Secret Desire

by Taylor, Susan D.

  Without warning, a wave of sadness rushed over her. She swallowed a sob, shuddering, but it was no use. Tears welled and spilled, scalding her face, a river of sadness running in torrents that she’d held back for days. Sobs broke free of her chest, and she cried and cried into her pillow.

  Never would she have her parents or a home here to come back to, and never would she be able to pick up the phone and hear her father call out to her mom that Claire was on the line. Whenever she had called home, her mom and dad would pick up separate, cordless phones and they all conversed, laughed, and reminisced together. She wasn’t ready to let go, never again to hear her father’s funny comments about something she’d written. It wasn’t possible this was the end.

  No longer did she fight the hollow feelings of loss and regret. The emotions poured over her. The memory of a deep laugh and bright green eyes came out of nowhere, adding to the loneliness. Dustin, another memory haunting her. All of a sudden the past swam around her and was gone. Pressure banding her chest tightened and broke under a new round of tears.

  Chapter Four

  Claire woke to the sound of a dog barking. It took her a moment in the darkness of her old room to decide if the dog was real or a dream. Bleary eyed she searched for a clock. She groped for her cell phone along the top of the nightstand. She squinted at the screen. Seven-fifteen in the morning, still early back in Seattle. Wednesday morning and she needed to get that copy to Mike.

  She pushed off the covers. Out of habit, she tiptoed down the hall toward the bathroom. She turned on the water in the sink then gazed at her red-rimmed eyes in the mirror. She rubbed the swollen skin, puffy from crying, and splashed cold water over her face. After brushing her teeth, she returned to her room.

  Jeez, it was early, but she still had to get her story emailed. Claire pulled on the dress she’d worn on the plane and went downstairs. The only sound came from tick of the mantle clock. The clock hadn’t chimed the hour or half-hour for years.

  What would an estate salesperson get for the things in the house? Probably no more than pennies for worn-out possessions that should be donated. There was nothing modern, nothing that made life more convenient than necessary. Only things with sentimental value, the type without a price tag, and more than likely Fran would want to throw it all away.

  Claire pushed open the front door, patting her messenger bag for her jump drive. The fog still hung close to the ground across the fields. Claire tossed her bag onto the passenger seat. The lights were on next door. Did they stay on all night or was Dustin up and about? He’d always been an early riser. Hadn’t they found time alone on many a morning? Stop, she told herself and put the car into drive and floored the gas pedal.

  Her staff writing piece was due at Ethos by five in the morning, Seattle time. Her parents’ house sat out in the country, surrounded by hay, corn, and alfalfa. Same crops made up Dustin’s parents’ land. Out here, miles from town, her parents’ refusal to be part of the Wi-Fi world made sense. Their last attempt to join modern society was to convert an acre of land into growing organics and medicinal herbs. The ultimate conservatives had gone a little liberal considering the community farms springing up all over the country. She didn’t want to see the plots go to weed. Her mother’s gardens stood in neat rows, brightly colored flowers edged the stepping stone walkway. So carefully planted and tended. She pressed her lips with no solution in sight.

  She headed off toward Highway 9, a two-lane street that fed into downtown Mill Spring. For all its small-town appearance, Starbucks and an all-night copy center had found their way into existence along with a couple of strip malls, a movieplex, and a smattering of upscale restaurants.

  She had the copier’s address keyed into her GPS and pulled into the parking lot within fifteen minutes of leaving home.

  Claire walked up to the only clerk. “Good morning, I’d like to use the Internet.”

  “The kiosk is self-serve.” The young man pointed at a corner over his shoulder. “You just need a credit card.”

  “Right.” The place was empty.

  He slipped his pen behind his ear and leaned over the desk. “So, are you new in town?”

  “No.” She pushed her card into the slot, pressed her lips together, and inhaled.

  He followed her into the kiosk area. “I don’t remember seeing you before.”

  Either he was lonely, bored, or trying to hit on her.

  “Sorry, I’m trying to work right now.” She glanced at him and then back to the computer screen.

  “Me too.” He was apparently irritated at her disinterest.

  She sighed and tried to concentrate by ignoring his continual movement in the kiosk. Not easy as he spoke loudly to himself and slammed trash bins in and out from under each desk.

  Claire retrieved the story from her USB storage device. So far, she’d published a piece each week as a salaried staff writer. The pay was next to nothing, her job only a stepping stone position. Easy to let go.

  The icon stopped scrolling and she opened her email account. She wrote a short email.

  Mike,

  Here’s the piece about Pauline Rivers, the independent mayoral candidate, growing up within the culture of Seattle. I used the 2010 census figures on race, ethnicity, and age along with the ideas about gentrification of Seattle, outlining displacement of minorities. The graphics department has photographs to add concerning the less affluent areas Rivers addresses in her platform, such as King County and Pierce County. Let me know if you want to include the section about the suburbs from the north and east, featuring more affluent areas (where Rivers grew up) that actually hold the most promise for diversity. I’ll know more about my timeline here when I meet with the attorney and find out what needs to be done.

  Take care,

  Claire.

