"Oh..." Astrid said, her eyes gleaming. "I think maybe you should go thank him personally for his help. A one-night stand might be just the thing you need."
"I'm not having a one-night stand with him," Clare said, glaring at Astrid. Hello? Did her friend really have to bring up sex in front of Eppie and Judith? But the thought of Griffin and sex sent a sudden pulse of desire rippling through her, just like last night when she'd been in Griffin's arms. Twice in twenty-four hours? There was no way for her to stop her small smile. It felt amazing to remember what it felt like to be attracted to a man.
"His ex-wife and daughter escaped him by moving to River Junction." Eppie plucked a sunflower off her hat and twirled it oh-so-casually in her fingers. "They live less than twenty miles from here."
"The Slipper King has come to stalk his family, kill them and then go back to Boston," Judith said, folding her arms over her bosomy chest. "It's a sad state of affairs, it is. From a happy marriage to this. Money ruins everything, I'll tell you that right now."
Emma looked down at her coffee, and Clare put her arm around her friend and hugged her gently, knowing Judith was making Emma think about her own recent escape from a hellish marriage. "Oh for heaven's sake," Clare said, interrupting Judith before she could gain momentum. "I'm sure Griffin's not here to kill anyone. He was a hero last night, for heaven's sake—"
"A hero?" Eppie pointed a sunflower right at her. "Listen here, young lady. I swore on your mother's deathbed that I'd look after you and Katie, and I'll honor that promise until the day I die. If you so much as utter one complimentary word about that dangerous man, I will lock you down until we run him out of town."
"May God rest your mother's spirit," Judith added emphatically. "That man's no good, and if you start dallying with him, it'll endanger everything you've worked so hard to provide for Katie."
"Katie and I are doing just fine," Clare bristled, clenching her fists under the table. "So just stop—" She paused and forced herself to take a breath. These women had been her mother's dearest friends. She had to honor her mother's love for them. She managed a smile. "I appreciate your concern very much," she said evenly. "But you don't need to worry because I'm not going to date him, talk to him or get involved with him in any way."
"Too bad," Emma said. "I think he sounds just wrong enough to be worth getting involved with."
Clare looked at her usually cautious friend, unable to suppress the swirl of nervous anticipation at Emma's comment. "What? Aren't you all about staying away from him?" She really didn't need her friends encouraging her to get all dreamy-eyed about Griffin. She was having enough trouble not remembering how her entire being had trembled when he'd enfolded her in his arms with such strength.
"He sounds like a good choice for you." Emma shrugged, stealing a corner of Clare's muffin and popping it into her mouth. "He apparently has a decent streak to him or he wouldn't have helped you, but you won't be fooled into thinking he's Mr. Right. He's safe to date because it would get you back into the game, but he's got so many issues that he wouldn't tempt you long term. You need to get back out there before you get so desperate that you make a huge mistake like I did." She smiled thoughtfully. "I think he actually sounds interesting."
"Much more interesting than any of the men we get around here," Astrid agreed. "I've never had the opportunity to date a handsome knight who's on a mission to kill his family. Maybe I'll date him if you're not?"
"What? You? I don't think he's your type." Clare sat up quickly before she saw her friend's teasing expression.
"Ah, she does care," Astrid said quietly. "Methinks he did make an impression."
A warm feeling eased through Clare. He had made an impression. A big one. And it felt good. Maybe it felt so good because she knew he didn't live in town, so she never had to actually consider acting on it. She could fantasize, but she'd never have to risk anything that mattered to her.
"It's about time a man made an impression on Clare," Emma said. "It's been too long. Dry spells of that length can lead to dangerous decisions."
"Fifteen years too long," Eppie said. "Katie needs a father. A responsible one," she added. "One that will be there for her. You need a solid, responsible man, Clare, and it's time you stopped being selfish about your freedom and found one."
"Clare needs passion, not a husband," Astrid announced. "A few orgasms and some nights with the massage oil."
