Claiming The One (Meadowview Heat 3; The Meadowview Series 3)

by Rochelle French

Gerald stood waiting at the end of the hall when she entered, dressed in a Shakespearean costume. “Thy nurse dressed thee well,” he said as she walked slowly toward him.

  Nurse? She’d thought Gail had been playing the part of a servant. But if Gail were playing the part of a nurse, then that meant—

  Her stomach churned. The music swelled. She recognized the heavy violins—definitely Prokofiev. Her mouth went dry.

  Gerald stepped toward her, holding his hand out, palm up.

  A shudder ran through her. No. Not this play. Not tonight. Her heart seemed to pull in on itself. The Comedy of Errors, Taming of the Shrew…why couldn’t he have picked one of those plays? Any play but this one.

  Any play but the one she’d lived.

  She ground down deep in herself. To play the part of Elizabeth Picard, she first needed to play the part she’d been handed tonight. She gulped air, then spoke, reciting dully, “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this: for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss.”

  Gerald placed his palm to hers and smiled at her. For the first time, Liz realized his smile never quite reached his eyes. When Hunter smiled, his eyes danced. Gerald’s eyes seemed dull, lifeless. As if they carried too much pain.

  “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

  “Ay, pilgrim—”

  Liz shocked herself and Gerald by pulling her palm away from his and backing up a step. He arched a brow at her, questioning her move. She should have recited the rest of Juliet’s line, but her knees were shaking. Gerald wasn’t her Romeo.

  She’d had a Romeo—Hunter. And once upon a time, she’d been his Juliet.

  “I…I’m sorry, Gerald. I can’t,” she stuttered, dropping her hand by her side.

  Gerald’s jaw clenched. “Are you not feeling well?” He seemed to struggle to stay in character.

  Not feeling well? She almost laughed, hysteria building. Her legs wouldn’t stop shaking and she was about to puke. “No, no I’m not.”

  He gave a curt nod. “This isn’t working, is it?” he asked, dropping any pretense of being Romeo.

  She knew he wasn’t referring to the aborted scene. “No,” she said simply. “I can’t be her. I can’t be Elizabeth. I’m so sorry.”

  Lines tightened around his mouth and he stared off into the distance. “I get it. I really do. But do you think you can fake being engaged to me for a little while longer? There’s…” He dropped his gaze to the floor and swallowed.

  There was a man, she knew. Gerald had finally found love. Someone from her generation would probably ignore the expectations and marry the one he loved, but not Gerald. He couldn’t handle the censure. The rejection. The risk to his fortune.

  She wished he could just tell the world to fuck off and let him love.

  “I can do this for a while longer, at least, publically,” she murmured, her heart twisting inside at the sight of his pain. No, she’d never love him. But she liked him enough to care. “I’ll keep wearing the ring.”

  Gerald nodded, and his eyes glistened. “I appreciate it. In a few months, we can announce we’ve terminated the engagement. Until then…”

  She’d continue pretending to be his fiancée. Until it was officially over between her and Gerald, she still needed to present the image of Elizabeth Picard. And she still needed to hide the fact that Hope existed from Gerald. He was a good man, but didn’t tolerate lying well.

  And yeah, she’d lied in not telling him she’d once had a child.

  She turned and headed back upstairs, gathering energy with each step as if freedom were just ahead and she had to run to grab it, then burst through the door to her bedroom, a cold sweat breaking out all over her body. Gail looked up from where she was sitting on the loveseat, a book on her lap, and gave Liz an expression of surprise.

  “You okay?” Gail asked.

  Liz leaned against the door and forced a trembling smile onto her face. “I’m fine. We’re just calling off the scene. Again.”

  Gail tossed her book to the side and hopped up, then came behind Liz to undo the laces. “What was the role?” she asked.

  “Juliet.”

  “Huh. I hate Shakespeare,” Gail said, shimmying Liz out of the dress. “I can’t remember a damned thing about that play. Except that Romeo and Juliet die in the end.”

  Liz didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Not with her throat so choked with emotion as one of the memories she’d fought to suppress came charging to the fore.

