HEATHER DROVE DOWN the gravel road as fast as she dared, which wasn’t very speedy, given that she was trying to find the driveway for the Cline place. Full darkness had fallen in the time between Xander’s call and her arrival.
“That idiot,” she said between clenched teeth. “As soon as I get him down from there I’m going to drag him back up and toss him to the ground my—”
Her phone rang, making her jump and swerve and let loose with some of the very best swear words Travis had taught her. All in French, of course, so their mother wouldn’t know what they were saying.
She jabbed the button to put it on speaker. “What?”
“You just drove past me.”
She couldn’t decide if she was relieved to hear his voice or more infuriated at how calm he sounded. Didn’t he have any idea of what could have happened?
“Wasn’t me. I’m at home, ironing the dress I’m wearing to my interview tomorrow.” Did she dare do a three-point turn? She didn’t have much choice. It wasn’t like there were driveways up and down the block out here in Boonieville.
“You should wear something red. That way, when you kill me, the blood won’t show.”
There was a thought.
She cranked the wheel, held her breath and backed up. If she went in the ditch, she would haul the stepladder out of the backseat, get Xander’s sorry ass out of the tree and then make him pull her car back onto the road all by himself. With a rope. Between his teeth.
“You know,” she said as she inched backward, “you blew it big-time tonight.”
“How’s that?”
Did he have to sound so damned cheerful? Even if she wasn’t furious with him, she was going to have to torture him just so he would stop being so friggin’ happy.
“Because I have that interview tomorrow.” There. She had enough room to make the turn now. She threw the car into Drive and edged forward, watching for the break in the grass that would mark the driveway. “Just before you called, I figured out that I was too wound up to be able to sleep tonight. At least, not without some help.”
She couldn’t quite make out what he said, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t fit for mixed company.
“Oh yeah, Xander. We’re talking serious booty call. You were going to have your world rocked from one end to the other, but you—”
There it was. Not a break, really. More like an indentation in the grass.
“Hold out your phone,” she ordered. “Wave it around.”
A moment later she spotted the light of a cell phone, flittering in circles like Tinker Bell showing off for Peter Pan. She aimed her headlights in the direction of the ruts and bounced her way down the path formerly known as a driveway.
“You should be able to see my car now,” he said, and yep, there it was. She eased up behind him, killed the engine and got out of the car.
“I hope you know that you owe me from here to eternity.” She slammed her door and opened up the back, hefting the stepladder and stumbling forward.
“I kind of figured that. Go slow. There’s a lot of bumps and rocks.”
“If something jumps out at me, you know where this ladder is going to end up, right?”
“Nothing’s going to jump out at you.” Before she could feel relieved, he added, “I already scared everything away.”
She stumbled over something. “Ow!”
“Are you okay?”
Well, at least that got rid of the cheerfulness, even if just for a moment. “Right as rain, sunshine.”
“Be careful, babe.”
Okay. She was not going to let go of her anger simply because he’d called her babe, even if she did get all tingly.
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark. She was able to pick out the differences in the shadows. The heat of the day was fading, and stars were beginning to crowd the sky. In truth, it was much better than pacing around the house and making endless tweaks to her presentation, but she refused to let Xander know that.
The stepladder wasn’t heavy, but it smacked against her shins as she carried it over the uneven ground. By the time she followed the light from Xander’s phone to the trunk of his perch, she was grumpy, sweaty and achy.
Then when she balanced the ladder and looked up to the light she could scarcely breathe for the fear punching the breath from her lungs.
Dear God. He was up there?
For a heartbeat, a breath, she couldn’t move, pinned in place by the weight of a thousand what-ifs. The night was too dark and the ladder was too short and the tree was too tall and she wasn’t strong enough—
Parenting Truth Number 392: The only way to get stronger is by building up your muscles. Start by pushing the fear away.
Falling apart and/or killing him could wait. Right now she had to push.
