Heart's Reward (9 page)

By the time he'd reached the Cross Island Expressway, the late-morning rush-hour traffic had increased and, as usual, it was bumper-to-bumper to get on the Long Island Expressway heading out toward the Hamptons. It seemed that even midweek, folks planned for getaways and long weekends, although there were many New Yorkers who commuted.

As he drew closer to Sag Harbor Village, the
signage indicated ten miles, five, two, turn right, “Welcome.”

His pulse kicked up a notch. Shortly he'd pull up to the TPS mansion. He was sure that Melanie would be there or perhaps it was wishful thinking. He did want to see her again, even in passing. He'd made up his mind that a relationship with her wasn't possible. She didn't want it, and he never went after a woman who didn't want him. He made a short left and followed the narrow cobblestone road through the center of the village, then out toward the house.

What if he told her how he really felt about that night or that he hadn't stopped thinking about her since the night they'd met. What if…

His cell phone rang. The lighted dial identified the caller as Senator Lawson.

“Sir. Good morning.”

“Claude, how are you?”

“On the mend.”

“Glad to hear it. Things are moving along. My plate is full and we need you back as soon as possible. Hastings is good as deputy chief of staff, but he's not you. He doesn't have…people skills.”

Claude half smiled at the compliment. “I'll be back in D.C. on Monday.”

“Great. At least I know that everything with the staff and the upcoming conferences will be taken care of the way I like it when you're back on board.
At least the office will run smoothly even if my household is shot to hell.”

The mansion was up ahead. He steered the car along the incline's sand and gravel road. “What do you mean? Is everyone okay?”

“The girls are fine. As usual. Just that damned son of mine.”

“What's old Rafe up to now?” He pulled into the driveway. He turned off the engine. He took the call off speaker and removed the phone from its cradle.

“Same shenanigans.” He chuckled deep in his throat. “Got him set up with that fancy dating service. And before the boy even goes out on a first date he's talking about having eyes for the owner.”

Claude opened the car door and stopped short. “Rafe is using a dating service?”

“Yes, you were talking to the owner that night at the Embassy. Melanie Harte. She runs that fancy place out at Sag Harbor. Her grandmother, God rest her soul, got me and Louisa together.”

Claude slammed the door. His jaw clenched. The senator was going on about how great the service was, but Claude had stopped listening. Knowing Rafe Lawson, he was sure that Rafe had been attracted to Melanie and wouldn't be shy about letting his feelings be known. Did she wind up taking him to bed, too? His jaw was so tight that his temples began to throb. He looked up at the house and thought about getting back in the car and going home.

“Looking forward to seeing you up on the Hill next week.”

He released the breath he'd been holding. "Yes, see you then," he said absently before disconnecting the call. For several moments he stood rooted to the spot. He slammed his fist against the side of his SUV, then walked up to the front door.

“H
ey, Mr. Montgomery,” Vincent greeted him. “Good to see you.” He shook Claude's hand as he ushered him inside. “How are you feeling? Melanie told us about your accident. She was pretty worried. We all were.”

I bet she was.
“Thanks. I'm feeling pretty good. No lasting effects.”

“Good to hear. I'm pretty sure Veronica and Jess are in the conference room waiting for you. I'll let Aunt Mel know that you're here.” He led him to the door of the conference room and handed him over to the ladies. Claude walked in all smiles, but his mind was on Melanie.

 

From her bedroom window she saw the black Explorer pull into the driveway. She watched Claude get out. She'd hoped to feel nothing when she saw him again. But that pang in the center of her chest was as strong today as all the times before. She turned away. Any minute she'd hear the knock on her door and one of her family members telling her that Claude was here. Would he ask for her, or wait to see if she showed up? She could always say that she was busy. But that was cowardly. Why did this one man have her so twisted into knots? She virtually screamed in her head and wished that she could throw something without the cavalry coming to see what was wrong.

She didn't have time to plan out any more scenarios. Vincent was knocking on her door, telling her that they were all waiting for her downstairs.

“I'll be right there.”

She listened for his footsteps to drift away. She stood in front of the mirror and concluded that she had never looked better. She drew in a long breath of steely determination and went downstairs to meet her client.

Laughter journeyed out into the foyer and with a crooked finger beckoned her to join in. Jessica was telling the story of the three of them when they went on their first camping trip together as teens and all came back with poison ivy.

“We were a mess,” Vincent was saying. “And my dad was beside himself.”

“Yeah,” Veronica agreed. “Dad may be a lot of things, but he's all thumbs when it comes to stuff like that. He gets all weird and crazy with a lot of whiney kids.” She laughed at the memory.

“You all seem really close,” Claude said in admiration. Having been an only child he never had the experience of sharing memories or growing up with anyone else. He always wondered what it would have been like to share secrets, fears and triumphs with a sibling.

“Good morning, everyone.”

