The House That Love Built

by Jean Brashear

  Sandor saw his same shock ripple over Ria’s face. “Baby?”

  Betsey’s gaze darted away. “Forget I said anything.”

  “Daddy’s going to have a child?”

  “He isn’t telling anyone yet, but the last thing he needs is your histrionics. He has a new family on the way.”

  Ria had gone ashen, visibly swaying on her feet. “But…but he loves Benjy and—”

  “Mother and Aunt Cammie and Lola will look after Benjy.” Betsey’s voice softened. “He’s innocent, and he deserves a better situation than you’ve provided him. Daddy and I will help. He’ll have plenty of people to love him.”

  However much Sandor had wanted to dislike Cleo’s eldest, pity moved him now. Betsey did not seem to be aware that she was eviscerating her sister with every word.

  “I’m his mother,” Ria whispered. “I love him.”

  “Enough to give him the life he deserves? Will you ever straighten out your own? And even if you did, how long do you expect Mother to support you?”

  Sandor couldn’t stand by and simply observe. He took one step into the office to tell Betsey to stop—

  Just then, the bells at the front door jingled, and a customer walked inside.

  “I’ll be right with you,” Betsey said. She turned back to her sister. “Vicky, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you about—” She glanced at the impatient customer. “Wait for me. I have to deal with this.” She made her way to the front.

  Ria didn’t linger. She stumbled blindly into the room where Sandor stood.

  He steadied her. “Sit.” He closed the door to the shop.

  She blinked, as if she’d imagined him. Dropped her head into her hands. “Go away.”

  “I think not,” he said. “I will get you water.”

  Her mouth twisted in an imitation of a smile, even as misery filled her eyes. “You heard,” she said dully.

  He only nodded. “Here—” He thrust a glass of water into her hands.

  Mutiny marched across her face, but she drank. After a moment, she sank against the chair. “Is she right? Should I leave him here?”

  “Betsey is not a bad person. She has borne a burden for all these years, trying to be the perfect daughter, to keep things tranquil. Your presence makes that difficult.”

  “So I just desert my child?”

  “I did not say that. Only you can answer the question of where he is better off.”

  “It would make life so simple for everyone, wouldn’t it? Daddy has his little nest, Betsey hers, Mother needs no one. But I—” She doubled over then, water sloshing in the glass gripped in one white-knuckled hand. “He’s all I have. The only thing I’ve ever done right.”

  Pity moved him. “He is not all you have.”

  Her head jerked up. “What the hell do you know? Don’t patronize me.”

  Compassion gave way to impatience. “You have the power to change everything, yet you fall into self-pity, instead.”

  She lifted shocked eyes to his and rose. “I have no power. I’m the one who owes a debt that will never go away. I’ll wait until my dying day for forgiveness that will never come.”

  He shrugged. “I, I, I. Me, me, me.”

  She slapped him.

  He grabbed her shoulders. Shoved her away. “Go on, little girl. Run. Hide from growing up.”

  Her eyes were huge, burning holes in her face, testaments to dark rivers of pain and fury. “Go to hell.”

  She stalked out, wrapping herself in frayed remnants of pride and rebellion.

  Sandor was about to make his way inside to check on Betsey, but after a few feet, he reversed his progress to watch Ria depart.

  And when instead of going right, in the direction of Cleo’s house, she turned left, on the path that would lead to Joe’s Bar, he muttered a curse.

  Then crossed to the phone, looked up a number and dialed.

  In a few terse sentences, he secured the agreement of Hank, the owner, to keep an eye out for Ria and any trouble that might follow her. Then he headed for Betsey, wondering if Cleo would thank him for this night’s work.

  Two hours later, the call came.

  Malcolm paused before he entered Lava Java, the coffee shop next to Cleo’s store, and cast a glance to the side. For a second, he considered going over to see the window Ria had created, maybe visit with Betsey.

  He could say it was to make certain they hadn’t resorted to blows, and that would be part of his reason, all right.