“The ladder is in place,” she called after bracing it on a flat bit of ground that was still close enough to the trunk that he could reach out and steady himself as needed. “But I don’t know if it’s tall enough. Maybe we should call—”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
“But—”
“Heather, I made it up here by myself. The odds are on my side.”
But logic wasn’t.
Branches swayed. Two running shoes appeared high above her.
“It’s too short,” she said. “I’m calling the fire department.”
“It’s not too short. I’ll be—”
Whatever he was going to say was lost in a rustle of leaves. The shoes dipped lower.
Holy crap, he was going to kill himself.
Heather grabbed the ladder and hauled herself up.
Don’t slip don’t slip don’t slip.
Was she talking to him or herself? She didn’t know. All that was certain was that he was determined to get down on his own and he wasn’t going to make it and the stupid ladder was too short and—
She braced herself against the top edge, sent up a frantic prayer for strength and reached for his shaking, searching legs.
“Got you.”
“Are you nuts?” His words were more grunted than spoken.
“Look who’s—oof—talking.” She guided his feet into position, not daring to breathe until both shoes were solidly planted on the tiny upper platform.
“Careful,” she said. “Crouch down and give me your—”
He must have read her mind, for a second later his hand grabbed hers. The other one landed hard on her shoulder. She tightened her grip on the sides of the ladder and clung for dear life.
Don’t tip don’t tip don’t tip.
“I’m good,” he said, and she allowed herself one moment to rest her forehead against his knees before making her descent, each step more wobbly than the one before it as adrenaline faded to aftershock.
She hit the sweet, blessed ground and stepped back to give him room. She waited until he was safe, until he had turned toward her, his face barely visible in the deepness of the night.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Stiff and sore, but yeah. I’m okay, thanks to you.”
No matter that there was blackness all around. She closed her eyes anyway for one brief moment of thanksgiving, one quick breath of relief.
Then, guided more by instinct than sight, she grabbed his shirt and shook him. Hard.
“What the hell were you thinking, Xander? Do you know how high you were? Do you have any idea how easily you could have slipped and—”
Her throat tightened. Damn it, she refused to do the angry cry thing. Instead, she gave him another shake.
“And what were you doing out here, anyway? You knew this wasn’t safe. You knew it was stupid and probably illegal, and I told you not to come out here and you promised—”
“Actually, I never promised anything.”
Wait. What? She tried to remember, then told herself to forget it. This was no time for technicalities.
“If you ever scare me like that again, I swear I’ll... I’ll... I’ll sneak into your house while you’re sleeping and tie you to your bed and...and smear mud all over you and then pour water all over you so you’re a cold, muddy mess, and then I’m going to...to...”
“Complete the torture by drinking hot coffee in front of me?”
That was it. She delivered one more shake, complete with a growling kind of huff, then whirled and headed toward the car. She couldn’t see, and her breath came in stupid little gasps that had absolutely nothing to do with tears, not at all, but if she didn’t get away from him she was going to—
“Heather. Hey.” His hand closed over her wrist, halting her flight. A moment later both hands were on her shoulders, kneading and soothing. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Nothing worked right anymore. She was shaking and wobbly, furious and grateful, and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do because it shouldn’t be this crushing, she shouldn’t be this lost, and she definitely shouldn’t want to turn around and bury her face in his chest and inhale him.
But she did.
“I’m sorry I was so stupid, and I’m sorry I scared you, and I—hang on. Are you cold?”
She shook her head. A lie. She was freezing, though not from the temperature.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you to the car. I have a blanket and—”
She didn’t need a blanket.
She needed him.
“No,” she said—to him? To herself?—but it didn’t matter because rational thought had been shoved aside by something a lot more primal. She needed to feel him. Needed to know he was truly okay. Needed to know she hadn’t lost him.
She wrapped her arms around him, not to shake this time but to grab and appraise, making absolutely certain he wasn’t hurt. Her lips followed the path of her hands. She yanked at his shirt, tugging it high so she could run her fingers over his chest, rub her palms over his ribs, nuzzle the spot where she could feel his heart pounding strong and unharmed and—as her hands moved lower—faster against her cheek.
