Hidden in the Heart (4 page)

Belinda’s full mouth turned downward and Michelle groaned. “Don’t start, Belinda.”

“Why do you put up with this? You deserve better.”

“Do I?” Michelle tried to push off gloomy thoughts. It wouldn’t be the first Christmas spent alone. She studied the painting again, marveling at how the long brush strokes captured the pure stillness of dawn. She could almost smell the crisp, pine-scented air.

“Go home, Shel. Go spend the holidays with your folks.”

She whirled to face Belinda. “You’re kidding, right?” Her throat tightened at the notion. “How long have we been friends? You of all people know I can’t go home. I can’t
believe you’d even suggest it.”

“I just thought…it’s Christmas. Maybe it’s time to put the past where it belongs.”

“No.” Michelle reached across the desk for her laptop, snapped it shut and slipped it into the slim leather briefcase beside her desk. “If you came here to aggravate me, leave.”

Belinda’s throaty chuckle filled the office once again. “I didn’t come here to aggravate you. I wanted to see if you were free for dinner. I’m sorry. Okay?”

Michelle sighed, forced a smile and nodded. “Fine. Is Don still out of town?”

“Yes, so you can come and keep me company. And I want to show you the plans for the place in Connecticut. You’ll love it.”

“Great.” Drooling over Belinda’s weekend getaway mansion would still be better than sitting home alone, mooning over what would never be. “So you decided to go with that architect firm then, Fergus something?”

“Shephard and Ferguson. Yes. They were highly recommended. We met. Nice young guys. One is the architect and the other runs the construction side of things. Seems like a family affair. The architect’s wife was going to do my interior, but…”

Michelle carried the glasses over to the bar sink. “But what?”

Her friend shrugged, put her coat back on and slung her purse over one shoulder. “She’s not working right now. I’m not sure why. Maybe she’s sick or something.”

“Shame.” Michelle grabbed her own wool coat and briefcase, and moved to the door.

Belinda caught her arm, compassion shimmering in her dark eyes. “It’s going to work out, Shel.”

Michelle exhaled and set her jaw. “Unless you’ve developed a talent for predicting the future, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Belinda’s smile returned as she gave Michelle’s arm a squeeze. “Madame Zelda at your service, my de-ah child.” She shot her a wink. “You’ll spend the holidays with us.
Leave Kevin to plan his empire of dominion over the free world. We’ll do our own thing. Maybe even fly off to Vegas, what do you think?”

“Please.” Michelle shuddered at the images that particular idea conjured up, but then she smiled. At least Belinda would keep her laughing. “Vegas? Well, life’s a gamble, so why not?”

Chapter Three

Claire lost track of time in the small office at the precinct. Her stomach protested its emptiness and began to growl. She dozed off for a bit, but woke with a start at the sound of footsteps thudding against the cement floor. Robert stepped into the room, somebody behind him.

Robert nodded her way. “Your ride’s here.”

Her husband cast a long shadow across the floor. He stood to one side, his hands thrust into the pockets of his beat-up leather jacket. His sandy-brown hair was windblown, his face flushed, his jaw covered in light scruff. Dark shadows beneath his hazel eyes told her he still wasn’t sleeping. She watched him take a deep breath and let it out.

Claire blinked, unmoving.

She ran her fingers through her tangled mess of hair, sobriety having set in some time ago. She hadn’t seen James in a couple of weeks. Not since their last argument that had been the catalyst for her throwing her stuff in a suitcase and moving back to Dad’s. Then today he’d called, asked her to meet him…and she’d bailed.

Maybe being thrown in jail was her punishment. A punishment she definitely deserved, but didn’t desire.

Robert cleared his throat. “Unless you really want to spend the night here, you can go.”

Claire hesitated. Staying in this hole-in-the-wall just might be better than having to face the forthcoming battle her little expedition would incite.

But she wasn’t that crazy.

She reached for her purse and moved to the door, lowering her gaze as she passed Robert. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

“Claire?” His low voice stopped her and she turned to meet his stare. His expression softened just a tad. “Get some help. If you get pulled over again, you will be arrested. You’re putting yourself and everybody else on the road at risk. You’re past the point of rational behavior. You’re dangerous.”