  In truth, Cleo was the lure. He wanted to peer into her eyes, find out if he’d imagined her response to him earlier. Was it possible that she missed him, too? Lay awake nights wishing to turn the clock back?

  But what could he do about it, even so?

  He yanked the door open. He was here to meet Joanna, and time was running out. Cleo—and all his pent-up feelings about her—would have to wait.

  But the second he entered, he heard Cleo’s laughter, husky and low.

  Like a heat-seeking missile, his gaze found her standing just inside the counter, face brightly lit with humor.

  With a man who looked as though he’d like to devour her. A younger man, handsome and fit.

  Who had his hands on her.

  Before Malcolm could think, his own had closed into fists. He stepped toward them, seized by a primal urge to declare his territory. She’s mine, you pup. Get your hands off her.

  “Can I help you?” called a voice from behind the counter. “Sir?”

  When he didn’t answer, the man with Cleo turned his way. Surprise and something darker on the younger man’s face.

  Possession.

  Malcolm barely stifled a growl.

  Then Cleo saw him.

  Pleasure blossomed, quickly chased by unease. Her cheeks flared with color. “Malcolm, what are you doing here?”

  In an unconscious gesture of protection, she placed herself in front of the younger man.

  Jealousy threw a poison cloud over Malcolm’s good sense. He moved forward.

  After a shocked instant, Cleo recovered and crossed to him. She laid one hand on his arm as if to settle him. “Is something wrong? Didn’t you have a meeting?”

  The younger man approached. “Cleo, are you all right?”

  Malcolm tensed again.

  Cleo’s slender fingers squeezed. “Malcolm?”

  He still wanted to know who the hell this guy thought he was. “Introduce us,” he said to Cleo, but never took his gaze off hers.

  Nor she from his. “Who?” Her eyes widened. “Oh.”

  Before she could comply, Joanna walked through the front door.

  And stopped flat, examining their odd tableau. “Malcolm?”

  He bit back the urge to swear. Felt Cleo stiffen.

  When her mouth twitched instead of tightening, his annoyance fled in the face of her irresistible mischief. A flicker of her highly developed sense of the ridiculous seemed to be speaking to him through her eyes. How did we get into this predicament? it said. He relinquished his fury and grinned at her, shrugging as though to say What can you do?

  Cleo burst out laughing then, and Malcolm joined her.

  And for a golden moment, they were a couple again, sharing a private joke. United against the world.

  “Excuse me. I seem to have walked in at the punch line,” Joanna said. She got a good look at Cleo and faltered for only an instant before putting out her hand. “You must be Malcolm’s ex. I’m Joanna Wainwright.”

  Cleo removed hers from Malcolm’s arm to exchange greetings. “This is Colin Spencer.” With effort, she smothered her giggles, but her eyes still danced.

  Malcolm couldn’t stop staring at her.

  “I’m delighted to meet you, Colin,” Joanna remarked as though the two of them weren’t lunatics. “Best coffee in town, pastries to die for and fabulous décor to boot.”

  “Thanks,” Cleo’s admirer said. “We won a design award for it.” He cast a glance at Malcolm. “Would you two like a table?”

  Oh, yo
u’d like to get rid of me, wouldn’t you? Malcolm managed to drag his attention from Cleo but didn’t respond.

  Joanna did. “That would be lovely.” She did her model’s glide toward the counter. “I’ll order. I know your tastes and what’s good here.”

  Malcolm didn’t budge.

  The pup glared.

  Finally, Malcolm gave the place a once-over. Easy to see why Joanna favored it, all Scandinavian woods and metal, sleek and spare. Modern and merciless.

  Just like his condo, now that he thought about it.

  Much the same as his existence.

  With Cleo, his world had exploded in color, hot reds, rich greens, ocean-deep blues. Cleo was tactile, so every piece of furniture had to appeal not only to the eye but to the skin and the skeleton. She was as likely to mix nubby cotton with satin, velvet with leather. Silk with corduroy. You sank into Cleo’s chairs and sofas; found warmth and comfort in her kitchen. Bliss in her bed.

  Life, and surprises, everywhere.

