Читать книгу Confessions Bundle - Jo Leigh - Страница 22

THE SOUND OF CEREAL pouring into a bowl woke Juliet Saturday morning. Rolling over, she pushed the hair out of her eyes, trying to make out the numbers on the clock through sleep-blurred eyes.

Barely past six. If it were wintertime, the sun wouldn’t even be up yet.

Yawning, pushing past the lethargy that had claimed her limbs during the long night, she grabbed the terry shorts at the end of her bed and slid them up under the spaghetti-strap T-shirt she wore to bed.

Something had to give soon. She couldn’t afford too many more sleepless nights like the one she’d just had.

Worrying about Mary Jane. And Marcie. And Blake’s case.

And refusing to think about the feelings he aroused in her. Desires she’d long since convinced herself had been the result of too much alcohol and a desperate need to feel something besides worry and grief.

She’d had nine years to escape.

And her body was so on fire for the man, she could hardly relax enough to fall asleep. She’d always thought it was only men who walked around all day with raging hormones.

“What’s the rush, imp?” she asked, finding her daughter at the kitchen table. Meandering over to turn on the coffeepot, she stopped to wipe up the puddle of milk spilled on the counter.

“I’m not rushed.”

“You’re up and at ’em pretty darned early. You have some big plans for the day I don’t know about?”

“Uh-uh.” The little girl spoke with a mouthful of cereal.

“You want to spend the afternoon on the beach? We could take the tools and molds and build another sand town like we did last year.”

“Yeah.” Mary Jane was already dressed in cotton flowered overall shorts and a matching purple T-shirt. Her hair, always a mass of unruly curls, had clearly not seen the hairbrush that morning. “If she doesn’t have to come along.”

“Mary Jane McNeil, that’s enough.” Juliet stopped, her arm half out of the cupboard with a coffee cup in her hand. She’d never spoken so harshly to the child.

Mary Jane was staring at her, mouth open. Her eyes were wide and glistening.

Setting the cup on the counter, Juliet pulled a chair up next to her and sat. “I’m sorry.”

Mary Jane said nothing. Nor did she close her mouth.

“I was wrong to speak to you like that,” she tried again, running one finger along the little girl’s thigh.

The child’s gaze moved, following that finger.

“Say something.”

“You yelled at me like Mrs. Thacker.”

The third-grade teacher who’d helped make life hell this past spring.

“I know.” She couldn’t believe it, either. She’d never felt that anger-filled tension toward Mary Jane before. “I lost patience and I’m sorry.” She wanted to promise she’d never do it again, but she was afraid to. She didn’t want to add lying to her list of sins, and because this was new territory for her, she couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t come again.

Mary Jane stared at her long and hard. And then nodded. “Okay.”

Juliet couldn’t leave it there. “It’s just that what you’re doing to Marcie, it’s not right, sweetie.”

“She lied.”

“Yes, she did. But to me, not to you.” Juliet was still trying to comprehend all the ramifications of her last conversation with her sister. “But she had good reason.”

The little girl opened her mouth to speak and knowing that she wasn’t up for a debate on the rightness of lying if the reason was good enough, she quickly said, “We all make mistakes, Mary Jane. You do. I do. Like I just did, snapping at you.” She leaned down, arms on her knees, bringing her eyes level with the child’s. “And think about how awful it would be if every time you made a mistake, I refused to talk to you or spend time with you. What if I didn’t say it was okay when you said you were sorry?”

Mary Jane pushed her spoon around in the milk left in her bowl. “You can’t do that. You love me.”

“And you love your aunt Marcie, too.”

The little girl looked over at her. “But lying is the worst,” she whispered. “You always say so.”

“I know.” Running a hand around the back of her neck, Juliet struggled to focus, to find words to explain something that she was pretty sure she hadn’t completely grasped yet. “But sometimes, there’s more than one truth and the two truths don’t go together and you have to choose which one to tell.”

Mary Jane’s legs swung under the table. She played with her milk. “That doesn’t actually make much sense, Mom.”

