“What about Daddy?”
The way Stephanie angled her chin, similar to the way a boxer in the ring would, created a small ache in Taylor’s chest.
“Because of Stephen, I got to have you. I’ll always be thankful to him for that.”
“You make it sound more like a business arrangement than love,” Stephanie accused as she rose and began to pace the room.
The ache grew in both size and strength. Apparently, their brief lull had ended. “There are many kinds of love, Stephanie. Just as there are many ways it can be expressed and many influences that alter or affect it. What I felt for Stephen is different from what I felt for Lucas.”
“And now?” Stephanie demanded. “What do you feel for him now?”
The door opened, saving Taylor from answering. But the tension in her heightened because her pulse scampered at the sight of Lucas. Then she realized he wore a scowl on his face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked and nearly added, Now.
“Stan Newman, three other reporters, and two photographers are outside. They said you told them to come for a press conference.”
“I told you I would rather meet them under my own terms than have them blindside me. I’m doing what I think is best for my client, Lucas.”
From her peripheral vision, she saw Stephanie approach Micah. As a woman she recognized the signs of feminine interest. As a mother she worried about how far Stephanie, especially while going through a rebellious stage, would let that interest proceed.
She straightened her shoulders. “Here’s what I’d like for each of you to do.”
The press conference behind her, wanting to delay going to Lucas’s house, Taylor reached for the comfort of going where she felt certain to be welcomed.
The exterior walls of the flower shop had a new coat of daffodil yellow paint. The little brass bell jingled the way it always had when the door opened. Taylor stood with her hand clutching the doorknob, recalled the trepidation she’d felt on her first visit, the uncertainty of whether or not she’d get the part-time job she’d come for. Then she recalled the fear and nausea tumbling in her stomach and chilling her skin at her last visit. And the staggering loss that followed when she’d learned about Lucas’s marriage.
With deliberate care she kept her gaze away from the curtain leading to the back room. Too many memories—including good ones of sharing a cup of tea and talking with Mrs. Brewer —hid behind that cloth. Rather than dwell on the past she glanced around, and focused on the changes.
The main room had been expanded, opening up space to display a variety of gift items. One wall held the cooler showcasing floral arrangements and buckets of fresh flowers, waiting for a delivery or a last-minute purchase to celebrate a birthday, anniversary, or declaration between lovers. She felt the soft sigh of her heart that couldn’t be stopped.
“Welcome back, Taylor.”
She looked the same. Older, of course, with a few more lines around the eyes and mouth, more white than blonde now streaking through her hair. But the lively step and the warmth in her voice were just as she remembered. Taylor smiled, probably the first genuine smile she’d had since opening her door to Lucas.
“Mrs. Brewer.”
Even her hug was the same, Taylor realized as she felt herself enveloped by strong arms, cushioned by the softness of an ample bosom. There was a forgotten unconditional acceptance in the feel of the stiff cotton of the ever-present apron, with tools and floral picks jammed into the roomy pockets. She recalled all the times she’d wished this woman had been her mother. Tears pricked her eyes before they were immediately banished.
“I was wondering if you would stop by to see me,” Mrs. Brewer remarked.
“How could I not?”
“You waited eighteen years to come back. What would another day or two matter?”
She managed to not wince at the slight chastisement. “I’m sorry, I should have made the time for a visit.”
“Never mind me, I’m just being selfish. I’ve missed you. You’ve had a life, a busy one from all I’ve heard. I’m so proud of all you’ve accomplished.” She squeezed Taylor’s hands. “I was sorry to hear about your husband. He seemed like a good man.”
“He was.”
Pauline Brewer squeezed Taylor’s hands again, then nodded at Lucas and Micah before focusing on Stephanie. “And this young lady I certainly recognize. You look just like your father at this age.”
“You knew my dad?”
“I’ve seen enough pictures to notice the resemblance.” She winked. “So, are you as stubborn as your mother?”
