Bring Him Home (18 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T
WO
DAYS
LATER
Nate stuck his head around the door of the Whangarei house. “That’s the tools sorted,” he said to Claire. “A sweep-out and the garage is done.” She was sitting on the wooden floor in the living room, taping up the last of the boxes destined for the bach. Only the furniture going into storage remained and the movers would pick it up this afternoon.

She started almost guiltily and picked up the tape. “Oops,” she said. “You caught me slacking off.”

“It’s been a long morning.” He hesitated. From the kitchen came the bang of a cupboard door where Ellie was scrubbing out shelves. Even from here, he could smell the cleaning products. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she reassured him, pulling tape along the box. “I’ve been moving on for a while.”

There were dents in the carpet from the coffee table, pinholes in the wall left by the picture hooks and a couple of scuff marks on the skirting board from a ball or skateboard. A good house, a family house.

“Still, it can’t be easy leaving a place you and Steve lavished so much DIY on,” Nate said. It had become a standing joke in the unit, the Langfords spent years renovating.

As he’d hoped, Claire laughed. “And it only took fifteen years to knock into shape.”

“Lewis, take that dratted ball outside!” Ellie’s raised voice wafted from the kitchen. “I’ve just washed that cupboard door.”

“It was an accident!”

Claire pushed to her feet and picked up the taped box. “Time for an intervention.”

“Let’s take a break,” Nate suggested. “We’ve been working all morning.”

“Good idea, there’s a picnic hamper in the car.”

“I’ll get it. Here, give me that.” He took the box from her. “Get some fresh air.”

Smiling, she touched his arm. “Thanks.”

There was an understanding between them now, a quiet and considerate tenderness. Physical awareness was still there, but it was muted, patient, waiting for the right time. This period was a deep breath between the past and the future. Steve was forefront on both their minds, but gently.

Nate felt like a man woken from a coma—tentative, stretching limbs, unable to believe his luck. He was waiting for a relapse into guilt. It didn’t come. Quietly, he accustomed himself to peace while Claire mourned Steve again. For now, being near was enough.

While Claire unpacked lunch on a blanket under the apple tree, Nate competed with Lewis to see who could bounce a soccer ball on their knee the longest. Lewis was winning hands down.

“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight…” The ball angled off the grinning teenager’s knee and landed in a rosebush. “Don’t destroy the garden,” Ellie scolded from the rug. “They’re not your plants anymore.” She was fragile this morning.

“Man,” Lewis muttered, “I can’t do anything right today.”

Nate rescued the ball from the rosebush. “Let’s shoot basketball hoops instead.”

“What, so I can whip your ass in something else?”

“Lewie, watch your language,” called his grandmother.

Scowling, Lewis opened his mouth for a retort, but Nate forestalled him. “Ellie, you were a good netballer, weren’t you?” Steve had once told him his mother had played competitively. “What was your position again?”

She looked over from the picnic rug, shading her face with one hand. “Goal shoot.”

“Come help me teach your grandson a lesson.”

“Heavens, Nathan, I can’t leap around a basketball hoop now. Not with my knees.”

“You can’t move with the ball in netball, is that correct?”

She nodded. “Once you’re in possession you have to ground one foot.”

“So we’ll set a mark and shoot from a stationary position.”

“I don’t think so,” she said doubtfully. But she was tempted, he could tell.

“Go ahead, Ellie,” Claire encouraged. “I’ll finish getting lunch ready.”

She glanced at her grandson who was trying not to laugh and a glint came into her eyes. “What do you think, sweetie, can an old lady play?”

“If she wants to.” Lewis shrugged, obviously humoring her.

Nate shared a conspirator’s grin with Claire. Steve’s competitive gene hadn’t come from his dad.

“Set the distance, Ellie,” he said, and threw her the ball.

She took her time to settle on a distance some four feet away from the goal then marked it with a branch snapped from a hydrangea.

Nate resisted the temptation to tease her about that. Ellie bounced the ball a few times, assessing its weight.

Then she raised her arms, stretching one leg behind for balance, as gracefully as a dancer, her gaze intent as she gauged the distance to the hoop.

Curiosity raised Lewis’s brows.

