Seeing Stars (14 page)

"What about the lens?"

"The mirrors—lenses—are available from Coulter or Orion."

He prowled the veranda. "How the hell are they going to pay for them?"

"I'm going to pay," she snapped. "That's my part of the deal. I told them when they get the box done, I'll send the lens. I'll order it before I leave."

"You can't just
give
them things and make everything right. They need to work for what they get."

"They are working, for heaven's sake!" she exploded. She put the folded paper down on the rail with a snap. "They're working for you, and they're willing to work extra hours for the privilege of using a bit of your damned shipyard to build their scope, and they'll have to work to build the tube box and the rocker box, then there's—"

Claire broke off as the screen door to the house swung open.

Grace stood in the doorway, holding the door in her hand, eyeing Claire and Mac uneasily. "Mac? Is everything OK?"

He realized that his body was coiled, his jaw and fists clenched. Grace the peacemaker, he thought, and forced the muscles to relax.

"Everything's fine, Grace. We're having a healthy disagreement." He smiled and his sister returned the smile, although she eyed Claire warily. "This is Claire Welland. Claire—Grace, my sister."

Claire said something he couldn't hear, and the two women exchanged very cool smiles, then Grace said, "Don says the salmon's done, but I can't find the lemons. They're not in the fridge."

What the hell had he done with the damned lemons?

"The pantry," he said finally, remembering. "The fridge was full. A paper bag in the pantry, second shelf."

"Can I help?" asked Claire.

"No, thanks," said Grace sweetly, backing into the house. "Mac, they need you at the barbecue."

Somehow, with Grace gone, there seemed nothing to say. He stared at Claire, wondering where the hell his anger had come from, figuring he probably owed her an apology, but unwilling to give it.

"She doesn't like me." 

"She's partisan. I'm her brother, and it was obvious we were fighting. She'll get over it."

"I should leave." She reached for the paper. "Will you tell the boys?"

"You promised you'd show them stars." And he'd been jealous again, he realized, because he'd wanted her for himself, because she'd come to his home, but not to him.

She brushed a strand of hair aside and, for just a moment, looked like the long-ago girl who'd stumbled into his arms in the entrance to the chemistry lab.

"I want you to stay, Claire."

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, worrying it. "Maybe it's better if I don't. This whole thing... I don't think it's a good idea."

"What's not a good idea? You and the kids talking telescopes? Or you and I?"

"I don't think I'm the sort of person who can do this."

"Do what? Attend a salmon barbecue?"

"You know that's not what I mean."

"Yes," he agreed, and somehow the anger had drained away. He held out his hand. "Let's put that paper, the drawing, inside where it won't blow away. Then you can come out back with me and hand salmon around."

She didn't return his smile. "And later?"

"Later, the others will go home and we'll get your telescope out of your car and I'll turn out the lights. Then you'll show the boys some stars." He wished he could change the order of things, wished he could reschedule the boys and the stars, but any fool looking at the sky could see that by tomorrow there'd be overcast skies and high winds. For stargazing this week, tonight was the only sure bet.

"And then?" she asked, coolness around the edges of her voice.

"Later..." He held her hand and stepped closer, bent slowly toward her motionless lips and allowed himself one leisurely taste. He could have sworn her lips stirred under his as he said softly, "Later, we'll do whatever you want."

Chapter Seven

Claire couldn't believe forty-three people could eat so many large barbecued salmon. She seemed to be passing out plates forever, unexpectedly enjoying herself. By the time the last of them had their first load of salmon, some were coming back for seconds.

Finally, Blake set another helping of salmon on yet another paper plate, smiled at her and asked, "Hungry?"

"Famished."

"I'll find someone to take over here." He dished salmon onto a second plate. "You take these two plates, load up some veggies and find us a couple of chairs by the oak tree. It's not so crowded over there."

"I don't know what you like. Salad? Potatoes?"

"Anything." He grabbed her and kissed her, hard and quick. She couldn't do anything—either protest or respond—because her hands were filled with two paper plates loaded with salmon.

When he released her, her lips felt swollen and hungry. Then she realized uncomfortably that several people nearby were staring.

She wasn't sure why she cared, perhaps because it was a lie, because he was acting as if she were the only woman in his world, when it was really only a game, a price she'd asked for, part of an agreement between them that seemed to have fallen apart, but wouldn't go away.

Obviously he felt desire, chemistry, but when he kissed her it felt like so much more. He was too good at this, she thought as she took the plates to the big picnic table, dished up salad and mashed potatoes, baby carrots and cauliflower for both of them. When he kissed her like that, he probably knew exactly what it did to a woman, knew it and...

It shouldn't matter to her, because wasn't it a game for her, too?

A woman stepped between Claire and the table of food, tall, brunette, and a stranger as far as Claire could tell.

"I've just realized who you are," the stranger said with a note of triumph.

Claire's memory stirred vaguely. Marie somebody, who once sat three seats from the front, by the window, in English Literature.

"You're the physics teacher's daughter. You used to have big coke-bottle glasses."

"Yes," Claire agreed, supposing that described her as well as anything. "You're Marie, aren't you?" She couldn't for the life of her remember the last name.

The other woman picked up the bowl Claire had reached for, and asked, "Don't you think you're in over your head?"

"Am I?" Claire took a handful of cauliflower florets from the offered bowl and arranged them on her plates. 

"I'm sure Mac doesn't want to hurt your feelings, so he wouldn't have told you. You probably don't even realize how obvious it is, the way you're throwing yourself at him. I don't suppose you know."

"I don't suppose I do," she agreed quietly. "You'll have to tell me."

For a minute Claire thought Marie was going to pat her shoulder in sympathy, and she wondered what she'd do if the woman actually did it.

