Cradle and All (9 page)

“Twin Oaks. I’m leaving by the back way so as not to attract any unnecessary attention.”

“Everyone in the village already knows that you spent the night here,” Tom said, trying to understand her sudden eagerness to leave.

Anne halted at the back door. He could see the surprise registering on her face. And then the dismay.

“When the baby woke me up last night and I saw you were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t have the heart to... I mean, it didn’t occur to me that... I’m sorry.”

“Don’t let it bother you, Anne.”

“I know you’re concerned for your reputation.”

“The people of this village know me,” Tom said. “And they’ll know you were here for the baby.”

“Will they?”

“Passing gossip is a way of life for them, but they mean no harm,” Tom assured her. “These are really nice people here in Cooper’s Corner, Anne. They would far rather believe good about someone than bad.”

“Wouldn’t we all.”

Her tone was so odd, so distant. He tried to see what was in her eyes, but they darted down to her watch.

“I have to go. Checkout at the B and B is in just a couple of hours. I’ll send back your shirt as soon as I have it laundered.”

She was already turning the doorknob.

Tom shot to his feet. “Anne—”

“Don’t bother offering to drive me. I’m walking. Fresh air will do me good. Bye. Take care of Tommy.”

Before Tom could say another word, she was gone.

CHAPTER FIVE

“S
O
,
HOW
’
S
THE
STEAK
?” Fred asked Anne over the table at the North End Ristorante in Pittsfield.

“It’s good,” Anne answered distractedly as she picked at the food on her plate.

“Then why did you order the fish?” Fred asked.

Anne stared at the grilled filet of salmon Milanese on her plate as though seeing it for the first time. She knew she’d been busted.

Giving up the pretense, she put her fork down, leaned back in her chair and faced her friend. “I’m sorry, Fred. I’m not very good company tonight.”

“It’s that priest, isn’t it,” Fred said.

“What makes you say that?”

“Anne, I’ve met the judges, attorneys and businessmen you’ve casually dated and then dumped after a couple of weeks. You never looked at any of them the way you looked at that priest yesterday.”

Anne was acutely uncomfortable with Fred’s assessment because she was afraid it was far too accurate.

“Talk to me, Anne.”

No, she couldn’t discuss Tom, not even with her very good friend. “I was thinking maybe I’d go back to work tomorrow.”

“Don’t do it,” Fred said. “You need this time off.”

“Could be I’m just one of those people who can’t take vacations.”

Fred leaned forward. “For weeks you’ve been telling me how much you were looking forward to gardening and catching up on all that leisure reading you never have time for.”

“Yeah, well, I tried both today, and you know what I ended up doing? Cleaning the oven.”

Her friend’s tone turned grave. “That priest has a lot to answer for.”

Fred didn’t know the half of it.

“Maybe what you need is to get away,” Fred suggested.

“I got away this last weekend, remember?” Anne said, not happy for the reminder.

“I mean really get away. Hop on a plane to the Virgin Islands or Jamaica or some other warm and sunny spot.”

Anne stared at the sleet slashing against the restaurant’s window. The temperature had taken a sizable dip with the night storm that had rolled in. She pictured herself lying on the beach under a warm tropical sun, palm trees swaying in the breeze.

“That might not be such a bad idea,” she admitted.

“You could even hook up with some muscle-bound beach boy and have a wild, one-night stand.”

Although Anne tried out the fantasy, it just wouldn’t gel in her mind. “I’m not much for muscle-bound beach boys or one-night stands.”

“So put a priest collar on him and make it an entire weekend.”

Anne looked over at the grin on Fred’s face and had to smile. “That’s sacrilegious.”

“That’s what I was going for,” Fred said happily. But her face quickly sobered and her shoulders stiffened when she looked at something behind Anne.

“Well, speak of the devil.”

“Good to see you, too, Fred,” Tom’s deep voice said. “Although I’d prefer you call me Tom.”

Anne whirled around to see him standing behind her. He was wearing a blue sweater and faded jeans that hugged his lean hips. His hair was wet with rain, his mouth drawn back in an easy smile.

Damn, he looked wonderful.

“May I join you?” he asked, and then slipped onto the empty chair closest to Anne.

“How did you know where to find me?” she asked, still not quite believing he was here.

“I saw your car outside,” Tom answered easily.

“Why are you here, Christen?” Fred demanded from across the table.

“I brought the note I discussed with Hunter earlier,” Tom said.

“Note?” Anne repeated.

Tom’s eyes met hers. “Fred didn’t tell you?”

Anne looked over at her friend. “Fred?”

