As soon as she opened it, he said, “I was getting worried. Your car’s out back, but it’s so dark around here . . . I was afraid something was wrong. . . .”
His concern touched her, as did his apparent uneasiness over it. “I’d fallen asleep. What time is it?”
He looked at his watch in the porch light. “Nine-twenty.”
She hadn’t been asleep long at all.
“May I come in?” he asked.
Molly shook off the last of the nap-induced cobwebs. “Of course.” She opened the door wider.
He looked rather apologetic when he said, “I was actually interviewing your next door neighbor. I don’t normally just barge in—”
Molly waved away his comment. “I can see you need lots more research before you’re ready to write your article. In small towns, no appointment is necessary. It’s considered rude not to stop by when you’re in the neighborhood.” She gestured toward the kitchen. “You want some coffee? I can also offer a fine red wine, vintage 2003, the best that seven dollars can buy.” It gave her a slight rush of pleasure that he came to see her after talking to prom queen Karen Kimball.
He grinned, all of his discomfort seeming to melt away. “I do like a quality wine. I usually draw the line at six bucks, though.” With no light in the living room, most of his face was in shadow from the porch light. It highlighted his lips, the line of his jaw—and made Molly want to pick up where they’d left off last night.
She turned around and started toward the kitchen before she did something about it. As she walked past the fireplace, she kicked the empty Solo cup. “See,” she stooped to pick it up, “your stopping by saved me from drinking alone. I’d hate to get a reputation.”
Behind her, he chuckled. There was a knowing edge to it that bothered her.
Once in the kitchen she turned on the light and faced him with her arms crossed over her chest. “That sounded like you know something I don’t.”
His smile was slightly lopsided when he said, “Just that you have a jealous neighbor.”
“Karen? Jealous of me?” She splayed a hand over her heart. “I’m sure you’re mistaken. Boudreaus have always been a few notches below her radar. We didn’t gain much when my nephew set a trap for her drug-dealing ex, resulting in jail time.”
He looked puzzled. “She spoke very highly of your nephew.”
Molly cocked her head slightly. “Really?”
“She seemed quite upset that he and her daughter aren’t seeing each other anymore.”
“Did she call it that—‘seeing each other’?”
He nodded. “Made it sound like a real case of puppy love.”
“Huh.” Then she asked, “Did you meet Mickey?”
“No. Is she a younger version of her mother?”
Molly had to laugh at that. “Hardly. Mickey is kind and responsible and sensitive and smart.”
The crooked smile was back. “And you don’t think Karen is any of those things?”
Molly couldn’t help but raise her brow. “I don’t know that I should comment on that. You doing an interview and all.” She drew a breath. “It’s just . . . Mickey is very special, and her mother doesn’t see it.”
He nodded slowly. “But you do.”
“Jesus, a blind man could see it! If Karen would take her head out of her stuck-up ass long enough, she’d see it too. But she rides the poor kid into the ground because she’s not popular and concerned with what’s cool.” She chewed the inside of her lip for a second. “I’m sure the only thing Karen really likes about my nephew is that he’s a Holt. Riley’s grandparents were Chicago summer people, they’re very well off. That’s what matters to Karen.”
He stepped a little closer. “Just for the record, the interview was scheduled by the interviewee.” He touched her cheek. “I’d much rather have been here.”
Suddenly, Molly couldn’t remember what they were talking about.
Leaning close, he kissed her lightly, yet with a lingering sweetness that reached right down to touch her soul. When he stopped, she realized her knees were trembling.
“Wi—” her voice broke off in a squeak. “Wine?”
He nuzzled her ear. “I think I prefer the way you taste.” Backing her up against the cabinets, he lifted her onto the countertop and stood between her knees. When his lips returned to hers, he parted them slightly with his tongue.
Her entire body was abuzz with his nearness. He roused sexual awareness in her with just a glance; touching commanded total absorption of each and every one of her senses. There was nothing but the smell of him, the warmth of his body, the quiver he set off in her skin where his fingers grasped her waist, the taste of his lips, the fervent rhythm of his breathing.
She wanted to be closer. To toss aside clothes and inhibitions. To know him fully and unequivocally—feelings heretofore alien to her.
Molly kissed the scar on his neck, then wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, burying her face on his shoulder. She liked the tension in the muscles of his shoulders that said he was holding himself back, the tickle of his breath against her ear, the strong feel of his hands as he pressed her closer.
He whispered, “You’re an incredible woman.”
How could he, a man of war zones and international politics, think she was incredible? She would have argued, but he began tasting her neck and it stole her voice away.
As Dean allowed himself to slide into another kiss, he cursed himself for a coward. He truly hadn’t planned to come here tonight. He wasn’t quite ready to brand himself a liar in Molly’s eyes. But when he’d seen the car in the drive and no lights in the house, a shaft of icy panic shot through his chest. What if she was sick? Or hurt? What if the baby was ill? The worrisome questions mounted until he walked up the front steps and knocked on the door.
