Marking Time (16 page)

“I think about that man, the one who hurt me,” Clare whispered. “I was able to be with my husband after because it was Jack, and my love for him was so much bigger than the fear. But I can’t imagine letting any other man touch me. The thought of it literally makes my skin crawl.”

“Maybe when the time comes, you’ll feel differently,” Bea said, squeezing Clare’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about that right now. One step at a time. Focus on the soup.”

Clare laughed and turned to hug Bea. “I can do that. Focus on the soup.”

“Keep saying it,” Bea said as she went out to greet a customer.

“Focus on the soup,” Clare whispered to herself in the mirror.

When Clare added two pieces of Diana’s homemade cheesecake to the soup order, she told herself it was because
she
wanted cheesecake, not because she thought
he
might enjoy it.
You’re being such a ninny
.

Clare took her time walking home. The sidewalk was carved out of the foot of snow that fell overnight. She was amused by the casual attitude in town toward what would’ve been a major snowstorm in Rhode Island. As she walked, she kept reminding herself that soup was soup, and despite what Bea said a bowl of soup did
not
constitute a date. Even someone who’d been out of the dating game for more than twenty years knew that.

But as she turned on to Maple Street, her heart began to beat faster when she spotted Aidan lounging on her front steps drinking a beer like it was seventy degrees outside rather than twenty. She couldn’t deny that he appeared to be waiting for her.

“Lying down on the job?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, making a supreme effort to be witty. Her heart almost stopped altogether when she was rewarded with a genuine smile. “You should do that more often.”

“What? Lie down on the job?”

“Smile. It looks good on you.”

He held her eyes with his for a moment before he shifted his glance to the bag she carried. “What did Diana brew up today?”

“Minestrone.”

“Oh, my favorite.” He hauled himself up off the stairs and held the front door for her.

Walking past him into the house, she noticed a wet spot on his jeans from the ice on the stairs, not that she was looking at his jeans or anything. “Where did you get the Sam Adams? That’s not my brand.”

He followed her upstairs to the makeshift dining room. “I bought some. I can’t drink that lightweight stuff you like. I got some more of yours, too.”

Surprised, she turned to him. “Thanks.”

“It’s a peace offering,” he said as he took one of her beers from the tiny fridge and opened it for her.

“Me bring you peace in form of beer,” she joked. “I thought we already made peace. The truce and all that?”

“It occurred to me I never said I was sorry. I was out of line getting on you about your kids, and I
am
sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a suspicious look.

“What?”

“You surprise me, O’Malley.”

He chuckled. “How’s that?”

“I wouldn’t have imagined you to be the apologizing sort.”

“Why do I feel judged?” he asked, mimicking her tone from the other night.

Hands on her hips, she stared him down. “Are you trying to jeopardize our truce?”

“No way. I want what you’ve got in that bag.”

“Here’s your change and your soup. Thanks for treating.”

“My pleasure.” He got himself another beer.

Clare sat on the sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table. The leg she’d broken in the accident was aching after the afternoon in the shop. With the Christmas shopping season underway, the store had been busier than usual. She took a long sip of her beer.

He sat on the floor with his back against the sofa but turned so he could see her. “You’re a real beer girl, huh?”

“Yep. Always have been. When my husband and I went out he’d have wine, and I’d have beer. He used to tease me about it.” Her voice trailed off. She hadn’t thought of Jack in days. Where had that memory come from all of a sudden?

“Must’ve been
some
kind
of breakup.”

Her gaze darted over to him. “Why do you say that?”

“The look you had on your face when you mentioned him and then the one you got when you realized what you’d said.”

Clare wasn’t sure if she was annoyed or intrigued to find such startling intelligence beneath his gruff exterior. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Fine, then we won’t. Can I ask you something else that’s none of my business?”

She shot him a wary look. “If you must.”

“Where’d you get the limp?”

“I took a fall.”

“What kind of fall?”

“The kind that leaves you with a limp.”