  She signed off and mumbled a thanks over her shoulder to the still grumbling clerk before heading out the door.

  The town was quaint and colorful compared with Columbus. Few cars were on the road. The business district was about a mile to the north and, more than likely, what little traffic the area had would be located over there.

  Claire decided to hit the Starbucks for some real coffee before going home and tackling the first chore of cleaning out the fridge, pantry, and kitchen cabinets. She took a detour through town. The diner where she and Fran had hung out as kids was still in business. The pet store where she’d worked was gone, as was the community swimming pool. The high school was twice the size it had been when she’d graduated and was still undergoing renovations.

  She eased back onto Highway 9 and drove toward the house with her windows down. Several farms had sold out to planned communities. She decided to take Hollenbrook, an old road with sections of dirt and gravel that looped around and came out just a few blocks from home. A mile of Hollenbrook had been turned into a two-lane street that intersected the new suburban neighborhoods. She did a double take at one planned community that boasted a golf course and a gated entrance. She was a tourist in her hometown. What would she find if she left again and didn’t return for another couple of years?

  She parked the car in front of the garage. She gasped as the sunny sky was replaced by the shadow of a man’s silhouette.

  “Claire?”

  She immediately recognized his voice. A deeper and richer version than when she’d heard it last. She froze, her mind went blank, and any sensible speech went right out the window.

  Claire grabbed her coffee cup, almost sloshing the brew, and took a sip, wishing she could come up with an excuse to put the car in reverse and back away. It was no use.

  Dustin opened her car door and held out his hand. She glared at his palm. Swallowing back her refusal to let him help her, Claire placed her hand within his grasp. His fingers were warm and strong and sent a ripple of pleasure through her. He pulled and she rose to stand next to him.

  Her heart sprinted. Stop staring, the critic whispered. For goodness sakes, say something.

  Nothing original
sprang to mind.

  “Dustin. How nice to see you again.” Great, her critic groaned. What an amazing command of the English language.

  She gazed up into emerald eyes that still mesmerized her. Nothing had changed there.

  He stepped closer. “I’m so very sorry about your parents. We all were devastated by the news.”

  She glanced down. His words stabbed her sadness. She was ready to crumble. No. No. No. The critic hollered vehemently. Not in front of him. She bit the corner of her lip until she gathered enough sense to steady her emotions.

  “Yes.”

  He was not only taller than when she’d seen him last, he was too handsome for his own good. Heartfelt warmth spilled from his fingertips into her hand. His expression disarmed her completely, and she blinked back tears, a gallon of grief threatening to spill out from her eyes.

  She chided herself for acting like a crybaby. She had to get a grip and stop this desire to pour her heart out to him. Ridiculous nonsense. Was she still so enamored by Dustin that he could break through walls she’d carefully, consciously constructed with just a touch and a warm sentiment?

  My God. She was here because of a tragedy. Her focus should be on her parents, not how handsome Dustin was or some historical infatuation that he would have forgotten long ago.

  Then why was she still holding on to him? Part of her wanted to fold into his arms while another part of her wanted to run away and hide. She brushed back a tendril of her hair with her free hand. He reached into his pocket and brought out a handkerchief.

  “Here, please.”

  “I’m sorry.” She rubbed her fingers over the handkerchief’s monogrammed initials. Once he would’ve never have thought to own something like this. He’d grown up and changed.

  He squeezed her hand. “No. Don’t apologize. How are you holding up?”

  “Fine. I’m not certain where to begin. I have an appointment with the attorney, Bob Chase. Do you remember him from school?” She finally let go of his hand.

  “He works with his father in the law firm. Chase and Chase, downtown in the Courthouse Towers. They took care of a real estate matter for me this year.”

  “Yes. I didn’t know. And you? Your family?”

  “Good. I moved back about six months ago. Mom and my father divorced. He moved in with his girlfriend and my mom is somewhere in Europe on a tour for the summer. My mother decided she preferred traveling over staying cooped up in a small town. Living life, they both say…the only thing they agree on.”

  “That’s good, I suppose.” She dabbed at her eyes and wished the ground would open and gobble her whole.

  “I heard you lived in Seattle?” Dark stubble covered his square jaw and caught the light. Once, she’d thrilled at the feel of that stubble against her cheek. She closed her eyes, inhaled, and steeled herself. She had never allowed her infatuation to get out of control. She wasn’t about to be another duo of twin girls with the same boyfriend. That was one plotline she firmly avoided. She regrouped, gazed up at him, ready to face him as a mature adult instead of a dithering teenager.

  “Yes, I work for a magazine, Ethos. Not too well known in the East. We have a circulation of about a hundred thousand on the West Coast. Pretty good for a local publication.”

  “What do you write?” He smiled, revealing perfect teeth, white against his tanned skin.

  Her jaw nearly dropped. Most people didn’t think to ask about her department or even what interested her. She wanted to say something exciting. She should just say it. Erotica.

