Take Me Home

by Nancy Herkness

  His blazer was slung over the back of the chair, and he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. As he leaned forward to take a bite, the familiar errant lock of hair fell onto his forehead. She wanted to slide onto his lap and burrow into the expanse of blue silk spanning his chest, hiding from the disaster of the evening.

  “Hungry?” he asked. “I’ll heat up a plate for you.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass for now.” The spike and drop of adrenaline had killed her appetite. Claire sank into the chair across from him, her full skirt spilling over the arms.

  Putting down the fork, he wiped his chin before speaking. “They’re going to send a patrol car by here regularly. He also promised to send the locksmith over first thing in the morning.”

  “Thank you!” Claire slumped back in her chair. “I tried to talk her into changing the locks on the day Frank announced he wanted a divorce. She wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “Sometimes it takes a while to come to terms with a harsh reality,” Tim said, his tone sober now. He reached across the table and opened his hand palm up, an invitation to comfort. Claire hesitated only a moment before placing her hand against the warmth of his palm. She felt the calluses on his fingertips brush her skin as he carefully closed them.

  That was all it took, just that minor point of contact, and she became aware of him across every inch of her body. Why had she never before noticed that his lower lip had a full, sensuous swell that made her want to trace it with her tongue?

  “Folks don’t always want to admit things have gone wrong in their lives, and it’s especially hard to admit it to family,” Tim was saying, his low rumble of a voice sending delicious little vibrations dancing along her spine.

  Claire shivered as the heat of his hand licked up her arm and melded with all the other sensations his presence fanned into being.

  “Are you cold?” he asked, letting go of her hand and reaching around for his jacket. “Take this.”

  He stood and draped the jacket over her shoulders. “Mmm, much better,” she said, pulling it close around her so she could feel the body heat where he had sat against it and smell the scent of clean male. It was as close as she could get to having his arms around her. “I think it’s relief. You’ve just solved all my short-term problems.”

  “Maybe I’m your whisper human,” he said, his big hands cupping her shoulders and his mouth close to her ear. “Tell me your troubles and they’ll go away.”

  Claire shivered again as his breath feathered over her cheek. “That’s a nice thought, but more burden than I’d ask anyone else to bear.”

  He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze before he released them. “I’m in better shape than Willow is for bearing burdens.” He returned to his chair and picked up his fork again. “My apologies for eating when you’re not. It takes a fair amount of fuel to keep me going.”

  “I feel terrible. You should be eating four-star haute cuisine instead of mystery casserole.” She watched the play of muscles in his throat as he swallowed and thought about feeling them move against her lips.

  “The casserole is right tasty. Why don’t we try for the haute cuisine again tomorrow night?”

  Claire yearned to say yes so she could sit across another table and bask in the quiet power of this man. “It sounds great, but I have another commitment tomorrow night. May I have a rain check?”

  “Sure. We’ll aim for next weekend,” he said, but she sensed a slight withdrawal.

  She felt compelled to offer an explanation. “I’ve been challenged to a foosball match by an old friend.” Of course, she was going to cancel it, in light of Holly’s situation. However, she didn’t intend to tell Tim that since he might insist on staying with Holly again.

  “You play foosball?”

  It was the first time she’d seen him look startled, and it pleased her that she’d been able to ruffle his usually placid exterior. “Why are you so surprised? Do I seem like a klutz?”

  “You look like a woman who doesn’t frequent that sort of a bar. Are you playing at the Black Bear?”

  “No, the Sportsman.”

  “Seriously?”

  Claire knew why he said that. The clientele at the Sportsman left something to be desired. She had never gone there without Paul’s protective escort. Even with his company, she had once been accosted by a drunken patron who had outweighed Paul by about a hundred pounds. Luckily, the bartender had intervened, and both of them had emerged unscathed. However, they had avoided the place for a few months following the incident.

  “It’s where I learned the game. Did you ever play?”

  “In grad school.”

  “Not college?”

