Seeing Stars Page 21

  His voice was impossibly real. He must have met Jennifer. Had Jenn told him... no, she wouldn't. Blake had come to her. If he'd forgiven her for her stupidity, the part he knew about, then maybe—

  "Claire, is there a way around this particular hazard, or do I have to shout what I've come to say without seeing you? I have to tell you, sweetheart, I'd much rather do this face to face."

  "I'm coming. Just stay there."

  She brushed her hair back and realized it must look terrible, braided and hanging out of the braid in strands. She walked slowly around the rattler's zone, careful to step on the clearest spots, climbing up the steep hill away from the path. Just before she got to the top, she pulled the tie out of her braid and finger-combed her hair. She'd been away from a mirror for three days, but it would have to do.

  She stopped at the top of the hill, in full view of him. She wished he would come to her, wished she could see something on his harsh face. She started down the hill, slowly.

  "Have you ever been bitten?" he asked.

  "I'm careful. And I wear high boots. The ones you're wearing aren't great for the desert, so don't step on any rocks." How could they be talking about bites and boots? "I'm glad you came."

  "Are you?"

  Maybe he'd come to say something, but she couldn't blame him for being wary. "I was going to call you when I got back, to see if you would meet me somewhere... somewhere in between."

  He considered her, not smiling, though there'd been a smile in his voice when he'd joked about telling what he'd come to say with the rattlesnake between.

  "Are you going to come down here, or are we going to do this at a distance of twenty paces?"

  She smiled nervously and came the rest of the way down the hill.

  "There's a clearing back there," he said. "A creek. Shall we talk there?"

  She nodded and preceded him because the path didn't allow two to walk abreast at this point. At first she was nervous, then slowly she relaxed to the rhythm of walking up the steep slope, the sounds of her footsteps echoing with his.

  When they came to the creek, she walked to the bank and sat on a familiar rock and discovered she hadn't the courage to look at him while she spoke.

  "I'm sorry about last week," she said, staring at the water streaming over an outcropping of rock. "Last Wednesday, at your house."

  "So am I. I said a lot of things I wish I could take back."

  She looked up then. "You were tired, and the things you said were true."

  "I doubt being tired made much difference. I wanted something, and when I didn't get it I struck out, trying to hurt you. I'm sorry, Claire."

  She'd thought the tears were gone. She looked away and brushed her eyes roughly with the back of her hand.

  "Claire, I need to know what you feel about me."

  She turned her head, found his eyes bleak. "I love you," she said simply. "I know I made a mess of it, but I love you."

  His eyes seemed to probe her very depths, then he took one long stride toward her and she flung out a hand to stop him. "Not yet. There's something you need to know first."

  "Honey, I know we've got problems. You on the mountain and me at the sea. It doesn't matter. If you love me and I love you, we'll make it work somehow."

  She gripped his shirt, holding him away. "You don't really know. Part of what you love about me is the way you say I'm so direct. Honest. It's not true. I lied to you."

  "Did you lie when you told me you loved me?"

  "It's worse than that."

  "Baby, nothing would be worse than that." He adjusted her hands so they rested on his shoulders. "OK," he said gently. "Spill it."

  "You're not taking it seriously."

  "Sweetheart, I'm head over heels in love with an impossible woman who's so busy looking at the stars she won't look down and take time to fall in love with me...only now it seems she did. Unless you're going to tell me you're married to someone else, I figure I can handle whatever comes next."

  "I'm probably pregnant."

  "You're... but you..."

  She tried to twist free and failed.

  "Are you sure?" he asked. He looked stunned.

  "Mostly sure."

  "You knew before you left Port Townsend?"

  "I knew it was possible." She swallowed. "Probable. I lied about being on the pill."

  "You planned this?"

  "Sort of."

  "A one-week affair, a baby without the inconvenience of a husband?"

  "Not in the beginning. Afterward, when I realized we'd made love in the shower without protection." She bit her lip, looked away from his eyes.

