A Bride at Last (12 page)

He winged another silent prayer heavenward. A quick prayer for patience on his part and understanding on hers.

He just wished for exactly the right moment to bring up what he knew he had to talk to her about.

N
adine stirred her soup, trying to adjust to her new feelings about Clint. She felt as if all her defenses against this man had suddenly melted away, and she wanted to know as much as she could.

She glanced up at him, surprised yet again to see his eyes on her. Looking down, she busied herself with unwrapping her cracker from its cellophane wrapper. “When you left Derwin you went to Europe, didn’t you?” As if she didn’t know. Against her own will she had known every movement he made, thanks both to Sabrina and her own unquenchable interest in his whereabouts.

“My parents had a collective attack of guilt over their divorce, and sending me away on that trip was their way of making up for it.”

Nadine felt her cheeks warm, remembering all too well a snide comment she had made in this very place when she had sat here with Trace.

“That trip was one of the really good things that happened to me.” Clint was quiet a moment, his finger tracing idle circles on the tablecloth, his supper forgotten. “I traveled through places of extreme wealth and extreme poverty. I learned that what had happened to me was fairly small in the larger scheme of things. I stopped in churches that were older than any book I had read, I visited castles and museums and toured countryside that had been home to generations of families. And in a busy square in Jerusalem it was as if all the history I had seen in Europe, everything I had witnessed with your family, the myriad times I had sat in church with Uncle Dory and even my own parents, all coalesced. I realized that I had been given a precious gift not only of life, but of death. Christ’s death. And that people all over the world and all through history had believed that and clung to it through all the happenings of their life.” Clint looked up at her, his mouth quirked in a gentle smile. “I changed, I accepted all those promises that had been handed to me in so many ways. And then I had to come home.” He hesitated a moment, as if he wanted to say more and was unsure of how to proceed.

Their waitress came by asking if either of them wanted more coffee. Nadine nodded and held out her cup, as did Clint.

When she left, Nadine leaned forward, full of questions, yet unsure of where to go. Clint’s confession had created a sudden openness, a place to begin to get to know each other in new ways. He
told her more of Europe, spoke of his work in the city and of his desire to one day come back to Derwin and take over his uncle’s paper. A desire that had begun as a random thought and had changed into a real need as his own life changed.

The waitress had taken their plates and bowls away and poured another round of coffee. Clint leaned his elbows on the table, sipping as he asked her questions, responding easily to hers.

She idly fiddled with her spoon, answering his own soft-spoken questions, telling him about the precious few things that had happened in her life since he had left Derwin. A few times she glanced up at him to find him looking at her, his expression serious.

At those moments she felt her own heart quicken.

It wasn’t until their waitress had come around for the fifth or sixth time with coffee that she realized how long they had sat there. She snuck a quick glance at her watch.

“My goodness,” she exclaimed aloud. “It’s eleven o’clock.”

Clint frowned as if disbelieving her. He glanced at his own wrist. “You’re right.” He looked up at her and smiled. “I can’t believe we’ve been sitting here that long.”

Neither could Nadine. “I should get going. Grandma will be worried.”

“But you were supposed to be out tonight anyway, weren’t you?”

“Yes, but I never liked to stay out too long. I usually made Trace take me home before ten.”

“Well, then, we had better leave.” Clint pulled a few dollars out of his pocket for a tip and dropped them on the table. He also took the check before Nadine had a chance. “I’ll get it,” he said in reply to her protest. “I’ve never had a chance to take you out and have often wanted to.” He winked at her and got up. “Be back in a minute.” Bemused at his parting comment—and his wink—Nadine watched him walk confidently across the deserted restaurant.

She gathered her discarded scarf, purse and knapsack and got up herself, following more slowly, wondering what he meant, and wondering if she was reading more into the casual comment than he implied. By the time she came to the front desk, he was pocketing his wallet and turning back to the dining room.

“I’d offer to drive you home, but I imagine you’ll want to take your car home?”

Nadine nodded, sorry now that she had taken it, wondering what would have transpired if he had driven her home. “Thanks so much for dinner,” she said, pulling her keys out of her purse.

