Chapter 4
What did she think? She thought she was going to be sick.Before she had the chance to know what was going on,Claire turned to the flickering scenes of gunships and mayhem on the television and flicked it off. Then she turned toTony, her heart already thundering.
“What are you still doing here?” she asked baldly.
Jess’s face fell, and for the first time Claire could see the apprehension beneath the girl’s enthusiasm. “Mom?”
Tony faced Claire without flinching. “Jess and I got totalking. She said that you’re behind on the work on the inn. I’m licensed to do plumbing and electricity. I thought if youdidn’t mind, I’d take a crack at those rooms you need renovated. It’s something I’ve always wanted to expand thebusiness into.”
“He wants to do it for the cost of the materials,” Jess offered, as if that were the question.
Claire couldn’t answer. She couldn’t imagine what possessed either of them to think she’d be happy to have TonyRiordan in her face. She couldn’t imagine why she was sorelieved to see him.
“A business proposition,” Claire said, trying to rein in her warring emotions. Thinking that no man should lookthat good in her blue gingham apron, even if he was wearing it over a cream cotton T-shirt and pleated charcoalslacks.
Tony nodded, his smile crooked and whimsical. “Like Itold you last night, I’ve always been itching to do rehab. Youknow, preserve what’s there instead of replacing it withwhat’s not as nice. This would give me a great excuse to get‘hands-on.’”
Hehadtold her. Claire hadn’t really listened, more interested in escaping the midnight terrors of her room than thenuts and bolts of the work she’d been doing. She remembered the light in his eyes, though. They had glittered, theway they might in a young man in love discussing his intended. She couldn’t imagine having that kind of passionanymore.
“Mom?” Jess said. “He can cook.”
Claire was so tired. She didn’t think she could deal with any more today. Any more ever. She just wanted to rest.
She turned to find her daughter openly worried. Uncertain. She could imagine Jess’s excitement as she’d made herclandestine plans with Tony. She could hear the questionsshe must have peppered him with, the assumptions and impressions. She could well imagine the laser-like focus of Jessie’s assault on Tony Riordan. What she couldn’t imaginewas why.
Claire turned her attention to her surprise houseguest. Hewas a dangerously good-looking man, filling out that apronand T-shirt with disconcerting effect. Well-honed musclesand long, lean lines. The glint of a well-worn old chain and medal around his neck, worn for purpose rather than decoration, betraying his lack of pretension. The kind of manany sane woman would want in her kitchen cooking herpasta.
“You can cook, huh?” she responded, desperate to haveher voice sound normal in front of her suddenly tentativedaughter. “That could be a dangerous admission in thishouse.”
She smelled it now, basil and garlic and oregano. Mouth-watering temptation of the first order.
“You don’t cook?” he countered.
Jessie did all the answering that was necessary with one laugh.
Claire managed a weak smile. “I eat,” she acknowledged. “Uh, Jess, where are Johnny and Peaches?”
How had they let this man breach the defenses?
“Johnny had to stay after school for a project of somekind, and Peaches just went to get him.”
Claire nodded. She realized a bit belatedly that she stillclutched at her purse as if it were a shield. She stood in herown kitchen door as if she were the one trespassing. Shecouldn’t seem to move, though, couldn’t close the spacebetween herself and this man who had undermined hercontrol so badly that she’d ended up having to walk awayfrom her patients.
“I need to talk to you a second, Jess,” she said, deliberately turning from him. “In the living room.”
Jess suddenly looked abashed. Claire wanted to hold her,this little girl masquerading as a teen. She wanted to soothethe worry that creased that young brow that should neverhave been creased. Instead, she silently followed herdaughter out into the relative quiet of the living room whereMr. Riordan couldn’t hear them.
More than any other place in the two houses she’d beenstruggling to restore, Claire loved this room best. It wassimple and comfortable and old, the wood floors glossy withhours of hand polishing, the furniture rich with craftsmanship and use. Claire had picked every piece at flea marketsand estate sales, sleek early Victorian pieces of rich, darkwood and delicate petit point cushions. A piano in the frontbay window where Jess practiced and watercolors of thebeach Johnny had given her as Christmas gifts over theyears. A carved mahogany mantel over which hung a beveled mirror that reflected the scene out the front window likean old Constable painting.
Claire found comfort in the order, in the whispers of timethat wafted from the pieces other people had handled andloved. She felt cool and composed in this room. It was whyshe followed Jess here to ask her the most-important questions.
But this day she couldn’t feel the comfort. She felt hot andimpatient and frightened. Anxious to be back in that kitchenand yet anxious to be far away, speeding through the hills inher car until the dust she kicked up blinded her and the windtore at her hair.
“What are you up to, young lady?” she asked quietly,hoping with all her heart that she didn’t sound accusing.
Jess heard the accusation nonetheless. “Are you mad?” she asked, sinking onto the rose-and-cream love seat, herattire making her look like a woman in mourning, her massof red-gold hair a joyous counterpoint.
Claire settled onto a chair and faced her daughter, herpurse left on the floor, her own hands clasped against flight.“No, baby. I’m not mad. I’m... confused. This isn’t likeyou.”
