His Daughter...Their Child Page 6

  “What are you thinking?” Clay prompted. “Your eyes went all dark like you were somewhere else.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”

  Indeed she was here, so close to Clay again, she caught the hint of his soap. His eyes were locked to hers, as if he was attempting to see into her.

  “That kiss of ours is haunting me,” he admitted.

  “I know. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

  “I shouldn’t even be considering kissing you again.”

  “Are you considering it?” The idea of heartache paled alongside the image of what could happen in Clay’s arms.

  He shook his head and then smiled. “Damn it, Celeste, this isn’t you. This isn’t like you at all, flirty and…”

  “I’m not flirting with you!” She wasn’t a tease and never had been. On the other hand, Clay was bringing out feelings she didn’t know what to do with.

  He leaned closer. “Then what do you call it when your eyes pull me closer, when you don’t run or pull away?”

  She didn’t know why, but she blurted out, “You don’t trust me.”

  “Should I?” he asked, even as he leaned in.

  There had to be at least a thousand reasons for her to turn away or run or pull away, but as his lips touched hers, she couldn’t think of one of them.

  The kiss began slowly. Maybe Clay had decided just to taste a little pleasure and then back away, finish his lunch and leave unaffected. But that taste only whetted their appetites. That taste was a bell that couldn’t be unrung. She was in his arms and he was in hers.

  This moment was more important than any that had gone before. Clay had always been responsible and restrained. She’d never acted coy or flirted with him because she’d known he wasn’t hers…would never be hers. But now with the world turned upside down and the future up for grabs, she decided to give in to everything she’d denied for so long.

  Suddenly Clay pulled away, separating their bodies as if she was too hot to touch and he was getting burned.

  They sat under the shade of the aspen, breathing fast and hard, letting their emotions and their body rhythms return to normal. Except what was normal?

  “Was I a substitute this time?” she asked softly, her voice shaky even in her attempt to steady it.

  He turned to face her. “No.” His level voice held truth.

  Still, she thought, he could believe that was the truth. Yet was it? She was Zoie’s twin. He’d never shown any interest in her before. Not that she’d wanted him to. She’d never want a man who could look at another woman while being involved with someone. Yet Peter had been that type of man and she hadn’t known it. She hadn’t even guessed. She’d been so stupid! Yet she hadn’t known Peter all her life. She had known Clay.

  “Rebound” was a word she had to consider carefully along with another—“revenge.”

  Was Clay so bitter and resentful of Zoie that he would take it out on her? That he would use her until he no longer wanted her?

  Then what would happen to Abby?

  “What are we doing, Clay? I’m sitting here wondering about your motives and you’re probably wondering about mine.”

  “Twice. I gave in to lust twice. That’s not like me, Celeste. I’ve been a damn monk since before Zoie and I split. Then I feel this attraction to you… Everything’s under control and then…we explode.”

  He sent her a wry look. “Unless it’s not like that for you. Maybe I just imagined all that heat because I haven’t felt anything like it for so long.”

  “You didn’t imagine it,” she said softly. “But what are we going to do about it?”

  He opened a bottle of water and drank half of it, then he set it down with a thump. “We’re going to ignore it and pretend it doesn’t exist.”

  Pretend it didn’t exist? She knew her desire for Clay was based on more than lust. But on his side…even if this had nothing to do with Zoie, she’d simply been an available pretty woman and he’d responded as most men would.

  “I think we should keep limiting our time together,” he went on. “When you see Abby, I’ll make sure I’m not there.”

  On one hand, she was thrilled he wasn’t keeping her from Abby. But on the other, she suspected if they ignored what was happening between them, it wouldn’t go away on its own.

  Not if it had any basis at all.

  Celeste dove into the everyday work, play and distractions of Miners Bluff in between her visits with Abby. For the past two weeks, she’d learned some of her daughter’s likes and dislikes and grown to appreciate her sweet nature. But she hadn’t seen Clay during her visits…and she really missed him.

