13

Claire woke up smashed against something wonderful. Warm. Solid. Comfortable. Whatever it was smelled good, too. Like deodorant, soap and warm male—

She’d been burrowing closer but the moment she recognized those scents, she lifted her head and squinted in the light filtering through the blinds. Sure enough, she was in bed with Isaac. They both had clothes on—that was a good sign—but her sister, if she’d already spotted his truck out front, wouldn’t know that. When Claire had gotten out of the shower last night after that terrible dream and he said he was going to lie down with her, that he’d be right next to her in case she had another nightmare, she hadn’t argued. After what he’d told her about Les Weaver, she’d been even more unsettled, afraid she might dream about that, making the comfort and security Isaac offered too tempting to refuse.

But he hadn’t gotten up and left as she’d expected. He’d fallen asleep along with her.

Why was he still here? He couldn’t have hung around because he expected to get laid. She’d made the parameters of their new relationship perfectly clear.

The doorbell rang, and her heart skipped a beat. Who could that be so early?

She craned her neck to see the clock on the nightstand and experienced a jolt of panic. It wasn’t early at all. It was five after nine!

“Oh, no.” Her first appointment, who just happened to be Laurel King, her best friend, had arrived. Laurel would definitely notice Isaac’s truck. And—Claire consulted the mirror above the dresser—as tousled as she looked, it wouldn’t be hard to guess she’d come straight from bed.

Could she get away with not answering?

“Your heart’s racing a mile a minute.” Isaac was half-asleep but sounded concerned. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you had another nightmare.”

“No. I overslept. My appointments are arriving.”

The emergency in her voice brought him awake. But being able to determine she was okay also relieved him. “Is that all?” he muttered, hiding a yawn. “Is that all?” she repeated.

He punched his pillow. “So you slept in. You got to bed late.”

“Lack of sleep isn’t a viable excuse. Some of us have to work whether we want to or not, and that means we have to get up early and be prepared.”

“Sucks for you, doesn’t it?” he teased, and closed his eyes as if sinking back into sleep.

She had to tell him he couldn’t stay. She didn’t want any more of her clients thinking they were seeing each other.

But he’d been nice enough to drive three hours to Coeur d’Alene on her behalf, and he’d offered her comfort through a difficult night. She couldn’t be so rude as to kick him out.

Bang, bang, bang. “Claire? You in there? It’s Laurel.”

She knew it was Laurel. That was part of the problem. What was she going to do?

“Why aren’t you getting the door?” Isaac looked at her again, this time with a hint of the shrewdness he usually exhibited.

“I’m debating whether to pretend I’m not home.”

“With my truck at the curb? If you don’t answer, whoever it is will think they caught us in the middle of something.”

But if she did answer, she’d have to explain about her visitor and she wasn’t quite sure how to do that.

“Claire?” he prompted.

“You’re right.” Not responding wasn’t an option. She realized it now that he’d put the alternative in perspective.

Scrambling off the bed, she ran her fingers through her hair, but there was no way to get it to lie properly without wetting it down. “This won’t look good,” she grumbled.

He met her eyes in the mirror. “You’re stressing over nothing.”

“I am? My best friend will think we’ve been…together.” And she’d never even mentioned him. Well, not recently. And not in any kind of positive light. Laurel would be offended if she thought Claire had a secret lover.

The bed squeaked as he shifted. “We have been together.”

“Not for years.”

“Unless you count three nights ago.”

“We’re not counting three nights ago. I—I’d just been conked on the head. Obviously, I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“You seemed to know what you wanted.”

She ignored that. “And we didn’t really make love,” she added.

Resting his weight on his elbows, he cocked an eyebrow at her. “You were faking that orgasm?”

She whirled around to face him. “Stop it! Quit teasing me, especially because that—” her face flushed hot “—momentary lapse in judgment doesn’t count.”

His eyes narrowed. She should’ve taken that as a warning, but she was too frantic to heed it. “Those moans sounded pretty convincing to me.”

“Claire?” Laurel called. “Why aren’t you answering?”

“In the bathroom. Coming!” she yelled back. Then she gestured for him to get up. “Can you at least vacate my bed?”

He did as she asked but his dark scowl let her know he wasn’t happy about the way she was acting. “I don’t get why this is such an emergency. So she thinks we’re seeing each other. What difference does it make? We’re both single.”

“My husband just died.”

“A year ago! Does that mean you’re expected to be celibate for the rest of your life?”