They all turned in the direction of Melanie, who stood in the doorway. She came inside and extended her hand to Claude, who rose to greet her. “It's great to see that you're doing better. How are you feeling?”

He closed his fingers around her slender hand and all the anger, animosity, doubt and jealousy that he'd allowed to build up inside him began to evaporate. “Much better since we last saw each other.” His smile was genuine and she returned it.

“Good, I'm glad to hear that,” she said on a breath, the heat of his touch shooting up her arm. “Are you up to meeting your date?” Reluctantly she slipped her hand from his, the memories of his touch clouding her thoughts.

“Ready as I'll ever be.”

She nodded. “Jessica will bring you up to speed, answer any remaining questions and get everything set up. After your date is over, we'll ask that you come back and give us an update on how it went, what your impressions were and we'll take it from there.”

“Fine.”

“Well…I'll let you all get to it. Oh, and I hope that you'll be available for our annual holiday party. It's in three weeks. Be sure to get the information before you leave.”

“I will and I'll certainly try to make it if I'm available.”

“It's
the
party,” Veronica said. “We always have our clients attend, along with a host of others. Aunt Mel knows how to throw a bash.”

“Sounds like fun.” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Hopefully I'll see you before you go, if not then next week.” She offered a tight smile and walked out, her heart hammering louder than the click of her heels against the wood floors.

 

Claude barely focused on the discussion while Veronica told him all about his prospective date with Grace. The pictures of her and her video introduction could have been abstract art for all that he understood. His mind was on Melanie. Seeing her
again only brought to the surface the emotions that he'd tried unsuccessfully to tamp down. Melanie, however, didn't appear to hold the same sentiments. Her handshake was warm but her greeting could have been for any client, not one that you'd slept with.

It was clear that anything materializing between them was simply wishful thinking. One night does not a relationship make. For all he knew it may have been part of the sales package. He drew in a breath and forced himself to focus on the presentation.

 

Melanie couldn't stay in the house a moment longer, not with Claude right downstairs and her not being able to say what was on her mind. His behavior didn't give her a hint as to what he was thinking. And for Melanie to believe that his thoughts centered on her as much as hers did on him was a waste of her time. She'd called Cynthia and they agreed to meet for a late lunch. She needed some air and some space.

On her way out, her good manners and upbringing stopped her from walking out. She steeled herself and walked into the meeting room.

“I'm going out for a while but I wanted to say goodbye before I left.”

Claude stood and she crossed the room and shook his hand, careful to keep her expression unreadable.

“Enjoy your date. Grace is a wonderful woman
and I'm sure you will find that you have a lot in common on many levels. I'll tell you, as I tell all of our clients, be open-minded and let the evening flow.”

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind.”

She gave a short nod, then looked beyond him to the assemblage at the table. “If you need me for anything, you can reach me on my cell.” She smiled and walked out.

She concentrated on her purposeful stride, putting power in each step to drown out the pounding and sadness in her heart. As she got behind the wheel of her Jag she thought once again what a fool she had been to act on her impulses. Now she was paying for it, and the worst part was that the payment would be Claude in the arms of someone else.

 

After the fifteen-minute drive into the center of town and a bit of maneuvering, she found a parking space and walked back toward CG Gallery. Moving along with the leisurely pace of the afternoon foot traffic she smiled as she noticed the “Sales” signs in shop windows and the “Big Discount” advertisements announcing the end-of-season bargains.
Already
, she mused.

The town of Sag Harbor, though modern in most respects, still carried an air of its rich past, from the cobblestone streets, the turn-of-the-century lamp-posts, to quaint shops and ice cream parlors. From
the center of town one could walk to the docks where sailboats and yachts were now docked, replacing the mighty trade ships of days gone by.

She enjoyed her life here. It had a calming effect on her spirit. That realization brought her up short, causing a young woman to bump into her. After a quick apology Melanie resumed walking. She'd done exactly what she'd vowed not to do from the moment she took over: mix her business with pleasure. The main reason for being in Sag Harbor and not Manhattan or L.A. was because of its easy-going lifestyle and its distance from the pressure and the maddening crowds, temptation and frenzied pace. She'd brought all of that drama to her doorstep. Her home, this town, was her sanctuary, a place of respite. And she'd muddied that and potentially jeopardized a business that had survived for decades on the edicts of professionalism, honesty and ethics.

She paused for a moment in front of the gallery, caught her reflection in the plate-glass window and swore she saw the image of her grandmother hovering over her shoulder. She was not pleased.
I'll make it right, Grandma. I'll make you proud.
She pushed through the swinging door and stepped inside.

Cynthia was with a client, so Melanie took the time to look around and see what new pieces Cynthia may have added to the collection. Although Cynthia was a strong advocate for black art and artists, her
tastes were eclectic and the collection reflected it, from the paintings of unknown and famous artists from Europe, India and Africa to sculpture, pottery and jewelry from local residents. The gallery was one of the centerpieces of Sag Harbor, drawing art enthusiasts to the novice from near and far.

