Chloe was so tired, she could barely keep her eyes open. Still, she started to push herself up, but the woman forestalled her. “No, don’t get up, my darling. You look very sleepy. Rest. I’ve just come to collect my cat.”
The woman was right. She was sleepy—so sleepy.
“What cat? Who’re you?” Chloe muttered, already half asleep again.
“I’m the owner of that cat you’re so kindly providing a mattress for,” the woman answered, sounding vastly amused.
In her semi-sleeping state, Chloe didn’t question this assertion. She’d always known deep within that Ishy-Pixie was waiting for someone, and though she never could quite bring herself to admit it, she’d long since recognized that she wasn’t the one. In her half-conscious state, her lips turned down at the corners. “Are you taking her now?”
“Soon. But not this exact minute. Just relax.”
Chloe sighed and her eyes slipped shut again. She felt cushions sink next to her head and a hand lightly brush the hair from her brow. She heard a murmur but could only pick out the words “love” and “forever.” A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye.
“Don’t cry, darling. I know you loved her,” the woman said. “Thank you for that.”
Chloe gave a slight nod, her lower lip trembling.
“She loves you, too. But she’s been waiting for me to come for a long time.”
Reluctantly, Chloe nodded again.
“Besides, I have here a little girl who needs your love even more,” the woman said, and Chloe felt her shift. “And when someone needs your love, you have to give it.”
She opened her eyes as the woman rose and from seemingly nowhere produced a white kitten with pink eyes. Carefully she set the kitten down in the same place Ishy-Pixie had just vacated.
The kitten stared at Chloe for a long unblinking moment and then, as though liking what she saw, she nestled in closer against Chloe’s heart.
“We have to go,” the woman whispered. Once again she brushed the hair from Chloe’s temples. A frisson of warmth rippled through Chloe. “You go back to sleep. Dream lovely dreams.”
Chloe’s arm crept up and curled around the sleeping kitten as through half-closed eyes she watched the woman disappear through the door, Ishy-Pixie curled contentedly over her shoulder. Her last waking thought was that the woman really must have been Ishy-Pixie’s owner.
Chloe must have been more tired than he realized, Jim thought. She hadn’t stirred in half an hour. Not so much as a cough . . . He frowned, rose from the kitchen table, and headed into the adjoining short hallway and down to her bedroom. He knocked lightly, calling her name. “Chloe? Chloo-Schmoo?”
No reply. He turned the knob and eased the door open, peering inside before pushing it all the way. The room was empty. Alarm raced through him. He stepped into the room, quickly scanning across the bed, barely mussed; the windows, still shut and locked against the heat outside; the floor—the floor. Her favorite shoes, the pink zebra-stripe sandals, were missing. She’d been barefoot when she stomped into her bedroom, but now her shoes were missing. A thin, potent ray of relief swept through him. She’d put them on herself, then.
Damn it! If she was outside or had snuck over to Barnaby B.’s house—
He strode quickly out of her room and down the hall, back through the kitchen to the door that led to the backyard. He shoved it open and stepped out, standing at the top of the stairs leading down to the lawn. She wasn’t there. He peered across the back lawns to Barnaby’s house. No one was in sight. Maybe she was inside.
He turned, swiftly reentering the house, grabbing the cordless, and jabbing out the Bigg family’s phone number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Nadine. This is Jim Curran. Is Chloe down there by any chance?”
“Chloe?” Nadine echoed. “No. Barnaby is with his dad this week. I haven’t seen Chloe. Is she missing?” Her voice filled with concern.
“I think she’s lit out on me. Thanks—”
“Listen, Jim. If you need me to help look—”
“I’ll call. Thanks.” He hung up, raking his hair back with his hand and staring outside, his face tense with worry. Jesus. Where could she have—
A small butterscotch-colored cat dashed out from beneath the privet hedge that marked the border between his yard and the next-door neighbor’s and raced off, disappearing into the alley.
Of course. She’d gone to see Edie.
