Her eyes stung and she rubbed at them. She definitely wasn’t crying. “I’m not so sure about that. But there’s nothing I can do about it now. I’m more worried how it will affect you.”
“Mrs Pettett would be nuts to fire you. The store will probably have its best day ever. Nothing like a scandal to get people interested.” He laughed, a genuinely joyful laugh. “As for me, my agent will be overjoyed, she’s been nagging me to spice up my image and take on sexier roles.”
She shook her head. “It’s not a joke, Nick. Your father’s a pastor. Your career is based on your reputation. Despite your dating history, they even call you Saint Nick. Mr Squeaky Clean. This is the first real dirt the press have got on you. They won’t let go easily.”
“You and I both know it’s not real dirt at all. It’s not quite a disaster either.” He raised one shoulder in a shrug, like it didn’t matter.
She didn’t reply. She wasn’t so sure about that.
“I have somewhere in mind to take you, where you’ll be safe. But is there anywhere else you want to go? A place where you can hole up with someone who’ll take care of you? If you can just keep away from the reporters for a few days until someone else is hot news, they’ll leave you alone.”
Apart from work colleagues, she’d deliberately made no friends since Mum died. Keeping people at arm’s length seemed safer.
“Maggie?” she asked, hating how her voice wobbled.
He shook his head. “I called her. She’s had a couple of reporters turn up there too. Must be nothing happening anywhere else for them to be this interested in us. There’s a crowd outside my flat, but I can deal with them. Anyone else you want to try?”
“No. There’s no-one else.” The knowledge she had nowhere to go wrapped icy tentacles around her heart. She didn’t want to rely on Nick to take care of her, but it seemed she had no other option.
He didn’t seem to see her like the criminal she felt she was.
Not yet, anyway.
He would once he knew the whole truth about her. As soon as they were somewhere private, she’d have to tell him.
Then, for his sake, she’d make sure she never saw him again.
~~+~~
As the car travelled north, away from central London, the adrenaline rush of rescuing Cara drained out of Nick, leaving him flat and empty.
They needed to talk, but this wasn’t the time or the place.
She’d withdrawn into a corner, prickles out like a porcupine, for the entire forty-five minute drive. It wasn’t surprising she’d retreated back into her protective shell. He understood now why she’d been so reluctant to take on the dare, why she’d kept trying to back out.
Exactly the thing she’d most feared had happened.
The press digging up her past. Something as innocent as their kiss last night being twisted and soiled.
As soon as he’d found the reporters outside his door when he opened it to go for his run, his first thought had been to check she was safe. He’d barely glanced at the newspapers or the internet to see what stories they were telling. He wanted to hear the truth from her, not the media half-truths and lies.
He looked around as they reached their destination. The tiny village of Whitewell consisted of a few ancient houses, a pub, and a church, clustered around a village green. Out here, some of the snow that fell the night before had settled. There was even a Christmas tree outside the stone church, a small-but-perfect pine glowing with lights.
The place looked like a scene from an old-fashioned Christmas card. But how it looked didn’t matter as much as knowing that Cara would be safe here.
He’d felt all 007 getting her away from the reporters. Seeing the fear on her face when she’d opened the door to him raised protective instincts he’d never known he had.
The car stopped on the gravelled area outside the pub.
“I’ve rented a house here for my family over Christmas. When I thought you might need somewhere to escape to I called the inn. They had room.”
Cara didn’t smile at his not-so-funny joke. The woman who’d instigated and kissed him so sweetly last night had vanished. He missed her. He’d make it his job to get her back. And when he did, he planned to tell her he loved her, and marry her, if she’d have him.
With God’s help, they’d make it work.
He held open the heavy iron-studded entrance door for her, and ducked under the low lintel to pass through into the flagstone floored taproom. An open fire blazed in the huge fireplace.
His family would love this place. Right now though, all he cared about was Cara.