“Not necessarily. But I’d rather not have everyone in town thinking I’m idiot enough to let you use me again.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Because, of course, that’s all I’m capable of.”

“Everyone knows you’re a player. You’ve made sure they know it.” She had to expose her underwear in order to pull on her jeans, but she was too nervous to wait for him to leave the room. It also seemed rather pointless after everything he’d already seen, and touched, over the years.

Her jeans were baggier than ever but she hoped he wouldn’t notice. She didn’t want him going on about the weight she’d lost. She’d heard enough about that already. “No need to have everyone trying to caution me against getting involved with you again.”

As she turned away to put on her bra and swap David’s T-shirt for a blouse of her own, she glanced over her shoulder to see that his eyes had gone flat. “You’re that convinced I’m a bad bet? That they know me better than you do? That I haven’t grown up in ten years?”

She wasn’t willing to take the chance. To her mind, his inadequacies had more to do with the type of person he was rather than his level of maturity. He’d been an adult since he was sixteen; that meant he’d grown up fast. But there was no time to argue. “Maybe if you hurry out to the salon, she’ll assume you’re here for a haircut.”

She’d never cut his hair before. She’d often wondered where he had it done. If the men in town didn’t come to her, they typically went to a barber in Libby, but Isaac’s hair looked too styled for a ten-dollar buzz-and-go.

“I’ll just head out the back.”

“No! You can’t slink away. Now that she’s seen your truck, she has to see you, too, and we have to act as if you’re no different from any other client.”

“I see.” That muscle twitched in his cheek again, but he strode into the hall that connected her house and salon without another word.

“You could’ve at least tried to make it look as though you hadn’t just rolled out of bed,” she muttered when he was gone, but she pasted a smile on her face and went to answer the door.

“What took you so long?” Laurel stood with her arms folded, keys in hand, suggesting she’d nearly given up.

“I’m sorry. Somehow I didn’t get your appointment in my day planner and double-booked myself.” Her laugh sounded awkward, even to her, but she hoped Laurel wouldn’t notice. “I was in the salon.”

Laurel seemed confused. “But I went to the salon. It was dark.”

“Oh, you must’ve arrived earlier than I thought. I offered Isaac a cup of coffee. We were probably in the kitchen.”

She chewed on her bottom lip as if she wasn’t quite mollified. “I saw his truck, of course, but…”

Claire put some extra wattage into her smile. “But?”

“I couldn’t figure out why he’d be here. I didn’t know he was a client. I’ve always gotten the impression you don’t like him.”

“I don’t have strong feelings for him one way or the other.”

The sound of a door closing made Claire’s heart skip a beat. It’d been soft, barely discernible. She was sure Laurel hadn’t heard. But she cringed to think Isaac might’ve picked up on what she’d just said. She was fighting her attraction to him; she wasn’t out to mistreat him. Especially after he’d been so nice to her these past few days.

“Do you want me to come back later?” Laurel asked. “If you’re too busy…”

Claire realized she hadn’t stepped aside and invited her friend in. “Of course not. You know I work fast. I can cut you both. Come on, we’ll go through the house.”

 

Isaac sat completely still while Claire trimmed his hair. She liked running her fingers through his curls but, considering the situation, she couldn’t enjoy it as much as she wanted. Had she severed their tenuous friendship?

She got that feeling. Guilt dragged at her like hundred-pound weights tied to each limb, but she couldn’t apologize with Laurel looking on.

When Laurel answered a call on her cell, Claire took the opportunity to squeeze Isaac’s shoulder as a sort of silent apology, but the look he gave her in the mirror made her drop her hand. He was angry. And no one was more formidable when angry.

“Will you, um, tilt your head a little more…? That’s it,” she murmured.

He allowed her to manipulate his head and sat through the cut, but the steeliness of his eyes stabbed at her the whole time. She wanted to do a good job on the trim, at least, but with so much dark emotion rolling off him, and Laurel watching curiously, she was in too much of a hurry.

What if her best friend could see everything she was trying to hide? What if Laurel could tell that just being near Isaac made her heart race? That he was the only one who could ease the pain of losing David?

If Laurel saw the truth, then she’d have to face it herself. And she couldn’t do that. Not right now.

In case she was more transparent than she wanted to be, she refused to meet his gaze again. She snipped and snipped, then used her blow dryer to get rid of the hair that had fallen on his neck. After that she offered him a fake smile and pulled off the drape she’d fastened on him when he sat down. “There you go. Thanks for coming in.”