  She imagined the look on his face. Oh, I write erotica. Easy enough considering my sex life. Hot and tasty. She remembered last night, her fantasy of him, and was unable to stop a heat wave from engulfing her face. Her inner critic arched an eyebrow, but thankfully remained silent.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Features about Seattle and national events. I’m assigned articles about current events.” Truthfully, if she could sit down to write right now, she’d fill up pages featuring him. To begin with, his hips were narrow under what looked like a washboard set of abs.

  “Sounds interesting. Do you travel to get your story?” Her attention returned to his face, and his lips quirked under her attention.

  “Not for the national stuff. It’s easy with the Internet to email questions or to Skype with people. I conduct face-to-face interviews for local pieces. Right now, I’m doing more on local politics.”

  A set of dimples appeared on either side of his face, catching her off-guard. “It’s no big deal.” She was stammering, and the corners of his mouth turned up further.

  She’d forgotten how deep her attraction ran and the many memories she carried that involved him sporting such a smile.

  God, she wanted to strip him down and taste him on the pages of her next story. She imagined him positioned in back of her, taking charge. Focus, she told herself. All this time, she’d envisioned countless scenes with him, but never felt over-the-top crazy wild. Seeing him again made all the difference.

  He was standing right before her, more gorgeous than she remembered. Grown up into a better version than any she’d ever created and making her toes curl.

  “You sound like you’ve been pretty busy. We’re all proud of you here. Your mom and dad shared some your articles. Never anything boring. I’ve missed your sense of humor but discovered it’s in your writing.” He dipped his eyes to her mouth. His gaze traveled lower for a second.

  Did he say that he missed her? No, that’s not what he meant.

  She shifted nervously. “I try to cover different things…whatever crops up or is interesting. Ethos is pretty diverse and gives us plenty of freedom, as long as the article sells.”

  His gaze returned to meet hers. “Just like the high school paper, always looking for sponsors. Ever thought of sports?”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Not really. It wouldn’t be that far-fetched, not considering the way you were so interested in horses and riding. I remember you were always on the move, doing something. I just wondered about some carry through.”

  “I haven’t ridden in years.” She didn’t think much about being in the saddle these days, at least, not on a horse. “Mom and Dad haven’t owned horses since we left for college. I guess they needed too much upkeep. Do you remember Sunflower?”

  “Yes. And you on her. The only girl who looked great in cutoffs and cowboy boots.”

  “That was a very long time ago.” She’d loved brushing and grooming Sunflower’s golden coat as Dustin watched and sometimes helped her. She searched his face.

  “I still enjoy remembering.”

  What did he mean? She didn’t want to remember that she and Dustin had ridden bareback on her horse together or how it felt. Right before—

  “You’re beautiful.” He turned away from her slightly. “How’s your sister?”

  Oh, she got it. He was still hung up on Fran. Why not? Fran was the one who primped and worried about her looks. What would he think if he saw Fran now? Racing around in her black sports car. Living in a brownstone that bordered on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Fran wore tailored business suits, sat behind a sleek desk in a corner office with her name on the front door. She refused to think of Fran and Dustin. Bad match. The critic snarled.

  “Fran. She’s doing really well. Partner in a brokerage house in Manhattan. Her element. No surprise there.”

  “None. She was always meant for the big city.” His voice sounded wistful. “She’s not coming back.”

  Dustin didn’t think Fran would come back. Had he contacted her? Fran acted like he was a small-town nobody. Fran was no mystery when it came to what she felt about Mill Spring.

  “Fran’s super busy. There’s not much to do here right now. I can handle what needs to be done. If I need her, she’ll come back.”

  He shrugged a shoulder. Dustin’s expression went blank, his lips tightening into a thin line.

  “All this talk about family. You. What about you?” She
noticed he didn’t wear a wedding band, yet today that couldn’t be taken as hard evidence of being single.

  “I graduated in computer engineering. Not much to say. Rode the wave of IT going big and didn’t like the grind. I came back to find my footing. I’m taking time to reassess before getting back into the rat race.”

  “Yes. I think a lot of people are reassessing. Do you remember how different it all seemed before we left for school? Returning home is strange—the changes to Mill Spring. I don’t know where I fit sometimes.”

  “Precisely.” Dustin spread out his hands in front of her.

  “What are your plans?”

  He combed his fingers through his hair. Dark, thick curls that almost reached his collar. His hair would feel…no, she didn’t want to think what his hair was like. One more facet of Dustin she remembered all too well. That and the way he had of wearing a T-shirt that made the material seem worth noticing. And now, worth touching.

  The outline of his chest and torso pushed against the light gray cotton fabric. No longer was he a long and lean, easy-smiling teenage boy. At this moment, he was a man who looked as though he took what he wanted.

  “I don’t know if I want to fit in a business world that takes and takes without feeling guilty that someone is starving or homeless.” He shifted position, leaning up against her rental car, and crossed his ankles. His arms had filled out, impressive and muscular, confirming what she’d believed last night. He wore black motorcycle boots and jeans in a way that definitely should come with a warning label for onlookers.

  She swallowed several times after her eyes passed over the bulge in his pants. She wanted to know what he thought of her, how she’d changed, and if he was attracted. Was she losing it? This line of thinking was getting out of hand.

  “Do you want to come in?” She prayed he’d decline.