Familiar anger sparked but she swallowed it down. She just wanted to get out of here. “I didn’t think I’d had that much. I won’t do it again. And I’m sorry.” She ran her tongue over her cracked lips and picked up her purse. Neither of them acknowledged her flimsy excuse.

Claire brushed past them and headed down the hall to the back door Robert had brought her through earlier. The familiar dark blue Jeep sat in the parking lot. James caught her up and marched beside her, hands pushed into his pockets, his mouth drawn in a firm line, the tendon in his jaw pulsing.

Claire sucked in cold air and pulled out her cell phone. “I’m sorry he called you. You can leave. I’ll call a cab.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. Maybe you should have thought of it a few hours ago.” James sent a scathing glance her way as he unlocked his vehicle. “You’re unbelievable. Get in. And don’t talk to me.”

“You sound just like your brother.” Claire climbed in on the passenger side and clicked her seatbelt in place.

James slid his legs under the wheel and slammed the door. Then he faced her, eyes
blazing. Opened his mouth, shut it again. Shook his head and emitted a low groan. “Driving drunk? It’s not like you can’t afford cab fare, Claire.”

She sighed and pushed her shoulders back against the seat. Reality made her blood run cold. “I know.”

“You could have killed someone.”

“I know.”

“Or yourself.”

“Yes.” Wrapped her car around a tree and it would have been all over. A slight twitch of regret pricked her. “It was stupid. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, I guess you weren’t. You haven’t been
thinking
for a while now.”

She pinched her lips and refused the guilt he threw her way. “Are we going to have another fight? Because I’m really not up for it. My head hurts.”

“Good.” James pounded a fist on the steering wheel. “Did you forget that we were supposed to meet tonight? Or did getting a DUI seem like more fun?”

“He didn’t arrest me.”

“He should have.” James gunned the engine and pulled out of parking lot.

Claire closed her eyes as he turned onto the road. Maybe if she feigned exhaustion he would just give it up. He slowed down and drove just under the speed limit for once, probably too tempted to pitch the Jeep into a snow bank. The normal thirty-minute ride to the gates of her father’s estate took sixty excruciatingly silent minutes.

The Jeep shuddered to a stop outside the front steps. James kept the engine running and fiddled with the heating controls. Then he rested his head against the seat and let out his breath. “Are you still taking the anti-depressant medication Dr. Kay prescribed?”

“Yep. Lot of good it’s doing.” She glared at the dashboard.

James pressed his hands against the wheel. “Jesus, help me. What am I supposed to
do with you?”

Claire glanced his way and raised an eyebrow. Jesus? He wouldn’t help. Not that she’d asked lately.

She clenched her fists and fought with sorrow. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Yeah. Thursday. What’s that got to do with anything?”

Claire waited a minute before she trusted speech. These days her emotions surged too close to the surface. “My mother died a year ago today, James. Two days before Christmas. Remember?”

“Claire…” His voice got thick and gravely, like he too was going to cry any minute. She shouldn’t have let him drive her. Claire gripped the door handle, ready to bolt, but he put a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. I should have remembered.” He took a shaky breath and tightened his grip. “Will you stop this ridiculous behavior? Let’s end this stupid separation or whatever you want to call it. Come home. We should be spending the holidays together.”

“No.” Claire looked out the window at the grand stone house she’d grown up in—such a contrast to the modest but comfortable three-bedroom on Comber that she and James had shared only months ago. “We’ve been through this. I’m not ready. You keep pushing me, James. I don’t want to try to get pregnant again.”

Golden shards of light shone from the long windows onto the sparkling snow. Maybe she should reconsider. Being here, her mother no longer inside waiting for her, wasn’t any better.

“I don’t get you, Claire. I know the last miscarriage…” He paused and squeezed his eyes shut. “It doesn’t mean we’ll never have kids. Remember what the doctor said? You were under a lot of stress with your mom’s death. I know it hurts, Claire, but it’s almost been a year now. I just want—”

Claire huffed out a breath. “I know what you want. You want to start over. Start
again. That’s what you’re going to say, right? We’ll pick up where we left off and pretend none of this ever happened. Look at me! Do you think I’m in any shape to have a child, James? Do you think I’m in any shape to be the kind of wife you need?”

