The One Safe Place (9 page)

Reed, who was holding a loose pink ribbon in his free hand, smiled. “You must have needed something.”

“Well, yes, but then I heard you talking to someone—” She tried to keep from looking at the ribbon. “To the dog, I mean. Honestly, it was nothing important, I can just come back another time. I need to get back to Spencer anyhow.”

“I'll walk you to the house. We can talk on the way.” Reed held the poodle out toward Justine. “Do me a favor? Get Fifi settled for the night. And take that fool bow out, okay? Let the poor thing be comfortable.”

The excited poodle wriggled its absurd legs, as if it could swim through the air toward Justine, who was eyeing it with significantly less enthusiasm.

“But Mike will be here soon,” Justine said. “He's giving me a ride home.”

“He'll wait five minutes.” Reed smiled and plopped the poodle into her arms. “I always got the
impression Mike Frome had been waiting for you a lot longer than that already.”

Justine shrugged, but she dimpled coyly and planted a pleased kiss on the poodle's head. The tiny, tense dog shivered with excitement. “Oh, Mike's a fool,” Justine said. “But I can't stop him, can I? I guess there's no law against wishful thinking.”

Reed gave the poodle's head a friendly fluff and turned to Faith. “Ready?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

“Hey, boss,” Justine called as they went through the clinic door. “One thing. If I put Fifi to bed, that means I'm working, right? It means I'm still on the clock.”

Reed smiled pleasantly over his shoulder. “I guess there's no law against wishful thinking.”

The October moon was full and yellow, a circle so perfect it looked as if it had been hole-punched out of a black construction paper sky. A light breeze carried the sweet hint of someone's wood fire and sent little curved birch leaves skittering ahead of them on the path.

The temperature was dropping quickly, and Faith realized the night was already colder than when she'd first walked out to the clinic. She should have brought her coat. She wondered how Reed managed to look so comfortable in only his jeans and soft plaid flannel shirt.

They covered the few yards to the house quickly—it wasn't long enough to do more than make a couple
of comments on the beautiful moon, and then they were there.

As they climbed the steps to the back porch, she looked at him, unsure how to broach the subject. Maybe she should just let well enough alone. He didn't seem uncomfortable—and he certainly didn't seem flirtatious, as if he believed the kiss had been the beginning of anything. Probably he felt the same way she did—that the kiss had been surprisingly nice, but completely inappropriate.

She put her hand on the doorknob, but at the same moment Reed put his hand on the chain of the porch swing.

“Want to sit out here for a minute?” His eyes gleamed in the cold moonlight. “We really should talk.”

She hesitated. The night was so full of subtle sensuality—restless little leaf whispers, haunting calls from throaty owls, the cold kisses of a blind night wind, goose bumps rising and falling on your skin.

On a night like this, it was more intimate to be out here, in the open, than to be inside by the fire. And considering the fact that avoiding real intimacy was what she had wanted to discuss…

He touched her shoulder. “Sit,” he said. “It's comfortable, and it's private. We can be sure no one will hear us.”

“All right.”

She arranged herself on the large wooden swing, which, though it had no cushions or pillows, really
was astonishingly comfortable. When he joined her, she was relieved to see that it was big enough to let them both sit without actually touching.

“So.” He set the swing into a small, rocking rhythm that he controlled easily with the heel of his foot. “I know this is a little awkward. Considering it's my fault, maybe I should go first.”

She looked over at him. His dark, wavy hair was rimmed in silver. Moonlight sculpted his rugged face with dramatic angles and shadows.

“Your fault?”

He nodded. “Absolutely. I stepped over the line in the kitchen earlier. I owe you an apology, and I want you to know that it won't ever happen again. Frankly, I can't imagine what made me act like such a fool.”

He chuckled suddenly. “Wait, that didn't come out right, did it? I know perfectly well why I kissed you, of course. What I don't know is why I ignored the obvious fact that I had no right to do it.”

“It's not a matter of ‘right,'” she said, braiding her fingers in her lap. “It's just… It's Spencer. He's been through so much. He lost his dad three years ago, and now he's lost his mother, too. He needs stability. I want him to know he's the most important thing in the world to me right now. I don't want him to wonder if I'm…”

Her voice dwindled off. She couldn't think how to put it. It had been just one casual kiss. She didn't want him to think she had read too much into it.

But thankfully Reed was nodding. “You don't
want him to wonder if you're distracted. If you're more interested in being with me than you are in being with him.”

