Straight From The Heart (2 page)

Kimberly didn’t hear him. “Flooded? What does that mean?”

“Well, in layman’s terms—” he began, but she cut him off.

“Are you saying I’m—
stranded
—here?” She thrust her bangs from her face, staring at him in dismay. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“For a while, at least.”

“What about you?” she asked, aghast.

“Well
 . . .
”

Her dawning look of horror said she’d grasped the consequences. “You can’t be here. You can’t be staying here. One of us has to leave!”

“There’s nowhere to go,” he pointed out reasonably.

“There has to be. I won’t—I can’t stay here. We can’t be here together,” she added, as if he were completely dense and she was working hard to explain the situation.

Stephen’s patience snapped. He could understand her hostility toward him, but it wasn’t helping anything. “Since I didn’t bring my ark with me, I’m stuck. Maybe you’ve got a better idea.”

“Oh, funny.”

“I’m going inside,” he said, turning away.

He would have liked to grab her arm and propel her with him, but her harsh words and stubborn stance warned him not to come near her again. At the cabin, he glanced back. She was still standing in the deluge.

His mouth clamped in irritation. He understood her frustration and anger and general dislike of him, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Swearing softly to himself, he propped open the door with a small wooden block, a silent invitation. Glancing up, he saw her shoulders slump as she sagged against her car, and in a wave of memory that last terrible scene flickered across the screen of his mind.

You don’t know anything about me,
she railed at him in a whisper on the courtroom steps. People swarmed around them, parting as if they were an island in a stream.
I will never forgive you or Alan for trying to separate me from my son. I didn’t believe there were people as cruel as you in this world but I believe it now
 . . .

Gritting his teeth, Stephen walked to the river rock fireplace to warm his hands, wishing the heat from the spiraling flames would reach that cold, miserable spot in his soul. He could have reminded her that he hadn’t been the trial attorney, but the excuse had sounded so feeble he hadn’t been able to voice it. Instead, he’d taken the brunt of her anger and been only partially vindicated when she’d said even worse to Robert.

Betsy had warned him he was making a mistake. “You don’t know Kim,” she’d said tartly as she gathered some papers from his desk and marched from his office. As his aide, she had complete knowledge of all his cases, and as his friend, free rein of her tongue.

“I know her husband is a self-centered egotist, and that’s why I turned him over to Robert.”

“If you know that about Alan, why do you believe what he says about Kim?”

“I just don’t like liars, even when they lie for the right reasons.”

“Kim’s no liar.”

“You don’t think she’d lie to keep her son?”

Betsy’s jaw tightened. “Any woman would lie to keep their children from a louse like Alan Harden! You don’t know the whole story.”

“Then enlighten me,” he invited.

Betsy had glared at him. She’d seemed about to say more, but then she’d looked at him in that motherly way that really got him and said instead, “It’s her story, and I’m not sure you’re the guy who should hear it.”

He knew what that meant. His own failed marriage to Pauleen had everybody in Riverside, a small suburb of Portland, certain they knew what kind of man he was. It was his own fault. He should have blabbed about Pauleen’s problems to anyone who would listen, but he hadn’t. He’d let Pauleen spin her own web of lies because she’d given him Jason.

Still, he’d needled Betsy. “Because her husband retained me as his lawyer?”

“Because you’re a bit of a Neanderthal,” she had said with a smile. “Lovable, but a Neanderthal. Sorry, sweetie
 . . .
”

Warmed by the fire, Stephen’s soaked jeans steamed gently. It was way too warm for a fire, but with this blasted rain, it had seemed like a good idea. He glanced toward the open doorway. Sooner or later Kimberly Harden was going to have to walk across the threshold.

Then what?
he asked himself.
And what’s she doing here?

As he thought about it, another realization hit: there was only one bedroom in the cabin.

“I don’t believe it,”
Kim said aloud for about the twentieth time. It was incredible. Stephen Wright was
here.
At the cabin. At Betsy’s cabin.

And she was
stuck
here!

“No, no, no!” Kimberly yanked on the car door handle’ again, wishing by some miracle it would open by the sheer power of her will. She did not want to have to go back to the cabin, not even for her keys. But there was nothing else to do.

Bypassing ruts filled with muddy rainwater, Kimberly slogged her way through the welcoming doorway. The aroma of burning oak and fir reached toward her. In fact, the whole room glowed with steamy warmth; a cozy retreat in the mountains away from the pressures of work and the events of the past eighteen months. If it hadn’t been for the man staring into the flickering flames and pulsating embers she would have found the haven she’d been dreaming of ever since Betsy offered her this weekend away. But the wide expanse of Stephen Wright’s shoulders and the rain-darkened strands of his thick brown hair were an unwelcome intrusion.

Blast!
she thought furiously.
I could wring his conniving neck!

“You probably ought to change,” he said without turning around. “You’re soaked to the skin.”

Kimberly was so livid she couldn’t find her voice for a moment. “No, thank you,” she said firmly. “I’m just fine.”

Now he turned, his eyes raking over her without much interest. “I came in the same way.”

“What does that mean?”

“Without a coat.”

