17

Claire wasted her opportunity to nap by going to a clothing shop in town. She wouldn’t have been able to sleep, anyway. Not after her sister had planted the terrible thought that maybe she and Isaac had been together.

Had he used them both?

She didn’t want to face it if he had. She was tired of her own pressing concerns. She was also tired of feeling dowdy. If she was going on a date, she wanted to look and feel as attractive as possible. So she distracted herself from her troubles by buying some tight jeans, a silky gold sheath top that brought out the highlights in her hair and a pair of high-heeled sandals. She even splurged on dangly earrings that swung when she moved her head and lotion that made her skin feel satiny soft.

By the time Myles and Laurel arrived to pick her up, she was actually looking forward to acting like a normal person for a change, someone who could go out to eat and chat with friends. Someone who wasn’t constantly obsessing about her dead husband or missing mother—or even the scandal that waited for her as word spread that she’d become Isaac’s latest conquest. With any luck, that news wouldn’t take center stage until tomorrow. She figured she might as well enjoy her last night of being pitied simply for the unfortunate incidents that had affected her life so far. Soon she’d be pitied and taken for a fool.

If he’d slept with Leanne—even if he’d done it only once—she was a fool and would never forgive herself for her stupidity.

Owen Rodriguez met them at Harry Dog’s Steakhouse. Dressed in loafers, a pair of dark jeans and a white golf shirt that contrasted nicely with his café au lait skin, he had close-cropped hair, dark, intelligent eyes and a broad, friendly smile. Only his glasses made him look remotely like the stereotypical accountant, but they were far more stylish than nerdy. She liked him immediately.

“So what do you think?” Laurel whispered as he stopped to speak to a gentleman he happened to know while they were making their way to the table.

Claire squeezed her hand. “He’s cute.”

Myles seemed distracted throughout dinner. Every time his eyes landed on Claire they slipped away again, and he didn’t say much. Claire wondered if he’d heard that she and Isaac were romantically involved. If so, she knew he wouldn’t like it. He was almost as protective of her as Laurel was.

Other than his general preoccupation, he didn’t indicate what he might have learned, so she had no way of knowing, but dinner went smoothly in spite of that. Owen was easy to talk to. He kept the conversation going and had them laughing for much of the meal.

The fatigue Claire had been feeling earlier began to drag at her as they left the restaurant, but everyone else wanted to go dancing, so she figured she’d have to catch up on her sleep tomorrow. She had Sunday and Monday off, thank goodness. But she would never have agreed to go to the Kicking Horse if she’d known Isaac was going to be there.

She spotted him almost as soon as she came through the door. Judging by the expression on his face, he hadn’t expected to see her, either. He sat up as they walked in, his gaze immediately lowering to Owen’s hand on her waist.

“Would you like a drink?”

Claire blinked and focused on her date. “Um, yeah, that’d be great. Thank you.”

“A glass of wine or—”

“Wine’s good. Any kind.”

She didn’t care what he brought her as long as he gave her a few minutes alone. It was difficult to smile or act normal when her thoughts had suddenly stalled. This was such an awkward situation. And it didn’t make any sense. As nice as Owen Rodriguez was, she didn’t want to be here with him. She wanted Isaac.

Some things never change…?.

Forcing herself to break eye contact, she turned to Laurel. “How do you like your hair? Did I do okay this time?”

Laurel wasn’t deceived by Claire’s attempt to distract her. She’d seen Isaac, too, and noticed the lingering glance between them. “What’s going on with you two?” she whispered.

Fortunately, Myles had accompanied Owen to the bar. Even so, Claire preferred not to admit the truth, especially with Isaac sitting only fifteen or twenty feet away. But she knew Laurel would find out in a matter of days that they’d been together and would be hurt if she was the last to know. “What I said earlier about…Isaac coming to get his hair cut?”

Laurel’s eyebrows shot up. “Y-e-s…”

“That wasn’t true. He’d just spent the night.”

Stunned silence, then, “You’re kidding me.”

“No. We didn’t have sex that night…but we have been together.”

Laurel grabbed her arm. “What about David?”

She couldn’t explain that she loved David in a different way. She doubted anyone else would understand exactly what loving both of them had been like. She’d given her marriage everything she had control over, would never have hurt David and still missed him terribly. But…what was she supposed to do without him? “He’s not here anymore.”