The innkeeper hurried forward with a welcoming smile. “Ms Talbot?”
Cara nodded.
“Please, follow me. Your suite is ready for you.”
He took her bags from Nick, then led them up a broad staircase and into a cosy sitting room with small paned windows that looked across to the church then to the fields and wooded hills beyond. While the innkeeper showed Cara through to the bedroom and bathroom, Nick made coffee in a tiny kitchenette hidden in an armoire, and sat on one of the squishy velvet sofas.
Once their host left, Cara perched on the edge of the other sofa, like a bird ready to take flight at the slightest movement.
Nick passed her a cup of coffee, and she accepted it with a tiny nod.
“I’m sorry this is costing you so much.” She sounded distant and polite again.
He wanted to shake her, kiss her, anything to get back the Cara he loved.
“Cara, I wish you’d understand. I’d happily pay far more if I had to. If it wasn’t for me insisting you do the dare, none of this would have happened.” His lips tightened and he shook his head. “I’m responsible, not you. That makes it my job to keep you safe. I’d want to anyway, even if my dare hadn’t caused the whole thing.”
She put her coffee on the low table in front of her. Sadness shadowed her eyes. “If it wasn’t for my past, they wouldn’t be so interested. If it wasn’t for that photo of us kissing, and I started that.…” She trailed off, and looked up at him. “The owner seems nice, but how do you know he won’t tell the reporters I’m here?”
“You can trust him. This place has a good reputation for privacy. I tipped him generously, and I told him to let his staff know that if anyone asks questions about you, I’ll pay them more to keep quiet than the press will pay for information.”
He reached out a comforting hand to her.
Cara recoiled as if he’d handed her a live snake, hunching in the corner of her chair, as far away from him as she could get.
Her rejection, after she’d let down the walls last night, hurt like a physical wound. He swallowed past the pressure in his throat.
“I want to help you. I only wish you’d trust me enough to confide in me. I’d rather hear it from you than the lies in the newspaper.”
Her hands writhed in front of her and a struggle played out on her face. Finally she looked up at him with a pitiful attempt at a smile.
“I do owe you the truth.” Her voice was a thread. “What makes it hard is, the newspapers aren’t lying. Remember, that night we were on the narrrowboat, I told you what happened with Dad?”
He nodded.
“After he left, we found out that not only had he run us into debt, he’d ruined his business as well, borrowing huge sums of money he could never repay. Nineteen people out of a job, the week before Christmas, and he didn’t leave behind enough money to pay them for work they’d already done. He took off with all they’d paid into their pension scheme, too.”
Pain contorted her face. “The police thought he’d planned it all in advance, and left the country on a false passport. They never traced him. So I’m the daughter of a thief, as well as a bankrupt.”
Anger at her father burned in his gut. He longed to reach out to her, offer comfort, but something warned him she’d clam up again if he did. He knotted his hands against his chest to stop himself touching her. “Cara, it wasn’t your fault. Those were things your
dad did, not things you did.”
“Wasn’t it? I’ve always wondered. What if I hadn’t had all those riding lessons? Or the prom dress that cost eight hundred pounds? Or if I hadn’t asked Dad for a car that Christmas? I mock the song, but I was just as selfish. There were plenty of people ready to tell me no, but I knew my Daddy would give his little princess anything I asked for.” She raised her head with a twisted smile that held soul-deep bitterness. “Did you ever wonder why I live so frugally now?”
He raised his shoulders in a slight shrug. “I guessed you were making sure you were financially secure in the future.”
She shook her head. “I don’t have a penny to my name. I’m paying those people back what Dad stole from them. I’m their pension fund. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. That’s why I have to work so hard. That’s why I have to save the store. I don’t want to feel guilty over more people losing their jobs.”
Her courage and honesty seared him. He didn’t know if he’d do the same in her shoes, taking on the sins of another. But she didn’t need to torment herself like she did. The guilt didn’t belong with her.