  At last, Cleo stirred beside him. “I’d better finish my paperwork.”

  Malcolm glanced at Joanna, then back at her, wishing he could offer a better alternative. “No pyrotechnics at the shop?”

  Cleo shrugged. “Haven’t been there yet. Dragging my feet, actually. The place is still standing, though. A hopeful sign, I choose to believe.”

  “Want me to go with you?”

  She cast a grateful smile at him, then over to Joanna. “No. I’ll deal with it.” A rueful shrug. “My turn, I think.”

  The atmosphere grew thick. Intimate with all they shared, past and present.

  The puppy interrupted. “Before you leave, babe, I have something for you in the back.”

  Babe. Malcolm narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like this guy’s tone. Or his age. Or his looks.

  Or the fact that he’s in love with my wife.

  Damn it. He had no rights here. She was a free agent.

  But Malcolm’s collar suddenly felt too tight.

  “All right,” Cleo answered softly. “See you later, Malcolm.” She approached the younger man, whose face brightened with such naked hope that Malcolm could barely stand to watch.

  And when that man slipped his arm around Cleo’s waist and drew her toward the back…

  Malcolm ground his teeth. Shoved away from the table, dodging the feelings crowding his chest. He knew he would do something stupid if he didn’t leave this minute.

  But Joanna was headed his way with cups in her hands and serious intent on her face.

  Malcolm stared at Cleo, watched her go. Couldn’t seem to make his limbs cooperate. Drag his heart up from the floor. Gather his wits.

  Until Cleo leaned into the younger man’s side.

  Then from somewhere Malcolm managed enough pride and spirit to sit down.

  And lock his foolish heart back into its cage.

  It was still early, but the whole house was asleep around Cleo. When she’d arrived at the shop, Betsey had been shaken but closemouthed about her encounter with her sister. Ria had already been gone.

  She hadn’t returned home for dinner or to put Benjy to bed, which wasn’t like her. No matter her other shortcomings, Cleo couldn’t fault Ria’s devotion to her child.

  So Cleo was worried. Hardly the first time.

  She’d called Sandor to see if he knew anything, but hadn’t found him, either.

  Aunt Cammie and Lola had conspired with her to entertain Benjy, and she was grateful that he’d adapted so well to being here that he’d easily accepted her made-up story about his mother working late at the shop on another design project.

  Cleo had put Benjy to bed and read him a story, then tried to escape her own thoughts in a book. She’d lost the battle and climbed from bed to sit on the sunporch, wrapped in a quilt, where she and Malcolm had spent so many hours together.

  Tonight, for intoxicating moments, she had felt close to Malcolm. Sharing a private joke was seductive in its own way.

  Joanna and Colin could have been speaking Greek, in that span of time, for all the impact they’d had on Cleo and Malcolm. The world beyond them receded to a fringe. She smiled, thinking of the euphoria, the fun of having her own mischief reflected in Malcolm’s sparkling eyes.

  But Malcolm was not hers, as she’d been so quickly reminded. Joanna had first claim now. She was his classic type, tall and cool blond glory.

  And Colin. Poor Colin. He was a sliver moon hanging next to the sun. All she’d been able to see was Malcolm.

  Just then, Cleo heard a vehicle stop in front of her house.

  A door shut. Voices murmured on the sidewalk, heading her way. Cleo crossed the hall to Ria’s room and looked down at the lawn.

  Shock froze her in place.

  Sandor and Ria, heads close together, voices soft but frames taut and wary. Then he brushed her hair with his hand, the way he sometimes comforted Cleo. Cleo felt it like a knife stab to the gut.

  Ria made her way toward the door with unsteady gait, and Cleo realized her daughter was drunk. Sandor watched her progress until the front door closed. He waited a little longer, then left.

  Sandor would never have taken her drinking.

  It had to be Ria’s fault.

  Cleo stood in her daughter’s room in the darkness and waited. Pulled her unraveling composure around her like a threadbare cloak.

  Unsteady steps climbed the stairs, entered the bathroom. After a few minutes, Ria came out. She entered the room without turning on the light.