“Well,” Juliet said, watching the little person who was as much a part of her as her own heart and bones, aching for her in ways she didn’t really understand.

She couldn’t tell the child much, couldn’t involve her, but clearly some kind of explanation was necessary to calm her. “It’s true that Aunt Marcie might want to go back to Maple Grove, but she knew that because I feel so strongly about the place, I wouldn’t be able to understand what she was feeling. There’s also another truth—that she hates Maple Grove as much as I do. Both things are true. But she just told me the one she knew I’d understand. The one about hating Maple Grove and understanding how and why I feel like I do about the place. She meant it when she told me she didn’t want to talk to Hank, she just didn’t tell me when she changed her mind because she knew I wouldn’t understand.”

Mary Jane let go of her spoon, scratched her nose, and then, reaching for her spoon again, accidentally knocked it aside, sending milk flying. Seeming not to even notice, she peered at Juliet, a sweet frown marking her forehead. “Kind of like when another girl has on a new dress and asks you what you think and you know she really likes it and you understand that, so you find something to say that’s the truth, like the lace is pretty cool, when it’s also true that you hate the dress?”

“Yes.” Juliet smiled, the tension in her stomach easing for the moment. “I think it is kind of like that.”

“So Aunt Marcie is still one of us?”

Juliet picked up the spoon and put it back in the bowl. “She’ll always be one of us, no matter what,” she told her daughter. “Just like you will be. Whether you lie or cheat or steal or grow up to be president, you’ll always be my little girl, just like Marcie is always my sister.”

“I know that,” Mary Jane said, up on her knees. With her hands on each side of her mother’s face, she put her nose within a couple of inches of Juliet’s and stared. “I mean that we can believe her again.”

“Absolutely,” Juliet said, peace settling over her as she hugged her daughter tight.

FREEDOM WAS A GREAT DOG. Great at gulping down huge bowls of chow, great at chewing off the edges of cupboards, great at waking Blake up just about anytime he managed to finally fall into a fitful sleep. And great at being man’s best friend. The puppy was already leash-trained—trained to know that he didn’t want one. For that privilege, he’d quickly learned never to leave Blake’s side when they ran on the beach.

To test his skills, and only to test his skills, Blake loaded the dog—and the leash, just in case—in his car on Saturday for a drive over to Mission Beach. He had no idea where Juliet lived and purposely did not try to find her address. Nor did he intend to watch for signs of her silver BMW. It was a long stretch of beach—a lot of it with private access, so not very crowded—and perfect for running with a new pup.

In his black running shorts, white muscle shirt and favorite running shoes, he wasn’t ready to acknowledge that there was any comfort at all in just being close to the woman who’d become some kind of savior to him—and not just because she might be able to keep him out of jail.

She’d shown him a part of life he’d subconsciously been searching for and had given up on ever finding. The existence of something beneath the surface, beneath the endless fight for success. Juliet had shown him that he could find peace no matter how horrible the daily circumstances, just by being with the right person.

He stopped the car in a public lay-by, got out, walked around the vehicle and opened the front passenger door. “Let’s go, Freed, and watch your manners.”

The pup squealed, jumped down and wet the toe of Blake’s sneaker. Patting the bouncing black head, Blake reached inside the black Mercedes SUV for a moistened towelette, wiped his shoe and tossed the towelette on the floor behind the seat.

“Come on, boy,” he said, slapping his leg as he started down the side of a small cliff to the beach below. Freedom pushed through the weeds, prancing joyfully beside Blake.

There weren’t any cottages on this section of beach and Blake ran easily, his mind wandering, as it always seemed to these days, to his beautiful barracuda defense attorney.

Now that he’d found her, he just had a few hurdles to cross so that he could do something about not losing her again.

A case to win. A jail sentence to elude. And a woman to convince.

The first people they saw weren’t a problem for Freedom—a teenage couple lying on a blanket tucked into a cove along the beach. They were so engrossed, Blake suspected they didn’t even know he and Freedom had passed.