  So today she’d volunteered to help Mikala at the annual Historic Homes Arts Fair. It promoted tourism and funded the constant renovation costs of old buildings. Paintings hung on pegboards. Jewelry crafters laid out sterling and semiprecious stones atop velvet cloths. Ceramic pots of all shapes, sizes and colors abounded as did knitted and crocheted shawls and sweaters, wood-crafted items and whirligigs for front yards. Celeste was helping Mikala focus on children’s creativity. Under a tent in the town park, her students gave impromptu concerts on violins, keyboards and flutes.

  Miners Bluff was laid out like a wagon wheel. The park was the center, a circle of green lawn with trees and benches and a large gazebo. A sign at each of its entrances gave a summary of the town’s history. The children’s music tent was located near a few live oaks that cast shade over it in the early afternoon. Three of Mikala’s students had just finished Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.

  Suddenly Celeste was almost knocked over by a child gripping her around the legs. Balancing herself and stooping down, she saw Abby gazing up at her.

  “C’leste! C’leste! Gran-daddee’s gonna buy me a snow cone.”

  Celeste hugged Abby and brushed her bangs across her forehead. “He is? What flavor is your favorite?”

  She cast a glance at Clay’s father standing only about a foot away. He was almost as tall as Clay, his dark brown hair streaked with gray over the temples, his black-framed glasses sitting high on his nose. He’d gained weight over the past few years, but his khaki slacks and oxford shirt still fit impeccably. He hadn’t seemed to have lost even an ounce of his starch.

  “Owange,” Abby pronounced proudly. “That’s my fav’ite.

  “There’s Daddy,” Abby said, spinning around and running toward her father who was making his way toward them.

  This was the first time Celeste had come face-to-face with the elder Sullivan since she’d returned. “Hello, Mr. Sullivan.”

  “Celeste,” he said stiffly with a slight tilt to his head. “I hear you’re back in town to get to know Abby.”

  Glancing toward Clay, Celeste noticed he’d picked up his daughter. She was babbling away as she pointed toward Celeste. Clay’s gaze met hers and the air seemed to shiver between them.

  As if Harold Sullivan felt it, too, he frowned. “You can’t confuse her.”

  “I don’t intend to confuse her.”

  “You look like her mother.”

  “That’s beyond my control. Zoie’s not in her life and might not be again.”

  “You want her to call you Mom?”

  The man was not going to make her back down even though he’d always seemed to think he had more clout than anyone else in Miners Bluff. “I can only dream of that happening someday. For now, I just want to be around as a guiding force.”

  “Guiding her toward what is the question.”

  As Clay and Abby approached them, Mr. Sullivan lowered his voice. “I have to wonder if you’re here for other reasons than Abby.”

  Celeste felt her back stiffen in reaction. “What reasons would those be?”

  “Maybe like your sister, you want a nice settlement, another piece of Clay’s trust fund. Or maybe unlike Zoie, you have the fortitude to stick around until you could inherit all of it.”

  Although she was shocked by the accusations, she wouldn’t let Mr. Sullivan
see that. His attitude towards Clay’s aspirations in life had always colored her view of him. Was he really as intolerant as he seemed? If he was a loving father, wouldn’t he want Clay to be happy? But now she could see Mr. Sullivan wanted what he wanted, and what anyone else thought or cared simply didn’t matter. Arguing with him about her intentions would have no value to this banker.

  Clay and Abby were beside them then, and Abby practically jumped out of Clay’s arms reaching for Celeste.

  “You might be too heavy…” Clay began.

  But Celeste shook her head, taking her daughter into her arms. “She’s fine.” Her hands were shaking a bit from her exchange with his father, but holding Abby covered that.

  Abby was pointing to a little girl with a flute. “I wanna play it.”

  “Maybe you can when you’re a little older.” Clay’s arm brushed Celeste’s as he turned to look at the children. They both stopped, immobilized for a moment.

  Harold said gruffly, “I’m going to go get that snow cone. Why don’t I meet you over at O’Rourke’s stand?”

