Читать книгу A Sheltering Love - Terri Reed - Страница 10

Driving with Claire down Pineridge’s main street, Nick surveyed the town with a jaundiced eye. Small-town America. He’d passed through so many over the last two years, they tended to blend together.

Redbrick storefronts with large, single pane windows lined both sides of the wide cement sidewalks. Every few stores sported a blue awning over the doorway. Nick barely glanced at the pedestrians moving at a sedate pace from shop to shop, going about their lives. He didn’t want to consider an old man’s frown or a young mother’s smile. Didn’t want to make a connection with anyone.

On both sides of the main street, about ten feet apart, stood a lone birch tree with a small square patch of dirt at its base. Kind of like himself, part of the whole, but separate.

On the west side of the main drag, cars parked between white angled lines. Red bricks indicated the crosswalks instead of painted lines. The street signs were tall, white posts with arrow-shaped slats and street names printed in bold black letters. The white posts rose out of large, round, colorful flowerpots. At each intersection, old-fashioned black metal lamp-posts added charm to an already charming community.

A family sort of town. A place to raise kids, watch summer parades and grow old in. A place he couldn’t easily disappear into. A place where he didn’t belong.

All the buildings were the same height. No high-power skyscrapers here. The perfect place for a woman like Claire, he thought, glancing over at her. Generous and kind. Open and friendly. A big city would eat her alive.

At the far end of town, he turned down the side street that led around the park.

The Zone came into view, a solitary structure flanked by empty lots. A lone police car sat at the curb in front. Nick parked behind the police car. Claire was out and up the cement front stairs before he had opened his door.

As he followed her inside, the puppy barked a greeting and raced to Claire. She bent and scooped him up for a quick hug. “Oh, you sweet little thing. I was so worried about you.”

Nick’s gaze focused on the officer rising from the couch. This guy had been here earlier. His uniform was starched and his badge shined. Not a single strand of hair was out of place. His young, clean-shaven face led Nick to guess the man to be in his early twenties.

The officer gave him an assessing once-over before focusing on Claire. “Good to see you’re okay, Claire.”

Nick didn’t like the way the man said her name with such familiarity. And he didn’t like that he didn’t like it.

At least she didn’t go all moonie-eyed. Not that he cared.

She set the animal back down. “Thanks, Bob. What are you doing here?” Without waiting for his reply, she walked toward the kitchen where most of the damage had been done by water. “Did the fire department say anything? How it started?”

Granting Nick a suspicious glance, Officer Bob walked to where she stood. “The fire started in the garbage cans. Whoever did this probably didn’t expect the building to catch on fire. But it was sloppy work.”

Nick stepped over to the counter and perched on a stool. “It was the teenagers from the park.”

Claire’s glare took him by surprise. “We don’t know that for sure.”

Officer Bob narrowed his gaze. “Which teenager?”

“Like I told the others, I came across two boys harassing Claire this afternoon in the park,” Nick said to the officer, but his gaze was riveted on Claire. He couldn’t figure out why she’d protect them.

Claire’s gaze was direct and pleading. “I didn’t see who did it.”

Officer Bob cleared his throat. “Maybe he did it.”

Nick’s gut clenched. The unfounded accusation rankled worse than a bottomed out stock market.

What a lame, backwater-cop thing to say. Nick stared at the officer. Bob glared at him with more than just suspicion. Jealousy filled his hazel eyes. So that’s how it was, Nick thought. Officer Bob had a thing for Claire.

“That’s ridiculous, Bob. He saved my life.”

“Maybe he set the fire to stage saving you.”

Claire gave Nick a can-you-believe-this look and then rolled her eyes. “Tell him you didn’t do it.”

“I didn’t do it,” Nick stated flatly.

“See, there you go. He didn’t do it.” Claire put the puppy down and then heedlessly splashed through the thin layer of water on the kitchen floor to the sink.

Bob folded his arms across his chest. The stance only emphasized his thinness. “He’s not from here, Claire. What do you know about him, anyway? He could be a serial arsonist, for all you know.”

Nick snorted, gaining himself another glare from Bob.

She filled a bowl with water, her movements efficient and unhurried, then carried the bowl to the living room where she set it on the dry floor for the puppy.

She straightened and leveled a stern look on Bob. “I know he’s from Long Island, that he’s traveling through town, he carries a Bible in his pocket, he stopped to help me when he didn’t have to and his name is Nick. That’s all I need to know.”

Nick blinked, touched that she’d so soundly defend him without really knowing anything more than she did. That she noted his Bible pricked his curiosity about her faith. She was too trusting and way too giving.

