The Man From Her Past Page 15

  She lifted her head, shaking back her hair. He sifted a few strands through his fingertips. She pulled away, rubbing her hands down her arms. “You assume you know what I’m thinking.”

  “The way you assume I don’t feel anything. That’s what bothers me.” He searched her eyes, but she looked away. “Maybe you don’t feel anything,” he said.

  “You know better.”

  He could barely hear her. He felt as if he was hallucinating.

  “Maybe I wanted you to stay tonight,” she said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT WAS LIKE falling off the side of a building. With only words, she’d knocked the breath out of him. “I don’t want to make any more mistakes. What are you saying, Cass?”

  She swung away from him. The room’s light seemed to go with her. And all his hope, as well.

  “I wonder if we might as well give in.”

  Standing with her back to him, she hid her expression, but she also avoided seeing the hurt he couldn’t hide. He dragged his hands over his face.

  “Give in to what?”

  “Dad. Obviously, Jonathan Barr. Everyone in this town who assumes you’re Hope’s father, and that I’ve come home to you as well as to my dad.”

  “Give in?” He looked for his coat, and then remembered he’d put it in the closet. Besides, he’d be a fool to walk out without answering her. He turned her around. “You think I want you that way? Because you’re tired of fighting your family and the people who’ve loved you all your life?”

  “Jonathan Barr? The man’s a gossip who loves nothing and no one better than a juicy tidbit he can spread to any slob who has to beg him for a loan.”

  “Yeah—your father would have done the town a favor if he’d fired him, but you’re not doing him a favor by taking me on.”

  A shiver started deep in the core of her. He felt it before it shook her body in his hands. She closed her eyes, but then she opened them again, and she looked like the woman who’d blamed him for not loving her.

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Stop it,” he said. “I want to stay angry, because you’d let someone else decide if you and I can be together. You could pretend I matter so little to you.”

  She came to life. It snapped in her eyes as she curved her hands around his wrists. “I care. What I said about giving in was stupid—because I’m afraid.”

  “How can you not want me back? Deep down, it’s all I’ve wanted since the day you left.”

  “Even now, when you know I’m different?”

  “I want to know if I can love you still—if we can love each other.”

  She shook her head, hard, and he saw Hope in the strands of hair twisting around her face. “We were a family tonight, and I wondered if I turned my back on my one true love. Five years too late. You think that’s not frightening?”

  Her hands held him helpless. Unable to move because he wanted her to let go of his wrists and wrap herself around him.

  “Cassie, it’s like before. You’re scared of the wrong things.”

  “I’m not the same, and you’re looking for the woman who left you.”

  “Cass.”

  Even he heard his gut-deep need. “I want you back.” Her smile was food to him. Her eyes were a sight of the future, of possibilities and love that had abandoned him.

  “No.” She let him go and she started to move away.

  He reached for her. Just in time, he remembered to be gentle. Her shoulders felt too slender, the muscles taut, not his wife’s, yielding with love.

  She turned her head to hide from him again.

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  She didn’t answer, and he saw the truth. She wasn’t certain.

  Keeping one hand on her shoulder, he used the other to ease her hair off her face. He brushed the pads of his thumbs over her cheekbones, sharper than even the last time he’d kissed her.

  “You had your chance,” he said. “I would have gone.” He lowered his mouth to her soft skin.

  Her scent hadn’t changed, sweetness and spice and everything he knew that made a woman a woman. He kissed the hollow beneath her cheek, and her intake of breath made him dizzy.

  He wasn’t alone. She needed him, too.

  He pulled her close, laughing as her heartbeat fluttered against his chest. She turned her face up, and he kissed her.

  He wanted to destroy her with wanting, let the fire that burned inside him lick through her veins.

  Instead, it was like before she left. He couldn’t stop remembering.

  He was afraid of hurting her. He didn’t want to remind her of that other man—that bastard he should have killed.

  Van pulled away, swearing, without realizing what Cassie would think. She stared, horror in her eyes.

  “I told you,” she said. “It’s too late. Why don’t you go?”

  “No. I won’t leave, and you’re going to hear me.” He tugged her into his arms. “I need you the way I always did—so much, I’m afraid of hurting you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, wary as he felt the outline of her ribs. She’d never gained back the weight she’d lost after the rape.

  He pushed those pictures out of his head and grabbed for the other times, fumbling with the sparkling buttons on her wedding dress, breathing through the fall of her hair as she’d leaned over him in their bed, holding his breath as he’d waited for her satisfaction to mount with his.

  With a groan, he speared his fingers through her hair and opened her mouth with his thumb. They kissed, two hungry people who each needed to be in charge. Later—later, she could have her way. Just now, he had to show her he still wanted his own. He still wanted her.

  He traced the lines of her face with his mouth, learning her anew. Again and again, he returned to her mouth, until kissing her wasn’t enough.

  She caught his hands at the hem of her T-shirt.

  “Wait.” Her breath cut the air around them. “Hope and Dad are upstairs.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He took her mouth again. “I can’t stop. Don’t make me stop, Cassie.”

  “We have to.” She brought their hands between them. When his knees threatened to buckle, she let him go and slid her arms around his waist.

