THE SETTING SUN WASHED downtown Monroe in gold as Claire walked to the garden center. In spite of her fears, she was determined not to hide in her house.
As she passed the tobacco shop, the door opened and Andrea Vernon stepped in front of her.
“Hi, Andrea,” she said. “I haven’t seen you lately.”
Andrea clutched a bag to her chest and looked away from Claire. “I’ve been busy at work,” she said. “I don’t get into town very often.”
“How are you doing?” Claire asked.
“Fine.” Andrea gave her a tight smile. “Just fine.”
The young woman still hadn’t looked at Claire, and a sick feeling rose up inside her. “Andrea, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Why would you think anything’s wrong?” Andrea’s voice sounded brittle, as if each word would shatter if it hit the ground.
Claire moved around Andrea and studied her face. “You’re wearing an awful lot of makeup for a trip to the tobacco store,” she said softly.
Andrea turned her head away. “I like makeup.”
“I used to wear a lot of makeup, too,” Claire said, laying her hand on Andrea’s arm. The other woman flinched, but Claire didn’t let go. “Is that Roger’s favorite brand of pipe tobacco?” she asked, nodding at Andrea’s bag.
When Andrea didn’t answer, Claire moved around to face her head-on. “It’s not going to help, Andrea. I used to try and pacify him, too. I’d buy that tobacco for him, or fix his favorite dinner, or rent a movie he wanted to see. It didn’t stop him from hitting me.”
“I didn’t say he was hitting me!”
“You don’t have to, Andrea. I was married to him. I know what he is.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Andrea whispered. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Yes, you do.” Claire fumbled in her purse, held out the card she kept there. “This is the shelter I went to. They helped me get away and reclaim my life, and they can do the same for you.”
Andrea stared at the card, hope and fear battling in her eyes. “What would I do if I left Roger?”
“Anything you want.” Claire tucked the card into the pocket of Andrea’s sweater. “I went to college and eventually started my own business.”
Andrea touched her pocket, then let her hands fall to her side. “I’m not smart enough to go to college.”
“I know Roger told you that, because it’s what he told me, too. He’s lying, Andrea. He doesn’t want you to go to college because then he’ll lose his control over you.” Anger sharpened Claire’s voice and she struggled to rein it in. The last thing Andrea Vernon needed was another angry person telling her what to do.
Claire saw the indecision and fear in Andrea’s eyes and touched her arm again. “I’ll drive you to the shelter, Andrea. Call me anytime and I’ll pick you up.”
“I can’t do that,” she whispered, touching her face. “Roger would be even more angry if you helped me.”
“Then call Seth Broderick. He’ll take you to the shelter.”
“The police?”
“Yes, the police. What Roger is doing is a crime.”
Andrea shoved her hand into her pocket. “I’ll think about it.”
Claire let her hand drop away from the other woman. “It’s not going to get any better,” she said, her voice gentle. “You know that.”
“I said I’d think about it.” She raised her voice and shoved past Claire. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Claire watched as Andrea hurried to her car. Had she pushed Andrea too hard? Had she only alienated the young woman?
On the other side of the street, Derek Joiner and two women stood on the steps of City Hall, watching. When they caught her eye, they waved and hurried away. One of the women was Annamae Shelton.
Employees leaving for the day, she thought. Please don’t let Annamae gossip about this, Claire prayed. Everyone in town knew her marriage to Roger had ended badly. So far, the people she’d talked to had been careful not to mention it, but the small-town grapevine would be quick to let Roger know his wife had been talking to his ex-wife.
She’d done the right thing, she told herself. She couldn’t ignore the abuse. At least Andrea had the card. Maybe she’d gather the courage and strength to use it.
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, Claire sat back on her heels and used the back of her hand to push her hair out of her eyes. The mums she’d bought the evening before at the garden center were almost all planted. But she couldn’t enjoy the pungent scent of the flowers or the pleasure of working in the dirt.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Andrea, couldn’t stop worrying about her. And she couldn’t stop her growing anger at Roger from spilling over, painting everything in her life with its toxic brush.
No more. Stripping off her gardening gloves, Claire stood up and strode into the house. Picking up the phone, she dialed her attorney’s office.
“This is Claire Kendall,” she said when the receptionist answered the phone. “Is Paul available?”
“I’ll check, Ms. Kendall.”
The music that played while she waited was supposed to be calming. Instead, it just made her tap her foot with impatience. Finally her attorney picked up the phone. “Hello, Claire. What can I do for you?”
“Hi, Paul. You can tell me what’s going on with Roger Vernon and the man he says is my nephew’s father.”
“Hold on while I get the file.”
When he came back on the line, her attorney said, “You haven’t heard anything more from Vernon?”
“I told him to contact you. I don’t want to deal with him.”