Clare's cheeks heated up, Emma clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle, and Judith looked horrified.
But not Eppie. Oh, no, of course not Eppie. "Sex?" Eppie said brightly. "You're talking about sex, aren't you? Well, you may think that old Eppie doesn't know about sex, but we all have our need for passion—"
"Okay." Clare stood up. Hearing Eppie talk about sex was too much for a Sunday morning, and that would be the fast track toward deflating any residual fantasies about Griffin. "I need to work. I'll see you all later."
"I'm going to work, too." Astrid leapt up, and grabbed her coffee. "Emma?"
"Me, too. I need to paint." Emma hurried to her feet. "Today's a painting day, for sure."
"I'll see you later, Eppie. Judith." Clare nodded at the gray-haired duo, but before she could follow Astrid out the door, Eppie took her hand and patted it tenderly.
"Clare, darling, I know sometimes I drive you mad, but we're just looking out for you because we love you and Katie," Eppie said.
Clare's irritation with the older women faded, and she smoothed Eppie's wrinkled collar. "I know, and I appreciate it. It's reassuring to have someone looking out for me."
Judith patted her arm. "We're always here for you, Clare, and when you're ready to date, you just let us know, and we'll find a good one for you."
Clare smiled fondly. "Thanks, but I'm all set." She kissed each one on the forehead. "I have to run and get some work done before Katie gets up. See you later."
They waved her on, and they were already spreading more gossip about the Slipper King before Clare made it to the front door. By the time Griffin woke up, he was going to discover he'd already murdered ten people, six dogs and a hamster. He wouldn't last in this town past noon. Being a hero only went so far if you were an outsider.
As she stepped outside, the thought of Griffin leaving town cast a pall over Clare. She instinctively glanced in the direction of the Dark Pines Motel, but no big black truck was driving toward them. He was either already on his way out of town, or the roof had collapsed on him and pinned him to his bed.
As it should be—well not the roof collapsing, but it really was best not to run into him again. She couldn't afford him. He belonged in her heart and her memories as a romantic amazing moment that would always be perfect because real life could never taint it by turning their brief connection into a real relationship. Griffin was her mythical savior, and now it was time to get practical.
Clare lifted her chin resolutely. Emma and Astrid fell in beside her as she headed down the steps of the store toward the street.
"I'm sure he's not a killer," Emma said as the trio crossed Main Street toward Clare's office, which was just down the block.
"I agree that he's probably not here to go on a killing spree." Clare sighed, feeling oddly deflated. Whether it was the thought of Griffin leaving, or the reminders of her mistake with Ed, she didn't know. She just felt tired. Not sleepy tired. Soul-tired. "But Eppie's right. I don't need another outsider."
"Screw Eppie," Astrid said as they stepped up onto the sidewalk.
"No!" Clare set her hands on her hips and glared at her friend, knowing she needed to quell any romantic longings before they could take hold and render her incapable of accepting the life she had. "I would never have survived those early days without Eppie taking care of Katie while I went back to school."
"But that doesn't mean she's right about this guy." Astrid sighed. "Clare, you're only thirty-three, and you haven't dated in fifteen years. Even for a nun, that's kind of a bit anti-social."
"I don't have time."
Clare pulled open the door to the quaint little building that housed their offices. Clare's was full of legal documents, and Astrid's was full of jewels, precious metals and all sorts of design sketches.
"You don't make time," Astrid said. "There's a difference."
Clare gestured at her desk. "I have clients to deal with, a daughter to raise, bills to pay, and my house needs a new roof. When does that leave time for dating? And why would I want to? I have everything I need."
"Do you really?" Astrid picked up a double-heart necklace that was her biggest seller, and she dangled it. "Are you so sure about that?"
"Well, no." Clare looked at the list of names on her desk. "I need a new roof for free. Other than that, I'm good."