“Cara, that’s admirable. But you didn’t steal their money. You did nothing to feel guilty about. All kids ask their parents for things they can’t afford. Surely it’s up to the parent to say no, not the child to know not to ask?”
She shook her head. “I have to try to make up for what he did. It was wrong.”
“He was wrong. You shouldn’t have to carry that burden. Let me help you.”
He might not be able to offer much else, but money he could easily provide.
She shook her head and hugged a cushion from the sofa against her chest. “No. It’s my responsibility. I’m not like my father or his friends. Most of them disappeared from our lives fast, once news got out. People kept away from us, like we were contagious. Even church people. They tarred us with the same brush as Dad. It wasn’t a very happy lead up to Christmas.”
The desolation in her eyes chilled him, a cold hard ache deep inside his chest. He pressed his clenched hands against it. Gaze on her, he nodded silently, waiting for her to speak.
“I told you about the big deal Dad always made about Christmas.”
Nick nodded.
“Dad was gone and things wouldn't be the same, but I loved Christmas and still wanted to celebrate. Mum said we had nothing to celebrate, but I sulked and whined until she gave in. Still being the spoiled princess everyone told me I was, I guess.” Her lips twisted.
He shook his head but said nothing, letting her continue.
“I found a little damaged tree the local shop threw away. It looked fine in the corner with the broken side against the wall. I bought her the best present I could afford, a second hand copy of a book she’d said she wanted to read. I was even going to try to cook us Christmas dinner.”
Her humourless smile didn’t touch the grief shadowing her face. “You need to have eaten my cooking to know how ambitious that idea was. Mum didn’t want to be bothered with it. Any of it.”
Nick dreaded hearing what came next, but he knew he had to let her tell the story her way, in her own time, if it was ever going to stop festering inside her. Dad always said, if you want to help someone, listen first.
So he listened, and did the only other thing he could.
He prayed for his Cara.
Chapter 18
Nick forced himself to keep listening. Cara’s quiet unemotional recital hit him with far more impact than histrionics would have. A sense of the anguish she kept locked behind her words and her numb looking facade ached inside him.
“Usually on Christmas Eve, everyone came to our place” she said. “The adults had a big party in one room. My friends and I watched Christmas movies and had our party in another part of the house. That year, after Dad disappeared, obviously we wouldn’t be partying. But the one family who didn’t treat us like we had the plague invited us both to their house.”
She barked out a bitter laugh. “A family whose TV and DVD player hadn't been taken by the bailiffs. I’d still get my Christmas movies at least. I couldn’t bear to sit at home and remember previous Christmases and miss Dad. But Mum didn’t want to go. We had a huge argument. We screamed at each other. She told me it was my fault Dad left, because I demanded he spend so much money on me.”
Nick shook his head at that. He didn’t interrupt, though his fingernails curled into his palms with the effort to stay silent. He wanted to shout that it wasn’t her fault, to somehow make her see how wrong it was to carry this terrible memory as if it were her sin.
But if he did that, she’d never tell the rest of the story.
Something told him, she’d never spoken like this to anyone else. Listening, no matter how hard or how painful, was the best help he could give her now.
Cara scrubbed her hands over her face then continued. “I shouted back, said Dad left because she was no fun, she didn’t know how to enjoy life. Then I slammed out of the house and went to Belinda’s. I acted like a total brat.”
Her matter-of-fact voice hid a world of pain behind it. He felt it, right in the middle of his chest. Again, his hand rose to press it back.
He had to speak. “You were seventeen. Most of us aren’t very grown-up at that age.”
He certainly hadn’t been. At seventeen, he’d acted like he was the King of Hollywood.
She gave a tiny shake of her head. “I should have known better. Belinda and I watched all our usual Christmas movies. 'Joey Christmas' too, of course. Just like every year.” She glanced up at him. A hint of a smile holding back a tide of sorrow twisted her lips.