His face remained impassive, used to her incoherent ramblings. “You could be. If you would agree to get help, Claire, to stop this…to…” He wasn’t even listening.

“No.” She shook her head and sniffed, desperate to escape the warm car and searing conversation. “Give it up. You’re better off without me, Jamie. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”

James locked eyes with hers, definitely paying attention now. “I
won’t
accept that. I’m not giving up on you, Claire.” He grabbed her wrist and held tight. “You don’t get it, do you? I’ve loved you since the day we met, and I won’t stop loving you until I take my last breath. You can shut me out. You can hate me if it makes you feel better. You can even leave town. Disappear if you want. But you can’t ever make me stop loving you.”

Claire bit down to keep her lower lip from trembling. She stared out the window, taking deep gulps of air. The moon slid from behind the clouds and tossed tiny diamonds across the snow-covered hills that surrounded the house.

James reached over, his hand soft against her cheek. “Say something.”

“I…I can’t,” she stammered, black grief encompassing her. He couldn’t mean it. After everything she’d said, all she’d done. “You’re right,” she whispered, meeting his gaze. “I don’t understand it. And I don’t deserve it. You should hate me. Why don’t you?”

He leaned toward her and brushed her cheek with his lips. The weariness in his eyes told her he was too worn out to argue. “Go on. Try to get some sleep tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow. If you need anything…”

“Stop.” Claire placed two fingers on his lips. “Stop trying to fix things that can’t be fixed, Jamie. Stop trying to be my knight in shining armor.” She gave a wan smile. She’d
thought her broken heart couldn’t hurt anymore.

Wrong again, Claire.

She took in the familiar curve of his face, the way the gold flecks in his eyes sparkled when he looked at her—the hard jaw line, the small dimple that sat in the middle of his chin and deepened when he smiled—Claire moved a trembling hand across his face to touch a stray lock of hair that fell over one eye.

“You need a haircut,” she murmured.

He caught her hand in his and held it against his cheek. Sudden warmth flooded her, the feeling so startling and unexpected that she wondered if she was imagining the sensation. Slowly he moved closer. The familiar scent of his cologne reached her nose and almost woke her sleeping soul. When he brought his mouth to hers, she closed her eyes, melting in the comfort of his kiss.

James brushed her lips with his, gently. Once, twice…but before she could put her arms around him and respond, he drew back, a smile flickering and fading too fast. “By the way, I should warn you. Your dad got home a few hours ago. I had to tell him where you were. He’s a little miffed.”

Claire watched the Jeep disappear down the long drive, then trudged up the steps to the house, turned her key in the lock and pushed open the large mahogany front door, her throat parched, exhaustion dogging her. She cringed as the door slammed shut against the wind. Suddenly she was a teenager again, creeping home after curfew.

Her two golden retrievers careened down the front hall to meet her. At least they were glad to see her. She took a moment to fuss over them, then watched them race away to another corner of the house, sending the Persian rug flying across the highly polished wood floor.

She kicked off her boots and swept her gaze over the foyer, missing the usual
Christmas splendor the house was known for. At this time of year the house would be so extravagantly decorated it could compete with any Fifth Avenue department store and win. Mom and her decorator, Miles, Giles or whatever his name was, went to town decking the halls.

Her parents fought each year over the extent of the decorations, which in Dad’s estimation multiplied like rabbits, but as in all arguments, Mom had the last word.
“Darling, it’s simply the best time of the year, and if my house looks like Saint Nicholas threw up all over it, so be it.”

Mom loved Christmas.

Had
loved Christmas.

Claire imagined Heaven or wherever her mother was, looked pretty spectacular right about now.

She walked to the staircase, so tired it was almost tempting to curl up on a couch downstairs rather than drag herself all the way up to her bedroom.

“Claire. In here.” Her father’s deep voice stopped her on the second step. She sighed and made a face. So much for sneaking upstairs unnoticed.

She crossed the floor to the open double doors on the other side of the foyer, her head pounding. “Hi, Dad.”

He stood as she shuffled into the room.

Blue eyes studied her from under thick eyebrows that were just starting to match his salt and pepper hair. A smile brightened his face for an instant. “Come give your old man a hug.”