Seeing Stars Page 10

  A woman stepped between Claire and the table of food, tall, brunette, and a stranger as far as Claire could tell.

  "I've just realized who you are," the stranger said with a note of triumph.

  Claire's memory stirred vaguely. Marie somebody, who once sat three seats from the front, by the window, in English Literature.

  "You're the physics teacher's daughter. You used to have big coke-bottle glasses."

  "Yes," Claire agreed, supposing that described her as well as anything. "You're Marie, aren't you?" She couldn't for the life of her remember the last name.

  The other woman picked up the bowl Claire had reached for, and asked, "Don't you think you're in over your head?"

  "Am I?" Claire took a handful of cauliflower florets from the offered bowl and arranged them on her plates.

  "I'm sure Mac doesn't want to hurt your feelings, so he wouldn't have told you. You probably don't even realize how obvious it is, the way you're throwing yourself at him. I don't suppose you know."

  "I don't suppose I do," she agreed quietly. "You'll have to tell me."

  For a minute Claire thought Marie was going to pat her shoulder in sympathy, and she wondered what she'd do if the woman actually did it.

  Marie smiled. "Mac wanted to marry Lydia years ago, but her parents put a stop to that. Now she's free again, and everyone knows they belong together. He's certainly not going to get serious about a little blond bookworm like you."

  Claire forced a smile, probably as convincing as the one Marie had pasted on. "That's a relief, Marie. I certainly wouldn't want my life complicated by Mac getting serious. I'm planning to use him for sex, and next week when I'm gone, Lydia's welcome to him."

  She smiled brightly at Marie's open mouth and walked away, her back straight and stiff, two plates held out in front of her and fury boiling in her blood.

  She spotted Mac over by the barbecue. He seemed to have delegated the task of dishing out to a tall redheaded man. She turned away, spotted a picnic table she judged would be out of Mac's line of sight, and strode over to it.

  She needed a few minutes alone, but she didn't get them. She'd no sooner seated herself at the table than she was joined by a lanky man with a young face and balding head.

  "Dick Timmerman," he introduced himself, "and you're Claire."

  She shook hands and admitted, "I'm sorry. I don't remember—"

  "No, you wouldn't. I wasn't in your class, not from Port Townsend at all. I'm the high school principal, moved up from Seattle two years ago. I was just talking to young Joe Nerrity. He tells me you've got a project going, building a telescope. He says you've got your own scope, that you're something of an expert."

  "Oh." She didn't know what to say.

  "So I've come with my hat in hand," he admitted, smiling. "I'm looking for a volunteer. I wondered if you'd be willing to lead a science project, building a telescope with the seniors this coming year."

  "I'm sorry. I won't be here."

  "You're leaving?"

  "I don't live here. I work in an astronomical observatory, in Arizona." He looked devastated, and she said, "I'm sorry. I'd like to do it if I were here, but it's impossible. But once Joe and his friends get theirs done, they could help your science students."

  He frowned, and she realized he wanted an adult expert, not a teenage boy.

  "There's bound to be an astronomer's club in Seattle," she suggested. "Try them. Maybe they'll know someone."

  When he left, Blake's sister Grace took his place, sitting across from Claire. Perhaps Grace had already eaten, because she didn't have a plate.

  "Hello," said Claire.

  Grace frowned.

  Claire couldn't see Mac. She'd deliberately sat where he couldn't spot her easily, instead of under the oak tree where he'd suggested. Now she wished for him. She hadn't a clue what to talk about with his frowning sister.

  "You haven't been back to Port Townsend for a long time," said Grace.

  "I was back last year, for my father's funeral." But Grace was right. Most years, she and her father had taken a vacation together, and she hadn't been to Port Townsend in years before the funeral.

  "You'll be leaving soon?" Grace worried her lower lip with her teeth.

  "Friday," she said.

  "Mac's always had a thing about Lydia," announced Grace.

  "I wish them the best," she said, wondering how many people were going to tell her she shouldn't be here, and warn her off Blake McKenzie.