  “The floor,” he said, finding her earlobe, letting his teeth caress her. “We’ve made love there before, and I remember how to lock the door.”

  She burrowed into his chest, and he held her up for a moment, but she flattened her palms against his stomach.

  “I can hardly breathe, Cassie.”

  “I don’t want to stop, either, but I’m Hope’s mom, and she’s never seen me with someone.”

  “I’m not someone. I was your husband.”

  “You’re Mr. Van to her.” She pushed her hand into his hair, and her skin clung to moisture.

  He wanted her so badly he’d broken into a sweat. Laughing, he pressed his lips to the pulse pounding in her wrist. “You’re driving me crazy.”

  “I like you this way better. You acted as if you could barely stand touching me.”

  He had to see her eyes. “I’m not a subtle man. You must be blind.”

  She shuddered. “I wish things were different,” she said without looking at him.

  “Okay, Cassie.” He kissed the top of her head, lingering with his cheek against her hair, but not wanting to push. “I’m going home.”

  “You have to.”

  Her relief was almost as forceful as the desire that had choked them both. He looked back at her as he went to the door. Emotion seemed to bend her as she reached for the nearest chair.

  He wanted to return, but if he touched her again, how would he leave? “You’re not afraid of making love with me, are you?”

  “No.” Her eyes never shifted from his, and he tried to blame his doubt on the habits of five years.

  “MOMMY, IF MR. VAN IS my daddy, why doesn’t he live with us?”

  If Van was her daddy? She must have heard it at school. Cassie couldn’t say he wasn’t, so she ba
ckpedaled. She scanned the produce section, but they were nearly alone tonight in the market. Another snow had kept most sensible people indoors. “You know moms and dads sometimes live apart.” She put a tomato in the plastic bag Hope was holding out. “We’ve seen a lot of that at home.”

  “But those fathers wanted to hurt the mommies and the children. Did Mr. Van hurt you once upon a time?”

  She smiled at Hope’s idea of the past. It was always “once upon a time” for her. “Never. Mr. Van would never hurt anyone.”

  “He doesn’t love us?”

  “I think he loves you. He and I can’t live together.”

  “Nope. I don’t unnerstand.”

  “Me, either, but let’s be friends with Mr. Van, and someday, you’ll have a daddy like any of your friends.”

  “Will he live with us?”

  “When you have a daddy, he’ll live with us.” She put another tomato in the bag, and they closed it together, Hope twirling it and then handing it to Cassie to knot.

  “Will he love me, Mommy?”

  “Baby.” Cassie knelt beside her. To the strains of a tinny “White Christmas,” she hugged her daughter so tight Hope grunted. “Everyone with any sense at all loves you.”

  “Okay, but you’re squishing me.”

  “CASSIE, I’VE HEARD about your shelter. I saw you speak at a conference in Maryland two years ago.”

  “I wish you’d spoken to me.” Knowing Allison Blaine, director of the state-run women and children’s shelter in her hometown, had been in that audience seemed odd. “I haven’t seen that many friends since I left.”

  “I’m not sure when I last had an actual vacation to visit friends.” Something on her computer screen made her jot a note on a small yellow pad. “Must be the same for you. I’m sorry your father’s illness had to be the thing that brought you back.” She looked up. “Sorry about the e-mail. I’m sure you understand how busy I am.”

  “That’s why I’ll cut to the chase. I need a job while I’m here.”

  A tone rang on the computer, and Allison’s attention split to the screen again. “How long do you plan to stay?”

  “That’s open-ended. I won’t pretend this is a permanent change, but I could ease your workload around here.”

  “We always welcome new volunteers, and I’m in the process of requesting funding for a new position, but I’ve been budgeting for a full-time, permanent person.”

  Cassie regarded the serviceable oak desk, clearly a castoff from a schoolteacher’s classroom. The filing cabinets, four across, were each a different primary color, obviously hand painted. The building itself creaked with the footsteps of each inhabitant.

  Full-time. Permanent.

  “I’m not just saying this because I need the job, but I could be here on a permanent, full-time basis.” Cassie gripped her chair’s arms. “I’m not sure what’s happening with my father, but I may not be able to leave.”

  “And you wouldn’t mind being an employee after you ran the shelter in Washington?”

  “Even if I did mind, the job matters more than who gives the orders. And I need work.”

  “My sister told me you’re looking for a nurse.”

  “Jill works for the Caring Heart service?”

  “You knew she was a nurse?”

  “I remember.”

  Allison drew a line under her last note and scribbled another. “Would you be able to work full-time hours with your father’s needs?”

  “Right now he needs someone to check on him at mealtimes to make sure he’s eating, maybe once or twice during the workday to make sure he has what he needs. His care will eventually change, but he seems to be improving with us there.”

  Allison capped her pen and turned the monitor, as if to remove herself from its temptation. “Let’s take a look around the place.” She shared the wry smile of a colleague. “See if you’re still interested after you see the extent of our needs.”

  Cassie’s relief was a lump in her throat. It wasn’t just the money. She needed to do something worthwhile, and she and her father hadn’t lived together in over a decade. They both needed an occasional break. He’d already begun to turn back into his room and pretend he had vital business if she passed him to take laundry to the linen cabinet or stopped to ask if he needed anything.