“But you know Isaac will never do right by you! You were with him before.”

Closing her eyes, Claire rubbed her forehead. She wished she had the energy to put on the same it’s-merely-casual-and-I’m-okay-with-it show she’d managed for Leanne, but she couldn’t. She was too exhausted. “I know.”

“Owen is a great guy, Claire,” Laurel said. “Don’t let Isaac get in the way. You won’t, will you? Please give Owen a chance.”

“I’m trying.”

Laurel tightened the hold she had on Claire’s arm. “God, I can’t believe Isaac’s here. Why does he have to be here?”

That was Claire’s question. Tonight had been the first time she’d felt some hope of finding a legitimate romantic interest since David.

Now she just wanted to go home. But she felt obligated, to Laurel for setting this up and to Owen for allowing Laurel to do it, and that kept her from walking out. The least she could do was try to have fun.

Isaac had to get out of the bar. If he didn’t, he’d wind up in a fight before the night was over, after which he’d probably spend some time in the county jail. It wouldn’t go over well if he broke the jaw of the sheriff’s buddy.

But he couldn’t make himself stand and walk to the exit. He remained in the booth, brooding over his beer and watching Claire dance with her date while remembering how hard seeing her with David had been all those years.

He didn’t want to go through the same thing again. But if he really cared about her he’d let it be. She needed another man just like the one she’d had—and Glasses certainly looked the part. His smile stretched from ear to ear as they danced, and he kept bending his head to say something that made her laugh.

Still, if his hands moved any closer to her ass—

“You okay?”

Isaac glanced up to see Myles towering over him. He’d been so mired in jealousy he hadn’t even noticed the sheriff weaving through the crowd toward him. “Fine. Why? I don’t look fine to you?”

“You look like a tightly coiled snake. One that’s ready to strike. I don’t think that’s a good sign with a man like you.”

Isaac twirled his mug in the condensation on the table. “And what kind of man am I, Sheriff?”

“One with a huge chip on his shoulder.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, who gives a shit what you think? I haven’t done anything wrong. You have no right to bother me.” They’d been friends, more or less, in Myles’s office this morning. But that was then. The sheriff was obviously throwing his support behind Glasses, which put them on opposite sides of this issue. Myles had probably chosen the better man, but it didn’t feel particularly good.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. I know you’re not really yourself at the moment. And I’ll offer you an incentive to make sure you don’t ruin the evening.”

What was this shit about an incentive? Since when did the sheriff have anything Isaac wanted?

Shifting his gaze from Claire’s tight jeans to the sheriff’s face, he drained his mug. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve subpoenaed Les Weaver’s telephone records. You leave now, I’ll call you when they come in and we’ll go over them together. Fair enough?”

It was only a date, a blind date. Claire had mentioned it to him. Isaac had just never dreamed he’d have a front-row seat as they got to know each other, or that it’d be so difficult to watch—not this soon. Maybe it was because Glasses reminded him so much of David, in manner if not in appearance.

“I’m not about to start anything, Sheriff,” he grumbled. Then he threw some money on the table and left.

Jeremy rambled around the empty house. He usually liked being home by himself. Then he could watch a little TV or make himself a bite to eat without worrying about his father getting mad at him for some stupid mistake. But he didn’t like being the only one home tonight. The way his father was acting these days, the calls that’d come in with the whispering and the cursing and the reassuring, made him nervous. What was going on?

His father wouldn’t tell him who was on the other end of the line—he’d yelled at him just for asking—but Jeremy guessed it had to do with Claire’s mother. He was pretty sure Don had been talking to Les Weaver. He’d heard him that one time. And he knew who Les Weaver was, and what he did for a living. Once, when Don was drunk, he said Les killed people for money, that he might kill Jeremy someday if he caused any trouble.

Jeremy didn’t want to cause trouble. He just wanted to go to Claire’s. He needed to make sure she was okay. But he couldn’t. His father had told him not to leave the house. He’d also taken Jeremy’s Impala, the car that Hank, his boss, had given him because the Jeep wouldn’t start. If Jeremy wanted to go anywhere, he’d have to walk. It was dangerous to walk on the highway, but his father didn’t care about that. He didn’t care that the Impala didn’t belong to him, either. He took it whenever he wanted.

