“What did the driver of the green van look like?”
“Hikers couldn’t say,” Fred answered. “Vehicles went by too fast.”
Anne turned to Tom. “You know who was chasing her?”
“No. But when Hunter called me with the news, I thought I’d better hand over the note Lindy left.”
Tom drew it out of his pocket and gave it to Anne. She unfolded the paper and reread the note that she had found in the pocket of the cardigan that morning.
So, he was turning over the note to the police, despite the implications in it. Anne felt a sense of relief. At least Tom drew the line at how far he’d go to protect his reputation. On a scale of one to ten, she supposed he deserved a point or two for that.
“She suspected someone was following her,” Anne said simply, not letting on that the note was not news. “Does Hunter know about the baby?”
“He knows that Lindy left him with me,” Tom said, and Anne could tell from the way Tom worded his reply that Hunter still didn’t know that the baby was Tom’s.
Anne leaned forward to place the note in Fred’s waiting hand.
“Why didn’t Hunter call me?” Anne asked Tom, while Fred scanned the note’s contents.
“He probably did,” Tom said. “Every time I’ve tried to call today, I’ve gotten the message that you were unavailable.”
Anne remembered now. She had turned off her cell phone. Tom had been there when she had given the number to Hunter, and she didn’t want to chance his having remembered it. Which he obviously had.
She had told herself that she never wanted to see or talk to him again. But now that he was here, she knew that she had lied.
“Where’s the baby?” Anne asked.
“Maureen Cooper is watching him for me. Anne, I need to talk to you.”
Tom was looking at her with an intensity that unnerved her.
“Now?” she asked, and realized her voice had cracked on the word.
Tom glanced at Fred as he got to his feet. “No offense, Fred. But it’s a private matter.”
Fred didn’t look pleased. “You haven’t finished your meal, Anne.”
Tom held out his hand to Anne. “It’s important.”
Anne remembered the last time he’d held out his hand to her. And how wonderful it had felt when he clasped his strong fingers around her wrist and pulled her to her feet.
The next thing she knew, her hand was once again encased in his strong grasp and she was being drawn out of her chair. He tightly interlaced their fingers, as though worried that she might change her mind. The warm, hard feel of his palm pressing into hers shivered up her arm.
“I’ll phone you later,” Anne called over her shoulder to Fred as Tom pulled her toward the door of the restaurant.
Anne had left her coat in her car, and the icy sleet-soaked air assailed her the moment they stepped outside. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Your place.”
“Why?”
“Because if we stand out here much longer, we’re going to get soaked.”
Tom kept a firm clasp on Anne’s hand as he led the way to her car and handed her inside.
“I’ll follow you,” he said, before closing the door. And then he just vanished into the dark, wet night.
During the drive to her town house in Pittsfield, Anne watched the Porsche’s headlights in her rearview mirror. She was a jumble of unwanted emotions. She was angry with Tom for pulling her out of the restaurant. And disappointed with herself for going. And worried at how good it felt to see him again.
She didn’t know how she was going to handle this private conversation he seemed determined to have with her. She wanted so badly to be indifferent to him. But she wasn’t indifferent.
Every time she had tried to concentrate on reading or gardening that day, images of him had crept in to steal away her thoughts. The shape of his mouth, his smile, the blue of his eyes, the deep timbre of his voice, the way he walked with such sinuous grace. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything but him.
Smart women did not make stupid mistakes about men. And damn it, she was a smart woman. It was time she started acting like one.
She pulled into her garage and turned off the engine. She was just about to open the driver’s door when Tom appeared beside the car and opened it for her. Looking up at him, she wondered how he’d had time to park his car and make it here so quickly.
Tom held out his hand to her once again. This time, however, she didn’t take it. She was going to keep her distance from this guy if it was the last thing she did. She got out of the car by herself and led the way into the house.
Anne entered her kitchen, knowing Tom was just behind her. She dropped her shoulder bag and keys on the counter and headed for the living room, the most formal space in her home. She switched on a table lamp and rested her arm across the white marble mantel over the fireplace. It was her intention to keep this conversation short. She waited for him to begin.
He stood in the middle of the room. His eyes roamed over the gleaming green marble floor, the profusion of healthy houseplants that adorned the windowsills and wicker planters, the light green and gold cushions of the softly tailored furniture, the bright splashes of colorful tulips in the paintings on the walls.
Tom’s resulting smile was one of appreciation. “It’s warm and bright and very much you.”
Anne didn’t want to be pleased with his approval of her home or her, but she was.
His eyes searched hers. “Why did you leave so abruptly this morning?”
Careful to project nothing but an impersonal tone, she replied, “I said goodbye.”
“You walked up to the B and B, got in your car and just drove off,” Tom said. “Maureen told me you didn’t even come inside, but called her from your cell phone to ask her to pack up your things and hold your bags.”
“I don’t see why it’s any of your—”
“Anne, what’s wrong?”