“Yes. Exactly.” She looked down at her hands again. She ought to be completely honest, though this part was harder. “And it isn't just Spencer, completely. It's also that I'm not really ready for anything…anything sexual. I shouldn't even be— I don't know how I could even have thought of—”

She swallowed. “After Doug… After my sister—”

To her horror, she found herself near tears again. God, would this weakness never go away? But the word was so powerful. My
sister.
No one could ever know the thousands of memories that word held in its few short letters—Barbies and boyfriends and beach weeks, fights and fevers and finals, laughter and dreams and so many hundreds of inconsequential little plans. Grace had talked her into signing up for a belly-dancing class. It would have started this week. It would never happen now.

She shut her eyes. What had she been thinking? Just being alive when Grace was dead seemed unfair. But being so alive that she could enjoy a man's touch, his scent, his gentle, determined lips…

That felt like a sin.

“Faith, look at me,” Reed said suddenly. She looked up and realized that he'd been watching her. She wondered how much her face had given away. “It's okay, you know. It's normal.”

“What is?”

“To want to live.”

It was an arrow straight to the heart of things. She didn't trust herself to speak. She just stared at him, her eyes burning, though the rest of her was shivering.

“It's a perfectly normal instinct. When you've been cold inside too long, it's human to reach out for a little warmth.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “Is it?”

He rocked the swing slightly before answering, staring out into the rustling, autumn night. “Yes,” he said finally. “I think it is. I don't think they would want us to be cold forever.”

They.
Oh, God, grief made you selfish, didn't it? She put out her arm and touched his hand, ashamed that she had forgotten that he, too, had lost someone he loved. If she felt she had betrayed Grace with that kiss, how must he have felt?

“Reed, I'm sorry—”

“No more apologies.” He smiled at her, and she could see him working to shake off the pensive mood. “Our new official limit is one a day, and I've already made it.”

“But—”

He placed his free hand over hers and chafed it lightly. “Hey, your fingers are like ice. We'd better get you inside before you freeze.”

They both stood and moved toward the door. The swing creaked gently on its chains, swaying from the sudden freedom. A night bird somewhere in the hemlock trees whistled something in a solitary contralto.

When he opened the door and stood back to let her go through first, Faith paused. She wanted to say something, but she wasn't sure where to begin.

Maybe she just wanted to say thank you. But for what? For sharing his warm, beautiful home, for letting it be her haven? For sharing his wisdom, for easing her guilt at being alive?

Maybe for the kiss itself, which had strangely taken root inside her, like one small green shoot in the cold winter of her heart.

She opened her mouth, but to her surprise he put his warm forefinger across her lips. It made shivers spiral down her spine, and whatever words she'd been about to say disappeared.

“Go inside, Faith,” he said. “If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to do something I shouldn't. And we don't have any apologies left for today.”

She nodded. He was right. Hadn't she just said they needed to be sure nothing foolish happened again?

She crossed the threshold, but to her surprise, he didn't follow.

“'Night,” he said with a smile. “Sleep tight.”

He closed the door quietly. She heard his footsteps across the wooden porch, and then the soft creak of the swing as he lowered himself onto it.

The bird sang one more time. And then there was nothing but silence.

 

D
OUG GRIPPED
the phone so tight he could feel his blood in his fingertips. He could hear it whooshing in his ears, too.

Shit. His blood pressure must have gone through the roof. He hadn't been able to fill his prescription in more than a month. Having to deal with morons like this didn't help calm him down any, either. For a minute there he had actually seen a red wash spread across his vision.

“What do you mean you can't find her?”

“I mean I can't find her.” The voice on the other end took on a whiny tone. “I mean she's nowhere.”

Doug forced himself to talk quietly, though he had a sudden urge to take this phone cord and wrap it around someone's neck. That disgusting drunk in the corner, for instance. He'd be no loss to the human race.

“Nonsense,” he said slowly, forcing himself to focus. “Everyone is somewhere.”

“Yeah, well, this broad isn't. I'm telling you, I've looked everywhere. I guess I can keep looking, but you're throwing your money away. She's smart, and she's gone.”

“She's not smart.” Doug laughed at the idea. If Faith Constable was so damn smart, why hadn't she jumped at the chance to have a millionaire lover, a big shot boyfriend who was ready to shower roses and gifts at her middle-class feet?

She was stupid. And this jackass he'd hired was stupid, too. “You're fired,” he said, and he hung up the phone with such force that even the drunk in the corner looked up.