  A short tour brought her and Allison back to the other woman’s office. “As you can see, we’re not as state-of-the-art as you,” she said.

  “No one is state of any art in this work, but we’ve done a lot of private fund-raising and we’re not bound by state rules.”

  “You’re still interested if we get the position?”

  Cassie nodded. If only the rest of her decisions were so clear. “What kind of time frame are you looking at?”

  “We’re close. I’d say no more than a month.”

  Cassie picked up her purse and the dark green folder in which she’d carried her résumé. “That sounds good. I’m still settling my dad.” She rubbed her temple. “Although he’d say he was settling me.”

  “My parents are the same, and they’re hale and hearty.” Allison extended her hand. “I’m glad you came in. We need your experience. I was looking at extensive training for whomever we hired, so maybe I’ll be able to work a little more into your salary. You know, Cassie, if you needed to bring your father into the center every so often, that wouldn’t be a problem. We could use the influence of a good man. The children we see haven’t been exposed to someone like Leo Warne.”

  “Thanks, Allison. I needed to hear that. He’s different.”

  “Losing a parent, even over time, is terrifying. Who wants to be your father’s parent?”

  “And what father wants to admit that’s happening?”

  They shook hands, a commiserating smile giving Cassie the feeling they’d bonded. Since she’d returned, she’d known sharp, infrequent moments when she felt she’d come home. It was a peculiar side effect to interviewing for a job.

  “Have you seen much of Van?” Allison asked.

  Two nights ago came back like a memory that wanted to be relived.

  “You’re not afraid of making love with me, are you?” he’d asked.

  “My father still considers him family,” Cassie said, unable to find any other answer.

  “We’re that kind of a town. No chance to put an ex-spouse behind you.” Allison led her into the hall.

  “You don’t have to walk me out.” She couldn’t face any more talk of Van. “I remember the way.”

  “Good. Then we’ll speak when I hear on my funding.”

  Allison returned to her business day, but she’d destroyed Cassie’s brief, false sense of security.

  She left the shelter, her arms around her waist, remembering Van’s strength. Fear beat again in her throat, unexpected, unwished for.

  Making love with him long ago had been as right, as easy, as breathing. She’d longed for him to hold her the old way, heedless of anything except their need for each other. But as desire had replaced the gentleness of his touch, she’d searched the darkness behind her closed eyes for escape.

  Van had left her mind, and that other being had taken over. How would she open herself to any man? The rape hadn’t been sex, but somehow sex had become dangerous, even when it was an act of intimacy she deeply wanted with Van.

  Cassie shook her head.

  In the car, she took out her cell phone and called the shelter in Tecumseh. She couldn’t count on privacy at home.

  Home. The mere word scared her. She was getting worse instead of putting the past behind her.

  Kim Fontaine finally picked up the phone on the other end. “Cassie?”

  “Hey. I need to talk to you and Liza. My father is ill enough that I need to stay here a while, so I’d like to discuss a leave of absence.”

  “I hate to hear that. We miss you.”

  “The extra set of hands, you mean?”

  “That, too.” Kim laughed. “But we miss you as well. Why don’t we schedule
a call when Liza can join us, and we’ll talk about what comes next. You aren’t pulling out?”

  Cassie took a deep breath, scanning the bare hardwoods and the gently waving pines that surrounded Honesty’s shelter. “Not yet, but it could come to that.”

  “Man.”

  “Yeah.”

  TOO RESTLESS to work at home, Van had taken his laptop to Grounds Up, a coffee shop just off the square. If you ignored the new age music and the strange Zen names they applied to their brew, it was a great place to take advantage of free WiFi.

  Conversation among the other customers forced him to stop thinking of Cassie and pay attention to making his livelihood.

  “Refill on your Samsara blend, Mr. Haddon?”

  He chose not to ask the girl with the stud in her nose why she wasn’t in school. That first cup had powered him through two days of neglected e-mail and the start of a new promo letter. “Sure,” he said.

  “Two shots?”

  “Better not this time.”

  His erratic heartbeat probably had more to do with memories of Cassie in his arms, her body moving with his, her breath coming in sharp pants that drove him nearly out of his head. But why ruin a perfectly good heart?

  The young girl took his cup back to the counter. Stretching after so long at his laptop, he glanced out the plate-glass window. Across the street, a line of children held one another’s hands as they made their way around the courthouse’s wrought-iron fence. Over their coats, they each wore the pastel pinafores that proclaimed them students of the L’il Kids school.

  Van searched the straggling line for Hope. There she was, five from the end, wriggling to free herself of the little boy behind her.

  She turned, her face flushed, her hair flying as always with the rush of her emotions. Van frowned. Normally, she was laughing or eager to escape for an adventure.

  Halfway to his feet, he saw anger on her face.

  Was she crying?

  He hit the door at a trot. It slapped open in his hands.

  Hope’s voice rose above traffic noise and the whistle of the cold pre-Christmas wind that tickled the coffee shop’s chimes and the tinsel the town had hung to celebrate the holidays.