Tom’s normally calm features were creased with concern. His hands, usually relaxed by his sides, were rustling against his jeans. There was a palpable tension in him that Anne had never seen before. She felt the pressure in the room building, and it took an effort of will to remain calm.
“Tommy’s fine now. You don’t need me.”
He took a step toward her, his eyes like blue lasers, boring into her. “That’s not why you left.”
Anne felt the mantel at her back. She had the overwhelming sense of being trapped. Not just physically, but emotionally. She needed to vent. And she needed to know.
“Why were you pressuring Lindy to give up your child?” she asked.
Tom stared at her, confusion in his eyes. When it cleared, he took another step toward her. “You found the note from Lindy this morning. And you left because the message in it hurt you.”
Oh, no. He was not going to get her to admit that. Anne knew she couldn’t let him see how much her disappointment in him had hurt her.
Once men knew you cared, they did their worst damage.
“You told me a baby belonged with its mother, remember?” Anne challenged.
“I remember.”
“But you didn’t mean it. You didn’t want Lindy to keep Tommy.”
“You don’t understand.”
“You told me she was a good mother.”
“That wasn’t it.”
“Then what was it?”
“All I can tell you is that I wanted what was best for Lindy and the baby.”
“And for your reputation?”
He let out a heavy sigh. “So that’s what you think.”
“The facts are rather hard to ignore. Look, I don’t want to judge you, but—”
“But you are,” he interrupted.
“If I’m wrong, then tell me where I’m wrong.”
“I’m not able to.”
“You expect me to take you at your word without any explanation?” Anne demanded.
“I don’t expect you to, Anne. I’m asking you to.”
“Why?”
Tom’s silence had an edge to it, as though it were filled with a savage patience as he searched for the right words. “Anne, the things that are worth the most in this life are those that command the deepest faith from us and for which we have no explanations.”
Anne turned toward the mantel and fingered a picture of her that sat there. She was sixteen, dressed for a dance, excited, eager, innocent. Those days were long gone.
“When I was twenty I had faith in the long, lanky cowboy to whom I was engaged,” she said. “He told me I was the only woman in the world. He turned out to have a girl at every rodeo. When I was twenty-eight I married a Boston homicide detective and had faith in his promise to forsake all others until death do us part. Three years later I discovered he had a girlfriend on the side.” Anne turned around to face Tom and found him standing directly in front of her. “I don’t put my faith in men anymore.”
“I’m not just a man, Anne. I’m a priest. I stand by my vows.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
Tom stepped closer. He cupped her shoulders, holding her lightly, as though she were a priceless piece of porcelain. Anne felt the sudden, gentle heat of his hands.
“It means I can’t always tell you everything you may want to know,” Tom said. “But you can have faith in what I do tell you.”
Anne looked up into his eyes. They were so deep, so blue, so warm. “What are you telling me?”
“This,” Tom said as he slowly bent his head to hers.
The initial touch of his lips was nothing more than an intriguing brush of warmth, but it sent a delicious shiver into Anne’s breasts right down through her thighs. When the smooth heat of his mouth pressed delicately against hers, Anne felt the leap of her pulse.
Then his mouth settled firmly against hers with a soft, sweet hunger that poured through her core, and her senses went wild.
His was a tender sensuality, exquisite in its intensity, unlike anything she had ever known. Nerve endings she had no idea she possessed shot vividly to life. The heat from his mouth, the warmth of his breath sent her heart dancing against her ribs.
Anne’s lips parted of their own accord as she lifted her mouth to his for more. The tip of his tongue slowly caressed the sensitive edges of her parted lips over and over again until they hummed with pleasure. His tongue dipped into her heated softness, tasting her, tantalizing her.
Her knees grew weak as she breathed out his name, an exhalation of pure pleasure. “Tom...”
“That’s how I’ve wanted you to say my name.” His voice was deep and throaty and delicious.
His mouth pressed firmly against hers. He tasted smooth and hot, like a night of sweet, dark passion. The intensity of her response rippled inside her. She was suddenly, acutely aware of a secret well of elemental hunger raging within her core.
What this man could say with just a kiss was incredible. Anne knew then that she had wasted her time with cowboys and cops. It was priests who knew how to kiss!
She wanted more of him. A lot more. She leaned forward, intending to have it.
But his mouth drew back from hers and the warmth went with him. Anne opened her eyes and found she was looking directly into his. A blaze of sheer blue heat.
Both of Tom’s strong hands clutched her shoulders now as if he was holding on to a lifeline. His voice was a velvet whisper, with nothing of its normal deep strength. “This is how I feel about you.”
His words seared her aching insides. Anne was shaken, not just physically but emotionally. She wanted him. And he knew it. What’s more, he wanted her. It blazed in his eyes.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” he asked, his breath coming out in a strangled sigh.
Anne was beginning to. He had kissed her to prove to her that despite the strength of his desires, he had control over them. He would not take her, no matter how easy it would be. She could trust him.
