“Good to see how much you trust me.” His mouth formed a thin line. “What do you want me to do, Claire? Lock myself in the house? You’re the one spending all your time in another state. You left me, remember?”
She jangled her keys, threw back her shoulders and unlocked the car. “I need to go.”
“That’s it?” His face darkened to match the sky above them. “You need to go?”
“Yes. I have to get back tonight. I’m not staying.”
“Are you sure you should be driving?”
Thunder rumbled off in the distance. Claire narrowed her eyes, her heart racing again. “Actually, I haven’t had a drink in weeks. Thanks for the moral support.”
James scowled. “I meant because you’re upset. I didn’t mean to…”
“No.” Claire shook her head. “I know what you meant.” She released a sigh and took in the circles around his eyes. His t-shirt seemed loose, his jeans baggier. “You look tired.”
He scratched his chin and kicked at a few pebbles. “Been busy I guess. With work.”
“How’s it going?”
“Good. It’s steady. Steve’s happy.”
“And the designer that took over from me?”
“She’s all right. My clients seem to like her. I don’t think she’s got your eye though.” A light breeze lifted his hair as a few more drops of rain splattered around them.
Claire fought against the fierce emotions that churned in her, her mind a whirl of irrational thought. “That’s good. I’m glad it worked out.”
Stilted conversation between strangers.
She brushed a hand across her cheek and stepped toward the car.
“Claire, don’t leave. Let’s go someplace and talk. Please.” He reached for her hand but she pulled away.
“I can’t. I have a long drive ahead. I…I have some things I need to take care of up there.”
“Like what?” Anger moved across his face and flashed a familiar warning. “What could possibly be more important than fixing our marriage?”
Claire flinched and looked beyond the cars in the parking lot to the field behind the church. A few black and white cows were making their way toward the gate at the road. “My dad just gave me my birth mother’s name. Probably the weirdest birthday present he’s ever given me, but there you go. I guess you must have been so busy you forgot what today is.”
“No, I didn’t forget. I know it’s your birthday.” He sighed and folded his arms. “You might want to check your cell phone. I left you five messages.”
“Oh.” Any happiness she’d felt earlier in the day had fled. All she wanted to do now was put all this behind her, crawl under the covers. And never come out.
“So what are you going to do?” James glanced over her shoulder and Claire turned slightly. People were starting to come out of the building.
“Go back to Maine, ask some questions. I need to finish what I started.”
“Yeah, I guess you do.” He rolled his eyes skyward and rocked back and forth. “Once again, it’s always all about you, isn’t it, Claire?”
“This is important, Jamie…” Her voice shook as fear inched up her spine. “You are too, I know that, but I…I have to do this. I was…actually, I was going ask you if you wanted to come back there with me.”
“What, up to Maine?”
“No, to Disneyworld.”
“I can’t take time off work right now.”
“Of course not.” Claire pushed past him and opened the car door. “Well, I want to beat the storm.”
He placed a hand on her arm. “I’m in the middle of a big project, a new build in East Lyme. I can’t just up and go with no warning. Maybe in a week or so…I…Claire, don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what, Jamie?” she spat, the words bitter on her tongue. “What am I supposed to think, huh? Yes, you’re right, I left you. I went to Maine even though I knew you didn’t want me to. But I never said I wasn’t coming back. Now I’m beginning to wonder if I have anything to come back to.”
“Fine.” He glared at her, smacked his palms together and stepped backward. “If you honestly think so little of me, if you think the vows I took with you, before God, mean squat, I’m not going to stand here and argue the point. You go on, go back up there and do what you have to do. When you’re ready to be rational, give me a call.”
Claire brushed her hair off her damp cheeks, tried to muster calm and met his eyes. “All right. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” His stubborn streak won out over anything else he might have wanted to say.
Claire lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “Okay. Well. My cell phone doesn’t always work up there. If you need to get hold of me for any reason, my father has the number.” She turned toward the car.
“Wait…”
“What?” Claire looked back and met his eyes.
James moved closer, ran his hands down her arms then drew her into a tight embrace. Claire squeezed her eyes shut and leaned against him, hearing the beating of his heart against his chest.
“I’m sorry.” He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. “Claire, I’m sorry. I love you,” he whispered. “Don’t ever doubt that.”
She raised her head and watched desperation burrow into grooves across his forehead. She placed a hand against his cheek and managed a weak smile. “I know. And I know I’ve hurt you, Jamie, but I want to work things out. I do. I need you to believe that. If you can get some time off, I’ll be waiting.”
He traced the curve of her face with his finger. “I’ll talk to Steve. Don’t…uh…don’t go running after some lumberjack up there, okay?”
Laughter stuck in her throat as she drank in the sudden sparkle in his eyes. Maybe there was still hope for them. Maybe one of these days, things would actually be okay. “I’ll stay away from the lumberjacks if you stay away from Elvira in there.”
“Deal.” He threaded his fingers through her hair, drew her close and pressed his lips to hers in a lingering kiss that gave her strong incentive to change her plans and stay. “Are you sure you want to leave?” He read her mind and she flushed under his grin.