  Clay’s gaze went to his daughter, who seemed to be mesmerized by the instruments. “We could be here a little while. Why don’t you just come back here?”

  “If you say so.” His father headed off toward a vending cart.

  “Down, down, down,” Abby demanded.

  “You can’t go very far,” Celeste told her. “You might get lost in all these people.”

  Mikala, who had been supervising the children, took Abby’s hand. “Do you want to come over here with me and look at the keyboard?”

  Abby raised her gaze to Clay, and he gave her a nod.

  When she had joined the child of about twelve, who was standing at the keyboard, Clay moved closer to Celeste and asked in a private tone, “What did my father say to you?”

  “How do you know he said anything?” She wasn’t sure whether she should cover for Harold Sullivan or make more waves between him and his son.

  “You were delighted to see Abby and all of a sudden you went pale. He’s tried to interfere in my life enough over the years. I want to know what he said.”

  “He’s tried to interfere in something other than your line of work?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  She gave a small sigh, knowing it would be best to be completely straight up with Clay. “He implied I’m here for other reasons than to get to know Abby.”

  “Other reasons?”

  Clay’s lips were close to her ear so she could hear him above the chatter and noise of the throng around them. His breath on her cheek and her body’s response to it made her wonder if old longings had urged her back to Miners Bluff, too.

  But for now, she answered, “Money. He thinks I’m here for your money, if not one way, then another.”

  When Clay shook his head and stepped back, Celeste saw the lines of resolve furrow his brow. She pleaded, “Don’t say anything to him, Clay. I doubt if he’ll listen to you.”

  “You’re definitely right about that.”

  “He might think he’s protecting Abby by trying to chase me away.”

  “Can he chase you away?” Clay’s tone had that resolute get-to-the-bottom-of-it quality again that had become such a part of him since his divorce.

  “No, he can’t,” Celeste answered, making her tone as determined as she knew how.

  But then she caught sight of Harold Sullivan approaching them once more, an orange snow cone in his hand. Clay stepped closer to her again, as if he meant to protect her from this father.

  When she gazed up at him, neither seemed to be able to look away. But then Clay broke eye contact and she knew he was rejecting the bond she felt between them.

  What good was that bond if only she could embrace it?

  Chapter Five

  Clay knocked on the door of Celeste’s suite at the Purple Pansy. He hadn’t seen her for almost three weeks…on purpose. He knew how she was interacting with his daughter. His mother always gave him a full report. She even snapped pictures now and then. And when he looked at them, when Celeste appeared in erotic dreams he tried to banish from his mind, he wanted to see her and kiss her again.

  But he wasn’t here tonight because he was drawn to her. He was here because she was starting something he had to stop.

  When she opened the door, his words seemed to vanish. In a pink top and jeans, her hair tied up in a ponytail, she made him feel they were both fifteen years younger again. But they weren’t, and he had to deal with what was happening now.

  “Clay,” she said with a surprised smile. Then the smile faded. “Is Abby okay?”

  “She’s fine. I need to talk to you about something. Can I come in?”

  Looking puzzled, she backed away from the door and invited him into the sitting area. It was two rooms, really. He could see she’d been working at the library table against the inside wall. A laptop was front and center as well as a printer. Papers were strewn here and there. Mikala’s aunt had decorated the room in flowers and stripes, yellow-and-blue with earth tones thrown in. He could see through the arched doorway into the bedroom beyond. But his gaze didn’t linger there…wouldn’t linger there.

  “Did I interrupt your work?” He gestured toward the computer.

  “That’s okay. I was going to break to get something for supper.”

  “At a restaurant?” Suddenly the idea of sitting on the sofa with Celeste to talk about anything didn’t seem like a very wise thing to do.

  “No. Anna makes casseroles every day so I can share if I want. Tonight Mikala has music lessons all evening in her studio and Anna had a meeting with the Preservation Society to talk about that new museum the Chamber wants to build. Would you like to share the casserole? I can heat it up.”

