Seeing Stars (30 page)

"You loved me, but you weren't going to stay with me?"

It sounded pretty damning, and he might have been smiling, teasing her even, a few minutes ago, but he wasn't now.

"You have a right to be angry."

"I don't know what I feel. You're pregnant. I hadn't figured that into the formula."

"The formula?" she echoed, chilled.

"You and me."

She wanted to pull away, but she fought the need to hide and said, "The night Grace had her baby, you said you wanted a child. You made it sound like... I thought you meant with me."

"Yeah." He sighed. "I wanted it. I was having visions of you growing big with our child, of watching her nursing at your breast. But I realized it was a bad idea."

She felt a lurch of the morning's nausea.

"I figured we could work something out for you and me, so long as you were willing to stay on the continent. There's Los Angeles or Las Vegas, both about four hours from Port Townsend, closer from Tucson. If we had to, we could make it work. Weekends. Holidays."

No, she thought, it wouldn't work at all.

"Your kids would suffer. The boys."

"I could have worked it out, but not with a child."

She pulled against his loose grip on her hips, but he stopped her with a dark look from his inscrutable eyes.

"Claire, the baby makes it tougher. Kids need every scrap of security we can give them, every bit of love. A commuter marriage, the odd weekend together—I don't like the odds, sweetheart."

"You were right about my dad. I looked it up. He turned his back on a big career, just for me."

"It wasn't
just.
He loved you, and he was a good man."

"You did the same thing, for your stepfather's children." She felt tears spill over, brushed angrily with her sleeve at her eyes. "I love you. I know I lied to you, but I need you to believe that even if I weren't pregnant, I was coming to tell you I'd give my notice and move to Port Townsend, that we could get married."

He was silent for so long she began to panic.

"That's if you want to marry me."

He gave her a slight shake. "I want it all, but I need you to be happy, and you need the stars."

"The stars are everywhere, you told me that. What I really need is the man I love
in
my life, full-time. I need the stars, too, but I don't need the mountain top. I'll want to work, but I'll figure that out. Maybe I'll write a book about astronomy, for kids. I met this publisher at the symposium and he's looking for someone to do a series. I just... if you..." Her words faded and she stood staring up at him, suddenly uncertain.

He covered her hands with his, drawing them away from his shoulders and lacing their fingers together. "I think you need to know exactly what it is I feel for you."

She felt suddenly shy. "I'd... I'd like that."

His fingers tightened on hers, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "I think it's your eyes I love most," he said soberly. "So blue, so deep, and I remember once, a long time ago, looking into them and losing my balance. I was nineteen, so I didn't pay much attention, but when I met you again I couldn't resist the mystery in your eyes. They're like the stars. They catch fire when you're excited... in the sailboat, the motorcycle... turn quiet and challenging when someone issues a dare." His smile caressed her. "Like when Tim challenged you about your sanding skills, and you took him up on it. Or when Marie tried to warn you off me, and you told her you just wanted me for the sex."

"You know about that." She flushed. "I was so jealous of Lydia that day. I guess because I was always jealous of her in high school. When Marie... I said the first thing that came into my mind."

His eyes sobered and he said intensely, "If I'd ever felt a quarter for Lydia of what I feel for you, she'd never have left for Switzerland. You're the only woman, Claire,
my
only woman."

"Oh," she breathed, drawing his smile.

"I love the way your eyes turn color when I tell you I love you. The way they change when you're working with the boys, the way you get right into it, and don't even know you're casting a spell on them. The way you look when you talk about the stars, the way your eyes go green when you're about to kiss me."

"What color are they now?" she whispered.

"Blue, because you're not ready for a kiss yet, but soon. I love the way your eyes changed when you talked about Jennifer's baby."

"I was on the phone. You couldn't see—"

"I heard it in your voice. I love the way you can be a scientist one minute, then suddenly you're this incredibly tempting seductress." His hands tightened. "I love the way you tell me when you want me."

"You had to teach me that," she whispered. "I was shy."

He chuckled and she flushed. 

"I think it's my turn," she said. "I love it when you call me sweetheart. The first time, I thought it was just... you know, the sort of thing a man says when he's in bed with a woman."

"You'd know a lot about that?"

"I read books. Do you want to hear this?"

"Yeah."

She saw laughter in his eyes, and love. Her smile faded and her voice grew husky. "I love the way you are with Jake and Tim, the way you're firm with them, but soft at the same time. The way they know you care about them. The way you're reckless and careful at the same time." She turned his hands in hers and stared at his palms. Strong, reliable hands. Exciting hands. 