“Oh,
that
kind of fall. Why didn’t you just say so?”

She couldn’t contain a laugh. “Since we’re playing twenty questions, do I get to ask a few?”

“Fire away.”

“How long have you lived in Stowe?”

“Nine years.”

“Ever been married?”

“How do you know I’m not married now?”

“Because you’re here eating soup with me.”

“I’ve never been married,” he said, looking down to study his beer bottle.

“Why not?”

He shrugged and picked at the label on the bottle. “Never met the right girl, was busy establishing my business. You know, the usual reasons.”

She watched him as he spoke. Something didn’t ring true, but their truce was fragile so she left it alone.

“I brought cheesecake,” she said, noticing the relief that crossed his face when she changed the subject. Yes, there was definitely more to the story than he was letting on.
That’s okay
.
I’m not exactly baring my soul, either
.

“I love Diana’s cheesecake.”

“The woman is a culinary goddess.”

He groaned in ecstasy when he took the first bite.

I wonder if he makes that same sound when he… For God’s sake, Clare
.
Get a grip!

“Tell me about your kids.”

Clare cleared her throat and her dirty mind before she answered him. “Jill’s the oldest. She’s a sophomore at Brown. She’s my overachiever.”

“I’d say so, if she’s at Brown.”

Clare smiled. “She says she wants to be an attorney. She’s a great athlete. She played field hockey and lacrosse in high school, and she’s on the lacrosse team at Brown. She can’t wait to get up here to go skiing.”

“Does she look like you?”

“Nope. She’s a dead ringer for her dad. She has dark hair and gray-blue eyes. They’re all tall like him, too. I’m a shrimp next to them. Even Maggie, my youngest, is almost as tall as me. But Kate and I could be twins. She looks exactly like me.”

“Lucky girl,” Aidan said without looking up from his cheesecake.

Clare’s stomach took an odd dip at the unexpected compliment. “And you surprise me yet again, O’Malley.”

His sideways grin was all charm. “I’m just full of surprises.”

“Apparently so.”

“Kate’s the one in Nashville?”

“Yes. She called me the other day to tell me she’s been hired as a singer with a popular band that plays house parties in Nashville. I guess it’s a big deal because you never know who’ll be at the parties. Lots of people get discovered that way.”

“That’s great.”

“I’m happy to see her making progress. Her father gave her a year to land a recording contract or she has to come home and go to college.”

“He doesn’t think she can do it.”

“What makes you say that?” Clare asked, startled by his bluntness.

“He’s indulging her for a year so he can say he was supportive. If he really believed she could do it, he wouldn’t have given her a time limit.”

Clare hadn’t thought of it that way. “I don’t think that’s why he did it,” she said, but suddenly she wasn’t so sure.

“What about Maggie?”

“Maggie was my surprise. I thought I was out of the baby business when she came along. She’s got her father’s dark hair and my eyes, and this kind, generous heart that just astounds me sometimes. Her stepbrother’s deaf, and she’s become fluent in sign language. She’s amazing.”

“So he’s remarried?”

“Huh?”

“Your ex-husband.”

“Yes.”

“Ah, I see.” His knowing look said he had the whole thing figured out.

“Are you jumping to conclusions again? Because you’ll end up apologizing twice in one day.”

He laughed. “Why do all mothers have that particular look and tone mastered?”

“What tone?” she asked haughtily.

“
That
tone. Can I ask one more question?”

“I don’t know. You’re starting to irritate me again.”

For some reason, that seemed to please him. “Then I’ll make sure it’s a good one.” He waited for her nod of approval before he said, “Will you have dinner with me?”

Clare tried to hide her shock at the question. “I
am
having dinner with you.”

“I mean a real dinner with waiters and tablecloths. Maybe even candles, if you’re extra nice to me.”

She sat back, stunned. Okay now
that
would be a real date. No denying it. “I thought you didn’t date.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Bea said—”

He hooted with laughter. “You’ve been checking up on me, haven’t you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, startled by how laughter softened his hard edges. “She
volunteered
the information.”

