Sighs Matter (14 page)

“My God. You make open, honest, adult communication sound so—”

“It’s okay. I pressured you. My bad.”

“Taylor,” she pleaded. “This
is
about more than sex. If I sleep with you again, I . . . God, I
hate
to admit this, but I’ll fall for you. I like you way too much as it is, and I know myself well enough to know that making love with you would push me over the edge.”

His mouth flattened. “Hmm. That would be terrible. I can see your dilemma.”

“No, you don’t understand!”

“Why in the hell are you so pissed? You’re off the hook. No sex.” Letting his gaze drop to her bare chest, he stared at her a long time, then murmured, “Sorry. You’re on the hook again.”

As his lips closed over one sensitive nipple, Claire let her head fall back, and she softly gasped. It had been too long since she’d made love, and her body was screaming for release. She felt her muscles tighten as desire warmed her to the core, making it difficult to push him away.

But she did.

“Okay, fine,” he panted, resting his forehead against hers. “No sex. I get it. But you’re sending me mixed messages here, Claire. You always have, and I need to know why. I think it’s time you told me the truth.”

Taylor moved away from her, distancing himself from her body, mentally preparing himself for whatever she had to say. His own body was practically convulsing with sexual energy, but he wasn’t fool enough to think this conversation would have a gratifying outcome . . . no pun intended.

Women. They had to talk everything into the frigging ground
. This was probably going to be about her needs versus his needs, her job versus his job, how a relationship between a busy doctor and a busy cop could never possibly work. Hell, he thought, they liked each other. A lot. Why couldn’t they just sort of go with that and see where it led?

Licking her lips, Claire kept her eyes averted. “We’ve never shared family histories. It didn’t seem important. The night of the wedding was . . . well, I never expected a relationship to come of it.” She shot him a glance. “Did you?”

“Go on,” he growled. Like he was touching
that
one with a ten-foot pole.

She took in a deep breath. “When I was a kid, we lived in St. Louis for a while. That’s where my father was from; my mom was from here. Anyway, there were the four of us—Mom, Daddy, Zach, and me. We’re twins.”

“I see.”

“Daddy was a police officer. He worked nights so he could spend more time with us during the day.” Her eyes grew damp, her voice soft. “I remember saying good-bye to him that night. Just like any other night. But there’d been a thunderstorm and the streets were hot and wet and smelled of musty pavement. There were some kids riding their bikes. Old Mrs. Tully across the street was tending her roses, trying to keep them from wilting in the heat.”

She swallowed, swallowed again, then closed her eyes. “I was asleep when the phone rang. I came wide awake and felt frightened. My heart beat so fast, it was like I’d been running from a monster. I don’t think my heart has ever beaten so fast since.”

Taylor’s own heart crimped inside his chest and he turned toward her. “I’m . . . I had no idea. Claire, I’m so sor—”

“My mother screamed, you know,” she continued softly. “She actually screamed. It was a long, high note that scraped along the edges of my brain, like the groove on a record album. I can replay the sound whenever I want, and sometimes when I don’t. In the movies, a scream of shock and grief always seems so dramatic and overwrought, but when it’s real, it seems too small, not nearly protest enough against the loss of a life. But my mother screamed, and I knew.”

Reaching across the enormous chasm that suddenly gaped between them, he touched her cheek, slick with hot tears.

“Losing him like that,” she said, “destroyed my mother. She died less than a year later. That’s when Zach and I came to live with Aunt Sadie. She felt Hollywood wasn’t a good place for a couple of grief-stricken teenagers, so she gave up her career, moved back here to the farm, and took us in.”

“I can’t imagine how terrible losing your father like that must have been.”

“There’s more. Zach . . .” She stopped, curled a lock of hair over her ear. “Zach followed in Daddy’s footsteps. All the way down the line.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “Meaning . . .”

“Meaning, he left Port Henry when he was twenty to join the St. Louis PD. Partly to honor Daddy, partly because it was all he ever wanted to do, to be. A police officer. Five years ago, he was shot during a routine traffic stop. The bullets did a lot of damage. He survived, but he’s in a wheelchair. He will be, forever.”

Silence thickened between them as her words sunk in.

“Jesus, Claire,” he said, not entirely sure how to respond to the tragedies that had changed the course of her life. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

She finished buttoning her blouse. “The night you and I were together, I didn’t think about the consequences of becoming involved with a cop. But the next day, it hit me hard. The truth is, I’m on the verge of falling for you, and if we keep seeing each other, kissing, if we make love, I’ll go over. I can’t afford to do that.”