No wonder she hadn’t wanted him around. Too many memories.
“For once, I didn’t enjoy watching my favourite movies. I kept thinking about Mum and what she’d said.” Her eyes closed and her forehead creased. “How she’d looked at me when I left. Like she hated me. Like she really did blame me for Dad going.”
Central heating warmed the room, but she shivered as if she was in a freezer, and hugged the cushion closer to her chest. “I didn’t mean what I said. I only said it to get back at her.”
Dread shuddered through Nick. His fists clenched and he shook his head, guessing at what came next.
Her story could only have one ending. The pieces all made sense now. The guilt, the suicide helpline, the remorse she believed she could never atone for.
Help her Lord, please help her.
“I stayed out later than I should have done, past my curfew. When I got home, Mum's door was closed and her light was switched off. Usually, I’d go in and tell her I was home. But not that night. I was still mad at her. I knew she’d want me to apologise and I wasn’t going to. I wanted her to apologise to me.” She gulped in a breath, and glanced toward him, uncertainty in her eyes, as if she expected to see judgement in his.
Masking his foreboding, he kept his expression bland and accepting, and nodded slightly. He couldn’t risk her misinterpreting, thinking he blamed her too. She’d been a kid of seventeen. None of this was her fault.
She ducked her head, holding her clasped hands to her forehead. “I went to bed. Next morning I waited and waited for her to wake up, but she didn’t.” Her muffled voice lost its unemotional detachment, and quavered.
Nick covered his mouth with one hand, guessing what came next and hurting for her. He edged forward on the seat, reached a hand toward her, then hesitated and drew back.
She needed to tell her story, all the way through. Offering comfort too soon wouldn’t help.
“I knocked on her door at ten. When she didn't answer, I peeked into the room. She looked asleep. But so pale. When I touched her, she didn't move. Then I saw the packets by her bed. She'd taken pills. Lots of them. Probably hundreds.” She’d become distant, matter-of-fact again.
He ached to say something to help. There were no words. But doing nothing had become unbearable. He moved to hold her.
She raised a warning hand and shook her head.
“I called the ambulance. They took her to the hospital. The doctors said it was a miracle her heart was still beating, but she couldn’t breathe for herself. They put her on a life support machine. I sat by her bed all Christmas Day, praying, praying, praying, asking God to bring her back to me. I even asked Him to take me instead and let her live. But late that night the doctors said she was brain dead and nothing would bring her back.”
It felt like his heart was being squeezed, wrung out like a sponge. If merely hearing her past hurt him that much, the depth of the pain she must be feeling seemed almost unimaginable.
“Just before midnight, the doctor turned the machine off. It felt like such a long time before the monitor showed her heart had stopped beating.” She stopped speaking, but didn't look at him.
Nick couldn’t speak. What words could he say that would help?
Locked in her memories and far away, she sat collapsed in on herself. “I died that day, too.”
An incoherent prayer repeated in his mind.
Help her God, help her God, please help her God.
No one should have to go through that. Ever.
Silently, Nick took Cara’s hand, infusing all the compassion flooding him into the touch.
Seemingly unaware, she let her hand rest in his for a moment, but it was passive, lifeless. Then she jumped up, pacing the room without looking at him.
“I knew she'd found Dad leaving hard. We both did. I covered up by being flippant, pretending it hadn't happened and he'd come home one day. Just walk in the door, explaining it was all a silly mistake. I shouldn't have said what I said to her that night. I shouldn’t have gone out. If I'd stayed home, she wouldn't have done it. Or if I hadn’t been too stubborn to say goodnight and apologise.”
She stopped her restless marching, and gripped the rail of the straight-backed desk chair, clutching it like a shield. She looked straight at him, eyes cloudy and haunted.
Love In Store Books 1-3: Collection of three sweet and clean Christian romances with a London setting: The Wedding List, Believe in Me, & A Model Bride Page 31