Marie smiled. "Mac wanted to marry Lydia years ago, but her parents put a stop to that. Now she's free again, and everyone knows they belong together. He's certainly not going to get serious about a little blond bookworm like you."

Claire forced a smile, probably as convincing as the one Marie had pasted on. "That's a relief, Marie. I certainly wouldn't want my life complicated by Mac getting
serious.
I'm planning to use him for sex, and next week when I'm gone, Lydia's welcome to him."

She smiled brightly at Marie's open mouth and walked away, her back straight and stiff, two plates held out in front of her and fury boiling in her blood.

She spotted Mac over by the barbecue. He seemed to have delegated the task of dishing out to a tall redheaded man. She turned away, spotted a picnic table she judged would be out of Mac's line of sight, and strode over to it.

She needed a few minutes alone, but she didn't get them. She'd no sooner seated herself at the table than she was joined by a lanky man with a young face and balding head.

"Dick Timmerman," he introduced himself, "and you're Claire."

She shook hands and admitted, "I'm sorry. I don't remember—"

"No, you wouldn't. I wasn't in your class, not from Port Townsend at all. I'm the high school principal, moved up from Seattle two years ago. I was just talking to young Joe Nerrity. He tells me you've got a project going, building a telescope. He says you've got your own scope, that you're something of an expert."

"Oh." She didn't know what to say.

"So I've come with my hat in hand," he admitted, smiling. "I'm looking for a volunteer. I wondered if you'd be willing to lead a science project, building a telescope with the seniors this coming year."

"I'm sorry. I won't be here."

"You're leaving?"

"I don't live here. I work in an astronomical observatory, in Arizona." He looked devastated, and she said, "I'm sorry. I'd like to do it if I were here, but it's impossible. But once Joe and his friends get theirs done, they could help your science students."

He frowned, and she realized he wanted an adult expert, not a teenage boy.

"There's bound to be an astronomer's club in Seattle," she suggested. "Try them. Maybe they'll know someone."

When he left, Blake's sister Grace took his place, sitting across from Claire. Perhaps Grace had already eaten, because she didn't have a plate.

"Hello," said Claire.

Grace frowned.

Claire couldn't see Mac. She'd deliberately sat where he couldn't spot her easily, instead of under the oak tree where he'd suggested. Now she wished for him. She hadn't a clue what to talk about with his frowning sister.

"You haven't been back to Port Townsend for a long time," said Grace.

"I was back last year, for my father's funeral." But Grace was right. Most years, she and her father had taken a vacation together, and she hadn't been to Port Townsend in years before the funeral.

"You'll be leaving soon?" Grace worried her lower lip with her teeth.

"Friday," she said.

"Mac's always had a thing about Lydia," announced Grace.

"I wish them the best," she said, wondering how many people were going to tell her she shouldn't be here, and warn her off Blake McKenzie.

"I don't suppose you know," said Grace, "but Mac looked after us when our dad died. He didn't have to. He's only our stepbrother, but when dad and Marge—Mac's mom—died, Mac gave up his college education and came home. They wanted to put us in foster homes, separate us. I was twelve," she said intensely. "Bobby was only nine, and Vicki seven. They couldn't have borne it, being all alone without me, without Mac, when daddy and Mac's mother died. Mac saved us all."

Claire wanted to reach for the other woman's hand, to touch her somehow, show her sympathy for the child who'd lost her parents.

"I'm sorry. It must have been terrible for all of you."

Grace swallowed and put one hand over the swelling of her pregnancy. "Mac saved us. He gave everything up for us, and I want him to be happy. He deserves to be happy now."

Claire hadn't had a bite of her dinner and wasn't sure she wanted it now.

"Why are you telling me this, Grace?"

"He's always cared for Lydia, but her parents sent her away and she married someone else. But she's free now, she's back, and Mac has a chance to be happy, to have his own family. He's stayed single all this time, looking after us, but Bobby's settled in a job now, and there's only Vicki left, at college. And this weekend—this reunion... Don't you see, it's the perfect chance for Lydia and Mac to get together again? Ever since Lydia got back, Mac's been tied up at the shipyard. Everyone wants boats delivered before the Wooden Boat Festival in September. But this weekend, the reunion, he's available, and it's Lydia's big chance."

"You and Lydia are friends."

"You must see that you're spoiling everything. Lydia was crying this morning. Because of you, throwing yourself at Mac on the dance floor. Kissing him."

Grace was sincere, tears in her eyes.

"Grace, I'm not a threat to Lydia, or to you."

"You are. You're just here one weekend, but you're different, you're not what he's used to. And somehow you've managed to.... He's not seeing Lydia, he's seeing you. But you're not serious about him, are you? If you were planning to stay, to marry him... but you're not, are you?"

"Grace, truly, I'm not a threat to Lydia. Mac wants me to get Jake interested in astronomy, that's all." She flushed, because it wasn't all, but how could she tell Grace they'd made a deal to have an affair? "I won't be here long enough to be a problem. I'm leaving Friday, and you're wrong about Mac. He's being nice to me because I'm helping Jake."

"I wish you hadn't come," Grace said stubbornly. "You don't have family here, so can't you just leave?"

Unexpectedly, Claire felt tears well up and swallowed hard against them. Childish to feel rejected, hurt, because no one wanted her here. They hadn't wanted her as a teenager, either, because she'd been too shy, too studious, unable to laugh with them. With Grace glaring at her from the other side of the table, it seemed nothing had changed.

She wanted to stand up and walk away, get in her car and just drive. But if she did, she'd be doing exactly what Mac accused her of earlier—leading the boys on, hooking them on the idea of building a telescope, then leaving them without the resources to do it.