Of course, her story had only made him want her more, want to hold her, reassure her, comfort her. He was a very careful man and would not be hurt or killed in the line of duty, but since there was no way he could guarantee that to her, he’d only look like a fool making that kind of promise, especially when she had every reason to doubt it.

“Yeah, okay,” he said quietly. “Yeah, well, I hear you. I mean, I haven’t been divorced all that long. I’m not ready for any kind of
relationship
relationship. We can, well, we can just . . .”

By the front door, the grandfather clock chimed nine times. Agatha strolled into the living room from the kitchen, curled up on the footstool, and closed her eyes. Outside the open window, crickets played their creaky tunes.

Taylor battled within himself, not knowing how he should feel about Claire’s news. Since he’d met her, she’d been a presence in his mind whether he’d wanted her there or not. The night he’d made love to her, he’d thought . . . Ah hell, what did it matter now what he thought, what he felt?

Pity mixed with anger in his gut. He’d nearly fallen for a woman who didn’t want to have anything to do with him, and the fact of it was, he couldn’t blame her. But, shit, if he’d only known sooner, he wouldn’t have let himself—

A boom of thunder echoed through the hills, rattling the windows. Claire’s eyes widened, Agatha looked up sleepily from her bed on the footstool.

“A thunderstorm?” he mumbled. Rising, he went to the window and pulled the curtain back, peering into the darkness. “Not a cloud in the sky. Some kind of explosion somewhere?”

The breeze ruffled the curtain, and he thought he caught the faint scent of smoke. Turning to Claire, still sitting on the couch, he said, “You smell anything?”

Wiping her eyes, she shook her head. He went to the kitchen and pushed the door open. Through the open window, he thought he saw a light flicker in the distance near the barn. Flinging open the back door, he stepped outside onto the porch. An unnaturally rosy glow shone through the slats of the ancient barn as smoke curled from the open window to twist like pale snakes around the branches of the overhanging evergreens.

“Claire!” he yelled over his shoulder as he began running toward the building. “Call 911! The barn’s on fire!”

Arson
Not our daughter.

He sat behind the wheel of his car, waiting. The summer had been a hot one, the barn was old; it would ignite like wood shavings on a campfire. Tender tinder. Ha. That was funny.

Somehow, he knew he should feel bad about what he had done, but hell, with so much at stake, he really didn’t have a choice. She’d driven him to it. If she’d just seen reason, this little tragedy could have been avoided. Women. You couldn’t live with ’em, and you couldn’t kill ’em. Well, you could . . .

How long would it take the candle to do its job? he wondered. An hour? Less? He wasn’t an arsonist by trade, but he was pretty sure his gimmick would work; no reason for it not—

Whoa, he thought, jumping a little in his seat as the explosion caught him off-guard. There it went. Not bad. Not bad at all. Sort of like a clap of thunder or the pop of fireworks on New Year’s Eve.

He yawned, stretched his arms, thought about all the trouble she’d been.

Plan A hadn’t worked worth a damn. Running her off the road, leaving her stuff in the kitchen. Maybe Plan B would turn the trick. Maybe burning down her barn would light a fire under her, so to speak. From the moment he’d met her, he knew she was an independent sort. She’d need a reason to lean on a man, so he’d give her one. A woman in peril would always look to a man for strength. It was simply the nature of things.

Too bad he couldn’t see the barn from where he’d parked, but he didn’t want to be anywhere near the scene when the fire department and cops showed up.

He checked his watch. Not too late to call.

Pulling out his cell phone, he punched the autodial.

“Hello?” The young voice was soft, sleepy. Joy bloomed in his heart at the sound of it.

“Hi, sweetie,” he cooed. “It’s me, Dad.”

There was silence for a moment, then “Oh.”

He was used to her lack of enthusiasm. It didn’t hurt. Well, it did, but he’d learned to steel himself against it. Besides, it wasn’t the kid’s fault. Brenda had done a top-notch job poisoning his kids’ innocent minds against him.

“It’s really late, Daddy. I was sort of asleep.”

“I’m sorry I woke you, hon,” he said. “I didn’t know what time it was. Say, your birthday’s coming soon, isn’t it? I have a great surprise for you.”

“Okay. Like, can I go now, Daddy?” There was a rustling sound as though she was putting the phone down.

“No, wait, wait, honey,” he urged. “Don’t go yet. Don’t go.”

Silence for a moment, then a soft “Okay.”