It took a considerable amount of will not to look down at the summer blouse and khaki pants she’d thrown on before she tore out of town this afternoon. Sure, it had started to rain but it was summer, after all, and it wasn’t cold or anything. She’d figured it would let up. And yes, she knew showers were in the forecast, but tough. She was in “vacation mode,” and with every mile that passed beneath the wheels of her car her mood had lifted. The weather hadn’t bothered her at all.

Her blouse was now drenched pale blue linen. Glancing down, she was embarrassed to see her bra defined as
clearly as if she were part of a Madonna video. Snatching up her suitcase she bolted for the one small bedroom, biting back a cry of annoyance at the sight of his black bag tossed on the quilted spread of the only bed. He’d carelessly thrown a shirt and slacks and pair of jeans across the spread, and a faint musky scent of male cologne invaded everything.

Kimberly quickly changed into a black short-sleeved sweater and her own jeans. Removing her socks, she stood barefoot against the plank floor, wishing absurdly that she hadn’t spent the time the evening before painting her nails. They looked so, so,
feminine.

How could this happen?
she asked herself.

Betsy!
For a wild moment Kim wondered if Betsy had planned this encounter. She was always on Kim to meet a new man, have a few laughs, get out of her routine of work, work, work.

“You’ve got a great kid, there,” Betsy told her one afternoon. “And you’re a terrific mom.”

“But
 . . .
” Kimberly filled in.

“But you’ve got to make time for other recreation as
well. You’re a secretary by day, and a mom by night, and you’re the best. Now it’s time to look a little further.”

“How much further?” Kim was leery.

“You need a date.”

A date
 . . .
Just thinking about it made Kim shudder. When she and Alan had first split up, she’d actually entertained the idea of going out to dinner with another man, enjoying a quiet drink or a movie, or just a stretch of fun, uncomplicated conversation. She’d looked at other men, but was too inhibited to think of actually “dating” them. Her one mistake was telling Betsy what she thought of Stephen Wright.

“He’s too good looking to be as nice as he is. There’s got to be a flaw there.”

It was two summers past. She and Betsy had been sharing a bottle of white wine over a picnic dinner in Betsy’s backyard, while the Reed boys and Bobby were spraying each other with the hose. Betsy’s husband, Ray, had a water pistol and was involved in the game.

“Stephen and Pauleen are divorcing,” Betsy said. “But I’ll tell you, it’s more her than him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that woman isn’t what she seems.” She leaned forward, the wine talking for her, since Betsy was careful what she said about her boss. “She’s a witch, and you can spell that with a ‘B’.”

Since Kimberly’s marriage had headed down that same path, and Alan had called her the same name, Kim didn’t quite trust Betsy’s judgment. “It always takes two.”

“Not always.”

“So, you blame their divorce solely on Pauleen?” Kim had always been a bit in awe of Pauleen Wright. The woman was a blond beauty with style, grace, and a razor-sharp wit. She and Stephen were among the elite of Riverside’s social set. The local paper was quick to report “Wright” sightings.

“Pauleen’s not what she seems,” Betsy said.

“What is she?”

But Betsy, maddeningly enough, pressed a finger to her lips and shook her head. “I can’t talk. Stephen would fire me in a heartbeat! But trust me, Kimmy, he’s a good guy. You just need to get to know him, and, hey, he’s going to be available very soon!”

Now, thinking back, Kim actually moaned aloud in humiliation. She
had
been attracted to him. So much so, in fact, that until Alan decided to go for custody—just to hurt her and get himself in the spotlight again—Kim had actually entertained fantasies about Stephen Wright that were darn near X-rated.

“Oh, I can’t stand it!” she whispered, covering her face with her hands. In a fit of nervous energy she grabbed her hairbrush and attacked her wet hair with a vengeance, brushing downward in harsh strokes.

Five minutes later, her once-tangled hair now straight to her shoulders, her feet still bare since she hadn’t had the foresight to bring more than her favorite pair of suede flats—now forever ruined—Kimberly walked into the living room.

Stephen had retreated to one side of the hearth, his shoulders propped against the wall, one foot resting on a block of fir. A quick glance up at her, and then he looked back down, as if he were as uncomfortable as she was.

Oh, sure, Stephen Wright, attorney extraordinaire. Society page’s darling.
Like she was going to believe that.

“So, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“Betsy offered me the cabin for the weekend, and I took her up on it.”

“Hmmm
 . . .
”

“What does that mean?”

“It means she offered
me
the cabin for the weekend,” Kimberly informed him.

“Then you must have gotten your weekends mixed up.”

He was so certain he was right, and she was wrong. Kim smiled faintly. “Nope. She’s taking care of my son while I’m here.”

Stephen stared at her silently for several long seconds. “She’s taking care of my son this weekend.”

“What?” Kimberly’s lips parted.

“Betsy’s taking care of Jason this weekend, too.”

“I know, I know. I just
 . . .
” She let her voice trail off. Maybe Betsy
had
set this up. No! No, there had to be another explanation. When Betsy had offered her the cabin, she’d originally slated it for the following weekend. They’d been at a Little League game, and when Kim asked if this weekend were free instead, Betsy had distractedly said, “Sure.” Then Betsy had agreed to take care of Bobby as a matter of course since their two twelve-year-olds were inseparable.