by Lee Magner
“Sounds like a workable plan,” Clare said with an easy smile.
Franklin nodded. They had a deal.
He looked Case over thoughtfully.
“Maybe we can find some time to talk before you leave town,” Franklin suggested evenly.
Case and Clare looked at Franklin in surprise.
Clare was relieved that Franklin was at least being courteous to Case. She didn’t dare to hope that he actually meant anything more than that.
Case’s surprise quickly turned to suspicion, however.
“I suppose we could talk,” he replied noncommittally. “But tell me, Franklin, what do you and I have to talk about?” He paused, letting the question hang like a reminder between them. He’d never particularly liked or trusted Franklin Bonney. He knew damn well that Franklin was fully aware of that.
Franklin’s chilly smile made Clare shiver. Beneath Franklin’s superficial courtesy lay something cold and calculating. Her relief changed to worry.
“I’m sure we can find something to discuss,” Franklin told Case with the smoothness of a snake gliding through marsh water. “If nothing else, there’s always the subject of old times…”
Old times. The words echoed silently. Case’s jaw hardened. Franklin’s smile remained as cold as winter.
The mayor, who had been uneasily listening to the exchange, gave up his surreptitious pulling and squeezed hard on Franklin’s elbow. Franklin frowned in pain and gave his father a look of profound annoyance.
“We’ve got to go,” Mayor Bonney said, emphasizing each word and motioning for his son to get a move on.
Franklin sent a farewell glance in Clare’s direction. Then he allowed his increasingly impatient father to pull him away.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Clare,” Franklin called out to her, looking over his shoulder. “And thanks for coming with me tonight! Sorry it’s ending like this.” He grinned, and his seasoned charm warmed those same cold features that had so unnerved her just moments ago. “I owe you a real dinner for putting up with all this nonsense. You have my word that you’ll get it!”
“A real dinner? With linen tablecloths and waiters in black and white and a wine list?” Clare grinned. “I’ll consider that a promise, Franklin!” She raised her voice so that he could hear her. His father wasn’t letting up the pace and they were almost too far to hear each other now.
Franklin nodded, shot a last, assessing glance toward Case and disappeared under the branches of a huge sycamore tree close on his father’s heels.
Case was leaning against one of the cedar picnic tables, watching Clare. His eyes were hooded, and his thoughts were buried so carefully that when she turned to face him she had no idea what he could be thinking.
That was the old Case that she remembered…and found very frustrating at times like this. She’d always hated it when he’d shielded his thoughts behind that stone face.
“Are you and Franklin dating?”
“Um, yes.”
She blurted out the answer, unvarnished and unexplained. She’d been so taken aback by his unexpected inquiry, she hadn’t had time to organize her thoughts.
There was something else, too, that made her say a simple “yes.”
She’d sensed an undercurrent of male irritation in him. Everything that was feminine in her, and every part of her that had always wanted his attention, rose immediately to that undreamed-of opportunity. The “yes” was a small cry of defiance, of female victory, thrown in his face. How she’d longed to attract his interest fifteen years ago! Funny how old habits leapt back into existence, as if time had not passed at all for them.
Clare’s heart beat a little faster and she blushed, as she realized what she’d done. It was silly, of course. And now she wished she’d been a little more… accurate. A little less… childish. But she didn’t want her old crush on him to be unearthed and laughed at all over again. So she caught her lower lip between her teeth and frowned slightly, wondering how the devil she could back away from that “yes” gracefully, honestly and without embarrassing herself.
The fragile moment she could have used slipped away as she hesitated, worrying about her quandary. The “yes” hung between them like a sword, unsheathed and waiting to strike a blow.
Case frowned and watched Franklin and his father join the campaign finance consultant, who was standing under the lights illuminating the stage, far out of earshot. He turned his attention back to Clare.
“I thought you had better taste in men than that,” Case said. There was an edge to his voice, but one only a few people would have noticed.
Clare was one of them. She began to grin and sauntered over to sit beside him on the cedar table.
“Oh, you did? I’m flattered,” she teased. “And, urn, what kind of men did you think I’d be dating, Case?”
“Someone stable and dependable. Someone born and raised within a fifty-mile radius of this town. Someone whose sole ambition in life is to give you babies and keep a roof over your head.” He looked at her hair and smiled slightly. “A hardworking, church-going man who loves his parents and visits them every other Sunday for the noon meal.” He let his gaze wander over her, then settle on her face. “Your cheeks still turn the color of wild strawberries when a man teases you,” he said softly.
Clare tossed her head and lifted her chin.
“I can’t help it if I blush easily, Case Malloy,” she retorted. “And I’d like to know why you think that description doesn’t fit Franklin Bonney.”
She was gratified to see Case’s eyes narrow in irritation. She knew it was idiotic to enjoy arguing over this, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. In the old days, when they argued, she had at least felt some genuine emotional contact with him.
Case’s cheeks still reddened when he got annoyed with her, she noted with a small rush of satisfaction.
“Franklin’s sole ambition is to advance the fortunes of Franklin,” Case noted with acid amusement. “That always was and apparently always will be his main goal in life. Loyalty to a woman is not of any particular importance to him.”