He moved down the corridor slowly, feeling the frustration building inside his veins. It wasn't the same kind of frustration he used to feel when he thought about Faith. Then he had just wanted to screw her. He'd wanted it pretty bad. Sometimes his whole groin had pulsed raw with it, and then whichever bitch was under him really got herself knocked around big time. It had taken a ridiculous amount of cash to shut them up about it.

This was different. He didn't particularly want to have sex with Faith anymore. He wanted to kill her.

He bumped into the drunk. He knocked over the man's small bag of belongings, which had been loosely tied up in a moth-eaten T-shirt. Cigarette stubs and pennies and old socks tumbled out in all directions.

“Hey,” the drunk said. “Pick that up.”

Doug paused and stared at the man. His hands made fists at his side, fists so tight they throbbed with every beat of his heart. Maybe, just as it had helped a little to use other women when he really wanted Faith, maybe it would help to kill some dumb bastard like this until he could get his hands around the right lily-white neck.

But he couldn't afford to attract any attention to himself. He needed the anonymity. Apparently finding Faith wasn't going to be as easy as he thought.

The drunk's red eyes narrowed. “I said pick it up.”

“Sorry, pal,” he said, kicking a smelly gray sock
out of his way like a dead rat. “That's not the way it works. Here's a tip, cost you nothing. If you want a thing done, and you want it done right, you've got to do it yourself.”

T
HE NEXT FEW DAYS
,
as temperatures in Firefly Glen kept dropping and the leaves began to hint at tones of russet and bronze, Faith felt herself finally settling in.

While Spencer still didn't talk, he seemed much more relaxed. He smiled and nodded and did everything short of making an actual sound. He had even allowed Faith to put a picture of his mother by his bed. Faith began to believe it was just a matter of time before he was nearly back to normal.

She and Reed were growing more comfortable together, too. The kiss seemed to have broken the ice. It was as if, once they had openly acknowledged the attraction and agreed it wouldn't be appropriate to act on it, they could concentrate on building a friendship.

The sexual awareness didn't ever completely disappear, of course. When they tackled one another at football, it flared a little. When they washed dishes side by side in the kitchen, it hummed softly between them. When they said good-night on the stairs, it hung like candle glow in the shadowy air. It was ever-present, but unobtrusive, like half heard background music.

Yes, most things were settling in just fine. Unfortunately, though, she wasn't getting one bit better at housekeeping.

Just before lunch that Saturday morning, she found herself in Reed's bathroom, as usual making the most ridiculous mess. She had climbed into his large shower to scrub the back tiles. She'd forgotten her rag, so she used one of his plump green hand towels to apply the cleanser. To her horror, it suddenly developed a large white spot in the center.

She looked down. Her denim shorts were covered in tiny white spots. She looked out. The green mat outside the shower was speckled, too.

She picked up the new bottle of cleanser she'd just opened. What on earth was in this stuff? The old bottle hadn't done anything like this.

But then, for the first time, she realized that this new bottle was just slightly different from the last one she'd used. The same brand, the same color on the label. But where the old one had said “basin and tile cleanser,” this one said “mildew remover.”

Mildew remover. She frowned, uncertain. Was that bad? She sniffed the nozzle and recoiled sharply. Oh, good grief. It was pure bleach.

Spencer and Tigger trotted into the bathroom, obviously looking for her. Spencer stopped at the threshold, wrinkling his nose dramatically as the stinging odor of bleach reached him. Tigger stopped, too, and began barking his disapproval.

And suddenly she saw that Reed was right behind them.

“Oh, Reed, I'm sorry, I've made such a stupid mista—”

Flustered, she tried to whip around quickly and climb out of the shower. But she had sprayed so darn much of this evil stuff, and its oily wetness was diabolically slippery. Her bare feet slid around comically, and she knew she was going to fall.

Oh, why, why was she doomed to look like one of the Three Stooges every time he caught her trying to clean house? As she did her humiliating dance of desperation on the slick tiles, her arms flailed, clutching out for balance. She caught hold of one edge of the shower curtain, but it was too late. The curtain tore from its hooks with a loud ripping sound, and she went down, right on her rump in a pool of oily bleach. The shower curtain cascaded on top of her, draping itself across her head.

For a split second the entire room was silent. Even Tigger was too shocked to bark. But suddenly she heard the sound of laughter. A beautiful sound. Light, high, uninhibited.

It was Spencer.

For a moment she forgot her own embarrassment, her guilt at ruining Reed's bathroom, even the rapidly spreading dampness across her sore rear end. Right here, right now, where everyone could hear him, Spencer was laughing.