Melanie was so proud of her friend, who'd financed her dream on a credit card and built it to what it was today, and she never missed an opportunity to point someone in Cynthia's direction. If you didn't love art before, you would after meeting Cynthia and visiting the gallery.

Her business in the past ten years had blossomed from a small storefront to a two-story loft space that could accommodate up to 300 guests for a showing. The recession had slowed things down dramatically but business had picked up once again, as evidenced by the number of people in the gallery in the middle of the day mid-week.

Melanie wandered over to the jewelry case to look at some of the new silver pieces that had been added from a jewelry maker in Nigeria.

“Well, well. This is truly my lucky day.”

Melanie turned and came face to face with Raford Lawson.

F
or a moment she was speechless. The last person she expected to see was Rafe Lawson. “Mr. Lawson, what are you doing here?” Her thoughts quickly jumped to conclusions but were just as quickly dispelled.

“Cynthia called me and told me that my piece had arrived and the framing was done. So here I am.” He grinned, flashing his charm. “And you?”

Before she could answer, Cynthia joined them. “Sorry, about that Mel. Client took longer than I thought,” she said, bussing her cheek with a quick kiss. She turned glowing eyes and pearly whites on Rafe. “Good to see you.”

He took her hand and drew her in. He kissed her cheek. “Always good to see you and our mutual friend,” he added, turning to Melanie.

“Melanie and I were about to head out to a late lunch. Why don't you join us?” she asked with an adoring gaze.

“I'd love to as long as I'm not imposing on girl talk time,” he said addressing his statement toward Melanie.

“It's fine with me.”

“It's settled then, and it's my treat since I am the third leg.”

“You get no complaints from me,” Cynthia said.

“Let me get my purse and let Neal know that I'm leaving for the day. I'll meet you both out front. Oh, is B. Smith's okay with everyone?”

They both agreed.

“Good, I'll be right back. We can pick up your painting afterward, unless you want to load it into the car now.”

“Sure, if it's not too much trouble I'll take it now.”

“No problem.” She darted into the back room and returned moments later with his art wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. “Here you are. I know it will look fabulous on any wall.”

“I already have a place in mind. Right over the fireplace at the cabin in Vermont.”

“Sounds lovely,” Cynthia said and seemed genuinely rooted to the spot as she stared openly at Rafe.

Melanie cleared her throat and Cynthia's cobwebs.

She blinked. “Uh, I'll join you both in a sec.” She hurried off again.

Rafe watched her walk away, then turned to Melanie. “I'm going to put this in the car.”

Melanie tucked her purse under her arm and followed him out. He needed watching.

They stepped into the late afternoon. The sun had begun to grow lazy and was overcast with brewing storm clouds. It gave the town a Norman Rockwell feel.

“My car is right there.” He pointed to a Mercedes three cars down. They walked together. Rafe popped the trunk with the remote and slid the painting inside.

“What did you buy?” Melanie asked as he shut the trunk in time to a distant drum of thunder. The wind kicked up and the skies grew dark.

Rafe reached out and brushed a flyaway strand of hair from her face. He explained to her about the piece of art he'd purchased as an SUV slowed beside them but didn't stop.

Thankfully he had been cruising down the street, taking in some sights as the vehicle in front of him
loomed into view, Claude realized, or he would have surely rear-ended it. He pulled into a handicapped space toward the end of the street and watched the scene behind him unfold through his driver's side mirror.

She was looking up at him, laughing and nodding, and she had no problem with him touching her hair or her arm as he spoke. He ushered her to the passenger-side door, hurrying out of the sudden splatter of rain with his arm protectively around her waist. He helped her inside, then hurried around the front and got behind the wheel.

He'd seen enough, more than enough. He peeled away from the curb, startling everyone in range on the otherwise-quiet strip.

“Somebody's in a hurry,” Rafe said, looking into his rearview mirror just as Cynthia darted to the car and got in.

“Wow, the weatherman needs a new job,” she said, shaking off her umbrella. They laughed.

“Which way copilot?” Rafe asked Melanie, putting the car in gear.

“At the corner make a left and I'll direct you from there.”

 

By the time Claude reached the highway, the rain was falling at a steady pace. He kept replaying the scene over and over in his head. Every way he looked
at it, nothing changed. Melanie had left the house to meet Rafe Lawson. He didn't want to let his mind take him to that dark place. He didn't want to think that way about her. But if nothing was going on, if there was nothing to hide, why not say that she was going to meet Lawson in front of everyone? What was there to hide?

The questions twisted and turned, churning in his head until he felt like it would explode.

Why did it matter he asked himself repeatedly on the long, lonely drive home. Why?