“I sent him a letter right after I talked to you, asked him for the information he had, as well as the name of your nephew’s father. I haven’t heard back from him.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Most of the time I’d say no. Delay is one of the favorite tactics of the legal profession.” Claire could hear the grin in his voice. “But since he was the one who came to you, it’s not what I would expect.”
Cold, implacable anger began building inside her. “Do you think it’s possible he’s made the whole thing up?”
“What would be the point of that?”
She cleared her throat. “I have a history with him. And it’s not a pleasant one.”
“I suppose it’s possible,” he said, and Claire could hear him frown. “But it would be an incredibly stupid thing to do. That’s the kind of stunt that could get him disbarred. Why don’t I give him a call, see what’s going on?”
“Thanks, Paul.”
“I’ll call you back as soon as I talk to him.”
Claire was back in the garden twenty minutes later, planting the last of the mums, when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“It’s Paul, Claire. I just spoke to Vernon. After a little gentle persuasion, he admitted that he doesn’t have the name of the man he says is your nephew’s father.”
She sucked in her breath. “That bastard.”
“But he says he has a client who knows. This client is supposedly acting as a go-between for Vernon and the father.”
“Why go to Vernon? Why not come directly to me?”
“The exact question I asked Vernon. He got all blustery and pompous on me, but I think he sees himself as a big wheel in that little town of yours. When this guy asked him to handle the situation, I suspect his ego got in the way and prevented him from asking why.”
“I think I need to have a talk with Vernon,” Claire said.
“That’s the kind of thing I should handle for you, Claire.”
“Not this time. This time I’m fighting my own battles.”
And Nick’s. She should have done this when Roger had first told her about Nick’s father, she thought as she set the phone back in its cradle. Her own issues with Roger didn’t matter. Roger was playing a game with Nick’s emotions, and it was going to stop today.
An hour later, she walked into a small restaurant in Clinton, the county seat, and spotted Roger talking to a waitress. The woman smiled and blushed at something Roger said, and he leaned forward and took her hand.
Anger for Andrea joined her rage at what he was doing to Nick, and she strode toward Roger’s booth.
“Hello, Roger,” she said, and the waitress gave her a shocked look. “No, I’m not his wife,” she said to the waitress. “She lives in Monroe.”
The waitress backed up, her face crimson, and Roger started to slide out of the booth. “What do you think you’re doing, Claire?” he snarled.
She leaned toward him. “Sit down, Roger, and I’ll tell you exactly what I think I’m doing.”
The shock on Roger’s face matched the waitress’s. Slowly he sank down into the vinyl bench of the booth.
Instead of sitting opposite him, Claire stood, staring down at her ex-husband. “What’s going on, Roger? I just talked to my lawyer, and he said you don’t know the name of the man who claims to be Nick’s father.”
“I have a client—” he began, but she interrupted him.
“I know all about your so-called client. And don’t tell me about attorney-client privilege. You tell me who your client is, right now.”
“I can’t do that,” he said, regrouping and giving her a superior look. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
“Is that right?” She kept her gaze on him and felt a vicious tug of satisfaction when he began to squirm. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to think about it. If you haven’t given me the name by then, I’ll go to Chief Broderick.” She narrowed her eyes. “You do know he’s investigating Janice’s death? I think Seth might be very interested in a mysterious man who claims to be her son’s father and appears right after she dies.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Claire,” Roger blustered. “My client is a prominent citizen of Monroe. He couldn’t be involved in your sister’s death.”
“We’ll leave that to Seth Broderick to find out,” she retorted. “Twenty-four hours, Roger. Or you’ll be talking to Seth.”
She turned on her heel and walked out of the restaurant, but instead of the triumph she expected, she felt only sadness. It was more than likely there was no man claiming to be Nick’s father. She dreaded telling Nick, dreaded the pain she’d see in his face.
Would she be enough for her nephew?
TUCKER JUMPED UP from Claire’s porch, paced across the floor again. He’d been waiting for almost an hour, but there was still no sign of Claire.
Frantic worry tangled with building anger inside him. She hadn’t even told Nick where she was going.
He’d tried calling her cell phone, but got only her voice mail. He’d driven back to his own house three times, hoping she’d left a message on his machine. And he’d checked his cell phone more times than he could count.
Nothing.
He peered through the front window once more, hoping to find a clue to her whereabouts. But nothing looked different than it had five minutes ago.
As he stared into the window, he heard tires crunching on the driveway behind him. Spinning around, he saw Claire’s car roll to a stop.
He ran down the steps and yanked her door open. “Are you all right?” he said, grabbing her wrist.
“I’m fine. Tucker, what’s wrong?” She reached out, clutched his shirt. “Is it Nick? Did he get hurt at practice?”
“Nick is fine.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Nick called me from the Johnsons’. He’d been trying to call you and thought I might know where you were. I got worried when I couldn’t get hold of you, either.”
“What did Nick need?”
