Unlikely Hero

by Marta Perry

  “I said I’m fine.”

  He shook his head, as if trying to shake off a bad dream. “You and Stacy shouldn’t have gone without me. What were you thinking?”

  “What was I thinking?” Her control slipped, her anger bubbling up. “You’re the one who didn’t show up when you were supposed to. You let me down. Let us down,” she corrected quickly.

  This wasn’t about her and Brendan. There was no her and Brendan.

  “I left a message for you.” His dark brows drew down over his eyes. “One of my parishioners had an emergency. I got back to the church as soon as I could, and you were gone. Why didn’t you wait?”

  Of course he had an excuse. People always did when they let you down.

  “We couldn’t. Stacy was afraid Ted would come home from work if we delayed going any longer.”

  She turned away, the energy provided by her anger seeping away. Brendan hadn’t been there for them because someone else needed him. That was how it would be for anyone foolish enough to get involved with someone like Brendan—always taking a back seat to other people’s needs.

  “Ted came anyway, didn’t he? When I think what could have happened—” He broke off, shaking his head. Then he took her arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t keep you standing here. Come and sit down.”

  He led her into the living room as if it were his own, guiding her to the leather couch. She ought to tell him to go away, but she couldn’t seem to muster up the strength.

  She sank onto the couch, welcoming its familiar comfort. Then Brendan sat down next to her, his presence disturbing the equilibrium. His hand covered hers warmly. “How did Stacy take it?”

  Against her will, a shudder went through her. “Not well. If I hadn’t been with her, I’m afraid she’d have gone back to him.”

  The shudder seemed to continue deep inside her, like the aftershocks from an earthquake. She knew, too well, what the result of that would have been.

  She felt his fingers tighten on hers. Almost without thinking it, she turned her hand so that they were palm to palm. A wave of warmth generated by that touch seemed to travel up her arm.

  “You were there.” His voice was tight, almost as if with anger. “You didn’t let that happen to her.”

  She met his gaze, searching for what he was feeling. “What is it, Brendan? Does that make you angry?”

  Even as she said the words, she realized something strange. She’d never seen Brendan angry. Annoyed, yes. She managed to annoy him on a regular basis. But angry? Never.

  “It’s not anger.” His voice deepened, and his fingers interlaced with hers, the touch astonishingly intimate. “It’s caring. I care about you. You know that, don’t you?”

  She couldn’t find her voice. The annoyance she so often felt with him vanished in the piercing strength of his gaze. Her heart began to beat in slow, deafening thuds.

  Brendan’s eyes darkened as he searched her face. She heard the deep intake of his breath, and then he stroked her cheek with a feather-light touch. His hand set up impulses that raced along her skin.

  “Brendan—”

  His hand slid into her hair, and his lips found hers.

  Rational thought vanished. She couldn’t think, only feel—warmth, tenderness, longing. She wanted the moment to last, wanted his arms close around her and his lips on hers. All the cold, sharp things in her world were vanquished by his touch.

  “Claire.” He said her name softly against her lips, and then he put his cheek against hers. She felt a chuckle deep in his chest under her hand. “I didn’t know that was going to happen. Should I apologize?”

  “Not unless you regret it.”

  She drew back a little, so that she could see his eyes. She was on unfamiliar territory now. There hadn’t been anyone in her life for a very long time. She hadn’t thought she needed anyone. Maybe she still didn’t, but Brendan had made her wonder.

  “No. No regrets.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “I’m just so relieved you’re safe I couldn’t help myself.”

  She managed a shaky laugh. “Is this the treatment for anxiety they teach in seminary?”

  He clasped her hand in both of his, leaning back against the couch and watching her. There was a steady glow in his eyes that made them look a deep green. She hadn’t seen that look before.

  “Not likely. This only happens with you. I was relieved to know that Stacy was safe, but I wasn’t moved to kiss her.”

  She leaned back next to him, their shoulders touching. The shakiness was gone, replaced by a profound sense of well-being. “I’m glad. That would certainly complicate matters.”

  The faintest frown touched his brow. “Poor Stacy. If what you say is true—” He hesitated, then shook his head. “What could possibly make her even think about going back to Ted after what he’s done? I could understand her having trouble getting out in the first place, but not going back.”

  “It’s not so unusual.” She took a deep breath, knowing suddenly that she was going to tell him.

  For a moment all her barriers went up. She didn’t tell people. But Brendan wasn’t just people. He’d come too far into her life to pretend otherwise. And she couldn’t let him get this close to her without being honest.

  “Claire?” He looked puzzled. “What is it?”

  “I can understand why Stacy almost went back,” she said evenly. “I can understand, because I did the same thing.”

  For a moment there was blank incomprehension in his eyes. Then she saw the realization dawn.

  “If you pity me, I’ll hit you,” she warned.

  “Not pity. Caring. Remember?”

  She nodded. It was all right. Brendan was safe. She now knew he was one of the few people in this world she could tell her story to and know that it wouldn’t make him look down on her. Or cause him to use it against her.

  “How old were you?”

  She could see that he was feeling his way, not sure what to ask.