  “I didn’t go to bars much then.” Tim picked up his empty plate and carried it to the sink.

  “Too much homework?”

  He rinsed the plate and fork and opened the dishwasher door. “I couldn’t afford a fake ID.”

  “You got carded in college? That’s hard to believe, given your...er...height.”

  “Well, I was younger than your average freshman, and pretty skinny.”

  “How old were you?”

  Tim closed the dishwasher and straightened. “Fifteen.”

  Claire rocked back in her chair. “That’s why I didn’t remember you from the high school. You graduated before I got there.”

  “I was just good at science, and I ran through the courses at the high school pretty quickly.” He shrugged. “College seemed to be the next logical step.”

  “Where did you go undergrad?”

  “Boston,” he said. “How about you?”

  “New York University, but only part-time. I had to get a job.” He was avoiding answering her question, and she couldn’t figure out why. “Boston College or Boston University?”

  There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence.

  “Jesus H. Christ! You went to Harvard, didn’t you?”

  All her assumptions about Tim Arbuckle fractured, and she struggled to rearrange them into a new pattern.

  “That’s why I don’t tell people,” he said, pushing his hair back with a gesture of irritation. “They get the wrong idea.”

  “You mean you’re not brilliant? Never mind. You can’t answer that honestly and still pretend to be a humble country veterinarian.” Claire wasn’t sure why she was unsettled by this. He had never lied to her; he’d just given her a misleading impression.

  “I don’t pretend to be a country veterinarian. It’s what I do for a living.”

  “You forgot humble.” She suddenly remembered his catalog of equine artists and the way he had pronounced Julia Castillo’s name. And Sharon had mentioned colleges trying to recruit him. “I’m sorry. I’m just surprised. Like you were about my foosball habit. Except going to Harvard at age fifteen is a little more impressive.”

  She tilted her head back to offer an apologetic smile. He didn’t smile in return, but he did come back to the table and lower himself into the chair. It creaked slightly as he settled into it. He laced his fingers together on the tabletop and stared down at them.

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Claire said.

  That brought his gaze up to her face. She regretted her outburst when she saw the lines of strain around his mouth. He shook his head. “It’s not a secret. Enough folks remember me from high school to know where I went to college and how old I was.” He huffed out a breath. “Sometimes I’d just like to be normal.”

  Claire had a sudden vision of a skinny, teenaged version of Tim, fresh from the hills of West Virginia, arriving on the campus of moneyed, tradition-steeped Harvard. Even worse, he was three years younger than his fellow freshmen, a huge gap of experience at that age. He must have felt like a total outsider.

  She reached across the table and laid her hand on top of his clenched fists. “I never belonged here, either. I cared about useless things like paintings and statues. That’s why I left for New York as soon as I could.”

  “I imagine that’s why I ended up in New York
too. We’re not misfits there, just New Yorkers.” His smile was twisted, but it was a smile.

  Headlights flashed through the window. Tim was instantly on his feet and peering through the dark glass. “It’s a police cruiser,” he said.

  “That was prompt. Let me guess, you saved the police chief’s Saint Bernard.”

  “His Chihuahua.”

  “AUNT CLAIRE! THE chocolate chip pancakes are ready.”

  Claire opened her eyes to find Kayleigh standing by her bed in Brianna’s room, wearing blindingly pink Hello Kitty pajamas. She squinted at her wristwatch: it read 7:10 a.m. Stifling a groan, she said, “They smell yummy. Who cooked them?”

  “Dr. Tim. C’mon!”

  “You go ahead, sweetie. I’ve got to put some clothes on.” Claire had stripped down to her bra and panties before sliding between Brianna’s lavender sheets.

  She wondered what Tim had worn to sleep in Kayleigh’s pink-polka-dotted bedroom and how far his feet had hung off the end of the child’s bed. She started to giggle at the image of Tim in his boxers with the fluffy kittens quilt draped over him. Her giggling came to an abrupt halt as her imagination conjured up the expanse of bare, muscled chest it would expose. She threw the covers back and scooped up her dress, fumbling with the huge black buttons as she wished she’d thought to borrow some jeans from Holly’s closet.