  “Don’t go. Please, don’t leave me yet.” She grasped at Hunter’s bare arm as he slid out of her bed. Despite her seeking hands, he stepped away. From down the hall, her mother’s loud snores signaled Tina was sleeping off a drinking binge, but with Tina’s bedroom on the same floor, Liz and Hunter needed to be quiet still.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered. “Come back to bed. It’s not even light yet.”

  “Lizzie, you know that’s not true.”

  Hunter moved around the darkened room, the sounds so familiar—the cold zip of his worn jeans, the squeak of his leather shoelaces, the heavy rustle as he slid on his Meadowview High letter jacket.

  “It’s the moon,” she protested.

  “I hear robins. Morning’s coming.”

  “No…” She buried her head in her pillow. “You must have heard an owl or something. It can’t be morning.” He couldn’t be leaving her already. Sure, in a few hours she’d see him at school, but after that? She never knew what her mom would do. If Tina discovered her daughter was sneaking around to see Hunter, she’d freak out and maybe move Liz and her away.

  The bed dipped under his weight, but she didn’t roll over to face him even when he ran a hand lightly over her head. “I hate them. I hate them all,” she muttered, her words muffled.

  “Our parents, or the robins?” he asked. “Because if you hate the birds, I could go get my BB gun.”

  She forced a smile. “Both. But mostly our parents. I mean, I get that your folks hate my mom because of the whole drunk driving thing, but we didn’t have any part of their fight. Why should they keep us apart?” She swallowed hard against the tears forming.

  Warm lips pressed against the side of her neck, widening the chasm of pain in her chest. She pulled her head out from under the pillow and saw Hunter’s silhouette, framed by the morning’s early light. Her heart emptied. He had to leave. Had to sneak back into his own house before his parents discovered he’d been in hers all night long.

  “They can order us to stay away from each other, but they can’t ever keep us apart,” he said. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Liz curled her body around Hunter’s seated frame, resting her head in his lap. “But for how long? How long can we stay together?”

  “Forever,” he answered, tracing line of her jaw. “We love each other. Nothing will ever come between us, not even our parents. You’re my Juliet, remember?”

  She used his shirt hem to wipe away tears. “And you’re my Romeo.”

  “That’s right. Our love is as deep as theirs was.”

  Liz wrapped her arms tight around Hunter’s middle, unwilling to let him go. “Yeah, but things kinda sucked for them. I mean, they literally died in the end.”

  Hunter’s low chuckle sent warmth to fill up the aching hole in her heart. “Nothing bad will ever happen to us. We’re going to rewrite Shakespeare. Make our story a true romance, not a tragedy.”

  “Promise?” she asked, growing embarrassed when her voice quavered

  “Yes,” Hunter whispered. “I promise. We’ll be together forever and into eternity. I love you, my Juliet—my Lizzie.”

  The sound of her bedroom door creaking open caught Liz’s attention and brought her back to the present. But still, the pain of the past twisted inside her heart, ripping. Tearing. Destroying.

  At the door, Gail turned back, a question in her eyes. “Elizabeth?” she asked softly, “don’t you ever get tired of prete
nding?”

  Abbie squealed and threw herself on the king-sized bed in the luxury hotel room. Ripping off her stepmother Ember’s little used AmEx card had its perks. Her quest to find her birth parents so far was smooth sailing. She’d told her aunt that she was staying at Bay’s house for a couple of days, and her aunt had totally bought it. Her dad’s car drove like a dream, and she’d stayed in the speed limit and obeyed all road laws. No cops on her tail, noticing she was super under age. Nice going that her dad had thought to teach her how to drive a few years early, as some lame father/daughter bonding experience.

  A half-hour ago, just outside of Salt Lake City, she’d pulled over at a convenience stop and changed out of her yoga sweats and hoodie into one of Ember’s business suits and a pair of horribly boring high heels. She’d tried once to convince Ember to buy herself a pair of Jimmy Choos, but her stepmom had made some lame excuse about wanting to put the money toward college savings and extracurricular events. Whatev. She’d twisted her hair into a boring bun at the back of her head and applied the right level of makeup to make her look sophisticated but not slutty. The skinny hotel clerk hadn’t questioned her age or anything when she handed over Ember’s AmEx card and outdated driver’s license. Thank God Ember’s hair was a little red.