He stabbed out the number on the phone still clutched in his hand. It was picked up on the third ring.
“Cupid Cats, feline shelter and rescue.” It was Edie. Even through his alarm he noticed how tired she sounded.
“Edie, it’s Jim. I can’t find Chloe. Is she down there?”
“What do you mean you can’t find her?” Edie’s voice rose on a note of alarm.
“She got mad at me when I sent her to her room to take a nap. I thought she might have gone down there.”
“I just got in. Carol’s in the back. Maybe Chloe’s with her. Hold on.”
The sound of the phone clattered to some hard surface, and he heard her footsteps quickly fading in the background. Anxiety made the next ninety seconds seem an eternity. Please God. Please, let her be there.
Edie picked up the phone. “She’s here. She’s asleep on the couch. I don’t know how she got in. Carol swears she was at the front desk until I arrived, and the rest of the doors are locked.”
“I don’t give a damn,” Jim said, his voice cracking gruffly under the profundity of his relief. “I’ll be right down.”
Chapter 10
Two minutes later, the shelter’s front door swung open and Jim Curran came through. He was breathing heavily, his white T-shirt sticking to his broad shoulders and chest, his dark curls shimmering with perspiration. He had clearly sprinted down here, barefoot on the cast iron-hot pavement. His expression was stark, angry. Edie had never seen him wearing such an expression.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
He didn’t bother waiting for an answer but strode toward the door leading into the hallway. Edie dashed in front of him, turning to face him and bracing her arms on either side of the door frame. “I don’t believe in corporal punishment!” she said a little wildly.
Jim blinked, startled.
Behind them, Carol, who’d been watching open-mouthed, picked up her handbag. “Ah. Lookee there. Time for lunch,” she said, and without glancing at the clock hanging on the wall behind her, she bustled around the counter and out the front door.
Edie ignored her. Her worried gaze was fixed on Jim, whose lips had curled in a manner more exasperated than angry. Without a word of warning, he grabbed her around the waist, picked her up, and moved her three feet to the left of the door. Then he strode down the corridor. She trotted after him.
“I didn’t wake her. She looks tired even in her sleep, and her nose is running,” she said worriedly. It wasn’t her business. She had spent the last week convincing herself that nothing about Jim or Chloe Curran was or would be her concern. So much for that failed effort. One runny nose and all resolve to maintain emotional distance dissolved like sugar icing in the rain. “I think she has a cold.”
He didn’t answer.
“Did you know she has a cold?” She should stop. He wouldn’t like her interference. She didn’t care. This was Chloe, whom she loved. She had to know for her own peace of mind. “I felt her forehead and I think she has a fever, too. Did you know that?”
His head snapped around, and he glared wordlessly at her. And then they were at the Meet and Greet room and he was in the door. He stopped abruptly and just stared at his daughter. All the anger flowed from his face, leaving nothing behind but intense relief and love.
He’d just needed to see her, Edie realized, and to see for himself that she was safe and well. The tension released from his shoulders and the set of his back. His eyes squeezed shut for a brief instant.
Then, taking a deep breath, he turned around and grabbed hold of
Edie’s upper arm, spinning her around to half pull, half steer her back down the corridor and into the lobby. Abruptly, he released her and with exaggerated care shut the door leading into the corridor. Only then did he speak.
“Do I know that my daughter has a runny nose and a fever and a cold?” he asked. “Of course I know!” he answered his own question in a low, thunderous voice. “I’ve spent the last three days taking care of her.”
So that was why he hadn’t been at work. She’d thought maybe he’d been avoiding her, that he’d realized how out of place she was in a family like his, and that all the phone calls she’d been too cowardly to answer or return were to be his polite explanation of why he wouldn’t be taking her out to dinner, or coming to the shelter, or kissing her, or making love to her anymore. It had seemed a cowardly sort of way for a man like Jim to end a relationship, even one as brief as theirs, but what did she know of men like Jim and how they ended their relationships?