  After a quick wash and a muttered curse at Frank over the bruise on her face, Claire followed the aroma of warm chocolate and buckwheat into a kitchen crammed with activity. Tim stood at the stove, also dressed in last night’s clothing, while Brianna and Kayleigh took turns sprinkling the chips in the pancakes. Although she had circles under her eyes, Holly was pouring milk into the Pokémon glasses arrayed at the five table settings. She must have put concealer over the bruise on her cheek, because Claire couldn’t see any sign of it.

  “Morning,” Claire said, feeling guilty that she had slept through all the preparation. “What can I do to help?”

  “You can sit down and start eating,” Tim said, reaching for a plate piled high with steaming pancakes. “My fellow chefs like the cooking more than the consuming.”

  The slow smile he gave her made all the commotion fade away. For a long moment, she saw nothing but his gray eyes accented by the unruly lock of hair. She felt her lips turn upward in a smile to match his as warmth bloomed deep inside her.

  “Girls, come over here and sit,” Holly commanded, breaking the fragile spell. “I’ll let you squirt whipped cream on your pancakes.”

  That sent the children scrambling for their chairs as their mother shook the can of Reddi-wip.

  Claire walked over to take the plate from Tim, feeling oddly shy about being close to him.

  “Just a minute,” he said, putting his finger under her chin and turning her face upward.

  She thought he was going to kiss her, and held her breath with shocked but delighted anticipation. Instead, he bent down to examine the bruise left by the flying figurine. “No swelling,” he said with satisfaction. “It may be tender for a while, though.”

  Disappointment doused her little flare of excitement. She tried to summon the nerve to stretch up and brush her lips against the angle of his cheekbone. However, she was too aware of three extra pairs of eyes to risk it.

  She turned to the table and presented the platter with a flourish. “World’s greatest pancakes!”

  As breakfast was consumed with noisy relish, Claire could almost forget the ugliness of the night before. The little girls’ innocence sluiced away the stains of violence. Tim’s calm, solid presence banished fear.

  “I’ll pick you up as soon as I finish work, and we’ll go to the stable,” Claire promised the girls. “That should be about four o’clock.” Davis would cover the rest of the afternoon for her.

  “Okay, young ladies, clear your plates and go wash up,” Holly said, starting to push out of her chair.

  “Sit—”

  “Stay—”

  Claire and Tim spoke and stood together.

  “All right!” Holly said, smiling and sinking back onto the seat. “I’m outnumbered.”

  Her sister’s smile lightened Claire’s spirits even more. Why couldn’t their relationship feel like this all the time?

  As she and Tim worked side by side while bantering with Holly, Claire wanted the time to stretch out like a long summer twilight. However, Tim was extremely efficient, and the kitchen was tidy all too soon. Holly excused herself to check on the girls.

  “Can I give you a lift home?” Tim said, drying his hands on a Disney Princess dish towel he had slung over his shoulder.

  “Thanks, but I’ll stay here a little longer and hitch a ride with a neighbor. The gallery doesn’t open until ten.”

  “I’ll give you a call about that rain check,” Tim said, hanging the towel up on its rack.

  Claire screwed up her courage and walked over to him. Rising up on her tiptoes, she put her hands on his shoulders, marveling at the sheer mass of them under her palms. Still, she couldn’t reach the cheek she was aiming for. He bent his head, and for a moment, they locked gazes. Then he stooped further and kissed her on the lips.

  She dug her fingers into the muscle curving over his shoulder, letting her eyes close as she savored the touch she’d been craving since the night before. He kissed the way he did everything else, slowly and with thoroughness. Her skin seemed to light up with the desire for his mouth to slide over every inch of it, and she moaned softly.