Ellie launched the ball—it fell short by a foot. “Damn it!”

“Language, Nana!”

“I’m out of practice.”

They gave her five shots to warm up and then she took them both to the cleaners, winning with a score of eleven from twelve hoops. By the end of the competition, everyone was having fun. A light mood that lasted through lunch.

Nate was in the hall, returning from dumping a load of boxes in the car when Claire called his name.

He turned. In three quick steps she walked over to him. Before he could register her intent, she stood on tiptoe and brushed a kiss against his mouth. “Thanks,” she said, and walked on to the kitchen with the picnic remnants.

Nate stood rooted, his mouth still processing the sensation of their first kiss, warm and fervent. Promising so much more. Then he caught sight of Ellie standing in the living room doorway with a box, her eyes full of dismay.

Nate held his composure. “You want me to stow that in the car?” he said.

She looked down at the box as if she’d forgotten she was carrying it.

“It’s not heavy,” she said, “but there’re another two in the living room. If you could carry those?”

“Sure.” He moved past her, unable to talk about this. It was too uncertain, too new. She waited for him and they walked to the car together.

“When are you heading back to L.A.?” she blurted as he stacked the boxes in the station wagon’s trunk.

Nate met her gaze calmly. It was natural for her to feel this way. “I haven’t confirmed a flight yet,” he said. “I figured I’d reassess after the weekend.” Lewis was staying with Ellie tonight while Nate and Claire attended Jo’s celebratory dinner. It would be the first occasion since Lewis had come home that they’d be alone together.

The same thought must have occurred to Ellie because she frowned. “I’m very fond of you, Nathan.”

He braced himself.

“My daughter-in-law has experienced a lot of change over recent months—working to launch a new business, giving up her job, moving to the bach. And that’s on the back of the very hard time Lewis gave us, all on top of Steve’s death.”

Her gaze returned to his. “All that has taken a toll on her, though she’d deny it. I don’t think Claire realizes how vulnerable she still is.” Ellie paused, as if searching for the right words. “She’s severing another major tie today. Sometimes you jump into things to distract yourself from the gap. It’s so difficult, you see, after losing the love of your life as we’ve done.” Her expression softened as she laid a hand on his forearm. “You’ve been a good friend to Claire, Nathan. I hope you’ll accept my advice in the intended spirit.”

“You two are close,” he said. “You’re looking out for her.”

“Steve would want me to.”

He nodded. “He would.”

She searched his face, and then, satisfied, returned to the packing. Nate stood by the car another minute. The house was in a well-established suburb and the street was overhung with flowering cherries. In mid-October their frilly pink blossoms shed like confetti on footpaths and verges, extraordinarily pretty.

Absently, he caught a petal as it fell, then dropped it and pulled his cell out of his jeans pocket. “Jules, I need the trust stuff ready for signing first thing Monday morning. And no excuses this time. Incidentally, don’t tell Claire I lost my job. I’m cool with it and you know she’ll only feel guilty.” Which hopefully would guilt Jules into keeping his secret. She was as protective of Claire as he was. Nate’s second call was to Air New Zealand. “I’d like to book a flight for Monday night.”

“Zander rang,” he told Claire later. “If I’m not airborne within forty-eight hours I’ll lose my job.” He was old friends with guilt and told the white lie easily. Even when it broke his newly healed heart all over again.

* * *

Y
OU
RUSHED
THINGS
with that kiss. Clearly Nate isn’t ready. Give him some space.

Claire repeated that mantra constantly the rest of the day, but common sense did nothing to dispel the sense of hurt, even betrayal, she felt. Fair enough if Nate had to return to L.A., but did he have to be so anxious to leave?

As she showered for the celebration dinner that evening, she reminded herself that Nate didn’t owe her anything. He’d made no move toward a romantic relationship. This new closeness was all to do with bonding over Steve and anything else was in her head.

Some stubborn inner voice insisted it wasn’t, but Claire shut that down with logic and the blow-dryer. From the moment she’d kissed him, Nate had become aloof and uncommunicative. On the two occasions they’d been left alone, he found some pretext to leave.

It hurt.