She needed a protector.

He wasn’t about to apply for the job, but he had a feeling that old Bob would sure like to.

“I want to see some ID,” Bob snarled at him.

Irritated to be the subject of the officer’s suspicion, but grateful someone was watching out for Claire’s interest, Nick dug his wallet out from the inside of his leather jacket and handed Bob his driver’s license. “Did they find anything useful?”

“That’s privileged information.” Bob shot him a dark look. “I’m going to run this through the computer.” He turned to Claire. “I’ll be right out front if you need me.”

She gave him a bland smile.

As soon as Officer Bob was out the door, Nick asked, “Why didn’t you want him to know about the kids? You could have been killed.”

Images flashed in his mind. The cloth shroud covering Serena’s body. The blood stains on the sidewalk. The headstone at her grave site. His insides twisted with unspent rage.

“We don’t know that they did it,” she defended.

“And we don’t know that they didn’t. Come on, Claire. You know that kid’s likely to do something.”

“You heard Bob. Whoever did it was trying to scare me with some smoke. They weren’t really trying to burn the place down.”

“You could have passed out and suffocated if I hadn’t come back!”

“Might have. And you did come back.”

He shook his head. “You gonna wait until they seriously harm you before you make them take responsibility for their actions?”

“You don’t know that they did it,” she repeated, clearly exasperated and defensive.

“Then let the police prove they didn’t do it.”

“No! I’m not going to accuse someone without proof. If the authorities find clues that implicate them, then so be it. But I won’t help them along.”

“Instead you’re going to wait for those punks to pull something else? Something worse?” Something like what had happened to Serena. He shuddered.

“I can take care of myself.”

He scoffed. “Give me a break. Lady, you’re a disaster waiting to happen.” A disaster he wanted to avoid.

“Excuse me? I don’t think you have any right to say that.”

She was right. Nick stared at her. When had he lost his mind?

When he’d come within an inch of throttling a punk over a puppy and started this whole mess. He should be halfway to somewhere else by now, not here arguing with Blondie.

But the woman was intent on putting herself at risk. Responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders, dragging him under.

What he wouldn’t give for a life preserver right about now.

Pulsing with annoyance, Claire planted her hands on her hips and glared at Nick. “I have done perfectly well before you rolled into my life, thank you very much.”

He spread his hands wide in a gesture of entreaty. “Hey, just stating the obvious. I’ve known you less than twelve hours and I’ve saved your bacon twice. Facts speak for themselves.”

“My life is not a disaster.”

“Ho!” Nick held up a hand, palm facing out. “I didn’t say your life’s a disaster. I don’t know anything about your life. I’m just saying people will take advantage of you if you’re not careful.”

His words hit her like a slap upside the head. She’d been taken advantage of before. Billy had taken advantage. Used her. Squeezed her dry and then abandoned her without a second’s hesitation.

But she was to blame for allowing him into her life, her heart. For needing him.

Well, she knew better now. She didn’t need anyone. Certainly not a tall hunk with a blinding smile who threatened her resolve without even trying.

She had to send him on his way. Now. “Look, I appreciate your help. I thank God you were here, but feel free to go. I’m going to be fine.”

“You won’t be safe until the police find out who did this. What if next time Gwen’s here? You willing to put her life in jeopardy, too?”

She frowned, hating the tremor of fear sliding along her limbs. As long as Gwen was under her roof, she was responsible to keep her safe, as well. “You’re right. I’ll mention to Bob that maybe Tyler might know something about the fire.”

He gave her an odd look. “You and Bob an item?”

She pulled in her chin. “No. Not even. We’ve known each other since high school. His family lived next door to my aunt Denise. He’s not my type, anyway.”

One corner of his mouth kicked up. Her pulse did a little two-step.

“What is your type?” he asked.

Mysterious, gorgeous, a heartbreaker. Like you. The thought sent ribbons of heat winding through her bloodstream, warming her face. “I don’t have a type,” she stated firmly and spun away.

She walked to the back door where charred wood and curled paint spoke volumes. It could have been so much worse. A wave of helplessness hit her, threatening to overwhelm her. This was going to set her back both financially and time-wise.

She squared her shoulders. Somehow she’d manage. She always did with God’s help. She didn’t—wouldn’t—need anyone else.

“It’s really not as bad as it looks,” Nick said.

She turned to see him rising from the stool. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, revealing a black T-shirt stretched taut over wide shoulders and well-defined muscles. His boots squished through the grimy water on the kitchen linoleum as he approached.

His tanned face bore traces of the sooty smoke that burned in her lungs. That explained why she was breathless. From inhaling too much smoke.

