Claire Knows Best (4 page)

Romance writers typically combine the best of both types, alpha and beta males—brawn, sex appeal, and sensitivity—and that’s
the stuff romantic heroes are made of. Totally bogus, of course, but the fact that half of all book sales are from the romance
category attests to the assumption that our female buyers will pay anything to escape into a world whereby men don’t burp
or scratch, where they live to please her and don’t care if she’s fat.

But back to
my
beta hero, Greg. This alpha-male-like manhandling is out of the box for him and to be honest, kind of turns me on. I whip
around to face him, and he cuts me off before I have a chance to tell him off or kiss him (not sure which I was planning).
“Claire, you’re not going back into that house.”

“I have to get the number for my insurance company.”

“You should always keep your insurance agent’s number with you, Claire.”

Where? In my wallet with all my money? Sheesh, Mr. “Always be prepared” has fallen back into beta.

“Well, I probably should, but for some stupid reason it never occurred to me that a tree would fall on my house, and I didn’t
think to punch in those numbers. I’ll have to work on forethought. Definitely a character flaw.”

“All right. Point taken. No need to be sarcastic.”

I actually do think I have a reason to be sarcastic, but now is not the time to get into an argument.

Taking the high road, I rise up on my tiptoes and kiss him. Full on the lips in front of God and everybody. I had intended
to make it brief, but Greg (being a man) has other ideas.

“Stop kissing!” Jakey says, yanking on my sleeve.

Ari tosses me a scowling gaze. “Really, Mom. It’s not even dark out here. The whole neighborhood is watching.”

By “the whole neighborhood,” she means the elderly couple three doors down and across the street, along with their two cats.
No one else has ventured out yet.

“Kids, go get in the van. I’m taking you over to your dad’s.”

“What about my stuff?” Ari demands.

“Sorry. Whatever you don’t have at Dad’s, he’ll get for you.”

Rick’s a doctor—a very successful one. He can afford it.

“Come on, boys,” Ari says in a sulky tone that always gets under my skin. “They want to be alone.”

I look up at Greg. “Sorry about the way they’re acting. You know they like you a lot. This is just a pretty big deal. And
they’ve never seen us act this much like a couple.”

“Claire,” he says, in that husky I-want-you tone that always makes me shiver. “I don’t mean to act like a husband. I just
…” He grips my upper arms. “Do you know that you could have been in that office? You didn’t even know a storm was brewing.
I could have lost you.”

Well, when he puts it that way.

“I just want to take care of you.” He presses a kiss to my forehead.

I wrap my arms around his neck and his hands slide back to my waist. I give him a coquettish smile and run my fingers through
the curls at the base of his neck. “News flash. I don’t need someone to take care of me. I like taking care of myself.”

He doesn’t smile back. A bubble of nerves floats around my stomach. He stares down at me with smoldering eyes that leave no
doubt in my mind that he’s smitten. “Maybe I need to take care of you, baby. Forever.” Something about the way he says “forever”
makes me picture him getting down on one knee while branches poke him in the shins.

Okay, this so isn’t the way I wanted to have this conversation. Not standing in front of my branch-cluttered yard. I take
my only line of defense. I kiss him again. Long and slow, a kiss that leaves us both breathless. He pushes me gently from
his arms and touches my nose with his index finger. Giving a short laugh, he eyes me warily. “You win this round. But as soon
as you get all this house repair stuff settled, we are going to have a serious talk about our future. Okay?”

My heart flutters at this new forcefulness coming from Greg. “It’s a deal.”

“Good. Now wait here while I check things out again to make sure the house is reasonably safe.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to argue, this man of mine. Just strides with determination up the steps and into my house.

Minutes later, I’ve retrieved my policy from a kitchen drawer and have made a call to my insurance agent, Pat, who assures
me the cost of repair is indeed part of my policy. And yes, I’m paid up.

I’m just about to head over to the van to drive the kids to their dad’s when Darcy’s SUV squeals into my drive. She jumps
out, leaving the door flung open like a TV cop, and waddles as fast as possible to my door. Her eyes are wide with horror
and as soon as she sees the house, she bursts into tears. In half a second flat, I find myself wrapped up in her pregnancy-plumped
arms and fighting her little one for space. The baby’s winning and I’m about to lose my balance when Darcy finally loosens
her death grip. “Oh, Claire. I’m so glad you’re all right. I was worried sick.”