“Whatever you say.”

“She said you’ve got women in this town falling over themselves to go out with you. Why would you want to go out with me?”

“Because I like sparring—I mean talking—to you. Besides, you seem to have a very low opinion of me, so there’s no way I can disappoint you.”

“Have you disappointed lots of women?”

“Scores. The stories are legendary, but I’m sure you’ve already heard them all.”

She’d heard just the opposite, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “You’re doing a hell of a job selling yourself, O’Malley.”

“So?”

“I’ll have dinner with you, but it’s not a date. Not a real date.”

He unfolded himself off the floor and stood up. “You know what? I think I’ll hold out for the real deal. How about you let me know when you’re up for it.”

Once again he surprised her. “All right, but it might be a while.”
If ever
.

“Lucky for you I’m a patient man. I’ve done as much as I can in the kitchen until the cabinets come in, so I’ll be starting on the downstairs bathroom. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

At the door, he turned to study her with those sleepy, sexy green eyes of his. “I don’t know what happened to you, Clare, but you don’t need to be afraid of me.”

She held his gaze for a long moment. “I like talking to you, too.”

He smiled and waved on his way downstairs. A minute later, she heard the front door close quietly behind him.

K
ate stepped to the microphone, and a hush descended upon the crowded room. It was her first official appearance with the Rafters, and she’d been sick with nerves all day. But the butterflies disappeared when the band played into her cue. Then she did what came so naturally it was like breathing. She lost herself in a sultry rendition of Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me.” Kate’s black silk cocktail dress moved with her as she swayed to the music. The dynamic with the band had been magical from their first practice together. As part of her deal with them, she would be performing her own material during their breaks. They were playing tonight at an estate in Hendersonville, just north of the city.

The first song ended, and the lead guitarist, Billy Weston, moved to the microphone. “Give it up for our new lead singer, Kate Harrington.”

The crowd erupted in applause. “Thank you,” Kate said without showing the relief she felt. By the time their first set ended, Kate owned the room, and she could tell the band was pleased with her.

“We’re taking a short break, but Kate’s going to keep the music coming, so don’t go away,” Billy said.

Kate picked up her guitar and sat on the stool Billy put on the stage for her. She adjusted the microphone and plugged in her guitar. When she looked up, she saw Reid come into the room wearing a tweed sports coat over a cream-colored shirt.

He smiled and winked at her but was forced to look away when someone said hello to him.

Kate tried to recover her bearings as her heart pounded with excitement. The very sight of him left her breathless and light-headed. She hadn’t seen him in more than a week, during which time she’d been rehearsing with the band ten hours a day and he was out of town on business. They’d spoken almost every day, usually late at night and sometimes for more than an hour. When she mentioned she would be making her debut with the band, Reid surprised her by telling her he had been invited to the party.

In the twenty minutes she played without the band, she felt Reid’s eyes on her the entire time. But like she always did when she was performing, she tuned out everything and let the music take over. She had honed that skill at the hotel over the summer, and it came in handy now. It also helped to be playing for a receptive audience that was generous with its applause.

She was exhausted by the time the band finished its final set at midnight.

“You’re one helluva singer, little lady,” an inebriated older man said.

Kate took a step back when he got too close to her.

Reid came up behind her, took her by the elbow, and guided her away from the overeager fan. “Quite a show, little lady,” he whispered in her ear.

She giggled. “Give a little lady a ride home?”

“Where’s your car?”

“At home. I rode with Billy.”

“Let’s go.”

They said good night to the hosts, who were effusive in their praise for Kate’s performance.

Outside, Reid helped her into the Mercedes.

Kate leaned back against the soft leather seat and kicked off her high heels. “God, I’m so tired. I used to do four-hour shifts at the hotel, but I don’t ever remember being this tired.”

“You worked hard tonight.”

“I’ve been working hard for two weeks. I’m ready for a break.”