“Yes, she is,” Taylor answered, relieved and pleased when Stephanie grinned. Lately she couldn’t be sure how Stephanie would react or respond to adults. At one time she’d been polite and respectful—but that was before Stephen’s death.
“My mom worked for you when she lived here, right?” Stephanie looked around the room, then over at her mother. “Although I gotta tell you, she can’t grow flowers at all.”
Pauline chuckled. “I’ll let you in on a secret. Neither can I. My only talent is arranging them in pretty containers. When she worked here, your mother mostly helped out either in the back stock room or here in front.” She smiled at Lucas. “She enjoyed chatting with customers.”
“Even the non-paying ones,” he said.
“And now you’ve brought her back. Micah.” Both her voice and the hand she lifted to his cheek conveyed concern and fondness. “I know you would never do what that Whitfield girl claims you did.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Brewer.”
“Well, you couldn’t ask for a better lawyer than our Taylor. And you’ll be staying with Lucas and Micah.” Pauline chuckled at the look on Taylor’s face. “You’ve been away from a small town too long, girl. Doesn’t take long for that kind of news to travel.”
“Hard to keep news quiet when you hold a press conference on the courthouse steps,” Lucas commented.
“Taylor always has a reason for everything she does. I’m sure she did this time.” The look Mrs. Brewer gave her spoke volumes, much of which Taylor didn’t feel ready to deal with right now. “I imagine you have plenty to do, so I won’t keep you. But promise you’ll come back soon when we can have a cup of tea and a good, long visit.”
“I’d enjoy that,” Taylor said.
They all stepped out onto the wide old-fashioned porch running the width of the store. Micah and Stephanie managed to stand side by side, whispering to each other while Lucas stepped up to the railing. Taylor tried to pay attention to what Mrs. Brewer said, but she kept watching Lucas. In what she could only guess was an unconscious gesture, his hand spread wide over the top beam of the railing. Two inches to the right of the main post. Her pulse skidded.
Two inches, one for each year they’d dated. His thumb dipped down, caressing the wood. And the initials he’d carved there late one Saturday afternoon while waiting for her to finish work. Their initials. A silly thing. A high school sweetheart kind of gesture. Yet it seemed to have lasted through the years.
“Dad?”
Lucas looked up, his gaze glancing off Taylor’s before meeting his son’s. With one last stroke, he removed his hand from the railing.
“Stephanie and I are going to walk over to the drug store to get something to drink before we head home. Okay?”
“If Taylor doesn’t mind.”
She had to dig a little deeper for the control that usually came so routinely. “Is that really necessary? I mean, aren’t we heading. . .” She paused, suddenly, unexplainably unwilling to use the word home. It lent too much intimacy to the place where she and Stephanie would be staying for the next several weeks.
“Oh, wait,” Stephanie said and Taylor felt her spine stiffen. She knew that tone only too well. She looked at Micah. “I’m the one being treated like a convict—no freedom, no money, and no contact with the outside world unless approved by my mother.”
Taylor winced at her daughter’s thoughtlessness, but Micah di
dn’t let Stephanie get off easily. The patient cadence of his voice, coupled with the unflinching look in his gaze reminded her of his father.
“Spend a night in jail and face the possibility of more. Then you’ll have the right to complain.”
Stephanie had the good grace to blush which is why Taylor drew her wallet out of her purse. “Here.” She handed over a five-dollar bill and forced a small smile. “Drinks are on me.”
“Reminds me of watching the two of you hurry off to be by yourself,” Pauline remarked, doing nothing to calm Taylor’s misgivings. “’Course that was a long time ago. You’re both different people now with a different way of looking at things.” Her gaze traveled from Lucas to Taylor. “Can’t say as I like the reason why, but it does this old heart of mine some good to see the two of you together again.”
“She’s right,” Lucas mused after Pauline went back inside the store. “I do look at things differently now.”