He swallowed, grinned. “You know, it won’t be long now, until you and your brother can come and live with me.”

“But we live with Mommy, and—”

“I know you do, baby. I know.” Sure, the kids lived with their mom. And why not? As the daughter of a wealthy businessman, she’d had money to buy the best lawyers in Portland while he’d barely scraped together enough to hire some yokel just out of law school. And the lies she’d told; he’d lost his kids because of that bitch’s vicious lies.

“Wouldn’t you like to live with me someday?” he said, trying to keep the hurt from his voice. “I’m working on it, honey. Daddy’s working on that real hard. Pretty soon I’ll have more money than your mom, way more, and the court will give you back to me. And the best part is, I’ll have a new wife, a new mommy for you, and, guess what? She’s a
doctor
. There’s no way the court could ignore me then.”

He heard the bitterness in his own voice and worked to mask it. “Won’t that be fun, for you to live with us? I know you miss me as much as I miss you.”

A quiet yawn, then “Can I go, Daddy? Mommy said she’d take my cell phone away if she caught me talking to you again. Anyway, we’re moving soon and I don’t think my phone will reach Europe.”

“Wh-what?” He blinked rapidly and tried to collect his thoughts. “Europe? What in the he—What are you talking about?”

“Mommy’s boyfriend is a zecutive or something in England.” She yawned again. “He’s going to be my new dad and we’re moving there.”

“When?” His voice was a stunned whisper.

“I don’t know. Like two weeks or something. Can I go now?”

He swallowed. “Sure, thing, hon. Sure. I’ll call you again real soon, okay? Real soon. Give my love to your brother and tell him—”

But she’d already hung up. With shaking fingers, he pushed the cell phone back into his pocket.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, he forced his nerves to calm. His kids, his world, his fucking
everything
. All he was doing was for them. She couldn’t take them away now. She couldn’t! He’d get them back. Two weeks? Europe? No! No way!

He punched in Brenda’s number, anger choking him. It rang two times, four, seven, ten. No answer. The auto voice mail droned out its usual bullshit.

“No!” he croaked over the recording. “Answer, you bitch.
Answer!
You’re not taking them, you hear me? I’m getting them back! They belong with me! I . . . They belong . . .” His voice trailed off into a choking sob.

Ending the call, he gripped the phone in his hand, strangling it, squeezing the life out of it, picturing his ex-wife’s neck.

Damn, life was unfair! His kids belonged with
him
. His little girl missed him, he could tell. She longed for him to come and get her and her brother, take them away from their wretch of a mother. Two weeks? He rubbed his temples. He’d have to escalate his plans. He was close to having all the money he needed, the prestige, the clout. The courts couldn’t deny him then. He could file before Brenda left the country. He’d get a court order, stop her. She couldn’t take his kids to Europe where he’d have virtually no chance of getting them back!

As he wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to calm his frantic thoughts, he heard the sirens coming up the hill.

By the time they got here, the damage would be done . . . not so much to the barn—though he expected it to burn to the ground—but to Claire’s confidence.

Breaking down a woman’s resistance. That was the name of the game. By the time enough bad things had happened to her, she’d be desperate for a real hero.

He got excited inside just thinking about it. He
would
win. There was still time. So much could happen in two weeks. His kids weren’t lost to him, not yet anyway.

He felt his anger boil higher. He’d meant to step in the night he shoved her off the road, but that cop car had shown up and he’d been forced to hightail it. Christ, why was it there was never a cop around when you needed one, but when you didn’t want one, the bastards always showed up too soon? Life was a riot, it really was.

He’d wanted to be the first man she saw when she came around, offer her his support, hold her hand, let her see the concern in his eyes. Concern, for her. Women loved that shit.

But he’d frightened himself a little, too, that night. He’d almost pushed too hard, and she’d nearly gone into the ravine. That wouldn’t have been good. She’d have been too messed up, if she survived at all, to be any good to him. She was beautiful, an exquisite trophy. Scars on her face would never do. She might just as well have died, if that had been the case.

He was certain her finding her stuff inside the farmhouse would add another shock to her system, but she hadn’t been alone then, either. That psychotic prick handyman patient of hers was with her.

But the barn fire, now, that would be different. While he couldn’t just show up while there were firemen milling around, he’d go see her tomorrow. She had to still be reeling from the car accident, the break-in, and now the fire. She’d need a big, strong man to take charge, soothe her fears, show her she could depend on him.

I need you
, she’d say, and he would stay by her side, show her how much he cared, how important she was to him, toppling any resistance. She would trust him, rely on him, and he wouldn’t let her down.

