by Lisa Jackson
Ben felt as if Randy had been coached, but smiled and ruffled the kid’s hair anyway. “Sure I will.”
“When?” Tracy asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“We’re free tomorrow,” she said lightly though Ben thought he detected a hint of desperation in her voice.
“Tomorrow doesn’t work for me.”
She waited hopefully.
“I’ll call.” He felt like a heel as he read the skepticism that flickered in her eyes.
“Good. Now, Randy, you go on inside and I’ll be there in a minute,” she said. “I need to talk to Uncle Ben alone.” She handed her son her keys and Ben tensed, watching as the boy slipped through the door.
“He’s a good boy, Tracy,” he said. “I guess I already told you that.”
“He thinks a lot of you.”
“Not too much, I hope.”
She ran a finger along the truck’s fender. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to Randy...and to me...in a long, long while.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, yes. He lights up like a Christmas tree around you, Ben, and I know why.” Before he knew what she was doing, she placed her hands on his shoulders, stood on her tiptoes and brushed his lips seductively with her own. Ben tried to step away just as her tongue pressed against his teeth.
“Tracy, don’t—” His fingers curled over her waist but not before she traced the edge of his lips with her tongue.
“Why not, Ben?” she asked petulantly, her smile taking on a feline curve. “We could be good together, you and I.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can.”
“I’m already involved with someone,” he said, firmly shoving her away from him.
She looked stunned, but just for a second. She would have had to have been blind at the engagement party not to have seen him with Carlie. Besides, Carlie had been with him at Randy’s Little League tryouts. Surely she understood.
“I...I...guess I made a fool of myself.”
“No—”
“It’s just that I’ve been so lonely,” she said suddenly as if a dam of emotions had cracked and burst. She blinked against a rush of tears. “I’ve dated a lot of men, but they... Well, they never seemed to measure up to Kevin and then you come back to Gold Creek and you’re so... Oh, damn, look, I’m sorry.” She sniffed loudly. “But, please, don’t blame Randy for this. He really does like you, and just because his mother had the uncanny ability to make an ass of herself...”
“You didn’t,” Ben said and reluctantly folded her into his arms. “It was a mistake. I should have told you.”
“No, it’s all right. Really. Just...just don’t stop seeing Randy.” She took in a deep breath and her gaze shifted away from his for just a second. “I’ve seen you with Carlie and I, um, hope that you don’t end up getting hurt.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.”
“But I do. I care about you, Ben,” she said blinking rapidly as if she were going to break down and cry. “You see, I, uh, know some things about Carlie that you might not.”
“I’m not interested in gossip,” he said defensively, but he felt more than a little worry. The look on Tracy’s face convinced him that whatever her little secret about Carlie was, it was ugly.
“It’s not gossip.”
“Really. I’m not interested.” Tracy was staring at him and measuring his reaction. Ben felt as if a thick hemp rope had been cinched around his neck. She was smiling, but it wasn’t a kind smile. He stepped away from her and turned toward the truck. Fast. Before he heard something he didn’t want to know.
“It’s kind of private,” she said but added quickly, “but I thought you should know since it involves you.”
The noose tightened another notch. He grabbed the handle of the door.
“Did you know that when Kevin died she was pregnant?”
Ben froze. He could barely breathe.
“That’s impossible,” he heard himself saying, remembering Carlie’s desperate eyes when she’d told him she’d been a virgin when they’d first made love.
“I saw her medical chart. At the Coleville Women’s Clinic,” Tracy said as he turned and saw a glimmer of a smile flit through her eyes. She was enjoying this! “Yep. Carlie was definitely with child.”
Ben whirled, grabbed her by the arms and gave her a quick little shake. His fingers dug into her flesh. “You’re lying. I don’t know why, but—”
“It’s not a lie, Ben. Think about it! What would I have to gain by lying to you? I’m not a nurse or a doctor, but I can read a medical chart if it’s spelled out to me, and she was pregnant.”
“What happened?” he demanded, not releasing her.
“She lost the baby. Miscarried, I guess. Maybe had an abortion. As I said, I didn’t have a lot of time and—”
“You lying bitch—!” He dropped her as if her skin burned his hands.
“Oh, no, honey, you’ve got the wrong woman. You should be saying things like that to Carlie. After all, you had the right to know about your kid.”
“My kid?” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “My kid?”
“Sure.” She lifted her shoulders. “Whose do you think it was?” she asked lightly, then blanched when she saw the answer in his eyes. “Oh, God, not Kevin’s...”
He didn’t wait to say goodbye, just spun on his heel, yanked open the truck door and jumped in behind the wheel. His baby? His? Carlie was pregnant with his baby? A thousand thoughts raced through his suddenly throbbing head. But she’d sworn she’d never been pregnant! Who was lying? Tracy or Carlie?
He shoved the truck into gear and took off with a squeal of tires. Tracy was left standing in the parking lot of her apartment building and from the corner of his eye Ben noticed a curtain move in Randy’s bedroom. The kid had probably witnessed the entire scene between Ben and his mother. What would he think? Ben couldn’t begin to guess. He slowed for the street, then gunned the engine. He couldn’t feel responsible for Tracy and Randy...well, not too responsible. They’d gotten along all right without him for all of Randy’s life; they certainly didn’t need him now.