“You’re on vacation, Anne,” Fred said, shifting uneasily in her chair. “Besides, this business is getting nasty and it’s not your affair.”

“This is my affair,” Anne said, not ungently. “Now, what’s going on?”

Fred exhaled heavily as she leaned back in her chair. “Turns out a couple of hikers up at the campgrounds saw the rusty-red VW Beetle on Friday night in a high-speed chase with a green van.”

“Lindy was being chased,” Anne said, leaning forward in her chair. “That’s why she was going so fast when she lost control of her car.”

Fred nodded. “Looks that way.”

“What did the driver of the green van look like?”

“Hikers couldn’t say,” Fred answered. “Vehicles went by too fast.”

Anne turned to Tom. “You know who was chasing her?”

“No. But when Hunter called me with the news, I thought I’d better hand over the note Lindy left.”

Tom drew it out of his pocket and gave it to Anne. She unfolded the paper and reread the note that she had found in the pocket of the cardigan that morning.

So, he was turning over the note to the police, despite the implications in it. Anne felt a sense of relief. At least Tom drew the line at how far he’d go to protect his reputation. On a scale of one to ten, she supposed he deserved a point or two for that.

“She suspected someone was following her,” Anne said simply, not letting on that the note was not news. “Does Hunter know about the baby?”

“He knows that Lindy left him with me,” Tom said, and Anne could tell from the way Tom worded his reply that Hunter still didn’t know that the baby was Tom’s.

Anne leaned forward to place the note in Fred’s waiting hand.

“Why didn’t Hunter call me?” Anne asked Tom, while Fred scanned the note’s contents.

“He probably did,” Tom said. “Every time I’ve tried to call today, I’ve gotten the message that you were unavailable.”

Anne remembered now. She had turned off her cell phone. Tom had been there when she had given the number to Hunter, and she didn’t want to chance his having remembered it. Which he obviously had.

She had told herself that she never wanted to see or talk to him again. But now that he was here, she knew that she had lied.

“Where’s the baby?” Anne asked.

“Maureen Cooper is watching him for me. Anne, I need to talk to you.”

Tom was looking at her with an intensity that unnerved her.

“Now?” she asked, and realized her voice had cracked on the word.

Tom glanced at Fred as he got to his feet. “No offense, Fred. But it’s a private matter.”

Fred didn’t look pleased. “You haven’t finished your meal, Anne.”

Tom held out his hand to Anne. “It’s important.”

Anne remembered the last time he’d held out his hand to her. And how wonderful it had felt when he clasped his strong fingers around her wrist and pulled her to her feet.

The next thing she knew, her hand was once again encased in his strong grasp and she was being drawn out of her chair. He tightly interlaced their fingers, as though worried that she might change her mind. The warm, hard feel of his palm pressing into hers shivered up her arm.

“I’ll phone you later,” Anne called over her shoulder to Fred as Tom pulled her toward the door of the restaurant.

Anne had left her coat in her car, and the icy sleet-soaked air assailed her the moment they stepped outside. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Your place.”

“Why?”

“Because if we stand out here much longer, we’re going to get soaked.”

Tom kept a firm clasp on Anne’s hand as he led the way to her car and handed her inside.

“I’ll follow you,” he said, before closing the door. And then he just vanished into the dark, wet night.

During the drive to her town house in Pittsfield, Anne watched the Porsche’s headlights in her rearview mirror. She was a jumble of unwanted emotions. She was angry with Tom for pulling her out of the restaurant. And disappointed with herself for going. And worried at how good it felt to see him again.

She didn’t know how she was going to handle this private conversation he seemed determined to have with her. She wanted so badly to be indifferent to him. But she wasn’t indifferent.

Every time she had tried to concentrate on reading or gardening that day, images of him had crept in to steal away her thoughts. The shape of his mouth, his smile, the blue of his eyes, the deep timbre of his voice, the way he walked with such sinuous grace. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything but him.

Smart women did not make stupid mistakes about men. And damn it, she was a smart woman. It was time she started acting like one.

She pulled into her garage and turned off the engine. She was just about to open the driver’s door when Tom appeared beside the car and opened it for her. Looking up at him, she wondered how he’d had time to park his car and make it here so quickly.

Tom held out his hand to her once again. This time, however, she didn’t take it. She was going to keep her distance from this guy if it was the last thing she did. She got out of the car by herself and led the way into the house.

Anne entered her kitchen, knowing Tom was just behind her. She dropped her shoulder bag and keys on the counter and headed for the living room, the most formal space in her home. She switched on a table lamp and rested her arm across the white marble mantel over the fireplace. It was her intention to keep this conversation short. She waited for him to begin.