“No, but if I don’t leave now, I’ll lose my nerve and never go back there.” Claire smiled, kissed him back and reluctantly stepped out of his embrace. “I’ll see you, Jamie.”
Her husband kissed her again and held her close. “Not if I see you first.”
Chapter Nineteen
Rick stood back to examine his latest creation. The bronze sculpture still glowed red in places. He gave a nod of satisfaction at the replica of the swan statue he’d made for Mac and Jessie, and ripped off his gloves. A metallic odor lingered in the air of the warm studio and tickled his nose. Rick wiped his damp brow with the back of his hand, tipping his head slightly. It wasn’t exactly the same as the one Claire had plowed down, but it wasn’t half bad.
It would do.
As he cleaned up his workspace and swept the floor, the distinct sound of tires crunching over gravel filtered through the open window. Jazz rose from her position by the door with a loud bark. Rick clenched his jaw as he stomped across the dusty wooden floorboards and hooked a couple of fingers through the dog’s collar. He was half-tempted to let her go.
People who showed up unannounced deserved to be slobbered on.
He locked the door to the small log studio from the outside and strode down the path and caught a glimpse of the shock of red curly hair as the driver unfolded himself from a red Jaguar convertible.
Angus Clermont.
Rick let Jazz go, grinned and waited.
Angus barely had time to stretch before the big lab hurtled herself on him. “Ach away!” He pushed Jazz off, but not before a couple of pats, brushed fur off his khakis and lumbered toward Rick. “Don’t tell me, they cut your phone line. If you need money, Rick old boy, you should say so.”
“My phone works, Angus, I just screen my calls.”
“Ouch.” Angus staggered back, hand over heart. “A f
ine greeting for your oldest and dearest friend.”
Rick chuckled and shook the hand extended toward him. “Come on in.”
“Good thing I remembered how to get here for the few times you actually let me near the place.” Angus huffed up the stairs, shrugging out of his long black raincoat.
Rick couldn’t argue with that. The ten years he’d lived in Maine had passed in a self-imposed solitary confinement. When his grandfather willed him the cabin, Bethel was the last place on earth he intended to return. But familiar images from childhood crept into his dreams, and he knew he couldn’t up and sell without at least visiting one more time. And then he’d stayed.
Angus stood on the porch and surveyed the scenery, a bemused look on his face. “You got cable out here? High speed?”
“Nope.” Rick pushed open the front door and let Jazz inside. Thunder rumbled across the lake and the dog circled his heels. “Have a seat, Angus. You want tea?”
“Tea?” Angus gave just the reaction Rick hoped for.
“Don’t have anything stronger.”
“No. Of course…” Angus got a little flustered, reaching into the breast pocket of his cotton shirt. He pulled out a silver cigarette case and raised an eyebrow. “You mind…yeah, okay.” He slipped the case back into his pocket and looked around, his sharp eyes taking everything in. “You’ve done a lot of work since I was last here.”
“Yep.” Rick lost count of the cash he’d spent renovating the old cabin. It looked rustic enough from the outside, but inside, the modern three-bedroom house gave testimony to the time and effort spent on it.
Pine-paneled walls displayed many of his paintings. Two bronze sculptures stood near the huge stone fireplace, one of a couple in each other’s arms, the other the Blue Heron he’d come across in a marsh one day. If he could work solely in bronze he would, but it was time consuming, not to mention expensive. He’d need to make more of a name for himself before starting that venture.
“What brings you up to the backwoods, Angus?” Rick kicked off his boots. Rain pelted the roof now and put a chill in the summer air. Thunder rolled in across the lake, increasing in volume. Jazz trailed him around as he checked for open windows.
“Do I need a reason to visit an old friend?”
Rick grunted at Angus’ innocent tone, threw a couple of logs on the fire and lit it, wiped his hands on his jeans and went into the spacious kitchen and made tea.
Soon the scent of burning balsam filled the room and the flames warmed the cabin.
“I know you didn’t drive all the way up here from New York just for the fresh air. I could kid myself and say you really wanted to see me, but something tells me I’d be wrong. So, what’s up?” Rick settled into his favorite recliner, drank his tea and waited for Angus to come clean.
“Here’s the thing.” Angus leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. His eyes shone with secrets just waiting to be spilled. “The Alexander Gallery in New York wants to show your work. Sculptures and paintings, isn’t that great?”
“No.” Rick narrowed his eyes, his throat constricting. “When?”
“Two weeks. Is that enough time for you?”
“Angus, I think you’re even pushier than you were back in college.”
“Just doing my job. Looking out for my best client.”
Rick made a face and drained his mug. “I never asked you to be my agent, Angus, remember? You took that on all by yourself. And if I’m your best client maybe you should consider another profession.”
Angus waved a hand, a chuckle rumbling out of him. “Humor me. One show. If you bomb, I’ll leave you alone, I swear to the good Lord above us. You’ll never hear from me again.”
“Promises, promises. You don’t even believe in God.” Rick stared at the flickering flames. “Angus, I don’t want to get into that scene. I’ve sold plenty to folks out here. I get enough work on commission. I’m happy showing at the gallery in town. I wish you’d get that through your thick head.”
