the bond that had united them from the womb, a bond she doubted could be severed as long as they both lived. Now, she felt a sudden, unexpected surge of joy, because she had Faith to help her choose her wedding dress, because she would be there, smiling, when Charlotte gave her life into Gray’s keeping, as he gave his into hers.
The thought was absurdly romantic and not at all like her. But Charlotte reached out and laced her fingers through Faith’s and tugged her toward the first display of shoes.
“I love you,” she said.
Faith gave her a quick, hard hug and a scratchy, wobbly, “I love you, too.”
FAITH GRIPPED the steering wheel of her Blazer with fingers that absolutely didn’t want to let go.
This was the worst idea she’d ever had. She could not walk up to Ben Wheeler’s front door and ring the bell. She had literally broken out in a cold sweat now that she was parked in front of his house.
Panting, she thought, Oh, God. Oh, God. What was I thinking?
What she’d been thinking was that Charlotte was right: she was now letting herself be a victim, and she hated that. Talking to someone might be the first step toward healing. Ben had offered. In a way, if she took him up on that offer, she’d be using him, but in return he’d get some satisfaction from having helped rescue her. It would assuage his guilt, soothe his hero complex. Right?
Yes, but I should have called.
She hardly ever did anything on impulse, but after brooding all morning as she manned the cash register at the barn, she’d asked her dad if he could take over for a couple of hours.
He’d looked mildly surprised but didn’t ask any questions, only nodded. “Take all the time you need,” he said in his gruff, kind way.
Of course, the odds were that Ben wasn’t home. She’d told herself that as she drove over here after calling Gray to find out where Ben lived. Now she couldn’t tell for sure, because there was a detached garage and the door was closed. His 4Runner might be inside.
With fatalistic certainty, she knew she was going to chicken out and wait until the next time he came to her. She’d feel, somehow, less vulnerable that way.
But Faith had no sooner made up her mind that she was going to drive away than the front door opened and Ben walked out, coming straight to her Blazer. On the sidewalk, he stopped, shoved his hands in the pockets of his well-worn jeans and waited as patiently as if he had all the time in the world.
Heart drumming, she unwrapped her fingers from the steering wheel, took her key from the ignition and got out. He neither touched her when she got to the sidewalk nor said anything.
She let out a puff of breath. “You saw me sitting here.”
“Kind of got the feeling you weren’t going to make it to the front door.”
“I was…having second thoughts,” she said with dignity. As much dignity as she could salvage, considering he’d caught her being a coward. “I realized I shouldn’t have just dropped by. You might have company, or…”
His dark eyes saw right through her. “I’ve made it pretty clear I’m available to you any time. Anywhere.” He held out a hand to her. “Will you come in, Faith?”
She stared at his hand, big, tanned, powerful. She knew its warmth, how gentle he could be with that hand. Taking a deep breath, Faith put hers in it, felt his clasp. “Yes,” she whispered. “Okay.”
As if she were a child, he led her up the front walk. She was aware on some level of his house, its gingerbread trim, a wide, deep porch and beveled glass sidelights framing a door with an oval glass inset. The house was just a little shabby, with paint that needed renewing and a yellowing, patchy front lawn, but she could imagine loving it. It puzzled her, because it didn’t seem to fit the man who’d chosen to buy it.
Inside, the hardwood floors did need refinishing, the molding was too dark and the wallpaper in the entry peeled. But the potential was wonderful, and she could see how Ben had been seduced. This was a grand old lady, built when West Fork had been settled by lumber barons. The farmhouse where Faith had grown up was different, built in the 1920s to be utilitarian. It was a good, solid, practical house, perfect for its purpose of sheltering a stolid farming family.
Except…Faith no longer felt sheltered there. There were ghosts even outside her bedroom. In the hall, where Rory had attacked Charlotte when she came out of the bathroom. In the utility room, where he’d broken a window to gain entrance. In the dining room, where the cherry bomb had exploded her sense of safety.
Mom’s ghost was everywhere, too, not just for Faith, but for Dad. Perhaps, she realized for the first time, that’s why he was ready to sell and leave. Her parents, she believed, had loved each other deeply. Perhaps without Mom, Dad didn’t have the heart to stay in the home that held too many memories and only the wounded remnants of his family.
Ben waved his fingers in front of her face. “I’ve lost you. What are you thinking?”
Blinking, Faith said, “Just…having a minor epiphany. About Mom, Dad, home.” She shook herself, took a deep breath. “I came… I hoped I could talk to you. Char says I have to talk to somebody.” Embarrassed, she realized how sulky that had sounded.
Ben’s mouth curved in amusement. “So you chose me.”
“I don’t want to see a therapist,” she mumbled.
His smile widened. “So I’m the lesser of two ev
ils. Or maybe three or four.”
Now that he wasn’t holding her hand, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “If you didn’t mean it…”
“Oh, I meant it.” His voice lowered to a soft growl. “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”
“You have tea?” she said in surprise.
“I do.” He led the way through a dining room to the kitchen, seeming to assume she’d follow.
An “Oh” escaped her when she saw the kitchen, even though it desperately needed a complete do-over. Some idiot had replaced whatever original cabinets had been in here, probably in the 1940s or ’50s, at a guess. The existing cabinets were ugly, painted a yellow that was nicked and scratched to reveal the olive green beneath. Ancient vinyl covered original hardwood, too. But the proportions were perfect, with high ceilings and a generously sized bay window at the back that formed an eating nook and flooded the room with southwest-facing light.
Ben gave her a wry look as he turned on the faucet to fill a tea kettle and the pipes grumbled and groaned. “I did tell you the place needs major work.”
“Oh, but it’s worth it! You have a huge yard, and those big old trees, and oak floors.” She stopped. “Well, you must have fallen in love with the place.”
“I don’t know that I’d put it that strongly.” He turned on the burner and looked around the kitchen as if seeing it through her eyes. “But…yeah. There’s something about this house. I could be living in a brand new-rambler that didn’t need any work at all, and instead…” He shrugged. “I suppose it was part of whatever insanity that made me throw over a career with the LAPD for this gig in a small town that isn’t even on the way to anywhere.”
He moved restlessly now, thumping down mugs on the counter and frowning as he turned away from her to take out tea bags.
She frowned a little herself. “You’re not happy here?”
“Happy?” He gave her an odd look. Opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, closed it, then after a pause said, “The jury’s still out.”
“Oh,” Faith said again, bothered by how little she actually knew about Ben Wheeler and how incurious she’d been. She’d wanted him from the first time she saw him. Needed him. Let him shake her confidence and bruise her heart because he’d given her such tenderness and then withdrawn it so abruptly. But she had also been awfully self-absorbed. With reason, maybe, but still…Why should he respect her?
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