  His hands came up to her waist, pulling her against him just as Kayleigh’s voice rang out. “I want to say good-bye to Dr. Tim.”

  Tim moved them apart with a speed she hadn’t thought him capable of. She caught sight of the blaze of raw hunger in his eyes just as he turned away to greet Kayleigh and Brianna. It set another match to the tinderbox of frustration he had created in her.

  After the farewells were said, Claire walked beside him to the front door.

  “Good luck with your foosball match,” he said.

  “Oh Lord, I’d completely forgotten about that,” Claire said. “I’ll have to call and—”

  “You’re not canceling it on my account,” her sister piped up from the living room.

  Tim mouthed, Sorry, and Claire gestured, Don’t worry about it, before thanking him aloud and waving a chaste good-bye.

  The moment the door closed behind him, she felt the void of his absence and hustled into the living room to distract herself by discussing the situation with her sister.

  “You’re not changing your plans because Frank had too much to drink last night,” Holly said in a low voice. “Dr. Tim told me the locksmith is coming as soon as he opens. Besides, the police are watching the house.”

  Claire opened her mouth to argue when the doorbell rang. She and Holly exchanged a worried look as Claire gestured that she would answer it.

  She raised her voice to say, “Be right there,” as she made her way to the front door. She took a deep breath before she twitched the curtain away from the sidelight to see who the visitor was.

  Relief coursed through her as she saw a dark-blue police uniform. “Holly, it’s okay,” she said, pulling the door open with a smile. As she looked up past the uniform to the officer’s face, her grin widened. “Robbie? Robbie McGraw?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling back at her. “I heard you were back home.”

  “Am I allowed to hug you when you’re on duty?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe not with my partner watching.”

  Claire laughed. “Later, then. It’s so good to see you.”

  “Is something wrong?” Holly asked, appearing beside Claire. She seemed to shrink back when she saw Robbie.

  “No, ma’am, Mrs. Snedegar. The chief asked me to stop by.”

  “That’s real nice of you, Robbie,” Holly said, her voice forced. “Call me Holly. After all, you and Claire were in the same grade.”

  Claire eyed Holly with bemusement. Then she remembered. Holly ha
d had a crush on Robbie McGraw—quarterback, Eagle Scout, and all-round nice guy—in high school. He, being two years older and the darling of every cheerleader on the squad, had never encouraged her. It must be mortifying to have her old crush know about her marital situation.

  “Can I get you a cold drink?” Holly was asking. “And something for your partner?”

  “No, ma’am, but I appreciate the offer. The chief wanted me to advise you to call nine-one-one, even if you’re not sure there’s a danger. A false alarm is better than a real disaster.”

  “I promise to do that,” Holly said, her cordiality slipping at the reminder.

  “We’ll be patrolling the neighborhood frequently, so we can get here fast if you need us,” Robbie assured them.

  “You’ve made me feel a heck of a lot better,” Claire said. “Thanks for taking the time to come by.”

  As she watched him stride back down the walk, Claire reflected that her old classmate hadn’t changed all that much. He was still as trim and fit as when he’d led the football team.

  “Is he married?” she asked Holly as he ducked into the driver’s seat of the cruiser.

  “I thought you liked Tim.”

  “I do.” Claire was startled by Holly’s reaction. “I mean, I was just curious about Robbie. I haven’t seen him since high school.”

  “No, he’s not,” Holly said, “but it’s not for lack of the ladies trying. Twyla Bradford was bragging that he had bought her an engagement ring, but it turned out to be a cameo ring for his mother. Twyla was good and embarrassed.”

  Claire was savoring the normalcy of her sister’s little tidbit of gossip when the light faded from Holly’s eyes. “Anyway, Robbie’s still a bachelor and seems to want to stay that way.”

  Holly went back to the couch in the living room, and Claire followed. “Listen, when I take the girls to the stable, I want you to go right to bed. I’ll run them to Joe’s Drive-In for dinner, so you don’t have to fix anything. Okay?”