  "I don't suppose you know," said Grace, "but Mac looked after us when our dad died. He didn't have to. He's only our stepbrother, but when dad and Marge—Mac's mom—died, Mac gave up his college education and came home. They wanted to put us in foster homes, separate us. I was twelve," she said intensely. "Bobby was only nine, and Vicki seven. They couldn't have borne it, being all alone without me, without Mac, when daddy and Mac's mother died. Mac saved us all."

  Claire wanted to reach for the other woman's hand, to touch her somehow, show her sympathy for the child who'd lost her parents.

  "I'm sorry. It must have been terrible for all of you."

  Grace swallowed and put one hand over the swelling of her pregnancy. "Mac saved us. He gave everything up for us, and I want him to be happy. He deserves to be happy now."

  Claire hadn't had a bite of her dinner and wasn't sure she wanted it now.

  "Why are you telling me this, Grace?"

  "He's always cared for Lydia, but her parents sent her away and she married someone else. But she's free now, she's back, and Mac has a chance to be happy, to have his own family. He's stayed single all this time, looking after us, but Bobby's settled in a job now, and there's only Vicki left, at college. And this weekend—this reunion... Don't you see, it's the perfect chance for Lydia and Mac to get together again? Ever since Lydia got back, Mac's been tied up at the shipyard. Everyone wants boats delivered before the Wooden Boat Festival in September. But this weekend, the reunion, he's available, and it's Lydia's big chance."

  "You and Lydia are friends."

  "You must see that you're spoiling everything. Lydia was crying this morning. Because of you, throwing yourself at Mac on the dance floor. Kissing him."

  Grace was sincere, tears in her eyes.

  "Grace, I'm not a threat to Lydia, or to you."

  "You are. You're just here one weekend, but you're different, you're not what he's used to. And somehow you've managed to.... He's not seeing Lydia, he's seeing you. But you're not serious about him, are you? If you were planning to stay, to marry him... but you're not, are you?"

  "Grace, truly, I'm not a threat to Lydia. Mac wants me to get Jake interested in astronomy, that's all." She flushed, because it wasn't all, but how could she tell Grace they'd made a deal to have an affair? "I won't be here long enough to be a problem. I'm leaving Friday, and you're wrong about Mac. He's being nice to me because I'm helping Jake."

  "I wish you hadn't come," Grace said stubbornly. "You don't have family here, so can't you just leave?"

  Unexpectedly, Claire felt tears well up and swallowed hard against them. Childish to feel rejected, hurt, because no one wanted her here. They hadn't wanted her as a teenager, either, because she'd been too shy, too studious, unable to laugh with them. With Grace glaring at her from the other side of the table, it seemed nothing had changed.

  She wanted to stand up and walk away, get in her car and just drive. But if she did, she'd be doing exactly what Mac accused her of earlier—leading the boys on, hooking them on the idea of building a telescope, then leaving them without the resources to do it.

  "I can't leave, Grace. I promised Jake and the boys I'd help them start building a telescope."

  "You could if you wanted," said Grace, getting awkwardly to her feet. "But you're determined to cause trouble, to spoil everything for Mac and Lydia."

  Everyone seemed to want a piece of Mac, but he finally fought his way free of them, only to find Lydia in his path.

  "Have you eaten?" she asked. "I saved a
place for you, over by the swing set. Remember when we used to push Bobby and Vicki on the swings? Remember how Grace used to bawl you out for pushing them too high?"

  "I remember," he said, covering her hand with his. She looked fragile today, and he was uncomfortably aware that he could be the cause. "Thanks for thinking of me, Lydia, but Claire has a spot saved for me." He pecked her on the cheek. "Have yourself some more salmon."

  Her fingers clenched on his bare arm. "Mac, you and I, we always..."

  He looked around, hoping for someone to rescue him, but everyone nearby seemed tangled in lively conversation.

  "Lydia, I know this is a hard time for you. You need time to get over the divorce, to get your bearings. It's no time for a new relationship."

  "We're not new, Mac."