Angus let loose with a string of colorful words Rick was all too familiar with, but hadn’t used in a while.
“Don’t be such a putz. This is huge, Matthews. The Alexander is very highly respected, crème of the crop clientele. Just do it.”
“I know The Alexander. Or did you forget I used to live in New York?”
“Don’t get me started.” His friend wagged a thick finger at him. “I know you keep telling me how much you like it up here, that you’ve found peace, yadda, yadda, but I gotta tell you, Rick, moving to the sticks was the worst thing you could have done for your career.” Angus wheezed out a loud breath and sent himself into a coughing fit.
“You need to quit smoking.”
“Don’t change the subject.” Angus went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. He thudded into his armchair again and nailed Rick with his shut-up-and-listen-to-me look. “You’re good, Rick. Much better than you give yourself credit for. I’ve let you sit around up here mooning over your past, have I said a word, no. But enough is enough. Life goes on, my friend. The world continues to revolve. And you need to jump back on the ride. It’s time.”
“It’s New York.” Rick glowered at Angus and watched him fold his arms across his burly chest.
“It’s a big town. Besides, I already told them yes.” Angus’ tone began to resemble Jackson’s when he wasn’t getting his way. “Please don’t make me go back there and look like an idiot.”
Rick raised his eyes to the ceiling and squelched the words on the tip of his tongue.
The truth was, he had been thinking about doing a show. Not that he’d share that with his friend. Angus was right. He couldn’t hole up here forever, fixing up Tara’s Place and pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist.
“Two weeks, huh?” It wasn’t that he couldn’t be ready. The thought did hold some appeal. Who was he kidding? His heart was already racing.
A show at The Alexander would be the jumpstart he needed.
It was just…New York.
“If you’re hesitating because of her,” Angus said in a low tone, “don’t waste your time. I hear she’s getting married.”
Rick studied his faded jeans, picked a thread from the small hole started on his knee and watched the hole get bigger. “So?”
“’Course he has to get divorced first, so you know…but that’s the word on the street.”
“Great. Ever thinking of doing your own talk show, Angus?”
“No need to get snotty. I just thought you might be interested.”
“I’m not.” Rick exhaled and rubbed his temples.
Angus sat in silence for all of five minutes, his heavy breathing taking up all space in the room. “I saw her once. After you took off for California.”
“That right?” Rick met his old friend’s eyes, his throat tightening at the sorrow in them.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me, Rick?”
Rick lifted his shoulders and let them sag. “There was nothing to tell. I left. She told me what she intended to do, that was fine with me.” The truth galled him now. He hadn’t thought of that terrible night in a very long time.
Angus took out a cigarette and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “See…that’s the thing, Rick. She changed her mind. Said she couldn’t go through with it. I don’t know what happened after that, she left school. I thought she might have gone home.”
Rick pressed his back against the chair and took deep, measured breaths. “She didn’t go home. I know that much.”
“Sorry, man. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Angus stood, his knees cracking. “Going outside for a smoke. Let me know what you want to do about the show.”
She changed her mind.
“The show is fine. Set it up.” Rick ran a hand down his face, his heart thumping.
His hand trembled as he put down his mug on the side table and rubbed his jaw. He was getting a little tired of the beard. He’d worn it for years, never really cared for it, but couldn’t
bring himself to shave it off.
He still wasn’t ready to face the man in the mirror.
“You sure?” Angus didn’t believe him. “You won’t bail on me last minute?”
“No. I’ll do it.” Perhaps living out here in the middle of nowhere had finally turned him mental.
“Brilliant.” Angus put on the Scottish brogue his father still spoke with and rolled his l’s with a dramatic flourish of his hand. “Well, this was worth the drive. Say, I stopped in at that place down the hill you’re always yammering about. Tara’s Place. They serve dinner?”
“Sure.” Rick smiled. The small dining room and home-cooked meal would hardly be Angus’ style. This might be fun. He reached for the phone on the table beside him just as it began to ring. He checked the caller ID. “That’s Mac now.”
“Rick, can you get down here?”
Rick sat up at the Mac’s anxious tone. “What’s going on? Is Jessie okay?”
“Jessie’s fine. It’s Darcie. She’s collapsed. We’ve called an ambulance.”
Chapter Twenty
Claire drove back to Tara’s Place, her mind a mess. All she could think of was the information her father had given her.
Michelle.
She couldn’t remember Mac or Jessie saying their daughter’s name. Darcie hadn’t told her what her mother’s name was, she was pretty sure of that.
But with her father’s news, there was no room for doubt.
Mac and Jessie’s daughter was her birth mother.
It was too late to go in and see them by the time she pulled into the parking lot. The lights were out anyway. Mac and Jessie went to bed early.
Claire spent a restless night and rose with the sun, eager to talk to Jessie.
She walked up to the house and frowned at the empty driveway. The old Ford station wagon was gone. That was odd. The older couple didn’t usually go out on the weekends, but maybe they had some errands to run. Mac’s truck was still in the garage though. The sun was just starting to crest above the mountains across the water, casting a pink hue across the lake.
Hidden in the Heart Page 17