  Abbie rolled onto her back and flung her arms out wide, grinning. Tomorrow she’d finish the second leg of her journey—follow I-80 through Nevada and into California, then down some windy road. A nine-hour drive, then she’d see her parents.

  Well, she’d see her birth dad, at least. She still hadn’t heard anything about her birth mother, although Hunter was gonna track her down. His last email a couple of days ago said he was in Meadowview and had heard Liz was at her old address there.

  Trying to find Liz on Facebook, she’d come up blank. Hunter was on there, and she’d scrolled through his list of friends, but there was no redheaded woman named Liz on his friends list.

  She rolled onto her side and curled up, fetal position, arms crossed tight over her chest. Would they like her? Would they approve? She’d brought along all her old report cards showing the straight A’s, and a few of her soccer and swim team trophies. The scrapbook she’d made of the newspaper articles featuring her charity work. The list of colleges she wanted to attend.

  A knock sounded at the door. Her heart leaped into her throat. She froze, holding her breath, until realization dawned. She laughed. Here she’d been panicking that her dad had somehow found her or had sent the cops out after her, but the knock had to be from room service. She’d been starving when she checked in and had placed an order for the dinner special.

  She peeked through the spy hole, and then opened the door to the young server pushing a dinner cart. “On the table, please,” she said, motioning with her hand to the woman. She ran her hands down the wool skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles that had formed. Professional businesswomen probably didn’t bounce around on beds in their suits.

  “You hear for the convention?” the server asked, busily setting the table with Abbie’s meal. “We usually get tourists here, but I’ve seen a lot of you businesspeople down in the lobby, checking in today.”

  “Uh…yes.” Abbie’s voice came out high and squeaky. Not the mark of a professional, mature businesswoman. She cleared her throat. “Big meeting with the founders of my company tomorrow,” she lied. Well, she supposed that wasn’t exactly a lie: her birth parents could be considered the founders of her life. Substitute “company” for “life” and no one could say she’d lied. Just stretched the truth a little.

  And stolen a car and a credit card and run away to meet two complete strangers.

  Of course, if one were to get all technical, she hadn’t exactly “stolen” anything, just borrowed the car. And since Ember never examined her credit card statements, Abbie planned to find the credit card statement in the mail before Ember had a chance to see the charges. She’d send in a cashier’s check from her college savings. And since she’d be back from her trip before her dad and Ember returned from Tallahassee, no one would know she was gone.

  Besides, wasn’t running away something you did when you left home and planned to stay away? She planned on returning home.

  Unless, of course, her birth parents wanted her to stay with them in Meadowview. Hope surged through her. If that happened, she could leave her dad and stepmom alone with their about-to-be-born baby—the one thing that consumed them more than life itself. Certainly more than her.

  She pasted a bright and what she hoped was a professional smile on her face when the server turned her way.

  “All set,” the server said, gesturing toward the table. In the doorway, she turned and said, “You have a good meeting tomorrow, ma’am.”

  Abbie tipped her head the way she’d seen sophisticated women on TV excuse servants. When the maid pulled the door shut behind her, Abbie collapsed back onto the bed in a fit of giggles. She’d been called “ma’am.” She’d fooled the server into thinking she was a mature, professional woman.

  She wondered how her parents would see her. Would they think of her as sophisticated? Intelligent? Beautiful?

  Or would they see the same person her dad and Ember saw: the redheaded reject?

  She hugged her tummy again, suddenly wishing she wasn’t alone.

  * * *

  “Where the hell is my daughter, you jackass?”

  Hunter gripped the phone tight, listening to Abbie McHale’s father rail at him for all he was worth. It had taken Hunter a few minutes to calm down Darrin McHale enough to find out what had happened. On an extended trip to visit his in-laws with Abbie’s pregnant stepmother, Darrin had invaded his daughter’s privacy by checking her social networking page.