  Anna’s kitchen sounded like a much better idea than Celeste’s private quarters. And he hadn’t eaten. Maybe what he wanted to say to Celeste would go down better in the friendly atmosphere of Anna’s kitchen. He’d spent time there as a teenager with Mikala, Zoie and Celeste, Jenny, Dawson and Zack. They’d all known Anna’s biscotti jar was always filled, just as her fridge was always stocked with chocolate milk.

  “Let me get some shoes,” Celeste said, going into the bedroom for her sneakers.

  Clay didn’t move. He wasn’t going anywhere near that bedroom. He wasn’t getting too close to Celeste. Their kisses had rocked him more than he wanted to admit. Attraction to Celeste was taboo on so many levels.

  “Your mom said you had an overnight trip last week,” she called from the bedroom.

  “I did,” he called back. “Campers who wanted to spend a night or two at Oak Creek.”

  In spite of trying to avoid glancing that way, he could see Celeste perched on the edge of a green-and-tan flowered chair. She crossed her left leg over her right and bent to tie her shoe. Her legs were long and lithe. She was an inch taller than Zoie. It didn’t seem like much, but it gave her a willowyness that Zoie didn’t possess. She uncrossed her legs and bent to tie her right shoe.

  Looking up at him, she asked, “Did they have a good time?”

  Watching her hands, her silky ponytail bobbing with her movement, he’d almost forgotten what they were talking about. “I hope they did. They said they’re going to come back to the area again next year and want me to take them down the Grand Canyon.”

  Celeste rose to her feet and came toward him. “I haven’t done that since I was back here for vacation when I was nineteen. I wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime, maybe even white-water rafting.”

  He wasn’t going to offer to take her, not after what had happened on their hiking trip.

  “All ready,” she said and went to the door.

  He reached around her and opened it. Zoie would have spent a half hour in the bathroom with her makeup products before she was ready to go even to the kitchen.

  But as he caught the scent of Celeste’s honeysuckle lotion or shampoo or whatever it was, he began to realize what Celeste had been trying so hard t
o tell him. She wasn’t Zoie. She was really trying to act like a mother to his daughter. She certainly seemed genuine. But he’d been fooled before.

  Ignoring the tilt of her smile, the precious-gem green of her eyes, the silky golden long strands in her light brown hair, he motioned for her to precede him down the hall to the house’s main kitchen.

  Celeste’s guest suite was on the first floor. Mikala and her aunt’s sleeping quarters were on the second, and the largest guest suite complete with a small kitchen was on the third. The whole place seemed to have the light scent of vanilla and lavender. The house, which was about a hundred years old, was well maintained yet quaintly old-fashioned with bronze sconces that looked like oil lamps, ceiling lighting with chandelier bulbs and wallpaper with tiny flowers. Anna’s sense of caring seemed to permeate it all. He supposed that’s why he, like some of his classmates, had been drawn here as teenagers. Even now, the house seemed as welcoming as his own.

  “Are you comfortable here?” he asked Celeste, wondering if she felt the same way.

  “Oh, yes. Absolutely. In fact, I almost feel too comfortable. I’ve been here over a month. Mikala is right upstairs. Her aunt is always ready with a story to tell or a glass of tea to share. Remember the gallons of chocolate milk we drank here?”

  As she said it, they entered the kitchen, and he stopped abruptly. “What happened here? I can see my reflection in every appliance.”

  Celeste laughed. “I think Anna’s refrigerator lasted a long time, but it was born before we were. The rest of the appliances went down the same path, so Mikala convinced her to update, at least that part of the kitchen, and the counters and the floor. But other than that—”

  He had to chuckle. He did recognize the mahogany clock that still hung above the sink, the railing above the cupboards holding Hummel figurines, the maple table and chairs, antiques still polished and suiting this kitchen perfectly.

  “She had to make new purple pansy curtains,” Celeste said, going to the refrigerator. “But they’re the same café style that I remember from years ago.” She took out a casserole and removed the lid. “It looks like pasta and beef. How does that sound?”