He stood in the middle of the room. His eyes roamed over the gleaming green marble floor, the profusion of healthy houseplants that adorned the windowsills and wicker planters, the light green and gold cushions of the softly tailored furniture, the bright splashes of colorful tulips in the paintings on the walls.

Tom’s resulting smile was one of appreciation. “It’s warm and bright and very much you.”

Anne didn’t want to be pleased with his approval of her home or her, but she was.

His eyes searched hers. “Why did you leave so abruptly this morning?”

Careful to project nothing but an impersonal tone, she replied, “I said goodbye.”

“You walked up to the B and B, got in your car and just drove off,” Tom said. “Maureen told me you didn’t even come inside, but called her from your cell phone to ask her to pack up your things and hold your bags.”

“I don’t see why it’s any of your—”

“Anne, what’s wrong?”

Tom’s normally calm features were creased with concern. His hands, usually relaxed by his sides, were rustling against his jeans. There was a palpable tension in him that Anne had never seen before. She felt the pressure in the room building, and it took an effort of will to remain calm.

“Tommy’s fine now. You don’t need me.”

He took a step toward her, his eyes like blue lasers, boring into her. “That’s not why you left.”

Anne felt the mantel at her back. She had the overwhelming sense of being trapped. Not just physically, but emotionally. She needed to vent. And she needed to know.

“Why were you pressuring Lindy to give up your child?” she asked.

Tom stared at her, confusion in his eyes. When it cleared, he took another step toward her. “You found the note from Lindy this morning. And you left because the message in it hurt you.”

Oh, no. He was not going to get her to admit that. Anne knew she couldn’t let him see how much her disappointment in him had hurt her.

Once men knew you cared, they did their worst damage.

“You told me a baby belonged with its mother, remember?” Anne challenged.

“I remember.”

“But you didn’t mean it. You didn’t want Lindy to keep Tommy.”

“You don’t understand.”

“You told me she was a good mother.”

“That wasn’t it.”

“Then what was it?”

“All I can tell you is that I wanted what was best for Lindy and the baby.”

“And for your reputation?”

He let out a heavy sigh. “So that’s what you think.”

“The facts are rather hard to ignore. Look, I don’t want to judge you, but—”

“But you are,” he interrupted.

“If I’m wrong, then tell me where I’m wrong.”

“I’m not able to.”

“You expect me to take you at your word without any explanation?” Anne demanded.

“I don’t expect you to, Anne. I’m asking you to.”

“Why?”

Tom’s silence had an edge to it, as though it were filled with a savage patience as he searched for the right words. “Anne, the things that are worth the most in this life are those that command the deepest faith from us and for which we have no explanations.”

Anne turned toward the mantel and fingered a picture of her that sat there. She was sixteen, dressed for a dance, excited, eager, innocent. Those days were long gone.

“When I was twenty I had faith in the long, lanky cowboy to whom I was engaged,” she said. “He told me I was the only woman in the world. He turned out to have a girl at every rodeo. When I was twenty-eight I married a Boston homicide detective and had faith in his promise to forsake all others until death do us part. Three years later I discovered he had a girlfriend on the side.” Anne turned around to face Tom and found him standing directly in front of her. “I don’t put my faith in men anymore.”

“I’m not just a man, Anne. I’m a priest. I stand by my vows.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

Tom stepped closer. He cupped her shoulders, holding her lightly, as though she were a priceless piece of porcelain. Anne felt the sudden, gentle heat of his hands.

“It means I can’t always tell you everything you may want to know,” Tom said. “But you can have faith in what I do tell you.”

Anne looked up into his eyes. They were so deep, so blue, so warm. “What are you telling me?”

“This,” Tom said as he slowly bent his head to hers.

The initial touch of his lips was nothing more than an intriguing brush of warmth, but it sent a delicious shiver into Anne’s breasts right down through her thighs. When the smooth heat of his mouth pressed delicately against hers, Anne felt the leap of her pulse.

Then his mouth settled firmly against hers with a soft, sweet hunger that poured through her core, and her senses went wild.

His was a tender sensuality, exquisite in its intensity, unlike anything she had ever known. Nerve endings she had no idea she possessed shot vividly to life. The heat from his mouth, the warmth of his breath sent her heart dancing against her ribs.

Anne’s lips parted of their own accord as she lifted her mouth to his for more. The tip of his tongue slowly caressed the sensitive edges of her parted lips over and over again until they hummed with pleasure. His tongue dipped into her heated softness, tasting her, tantalizing her.