Reed was laughing, too. He was trying not to, of
course. But he and Spencer kept looking at each other, then back at her, and exploding in new waves of uncontrollable mirth.

She shook the shower curtain off her head, ran her fingers pointlessly through her hair, and smiled over at them.

“Well, thanks, guys. It's nice to be reassured that I didn't make a
complete
fool of myself.”

“Are you okay?” Reed moved into the bathroom, his hand outstretched. Halfway to the shower, he paused and sniffed the air. “God. Is that bleach?”

“Yes.” She gripped the spigot and carefully dragged herself to her feet. “That's what I was trying to tell you. I used the wrong stuff by mistake and—”

She stopped, realizing that they were both looking at her rear end with expressions that pretty much promised more gales of laughter.

“What?” She craned her neck, trying to see the back.
“What?”

“Your shorts,” Reed said. “They're all white where you…” He choked from trying to swallow an oversize chuckle. “It's just that you've got these two amazingly cute white circles on your bottom.”

She twisted and saw what he was talking about. The bleach was everywhere. On her hands, on the shower curtain, on her clothes.

Reed and Spencer looked at each other. Reed arched one brow mischievously. “So, Spence,” he said. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

Spencer grinned. He looked at Faith, and then he nodded.

Reed turned back to her. “Okay, here's the deal. Spencer and I took a vote earlier, and we decided to go into town for lunch.”

“Out? But I was going to make some—”

“Nope.” Reed's eyes gleamed with amusement. “We're going out. But first we have to get you cleaned up.”

She tilted her head, suddenly catching on. “Oh, no, you don't,” she said. She put out her hand. “Reed, no—”

But once again she was too late. Reed had reached in and twisted the spigot. She looked up. The high-tech nozzle overhead sizzled and opened, and suddenly hundreds of jets of warm spray came pulsing down like summer rain across her face.

Within seconds, the water had soaked her hair, her T-shirt, her shorts, washing away the sharp scent of bleach in soft, wet rivulets that ran down her bare shins, across her toes and into the shiny silver drain.

She peeled her wet hair from her face and turned toward the two grinning males. Baring her teeth, she gave them an indignant growl. Tigger growled back and trotted to the edge of the shower, snapping, trying to catch droplets of water that ricocheted onto his nose.

Reed handed her the soap.

“Hurry up,” he ordered gruffly, but his eyes were warm and gentle. She knew they were both listening
to the magical sound of Spencer's laughter in the background. “While you're in here playing around, the guys in this house are starving.”

 

R
EED EYED
Granville Frome coming toward him across Theo Burke's Candlelight Café.
Don't say it,
Reed instructed him mentally.
Give me a break, okay? Just don't say it.

But of course the old guy said it.

“Good to see you in here, son. Time you started to get out and about. Heard you're dating that redheaded Ferguson gal. That's great. Melissa was a damn fine woman, but can't stay at home licking your wounds forever.”

“Yes, I suppose you're right.” Reed tried not to show his irritation—but he and Faith and Spencer had only been in the café for ten minutes, and Granville was the fifth person to come up and congratulate Reed for “finally” getting sociable again.

Maybe this hadn't been his best idea ever. It had seemed healthy to get Spencer out of the house, even though they'd had to leave Tigger at home, which hadn't been easy. Even that tiny parting frightened the little boy. Spencer had hugged the dog at the front door for five minutes straight, until Tigger had begun to squirm impatiently.

Still, Reed had thought it was worth it. But he had forgotten about the constant Firefly Glen gossip. Today, they were the equivalent of the daily trifecta. People could indulge their curiosity about Reed's
pretty new housekeeper, monitor the healing progress of his broken heart and get the dirt on his date with Pauline Ferguson all at once.

He hadn't really expected the part about Pauline. She must have stretched their skimpy date into an amazing feast of gossip. He'd be willing to bet that by now their one pitiful outing, with its anticlimactic cheek-peck at the door, had morphed into something downright torrid.

He unwrapped his silverware so roughly the fork clattered onto the floor. Oops. He shot Theo an apologetic look. She hated for people to make a mess of her pristine café.

But damn it. When it finally sank into Pauline's one-track brain that there wasn't going to
be
a second date, she might regret having broadcast this first one quite so far and wide.

Luckily, Granville had an eye for pretty women, so he let the subject drop quickly and began flirting with Faith. He seemed to be trying to talk her into riding in his car for the Halloween parade, and she was quite deftly turning him down.

