Hearts in Motion (6 page)

It wasn’t a painting of her naked. That would have needed no interpretation.

Now he had
that
image in his brain, and he went to his bathroom to clean his brushes and put away his supplies and put the painting on top of a bookcase shelf to dry.

Only then did the problems of his business become paramount in his mind again. He called Sherry and told her he was taking off early, something he rarely did because it set a bad example for his workers. He had no pressing appointments, and he needed fresh air. Sometimes his best ideas came when he was away from the source of his problems. In his case, the business.

Instead, he’d be going straight into another problem: his attraction to Abby.

He stood, and his heart beat harder, and his blood flowed faster, and he felt more alive than he had for years. His whole life, he’d done the right thing, the responsible thing. Even marrying Juliana had seemed responsible on paper. Her family was wealthier than his; she knew the best people; she was beautiful, well-traveled, and healthy.

What he hadn’t known was that she was like a beautiful rose on the verge of rotting. But now he knew a woman who laughed a lot, who sparkled like the sunlight on the lake and glowed like the moon, was not a woman who would stay with a man like him.

Twenty minutes later, he reached Abby’s house, and her sister told him that Abby and Cara weren’t there.
 

7

The music was loud, but Minnie still heard the buzzing of bees, the brush of wind outside, and the car engine coming down the driveway.

On a series of boxes halfway up to the high barn ceiling, she crouched, recognizing the low growl of the engine. The sound was smooth, though not as smooth—or as wonderful—as her purr.

The car stopped, and the music changed to another song with a faster beat. Craning her head toward the driveway, she filtered out the music and listened hard, catching the click of the car door opening. She sniffed deeply, and through the smells of trees, leaves, sky, sun, people, and wood, she scented
him.

She became still. Abby had brought her here so she could try out the new furniture. Sam’s cats were too wild and unreliable to test the furniture. And too messy. Quigley wasn’t much better. If he smelled a squirrel or a rabbit, or even a bird, he might chase after it—and then get scared to be alone in the grass. So Mom had picked her to do it.

A wise choice, though if Minnie smelled a mouse, it would be her duty to go after it.

So far that hadn’t happened.

The only animal she smelled that didn’t belong here was a just a man.

She remained in the crouched position, all her senses aware, storing everything the humans said or did in her mind to share later with Quigley and Lion.
 

If she could trust the humans to do the right thing, she would happily nap in the sun instead of spying on them. But it was a fact that she was a smart cat. A
very
smart cat. Smarter than humans. Humans seemed to think because they were bigger they were wiser.

But if they were so smart, why was the world in such a mess?

Yet some of them were good people. Like Mom and Grace and Sam. And Holden was Cara’s father and Daisy’s nephew, so Minnie held out hope for him.

And then there was the way he smelled when he was around Mom.

And the way she smelled back.

Things were changing in their house. And they could change for the worse or they could change for the better. Anything that happened between Mom and Holden today might be important.

***

The double barn doors were open with music pouring out, some girl singing that hips don’t lie, and Holden had to agree with the singer. There was a black pickup truck and a red SUV in the driveway. He glanced in the SUV and saw the child’s car seat in the back. A small knot of tension inside him unknotted.

Of course Abby had a child’s seat. When Abby’s sister had told him she’d taken Cara to “the barn,” he’d worried. He should have known better. He’d already concluded she wouldn’t do anything that would hurt Cara.

He was the first to admit that he didn’t trust easily; no one with his background would trust easily.
 

The barn doors were opened, and he entered the brightly lit place that he supposed had once held hay or other products. Maybe animals or tractors and other farm machines. Right now it was filled with odd-sized and -shaped furniture. To his right, he saw Abby talking to a woman who towered over her. Then his eyes were drawn to Cara, sitting on one of the cat perches, her little face bright with laughter.

He stopped. Emotion filled him, clogging his throat, a reaction to her happy face. It didn’t matter if she was his or not; every child deserved to be happy.
 

The thought crept into his mind that soon—in just nine days—she would be taken away from this. She would be sent back to the loveless place where she was treated as a duty. A place that wasn’t a home but a void that would suck the happiness right out of her soul.

“Holden?” Abby called, her voice raised to be heard above the music.

He turned to her, but overcome by the unjustness, he couldn’t speak for a moment. He knew a little of what Cara was going through. When he was her age, at least he’d had his brother with him. Though it wasn’t the same as having loving parents, it was something.
 

The tall woman held up a remote, her thumb moved, and the music shut off.
 

“What are you doing here?” Abby asked.

“I took off work early and stopped by your house. Your sister said you were here.”

“You wanted to see Cara?” She gave him a radiant smile then turned to Cara. “Did you hear that, Cara? Your daddy came here to see you.”

He shifted his gaze to Cara. Her smile was gone, her face solemn, her eyes searching his face, as if checking to see if what Abby said was true.
 

There was no way he could tell them he didn’t know why he’d come here. That he—who always did something with a purpose—had just...driven here.

But maybe his coming here had been with a purpose. A purpose driven by his unconscious mind.

Because of the painting.

Because, at the most basic level, he wanted to see Abby.

“Do you want to tell me about this place?” he asked Cara.

She blinked and turned to Abby.

“Tell your daddy.” Abby smiled her encouragement.

Her words started a constriction in his chest, as if his heart had squeezed into the shape of a clay ball. He remembered all the times his parents would breeze into his grandparents’ house, staying just long enough to get more money before they left. Hardly paying any attention to him or Ryan.