"Speaking of good, I really want to hear the whole story about the Slipper King, especially the strong hands part." Emma leaned against the door frame as Clare crossed the room and sat down at her desk. "All I know is that some guy who drives a big black truck did the hero thing last night, and he might be an insane murderer. Who is he? What happened?" Her dark brown eyes met Clare's, and they were full of an understanding and empathy that had deepened since Emma had returned to town last fall. "And are you okay, Clare? Really okay?"
Emma's gentle inquisition made Clare's defenses fall, and she sagged down in her chair, unable to stop the aching loneliness from cascading through her. "I'm a wreck."
Emma laughed softly. "A wreck because you met an appealing guy? I'd probably be the same way."
"Or are you a wreck because you finally want to break out of that shell of yours, and you're scared?" Astrid asked. "It's okay to be terrified about men. Why do you think I never get serious with one? It's all a facade for the fact that being in another serious relationship terrifies me beyond words."
Clare smiled at her friend's confession. "We've been telling you that for years, Astrid. You need therapy."
"To talk me into a husband? Never. My jewelry is all I need." Astrid smiled gently. "But you, my dear, don't even date. That's not normal. Raw, debilitating terror is not a reason to skip out on a chance to get in touch with your womanly side."
"I'm not terrified." Clare thought back again to last night, but this time, the memory of Griffin's lean and well-muscled body striding across the sodden earth toward her didn't flood her with warmth and peace. Instead, tension tweaked her chest, her belly churned and fear rippled through her body. Well, okay, maybe a little terrified. She'd lost so much already, and she couldn't afford to lose anymore. She knew it would break her beyond what she could take.
Eppie might be an overly protective gossip, but the older woman was right. Clare had made a grievous mistake fifteen years ago, far more than anyone, even Astrid and Emma, knew. And Griffin was that same kind of mistake.
She'd come too far, and she was clinging to a thread that was too perilously thin to be able to afford another mistake, or take a risk, any kind of risk. Astrid was right. She was terrified. But for all the right reasons.
"Clare?" Emma prompted. "I want to hear the details."
Clare turned on her computer, the bleak void in her heart so powerful that her chest actually hurt. "It was nothing," she said quietly. It had to be nothing. She couldn't handle it being anything more.
Her friend gave her a skeptical look, and Clare knew she didn't believe it.
Unfortunately, Clare didn't either.
Chapter 4
The situation was intolerable.
Griffin could still feel the skittle of little claws across his forehead as he drove down what was apparently Main Street. Not that he had a problem with rodents per se, but waking up to find one trying to pluck out a few hairs for its nest had not been exactly what he'd had in mind when he'd asked a local for a place to crash last night.
He did not sleep with rodents. Period.
He should have known better than to take directions from a man wearing ear flaps in the middle of April, especially one who had taken such a long and skeptical look at Griffin's truck and asked him point blank whether it had cost more than his house. But the man who'd been standing roadside at ten o'clock when Griffin had driven into town had been the only resource in sight, and Griffin had been wet, muddy and yeah, a little distracted by the prior two hours.
Hence a night with the rats.
Griffin slowed his truck as he saw a crowd of cars ahead. He'd expected the town of Birch Crossing to still be asleep at seven thirty on a Sunday morning, but the number of cars and people crowding in front of Wright & Son told him that he might find a reference to better lodging.
He parked his truck and reached in back for his leather jacket, but his fingers hit something softer, wetter, and fluffier than should ever have been in his vehicle. Instinctively, he jerked his hand back, but nothing squeaked in outrage.
Cautiously, he peered over into the rear of the truck and saw a hot pink scarf sitting on his back seat. His mind flashed back to last night, and he remembered that Clare's daughter had been wearing that scarf when she'd gotten into his truck.
He picked it up, turning it over in his hand as he recalled the previous evening. He thought of Clare. Of Katie. Of all the kids that had been piled in his vehicle. Fighting over his blankets. Teeth chattering. All of them talking over each other, trying to tell Clare what had happened and how they'd ended up stranded in the woods. A feeling of rightness settled over him as he recalled the chaos that had reigned in his truck last night.