She couldn’t get him out of there fast enough…?.

“How much do I owe you?” he said dryly.

For a haircut he hadn’t even wanted. She hesitated to charge him, but that would make her deception a bit too obvious. “Twenty bucks ought to do it.”

He leaned closer. “What’d you say?”

She’d spoken too quietly. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Twenty dollars.”

He tossed some money onto the shelf of her station and walked out.

A lump grew in her throat as the door shut. She’d ruined whatever trust had begun to emerge between them. But she didn’t have time to mope over it. She’d known all along that she was better off without Isaac Morgan in her life.

Trying to force a smile, she turned to Laurel. “Sorry you had to wait.”

“No problem. I didn’t mind. But…is he always surly like that?” She gestured to indicate Isaac, and together they watched through the window as he started his truck.

No, he could be as kind, sexy, gentle and funny as he could be fierce or indifferent. He’d stayed with her all night because he knew she was scared to be alone. But she didn’t want to think about that. It made the whole mess worse.

“I guess.” She shrugged. “I don’t really know him that well.”

“Neither do I,” Laurel mused. “But he’s a heck of a photographer.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You haven’t seen his work?”

That was going too far. Of course she’d seen it. Everyone had, especially around here. “Some pieces. The Amish store on the way to Libby sells a few of them.”

“The Kicking Horse Saloon has some, too. Only they’re not for sale.”

“It’s great that he can make a living doing what he loves.”

Those words were filler, something she could say without revealing the poignancy of her feelings, but Laurel gave her a funny look all the same. “You’re not impressed with his work?”

“Of course. I just haven’t paid much attention to his photographs, that’s all.”

“Wait—he’s the one who helped you when you hit your head the other night, isn’t he? Myles told me.”

Claire had been so busy building the perception of distance between her and Isaac, she’d forgotten about that. Her eyes cut to the twenty dollars he’d tossed on her shelf. She could’ve said she’d given him a gift certificate as a thank-you. That would’ve saved her from adding insult to injury by charging him. Too bad she hadn’t thought of it earlier.

“Yes.”

Laurel sat in the chair near the sink so Claire could wash her hair. “We haven’t even had a chance to talk about that. I’ve called a couple of times, but…”

Claire hadn’t called her back. She felt terrible about that, in addition to everything else, but Laurel wasn’t the only friend she’d neglected. She’d been dodging all her calls. “I was down for a whole day because of that bump on my head, and the time I lost really put me behind.”

“But you’re okay?”

The water wasn’t getting hot fast enough. “Of course,” she said briskly. “I’m fine.”

Laurel resisted when Claire tried to recline the chair. “Are you sure? I’ve been worried about you. You’re losing so much weight…?.”

“I seem to be hearing that from all sides lately.”

“It’s true. I’ve been afraid to say anything for fear it’ll upset you, but…I think it’s time we acknowledged there might be a problem. You’re not recovering like you should.”

Claire’s defenses slammed into place despite the little voice inside her head that warned her not to offend Laurel. “You’re saying you could get over Myles’s death in a year?”

“That’s too horrible to even contemplate,” she said. “I’m not faulting you, or saying I could do any better. I just… I want you to be happy. That’s all. And if it takes admitting that you need help—”

“I don’t need help!”

Once again, Laurel resisted when Claire tried to wash her hair. “Fine. Then will you do me one favor?”

“I’m not seeing a shrink, if that’s where you’re going.”

“It’s not. What I want is free and easy for you to give.”

“And that means…”

“I’d like you to go out with that guy I’ve been trying to set you up with.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Not this again.”

“Come on! He’s so nice. Handsome, too.”

Laurel had been badgering her about this for weeks. “I’m not ready.”

“How do you know unless you try?”

“I did try,” she replied. “With Rusty, the other night.”

Laurel clutched the arms of the chair. “You went out with Rusty? Myles’s deputy?”

“One and the same.”

“That’s great! He’s wanted to take you out since forever! He’s made no secret of that.”

“I know.”

“And?”

She grimaced. “It sucked. We got into an argument because he was coming on too strong and I ended up walking home.” She left out the part about Isaac picking her up and letting her hide at his place for the rest of the night.

“That’s too bad,” Laurel said. “But this’ll be different. Myles and I will be with you. The four of us will go out to dinner. We’ll have a great time, no pressure at all. I promise.”