  "I never thought I'd have a child, never let myself seriously want a baby. I live on isolated mountains, and there's only me. I didn't think I'd ever marry. But that morning... I didn't mean it to happen, but afterward I knew the time was right, that I might have conceived, and I guess I went kind of crazy. I decided that if it happened, then it was meant to be."

  "And you wanted a baby."

  "Yes. Only then... on the boat..."

  "You decided to tip the odds a little more in your favor, and told me you were on the pill so I wouldn't use a condom."

  "That sounds terrible, as if I'd planned.... It was an impulse. I knew it was wrong even when I did it, but I told myself that because I loved you, it would be all right."

  "You loved me, but you weren't going to stay with me?"

  It sounded pretty damning, and he might have been smiling, teasing her even, a few minutes ago, but he wasn't now.

  "You have a right to be angry."

  "I don't know what I feel. You're pregnant. I hadn't figured that into the formula."

  "The formula?" she echoed, chilled.

  "You and me."

  She wanted to pull away, but she fought the need to hide and said, "The night Grace had her baby, you said you wanted a child. You made it sound like... I thought you meant with me."

  "Yeah." He sighed. "I wanted it. I was having visions of you growing big with our child, of watching her nursing at your breast. But I realized it was a bad idea."

  She felt a lurch of the morning's nausea.

  "I figured we could work something out for you and me, so long as you were willing to stay on the continent. There's Los Angeles or Las Vegas, both about four hours from Port Townsend, closer from Tucson. If we had to, we could make it work. Weekends. Holidays."

  No, she thought, it wouldn't work at all.

  "Your kids would suffer. The boys."

  "I could have worked it out, but not with a child."

  She pulled against his loose grip on her hips, but he stopped her with a dark look from his inscrutable eyes.

  "Claire, the baby makes it tougher. Kids need every scrap of security we can give them, every bit of love. A commuter marriage, the odd weekend together—I don't like the odds, sweetheart."

  "You were right about my dad. I looked it up. He turned his back on a big career, just for me."

  "It wasn't just. He loved you, and he was a good man."

  "You did the same thing, for your stepfather's children." She felt tears spill over, brushed angrily with her sleeve at her eyes. "I love you. I know I lied to you, but I need you to believe that even if I weren't pregnant, I was coming to tell you I'd give my notice and move to Port Townsend, that we could get married."

  He was silent for so long she began to panic.

  "That's if you want to marry me."

  He gave her a slight shake. "I want it all, but I need you to be happy, and you need the stars."

  "The stars are everywhere, you told me that. What I really need is the man I love in my life, full-time. I need the stars, too, but I don't need the mountain top. I'll want to work, but I'll figure that out. Maybe I'll write a book about astronomy, for kids. I met this publisher at the symposium and he's looking for someone to do a series. I just... if you..." Her words faded and she stood staring up at him, suddenly uncertain.

  He covered her hands with his, drawing them away fr
om his shoulders and lacing their fingers together. "I think you need to know exactly what it is I feel for you."

  She felt suddenly shy. "I'd... I'd like that."

  His fingers tightened on hers, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "I think it's your eyes I love most," he said soberly. "So blue, so deep, and I remember once, a long time ago, looking into them and losing my balance. I was nineteen, so I didn't pay much attention, but when I met you again I couldn't resist the mystery in your eyes. They're like the stars. They catch fire when you're excited... in the sailboat, the motorcycle... turn quiet and challenging when someone issues a dare." His smile caressed her. "Like when Tim challenged you about your sanding skills, and you took him up on it. Or when Marie tried to warn you off me, and you told her you just wanted me for the sex."

  "You know about that." She flushed. "I was so jealous of Lydia that day. I guess because I was always jealous of her in high school. When Marie... I said the first thing that came into my mind."

  His eyes sobered and he said intensely, "If I'd ever felt a quarter for Lydia of what I feel for you, she'd never have left for Switzerland. You're the only woman, Claire, my only woman."

  "Oh," she breathed, drawing his smile.