  “Eighteen. Two years older than Stacy, but still not old enough.”

  “Your family?”

  She couldn’t just tell him part of it. The honest way was to tell him the whole story.

  “I told you that my mother died when I was young— just nine.”

  “That was terrible.” The deep note in Brendan’s voice told her he understood. He’d lost his mother, too.

  She nodded. “I guess I was luckier than you were. I still had my dad, and we were very close.” She knew the smile that touched her lips was bittersweet. “I remember how proud I was when he came to the school for parent nights and concerts and plays. He never missed one single thing. I could always look out into the audience and see him there.”

  “But then something changed. What was it?”

  His intuitiveness must make him a good minister. She nodded.

  “He met someone and fell in love. I guess I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. I was a junior in high school when they married.”

  “The wicked stepmother?”

  She frowned, trying to be honest. “That’s how I saw her then. Looking back, I suppose she was just trying to establish her relationship with her new husband. But my dad—” She couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into her voice. “He was like a kid, head over heels in love. All the attention I was used to having went to her.”

  “So you looked for attention somewhere else.”

  A momentary anger flared. “You don’t have to be so right all the time, you know.”

  “I’m sorry.” His fingers caressed the back of her hand. “It’s what anyone would do who felt she’d lost the most important person in her life.”

  “Maybe so.” She shrugged. “I started going out with Bruce. He was different from the usual acceptable boys I’d dated—edgier.” She tried to look rationally at the person she’d been so many years ago. “Maybe I thought that would make my father pay attention. But his wife got pregnant. It was like he didn’t even see me anymore.”

  “The boyfriend—”
/>
  “Bruce Sanders.” She wasn’t proud of what she’d done, but if she was going to tell him, she had to be honest.

  “We ran away the night of graduation and got married in front of a justice of the peace.” She shook her head. “Stupid. I knew it was wrong even when I was doing it. We hadn’t been married more than a few weeks when he started knocking me around.”

  She could feel Brendan’s pain for her through the grip of his hands. Suddenly she didn’t want him to be touching her when she told him the rest of it. She got up, walked across the room to the window and stared out, not even attempting to focus on the scene beyond the glass.

  She heard him rise, but he seemed to understand that she needed him to keep his distance at this moment.

  “You didn’t feel you could go to your father with what was happening?”

  “We’d had a dramatic four-way scene when Bruce and I got back to town. It was one of those times when everyone says more than they should. My father said if I wanted to be married I shouldn’t come back to him for anything.” She shook her head, trying to dislodge the memory. “I don’t know if he meant it or not, but he never made another effort to stay in touch with me.” She rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. “Even now, I can’t understand that.”

  “No. I can’t understand it, either. But you eventually got out on your own.” Brendan’s voice was closer, but he didn’t touch her.

  “It cost me too much.” Her throat closed, and tears stung her eyes. She had to force the words out. “I found out I was pregnant. Like a fool, I thought that would make things better.”

  Brendan’s hands closed over her shoulders, as if to absorb some of the pain.

  “He knocked me down the stairs one night. I lost the baby.” A tiny cry seemed to pierce her soul, and the sobs she’d held back for so long choked her.

  Brendan murmured something inarticulate, and then he turned her around and pulled her against him, his arms holding her tightly.

  She fought the tears, but a few spilled over anyway, wetting Brendan’s shirt.

  “You should have told me when I asked you to help Stacy.” His voice was soft against her hair. “I’d never have gotten you involved with her if I’d known.”

  Much as she longed for the feeling of his arms around her, she didn’t want a relationship that was based on pity. She drew back, still in the circle of his arms, and brushed the tears away.

  “I didn’t know you well enough then to tell you. And maybe it’s worked out for the best.” Her smile twisted. “Nobody else would understand as well as I do what Stacy is feeling.”

  He studied her face. “Nobody else would hurt as much, either. It’s not fair to you.”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling myself, but I think it’s been good for me, too. I’ve been so obsessed with my job these last few years that I haven’t made time for anything or anyone else. Then Nolie needed my help with the wedding, and you pushed me into helping Stacy.” She realized the truth of what she was saying even as she verbalized it. “I found out there was a whole world out there. Professional success isn’t enough. I want a life, too.”

  She looked into Brendan’s face, confident that she’d see encouragement and understanding there. After all, he’d kissed her. He’d said he cared.

  Instead she saw—nothing. It was as if some sort of curtain had come down between them, and the man who’d held her in his arms had vanished behind it.

  The reality of Claire’s words sank in to Brendan’s heart. She was saying she wanted a relationship. That she was ready to open herself up to the possibility, at least.

  He’d kissed her. He’d told her he cared for her.

  But he was the last man in the world who could take the risk of a relationship with a woman like Claire.

  His thoughts swung dizzily from one thing to another. How could he possibly tell her?

  She opened her heart to you. The voice of his conscience sounded remarkably like that of his Aunt Siobhan. You can’t hurt her.

  I can’t get involved with her.

  That held the potential for hurting Claire far more than anything else he might say or do now.

  He let his hands drop casually from her shoulders. It felt as if he were letting go of a piece of himself.