"I love the way you go sailing in a storm, and carry a safety line. The way you've got to be the sexiest man on this earth, and you're a good man, a man everyone knows can be trusted. The way you love bringing the beauty out in things, whether it's a piece of wood or a kid in trouble with the law. I love the way you make me feel sexy, reckless, loved. The way loving you makes me want things I've never let myself want before, feel things I've never felt. I love you."

He lifted her hands and brought them to his mouth. He pressed his lips against them, his eyes steady on hers. "I'm going to take you up on that," he vowed softly.

"Will you help me when I get scared?"

"Yes, and when our house is filled with people and you want to get away from them all, I'll take you up on a mountain and show you the stars."

"Show me now."

He pulled her into his arms and began to show her in all the ways of a man who has found the woman who will be his partner, his lover, his wife. She sighed and gave herself to the man she loved, and as her eyes drifted closed on a landscape of love, her sky filled with stars, and promises.

The End

Page forward for an excerpt

from Vanessa Grant's

Think About Love

Excerpt from

Think About Love

by

Vanessa Grant

Dedication

Thanks to Ann and Anne for the hearts,

Janice and Missy for baby calendars,

Grant for the open house and "that thing they do,"

and Janyne for family court.

Chapter 1

The call came on Samantha's direct line at thirteen minutes after three Wednesday afternoon. Cal, she assumed, because he'd been hovering restlessly all week. With a multimillion dollar contract just signed and fifty high-tech jobs to fill, Calin Tremaine was at his most restless.

She let the phone ring a second time, then a third as she finished answering an e-mail from the security company she'd hired for Friday night. Then she picked up the phone, ready for Cal's next question.

But the voice on the phone wasn't her boss's.

"Samantha?"

"Grandma Dorothy?" Samantha eyed the stack of unanswered messages on her desk. "How are you and the baby? Still terrorizing Gabriola Island?"

She expected her grandmother's breathy laughter, felt a shaft of unease when it didn't come. "I'm in Nanaimo, Samantha. I need you."

"Is it Kippy? An accident?" It was no use telling her heartbeat to slow, her breathing to quiet. Ever since the plane crash, she'd been too jumpy, too quick to assume the worst.

"No accident, sweetheart, but we need your help."

Marcy stuck her head in the door, mouthed Cal's name, and pointed to the phone. Samantha held up one hand, fingers spread, indicating she'd be five minutes.

"Tell me," she urged her grandmother, her voice taking on the calm tones that had become habitual for her in times of stress. "Tell me what the problem is. If you need help with Kippy or money—" Money, she thought. Dorothy was probably short of money. Samantha kicked herself for not insisting she accept a monthly check to help with Kippy.

"Moonbeam, you have to come up here."

Moonbeam
. It was years since Dorothy had called her that.

"I can be there at the end of next week. I'll take a long weekend and we can work out whatever—"

"Sam—Samantha..."

Dorothy was
crying!
 

"Grandma, what's wrong?"

"They say I'm not fit to look after Kippy."

"That's crazy. You're fitter than most forty-year-old women. Grandma,
who...?"

A hiccup that might have been a sob. "I was in overnight. I shouldn't have been in at all—it was just a little pain, but Diana insisted. You know Diana Foley?"

"Yes, of course I—
in?
What do you mean,
in?
In the hospital?"

"I told the doctor I mustn't be in more than overnight, but he insisted and Diana said it would be fine. Absolutely fine, that Kippy was no problem. Samantha, you must do something!"

"Grandma, I'll look after everything. Explain to me exactly what's happened. You're sick?" 

Dorothy had perfect health. At the age of sixty-nine, she walked three miles a day, pushing Kippy's baby carriage to the mailbox each day. "Why are you in the hospital?"

"It's nothing serious. It's Kippy we need to worry about."

"If Diana needs help with Kippy, I'll arrange for someone, and I'll come up this Friday night. We'll sort everything out." If necessary, if Dorothy really
was
sick, Samantha would bring Kippy back with her until her grandmother recovered.

"You have to come
now,
Samantha."

"I promise you, I'll look after everything. We talked about this last winter. If there's any problem, I can look after Kippy. We'll—"

"The social worker put Kippy in a foster home."

Samantha felt a lurch of nausea. "Kippy in foster care?" She remembered how frightened Sarah had been all those years ago, how Samantha had hidden her own fear and pretended confidence for her sister. How Dorothy had come and saved them both.

She found a pen in her hand. "Give me the name of the social worker. And Diana's number. Have you called a lawyer yet?"

Dorothy gave her Diana's number. "The social worker is Brenda Simonson. I don't know her number. She'll be in Nanaimo, but I'm not sure which office. I called Dexter Ames, the lawyer we used to arrange Kippy's guardianship last winter."