“Heather—”
“Don’t,” she whispered, unsure herself what she was protesting. Don’t speak? Don’t stop? Don’t ever put me through that again?
Then his hands were on her butt and he was pushing against her and the sheer joy that he was okay had her leaning back, tilting her hips to feel even more of him, tugging her shirt over her head and winding her arms around his neck and pulling until he got the message and kissed her, hard and urgent but nowhere near as desperate as she was. And that wasn’t fair, because he was the one who did this to her and if she had to be frantic with need, then so should he.
She reached behind her, unhooked her bra and let it fall to the ground. The rush of cool night air against her aching breasts was short-lived, quickly nudged aside by his mouth. The darkness magnified her need, heightened her other senses. Every brush of his fingers had her bucking, every gasping breath had her pulse spiking, every taste of his skin beneath her mouth had her hungry and aching.
And there was only one way to fill her.
She grabbed his hands and slid toward the ground, never lifting her mouth as she made her way ever lower, leaving a path of heat and need that she was sure must be glowing in the night like the leftover trails from a sparkler. She pushed him flat on his back on the ground and went for the zipper on his shorts.
His hand closed over her wrist.
“Heather.”
His voice was raw, rasping. Like he was dragging it through layers of shoulds and shouldn’ts. Like he was finally as needy and aching and burning as she was.
About time.
“Heather. Babe. I don’t have anything—”
“It’s okay,” she whispered against his mouth while her hand worked the snap. “Tubes tied. Remember?”
His gulping breath seemed to surround her.
“But—”
No. No buts. Buts were most definitely not allowed. Not now. Not tonight.
“It’s good. I’m good. You’re good.” A faraway warning pierced the haze of want that surrounded her, a whisper almost drowned out by a pop as the snap released. “Right, Xander?” She tugged at his zipper. “No cooties?”
“Right. I—”
She didn’t need to hear anything else. Couldn’t even if she wanted to. His choked-out answer had flipped a switch inside her, drowning any lingering doubts in a flood of urgency. The blackness of the night blinded her to everything but Xander. His voice in her ear. His hands at her waist. His need as he lifted her, his raw whispers as he guided her, his groaning breath as he pushed into her.
For one ragged breath, maybe two, she stilled.
“Heather?”
“I want to...” Memorize. Absorb. Hover.
Then he grabbed her hips hard and pushed the rest of the world far, far away.
* * *
LATE THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Heather smiled as she shook the hands of the people who had interviewed her, thanked them all once more, and strode confidently out of town hall. She kept her shoulders back and her steps light as she made her way to her car.
But once she closed the door, she stared up at the roof and her whole body sagged.
Shit, shit, shit.
With a deep breath, she pulled her phone from her briefcase and did the Mommy Instinct check for messages. Nothing from the school, nothing from Hank—
A text from Xander.
How did it go?
What was she supposed to tell him? That she kept second-guessing herself because she hadn’t finished the review she’d planned last night because she’d been too busy rescuing and doing him? That when one of the members of the town council asked her about her favorite places in Comeback Cove, she had blushed so hard that she was sure they all knew exactly what she was reliving? That when another council member commented that her presentation blended both the fairy-tale past and the contemporary, she had frozen in place, remembering the wave of disbelief that had washed over her when she crashed out of her fairy tale and landed smack dab in a puddle of Oh my God, I had unprotected sex with a man who went to prison?
She was pretty sure she couldn’t put any of that in a text.
I’ll know soon enough.
She didn’t blame Xander. Well, other than for his idiocy in going out there in the first place. She was still steaming over that. But the rest—nope. That had been all her.
Can I come by tonight to grovel? I’ll bring dinner.
Her first instinct was to say no. Then again, her first instinct usually turned out to be a horrific mistake.
