by Lee Magner
Clare shivered.
“See what I mean?” he asked softly. “Not everybody here is warm and friendly. Not to me, anyway.” He fell silent for a moment, then added, “One of the reasons I didn’t want to see you while I was here was that look you just got from that kid who passed by. I have to be the target of that kind of garbage. So does my father. But you don’t have to be.” The crickets chirped. “I don’t want you involved in my problems, Clare.”
Clare turned and gave him an indignant look.
“That’s what friends are for!” she exclaimed angrily. “To stand by you when times get tough.”
He grinned and caught her hand in his and laid it on his knee where he captured it beneath his palm.
“There goes Clare, up on her soapbox,” he said admiringly.
She kicked him in the ankle.
He grunted and laced his fingers between hers.
“For that, I’ll sit here on your porch swing for twenty minutes,” he vowed. “Let that be your punishment.”
Clare sighed. “I can take it if you can, Case.”
The swing creaked softly as they gently pushed their feet in tandem against the porch floor. It swung slowly with their combined weight.
Back. And forth.
And back. And forth.
In the soft, quiet night.
With the occasional, soft chirping of crickets.
“What was Case Malloy doing at your house last night?”
Clare looked up from the pile of papers spread across her desk and frowned at the man who’d just walked into her office.
“Why, Peter, how did you hear about that?” she asked in surprise. She wasn’t surprised that he’d heard about it… just that he’d heard so fast.
“It’s all over town.”
“Does that mean Paula drove by and saw him?” Clare asked innocently.
“Don’t be nasty, Clare.”
“Well, don’t you feel a little, uh, overbearing… for demanding an explanation for Case’s visit to my house?” she asked irritably.
She tossed her pencil onto’the pile of papers and leaned back in the old, wooden swivel rocker.
Peter swallowed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“No. I don’t feel ‘overbearing’ as you put it. I’m just concerned.”
“For me?” she asked curiously.
“Yes, of course. People will talk…”
“Probably.”
“It looks strange, after all these years, letting him step back into your home, as if he’d never been away, as if nothing had happened.”
“People welcome old friends that they haven’t seen in years all the time, Peter! What in the world are you talking about?”
Peter placed his hands on her desk and leaned forward. His face was taut and his voice trembling with emotion.
“I have a very bad feeling about this whole situation, Clare. A very, very bad feeling. If Seamus Malloy doesn’t leave town soon, we may have real trouble here. Serious trouble. Where people get hurt… or worse…”
“Have you heard anyone making threats against Seamus or Case?” she asked angrily.
“Yes. Lots of threats are being made. Most of it is just talk, I’m sure. It’s just that—some of it might not be. There’s an ugly mood here, something we don’t have normally in Crawfordsville. And we won’t have it anymore if Case will take his father and go,” he added heatedly. “Why in the name of all that’s merciful isn’t Case taking Seamus off to Chicago or someplace far away from here?”
“Seamus isn’t ready to leave yet. And Luther is content to have him stay at the farm. Those are the usual reasons that people stick around,” she answered, making an effort to contain her impatience with Peter’s near hysteria. “I don’t understand why you are so anxious about Case being at my house, though,” she said, going back to his first, blunt question.
“Seamus isn’t the only person that people are making threats against,” he admitted uneasily. “Especially since Seamus is not expected to live much longer, they’re looking for some other target for their anger.”
“And Case is a nice, big, strong target,” she reflected tiredly.
“And so is anyone who is standing around him.”
“What do you suggest, Peter?”
“That you not see him anymore.”
Clare laughed. “Try again,” she suggested easily. “I stand by my friends.”
Peter blushed at the obvious inference that he did not. He swallowed and looked around.
“There were a lot of things that got swept under the rug when Lexie was murdered,” he said, barely above a whisper. “If there’s trouble, there may be an investigation. And some of those things may come out.”
He looked at her, pleading with his eyes for her understanding and her cooperation.
“What things?” she asked sharply.
He glanced away and straightened, rubbing his palms together nervously.
“They’re confidential. I shouldn’t even have mentioned what I did…. Just, please, Clare, if you insist on seeing Case again, try to get him to leave. It would be best for everyone.” He reached out and touched her wrist gently. “It would be best for you.”
He turned and hurried out of her office before she could stop him.
Clare sat in her chair and wondered what could have been swept under the rug in the course of a murder investigation. Surely if it had been something related to the crime, the investigators would have had to reveal it to the prosecutors. And what could Peter know about Lexie that would be a confidential matter, one that had been hidden from public view during the murder trial?
Peter had said something about being too involved with his counseling of Lexie. Could that have something to do with the scandalous, hidden material?
“Around here, scandal usually has something to do with sex,” she muttered to herself as she turned back to sorting the papers on her desk.
She blinked and stared blindly into the air around her.
Lexie had worn her sex appeal in both obvious and subtle ways. Maybe Peter had been seduced by her. Could that be what he feared would be revealed?
“Oh, Peter,” Clare murmured sadly. “I hope that’s not it.”