“You never did like Franklin, did you?” Clare said. “I mean, we all did things together, but you never really wanted to be his friend, did you?”
“Hell, no. I couldn’t understand why you and the others were in such awe of him.”
“You remember, Case,” she said in surprise. “He was the only kid anyone knew who’d been sent off to an expensive, private boarding school. He always had great tales to tell us all when he came home on vacations.’’
Case leaned closer to her. His eyes glinted in bitter amusement.
“You were a bunch of country snobs, impressed with his family’s status in the community, and all that their money bought.”
Clare blinked and stared at Case in surprise.
“Well, I suppose I was impressed, but I never thought of it as being snobbish. And I don’t think the others felt that way. Is that how it seemed to you, Case?”
He saw the confusion in her dark amber eyes. The selfdoubt. The trace of guilt and pain, if he was right. Her pain cut him like a knife. Without thinking, he reached out and touched her hand, covering it with his.
“You don’t have a snobbish cell anywhere in your body, Clare Browne,” he said firmly. “Forget what I said. I was the one with the problem back then. You all hung on his every word when he’d come back at Christmas break or Easter. It always burned me up that his tales of life among the children of the rich and propertied fascinated you all.” He squeezed her hand and grinned wryly. “I was just a jealous son of a bitch, wishing I had a tenth of what he did.”
“No. You weren’t jealous of Franklin,” Clare said quietly, remembering how it had been. “You were just hurting because things were tough for you. But you wouldn’t have changed places with Franklin Bonney. Would you?”
Case sighed. “No. Probably not. At least, not when I was thinking straight,” he quipped wryly.
Their eyes met.
The touch of his hand was having a strange effect on her. Warmth was spreading up through her arm. And his eyes were having a similarly unsettling impact on the inside of her heart.
The butterflies in her chest made her nervous, and she stood, moving away, pulling her hand from beneath his.
Clare glanced around and with a certain sense of relief realized that the picnic was disintegrating. People were saying their farewells to one another, hugging friends and family members, gathering up tablecloths or wicker baskets. The sound of slamming car doors punctuated the spring night, reminding Clare that she had keys in her hand and a promise to fulfill. And, by some miracle, most of the departing picnickers were ignoring Case and her.
“Shall we go?” she asked hastily.
He nodded and straightened up.
“Yeah. Let’s hit the road before someone else starts reminiscing about ‘old times’ in Crawfordsville. Not all of them were as sweet as the times you and I spent together.”
Clare flashed him a look of surprise. It was the closest he’d ever come to actually admitting that he’d enjoyed her company. Sweet. Yes, it had been sweet for her. But in the end, it had become bittersweet.
“Come on, then,” she said briskly. “Franklin’s car is down there. In the lot next to the lake at the far end.”
“I thought being the son of the mayor gave him pull,” Case observed dryly. “Couldn’t his old man get him a good parking spot?”
“We arrived late.”
“Oh?” Case looked at her questioningly, as if wondering what had held them up.
Clare blithely ignored his expression and let him imagine the possibilities.
Chapter 5
Case absentmindedly rubbed his left forearm as Clare unlocked the passenger-side door of Franklin’s car. When she opened the door, the interior light of the car illuminated Case’s clothing, and she noticed the dark splotches staining the sleeve of his shirt.
Frowning, she caught his wrist and held out his arm for a closer look. He didn’t exactly cooperate, but be didn’t pull away, either.
“What’s this?” she demanded.
“Blood.”
“What!” Clare looked at him in horror. “Did the police do this?”
He grinned and shook his head. “No. Those two cops may have been slightly rabid, but fortunately, they didn’t bite.”
“Bite?” Clare took a closer look and realized the red dots did indeed form a pattern. The pattern did resemble some sort of bite. “What happened?” she demanded.
“Luther forgot to tie his dog up.”
“Oh, no!”
“He leapt through the car window as soon as I parked.”
Clare worried over the injury, examining it quickly, pulling back the sleeve. Her fingers touched his warm skin, felt the slight dusting of hair. The muscle was hard beneath her fingers.
Warmth flooded her cheeks, flowed down her chest and radiated out across her body. She hadn’t seen Case in such a long, long time, and yet, in some ways, everything was just as it had been the day he had left. She swallowed hard and frowned intently.
“You didn’t get a chance to wash the wounds, did you?” she asked huskily.
Case laughed in short, bitter amusement. “No. The police were in a hurry to lock me up. I doubt they even noticed that I’d been bitten. I, uh, didn’t have time to mention it.”
“I’m sorry.” She rolled his sleeve down slowly, then raised her eyes to his. “I wish you’d come back under different circumstances,” she said softly. “It seems…”
“It seems I’m just destined to be at odds with the people of this town?” he finished for her. He looked into her eyes and saw the indignant anger there. “You always were a crusader,” he teased her, grinning a little. “Little miss noble heart, champion of the underdog, fierce defender of the downtrodden.”