  "Hey, Mac! Lydia!" called a voice from behind him. "We're late. Hope you saved some salmon for us."

  Mac greeted the latecomers with relief. "Lots left," he assured them. "Lydia, could you point Ken and Brenda to the food?"

  It was the worst kind of cowardice, but he didn't know what the hell to say to Lydia. Once, years ago, they'd been lovers, but with the recent pain of her marriage breakup filling her eyes, he couldn't bring himself to tell her flat out that he didn't want her.

  Time would look after it. If he just kept his distance for a while, she'd grow her shell back and once again become the Lydia he remembered.

  Where the hell had Claire gone? She wasn't by the oak tree, not with the crowd over by the house. He found her, finally, at a picnic table beside the house, with Grace. Good, he thought. Grace had gotten over her irritation and the two women were talking like friends now.

  Grace stood as he approached. He took the plate Claire held out to him and sat across from her, in the seat Grace had just vacated. "What about you, Grace? Have you eaten?"

  Grace shook her head. "I'm going to head home and have a nap. I'll come back later to help you clean up."

  "Don't bother, Gracie. I'll look after it tomorrow."

  She gave him a look he couldn't interpret before she left.

  "Is she feeling OK?" he asked Claire.

  "Maybe she's tired," Claire said stiffly. "Pregnant women get tired easily. Where is her husband? Isn't he here today?"

  "Gary took the kids down to the Rogue River. His parents have a cabin down there. Usually they all spend July down there, but Grace is a bit close to her due date, especially considering her last baby was two weeks early. So Gary took the kids down to visit the grandparents, and to give Grace a break. He'll be back midweek."

  Mac wolfed down half the salmon on his plate before he noticed Claire wasn't eating. "Don't you like salmon?"

  "I'm not hungry." She was avoiding his eyes.

  "You said you were starving."

  "I'd better go."

  He pushed his plate away and stood when she did. "What's up, Claire?"

  "This just isn't my scene."

  "A sunny day, a plate of salmon, and a few decent people?" He frowned at her. "That's not your scene? Sounds like an excuse to me."

  "Before I go, I'll find the boys and make arrangements to meet them later."

  "You're going? Running?"

  Her chin went up, but her lashes dropped to cover her eyes, and he couldn't read anything on her face. He told himself she'd be gone by Friday, so what difference did it make if she left now?

  "Walking," she said. "Not running."

  "Running," he insisted stubbornly. "Half an hour ago you were so hungry you couldn't wait to get your hands on that salmon. You were laughing, enjoying yourself, and when I kissed you, you kissed me back. You were looking forward to sitting down, eating, looking forward to this evening, hauling out your scope and looking at the stars with the boys here in my backyard. Now suddenly you won't touch your food, and you can't get out of here fast enough. Something happened, and I want to know what."

  Her lashes lifted and he searched her eyes, but found nothing but blank, empty blue. "I've never enjoyed parties," she said in a remote voice he remembered from high school. "I have a low boredom threshold."

  "Boredom? I don't think so." He stepped closer, backing her against the end of the picnic table. "You're the one who asked for a slice of life, an affair, romance."

  "I didn't... don't..."

  "But you don't really want to live, do you, Claire? Every time life gets a bit too real, you run away to your mountain where you can hide from the world."

  The eyes that met his were hot, angry. "You have no idea who I am and you have no right to—"

  "You would have run the first night, after you made your crazy proposal and I agreed, except you didn't have your car."

  "That's not—"

  "And you're running now."

  "Will you let me finish a damned sentence!"

  He realized he was looming over her, that all he had to do was bend his head and he could capture her mouth. Anger stopped him, stopped him from backing away, too.

  "You're in my way," she said.

  "I just bet I am. Where's all your honesty now, Claire? You were so direct the night we met again. Telling me you used to have a crush on me, telling me what you wanted. What's happened to that?"

  He felt her take a sharp breath, saw panic in her eyes and knew he would back off if he were a gentleman.

  "I made a mistake," she said, her voice husky, eyes not quite meeting his. "I... I probably did have too much to drink that night. But this isn't what I want, and if you don't back off and let me go, I'm going to make a scene."