Taylor started to ask him how, or in what way, but she was afraid he would tell her. And that she wouldn’t like the truth. Or worse, that he would expect the same kind of confession from her.
A part of her questioned if she knew any longer the difference between the real truth versus what she’d hidden behind as a means to keep her conscience clear.
Chapter 5
Stephanie conned her way into sitting between the two men for the drive to Lucas’s home. Taylor had hoped the quiet drive alone would help her collect her thoughts, but instead she found it hard to concentrate. She turned to the radio and hoped the classical station would soothe her jangled nerves. Only she realized that would have been Stephen’s preference. She scanned until a fast-paced rock song from years earlier blasted through the speaker. At a small wooden sign indicating a right-hand turn would bring them to Black’s Custom Furniture and Design, they headed down a tree-lined, gravel drive.
Proof of Lucas’s success was evident in the immaculate condition of his home, and the large workshop to the left rear of the house. Pride in his home and business were apparent in the upkeep and maintenance of the property. Both buildings were fashioned with a gabled roof line and a covered porch running across the front length. Black shutters contrasted against pristine white siding. Other than size, two black rocking chairs and a swing suspended from the porch ceiling distinguished the house from workshop. Red geraniums filled window boxes in addition to lining the brick walkway connecting the two buildings.
When Taylor stepped out of her car, a sense of serenity enveloped her. Something she hadn’t felt in several years, let alone in the last few hours.
“Oh, Lucas,” she said when he stood beside her, “it’s beautiful. I can see why you’re so proud of what you have here.”
“Thank you.” He took a slow survey of the land, the look of a man who appreciated what he’d worked hard to attain. “Quite a step up from the shack Dad and I lived in.”
He’d talked for hours about how much he hated that place—not so much the size or even the general disrepair of the house, but more so for what it represented. As much as she’d sympathized with Lucas and the conditions of the way he lived, at least Lucas had the knowledge of where he came from.
“You always said you wanted land of your own.”
“I’ve had some offers recently from a developer who wants the land to build a shopping center. He even mentioned something about adding a clause for me to do some of the interior work.”
She took another look around, couldn’t imagine giving all this up. “Are you considering the offer?”
“Not now. I had to use the property as collateral for Micah’s bail.” He settled his hands on his hips. “There’s a part of me that wonders if the center might be good for the town. Then there’s the part of me that figures it’ll ruin the other small businesses. But the bottom line is I don’t know if I can give all this up. I worked so hard to get to this point.” He stared at her and she felt her stomach muscles tighten. “You know what that feels like.”
Taylor jumped at the sound of an engine roaring to life. She turned to see Micah, his face obscured by the darkened shield of his helmet, driving a black and silver motorcycle out of the detached garage. Quick as a wink, he disappeared down a path into the woods behind the workshop. Stephanie, obviously annoyed with having been left behind, kicked at a clump of dirt.
“Micah has a slight problem with claustrophobia,” Lucas explained as his gaze remained on the spot where his son had ridden. “About four years ago some kids thought they would be cute so they locked him into a janitor’s closet at the end of the school day. He was the skinny, quiet freshman and they were big, tough seniors. When I finally found him, Micah’s fingertips were bloody from trying to pry the door knob loose.”
Taylor gasped.
“Micah never named the boys. Instead, he started lifting weights. He said he didn’t want to be so weak that someone could take advantage of him again.” Lucas looked at her.
“That’s why I know he would never do what Rebecca’s accused him of doing. You don’t have to worry about Stephanie when she’s with him.”
Taylor looked away from the soft pleading in his gaze and studied her daughter. She took in the short, provocative skirt, the exaggerated makeup. Stephanie had changed so much in the last months, in both appearance and temperament. From this distance she couldn’t actually see it, but the new butterfly tattoo—and the inherent danger only she knew existed—was engraved on her mind.