Clint nodded, then, walking ahead, he opened the heavy glass door for her. They walked in silence through the parking lot to her car. Nadine fumbled through her purse for her keys. When she finally found them, she felt awkward and foolish.

“Here, let me,” Clint said softly, taking the keys out of her hand. He opened the door and helped
Nadine into the car. He held the keys, studying them. The lights of the parking lot cast his face in shadows. All evening he had looked relaxed and comfortable, drawing her out, smiling. But now his lips were clamped together, and a frown drew his dark eyebrows together.

“Nadine, I need to ask you something.”

Here it comes, she thought. The real reason he asked me out. “Go ahead.”

He took a deep breath. “I understand that you covered the accident at Skyline.”

“What about it?” She stiffened in reaction, afraid of his answer, his somber tone.

He held on to the door and looked away, as if unable to face her. “I would like it if you could assign the story to Wally. Or better yet, Allison.”

Nadine closed her eyes and resisted the urge to cry, scream, anything. You naive child, she chastised herself. This was why he asked you out. How could you think that Clint Fletcher would, for one minute, forget his precious newspaper?

“Can I ask why?” she said, her voice low, controlled.

“Objectivity.”

“Which you don’t think I have.”

Clint shook his head. “I think you’re too close to it, emotionally.”

“Which you conveniently found out tonight,” she said sharply. “It would have been cheaper for you to just tell me tomorrow at the office.” She held out her hand for her keys. Why are you doing this? a
more objective part of her mind cried out. Relax. Talk to him. But echoes of her own insecurity seemed to drown out common sense.

“You don’t need to put yourself through all those emotions of your father’s death again.”

“Spare me the false concern,” she said angrily, reaching up to take the keys from his unresisting fingers. “I’ve been a reporter long enough. I know how to cover a story.”

Heartsore and angry, she gave the door a tug and managed to pull it away from him this time. She started the car, gunned the engine, reversed out of the space and tore out of the parking lot. The streetlights flashed past the window, blurred by her tears. She palmed them away as she steered her car past familiar houses and streets.

She hit the brakes and rocked to a halt in front of her apartment, then dropped her head on the steering wheel. Don’t you dare cry, she told herself.

But somehow part of her didn’t heed the voice, and the tears that slid down her face were hot with recrimination and sorrow.

Nadine booted up her office computer, pulled out her keyboard and, once she got into the office’s word processing program, opened the Skyline folder.

She had been on the phone all morning and had a stack of notes from Allison as well as the pictures. This time she had made contact prints, or proofs, of
the negatives. The story was too important to leave to chance and she wanted exactly the right shot

She rearranged the hastily scribbled notes on one side of the U-shaped computer desk, reviewing the information that she had just about committed to memory.

As Nadine wrote up the story, weaving in the statistics, one part of her mind analyzed the flow, the other kept her emotions in check with difficulty. She had to prove to Clint that she could write this story objectively.

She was immersed in her work when she heard a tap at the door. “Come in,” she called out without looking up.

“What’s up, Allison?” she mumbled, pulling a pencil from behind her ear. She marked off one of the papers and turned back to the screen.

She frowned, her fingers flying over the keyboard. She was about to hit the backspace key to correct an error when she realized that whoever had come into the office still had said nothing. She glanced over her shoulder, and found her vision blocked by an expanse of white shirt, bisected by a brown tie.

Flustered, she turned back to the screen, conscious of Clint’s hovering presence behind her. Her fingers stilled and she could say nothing, all too aware of what had happened last night.

He still said nothing. Instead she saw his hands come down on either side of her computer desk, surrounding her as he read over her shoulder. She could feel the faint warmth of his breath on her
neck, could feel his presence around her, behind her, above her.

What was he trying to do? Intimidate her? Frighten her?

Taking a steadying breath, she typed a few more words. She tried to keep her eyes straight ahead and away from his large hands on either side of her, but she couldn’t. Her fingers slowed.