She should have, though. Because she did know Jim, and he wouldn’t—what was the popular parlance? Oh yes, “dump her”—he wouldn’t dump her with a phone call. The thought made her flush with shame, unable to meet his gaze.
“And, just for the record, I don’t believe in corporal punishment, either.”
Of course he didn’t. Her cheeks grew even hotter.
“The real question, though,” he continued in that strained, angry tone, “the real question is why you didn’t know.”
Her gaze flew up to meet his, her eyes encountering sapphire fire. Tension snapped and cackled between them. He took a step forward. She took a step back and bumped into the closed door behind her.
He didn’t stop. He took another step, right past the boundaries of propriety, invading her personal space, making her acutely, uncomfortably aware of him not only as a personality but as a very physical, very male presence. It didn’t matter that she understood the principle behind her racing heart and quickened breath; it was damned effective.
He reached up and she braced herself against his touch, but he didn’t grab her chin; he didn’t give physical voice to the roughness of his tone. His touch was far more devastating. His fingertips brushed lightly along her cheekbones, a warm, feathering stroke that made her go weak in the knees.
“Why is that, Edie?” he whispered roughly. “Why didn’t you know Chloe was sick?”
“Because I haven’t seen her. Or you. Or spoken to either of you,” she answered breathlessly.
He stared at her, shaking his head, his expression segueing from smoldering to bemused in a space of seconds. “You don’t have a bit of guile to you, do you?”
“No,” she answered, uncertain if he considered this a good or a bad thing. His fingertips continued their seductive dance down her cheekbones, to the corner of her lip. His gaze scoured her face.
“You’ve been crying,” he said slowly.
“Yes.”
“Edie, what’s wrong? Why?”
Why? Why? Because everything she loved was going or gone; because it wasn’t fair she’d fallen in love with him; because it wasn’t fair she’d fallen in love with Chloe; because it wasn’t fair she wasn’t a supermodel and because it wasn’t fair that all those things a person loved always ended up leaving them. All the emotions of the last week—avoiding his phone calls and running out the opposite door when she saw him coming at work, the loneliness, the worry over Ishy-Pixie’s declining health, the sudden jolt of panic she’d endured when he told her Chloe was missing, the pain of seeing him again and realizing that not a millimeter of her broken heart had been mended—rushed in, swamping her, destroying every shred of self-containment she owned. “Because I have had a really shitty week!” she howled.
He blinked at her, stunned. The tears that should have been long spent sprang anew, overflowing her eyelids and streaming down her face.
“Oh,” he said, and without waiting for permission, he swung her easily into his arms and strode over to one of the two vinyl-covered chairs in the lobby and sat down, holding her tightly against him on his lap. Much to her chagrin she couldn’t produce even a thin thread of indignation and instead, just gave in, accepting the comfort of his strong, warm embrace. He tucked her head beneath his chin and began rubbing her shoulders and back. “Tell me about it.” His breath stirred the hair by her temple.
She didn’t even try to hold back. “I came home from the picnic and I threw up, and then I went to work and I had to avoid you, and all week I was so distracted that my entire team called a meeting just to ask me”—she sobbed at the memory—“what was wrong! And I couldn’t tell them! And I jumped every time the phone rang because I was afraid it was you, but I didn’t have the nerve to pick it up. And then I spent so much time on my bike riding so I could work off some angst that I got a blister on my behind.”
A breath on her hair stirred it in a little puff and she thought maybe he’d laughed, but she didn’t care. The words kept tumbling out. “And then this morning I came in and found Ishy-Pixie had died, and I was just about to call you and I didn’t want to, but I was going to when you called and said Chloe was missing and I was so scared, and then she wasn’t missing, but I thought you were angry and I made that stupid, stupid remark about corporal punishment and I knew better. And I knew you’d know she had a cold, but I couldn’t stop myself because I still needed to know you knew because . . . because I love her and . . . oh!” She buried her head against his shoulder.