  "I love the way your eyes turn color when I tell you I love you. The way they change when you're working with the boys, the way you get right into it, and don't even know you're casting a spell on them. The way you look when you talk about the stars, the way your eyes go green when you're about to kiss me."

  "What color are they now?" she whispered.

  "Blue, because you're not ready for a kiss yet, but soon. I love the way your eyes changed when you talked about Jennifer's baby."

  "I was on the phone. You couldn't see—"

  "I heard it in your voice. I love the way you can be a scientist one minute, then suddenly you're this incredibly tempting seductress." His hands tightened. "I love the way you tell me when you want me."

  "You had to teach me that," she whispered. "I was shy."

  He chuckled and she flushed.

  "I think it's my turn," she said. "I love it when you call me sweetheart. The first time, I thought it was just... you know, the sort of thing a man says when he's in bed with a woman."

  "You'd know a lot about that?"

  "I read books. Do you want to hear this?"

  "Yeah."

  She saw laughter in his eyes, and love. Her smile faded and her voice grew husky. "I love the way you are with Jake and Tim, the way you're firm with them, but soft at the same time. The way they know you care about them. The way you're reckless and careful at the same time." She turned his hands in hers and stared at his palms. Strong, reliable hands. Exciting hands.

  "I love the way you go sailing in a storm, and carry a safety line. The way you've got to be the sexiest man on this earth, and you're a good man, a man everyone knows can be trusted. The way you love bringing the beauty out in things, whether it's a piece of wood or a kid in trouble with the law. I love the way you make me feel sexy, reckless, loved. The way loving you makes me want things I've never let myself want before, feel things I've never felt. I love you."

  He lifted her hands and brought them to his mouth. He pressed his lips against them, his eyes steady on hers. "I'm going to take you up on that," he vowed softly.

  "Will you help me when I get scared?"

  "Yes, and when our house is filled with people and you want to get away from them all, I'll take you up on a mountain and show you the stars."

  "Show me now."

  He pulled her into his arms and began to show her in all the ways of a man who has found the woman who will be his partner, his lover, his wife. She sighed and gave herself to the man she loved, and as her eyes drifted closed on a landscape of love, her sky filled with stars, and promises.

  The End

  Page forward for an excerpt

  from Vanessa Grant's

  Think About Love

  Excerpt from

  Think About Love

  by

  Vanessa Grant

  Dedication

  Thanks to Ann and Anne for the hearts,

  Janice and Missy for baby calendars,

  Grant for the open house and "that thing they do,"

  and Janyne for family court.

  Chapter 1

  The call came on Samantha's direct line at thirteen minutes after three Wednesday afternoon. Cal, she assumed, because he'd been hovering restlessly all week. With a multimillion dollar contract just signed and fifty high-tech jobs to fill, Calin Tremaine was at his most restless.

  She let the phone ring a second time, then a third as she finished answering an e-mail from the security company she'd hired for Friday night. Then she picked up the phone, ready for Cal's next question.

  But the voice on the phone wasn't her boss's.

  "Samantha?"

  "Grandma Dorothy?" Samantha eyed the stack of unanswered messages on her desk. "How are you and the baby? Still terrorizing Gabriola Island?"

  She expected her grandmother's breathy laughter, felt a shaft of unease when it didn't come. "I'm in Nanaimo, Samantha. I need you."

  "Is it Kippy? An accident?" It was no use telling her heartbeat to slow, her breathing to quiet. Ever since the plane crash, she'd been too jumpy, too quick to assume the worst.

  "No accident, sweetheart, but we need your help."

  Marcy stuck her head in the door, mouthed Cal's name, and pointed to the phone. Samantha held up one hand, fingers spread, indicating she'd be five minutes.

  "Tell me," she urged her grandmother, her voice taking on the calm tones that had become habitual for her in times of stress. "Tell me what the problem is. If you need help with Kippy or money—" Money, she thought. Dorothy was probably short of money. Samantha kicked herself for not insisting she accept a monthly check to help with Kippy.

  "Moonbeam, you have to come up here."