  “I’m glad.” That much was true, at least. “I’d hate to think going through all this had hurt you for nothing.”

  He forced the words to come out in his minister voice— calm, reassuring, sympathetic. Caring, but not personal.

  Claire got the message. It took a moment, but then he saw it in the way she drew back, pulling that armor of chilly sophistication around her again.

  “That’s true.” She rubbed her arms as if cold, and he longed to touch her again. To pull her into his arms and kiss away the pain.

  He couldn’t. He knew, better than anyone, the black anger that lived inside him. And he knew the results of that anger. He’d seen it often enough in his parents.

  Why haven’t You taken it away, Father? I’ve asked so many times.

  That was the prayer God had never answered. He’d lived with the anger, kept it under iron control, felt it surge inside him with danger.

  He shouldn’t risk something as serious as marriage with anyone, and certainly not with Claire. She’d already been through enough pain for a lifetime. He couldn’t expose her to more.

  So he had to be her friend. That was all he could offer her.

  Claire turned away, seeming to search for something to say that would ease the situation. Something that would let both of them pretend they hadn’t gone to the very edge of a relationship before turning back.

  “In any event, Stacy is stuck with me now.” She sent him a fleeting glance. “I haven’t told her about my experience. No one knows, except Nolie. And now you.”

  And now him. Claire had told him something she didn’t tell anyone, and he’d pushed her away. The knowledge was a knife in his heart.

  “I won’t say anything to anyone.” That was certainly the least he could do for her. “But don’t you think it might help Stacy if she knew you’d been through the same experience she has?”

  “I don’t know.” She crossed her arms, her body language rejecting the suggestion that she share her story with the girl. “I’ll think about it.”

  He nodded. “I hope—” He stopped. He hoped so many things, both for Stacy and for Claire, but probably most of them were impossible. “I hope Stacy feels stronger about this situation now. Even if she had to rely on your strength, at least she faced Ted and got through it.”

  “I’d be happier if Ted disappeared entirely. He could start life again in Miami or Los Angeles or the moon, as far as I’m concerned.”

  That was probably what she’d hoped about Bruce, as well.

  “At least they aren’t married,” he said.

  “That’s good. I wish I’d been that fortunate. It took a divorce I couldn’t afford to get me out.” She darted him a defiant look. “I suppose you think that’s wrong.”

  He met her look steadily. “You’re still making assumptions about what I believe based on the collar I wear.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe I am.”

  “I don’t think divorce should be taken lightly.” His heart was in the words. “But sometimes it would be a greater wrong to continue a marriage that’s hurting everyone involved. God does allow for mistakes.” He managed a smile. “That’s a good thing, since His children make so many of them.”

  If his parents had ended their marriage, they might still be alive. The thought burned its way into his brain.

  She sent him a glance he couldn’t read. “I used to believe church people thought they were perfect and the rest of us were hopelessly wrong.”

  “Used to?”

  “Well, since I’ve gotten to know you—”

  He found he was smiling. A few minutes ago he wouldn’t have believed he and Claire could ever share a smile with each other again.

  “Since you met me, now you know just how
nonperfect we are. Well, I’m glad I’ve exposed you to that truth, at least, even if I never wanted to be such a terrible example.”

  “Not terrible. Just human.”

  Claire’s smile was more natural and relaxed, too. Maybe they would eventually be able to move back to the friendship they’d begun before he’d made the mistake of getting too close.

  But he wouldn’t forget, not easily. He and Claire might be able to be friends, at least. But he’d never forget that they could have been much more to each other, if not for the darkness that lived inside him.

  Chapter Nine

  “Are you sure about this?” Stacy clutched the hairdresser’s cape with both hands and stared at Claire’s reflection in the mirror. “It took a long time to grow my hair this long.” Her hair, fresh from shampooing, hung straight and lank to below her shoulders.

  “Trust me.” Claire exchanged a glance with Mona Phillips, who’d been her hairdresser since she’d come to Suffolk. “Mona will make you look like a person anyone would want to hire. You want that job, don’t you?”

  Maybe stocking merchandise at Gray’s Department Store didn’t sound like a big deal, but Stacy was thrilled with the opportunity Claire had arranged.

  “I sure do.” Her clutch eased, and she took a deep breath. “Okay. Do it.”

  Mona gave the girl a reassuring smile as she twisted a length of hair to the top of Stacy’s head and pinned it there. “Just relax. I won’t make it too short, and besides, hair will always grow back if you don’t like the style.”

  Stacy nodded, and Claire leaned back in her chair. This experiment was going to work. They’d already shopped for clothes, and Stacy was ecstatic about the new skirt, pants and lightweight sweaters she now owned. Once she saw her new image, she’d never want to go back.

  “I was thinking.” Stacy closed her eyes, as if reluctant to watch as hair started to fall to the floor. “Maybe, if I get a good enough job, I’d be able to take care of the baby by myself.”

  Claire bit back the impulse to tell Stacy exactly what she thought of that idea. As Brendan had said, Stacy needed advice, but she was the one who had to live with the results of her decisions.