Wrapped in a towel, she left the bathroom, crossed the deck and went inside the bach. Nate had been nowhere in sight when she returned from dropping Lewis at his grandmother’s—hiding out on
Heaven Sent
probably—though their ride was due in thirty minutes and the boat had no shower connected.

In her bedroom, she opened the dresser drawer, grimaced at the sexy robe Ellie had given her and pushed it aside to find underwear.

Boohooing and feeling rejected wouldn’t change the fact that Nate wasn’t ready. Neither would a confrontation. The very worst thing she could do was to start coming across as needy.

From her closet, she pulled a red dress, the one she’d bought for her leaving function at work, the one that heralded the advent of Captain Claire, bold, bright and fearless.

It was better this way.

Briskly, Claire zipped up the dress and started applying makeup, using the mirror above the dresser. She could concentrate on establishing her business and Nate would have time to settle his thinking—miss her, hopefully. And after a couple of months she’d go get him.

Maybe.

If she had the courage.

If he sent the right signals.

If he didn’t take a lover in the meantime.

Claire realized her shoulders had slumped and straightened them, picking up the eyelash curler Ellie had foisted on her. “Stop panicking,” she admonished her reflection. “You haven’t given up on him. You’re just giving him space.” Ugh, that tweeniespeak. Claire screwed up her nose. She was thirty-four, for heaven’s sake. She shouldn’t have to deal with this crap.

Scowling, she darkened her lashes with mascara, made her eyes mysterious and smoky, and chose her most luscious lipstick. That would show him.

Lack of recent practice meant she smudged it. With an expletive, Claire scrubbed off the excess and reapplied it. Who was she kidding? She’d never been good at flirty games. So she’d quietly assess the situation over the next couple of months, and decide her move from there. Carefully, she blotted the excess lipstick with a tissue. She didn’t have to be Braveheart tonight.

Only Monday, when she said goodbye.

* * *

N
ATE
LEFT
IT
AS
LATE
as possible to arrive at the bach to shower and change, tapping on the patio door as he passed to let Claire know he’d arrived. The bathroom was still steamy from her shower, the mirror fogged and the air fragrant with feminine potions.

He showered quickly, and then dressed in dark pants and an open-necked white shirt, topped with a dark gray jacket. Styling himself came automatically now, but as he shaved using the small bathroom mirror, slightly mottled with age, he wondered what Zander would make of him.

It occurred to him he’d miss the bastard—despite Zee’s faults, they’d been mates. Zander would miss Nate more because the rocker had so few real friends. But he also knew that asking for his job back would be tantamount to posting a Kick Me sign on his butt. Anyway it didn’t matter. Nate’s professional reputation was sound; he’d have no difficulty picking up another A-lister. The thought depressed him.

Mentally bracing himself, he entered the bach. Claire was standing in the middle of the living room inserting gold hoop earrings. She blinked when she saw him. “Wow,” she said lightly. “It’s not hard to get the Hollywood back. You look gor…very smart.”

Nate remembered to close the slider. “So do you.”

Understatement. Her scoop-necked dress was an overlay of chiffon tiers over a silk sheath, sleeveless and very sexy in traffic-light red.

Red for stop, Nate reminded himself, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off her. One shoulder of the dress had a tie feature and as he stared, she twisted it into a chiffony bow. Like a present just waiting to be unwrapped.

Setting his jaw, Nate checked his watch and then walked to the window looking for headlights. “You’ll get cold without a coat.”

“I have a pashmina shawl.”

It was winter-white silk and cashmere, nothing provocative about it. His brain threw up an image of it wrapped around her naked body. Nate stared out the window, desperate for headlights. “So we’re meeting Jules at the restaurant?”

“Uh-huh.” Behind him, Claire squirted on perfume, an Oriental fragrance, sensual and spicy, entirely in keeping with the red dress.

Briefly he closed his eyes and when he opened them a double-cab behemoth of an ute was bumping over the grass. His white charger tooted.

“They’re here, let’s go.” He turned around.

“Are we okay, Nate?” There was something in her quiet directness that made him realize he’d hurt her.

“Sure we are.” He smiled reassuringly. Of course this was tough—the right path always was. “If I’ve been distracted, it’s because I’m thinking of all that needs doing when I get home.” He used the word deliberately, though L.A. had never felt like home to him.