The warning that Case received was a little more crude. It came in the form of red paint splashed on his clean, shiny, sandcolored rental car.
* * *
The vandalism occurred the day after Clare had received the visit from Peter.
“Why didn’t the police staking out Luther’s driveway see the perpetrators?” Case angrily demanded to know.
“Maybe the perpetrators didn’t come up the driveway,” the mayor suggested as Case glared at him across his wide, polished mahogany desk.
“And maybe your cops looked the other way,” Case countered coldly.
The mayor hopped to his feet and pounded on his own table.
“I resent the implications of that comment! You have no basis for suggesting—’’
Case dropped a cloth still damp with the paint onto the mayor’s beautiful desk.
“This is the basis, Mr. Mayor. See if your local police can figure out anything from that evidence.”
The door rattled as he slammed it on the way out. Clare felt the vibrations all the way down in her wing of the building and she jumped up and ran out of her office after him.
“Case! Wait!”
He slackened his pace and she caught up with him by the time he’d reached the huge courthouse doors.
“Case, is everyone all right? I mean… no one was hurt?” she asked anxiously, grabbing hold of his arm.
“No one was hurt. Except the car,” he replied wryly. He saw the anxiety shimmering in her eyes and felt an overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her.
“Hell,” he muttered.
“What’s the matter?” she asked anxiously. She stepped closer to him.
He rolled his eyes heavenward. Her scent was filling his senses. Why the hell did she have to smell so damn g
ood?
“Never mind,” he muttered.
Clare was trembling, and he felt it, as her hand shook lightly against his aim. He looked down and saw the fear in her eyes and all his good intentions began to crumble into dust.
“Clare,” he murmured huskily, pulling her into the shadows behind one of the huge pillars. “Clare…”
She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. The scent of him came to her, and all the memories flooded back along with it.
He was warm and solid and holding her close, murmuring reassurances close to her ear, sliding his hand gently across her back.
“It’ll be all right,” he whispered. “I’ll get Seamus to come back to Chicago with me. I think maybe he will, especially now…”
“But it’s not fair!” she cried out, forming fists with her hands and pressing them against his chest. “Just when you—”
She choked back the rest.
He put his fingertip beneath her chin and gently lifted her face.
“Just when I what, Clare?” he pressed her gently.
“Just when you were coming back to me,” she whispered. Her eyes were wide open, vulnerable. “We were… finally…”
The sound of her voice, the feel of her body close to his, were heating his blood and making it difficult to think straight. He knew he wasn’t following his game plan anymore, but right at this moment, he didn’t give a damn.
Clare blinked and lifted her arms and slid them slowly around his neck. She didn’t know why he’d finally relented and let down some of his guard with her, but she wasn’t going to bother him with questions about it. That could wait till later. Forever, if necessary.
And she noticed that he didn’t seem to feel the urge to clarify exactly what it was she thought they were finally achieving. She was just thankful that he wasn’t backing off and telling her how independent he was.
He was staring at her eyes and then his gaze shifted down to her lips.
Clare felt heat spread across the soft flesh of her lips, rush like a cataract down into her belly. Her nipples tautened and something tightened and heated in the soft, hidden V between her legs.
To her surprise, he seemed to be having a similar reaction. Her eyes widened in surprise.
Angrily, he lowered his mouth and kissed her. Hard. Grinding his lips against hers. Holding her head so she could not escape him.
But it wasn’t enough for her, and she rose up to meet him, meeting his harshness with softness.
He backed her into the dark recesses of the old building, keeping their mouths sealed wetly together, placing his knee between her thighs as her back hit the stone wall.
For once, Clare was deeply grateful that the maintenance staff had a hard time replacing the light bulbs in the overhead spotlights. They were bathed in darkness and shadows, out of the sight of anyone who might pass through the main foyer just twenty-five feet away.
“Clare,” he gasped, raising his mouth long enough to beg her to help him control the sudden rage of need that was consuming him with hot, licking flames of desire. “This is crazy…” he whispered against her mouth. Then he kissed her.
Again.
And again.
And again and again.
Nibbling and plying and caressing. Sliding his tongue softly now along her swollen lips. Tilting his mouth and securing an exquisitely pleasurable fit.
Kissing her long. With his warmth exploring hers, with his body sliding against hers, with his knee wedged hard against her crotch, and his hand sliding down her back and across her buttocks.
He only wished it was skin he was touching, instead of the fabric of her clothing.
And she was no help. She was responding like a sex-starved wood nymph. Every part of her melted against him in the most enticing, most erotic way.
Heat flooded him, searing his face and filling his belly and pooling hard and pounding in his sex.
“We can’t,” he whispered harshly, trying desperately to get a hold on his self-control. What the hell was happening to him, anyway?
“Not here,” she agreed, gasping for breath and clinging to him.
“Not anywhere… you and me…” He lowered his face and nuzzled her hair. “Damn it, why do you smell so good, Clare? Did you pour a bottle of aphrodisiac on you or something?” He half laughed and hugged her hard, trying to resist the nearly overwhelming urge to continue what he had started.