His humor helped her blink away the unexpected tears that had welled up inside her heart and threatened to spill into her lashes. That wouldn’t do at all, she knew. Case would clam up for certain if she got emotional on him, especially right now, when they were just seeing each other again for the first time in years. Maybe the last time, if he managed to avoid her.
So Clare smiled at his teasing characterization of her.
“You make me sound like a saint! I only try to stand up for what I believe in. Is that being a crusader, Case?”
He sighed and lifted his hand to brush a strand of her silky hair away from her face.
“It takes courage to stand up for your own sense of the truth. Especially when it’s not a popular truth.” He moved a little away from her and let his hand drop. Then he rolled down his sleeve and gave her a why-are-we-standing-out-here-in-the-dark look. “I’d hate to put your courage to a second test tonight,” he remarked. “Don’t you think we should be going, madam driver?”
“Yes.”
She knew he was withdrawing from her, trying to steer her away from any further intimate conversation. And he was right. It was past time for them to be gone. It was growing quite late. Most people had left. She really didn’t think any harm would befall him, but feelings ran strongly about Lexie Clayton’s murder, even fifteen years after the fact. And there were always a few hotheads around who were ready for any excuse to do something stupid.
Clare went around to the driver’s side and slid under the steering wheel as Case got in and closed his door. She turned on the ignition and, as the engine growled into life, she flipped on the headlights.
“You’d just gotten your driver’s license when I left,” Case mused. He fastened his seat belt and gave her a measuring look.
“Don’t worry,” she said with a grin. “I’ve had fifteen years of practice since then.”
He leaned back in the seat and relaxed.
It wasn’t half-bad, sitting here with Clare, letting her chauffeur him around. He wondered what it would have been like if Lexie hadn’t been murdered, if he’d stayed here, gone on to school over in Jefferson. Been part of Clare’s life.
“Don’t you look thoughtful,” she teased.
“Just wondering if my bank statement arrived at the accountant’s yet,” he said. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on his chest. He didn’t need Clare probing around in his thoughts, damn it. “Just drive, Clare,” he muttered. “Keep your eyes on the road. Don’t worry about me.”
She wondered what had brought on that irritable response.
“Oh, I won’t worry about you, Case Malloy,” she lied as blithely as if it were the honest truth.
“Good,” he said curtly.
“Something wrong?”
“No!”
“All right, all right! No need to snap at me!”
“I’m not snapping at you,” he growled.
Clare glanced at him as she stopped at an intersection. Maybe he was feeling a little ambivalent about seeing her again and that was making him crawl back into his armor-plated shell. That thought gave her a small spark of encouragement. She knew he had been planning to avoid her, maybe just communicate a little through Luther so she’d know what was going on.
So maybe she’d see to it that she saw as much of him tonight as she could. It might be the last she ever saw of him.
That thought hurt.
She turned off the county road and swung down her street.
Case’s eyes snapped open. He knew they were turning too soon. And she was going in the wrong direction.
“Why aren’t we going to Luther’s?” he growled.
“We’re going to take care of that bite first,” she said, using her most no-nonsense tone of voice and keeping her eyes on the street.
“Forget it. I’ll doctor it myself when we get to Luther’s.”
“Luther might not have what you need.”
“The hell he won’t! He’s lived out on that farm all his life. He’s prepared for everything from bubonic plague to a cow kicking him in the head. He’ll have some sort of antiseptic.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Besides, it’s clo
se to midnight. Luther is probably sound asleep. And his dog might still be roaming around loose,” she added with a bright smile.
She pulled into the driveway and parked behind her old sedan. When she turned off the ignition, she sensed his anger. It was radiating like waves of energy from him. It seemed safer to take the keys and get out of the car in a hurry. So she did just that, marching straight toward her front door, as if it was perfectly reasonable to be doing this.
For one interminable moment, she thought he was going to stay in the car and refuse to come inside her house. She stood there at her front door and looked through the moonlit night into the shadows of the car where he sat, making up his mind.
“Come on, Case,” she said softly. “Please?”
Maybe it was the hesitancy in her voice that did it. Maybe it was something about her standing there… vulnerable, trying to connect with him after all these years.
He felt something inside his chest crack a little.
“Hell,” he muttered to himself as he got out of the car and went up the walk to her front door. “Well…just this once. A few minutes with her surely can’t make that much difference.”
She flipped on the living room light as they stepped inside. Then she turned to look at him.
“What were you saying?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he muttered darkly. “All right, Florence Nightingale, where the hell are your antiseptic and bandages?”
“This way…”
“Let’s get this over with in a hurry.”
Clare led him into the kitchen and pointed toward the sink.
“Wash up over there while I get the antiseptic.”
Case rolled up his sleeves, turned on the water and lathered his injured arm with the bar of soap. By the time he’d thoroughly washed and rinsed the bite marks, Clare had returned with the bottle of antiseptic and some cotton swabs. She spread them out on the kitchen table and sat down. Case dried off his arms with the hand towel hanging under the sink and joined her at the table.
He couldn’t help but remember the times he’d sat at this table years ago. Hints of mouth-watering aromas of Lavinia’s cooking still clung to the air.