Freedom must have sensed the same as, after a cursory glance, he ignored them, too.

So far so good.

At least if Blake was sent to prison, Freedom would have a better chance of finding a good home than he’d had when Blake got him. People preferred trained dogs to undisciplined ones.

He wasn’t going to put his house on the market. He could afford to have Pru Duncan come in every day for the next forty years if he needed to.

She’d be somewhere in her nineties then.

So he’d hire someone else.

He’d even considered having Pru look after Freedom for him. But what kind of life would it be for the dog, having no family of his own, living alone with only daily visits from the hired help?

Hell, Blake had chosen to live that way and had ended up with almost intolerable loneliness.

Freedom barked at a bird that flew just in front of his nose. Blake chuckled. He couldn’t ever remember a time of such innocence.

They passed a middle-aged couple walking along the beach hand in hand. After a quick sniff, Freedom continued jogging along, sloshing in the water now and then when he got too far ahead of Blake and had to stop.

He’d sell the Mercedes. The thing would be obsolete twenty years from now. With a pang, he left that thought behind. He’d only had the car a year and wasn’t anywhere near ready to part with it. They were just settling in together.

He and the puppy ran for an hour in the July midday sun along deserted ground banked by rocky coves, and across sandy beaches bordered by distant homes. Freedom was a friendly sort, greeting most humans he passed, but a slap of Blake’s hand against his thigh told the dog not to linger. And when they got hot, they dipped into the ocean just long enough to cool down.

The pup rounded a corner up ahead and Blake laughed out loud when he made the turn to find the little guy with his nose buried deep in the sand.

“Freedom, get over here,” he called. “You nut, you’re going to end up with a crab on the end of that snout.”

The dog barked and trotted on, as though proud of himself.

Yeah, the dog was great.

Freedom barked again, and for a second Blake was almost convinced the animal could read his mind and was barking in agreement. He heard the voices ahead just in time to see the pup tearing ahead of him. His target—a young girl waist deep in sand amidst what looked to be the most intricate sand village Blake had ever seen.

“Freedom!” he called sharply, trying to avoid imminent disaster. The dog skidded to a halt just before galloping on top of a sand roof that somehow had the texture of tile. Whether it was Blake’s call that had stopped the dog, or the little girl whose face was receiving a barrage of sloppy puppy kisses, he wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry,” Blake said, only slightly out of breath as he stopped beside the little girl. And then his gaze moved to the two adults who’d been sitting in the sand with the child.

“Oh my God.” Juliet McNeil jumped up, her face completely horror-stricken.

“I hardly think being caught in a very attractive pair of shorts and equally nice bikini top is reason for such horror,” he said to her, pleased beyond reason to have run into her. Even if she was taking a little longer than he was to appreciate the chance to have their completely necessary professional distance breached for just a moment or two.

He hadn’t looked for her. And here she was anyway, on the beach with a neighbor’s child. And…

His eyes moved to the woman who was still sitting in the sand, staring at him with eyes that, while different in color, wore the same confusing expression of dread as they assessed him.

“You must be Marcie,” he guessed, holding out a sweaty palm to take the sand-covered hand she offered almost as an afterthought.

The woman dropped his hand, nodded, stood. Juliet had not exaggerated when she’d said she and her twin had the same build. It was uncanny, looking at the two of them. One blond and blue-eyed. The other earth and fire.

“What’s his name?” The little girl’s question reminded Blake that it wasn’t polite to stare.

“Freedom,” he said. “Don’t worry, he won’t bite.”

“I wasn’t worried.” Something about the child reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t place who it might be. Her curly brown hair and chubby cheeks made her seem almost cherubic. The assessing look in those eyes could have been intimidating.

Blake smiled at her. “What’s your name?”

“Mary Jane. What’s yours?”

“Blake Ramsden.”

The change in the little girl was instantaneous. Her face bright red, she spun in the sand to face Juliet. “You promised!”