He drove to Carlie’s house like a man possessed, but when he arrived, he had to wait. She was out with Thomas Fitzpatrick. Impatiently Ben jammed his own key into the lock and climbed the staircase to her apartment. It was time they had it out.
* * *
CARLIE KNEW SHE’D made a vast mistake when Thomas insisted that they go to dinner in the company helicopter.
“You’re not serious,” she’d said, as he’d driven her to the offices of the logging company and the flat stretch of ground where a chopper sat, pilot ready, to speed them to a hotel in San Francisco.
“I’m very serious,” he said and her heart sank as she stepped aboard and saw two bottles of champagne chilling in a bucket. Once they were airborne, he offered her champagne, but she declined. Ben had been right, she realized, and wished she could change plans that had been set for nearly a week.
The view from the craft was beautiful. A full moon added luster to the dark skies and the lights of the city brightened the horizon. They landed gently and Thomas helped her through the doors of the hotel and down to a private dining room that overlooked the Golden Gate Bridge.
The linen on the table was a rich mulberry color, the napkins snow white. A bud vase held a single rose. “What exactly do you want me to do?” she asked when he presumed to order for them both.
“I told you. The pictures for the company—I’ve seen the first proofs and they’re very good—and then there’s the matter of Toni’s wedding, if it’s still on. After last night, who knows?” He sighed heavily and shook his head.
“We didn’t have to come all this way to discuss wedding photographs,” she said, taking a sip of wine.
His blue eyes caught in the reflection. “Well, I have a confession to make,” he admitted, looking somewhat sheepish. “I wanted to be alone with you.”
“Wi
th me?”
“My wife’s divorcing me,” he said flatly.
“So—”
“So I thought I could spend an evening with a beautiful woman without feeling guilty.”
“Mr. Fitzpatrick—”
“Thomas, please.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his smooth fingers. She thought then how unlike Ben he was.
“Just as long as we understand each other, Thomas, I don’t like being manipulated.”
“Did I manipulate you?”
“Not if this is strictly a business meeting, and if it is, I see no reason to discuss your marriage.”
“The divorce will be final within the month.”
“I’m sorry,” she said as the waiter brought hot rolls and delicate salads garnished with tiny sprigs of asparagus. The waiter disappeared.
“No reason to be sorry. It’s probably for the best. We started drifting apart years ago...when Roy was killed. Everything came to a head a few months ago when Jackson found out I was his father.” Thomas frowned thoughtfully as if rolling old reels of memories over in his mind and for a second Carlie felt a jab of sympathy for a man who had tried so desperately to control and exploit the destiny of others only to lose sight of his own happiness. “June couldn’t handle that. The scandal, you know. Things have gone downhill since then. Last night wasn’t completely unexpected. Toni’s going through a lot right now. Just when she’s hoping to get married, her parents are throwing in the matrimonial towel.”
She didn’t know what to say and picked at her salad.
“So, let’s talk about you. You’ve grown up, Carlie. I have to admit that years ago I was angry with you.”
“Because you wanted Jackson to be blamed for Roy’s murder.”
Thomas sighed. “I didn’t want it, Carlie. I thought it was what had happened. I would have supplied money for the best lawyers in town to see that he got a lenient sentence, but I truly believed that he’d killed Roy, either accidentally or intentionally. Whether he was my son or not, he had to face justice.”
“But he was innocent.”
“Thankfully,” Thomas said, though the lines around his eyes deepened and Carlie remembered the fact that Brian’s wife, Laura, had accidentally killed Roy.
The waiter cleared the salad plates and returned with the main course: a brace of quail on a bed of wild rice. Carlie said little and ate even less. Coming here had been a mistake. She should have listened to Ben.
Ben. Just the thought of him made her heart turn over.
“I’m thinking of buying Mrs. Hunter’s apartment house.”
“Is that so?” she said, trying to sound surprised.
“I like to preserve some of the unique architecture of Gold Creek.”
“It’s a beautiful house.”
“I thought maybe you’d like to manage it for me.”
“Pardon me?”
He smiled then, a practiced, patrician smile that had no warmth. “If you would manage the units—there’re five of them with the studio, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“I could give you a break on the rent. Perhaps your folks would like to move into Mrs. Hunter’s place.”
“Wait a minute—” Things were moving much too quickly.
“I’m just trying to help your father. I’ve talked to the attorneys and the accountants and the financial advisers and think that there’s a way your father can collect disability for a little while, retrain for office work, at which time he’ll be retirement age and be able to collect his full pension and benefits.”
Carlie waited for the catch. “Have...have you talked this over with him?”
“Just this afternoon.”
“And?” She held her breath.
“He seemed pleased. Even considered moving into the apartment house to be closer to you.”
“If I stay,” she said, setting down her fork. “Look, Mr.—Thomas, I appreciate everything you’re trying to do for my family and I know you probably think you’re doing me a favor by making plans for me, but I can’t accept your offer.”