  Moonbeam. It was years since Dorothy had called her that.

  "I can be there at the end of next week. I'll take a long weekend and we can work out whatever—"

  "Sam—Samantha..."

  Dorothy was crying!

  "Grandma, what's wrong?"

  "They say I'm not fit to look after Kippy."

  "That's crazy. You're fitter than most forty-year-old women. Grandma, who...?"

  A hiccup that might have been a sob. "I was in overnight. I shouldn't have been in at all—it was just a little pain, but Diana insisted. You know Diana Foley?"

  "Yes, of course I—in? What do you mean, in? In the hospital?"

  "I told the doctor I mustn't be in more than overnight, but he insisted and Diana said it would be fine. Absolutely fine, that Kippy was no problem. Samantha, you must do something!"

  "Grandma, I'll look after everything. Explain to me exactly what's happened. You're sick?"

  Dorothy had perfect health. At the age of sixty-nine, she walked three miles a day, pushing Kippy's baby carriage to the mailbox each day. "Why are you in the hospital?"

  "It's nothing serious. It's Kippy we need to worry about."

  "If Diana needs help with Kippy, I'll arrange for someone, and I'll come up this Friday night. We'll sort everything out." If necessary, if Dorothy really was sick, Samantha would bring Kippy back with her until her grandmother recovered.

  "You have to come now, Samantha."

  "I promise you, I'll look after everything. We talked about this last winter. If there's any problem, I can look after Kippy. We'll—"

  "The social worker put Kippy in a foster home."

  Samantha felt a lurch of nausea. "Kippy in foster care?" She remembered how frightened Sarah had been all those years ago, how Samantha had hidden her own fear and pretended confidence for her sister. How Dorothy had come and saved them both.

  She found a pen in her hand. "Give me the name of the social worker. And Diana's number. Have you called a lawyer yet?"

  Dorothy gave her Diana's number. "The social worker is Brenda Simonson. I don't kn
ow her number. She'll be in Nanaimo, but I'm not sure which office. I called Dexter Ames, the lawyer we used to arrange Kippy's guardianship last winter."

  Her mind seemed numb. She had to think. "I'll talk to Dexter, and I'll find the social worker."

  "Samantha, what if they don't let Kippy come back?"

  "Of course they will. We're Kippy's family."

  "You're coming, aren't you?" demanded Dorothy as the door to Samantha's office opened again. She had one hand in the air to shoo Marcy away, but her assistant ignored the gesture and strode across the office to drop a message slip on Samantha's desk.

  Meet me ASAP in the boardroom. Cal.

  Her fingers crumpled the note.

  "I'll do some phoning," she told Dorothy in a super calm voice. "I'll find out exactly where we stand, get things in motion. Then I'll call you back. I'll look after this. What about you? This pain?"

  "I'm fine," snapped Dorothy in the voice Samantha remembered. "It's probably indigestion."

  Marcy was waiting, motionless on the other side of the desk, while Samantha wrote down Dorothy's hospital-room phone number, then said good-bye, promising to call back as soon as possible.

  "He wants to know how long," said Marcy as the receiver settled in its cradle.

  "Fifteen minutes, and get me the phone number for Dexter Ames. He's a lawyer in Nanaimo."

  "Where?"

  "Nanaimo. British Columbia. Canada."

  Fifteen minutes. It wasn't enough. If only this had happened on another day, another week, when she could rush to Nanaimo instead of acting at a distance. She had to find that social worker before her office closed for the day. She needed to talk to the lawyer, to Dorothy's doctor.

  Exactly when did government workers quit for the day in Canada?

  Diana Foley had the worker's phone number, but the woman wasn't at her desk. Samantha hit the intercom just as Marcy came through the door with Dexter Ames's phone number.

  Only five minutes until she was due to meet Cal in his boardroom. "Get Ames on the line. Tell him it's about Dorothy Marshall."

  She dialed her own phone, said, "Diana, it's Samantha Jones again. I haven't been able to get the social worker. Do you know anything else?"