He’d offer to help her take her mind off things, maybe go for a drive in the country, just the two of them. And she’d go because she wanted so much to be with him.

His eyes closed, he let the moment unfold. Her gaze would soften, and so would her heart. She would see him for the bold knight he was. She was basically weak, as were most women. They needed to be shown strength and then they would acknowledge it.

Claire was a real prize. He wanted, no, he
deserved
her. And she was a doctor, a respected member of the community. With his newly acquired fortune and his impressive doctor wife, the courts would be forced to reconsider the custody decree, and give him back his kids.

He let out a slow breath and smiled. His stomach unknotted and his shoulders relaxed. What with this new development with Brenda, he’d have to move quickly, but he could do it. He was nothing if not flexible. In the end, he’d get what he wanted. His heart ached to see his kids again. His arms felt empty. There was no way he’d let some other man take his place!

Claire was a hard one to pin down, but he’d made his choice and she’d realize soon enough they were meant to be. A true power couple. Heads would turn, jaws would drop. She was stunning, and on his arm, they would reign.

He scrunched down in his seat as the fire truck roared past, going up the hill.
Good luck, boys
, he thought.
Hope you brought some marshmallows, because that’s all you’re going to get for your trouble
.

He cranked the key in the ignition and headed slowly down the hill, back to town.

Yeah. He’d invite her for a drive, meander on out to the woods, show her how sorry he was for all her troubles. And then, when they were alone and she trusted him completely, he would make her his.

And if that didn’t work, there was always Plan C.

By the time the Port Henry Volunteer Fire Department arrived on the scene, the fire was out.

Taylor surveyed the blackened interior of the barn. It was charred, but the walls and roof were still intact, soggy as hell, but sound. He smiled up into the rafters at the pattern of galvanized pipes hanging overhead.

“An automatic sprinkler system,” he murmured.

Next to him, Claire said, “Grandpa was a very smart man. This is a wooden barn, filled with hay. If you look up the word
combustible
in the dictionary, there’s a photograph of this very barn.”

He grinned into her eyes. “Is there now?”

Her lips tilted. “I’m almost sure of it.”

Their eyes stayed locked for a moment, then she looked away.

Gesturing to the pipes, she said, “Grandpa would be proud to know his hard work and foresight paid off.”

Much of the smoke had dissipated, but the acrid stench of burnt wood and metal would cling for weeks and months to come. Through the haze, a man in a yellow slicker, helmet, and shroud approached them. He’d flipped up his Plexiglas face shield. The letters printed on his hat spelled out Captain Al.

“Here’s your culprit, Detective,” he said, holding out a blackened metal can—what there was left of it. “Smell that? Barbecue starter fluid. Probably stuck a lit candle in, then when it burned down level with the liquid, she went off.”

“Not very sophisticated.”

“Strictly amateur all the way,” Captain Al said, “but effective. If the sprinklers hadn’t engaged, you’d have lost more than just that old wheelbarrow.”

Claire sucked in a quick breath. Her eyes widened as she searched the dark, smoky barn.

“Grandpa’s wheelbarrow?” She looked like somebody had just cleaned out her bank account and fled to South America.

The fireman gave her a sympathetic nod. “Sorry, Doc.” To Taylor, he said, “The arsonist set the can on a bale of hay to make sure the fire got a good start. The wheelbarrow was the only casualty, though. All the honey equipment in the adjacent shed is just fine. Gonna smell bad forever, though.”

“Thanks, Cap,” Taylor said, taking the burnt container from the fireman’s gloved hand. “Do you have any idea how long ago he might have set this up?”

Captain Al rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Can’s about ten inches. A taper just a bit taller would have given him thirty minutes to be somewhere else. Taller candle, more time.”

Taylor nodded. So, while he and Claire had been playing basketball and discussing her family tragedies, somebody had set fire to the barn. Shit, right under his damn nose. God, that irked.

With his arm around Claire’s shoulders, he walked her back to the house where Aunt Sadie sat in the rocking chair on the porch, her pink terry-cloth robe wrapped tightly around her tiny frame.

“What’d they say?” she asked, her normally rosy cheeks pale, her eyes wide with worry.

“It was arson, Aunt Sadie,” Claire offered. “But the good news is, Grandpa’s sprinkler system saved the barn, and the trees, and probably the house.”

“They know why?” she asked, her voice trembling. “I don’t understand. Who would do such a thing?” The old woman tightened the robe and clasped her hands over her stomach.