The sound of footsteps made them still.
Voices.
“It’s the mayor’s secretary and one of the accountants,” Clare whispered.
When the sounds had faded and it was apparent that no one was in the main hall’s foyer, Case firmly pushed himself away from her.
“I’m…sorry,” he said tightly, shutting his eyes and grimacing. “I don’t know… Well, I’m sorry.”
“We’re both…overwrought,” Clare offered weakly.
Yeah, and randy as elks in the mating season, Case thought in resignation. And they were likely to stay that way.
“Look, I’ve got to get back to Seamus. I’ll call you.”
“All right.”
“We’ll deal with… this… later.”
“Okay.” She laughed softly and shook her head in amazement. He’d actually kissed her. Who would have thought?
“Just put it down to the strange situation we’re in, okay?” he said sternly. “I don’t want you getting wild, romantic notions…”
Clare laughed cynically.
“Oh, don’t worry, Case. My romantic notions are safely tucked away in my hope chest,” she promised him with a sigh of resignation.
“Good,” he growled. “Keep them there.”
“Clare, are you feeling all right?” her mother asked later that evening.
“Yes.”
“You’ve been picking at that meat loaf for half an hour. I haven’t seen you put more than a half-dozen bites of food in your mouth since we sat down to supper. What’s the matter, dear? Are you coming down with something?”
“Maybe.” Clare laid her fork down and stared forlornly at her anxious mother.
“It’s Case, isn’t it?”
Clare nodded.
Lavinia Browne sighed and cleared away the food. Sometimes young people seemed to be absolutely blind to what was good for them, she thought.
“Well, if you’re not going to eat, we might as well clean up. Do you want to wash or dry?”
“Wash.”
A half hour later, just as Clare was hanging up her dish towel, someone knocked on the front door.
Hoping it might be Case, she hurried to answer the knock. But it wasn’t Case standing on the porch.
It was Franklin Bonney.
“May I come in?” he asked smoothly.
“Sure, Franklin,” Clare said, ushering him in with a wave of the hand. “But just for a little while—I’m really tired tonight.”
Franklin stepped inside, greeting Lavinia as she poked her head in briefly.
“I just wanted to make sure you were all right,” Franklin said.
“You know, you’re not the first person to do that today,” Clare said with a tired smile. “I must look like a total wreck!”
Franklin laughed and shook his head.
“Au contraire,” he murmured. “It’s your beauty that brings out all this protective concern.”
“Hmm. Well, I’ll take whatever I can get, I suppose.”
Franklin smiled at her and sat down in one of the living room chairs, making himself at home.
“I owe you a decent meal in a restaurant,” he reminded her, after they’d been talking for a while.
Clare wasn’t sure she wanted to go out with Franklin at the moment.
“There’s no hurry, Franklin,” she assured him.
He looked at her a little more shrewdly.
“Don’t tell me you’ve found a better prospect to go out with?” he exclaimed in sly amusement.
“Now, Franklin, if anyone of voting age had moved int
o the area, you’d be the first to know about it, I’m sure,” Clare remarked in amusement. “And I’m not so hard up for a date that I rob the newborns from their hospital cribs!”
Franklin laughed easily, but his eyes were surveying the room, looking carefully at everything. Like a predator cruising for prey.
Clare wondered what exactly he was seeking.
“The mayor told me that Case was in the courthouse complaining about vandalism…”
Clare nodded. So that was why Franklin had “dropped in.”
Franklin leaned forward and spoke to her in a cool, steady voice. “Be careful with Case,” he warned.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s caused serious grief to women here in the past. Don’t let him start up again with you.”
Clare’s cheeks reddened in anger and she shot to her feet.
“Franklin, I’m a grown woman,” she said briskly. “Thanks for your concern, but don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly safe when I’m with Case. He’s a decent man.”
Franklin stared at her thoughtfully.
“You’re still carrying a torch for him.” He didn’t even bother to ask. He stated it as a fact. And then he got to his feet. “Well, I’m sorry to have bothered you. I can see you are tired and you need some rest.”
He leaned forward and brushed a platonic kiss across her cheek.
“Good night, Clare.”
“Good night, Franklin.”
Luther shook his head.
“You’re both as stubborn as mules, if you ask me,” he muttered. He was standing in his bathrobe, trying to get Case and his father to agree to a plan for the future.
“I don’t know why you won’t just let me take you to Chicago,” Case said, frowning and pacing in frustration.
“I don’t know anyone there,” Seamus said stubbornly.
“Hell, how many people do you know here, Da? Or in that shelter you wanted to move into?”
Seamus set his jaw and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“Look, there are some people who haven’t been willing to forgive and forget about what happened to Lexie Clayton. They may get to be major pains. You’d be safer if we left.”
“Would I, now?” Seamus mused. “Is there anyplace a person can be safe from what they’ve done wrong? Anyplace that’ll shield you from burdens ye’re too old and weak to shoulder?”