Claire blew out a sigh. Why not? She couldn’t do any worse than she’d done with Rusty. And maybe this blind date would get her mind off Isaac. “Why do you think he’s so perfect for me?”

“He’s very stable, for one.”

“You did say he’s an accountant.”

“Don’t say it so deadpan. He’s an interesting accountant.”

“Who’s not married because…”

“He hasn’t found the right girl.”

“Or he picks his nose in public or eats gum that’s already been chewed or has some other revolting idiosyncrasy!”

Laurel looked hurt. “That’s what you think of my taste in men? My, aren’t you positive today!”

With a laugh, Claire shook her head. “Myles is wonderful, and you know it. I’m sorry.” She thought of telling Laurel why she was having such a hard time. Her friend would sympathize with her, maybe even have some advice on how to repair the damage Claire had inflicted on her family relationships.

But she wasn’t ready to smooth things over with Tug, Roni or Leanne. For some reason, she’d reached a threshold where the truth mattered more than anything else, and playing nice was a handicap in that regard.

“Claire? You okay?”

She’d been staring off into space. Refocusing, she infused her smile with a fresh dose of determination. “How do you know him…this interesting accountant?”

At last, Laurel allowed Claire to recline the chair. “Most everyone who works for the sheriff’s department uses him to prepare their taxes.”

“So worst-case scenario—” she squirted shampoo into her palm “—I’ve found a new tax consultant.”

Laurel applauded her improved attitude. “That’s the spirit.”

“When do you want to go?”

“I’ll have Myles see when he’s available and get back to you.”

That sounded loose enough. Hoping she’d be able to put the date off indefinitely, Claire agreed and hurried to finish. She was eager for Laurel to leave so she could call Isaac and apologize. But hurrying didn’t do any good. After Laurel had left and she was free to call, Isaac didn’t answer. Even worse, Laurel contacted her only an hour later to say that accountant, “Owen Rodriguez,” happened to be free Saturday night.

“Sounds like his social calendar is as full as mine,” Claire murmured.

Laurel sighed. “Drop the sarcasm, okay? Don’t start being negative again.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be ready at seven.”

“What will you wear?”

Claire didn’t feel passionate enough about the event to plan that far ahead. “I’ll find something.”

 

Twenty-four hours later, Claire still had Isaac’s twenty bucks in her pocket. She hadn’t been able to give it back because she couldn’t get him to answer his darn phone or return one of her many messages, which upset her for two reasons. Not only did she want to apologize, she wanted to tell him that a stranger had called her last night, just before bed—a man—to ask if she’d hired a private investigator. When he wouldn’t identify himself, she refused to answer, and he’d hung up. That was the extent of their exchange. She’d tried using star sixty-nine but he must’ve called from a blocked number because it didn’t work. The whole thing made her uneasy. She guessed it was Les Weaver, trying to determine if what Isaac had told him was true.

She wished she could discuss it with Isaac. He’d mentioned that he was going to do some more research. After what had happened yesterday, she was pretty sure he’d dumped that idea, along with their “friendship,” but she needed to put right what she’d destroyed. So, after holding out until late afternoon, hoping she’d hear from him, she paid him a visit, which didn’t help, either. He wasn’t home.

She frowned at his empty driveway as she plodded back to her Camaro. Where had he gone? Had he left town on another extended trip? He’d said that he was taking some time off from all the travel. She’d thought that meant he’d be sticking around Pineview for a while…?.

Maybe he got an offer he couldn’t refuse.

“Damn.” If only she could talk to him. He hadn’t been happy when he threw that twenty on her station, but he couldn’t be that mad, could he? So what if she didn’t want her best friend or anyone else to assume they were in a romantic relationship? What difference would it make to him? His list of conquests was impressive enough; it wasn’t as if he needed the ego boost of making their relationship public.

So what was going on? Was he out of town? Or was he purposely avoiding her?

Irritated that he wouldn’t give her the opportunity to apologize and return his money, she sat in her car with the engine idling, hoping he was merely out running errands and would return shortly.

After twenty minutes and still no sign of him, the wait began to feel futile.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Have it your way.” She stuffed the money in an envelope she’d brought with her, wrote a quick note on the outside and left it under his mat. Then she drove back to town and, once again, told herself to forget him.

Which worked about as well as it had the other three thousand times.

“I told you not to get involved. I told you this would happen. You can’t even be friends or he takes over every waking moment.”

But the question was why? Why did he have such a big impact on her?

