15

Isaac came racing up from behind, honking his horn, but Claire was too angry to pull over. She shouldn’t have gone to him for comfort. What had she been thinking?

She hadn’t been thinking. She’d been so upset she’d kept driving, and the next thing she knew, she was sitting in front of his cabin, wanting his arms around her more than ever before.

And what did he do when she showed up, so vulnerable and heartbroken? He’d looked down his nose at her, muttered a few words and slammed the door in her face.

She’d been stupid to set herself up. She’d known he was angry with her. He had good reason to be. She’d mishandled the situation at her salon. But for ten years she’d had good reason to be angry with him and she’d let it go.

A pothole jerked the Camaro to one side, causing her to veer dangerously close to a tree, but she managed to bring the car under control. A check in her rearview mirror told her that Isaac was right on her bumper. Why was he coming after her? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?

Because that would be too simple, and nothing involving Isaac was simple. That was why she had to stay away from him. The past few days he’d made her feel as if he was the only person who understood what she was going through, the only person who gave a damn about it. And she’d bought in to that, assumed they’d have a real friendship. Or maybe she was the one complicating the situation. Maybe she couldn’t handle having him back in her life because she had so many other things going on—so many painful things.

Had her stepfather and stepmother schemed to kill Alana as April claimed? Had they purposely taken Alana out of the picture so they could have what they wanted?

If what Isaac believed was true, the same trusted loved ones hired Les Weaver to kill David in order to cover up what they’d already done.

She couldn’t fathom that Tug or Roni would ever go that far. It would make a lie of everything she’d always thought they felt for her, but all the evidence seemed to point in their direction.

Isaac’s big tires sprayed dirt against the side of her car as he drew even with her. He honked and swerved toward her, trying to force her to pull over, but she refused to do that. In most places, the road wasn’t wide enough for two cars. She could hear tree branches scraping her passenger door. But she gave her car more gas instead of less, assuming he’d fall back when he realized she wouldn’t stop.

He didn’t. He continued to honk his horn.

When she looked over, she saw that he’d lowered his window and was yelling for her to stop. She knew she was being reckless. But so was he. And the anger behind her actions numbed the pain she’d been feeling a few minutes earlier. That alone caused her to embrace it.

She tried to cut him off, get him to stop, without success. He was too damn stubborn, and too confident in his driving ability to worry about his own safety—

The tree root seemed to come out of nowhere. When she hit it, the car jerked to the left. Then she overcorrected and had to slam on her brakes before smashing into a tamarack.

That gave him his chance. He whipped around her and came to a skidding stop, blocking her in so she couldn’t move forward.

They both got out at the same time.

“What the hell were you trying to prove just now?” he shouted as he stalked through the swirling dust. “Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

That was an exaggeration. She doubted she would’ve died. She could’ve been injured, though. Her heart pounded from the near miss, but she liked the adrenaline rush. It made her feel invincible for a change. “You’re the one who nearly caused an accident. You had no right to come up beside me on this road!”

“I was just trying to make you pull over!”

“Why? What do you want from me?”

He stared at her for several seconds, then the hard edge of his anger crumbled and he looked lost, as if he had no more idea than she did. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just… I can’t help what you do to me.”

“I hate you,” she whispered, but there was no fire behind those words, and a mutinous tear ran down her cheek as she said them—because she couldn’t help what he did to her, either.

“Then I guess this won’t make things any worse.” He moved closer, challenging her to push him away. She got the impression he halfway wanted her to do just that. But she couldn’t. She was back to craving his arms around her, the desire suddenly so strong it felt like emotional whiplash. So when he lowered his head and gently pressed his lips against hers, she simply closed her eyes and let herself enjoy his touch.

“You want this, right?” He tilted her head so she had to look up at him.

She considered lying, but was afraid he might take her at her word and leave her standing in the road. Instead, she allowed the explosive energy of their clashing wills to carry her to a new level of desire and clenched her hands in his hair as she kissed him much harder. “What do you think?”