The moon glimmered on the lake outside. The mountains Jeremy loved so much rose just beyond it. He considered leaving the house despite being told to stay. Maybe he’d camp out until he was scheduled to work on Monday. That would show his father that he couldn’t boss him around anymore, wouldn’t it? If he didn’t come home tonight? His old man laughed whenever he talked about heading into the wild, said he wouldn’t last a day, but his father didn’t know anything. The mountains were going to be his safe place. Even Les couldn’t find him there. And he had all the gear, had been collecting it for years.

He hadn’t yet braved an all-nighter, but he camped out in the yard sometimes.

His stomach growled as he went into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

Nothing but a few bottles of beer, a jar of olives and some condiments. His father was drinking away more and more of his disability money. He’d already spent Jeremy’s paycheck, too, or so he’d said this morning when Jeremy asked if they could go to the grocery store.

The thought of being so broke made Jeremy feel that panicky feeling he hated. He didn’t want the power company coming to turn off the electricity again. It was scary enough in the basement with his bedroom so close to the crawl space. He wondered if there really was such a thing as zombies, and if they ate people like they did on TV.

Better not to think about that…

He closed the fridge. If he wanted to eat, he’d have to go to Hank’s. He’d worked at the burger joint for almost fifteen years, flipping meat patties, making fries and shakes, sweeping floors and taking out the trash. He did whatever Hank asked, even if he was just stopping in to say hi, and Hank appreciated it. Hank had recently said, “Jeremy, you do a darn good job, son. I don’t know where I’d be without you.” And then he promised Jeremy he could eat at the restaurant whenever he pleased. “You’ll never go hungry long as I’m alive. You remember that, okay? There’s food here for you. There will always be food here.”

“Thank you, Hank,” he’d murmured, because there wasn’t much food at home these days.

Intent on getting a burger, Jeremy headed for the door, but there was one problem. His father would get mad if he left. Actually, there were two problems. How would he get to the diner even if he had the nerve to disobey? He wouldn’t walk there anymore. Not past the cemetery. The idea of so many dead people buried in the earth upset him, and ever since his father had pretended he was going to run him down, Jeremy was afraid to be out on the highway. He believed Don might really do it someday.

If he could just make it to the other end of town, he could eat and visit Claire’s. He liked watching over her. It made him feel so much better about Alana. He’d promised Alana long ago that he’d look after Claire. He would’ve done the same for Leanne, but Leanne wasn’t a very nice person. She snapped at him every time he came close. He didn’t really like her.

The phone rang. Was it his father, checking in to be sure he hadn’t left?

Maybe. They didn’t have caller ID; caller ID cost money.

Drawing a deep breath because he never knew what kind of mood his father might be in, Jeremy picked up the handset. “Good evening. Salter residence.” He always answered the phone that way. The people who called said it was very polite.

“Jeremy?”

“Yes?” It wasn’t his father. It was Tug. But even after he recognized the voice, Jeremy couldn’t relax. Tug had already called and he sounded upset. He definitely wasn’t his normal friendly self today. Jeremy should know. Tug used to be his dad’s best friend when they both worked at Walt’s gun store.

“Is Don around?”

“No, sir. He’s not home.”

“Do you have any idea where he’s at?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? I really need to talk to him.”

Why? Tug and his father didn’t even like each other anymore. His father said Tug thought he was too good for everyone now that he had money. He also said it wasn’t fair for Tug to have so much while they had so little. He would never explain why, but sometimes, when he was drunk and Jeremy was pulling off his shoes to put him to bed, he mumbled about Tug having “blood money.”

Jeremy had never heard of blood money, but he didn’t like the sound of it. “He said he’d skin me alive if I left, and then he took my car.”

Tug didn’t seem pleased. “I see he’s as kind to you as ever.”

Jeremy didn’t know how to respond to this. What Tug said was nice to him but not nice to his father.

“Okay, don’t worry about it.” Tug filled the silence.

“He might be at the Kicking Horse having a drink.” Jeremy thought that was pretty obvious, but he wanted to be helpful.

“I can’t go looking for him tonight. I’ve got too much going on.” He seemed distracted when he added, “I’ll be right there, honey.”