She cranes her neck. “Where are the kids? Are they all okay?”

“They’re fine, Darcy.” I motion toward the van where the kids are waving at her.

Relief washes over her tear-stained face. “You just can’t imagine how scared I was.”

“Well, as you can see, we’re fine. I was just about to take the kids over to your place.” I frown. “Come to think of it, how’d
you get over here so fast? I just called Rick fifteen minutes ago.”

Darcy swipes at her nose with the back of her hand and gulps back the tears. “What do you mean?”

“Rick? Your husband? Father of my children?”

“I know who he is, but I haven’t talked to him. I was grocery shopping when the storm hit and I left my cell phone in the
SUV.”

“Then what are you, psychic or something? How’d you know about my house?”

Understanding finally registers on her face. “Radio. I was in line at the grocery store when the storm hit. The employees
led us all to a storm shelter, but someone had a weather radio and a twister was reported in this part of town. I was nearly
frantic.” She grins. “Everyone thought I was a nut, because I was pacing back and forth praying for you and the kids out loud.
As soon as they gave the all clear and let us out of the shelter, I hurried right over.”

Oh, so they finally confirmed what we already knew: a tornado. Good for them.

“Oh, my goodness!” Darcy’s eyes grow three sizes in radius. She gasps and covers her mouth.

“What is it? The baby? Do you need to get to the hospital?”

She shakes her head vehemently. “I just remembered I left a whole basketful of groceries in aisle ten.”

My relief knows no bounds. I’ve had this fear ever since she’s been pregnant that I’ll have to deliver her baby. That’s just
about the way our relationship has gone and just about my luck to boot. So, excuse me if I’m not concerned about an abandoned
basket of groceries on aisle ten. “Good grief. That’s no big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to someone, Claire, especially the person who will have to go all over the store and put everything back
that I didn’t bother with. You know what Joyce Meyer thinks about that.”

Darcy recently discovered Joyce Meyer’s books, tapes, TV ministry, conferences. The lady preacher’s no-nonsense approach to
modern-day Christianity has always struck a chord in me, and I guess Darcy’s joined the cause for Joyce’s brand of “just do
it” Christian living too. Personally, I think it’s the best thing for her; maybe now she’ll join the rest of us in the real
world.

But at this moment, her guilty conscience is really the last thing on my list of priorities. I mean, I’ve read all of Joyce
Meyer’s books too, and I’ve listened to her admonishments about putting things back where you get them and making sure grocery
carts are in the proper place instead of left to roll across the parking lot and ding someone’s car. When I go to Wal-Mart,
she’s the voice in my head that keeps me polite no matter how frustrated I get by slow, ignorant people. But despite all these
life lessons that are completely relevant 99 percent of the time, I’m sure Joyce doesn’t mean a pregnant woman who just lived
through a tornado should go back to the store and put away each grocery item one at a time so that she doesn’t break some
sort of God rule.

Darcy’s face is riddled with guilt. And I don’t have time to try to convince her. Because I know darned good and well that
if I allow this conversation, I’ll end up going to that store and putting away all those groceries myself. Tree on house notwithstanding.

I steel myself against her puppy-dog eyes. “Look, if you want to go back and put the stuff away yourself or continue through
the checkout line and actually buy the food you need, do it. I’m not going to stop you. But before you go, I need to tell
you, I just called Rick and he’s already okayed it for the kids to come spend some time with you until the house is livable
again. That all right with you?”

She gives me her don’t-be-stupid frown of incredulity. “Of course.”

I knew it would be, but as the ex-wife, I felt I should give her the option.

“Do they have their things? I could take them with me now.”

“We couldn’t go upstairs, so they can’t get clothes or toothbrushes or really anything.”

“Well they have tons of clothes at my house. And we can pick up anything else they need. Oh, but what about schoolbooks?”

This is one time when waiting until the last minute to do homework paid off. “They all took them downstairs with us to do
homework while we waited out the storm. They’re in the van with the kids.”