“Mary Jane, I didn’t tell him. Not anything.”

Juliet’s tone of voice was completely different, filled with a combination of authority and love that struck Blake.

“He knows where I live.” The little girl’s accusatory tone was unmistakable.

Confused, feeling as though he’d stumbled into some kind of inexplicable fantasy with nightmare overtones, Blake glanced over to see what Juliet would say.

Nothing shocked him more than his defense attorney’s speechless—and helpless—stare as she faced the livid child.

“No, I don’t,” he offered, hoping it would help. “I don’t know where you live.” And then as more occurred to him, he added, “I guess Ms. McNeil told you the name of her newest client, but you don’t have to be frightened. I’m not a criminal.”

“You lied to me!” the little girl screamed, seeming not to have heard him at all. She didn’t turn. Didn’t spare him another glance. “I hate you,” she spit at Juliet. “I hate you. And I’ll hate you forever!” Without a look at anyone, including the pup who’d been trying to get her attention, she ran for one of the cottages in the distance.

“I’ll go after her.” Marcie spoke for the first time. At Juliet’s nod, she ran after the little girl, catching up with her before they’d made it halfway to the house. Marcie’s presence at her side didn’t slow Mary Jane down at all.

“Pretty little girl,” Blake said, floundering for conversation while he made sense out of what had just happened. He must have run farther than he’d thought, or it was hotter than he thought. He didn’t usually feel so slow-witted.

“Yeah.” Juliet wrapped her arms around her bare middle, her forehead creased as she glanced back toward the cottage. Marcie and Mary Jane disappeared inside what looked to be the largest dwelling in the row.

“Is she a neighbor?”

“No.” Lips pinched, Juliet looked up at him. The expression in her eyes was strange. Hooded and yet full of something he wasn’t getting.

“She’s visiting you?”

“No.”

Why did she look so hunted? And hurt?

And terrified?

“She’s not Marcie’s, is she? I assumed this was your sister’s first pregnancy.”

“It is.”

He nodded then. Okay, so he was on solid ground there.

Freedom ran down to the water, plodding along the shore, pouncing on the waves.

“She’s mine, Blake.”

The sky was bluer than blue today. Clear and beautiful. Blake slid his hands into the pockets of his shorts, his fingers wrapping around the single car key he carried when he ran.

“You have a child,” he said, nodding.

It didn’t matter that Juliet had a child. He liked children.

Though perhaps, after all the time he’d spent with her these past weeks, he should have known something so important. They’d talked about being friends.

“Why didn’t you ever mention her?”

He should probably wonder about her father. What part he played in Juliet’s life. And the little girl’s.

“I couldn’t.” Juliet’s eyes were moist, as if she might cry. And they were pleading with him.

In some way, Blake realized something horrible was about to happen. He couldn’t leave until it had played out.

Somehow, his life depended on it.

His neck was stiff. So was his chin. And lips. “How old is she?” It wasn’t a question he’d have any reason to ask. The words came anyway.

“Eight.” She held his gaze; he gave her that much. And really, based on how difficult this appeared to be for her, he supposed it was a lot.

“Born when?”

“December.”

Eyes never leaving hers, Blake did the math. And fought a swirl of emotion that threatened to consume him. His arms ached with it. His stomach knotted against it. Pain stabbed at his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.

“She’s mine.”

Juliet slowly nodded.

And tears pricked at the back of his eyes. All those years lost.

Blake glanced back up at the cottage door through which his daughter had passed.

His daughter.

He had a child.

A girl.

Family of his very own.

And this woman who he’d thought was connected to him in some elemental way was a woman he didn’t know at all.

He’d believed that she brought him peace. Instead, she’d robbed him of the first eight years of his little girl’s life. Never mind that he hadn’t been at all prepared for fatherhood back then. That seemed irrelevant now.

Blake rocked back, trying to stay on his feet as another onslaught of raw pain hit his chest. Mary Jane. He hadn’t even had a chance to give her a name.