“God, you make me feel so helpless.” The tone of his voice had changed. He sounded more weary than angry; that was a small victory. But he didn’t act weary. His arms tightened around her as if that kiss had snapped all restraint.

She arched her neck as his mouth moved over her, licking, sucking, devouring. He’d left a love bite on her neck three nights ago. Dimly, she realized he might do it again. He was suddenly wild, out of control—they both were. But she had no intention of holding back. This was what she wanted, what she’d wanted for a long, long time—Isaac unleashed.

He raised her skirt. The cool night air swirled across the bare skin he’d exposed before he pushed her up against the warm metal of the car. Pinning her in place with his hips, he slid his fingers beneath her panties.

She jumped as he touched her.

“How much do you hate me?” he murmured.

“A lot,” she said.

He suckled her breast as another finger joined the first and slid inside her. “And how much do you want me?”

“A lot,” she said again as she undid his belt and shoved down his jeans. Both answers were true; she hated him because she couldn’t stop loving him.

“I feel the same,” he said, and lifted her onto his erection.

Isaac’s muscles quivered at the building pleasure. They’d established a frantic yet perfect rhythm, one that made him want to throw his head back and howl like the wolves. With his heart pounding as fast as it was, he almost felt as if he might have a heart attack before they were through, but he couldn’t think of a better way to go.

“Hey.” He was so short of breath he could barely speak.

Her eyes opened and locked with his. She looked high on his touch, completely in the moment, and that turned him on even more.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve never wanted another woman like I want you.”

This seemed to make her more aware of the practicalities. “Why aren’t you…getting out…a condom?”

He wasn’t getting one out because he didn’t have one. “I don’t…carry them on me. I…haven’t had occasion to use one…in months.” The cheap flings that had kept him occupied for several years after they’d broken up felt so empty these days that he no longer bothered. He dated once in a while, had women over but rarely slept with anyone. He suspected most people in Pineview would be surprised to learn that. They seemed to think he was as wild now as he ever was. But he hadn’t been able to replace Claire. So he’d slowly lost interest, even quit buying condoms.

He certainly hadn’t expected to have this opportunity. Not fifteen minutes earlier, he’d been telling himself he couldn’t see her again.

She seemed to be struggling to think amid the delicious friction, but those hands, guiding him with the pressure they exerted on his back, urged him not to stop. “You’ve always been…prepared in the past—”

“I’ll pull out,” he promised. Although that was no guarantee, it was the only method available to them. But that meant he needed to withdraw now, at the most critical moment for her, and she tightened her legs to hold him in place for just a second too long. She probably had no idea he was so close to going over the edge. He should’ve warned her, but when she reached climax so did he. It happened so fast he didn’t even realize he was in trouble until that initial surge of ecstasy ripped through him.

By then it was too late.

Isaac couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything so irresponsible. He’d been reckless as a kid, but never reckless with sex. Not after being an unwanted child himself.

Somehow he was never in control with Claire. He did everything wrong when it came to her.

“You didn’t pull out!” Her eyes widened.

That was obvious. “I was too late.”

“What if…what if I get pregnant?” she gasped.

He eased some of her weight onto the car. “You know I’ll help.” At least he was older and financially capable of caring for a child if they had one, but he doubted she’d find that any consolation. “Not that you…should worry. It’s only…one time,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “Chances are you won’t get pregnant. If we’re lucky…”

One time was all it took. But what else could he say? While the idea of having a baby didn’t sound half-bad to him, she was still in love with David. And she didn’t admire him a whole lot. He guessed she’d feel just the opposite.

“You okay?” he murmured when she didn’t respond. He was braced for the worst, for more tears. But she didn’t cry. She didn’t answer, either. She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him again, hard.

She was more demanding than he remembered her being, but he liked it. It made him want to make love to her again. They’d held back the tide of their desire for so long there wasn’t any way to shore it up now that the barriers had come down…?.

“Let’s go back to your place,” she breathed against his lips.

He didn’t argue. As far as he was concerned, they were just getting started. But first he was going to buy some condoms.