“Excuse me?” Jeremy said.

His voice grew stronger. “Honey” had been someone else. “If he comes back in the next hour or so, have him give me a call, will you? If not, I’ll track him down in the morning.”

After Jeremy hung up, he stared at the phone. Was his father at the bar? If so, maybe he’d be getting a call from the bartender. Sammy usually asked Jeremy to pick Don up when he spent this much time there.

Maybe Jeremy could call to check. If his father was at the Kicking Horse, he could probably stop worrying about Claire.

Feeling instantly better, he dragged out the phone book and found the number. But Sammy said he hadn’t seen Don at all tonight.

Where else could he have gone? His father didn’t have that many friends left…?.

“Please, not Claire’s. Just leave her alone,” Jeremy whispered, but he had no faith his father would actually do that. Not if he felt she was a threat to him. He’d kill her while it was dark, then he’d hide her body in the woods. Or maybe he’d bring it home for Jeremy to hide. He felt Jeremy should do anything he asked, no matter what it was.

Jeremy eyed the door. He had to walk to Claire’s, along the highway, past the cemetery. That was the only way he’d be sure.

But then he remembered Isaac. She’d been with Isaac so much the past week, just like she’d been with him after high school. She was probably with him now. Which meant she’d be okay. No one wanted to mess with Isaac. Even his truck looked mean.

Ignoring his hunger pangs, Jeremy plopped down in front of the TV to wait for his father. But when Don still wasn’t home four hours later, Jeremy grew so frantic he decided he had to leave. As frightening as it was to walk, he had to reach a pay phone. He needed to warn Isaac to look after Claire, and he couldn’t use the house phone or Isaac would know who it was. He’d learned that the hard way, when he’d gotten in trouble for calling Claire too many times.

“Go…go!” he told himself. He could do it. But then he glanced at the clock and felt even more worried. Maybe his father had already gotten to her. Maybe it was already too late.

Claire stared into the mirror hanging on her closet. She looked good. But that was about all she could say for her night.

With a discouraged sigh, she tossed her purse on her bed and kicked off her high heels. After Isaac had left the bar, she’d had to stay another two hours, which had felt more like two days, and now she was so tired she could hardly remain on her feet.

Bed. She needed to sleep. But her mind kept churning up snatches of conversation that made her emotions swing in all directions. With April: “You didn’t know he was infertile?” With Leanne: “I don’t kiss and tell.” With Owen: “I’d like to take you out again.”

She’d given Owen her number but felt no enthusiasm for a second date. He seemed like a great guy—he certainly appealed to her a lot more than Rusty did—but there wasn’t any spark. What little flicker she’d felt in the beginning had been doused the minute she walked into the Kicking Horse, spotted Isaac and realized she wasn’t ready to give him up, not after ten years of missing him despite her love for David.

The light blinked on her answering machine.

She eyed it warily. Did she dare listen? According to the display, she’d missed five calls. They could all be hair clients, hoping to get an appointment; if so, she could handle that tomorrow. Or maybe one of the calls was from Isaac, although she wasn’t sure why he’d bother. He hadn’t been too happy when he left the bar. After what they’d shared last night she could understand why. It felt disloyal of her to be with another man. But he’d said they were only friends, and friends didn’t expect—or require—exclusivity.

Unable to resist, she pushed the play button.

“Claire? Please tell me you’re not stupid enough to get involved with Isaac Morgan again.” Roni. Word had reached her. “What’s going on with you? You’ve changed. None of us knows what to do about it, but you’re going to get hurt if you’re not careful.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. Claire skipped the rest of her message.

Carrie came on next. “Isaac? Really? I could tell you were holding back but I never suspected an affair with Isaac Morgan. I don’t blame you. I’d like to have an affair with him myself,” she said with a laugh. “Be careful, though. He’s as wild as the animals he photographs—”

“And just as dangerous,” Claire added, and hit Skip.

Besides those two messages, there were three hang-up calls. One had come in as late as twelve-thirty. Could that have been Isaac? Should she call him back?

No. She should shut out everything that was confusing her and try to sleep.

“Why do I have to love you?” she muttered, and curled up on the bed without even taking off her clothes.

If David were here, none of this would be happening, she thought. But it wasn’t David she dreamed about when she drifted off to sleep.