True, she needed time. Distance. The chance to sort through what had happened, to get some sleep so she could think clearly. Because when she finally stopped beating herself up and worrying about the interview long enough to fall asleep last night, she’d been jerked back to terrified wakefulness by the nightmare she hadn’t had for months. The one in which she was running through the old house, calling ever more frantically for Millie, only to open the door to the backyard and look out at the flooded creek to see—
She cupped her hands over her mouth and breathed in, steadying herself before she fell into old panic. She’d learned the hard way that hysteria, even when justified, didn’t make anything easier.
Her phone buzzed. Another text.
Seafood: thumbs-up or down?
It didn’t take a psychoanalyst to figure out why she’d had the dream again last night. She’d freaked over Xander. Her fear when she saw how high up he was had tapped into her worst nightmare and resurrected the memories that would haunt her until she died. But it also didn’t take any special training to recognize that the nightmare, and the night, and the evening had been a supersize wake-up call.
She was in over her head.
Seafood works, she typed, then tossed her phone into the backseat so she wouldn’t be tempted to read anything else.
She knew what she had to do. And it wouldn’t be made any easier by Xander making her laugh.
* * *
XANDER MADE A side trip to Brockville to pick up some specialties from the bistro that had catered Darcy and Ian’s wedding. Pecan baked brie, Prince Edward Island mussels swimming in wine cream, parmesan garlic mashed potatoes...if this didn’t convince Heather that he appreciated her assistance—and her—then nothing would. Except maybe the chocolate truffle cake that he’d grabbed at the last minute.
And after last night, he had a whole new appreciation for her. Not just because she had set aside her justified anger to help him. Not just because she had given him a whole new appreciation for starlight and soft grass, though God knew that had been one for the memory book.
No, this new insight had come before either of those. Back while he was in the tree, to be precise, in the time after he called and before she arrived. When it hit him that his first thought had been to call her. When he’d known, deep in his bones, that even though she was furious, she would do everything in her power to help. When the truth smacked him in the face like the sharpest tree branch: that even when it didn’t make sense, even when it would have been more logical to turn to someone else, he would have wanted her there anyway.
He was falling for Heather, harder and faster than he would have if he’d slipped from his perch. But unlike his seat in the tree, this drop looked a lot more like something he wanted.
Was he ready to say anything? No.
That didn’t make the evening any less deserving of celebration.
When Heather opened the door and inhaled, for a moment she looked almost as blissed out as she had the first time they made love. He wasn’t so sure he liked the thought that he could be replaced with some seafood, but on the other hand, it was good to know he’d chosen wisely.
“Come on in. And bring those amazing aromas with you.”
He followed her into the dining area, placed the bags on the table set for two and turned to her.
“First things first.” He pulled her in for a long kiss. Not just because he’d been reliving the feel of her against him all day, but because he needed to read her, to know if he had totally blown things by being an idiot. The best way to accomplish both of those tasks was with a kiss.
She didn’t throw herself into it the way she usually did, but neither did she try to cut it short. Or, worse, avoid it completely. That had to be good.
“I’m sorry,” he said, when he came up for air.
“For what?”
“For dragging you out at night. For distracting you the night before an interview. For scaring you.”
She stiffened slightly in his embrace.
“How about for doing something really shortsighted and dangerous?” she said.
Ah.
“How about I explain things while we eat?”
“Okay,” she said, and turned to the bags of food.
He would have felt a lot more confident if he hadn’t seen the tiny shake of her head before she moved.
A few minutes later, his plate flooded with mussels and a giant mound of potatoes, he decided to go for it. “So the Cline place. I went back to get some more shots. I had an idea for your presentation. Was it the smartest move? No. But did everything turn out okay? Yeah.”
At least, he thought it had all turned out okay until he noticed that she wasn’t meeting his gaze.
“I wasn’t as careful as I should have been. I usually take Lulu with me. And I’ve never gone in the evening before, which, I know, wasn’t the brightest move.” He pressed his fork into his potatoes, deepening the well of melted butter.
Something wasn’t right here.
“Heather.” He set down his fork and placed his hand over hers. She let him take it, which he tried to make himself believe was a good sign. “I learned my lesson, okay? I’m not going back there again. I have a thick skull sometimes, but even I know—”
“I thought about you all day.”