Reed caught himself staring. He liked the way she smiled—it was a two-stage deal, as if she weren't sure she should give into the urge. First, her mouth seemed to close more tightly, the corners tucking into a couple of cute-as-hell dimples. Sometimes, most of the time, it ended there.

But every now and then her lips parted, and the second stage took over, her smile broadening, stretch
ing, sparkling. Showing pretty white teeth and spreading sunny warmth all the way up to her eyes.

It was a fantastic smile. And he felt absurdly personal about it. It was as if the smile had been lost in some dark place far, far away. And he had found it, saved it, returned it to her face, where it belonged.

How ridiculous. Reed Fairmont, conquering hero? Not in this lifetime.

Finally Granville gave up and excused himself. He had spied Madeline Alexander in the corner with Ward Winters, and he was obviously eager to get over there and cause some trouble.
Jealous old rascal.

Reed chuckled as he picked up his thick, juicy veggie-burger, one of Theo's specialties. He turned to Spencer. “So, was I right? Is it the best burger you ever had in the world?”

Spencer, whose mouth was chock-f of burger, shot Reed the “thumbs-up” sign, then reached for his thick chocolate milkshake.

Faith was watching Spencer, too. And then, when the little boy took another giant bite of his burger, she gave Reed one of those wonderful smiles.

Maybe coming into town hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

“Reed Fairmont. Damn it, man, I've been looking for you.”

Oh, hell, it was Alton Millner, Justine's father. Reed's opinion of coming to town took another nosedive. It wasn't ever a good idea to risk running
into Alton, who was Firefly Glen's mayor and a world-class pain in the ass.

“I'm at my clinic five days a week.” Reed wiped his mouth with Theo's soft cloth napkin. “If you have anything to discuss with me, maybe we'd better do it there, because I'm with friends right now, and we wouldn't want to bore them.”

“To hell with your lunch. Tell me why you—”

Reed tightened his jaw. “Alton. Call my receptionist. Make an appointment.”

“Your receptionist?” Alton looked as if he might have a heart attack right on the spot, which would infuriate Theo. Spencer's eyes were wide as he sucked down the last of his milkshake. “She's not your receptionist, damn it. She's my daughter.”

Reed shrugged. “I didn't know the two were mutually exclusive.”

“They damn well ought to be!” Alton jabbed him in the shoulder with his forefinger. “What right do you have to interfere in my family?”

Reed turned to Faith. “Could you do me a favor? Could you and Spencer please go ask Theo if we could get some hot-fudge sundaes? She knows how I like mine.”

Faith understood perfectly. She glided up from her chair and took Spencer by the hand. Reed knew she would manage to keep the little boy out of harm's way until this annoying man and his hostility were gone.

“All right, Alton,” he said as soon as they were alone. “What exactly is on your mind?”

“I want to know what the hell you were doing hiring my daughter to answer your goddamn telephone. You know I didn't want anyone to give Justine a job around here. If it weren't for you, Justine wouldn't be in that rattrap apartment. She'd be at home where she belongs.”

Reed gazed at the man calmly. “And where would Gavin be?”

Alton's face swelled up, suddenly so red and bloated that Reed had a momentary image of his salt-and-pepper mustache popping right off and shooting across the café. He looked like a cartoon character, but the truth was the man was probably in terrible health. All that rage, all that sick need for control. Reed tried to feel sorry for him, but all he could see was Justine's frightened face when she came in asking for a job.

“I refuse to talk to you about that—that child. He's no concern of yours, Fairmont.”

Reed smiled. “I'll have to remember that next time I change his diapers.”

“Change his—” Alton's eyes suddenly narrowed. He leaned forward. “Damn it. It isn't you, is it, Fairmont?”

Reed made his voice even steadier. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The father. God, you're not the father are you?”

Alton tilted his bullet-shaped head, trying to figure
things out, which wasn't easy, considering he had a brain the size of a pea trying to support an ego the size of a small planet.

“It would have been last winter. You were pretty out of it last winter, I remember that. Drank a lot. Damn. I hadn't thought of this. Lonely guy up there all alone, no woman in the house. Surely you didn't—Justine didn't—”

Reed pushed his chair back slowly. He wasn't sure exactly how he planned to do it, but this bastard was going to shut up.

“Gentlemen.” Theo appeared like magic. People didn't brawl in her café. People didn't even burp in her café. “Or should I say
morons.
Sit down, Reed. I'm not going to let you deck this idiot in my café, no matter how much he deserves it.”