“You haven’t even heard it yet.”
“I’ve heard enough. I have to live my life my way.”
“Of course.” He looked slightly offended. “I was only trying to help.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think I need any.”
His nostrils flared slightly and if the waiter hadn’t come to remove their dishes, she was certain he would have said something not particularly kind. They finished dessert in relative silence and afterward he helped her with her coat and his fingers trailed along her arm. She shrugged him off, told herself that she was imagining things, but when he brushed his lips to her nape, she whirled on him. “I’m not interested, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
Fortunately, he didn’t press the issue but the helicopter ride back to Gold Creek seemed to take forever. She didn’t notice the moon or the stars or the lights of the city. When they finally touched down it was all she could do not to bolt from the chopper.
He helped her into his white Cadillac and she sat stiffly on the leather seats.
Ben had been right. She should never have accepted anything that seemed to remotely resemble a date with Fitzpatrick. She stared out the window, listening to the radio and was thankful Thomas didn’t want to make small talk. All she wanted was to get home.
Home. How would she feel when the old house where she lived was owned by Thomas Fitzpatrick? One more way to be indebted to the man. Would she ever feel safe, knowing that he had a key to the house as well as her apartment?
She slid a glance in his direction. She wasn’t afraid of him, at least not physically. But powerful men could exert their force in other, more subtle ways. Her father’s job had already become an issue. Her work, now that she’d done a photographic layout for him, if he didn’t like it, could suffer. He had the means and the power in a town the size of Gold Creek to ruin her reputation and to make her work dry up.
There was still the studio, of course. Loyal customers wouldn’t be aware that Fitzpatrick was unhappy with her work, but the larger clients, the CEOs of corporations who might want a photographer could be swayed if the word was out that Fitzpatrick, Incorporated was unhappy with her work.
Too bad. She wasn’t going to back down or be afraid of anyone, including Thomas Fitzpatrick. If she had to, she could call Constance about that modeling assignment with Cosmos Jeans.
At her apartment, he started to get out of the car, but Carlie said, “Don’t bother. I’ve been thinking, and I’ve decided that it’s probably not a good idea to work with you.”
“But—”
“This evening proved one thing to me. I don’t need you, Mr. Fitzpatrick, and I won’t be manipulated into doing everything you want.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“You did. You have, since I returned. I’m sorry your personal life is a mess, but there’s nothing I can do about it and I’m tired of veiled threats or promises or whatever you want to call them, about my dad. Do what you have to do. Take it up with him. As for me, I’m through with you. This wasn’t a business dinner tonight, it was a planned seduction.”
She thought he’d argue, but he didn’t. “If you’re offended—”
“I am, Mr. Fitzpatrick, but if you want to know the truth, I’m more disgusted with myself than with you. I should have known better. Good night!” Before he could say anything, she slid out of the car, slammed the door and marched up the steps to her house. As far as she was concerned, Thomas Fitzpatrick was out of her life.
She’d call Constance in the morning and take the Cosmos job, and maybe she’d move back to New York once her father was well.
You’d be running away. From your family. From Fitzpatrick. From Ben. So what? It was her life. She wasn’t forced to spend the rest of her years in Gold Creek.
As for Ben. He was better off without her! Her heart squeezed painfully, but she fought the urge to break down and cry. No more tears. She was in charge of her
life now and she didn’t have time for any more pain and broken promises.
* * *
BEN WAS WAITING for her. Shoulder propped against the window, arms folded over his chest, eyes narrowed suspiciously, he waited, like a tiger ready to spring as she stepped into her apartment.
“What’re you—”
“Close the door, Carlie,” he commanded, his voice firm.
She kicked the door shut but didn’t move. “What’s this all about?”
“First of all, you just got a call.”
She glanced to the answering machine and saw the red light blinking.
“Your friend Constance. Seems she thinks you might be going back to New York for a commercial.”
So this was how it was going to be. She noticed his jaded gaze and the cynicism etched in the lines of his face. So he’d come spoiling for a fight. “You aren’t here because you decided to be my answering service.”
“No.” He studied her face for a long moment. “Running back to the big city?”
“It’s business. That’s all.”
His lips curved into a smile that was as cold as the bottom of the lake.
“What is it, Ben? What happened that made you think you should let yourself into my house and start making insinuations again? For your information—I don’t need it. Not tonight. Not ever.”
“There is another reason.” The light in his eyes was deadly.
Carlie swallowed hard. “What?” she asked, though part of her didn’t want to know. He was too cold, too calmly angry.
Shoving himself upright, he walked across the short space that separated them and stared down at her. His skin was tight, the muscles in his face so tense, they stretched rigidly across the angles of his face. “Tell me about the baby.”
“What baby? I already told you—”
“You lied!” he said. “I want to know about our baby.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered, swallowing hard. Our baby. “How—how did you find out?”
“So it’s true.” The sound of his voice seemed to echo in the small room and through her heart.
She nodded, unable to trust her voice. The pain and disappointment in his eyes cut her to the quick.
“And you didn’t tell me,” he said. “Didn’t you think I’d want to know? Didn’t you think I had that right?”