  "What sort of scene, Claire? Will you scream?"

  "I might," she said coldly. He might have believed the ice in her voice if she'd looked him straight in the eye, but she'd dropped her lashes again and damn it, she was definitely avoiding his gaze.

  "Does that work for you?" he asked idly. "Is that how you keep the men at a distance, Claire? An icy voice? Tell them you're bored?" He stepped back, enough to give her breathing room, enough to stop himself from giving in to temptation and taking her mouth, but not enough to allow her to escape.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," she said coldly.

  "I think you do. You didn't have a boy romancing you back in high school because whenever one got close, you looked at him with those disapproving eyes. You frightened them off, and you're still doing it. Maybe it's a habit, or maybe you like it that way, but I'm not giving up so easily."

  She shook her head.

  "You were out on that balcony with me last night. I might have been close to taking you, but you were every bit as close to giving yourself to me."

  "No," she said, but he saw her throat flex. "No."

  "You're afraid."

  Her eyes met his, finally. "I suppose I am."

  "Afraid of me?" he asked, his heart pounding a slow, unsteady beat against his throat.

  "Not exactly." She swallowed visibly and looked past him. He heard footsteps on the grass, someone coming to interrupt, and he knew she'd take the opportunity to slip away.

  "Look at me, Claire."

  She shook her head, but her eyes met his. He couldn't read them. He knew he had no time to persuade her, that he couldn't let her slip out of his life like this. And she would, he knew. If she left now, she'd find a way to avoid being alone with him for the rest of the week, or she'd run back to her mountain. Because she was running, and he was damned if he'd let her.

  "I want you to stay. I want it more than I can remember wanting anything in a long time."

  She stared at him soberly and said finally, "I don't belong here."

  "It's your reunion. You've got an invitation."

  She moved as if to step back, but there was no room. She folded her arms across each other below her breasts. She meant it as a barrier, he thought, but the pose lifted her breasts, pressing them against her thin cotton blouse.

  "You and Lydia belong together," she said. "You've always been a couple."

  He dropped his hand. "That's crazy."

  "Everyone knows it's
true."

  "This is because of something Grace said."

  Someone called out his name and Claire stepped to one side. Then they were surrounded by people and he saw flight in her eyes. He said her name.

  She paused, her eyes meeting his fleetingly.

  "If you leave, Claire, I'll come after you."

  I'll come after you.

  She told herself he wouldn't, of course he wouldn't, but she remembered the look in his eyes, and she shivered at the thought of Blake hammering on the door of the resort condo in the middle of the night.

  Coming after her.

  She would open the door, one hand above her head, holding it open, her body draped in a soft, clinging satin nightgown. He would stare at her, his eyes predatory, filled with desire as they lingered on the curve of her breasts under the gown. Then his eyes would find hers and she would be trapped in her own desires.

  He would step inside, reaching for her. When he touched her flesh with his callused fingers, something would shatter deep inside and she would flow into his arms, surrendering her innocence...

  Stop!

  She'd better stop reading that ridiculous romance novel Jennifer had packed in her suitcase. Innocence? Maybe the heroine was a virgin, but Claire certainly wasn't, although when Blake kissed her, she felt as if she'd never been kissed before by any man.

  Kevin's kisses had never made her need.

  She wasn't going to compare them, would not let herself be caught up in this ridiculous fantasy of wanting Blake, of needing him. She didn't need him. People didn't need each other. That was only hormones, delusions of love. She was an educated woman, not a starry-eyed teenager. She didn't believe in being swept away, and she wasn't about to let Blake McKenzie sweep her away as if she were...

  ... as if she were Lydia.

  But that's exactly what she'd asked him to do, two nights ago, down on the docks. No, she corrected herself, on the floats.

  The man had no business getting into her head like this. She must have been mad, asking him to sweep her away, to romance her. She didn't want this. It wasn't her sort of thing, Blake wasn't her sort of man. She preferred her men rational and a lot less nerve-racking.

  You 're afraid.