Anne realized then that she was shaking. She groped for the back of the couch.
Tom released her shoulders and stepped back. Anne clutched the fabric as she sank onto the cushions. Tom sat beside her, but did not touch her.
“Dear heavens, can all priests kiss like that?” she asked when she had regained a sufficient lungful of air.
“Don’t know,” Tom said, his own breath not quite even. “Haven’t kissed any.”
She glanced up at him. He might be a priest, but that self-satisfied grin pulling back his lips was all man.
“My weakened condition might have a lot to do with what just happened,” Anne said, determined to wipe that grin off his face.
“Weakened condition?” Tom repeated with a note of genuine concern.
“I didn’t have a chance to eat, remember?”
Tom smiled as he rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Then the very least I can do is take you out to dinner.”
She laid her palm on his. It was warm and strong and felt so right against her own. He pulled her to her feet in one powerful, effortless move that made her legs grow weak again.
“On second thought,” she said, “let’s see what I have in the kitchen.”
* * *
TOM SAT ON A bar stool at the center island of Anne’s mint-green and cream kitchen and watched her toss a salad of romaine and baby lettuce, sliced apples, chopped tomatoes and hazelnuts, then top it off with a generous shower of finely shredded cheddar cheese.
Her movements were graceful and sure. The overhead light played on the fiery copper strands of her hair, caressed the snow white of her skin. He studied the delicate curve of her cheek and chin, the generous line of her mouth, the full curves of her breasts, the slender turn of her waist.
She was so lovely to look at, she took his breath away. There had been times during the day when he’d wondered whether he’d ever see her again. Even tonight when he’d finally found her at the restaurant, he hadn’t been sure they could work out whatever it was that had driven her away that morning.
They probably wouldn’t have if he hadn’t kissed her.
The irony of it wasn’t lost on Tom. He was a man who had disciplined himself to use the power of words in place of physical displays, only to find himself in a situation where he could not speak. He could only show her how he felt.
Her response had been heaven. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to back away and prove to her that he could be trusted.
He knew it was asking a lot. She had given her trust twice before to men and been burned. But Tom needed her to trust him.
As much as he tried to tell her and show her, he still wasn’t convinced that she understood what it meant for him to be a priest. She was a judge, used to weighing all the evidence before making a decision. He would never be able to give her all the evidence.
If Anne did not have faith in him without evidence, they would have no future.
Tom wrestled with that plaguing thought as he thoroughly enjoyed the dinner she prepared. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He was as hungry as she was. The salad was excellent, as were the roast chicken with raisin sauce and the freshly baked buttermilk rolls.
“And she cooks, too,” Tom said appreciatively after swallowing the last bite.
Anne was sitting on the bar stool next to him, sipping her after-dinner coffee. “No, what my mom does is cook,” she corrected. “Apple pies and bread from scratch. What I do is follow a few favorite recipes.”
“What I do is open the freezer compartment,” Tom admitted. He took a swallow of his own coffee. It was as delici
ous as the meal. “Your mom is a homemaker?”
“All her life. Which is why she doesn’t really understand this need I have for my work. Still, she accepts me as I am.”
“Then she is special,” Tom said. “Often the hardest thing to do is accept people as they are, not as you want them to be. What about your dad?”
“He doesn’t care much what I do.”
Tom heard an unusual note in Anne’s voice. “You don’t get along with your dad?”
“We’ve grown apart a lot in the last year.”
Tom wondered what she was thinking. Her eyes, so very clear and openly expressive at times, had begun to cloud over.
“You don’t plan on telling Hunter that Tommy is yours, do you?” she asked.
“Not if I can help it.”
“Now that Lindy is dead, Hunter’s going to expect you to turn the baby over to Child Care Services.”
“Any suggestions?” Tom asked.
She gave it a moment of thought. “Child Care Services just wants what’s best for him. I’ll convince them that you’ll provide a good foster home for Tommy until other arrangements can be made. Is that what you want?”
“It would help a lot. Thanks, Anne.”
She stared at the cup in her hands. “Hunter would have sent someone to pick up Lindy’s note, or you could have dropped it at his home in Cooper’s Corner. You didn’t have to deliver it to Fred.”
“If I hadn’t insisted, I wouldn’t have had an excuse to see you.”
Her eyes met his and a soft smile curved her lips. “How did you find me at the restaurant?”
“I overheard you making plans for dinner with Fred.”
“You mean you eavesdropped on my conversation.”
“Next time I’d appreciate it if you’d mention the restaurant,” Tom said with a note of feigned complaint. “I had to check out a dozen others before I finally saw your car in the parking lot at the North End Ristorante.”
Anne was trying to look peeved, but she couldn’t quite pull it off. “I don’t think Fred’s going to forgive you for dragging me out of there. It was my turn to pick up the check.”
“I tried to find you sooner, but not knowing your address was a problem,” Tom said. “And then there were the funeral services for Joe this afternoon.”
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