When Molly had peeked out with anxious eyes, he’d wanted nothing more than to comfort her, to erase that anxiety. Once he was inside the door, the need to touch her eclipsed good intentions. When she’d responded to his kiss, he could think of nothing else. This woman robbed him of his senses with no more than her nearness. He realized she’d robbed him of his heart the moment she climbed into the car next to her baby, a soaked and bloody mess after trying to save that bicyclist. Her need to be near her child after such an event, her refusal to touch him with contaminated hands, spoke so much about the depth of love she carried.
And he selfishly wanted to bask in her goodness, not have her turn against him in the face of his deception—which would only make his lies more hateful when he admitted them.
He forced himself to stop kissing her and step away.
He realized he’d continued the charade by interviewing Karen Kimball only to be close to Molly again without actually seeing her and having to tell her the truth.
It was time to act like a man.
Her eyes were questioning as they held his. “Something’s wrong.”
“I have something I have to tell you—and I’m not sure where to begin.”
She slid off the counter and stood in front of him. “Listen, you don’t need to explain anything to me. I know you’re just here for a short time. I don’t expect . . . anything.”
“It’s not that. I—”
Suddenly Nicholas started to shriek.
Molly moved immediately, leaving the kitchen at a trot. Which told Dean just what he feared; this was no normal cry.
Instinctively he followed her into the bedroom. She flipped on the harsh overhead light and hurried to the crib. She picked him up with confident hands, not with the panic he himself felt at the moment.
Talking softly to the baby as he continued to scream, she pressed her cheek against his forehead.
“No fever.”
The baby was crying and turning purple.
“Shouldn’t he breathe?” Dean asked anxiously.
“He will eventually.” She laid him on the bed and checked his diaper, then she pressed on his abdomen gently.
“What’s w
rong with him?” Dean stepped closer.
“I don’t feel a hernia. His stomach is tight though. See the way he’s drawing his legs up?” She picked the child back up and held him against her, stomach to stomach. “He has a bellyache—probably gas pains.”
Nicholas continued to scream.
“Sounds more serious than that to me,” Dean said.
She jiggled the baby slightly and kept him tightly against her. “Have you ever had gas pains—real, trapped gas?”
“Now you’re getting kind of personal. . . .”
She half-smiled and shook her head. “They can bring a grown man to his knees; make a football player break out in a sweat. And this guy’s only ten pounds.”
“Can’t you do something?”
“I am.”
“I mean give him something, some medicine.”
“Not for a one-time gas attack. If it gets to be frequent, then maybe.”
The screaming was rubbing Dean’s nerves raw already, and it didn’t look like there was an end in sight. It was all he could do to not cover his ears with his hands. How could Molly remain so relaxed?
She held Nicholas tightly and jostled him a bit as she began to walk. The baby quieted some, his screams became less piercing.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You don’t need to hang around. This is likely to take awhile.”
He watched her make a circle of the room, talking softly to Nicholas.
The boy continued to cry, but Molly seemed unfazed.
“Maybe I should stay, in case you need something from the drug store. I could take a turn walking with him,” he said.
Nicholas stiffened and let out re-energized howl.
Molly patted his bottom and continued to walk. When the screaming had reduced to the point she could talk over it she said, “There’s nothing you can do.” Then she smiled at him. “But thanks for offering. There’s no sense in two of us having our hearing ruined. Go.”
“Well . . . then.” He took one reluctant step toward the door.
“We’ll be fine.” She stopped circling and led him out of the bedroom to the front door. “Good night, Dean.” She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. Nicholas didn’t approve of the halt in movement and responded with an ear-shattering shriek.
He felt like a rat deserting a sinking ship. But she seemed to want him to leave. He could hardly throw himself on the floor and refuse to go. He touched her hair. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She simply nodded and began walking the floor with the baby again.
He let himself out the door and walked to his car, feeling guilty that he was so relieved that he hadn’t had to tell Molly the truth. It only put off the inevitable. But he hated the thought of seeing recognition of his betrayal in her eyes.
He told himself he was just imagining a growing relationship with Molly. It was based on lies. Lies that had to come to light. Once he told her the truth, her illusion of him would be shattered. Then he’d be back on the road, trying to decipher the mystery of Julie’s murder. And then . . . he supposed back overseas.
For some reason, that idea held less appeal than it ever had in his life. In fact, dread crept up the back of his neck on cold spider’s legs as he thought about it.
He drove around town for thirty minutes with his insides as unsettled as a palm tree in a hurricane. Then he found himself passing Molly’s house again. As he cruised slowly down the street, he looked in her living room window. He saw her pass, slowly walking the baby. He stopped completely and strained to see her face. As impossible as it was to believe, she looked serene, contented. Five minutes with the screaming baby and he’d been ready to lose his mind.
He couldn’t deny that he wanted to march right back up to her door—howling baby or not. But he’d intruded on her enough for one night.
As he drove toward the lake cottage, he tried to decipher the reason for his newly discovered aversion to returning to his life. A life he’d worked hard for. A life he’d thrived on for years.
Was Julie’s death at the center?
He tried to look honestly into his heart. While he was driven to solve the crime, claim justice for his sister, he had to admit he didn’t think that was the root of these life-altering questions.
Was it his own brush with death, then?