“Apparently a bunch of the guys on the team are sleeping over at the Johnsons’ tonight, after the pasta party. He wanted to know if he could stay.”
“Oh.” She smiled as she climbed out of the car. “I’ll call and tell him it’s okay.”
“Is that all you can say?” The words exploded out of him, and he felt his grip on his temper loosening.
She turned to look at him. “What am I supposed to say? Of course Nick can stay at the Johnsons’.”
“I’m not talking about Nick,” he said, slashing his hand through the air. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“What?” She stared at him, puzzled. “How did I scare you?”
“You disappeared!” Fear and relief swirled through him in a churning, roiling mix. “You took off and didn’t tell a soul where you were going. Nick didn’t even know.”
“Nick was going right over to the Johnsons’ after school,” she said. “He wouldn’t have known the difference if I was home or not.”
“You had your cell phone turned off,” he shouted, taking a step toward her. “No one could get hold of you.”
Fear darkened her eyes for a moment, then she straightened her back. “Why don’t you come into the house, Tucker?” she said, her voice stilted. “I don’t want to give the neighbors a free show.”
The relief that she was unhurt had transformed his worry into anger. He stalked behind her into the house, slammed the door behind them.
She turned on him. “What’s this about, Tucker? And don’t tell me it’s about Nick.”
“No, it’s not about Nick. Damn it, Claire! You didn’t think anyone would worry if you just disappeared?”
“I didn’t disappear! I went somewhere for a few hours.” Her eyes darkened. “You think because I slept with you that I’m supposed to report to you before I leave the house?”
“Of course not.” He wondered at that shadow of fear, the remembered pain in her eyes. Unease slithered through him as he realized he wanted the right to know her schedule, to know where she was and what she was doing. It scared the hell out of him.
He struggled to control his temper, to rein in his anger. “Nick was worried,” he said in a steadier voice. “And so was I.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, touching his arm. “I didn’t mean for you or Nick to worry about me.”
“Can I ask where you were?” he said, fighting with the anger that made him want to reach out and punch the wall.
“I went to Clinton to talk to Roger Vernon,” she said. “I think he’s been lying about knowing who Nick’s father is. I haven’t figured out how yet, but I think it has something to do with Janice’s death.”
“What?” he shouted. The wave of fear that swept over him almost brought him to his knees. “You drove to Clinton, by yourself, to confront a man who might be involved with your sister’s murder?”
“He wasn’t a stranger. I know Roger.”
“Claire, have you forgotten about your little slide down the slope at the lake? The fire next to your house? How do you know Vernon isn’t involved? I can’t believe you went to Clinton, by yourself, without telling anyone, to confront him.”
She paled. “I didn’t think of that. I was so angry at Roger that I guess I didn’t think at all. When his secretary said he was in Clinton, I just took off.”
“Damn it, Claire! Use your head. Don’t take chances like that!” he shouted.
She flinched. “Don’t yell at me, Tucker.”
“Don’t tell me not to yell! I’ve been standing here for the past hour, picturing you dead in a ditch somewhere. I’ll damn well yell if I want to yell.” Fear churned in his stomach and pounded in his head.
“Fine. Yell all you want. But do it somewhere else. No one screams at me in my own house.”
She threw open the door so hard that it bounced off the wall and almost closed again. As she reached out for it, he saw her hand trembling.
His anger drained away, leaving him appalled at himself. He grabbed the door, steadied it and eased it closed. “God, Claire, I’m sorry,” he said, pitching his voice low. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.” He took a tentative step toward her. The wariness in her eyes twisted a knife in his gut. “I was so worried about you.”
He closed his eyes, his throat swelling on the words. When he opened them, he saw a mixture of wariness and astonishment on Claire’s face.
“Do you want me to leave?” he managed to say.
“No,” she said slowly, tilting her head as she watched him. “I don’t.”
“Then say something,” he begged after a long moment had passed. “I know I was out of line, but you’re staring at me as if I’m an alien life-form.”
Claire steadied herself against the door. “You’re angry with me,” she said.
He closed his eyes. “I lost my temper, yes.”
“You yelled at me,” she said in a low voice. “You’re bigger than me.”
Acid burned his stomach and ice filled his veins. “Guilty on all counts.”
“I didn’t back down.” She stared at him, satisfaction filling her face.
“No.” He gave her a puzzled look. “You didn’t back down. You told me to get the hell out. Am I supposed to think that’s a good thing?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes, it’s a good thing.” Her mouth trembled as she tried to smile and failed. “A lot of good things have happened today.”
As he watched her, he struggled to rein in his temper. It had been a long time since he’d gotten so angry. A long time since he’d almost lost control. And it terrified him.
He took a deep breath. “Why is it a good thing that you didn’t back down from me?”