It was true that people married their parents—that’s what he’d done with Juliana.

Not the second time around. When he and Portia decided to have children, he had no doubts that she would read all the books, buy the right foods and products, do the correct things. She would do everything by the book, as would he. They wouldn’t be spontaneous joy givers like Abby, but they would be responsible parents.

Cara started to push off the perch, and he took quick steps forward to be there in case she slid onto the hard ground. She landed with a stumble then caught herself.

“Good girl,” he said.

Though her lips didn’t curve into a smile, she held her hand out to him. He took it, and the constriction in his chest melted, and it felt like his closed clay ball of a heart opened a crack.

“This is cat furniture.” She made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the many pieces, her wide eyes showing her amazement of this place of wonders.

Glancing around, he gave the feline furniture his attention. There were at least a couple dozen designs. Against the wall was something that looked like a puzzle of boxes, each one a different color. It looked fun, and he suspected Abby had designed it.

“Look up there,” Cara said, pointing at the high barn ceiling.

He gazed up. Attached to ropes from the rafters, a series of boxes were suspended about four feet above his head. Some sort of a walkway for cats. A familiar face with Siamese blue eyes peered down at him.
Minnie.
As if she was spying on him.

Shaking his head, he turned his gaze to the furniture in front of him. The cat probably belonged to Abby’s partner, because who would use a cat as a spy?
 

“Amazing.” He peered more closely at a lopsided, ladder-like design with perches that was similar to the one in his aunt’s condo. This one was in cherry, one of the most durable woods used for furniture. One of his favorites, and it wasn’t a cheap wood, either.

“Custom?” he asked.

Abby nodded. “For a friend of your aunt’s.”

“Great work. Very smooth.”
 

“Thank you,” the taller woman said, her voice brisk.

Holden turned to her. She was only a couple inches shorter than him, tall and shapely, with pleasant features, though her short haircut didn’t flatter her long face. Holden held out his hand. Her grip was firm, and he felt calluses on the pads of her fingers.

“You must be Sam,” he said. “My fiancée, Portia Engell, has good things to say about you.”

Her eyebrows rose. “That’s Portia. Always good.”

“Don’t you like good?”

Her head tilted, and he had the feeling she was inwardly laughing. “There’s a reason I work out here while Abby chats up the clients.”

“That’s me.” Abby grinned at Cara. “The chatty one.”

Cara giggled.

“How are the conditions here for working?” he asked Sam.

“I manage.”
 

“
We
manage,” Abby said, drawing his attention.

“I thought you worked in your home.” He looked at her, and it felt as if her smile meant something special for him. Then he told himself she was one of those people who made everyone feel they were special, like the best salesmen did—and the best whores and the best politicians. But even that knowledge didn’t stop him from feeling better about himself, better about life, just from the approving look in her eyes.

“I help design,” she said. “And I cut out the carpets for the perches.”
 

“She does.” Sam’s smile was indulgent, as if Abby were her little sister. “I measure and tell her what’s possible and what’s not. Otherwise, she’d promise the world.”

“Everyone deserves the world.” Abby bent toward Cara. “You deserve the world. Isn’t that right?”

Cara didn’t answer, and Holden saw the pucker on her forehead and the way she bit her lip. And in her eyes, he saw something else. A
want
for something she couldn’t have.

He knew that want. He’d had it when he was young and saw happy families laughing and talking together, teasing each other.
 

It wasn’t good to have a want like that.
 

“I think Cara knows what she wants,” he said, “and it’s not the world.”

“What do you want?” Abby asked her.

“Epic.” She stared at Abby, but the small tips of her fingers curled tightly around his first three fingers. “I want Epic to be mine.”

Abby’s eyes shot up, her gaze meeting his and staying. There was silence as another song came on, a woman singing about the glory of love. And he felt as if someone kicked him in the chest.

And then he dragged his gaze from Abby’s, because something odd was going on here. Something too deep, and maybe it was Cara, and maybe it was Abby, and maybe it was the uncertainty about his business, but he looked at Cara and said, “Yes.”

Her mouth opened, and he could see she didn’t believe him. Didn’t believe he was telling the truth. Didn’t believe that all the years of hearing “no” had changed in one second. That he would make this one dream come true.

“Yes, you can keep the kitten,” he said, enunciating clearly so she could hear him over the song.

“Will
they
let me keep it?” Cara asked, her voice so soft he had to bend forward to hear her.

Anger flashed through him; no need to ask who
they
were. And only after she pulled her hand from his and backed away from him did he realize his facial muscles were rigid and his eyes burning.

He relaxed his muscles, but her expression remained wary. “I’m not mad at you,” he said. He could have gone on a tirade about her mother and grandparents, but it would scare her, and she’d be afraid to say anything to him, afraid to get that reaction again. He knew that because he’d lived that. “I’m mad at...someone else. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure your grandmother and grandfather let you keep Epic. They owe you that.”

Again he felt her stare, then a tentative smile pushed up the corners of her lips, and then it widened and opened to a big one. Her eyes glowed brightly, and he was still bending forward to hear what she would say when her arms whipped up, her small hands curving around his neck, not quite reaching together at the nape of it, and she leaned the top of her head against his chest.

His instinct was to jerk away, but he froze instead. After a second, he reached down to clumsily pat her back, aware of the silence in the big barn, hearing only the slam of his own heartbeat.