“Me—”
He stopped just before finishing the sentence. Not because it wasn’t true. But because, from the way Heather was staring at her untouched food, he didn’t think she was as delighted as he was.
“See, the thing is,” she said softly, “I should have been thinking about the interview. The job. The one that would make it easier for me to share custody of Millie, which is, you know, the reason I was doing all this in the first place.”
Oh hell.
“You probably did better than you think.”
Wrong. He knew he’d said the exact wrong words as soon as they slipped out. She didn’t want empty assurances. She wanted truth.
“Sorry. I know you’re worried. I shouldn’t have said that.”
She shook her head impatiently. Like it didn’t matter what he said. Like she had already said everything to herself, and whatever words he might offer were just so much hot air.
“I don’t like what you did,” she said, pulling her hand back. “And I really don’t like how you seem to think that since everything turned out okay, that makes it all hunky-dory.”
“I don’t—”
“But,” she pushed on, “I don’t like what I did even more.”
“What? You wish you hadn’t bailed me out?” He forced a laugh. “Okay, I know I deserved to stay up in that tree, but—”
“Xander.”
Yeah. Right. He was being an idiot again.
He grabbed his fork and swirled it through the potatoes, pushing them into a butter-filled volcano. Appropriate, since he felt about ready to explode.
“You know that I don’t have a problem—I mean, it’s not that I like that you went to jail. But I understand about messing up, and...” She pulled her hands in tight, twisting them together in front of her chest. “But the thing is, you’re in a high-risk group. And I let myself—no. I practically forced you to have unprotected sex with me.”
Was that what this was about? Relief washed through him.
“Heather. Babe. It’s okay. I told you—”
“I wasn’t exactly asking at a time when you—when anyone—would have been inclined to say anything else.”
His memory spun back...the grass beneath his back, the blackness pressing down, her hands and lips and that catch in her voice that was for him... “That’s, uh, a valid point. But you don’t need to worry. I’m clean. Nothing happened to me in jail, and since then I’ve always been careful. More since I found out about Cady, ’cause even though she’s the best thing that ever happened to me, she was a condom baby, so I know...” But that wasn’t what she was asking. “If you want me to have a test, say the word. It’s not a problem.”
“Except it kind of is.” She lifted her gaze from her knotted hands. “Not because of you, okay? And it’s not that I don’t believe you, because I do. Really. But I... When I’m with you, I can’t trust myself.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Except if he really wanted to be honest, it did. It sounded like the way he’d felt when he agreed to do that last, fatal hack. He had known it was wrong and known he was being twelve kinds of stupid, but it had grabbed at him and tempted him, and damn his fool hide, but he had yielded big-time.
“I know that you’re a good guy. I know you would never do anything to hurt me, or Millie, even by mistake. But I am her mom. And I’ve already used up my second chance at that, you know?” She swallowed hard. “Last night, I let myself forget that. I took a stupid, idiotic chance, and, okay, this time I got lucky, but still...”
This wasn’t really happening. She couldn’t be breaking up with him.
“I probably blew the interview. I could have ended up exposed to God-knows-what. All because I let myself forget what mattered most.”
“Heather, I know that Millie is your top priority, but I think we could—”
She closed her eyes, tightly, like she was in physical pain.
He knew that one perfectly.
“I can’t take that chance.”
The thickness in her voice told him that this was wrenching her almost as much as it was killing him.
Almost.
“I guess maybe I should leave.”
She bit her lip and nodded, so small and slow that if he tried hard, he could probably pretend he hadn’t seen it.
But he had. And she had. And he wasn’t going to beg.
He might be an idiot who played the odds, but even he knew when to let go.
* * *
HEATHER HAD ALWAYS KNOWN that doing the wrong thing made her miserable. But she’d never thought that doing the right thing could leave her feeling even worse.
She missed Xander. Ridiculously so, considering they had only been together for, what, five or six weeks? Yet she couldn’t get him out of her head.