She swallowed and let her gaze wander away from his face. “I hate being yelled at. I hate the sound of anger. I do anything I can to avoid it. I was yelled at every day growing up. Then I married an abuser.”
He watched her force herself to continue. “I’ve been afraid of confrontation all my life. The sound of a man’s raised voice terrifies me. Before now, I always handled it by running away.” She took a step toward him. “You’re everything that I was most afraid of, Tucker. You’re a big man. You were angry with me. And you were yelling.”
“God, Claire.” Tucker closed his eyes as pain lanced through him. “I’m so sorry. I should never have yelled at you that way. I have trouble with my temper.”
“Yes,” she said. “And I lost my temper right back. Don’t you see? I didn’t back down.”
“You’re not angry that I yelled at you?” He wanted to reach out for her, but he didn’t dare. Not yet.
“No. I’m happy that I stood up to you instead of running away. I’m thrilled that I yelled back.”
A spark of hope stirred inside him. “You want me to yell some more? So you can practice yelling back at me?”
Finally she smiled. “Yell all you want. You’re not going to scare me away.”
“Thank God,” he whispered. He took a tentative step toward her and she moved into his arms.
“You terrify me, Claire,” he said, pressing his mouth into her hair. “I’m nuts about you. I can’t think of anything but you. That’s why I lost it when I couldn’t get hold of you.”
He swept his hand down her back, savoring the soft curves of her body. “You said something else good happened today.”
She leaned away from him. “I confronted Roger and I wasn’t afraid of him. I was only angry about what he was doing to Nick. I’ll never be afraid of Roger again.”
Anger stirred inside him again at the thought of Roger Vernon intimidating her. He struggled to subdue it as he cupped her face in his hands. “I’m not sure whether to yell some more or make love to you.”
“Are you giving me a choice?” she whispered, reaching up to stroke his face.
“You always have a choice.”
“Then I choose option number two.” She moved closer so their bodies were barely touching. “I didn’t want to care about you, Tucker. I didn’t want to get involved. But I couldn’t help myself.”
He bent his head to brush his mouth over hers. “I thought you were a snotty city girl the day we met,” he whispered. “But I still wanted you.”
“I was a snotty city girl.” She nipped at his lower lip, drew it into her mouth.
He inhaled sharply. “I’ve decided that snotty city girls are my favorite kind.”
“Is this where you insert the joke?” She licked his lips and her eyes fluttered closed.
“I told you once before, some things I don’t joke about,” he whispered against her mouth.
Claire pressed a kiss to Tucker’s neck, felt his pulse jump against her mouth. “You? Not joke?” She inhaled the heady male scent of his skin. “I can’t imagine that.”
He combed his fingers through her hair. The heat of his gaze scorched her. “There are no jokes when I kiss you, Claire. No jokes when I touch you.” His mouth possessed hers, claiming her, loving her.
“You’re driving me crazy, Claire,” he said, his voice rough in her ear. He slid his hands beneath the shirt she wore, swept over her back and around to her abdomen. “You’re so soft,” he said, pushing her shirt up and bending down to drag his mouth across her skin. “So smooth.”
She was barely able to open her eyes. The sight of his blond head moving against her skin, his hands spanning her waist, made her shudder with need. “Tucker,” she managed to whisper.
“What?” He circled her belly button with his tongue and liquid heat washed through her.
“I want…”
He lifted his head. “What do you want, sweetheart?”
“Everything.” She shuddered. “I want you, Tucker.”
“I’m yours, Claire.” He kissed her mouth and through a haze of passion she felt his fingers on her chest. A moment later her blouse parted and his hands trembled against her ribs.
“Okay, this is one of those lingerie assistance moments,” he said, his voice hoarse as he looked at her lacy bra. “But it’s not going to last long. I want this off now.”
A moment later her bra fell away. He sucked in a breath as he caressed her, and when his thumbs brushed against her nipples, she couldn’t contain her moan of pleasure.
Backing her up against the door, he drew her blouse and bra down her arms and tossed them to the floor. He bent his mouth to her nipple, circling her with his tongue before drawing her into his mouth. She quivered in his arms, barely able to stand. Desire crashed through her, leaving her trembling and aching with need.
She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against hers. When she couldn’t get the buttons through the hole, he tore it off, throwing it onto the floor.
The hair on his chest gleamed like gold in the evening sunlight. His skin was hot, stretched taut over muscles that trembled. He smelled like the outdoors, like pleasure. Like Tucker.
He lifted her, settling her against the hard ridge of his erection. The stab of pleasure made her cry out.
She pressed her mouth to his chest, greedily tasting him. His hands roamed over her back, down her sides, tugged at the waistband of her jeans.
When she flicked her tongue over his small, taut nipple, he sucked in a breath and eased away from her. His hands shook as he lowered her to the floor.
“Bedroom,” he muttered against her mouth. “Now.”
He swept her into his arms and started up the stairs.