Claire hadn’t made love so many times in one night since her honeymoon. But they were making up for lost time. They began as soon as they stepped through the front door, right in the living room. After that, it was the bedroom, then the shower. By the time they were too exhausted to move, they were lying in bed with the sun coming up.

“Seriously?” Claire scowled at the intruding light as she rested her chin on his chest. “Where are your blinds?”

He pushed her hair away from her face. “What?”

“You have nothing covering the windows.”

“We could put up some sheets. If we had the energy,” he added with a chuckle.

“That light is really annoying.” Trying to shut it out, she buried her face between his arm and chest. “How’s a girl supposed to sleep? I have to work in two hours.”

She wasn’t sure he’d understand her muffled words, but he must’ve been able to make them out because he answered. “Oddly enough, the light’s never bothered me before.”

She raised her head. “Haven’t any of your bed partners complained?”

“What bed partners?” he said on a yawn.

“Yeah, right.”

He didn’t respond, and she was sort of glad. She didn’t want to hear about his other lovers.

“This has been incredible,” he said after several seconds of silence.

That statement sounded like a serious one but, afraid she might read too much into it, she laid her head on his chest and tried to laugh it off. “You haven’t lost a thing. Is that what you want me to say?”

His eyes drifted closed. “Only if you feel so compelled.”

“I’ll leave that to the others.” She regretted mentioning his love life for a second time, but she needed to keep his casual attitude toward sex in mind. Maybe caution would help her retain some perspective so she wouldn’t get emotionally entangled. Loving him was one thing; knowing he didn’t or couldn’t love her back the way she wanted, the way she needed, was another.

Fortunately, he didn’t complain or accuse her of the jealousy that lurked beneath her reference. “What about your other lovers?”

She rubbed a hand over the contours of his taut stomach. “You know I don’t have any. Not anymore.”

His lips brushed her forehead with a quick kiss. “How do I know that?”

“Because my husband is dead and there’s never been anyone besides the two of you.”

The tone of her voice probably told him he’d struck a nerve. She felt his chest lift as he drew a deep breath. “So this was your first time since David.”

“You thought otherwise?”

“I know you’re still in love with him. But a year’s a long time to sleep alone when you’re used to having someone in your bed. And I’ve been gone so much. For all I know, there could’ve been some other man.”

“There’s been no one else,” she insisted.

He played with her hair. He’d always said how much he liked it. “Are you actually going to your salon after being up all night?”

“I have to.”

“What would happen if you didn’t? Can’t you cancel?”

“No, I’ve already missed one day this week. And it’s Saturday, my busiest day.” She refused to give anyone a reason to question why she had to cancel, or to delve into where she’d been. The attack at her mother’s studio had been sensational enough. If she was going to screw up her life, she’d rather do it privately. “Fortunately, I have tomorrow and Monday off. I can recover then.”

“We’ll get into bed early tonight.”

She almost said yes, then remembered she had a commitment. “I can’t see you this evening.”

“Why not?”

“I have a date.”

There was another silence. She was hoping he’d leave it at that, but he didn’t. “Who with?”

“Some guy Laurel’s been wanting to introduce me to. I haven’t met him yet.”

“What’s his name?”

“Owen Rodriguez. He’s from Libby.”

“What’s he do?”

Did it matter? She covered a yawn. “He’s an accountant.”

“Sounds steady.”

She couldn’t tell if he was bothered by the fact that she’d be seeing someone else. She couldn’t imagine he was. “He’s supposed to be a real stand-up guy.”

“Just your type.”

“Yeah.” It beat having her heart torn to shreds…?.

“So why were you crying last night?” Although his voice was gentle and his hand slid reassuringly back and forth on her shoulder, she couldn’t talk about her meeting with April. What she’d learned formed a morass of dark emotion swirling somewhere in her brain, but that morass didn’t have a hold on her at this particular moment. Being in Isaac’s arms somehow protected her—as long as they didn’t venture too close to the subjects she needed to avoid, at least for now. “I don’t want to go into it.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t face it.”

“But you’ll have to face it sometime.”

“Morning will be soon enough.”

He moved the hand that had been rubbing her back to gesture at the light pouring into the room. “Didn’t you just point out that it is morning?”