For those twenty minutes it had taken to get them back to Clare's car, his truck had been overrun with people, with teenagers. He'd forgotten what that felt like to have the windows steam up because there were so many people in his space. He hadn't remembered what it felt like to have someone's foot accidentally knock his arm off the arm rest. He'd lost the memory of what it sounded like to hear teenage laughter. Their screeches of protest ringing in his ears.
He laughed softly, remembering the teens competing to tell the story of Jeremy falling into the river, trying to talk over each other to be the one to deliver the final blow to the poor kid's dignity, explaining how he'd been peeing into the river at the time he'd fallen in, and he'd had an all-too-revealing zipper in his jeans when the girls had pulled him out.
Griffin's smile faded as he looked around his truck, suddenly aware of its emptiness in a way he hadn't felt when he'd bought it. It had been perfect. Pristine. Flawless. Exactly as he liked it. Now, there was dirt on the seats and floor and smudges on the windows. He nodded. Yeah, that was how a truck should be. Lived in.
On the floor of the passenger seat were thick chunks of dirt on the mat. From Clare's boots. His adrenaline spiked as he recalled her sitting in that seat, gripping the dashboard like it was all she had to keep from falling apart. He'd felt like a fucking hero when he'd seen her stumble out of the car and hug her daughter. He'd fixed something and made it right, something he felt like he hadn't done in a long time.
The high he'd gotten was addictive as hell. What if his own daughter could have seen him in that moment? Maybe she would look at him the way Clare's daughter and her friends had, like he had delivered them from the very bowels of hell into salvation, instead of being that hell himself. But she didn't. She hadn't looked at him like that in a long, damn time.
Scowling, he clenched the scarf in his fist, and a few drops spilled out and dripped on the leather console.
Like the drops that had been dripping down Clare's cheeks when she'd climbed into his truck and pushed back her hood.
For a moment, he hadn't been sure whether they were tears or raindrops. Still wasn't, in fact. But he could still recall with vivid clarity those huge blue eyes staring at him in desperation, in a silent plea for help.
He laughed softly, remembering his asinine inspiration to drive his truck up the side of a damn cliff. Anything to take the strain off the face of that petite female who'd been ready to climb over a monstrous tree and hike eight miles in a storm to find her daughter.
In that moment, when Clare Gray had climbed into his truck, dren
ched his new seat, and turned toward him...he would have driven off a damn cliff for her.
Getting caught up in playing the hero for a woman was something he didn't need. Not now. Not ever. He'd learned his lesson, and he'd learned it well. It was a role he didn't fit.
The only female in his life from now on would be his daughter.
As soon as he got her back.
Until Brooke was home, there was no time for thinking about a woman like Clare. Even if she did have the most expressive blue eyes he'd ever seen.
"Hey!" A man about Griffin's age wearing a faded army jacket and an old flannel shirt smacked the hood of Griffin's truck. "You like her?"
"Her?" Griffin shot out of the truck as the man flattened his palm on the gleaming paint. Was the man talking about Clare? Did he know where she was? "Who?"
"This truck." The man stroked his hand over the hood again. "I'm saving up for one of these babies. Ralph is going to let me know if someone turns one in at his lot. If it's got less than seventy thousand, I'm getting it."
The truck? Griffin scowled, trying to pull his thoughts back from the woman who'd been on his mind all night. It was guy time. Truck talk. A much safer topic. "Less than seventy thousand? Miles?" Griffin hadn't kept a truck past thirty thousand in twenty years.
"Yeah, man, that's when she gets into her prime." The man stuck his hand out. "Jackson Reed. Welcome to Birch Crossing, my man."
Griffin hesitated, then clasped Jackson's callused hand. "Griffin Friesé."
"I know. Nice job last night, my man. Nice job." Jackson clapped his palm on Griffin's shoulder. "You going in for a cup of coffee before you kill them off?"
Unexpectedly Mine (Birch Crossing Book 1) Page 4