“Please, Clint,” she said, her voice breathless, “if you’re trying to intimidate me, you’re succeeding.”

Her hands froze on the keyboard as she felt his chin lightly brush the top of her head. “What do you want?” she asked finally.

“I don’t know,” he replied, his throaty voice soft in her ear.

Nadine swallowed as her breathing sped up, her heart in sync. She could feel the warmth of his body behind her. He was close enough that all she had to do was lean her head back and she would touch him.

“Please stop doing this.” She had no defenses against him. He had been too much a part of her daydreams, her longings, and she didn’t know anymore where one left off and the other began.

He moved one hand, his weight shifted and Nadine thought he was going to straighten. Instead she felt his fingers lightly brush her hair aside, sending shivers skittering down her spine. And then, impossibly, she felt warm, soft lips touch her neck. They lingered a moment, their touch weakening her. She
couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, wished he would continue, prayed he would stop.

“Nadine,” he whispered against her neck, his breath caressing it with a soft warmth. Then, finally, he straightened. He lightly touched her hair. “I need to talk to you….” His voice was subdued. Nadine bit her lip, half turning toward him, her vulnerability there for him to see.

The sharp ring of the phone broke the moment. Sharlene’s voice came over the intercom. “Trace is on line one for you, Nadine.” The door burst open and Donna strode in carrying a pile of computer printouts that Nadine had requested.

Nadine pressed her hand against her face, confusion warring with a hysterical urge to laugh. She hit the button that connected her to Sharlene’s speaker phone. “I don’t want to talk to him,” she said sharply.

“Sure, hon.” Sharlene broke off the connection.

Nadine turned to Clint, ignoring Donna, who stood in front of her desk, holding out the papers for Nadine to take. But Clint was already backing out the door, his eyes on hers, his face mirroring the confusion in Nadine’s.

Why was he leaving? What did he mean by what he had done? Nadine followed Clint’s exit with her eyes, still ignoring Donna. Finally she pulled herself together and took the documents from her.

“What did Clint want?” Donna asked. “You look like you’re in shock.”

“I am,” she said in a faraway voice, her fingers
brushing over the place where he had, just seconds ago, kissed her. She shook her head and, ignoring Donna’s curious stare, dropped the papers on her desk and turned back to her computer, trying to collect her thoughts, her wits and all the other things Clint had scattered with his casual caress.

“So what happened?” Donna asked, leaning on Nadine’s desk as if to get a closer look at her friend.

Nadine only shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You look like you should.”

Nadine tried to type a few more words, then stopped and turned. “Clint…he just came in here…I think he wanted to talk.” Nadine lifted her hands helplessly and shrugged.

“He looked about as stunned as you did. What happened between you two?”

What indeed, thought Nadine. She could still feel the soft warmth of his lips on her neck, hear the tenderness in his voice as he spoke her name.

“Earth to Nadine. Come in,
please.”

Nadine jumped at the sight of Donna’s hand waving in front of her face. “Sorry.” Flustered, she turned back to her computer, unwilling to face her friend’s curious gaze. “I…don’t want to talk right now.”

“Sure,” Donna straightened. “If you want to come over tonight and tell me then, we’re doing the usual Friday-night thing,” she offered as she backed out of the office.

Nadine nodded and smiled her thanks. Donna was
a true friend. Knew when to ask questions and when to back off.

When the door closed she looked back at the screen, trying to read the words she had typed just moments ago, trying to understand what she had said.

But she might as well have been reading Chinese. She let her eyes close, her hands idle on the keyboard. In the space of a day she felt as if her entire world had rearranged. Yesterday at this time she was contemplating a date with Trace. Now…

Trace was out of the picture and Clint had taken her out and, today, had kissed her.

And that gentle caress had moved her more profoundly than anything that had happened to her before. What was he trying to do? Was this just another way of getting her to change her mind? Would Clint resort to such measures just to keep his paper safe?

Even as she asked the questions, she knew that more was going on between them than manipulation.

Clint carefully closed the door to his office behind him, leaned back against the wall and dragged his hands over his face, wondering what had come over him.