  Rightly so, apparently.

  From what Hunter could untangle out of the man’s furious and passionate diatribe, Abbie had stolen her father’s car and her stepmother’s credit card while they were in Tallahassee. She’d headed off to California and, according to the credit card company, was spending the night in Salt Lake City at an upscale hotel. On her way to Meadowview to meet her birth parents.

  Him and Liz.

  Hunter groaned as Darrin let loose with another strong of invectives. “Listen, Mr. McHale,” he interrupted, “I promise you I had nothing to do with Abbie taking off. I didn’t invite her to come and meet me.”

  “So why is my kid ditching school, her soccer tournament, and all her friends to drive to California? What did you promise her—that you’d all be one happy family? That thirteen years after dumping her, you suddenly wanted to steal her from the one person who raised her? The man changed her diapers? Who wiped away her tears when she sprained her ankle kicking the winning goal? Who held her when she cried over her first broken heart at age five?”

  Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, of course not. I sent her an email telling her I planned to meet with her birth mother, that’s all. I made a mistake communicating with her without you involved, I’ll admit.” Boy, had he ever fucked up. He swiped a hand across his forehead. The quaint and comfortable Victorian B&B lacked air conditioning. Or maybe the phone call from a furious Darrin McHale was generating the rolling trails of sweat that now dripped off his brow.

  Yeah, he’d fucked up, not contacting the girl’s parents when she first emailed him. He could have Googled the McHale family and found Darrin on LinkedIn or something. He’d let his excitement over meeting his biological daughter override any logical considerations. Idiot. Sure, he hadn’t anticipated Abbie to steal a car and run away to find him, but he still should have made it a point to speak with her parents.

  “You made a mistake even contacting her at all,” Darrin snapped. “She shouldn’t have had any contact with her birth parents until she’s more mature. The contact info wasn’t supposed to be released until her eighteenth birthday. Don’t you know she’s only thirteen?”

  Hunter ground his jaw shut, cutting off a cursed response. How the hell could he not know how old his daughter was? He’d th
ought about her every day since the moment he’d learned she’d been born.

  Yet Darrin McHale was right. Hunter hadn’t been the one to cradle her when she cried, to teach her how to ride a bike. The one to guide her on how to kick a soccer ball or ward off any interested boys. Abbie was Darrin McHale’s daughter, not his. Hell, until a few days ago, he hadn’t even known her name.

  “Mr. McHale, all I can say is how sorry I am. I’ll call her birth mother and arrange for one of us to be at the Meadowview address I gave Abbie. Unless she emails or calls, I don’t know what else to do here. Have you called the police?”

  “Of course. I called the minute I figured out her idiotic plan.”

  “Can they issue an Amber Alert or something? Put out an APB on your car?”

  “No.” Darrin’s voice was curt. “She hasn’t been kidnapped. She’s just run away. No Amber Alerts on runaways. And since I know where she’s going, she’s not exactly high priority.” Anger laced the man’s voice, but it was clear to Hunter that the anger covered up a parent’s panic.

  Hunter crouched forward in his chair, shoving a hand through his hair. “I’ll contact the local sheriff myself and let the department know what’s up. If she shows up, I’ll call. Then I’ll wait with her here until you arrive or I’ll escort her back home myself—whatever you want me to do.”

  “What I want is for you to stay the hell away from my kid. Forever.”

  The phone went dead.

  As did his heart.

  * * *

  Hunter’s harsh voice slammed into Liz. “You have to come back,” he said. “She needs us. Needs you. Your daughter needs you.”

  She hadn’t recognized the caller’s number when her cell phone rang, but groggy with sleep, had answered it anyway. Only to hear Hunter’s voice, thick with emotion.

  “Liz, come back to Meadowview. She’ll be here tomorrow. You need to be here when she shows up.”

  Her insides quivered. The nausea that had started the second she’d heard Hunter’s voice increased. Two minutes ago, she’d been in a deep sleep. Then her cell phone rang and the silence of both her bedroom and her mind were shattered with Hunter’s simple statement: their daughter had run away from her family and was on her way to Meadowview. On her way to find them.