  Cleo switched on the lamp.

  Ria jumped.

  She was a wreck. “What are you doing to him?” Fury had Cleo by the throat. “He’s a good man, Ria. A kind one. If you have to play your games, do so with someone else.”

  The girl who had appeared utterly defeated now hissed like a cat. “You’re the only one who gets a boy toy, Mother?”

  “Don’t talk to me like that.”

  “At first I suspected that it was Sandor, but it’s the coffee shop hunk, right? He’s years younger than you, Mother. Aren’t you embarrassed? At least you can’t get knocked up like Joanna.”

  Cleo would swear her heart stopped. “What?”

  Ria’s gaze darted to the side. “Nothing.”

  “No—tell me what you said.”

  “I didn’t—” Ria hunched her shoulders.

  “Joanna is pregnant?” Dear God. And she’d actually fantasized—

  “I—listen, Mother, I could be wrong. Betsey was mad and she threw it in my face. But maybe—”

  “Betsey knows, too?” She’d humiliated herself. Malcolm had a young woman and now a baby on the way. A baby Cleo couldn’t give him. A child to replace—

  Cleo thought she might be sick. How could he—tonight he’d—

  “Mother, I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. I just—” Ria looked about eight years old and ready to cry.

  But Cleo couldn’t deal with Ria now. Not when she’d just seen her world fracture.

  She walked to the door without registering a single step.

  “Daddy loves you. I’m sure he does—”

  Ria could have said I hate you and hurt her less. But Cleo didn’t have the words to explain that or anything else.

  “It doesn’t matter. Nothing…matters.” Cleo drew herself up carefully so that she wouldn’t fall to the ground, fragments of her heart scattered like a china teapot dropped on a tile floor.

  What an idiot she’d been to be so tempted by him. To read into his reactions that their old attraction held power still.

  They were divorced. Malcolm had every right to a new family, another child. He’d made no promises. She’d leaped to the wrong conclusions.

  How pathetic she must have seemed, all but leaning into him to be kissed this afternoon. Lost in his gaze tonight.

  She had to get away. To think. “I need to be in the shop early. Good night.”

  “Mother—”

  Cleo closed the door and made her way stiffly across the hall and out to her sun
porch, then crawled back into the quilt.

  There would be no sleep for her. Not this night. Maybe not for many more.

  But the sun would come up. It always had.

  And she would go on. She always did.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next evening, Malcolm approached the place that was once his home as nervous as a kid arriving for a first date. He wiped his palms against his jeans, then curled his fingers to knock.

  Everything had gone south last night after Cleo had departed with the pup. He still had no clue what Joanna had wanted to talk about, because she’d clammed up. Returned to the office and hadn’t been home all night.

  He hadn’t tried to reach her, either. He’d spent long, restless hours staring out at the hills, at the carpet of city lights. Puzzling over his reactions. Wondering how he’d deluded himself for five years that he was over Cleo.

  Life with her had been rich. Full. They’d been not only lovers but best of friends. She’d believed in him, encouraged him, listened. Debated problems—his, hers or theirs—shared every important event of his existence. Made him who he was.

  Loved him. Sheltered him. Given him babies and laughter.

  He hoped he’d done half as much for her.

  They’d been a team. Once, for so many good years, they’d been golden.

  They could be that way again. And with her clever mind and compassionate heart, maybe she could help him figure out what to say to Joanna to turn the tide. Some fair solution for Joanna that would protect the baby, too.

  Joanna wasn’t willing to be a mother—fine. He could raise the child himself. And maybe, with time, Cleo and he might—

  He whirled from Cleo’s door and looked out at the street. Was he actually crazy enough to even think it? Could he honestly ask?

  But he wasn’t a man to lie to himself. In the long hours of darkness, he’d seen the truth. Sure, he could make a good life for the child without Cleo. But he craved to have Cleo, too.

  And he thought she might want him.

  He dreamed of giving them both what they’d longed for—another chance. Benjy was Ria’s, but this child could be his and Cleo’s. Her heart held more than enough love for a baby she had not borne.