Was it the fact that if there wasn’t a baby out there somewhere, Dean was truly alone in this world?
Or was it a woman with pale smoky eyes and a stubborn, yet generous nature—a woman who appreciated cheap wine, who needed little in the way of material things, who gave up an established career to do what she thought was best for her child, who heedlessly risked her health to save a stranger?
Oh, God. He hoped it wasn’t that. Because tomorrow she was going to be lost to him.
Chapter 14
All day Sunday, Riley’s mom and Clay acted weird, like he was in trouble. But he hadn’t done anything. In fact, he was home before his midnight curfew on Saturday night. A couple of times, when Riley made the mistake of coming out of his room, Clay even made noises like he wanted to “talk,” which never meant anything good.
So, while Mom and Clay were busy in the barn, Riley left a note on the kitchen counter explaining he was going to the marina to winterize boats. That couldn’t piss them off; it was his job, after all. He didn’t return home until suppertime. By avoiding eye contact and complaining of a bad headache from the muratic acid fumes, he’d managed to make it to his room without a “talk.”
Monday morning, Riley awakened feeling like he had ants crawling under his skin. The sound of his alarm clock grated against his nerves. He took such a wild swing at shutting it off, it clattered to the floor. But it did stop beeping.
He hadn’t slept well since Saturday night. Every time he closed his eyes, she saw Mickey’s pale face in the rain. Accompanying that image was a shame so deep, he would have done anything to wipe it away. Twice he’d dreamt of the day they met, in the woods out by the dam. They had only been thirteen—nearly three years ago. She’d been there reading. He’d been running from Clay:
Riley walked against the current, watching the way the water rolled around his shins. Soon the sound of rushing water intensified and he found himself at the foot of the dam’s spillway.
After he tossed his shoes to the dry bank, he let himself fall backward with his arms spread. He floated there, in the knee-deep water, watching the sun wink through the fluttering leaves overhead.
“There’s a water moccasin nest over there.”
Riley’s arms flailed as he folded at the waist and his feet sought solid ground. His gaze shot in the direction of the voice and he saw a blond-haired girl with knobby knees pointing at a spot not twenty feet from him.
He spit out the mouthful of water he’d just sucked in. “What?”
“Water moccasins. Cottonmouths. Snakes. They’re poisonous.”
Every nerve in Riley’s body snapped to attention. His mouth went dry and his heart jumped in his chest. Standing slowly, he curled his toes in order to make less of a target for any snake that happened to be swimming by. It took all of his willpower not to run screaming out of the stream.
He managed to stay put. “How do you know?”
She tilted her head to the side. “Everybody knows that water moccasins are poisonous.”
“No.” Girls always had to make everything so complicated. “How do you know there’s a nest? I don’t see anything.”
“My brother told me.”
“Oh, and he’s a snake expert. Did you ever think he said it just to scare you?”
“Nope.” She wrinkled up her nose.
“No, he’s not an expert? Or no, he didn’t do it to scare you?”
She blew out a frustrated sounding breath. “Just get out of the water and I’ll show you.”
He started to say he’d get out of the water when he was good and ready, but the slim chance that there actually were poisonous snakes in here with him kept his lips sealed. Stepping very carefully, h
e climbed up onto the bank beside her.
She bent down and picked up a rock, then looked at him. “Ready?”
He nodded, the water from his hair running in his eyes.
With amazing accuracy for a girl, the rock sailed from her hand and landed in the water just short of the far bank, about twenty feet downstream. Immediately, the water began to ripple, then it looked like it was boiling.
“Jesus Christ!” Riley couldn’t keep the fright out of his voice any longer. “How many are there?”
The girl shrugged. “Dunno. A bunch.”
Riley watched the water slowly settle back into stillness with rapt revulsion. “Why doesn’t somebody just kill ’em?”
She turned an astonished gaze in his direction. “Du-uh! They’re on the state’s endangered list.”
“Why would anybody want to keep poisonous snakes around? Seems like extinct would be just about perfect.”
“Well,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “What if we got rid of everything that annoyed us? Kill all of the mosquitoes and the bats go hungry. Kill all of the bats and the mosquitoes take over. Mosquitoes take over and people get more diseases. Everything is connected, everything counts. Besides, if we thought that way there wouldn’t be any teenage boys left around.”
Mickey had been the most unusual girl he’d ever met. She saw things differently than anyone else, and, at least for awhile, made him see too. There were still days when he longed to talk to her, to get her opinions—Mickey was never in short supply of opinions.
But Mickey would probably never talk to him again. And he couldn’t really blame her.
As he drove to school, he was even more pissed at Codi than he had been on Saturday night. If she’d just left things alone, maybe he could have gotten some sleep. What she’d done was hateful and scheming, and it made him see clearly what he’d been trying to ignore for months; Codi was not a nice person. Popular, yes. Hot, totally. Willing to do things he’d only imagined before, oh yeah. But what lived inside her was ugly.
What could she possibly have gained by being so mean to Mickey?
When he parked in the school lot, he saw Codi riding shotgun in Nathan Pryor’s car. She flung Riley a smug look as they drove past.
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