As obvious as the answer was, she didn’t want to accept it. Disappearing completely from her life after being with her so much lately had left her with a fresh void to fill. Suddenly, she missed David even more poignantly. She was also tempted to visit her stepfather and stepmother to see if she could make peace with Roni.

In other words, she was going right back to the life she’d always had.

Or maybe not.

She stomped on the brake as she spotted April, the youngest of Roni’s stepchildren from her former marriage, coming out of the store where she worked—Merkley’s Mercantile. Although they were only two years apart and had gone to school together, they generally averted their eyes and passed each other without speaking. Loyalty demanded that Claire side with her family, and Roni was part of that. But the confrontation she’d had with her stepmother yesterday made her more curious than she’d ever been. If she was hoping to reconcile with Tug and Roni after only twenty-four hours, how could April hold a grudge for years and years? Even April’s ex-husband hated Roni. What could she have done that was so bad April would prefer to have no mother? Roni had been difficult in some respects, but there’d also been times, a lot of them, when Claire felt quite close to her.

As she parked, April’s eyes flicked toward her, but obviously assuming it was one of those accidental encounters they muddled through by ignoring each other, she lifted her chin and marched on.

Claire wasn’t sure she could get April to stop, let alone speak to her, but she decided to give it a try. She would’ve approached her long ago if she hadn’t been so worried about what April might say. April believed Roni was the reason her father had committed suicide. Claire already knew that. But she wasn’t convinced it was true, and she didn’t want to risk letting April change her opinion. She also had to worry about what Roni might do if she found out Claire had gone behind her back. If she wound up estranged from her stepmother, she’d be estranged from her stepfather, too. They came as a package.

But the way Roni had acted yesterday… It made Claire fear she’d remained blind for too long. If she wanted the truth, she had to look under every rock, even the ones that might be hiding something unpleasant.

She parked and climbed out, but by then April was halfway down the block.

When she realized who was coming up behind her, April veered toward the curb, planning to cross to the other side, just as Claire had seen her do to avoid Roni.

Throat so dry she could hardly speak, Claire swallowed hard and called out, “Wait!”

April glanced over her shoulder. She’d heard. Twelve-year-old Johnny Goodman was the only other person nearby, and he was practicing skateboard tricks. Clearly Claire was speaking to her, but April didn’t stop walking.

“April! I want to talk to you.”

This time she paused, but her rigid posture telegraphed her displeasure at being hailed. “That doesn’t mean I want to talk to you,” she said. “I have to get my kids from day care.”

“Can’t you…wait a second?”

“Why?” she said with exasperation. “What do you want?”

Claire let out her breath in a rush. “I was hoping…I was hoping we could…have a discussion.”

Her brown eyes narrowed. “About what?”

Suddenly even more afraid that Roni or Tug or even Leanne would see them, she licked her lips. “About Roni, of course. What else?”

“I don’t have anything to say about her.”

She checked for traffic, but Claire caught her arm before she could step off the curb. “Please? Will you sit down with me for five minutes? Can your kids wait that long?”

Her gaze riveted on Claire’s hand long enough that Claire, embarrassed at touching her, released her grip. Then April scanned the shops closest to them as if she expected Roni to step out from one of the doorways. “It’s just you? For real?”

“It’s just me.”

“Why? What could you possibly want to hear me say?”

Would someone tell Roni? Should she drop this? Walk off? Part of her wanted to, but the other part demanded she stay. “I’d like to know what you have against her, why you—” she hesitated to bring up the death of her father “—hate her so much.”

“That’s personal.” She hurried into the street and Claire supposed that would be the end of it, but April slowed before reaching the other side and turned.

They stared at each other for several seconds—until a car honked at April. She jumped out of the way so it could pass, then walked back.

When she was close enough to speak in a normal tone, she said, “Where do you want to go?”

Claire hadn’t thought that through. She pivoted to see what restaurant might be closest, but April shook her head when Claire indicated Big Sky Diner at the end of the block. “If you don’t want to be seen with me, why would we go to a public place?”

Apparently, Claire’s concern about maintaining some privacy was more visible than she’d realized. “Do you have a better idea?”

“I’ll put off getting the kids for a half hour. Meet me at my house. Do you know where that is?”

Scarcely able to believe she was going to the home of her stepmother’s nemesis, a place she’d always ignored as completely as she usually ignored its occupant, she nodded.

“See you there,” April said, and hurried off.