He stroked her head for a long moment before saying in a rough, controlled voice, “And me? Do you love me, too?”
Her head snapped up, and she found herself looking into intense blue eyes, candidly, nakedly worried. “Yes,” she said, astounded he didn’t know. “Yes. Of course, I do.”
His arms tightened around her. “Then why wouldn’t you talk to me?”
Didn’t he know? Hadn’t Melissa told him what she’d been telling the unknown woman at Chloe’s birthday party? “Because I didn’t want to say good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” he repeated in an odd, flat voice. “Why? You said you loved me, but I must have done something to make you avoid me. What did I do wrong?”
Edie stared, shocked. In all the scenes she had composed trying to imagine what he was thinking, none of them had included one where Jim Curran—gorgeous, successful, kind, funny, athletic—blamed himself for the end of their misfit relationship. She shook her head. “Nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“It was my family, then, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
A sound like a growl issued from his throat, and he raked his hair back with one hand. “Look, we don’t have to see them often. And then we’ll stick to taking them on just a few at a time. I promise. They’re my family, Edie, and I love them, but I know how overpowering they can be in numbers. I never should have dragged you there.”
We don’t have to see them often? We’ll stick to taking them on just a few at a time? Something within her, something new and hopeful, took root. She shook her head, refusing to acknowledge it.
“You misunderstand me. I like your family, Jim.” Honesty compelled an addendum. “Most of them. I—I really enjoyed myself, but that doesn’t negate the fact that I was definitely a fish out of a fry pan.”
“Fish out of water,” he corrected. “And so what?”
“I’m never going to fit in.”
“You already do,” he said, taking hold of her shoulders and turning her to face him. “Families aren’t made of identical parts, Edie. There’s not a preprogrammed position, one role for every person. It’s a mess. The roles change; the people change, grow. Believe me, the Currans need a reticent, guileless, blunt woman. I need a reticent, guileless, blunt woman.”
Hope sprouted, new and vibrant, but she mistrusted such an ephemeral thing, doubted whether it was enough on which to turn a dream into reality. “But . . . you could be dating a supermodel,” she said.
He stared at her in open bewilderment. “Why would I want to do that? The only way I’d
want to date a supermodel is if she were you, and you’re not, so I guess I’ll just have to settle for a genetic research genius. Besides, I don’t want to date anyone. I want to marry you.”
Her heart thundered in her chest. Hope refused to be beaten down; it sprang forth, sending waves of joy coursing through her. But she had one more misgiving to voice—the misgiving.
She swallowed hard. “I’m nothing like your wife. Nothing. I’m like . . .” How had Melissa put it? “I’m like the anti-Stephanie. I can never belong in your family like she did. I can never replace her.”
He’d gone very still, and now he looked at her hard. “Anti-Stephanie? Where did you hear that? Who said that to you?”
“No one. I—I was eavesdropping. Inadvertently.”
“And whom were you eavesdropping on?”
She didn’t answer, but he seemed to already know.
“Melissa,” he said. “Geez. Don’t put any credence in anything Melissa says. Melissa doesn’t know jack.”
“Jack? Who’s he?”
“It’s not a ‘he’; it’s a—” Jim shook his head. “Never mind. The bottom line is that Melissa is overcontrolling and overinvolved in her siblings’ lives.”
“It doesn’t matter. What she said is true,” Edie insisted sadly.
“No.” He gave her shoulders a little shake. “It’s not. Listen to me, Edie. I loved Stephanie. We had a wonderful relationship and a great marriage. She wasn’t perfect, but neither am I. I’m incapable of holding a civil conversation before my first cup of coffee in the morning. I eat way too many spicy foods and the results can be . . . offensive. Wait. It gets worse. I own all the Three Stooges DVDs. And I watch them. You’ll see.”
He sounded so confident. She wanted to see. She did. But . . .
He smiled at her. “I loved Stephanie, and I wouldn’t trade a day of the life we had together. And you’re right, Edie; you never could replace her.”
Cupid Cats Page 21