“After I sleep for a bit.”

“Okay. I guess you’ll tell me when you’re ready.” They shifted until she was on her side and he was spooning her. “But will you do me a favor?”

Had she dreamed that he’d just asked for a favor? It was becoming difficult to talk. She was too languid, too warm, too comfortable and content, if not actually safe. She clung to that sense of peace, couldn’t give it up quite yet. “Hmm?”

“Promise me you’ll eat better.”

“I thought we hated each other,” she mumbled.

He nipped at her shoulder. “Nah, we’re friends, remember?”

Friends with benefits. She’d done it. She’d put herself right back where she’d been ten years ago. But she couldn’t think about that, either, or all the rest—what April had said and what it meant—would come back, too. It was all part of the same reality.

After Claire left, Isaac pulled on a pair of sweatpants and wandered into his office. There, he unlocked the safe in which he stored the flash drives that contained originals of all his work and took a manila folder from the bottom shelf. Inside were two pages—all the private investigators had been able to dig up on his mother.

She wasn’t bad-looking, he thought as he stared down at her mug shot. She might even have been pretty, before her drug habit. By the time this picture was taken, two years before her accidental overdose, she’d been living on the streets and selling her body to survive. If she hadn’t been arrested for prostitution, he wouldn’t have a single photograph of her.

What he’d found when he’d gone looking for the person who’d abandoned him hadn’t been anything like he’d hoped—but he’d found answers. The mystery that had plagued him for so long, that had kept him restless day and night, had been solved when he’d finally come to terms with the fact that he had to know and had stopped lying to himself, stopped saying that it didn’t matter. His mother had driven off in her rattletrap car and left him in the bathroom at a roadside convenience store/café, and she’d done it because she loved crack more than she loved him.

Bailey Rawlings. That was the name she was using at the time of her arrest. He wasn’t sure if that had always been her name. For all he knew, she could’ve made it up so she wouldn’t embarrass her family, or in case they ever wanted to find her. At five, she’d merely been Mommy to him. The P.I. had dug up Isaac’s birth certificate, which had the name Morgan on it but no father.

When the P.I. managed to track down Bailey’s parents, whose surname was Morgan, Isaac had gone to see them in South Carolina. They hadn’t known whether she’d ever married; if the name Rawlings meant she had, they’d never been told. They hadn’t known she had a child either, so it’d been awkward. As soon as he learned they couldn’t tell him anything about his dad, he’d said goodbye and they hadn’t been in touch since, except for the Christmas card he’d received last December. He hadn’t bothered searching for his father beyond that. It was enough to know what had happened to his mother. Considering her lifestyle, he could guess that his father was probably some john who wouldn’t be too interested in discovering he’d had a baby with a prostitute.

Sketchy though the details were, the information in this folder had turned him around. Made him grateful for what he had. Made him realize he was almost certainly better off than he would’ve been if she’d kept him. He’d been raised in a good place by people with the best of intentions who’d tolerated him despite the trouble he gave them. He wished he’d treated Old Man Tippy with more respect when he’d had the chance.

He had his answers, so he could bind up that festering wound. But Claire was where he’d been two years ago and could not. Before she left, she’d told him what April had said. He could tell she was more conflicted than ever. She had to know whom to trust. The questions were eating her up inside, and it was killing him to watch, because he understood.

Maybe that was why they were drawn to each other, why everything between them was always so intense.

I hate you…?. If that was true, she had a funny way of showing it. What she hated was herself, because she couldn’t seem to alleviate the pain and fulfill her obligations as a good sister and daughter at the same time.

She needed to hire a quality P.I. like he had, someone better than the ones Tug had used, to finally get to the bottom of what had happened fifteen years ago. It was the only way to find peace. But she didn’t have the money. And Tug had long since given up. That’s why I’m going to step in. Maybe she was still in love with David. And maybe he’d never be able to compare to such a good man. But, as imperfect as Isaac knew he was, he was all Claire had.

Removing the business card that’d been clipped to the manila folder, he picked up the phone.