She looks toward the driveway. “How are they holding up?”

“Shawn was pretty shaken up during the actual storm. Ari’s worried about her things, Jakey seems all right. Who knows with
Tommy? I think they’re all in a state of shock. But they’re tough and at least they have you and Rick.”

“And you’ll be there too. Can you at least go inside to get your stuff?”

Oh, whoa. No one said a word about me staying there. I’d rather some cowpoke brand my bare behind with a sizzling red-hot
iron than spend one night in that pillared, antebellum-wannabe home with my ex-husband and his pregnant wife. I mean, yeah,
I’m not so mad at him anymore. But live with him? Not even for one night.

Darcy has apparently zoned into my choking hesitation. “What’s wrong? You do plan to stay with us, don’t you?”

“Uh, no. I’m making other arrangements.”

Think, Claire, think. Who do you know with a guest room or couch where you can crash? Linda, maybe? My best friend just renewed
her wedding vows this past December. Her daughter, Trish, is my daughter’s best friend. But I hate to impose. Besides, they
just bought a home in the newest subdivision in town and are in the middle of unpacking.

Desperately I sling a glance over my shoulder to Greg. Just for a few nights? Should I or shouldn’t I even think about it?
He gives me a deer-caught-in-headlights look. I dismiss the idea before I give it any real consideration.

Besides, how would it look? And there’s also that pesky temptation issue. I’m not sure how strong we could be living under
the same roof with only his six-year-old daughter for supervision. I mean, true, we love Jesus, but also true, we’ve both
been married before so we know what we’re missing. The Word doesn’t say to flee youthful lusts for nothing. I know better
than to run into temptation.

I give Greg a shrug and a sheepish grin and the tension in his handsome face relaxes.

Darcy must have picked up on my original thought, because she plants her hands on her newly rounded hips. “Claire Everett,
you are absolutely not staying with your boyfriend. What kind of an example would that be to your children, not to mention
all the young people in the church? It would ruin Greg’s ministry. And what if all your Christian readers found out? They’d
stop buying your books.”

Did I forget to mention that Greg is a part-time worship leader? Darcy has a point. One that I’d already silently thought
of, but that doesn’t solve my dilemma. I can
not
stay even one night under my ex-husband’s roof. I’d rather sleep in a cardboard box in the middle of January, in a cold,
rat-infested alley. And I’m not exaggerating.

“She’s staying with my mom.” Greg, my darling, my hero, the love of my life, the man with whom I will most likely share the
rest of my days, comes to my rescue.

Poor Darcy. Her expression falls, and I swear her lips are trembling. Hormones. Sheesh. “But we have all that room, and you
haven’t seen the baby’s suite yet.”

Baby suite. Can you imagine? Rick and I were so poor when our kids were babies, they were lucky they got more than a dresser
drawer to sleep in. This midlife-crisis baby of Rick’s is definitely getting a grander start than his first four.

“It’s really for the best, Darce,” I assure her.

“I’m sure it is.” She takes one of those gulping breaths as though trying to be brave.

Oh, brother. I hate it when I feel like a jerk. My cynicism combined with Darcy’s inherent sweetness always puts me on the
guilty side of the equation. Even when I’m the one showing darned good sense.

Which I always am.

Nevertheless, I pat her arm and steer her toward the SUV. “I’ll get the kids from the minivan. I just need a minute alone
with them to say good-bye. Thank you for being there. I really appreciate the fact that I can leave them with you and know
they’ll be loved and well cared for.”

Darcy’s face lights up under the praise. Then she practically tackles me with a fierce hug. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

And I’ll be
so
glad when you have that baby and your hormones return to normal. Although, to be perfectly frank, normal for Darcy isn’t
much less neurotic than hormonal. I study her as she waddles to her SUV and climbs into the driver’s seat.

I take in a shuddering breath to calm my crazy emotions, fighting back tears as I walk to the minivan. I can’t bear the thought
of being separated from these children of mine.

I open the sliding side door.

“Told you,” Ari says, and I get the feeling she’s not talking to me.

“Is Darcy driving us to Dad’s?” Shawn’s big, sad eyes question me.