It didn’t help that every time she turned around, she bumped up against another reminder of him. When she ran into Tim Hortons for a coffee... When she did a frantic search through her closet to find something to wear to a networking event and her hand stilled on the dress she had worn to the wedding... When she answered her phone and heard that, miracle of miracles, she was on the short list for the tourism job.
You probably did better than you think.
Okay. Xander had been right about that. But being right in one area didn’t mean he was right about other things. Or that she had been wrong.
Besides, this was better for him. This way, he could get back on the dating circuit and meet someone who was interested in making babies as opposed to making whoopee, and the next thing you know he’d be toting a mini-Xander around the North family gatherings. And she would be happy for him. Yep. Frickin’ ecstatic. Because she had done the right thing, yes she had.
All she had to do was keep moving.
She purposely scheduled her second interview for a Thursday, so she would have Millie the night before. It was hard to be nervous or yearning with a preteen debating endlessly about who she hoped would be in her class in September. Heather was able to listen with one ear, nodding and smiling in the appropriate places while doing her best to keep her inner freak-out contained.
It wasn’t until they sat down to dinner that things fell apart.
Heather set Millie’s plate on the table and returned to the kitchen to get her own food. She was hovering over the potatoes, trapped in the sudden memory of Xander playing with his pile of spuds the night it ended, when a small sound from the table made her swing around. Millie huddled in her chair with her head bowed. Probably not in prayer.
“Mills?” Heather hurried to the table. “Honey, are you—wait. Are you crying?”
A slow nod of the head was the only answer.
“What’s wrong?” Heather pulled her chair close and sat down, knees bumping her girl’s legs, drawing Millie’s head into her embrace. “What’s the matter, honey?”
“It’s just...this is so nice.” Millie caught her breath. “But I don’t...”
“You don’t what?” And since when was having a nice dinner a reason for tears? She didn’t remember the parenting classes ever covering this one.
“Because I’m still not here. More. With you.”
Oh sweet Jesus. Tonight?
“You said you would talk to Daddy.” Millie words came out in a rush, like she’d been holding them in too long. “You promised. But you haven’t, and I still don’t have lots of time with you, and I love Daddy and Brynn and Noah but don’t...but don’t you want me here?”
“Oh, Millie. Baby.” She cradled her weeping girl, sent up a fleeting wish that this could have happened when they were sitting on the sofa, then framed Millie’s face with her hands and tipped it up. All the better to kiss her girl’s forehead.
“Sweetheart. I want you more than anything else in my life. Believe me. That hasn’t changed and it never will.”
“But you haven’t—”
“Yes, I did. Daddy and I have talked about it a couple of times.”
“What did he say?”
How to phrase this without making it sound as though she were bad-mouthing Hank?
“That it’s a big step and he needs time to think about it.”
“How much time?”
“As long as it takes.”
Millie’s face crumpled. “But that could take forever!” She pushed her chair back, standing up, stepping out of Heather’s embrace. “Why don’t you make him do it? Why don’t you just tell him he has to do it, like when you tell me I have to do something? How come you guys get to decide everything and I have to do whatever you say, and nobody ever does what I want?”
Breathe. Count. Space.
“Some decisions have to be made by the parents. Kids aren’t always able to see every side of a situation, or—”
“No! No, that’s not fair! You always tell me I’m so smart, and I’m so grown-up. But you’re still treating me like...like a baby.”
“I do listen to you. Millie. I mean, as soon as you asked me about this, back at Cady’s party, I started working on it.”
“But that was ages ago.”
“I know it feels that way. But I had to get some things in line before I could talk to Daddy. Now he needs time. It wouldn’t be fair to—”
“How come you only worry about being fair to him? What about to me?” Millie tossed her glasses to the table, wiped the tears from her face with jerky motions, wrapped her arms tight around herself. “You moved back here forever ago. I waited and waited for you to have me here more, but you didn’t, and then I asked you and you still didn’t.” Her mouth trembled. “You really don’t want me, do you?”