“Yes, I do.” She looked back at Lucas, admitting as much as she dared. “I do, but,” she went on before he could argue or ask for any further explanation, “not for the reason you might think.”
Stephanie joined them. “Wouldn’t you know it? About the time I decide Micah might provide me with a little entertainment while I’m stuck in this hole in the wall, and he tells me I can’t go for a ride on his bike.”
“Micah needs a little time alone first,” Lucas softly explained. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to give you a ride later.”
Stephanie shrugged a shoulder. “It’s not as if I have anything else to do but wait.”
“I could find something for you to do in my workshop.”
“No.” Taylor bit down on her lip when Stephanie and Lucas both looked over. “That is, I mean we should unpack.”
As much as she didn’t want to stay here so close to Lucas, she damn sure didn’t want to go anywhere near his workshop. For as long as possible, she needed to evade the avalanche of memories that were sure to rip through her heart and mind the way a saw buzzed through wood.
Stephanie stared at her, and Taylor had the unmistakable impression her daughter knew she was avoiding something. Rather than reach out and all but drag Stephanie into the house, Taylor slid her hands into the pockets of her slacks.
Stephanie turned to Lucas, confirming Taylor’s suspicion. “I’ve never seen a wood workshop before.”
As they walked toward the workshop, Taylor’s cell phone rang. She drew out the sliver-thin phone, saw Bryan’s name on the ID window and slid the phone back into her pocket unanswered. No way was she going to stand outside speaking to Bryan and leave Stephanie and Lucas alone.
The odors came first. Despite her misgivings she took a deep breath of the rich, heady smell of wood mixed with the pungent fragrance of stain, paint, and turpentine. Because she always associated them with time spent with Lucas, these were the scents that somehow freed her most basic feelings of sensuality. Her need for the intimacy of being held, of being caressed with the same delicate touch he used when crafting the wood.
“It’s so clean,” Stephanie commented. “I thought there would be sawdust and pieces of wood all over the place.”
Taylor smiled. “Lucas always keeps his workplace neat.”
“How do you know?”
“Your mother used to help me sometimes,” Lucas explained.
“You mean when you wouldn’t give me a chance to refuse.”
His grin held no apology. “You loved it, and you know it
.”
“Yeah,” Taylor admitted, forgetting her professional image long enough to allow the youthful slang to slip free. “I guess I did.”
“We didn’t always get a lot done, but we had some good times.”
Taylor knew it wasn’t the heat from inside the workshop that was responsible for the burn on her cheeks. Or the warmth curling low in her belly.
Stephanie walked over to a structure atop a pair of sawhorses. “What’s this going to be?”
“Kitchen cabinets.”
Taylor’s breath lodged painfully in her throat when Lucas moved to stand next to Stephanie. She wanted to call out and stop him. She even considered turning and running out of the workshop. Suddenly she didn’t feel strong enough to watch this scene or face the memories.
But she stayed. And she watched. Because it was her daughter’s future more than her own at risk.
Lucas answered Stephanie’s questions, pointed out a few details that help distinguish his custom work from factory-made cabinets. As he’d done so many years ago with her, he took a scrap piece of wood and a sanding block, then put his hand over Stephanie’s and showed how careless sanding can damage the wood’s grain. Taylor watched both of those hands, the masculine covering the feminine, seeing so many similarities among the differences.
“You’re a natural,” he complimented, earning a grin from Stephanie. “Are you sure you don’t want to work as my assistant while you’re here?”
“I wouldn’t if I were you, Steph,” Micah called from the doorway.
His cheeks were flushed from the wind, his hair matted from the helmet he’d worn, and his jeans dusty from the trail he’d traveled through the woods. As an attorney, Taylor worried how this wild and untamed look might hurt his case. The mother took note of his intimately shortened use of her daughter’s name as much as the slow, appraising smile Stephanie sent his way.
“Why not?” she asked, her voice soft and flirtatious.
Shared Secrets Page 6