He stopped next to her, his attention on the wall. “Mop up the water. Replace a few boards. Sand and paint. It’ll look good as new.”

She sighed. If only it were that easy. “Did I thank you for saving me?”

Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “You did.”

“Good. You should leave now.”

He widened his stance. “You trying to get rid of me?”

She blinked. “Yeah, I am.” She had to for her own sake. “This isn’t your problem and I’m not your responsibility,” she said, her tone harsh.

A flash of something—hurt, maybe?—made his eyes seem impossibly darker. “That’s what you really want?”

It wasn’t. She felt safe with him around. Liked having him around. Which was exactly why he had to go.

“Yes, it’s what I want.”

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, tense and hard. His face became a mask of granite, the angles and planes unyielding. “And if I refuse?”

She swallowed and winced at the painful reminder of what had happened. She didn’t have the strength to physically make him leave and she didn’t know if she could find the strength again to ask him to leave. Not when all she really wanted was to have him hold her. To feel those strong arms around her. To have him tell her everything would be okay. To save her again if she needed it.

Weak.

“I can only hope you’ll be a gentleman.”

His mouth twisted into a harsh smile.

The front door to The Zone opened and Bob walked back in. He scowled as his gaze jumped from her to Nick and back. “You okay?”

Thankful for the distraction from this confrontation with Nick, she turned and smiled. “Yes, Bob,” she said patiently.

She knew Bob was trying to be helpful—to show his concern for her—but it felt more like he was trying to control her.

“Mr. Andrews.” He handed Nick’s license back to him. “When are you moving on?”

Nick leaned against the counter. “When I’m sure Claire’s safe.”

Bob’s scowl deepened. “I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

“Excuse me.” Claire waved her hands to get their attention. “I’m right here, remember, and I don’t need either one of you to keep me safe.”

“Until we apprehend who did this, you sure do.” Bob gestured toward the burned wall. “We don’t know they won’t come back.”

“On that we agree,” Nick chimed, giving her a pointed look.

She blew out a sharp breath. She’d promised. “You might talk with a boy named Tyler. He could know something.”

Bob pinned her with an intent stare. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

A knock drew Claire’s attention. She left the two men and their meddling to open the front door. Surprised, she smiled at the brunette standing on the other side. “Hi, Lori. What—”

“I heard what happened. Are you okay? Rumor has it a handsome man rescued you.” Lori Pearson, who she knew from church, peered over Claire’s shoulder. “Is he in there? With Bob?” Lori’s smile brightened considerably. “You poor thing. Two men.”

Claire laughed with wry amusement. “It’s good to see you. Please, come in.” She stepped back so Lori could enter.

Lori paused. “You sure you’re okay?” Genuine concern shimmered in her dark green eyes.

Flustered, Claire smiled. “Yes. I’m fine.”

She didn’t know Lori well enough to confide in her. To tell her that she was all jumbled up inside from her feelings about Nick and the fire.

She and Lori had met at a church gathering over a year ago. Lori seemed to find everything amusing. Claire enjoyed Lori’s outgoing personality and positive view on life. Though at times Claire felt crowded by Lori.

Claire started to shut the door behind Lori when she heard her name. Peggy and Steve Jordan, followed by their three kids, thirteen-year-old Nathan, twelve-year-old Lisa and the youngest, at six, Matthew, hurried up the walkway.

Peggy came up the stairs looking fresh in rust-colored denims and a colorful peasant-style top with bell sleeves. Her waist-length chestnut hair was held back with a clip. She pulled Claire into a quick hug.

“I couldn’t believe it when I heard what happened.” She held Claire at arm’s length, inspecting her. “You’re not burned or anything?”

The display of affection pleased her. Claire stepped back. “No, I’m good.”

Steve patted her shoulder. “If you need anything at all, you let us know.” He was a big man with large muscles and a kind smile.

“Thank you.” Claire moved aside so they could enter.

Nathan, as tall as his mother, ducked past her without a word. Lisa gave her a shy smile, and Matthew stared at her for a moment with his round green eyes and sweet expression. “You have grass in your hair,” he declared before following his family.

Claire reached up and ran her fingers through her hair, mortified to imagine how she must look. She shut the door and took two steps when there was another knock. She quickly opened the door to find her aunt’s best friend, Sandy Wellington and her husband, Dave.

“Hello, Sandy, Dave.”

Sandy grasped her hand. Her short dark, graying hair curled becomingly to frame her round face. “Dear, we came to see that you’re all right.”

Dave stepped over the threshold. His silver hair was swept away from his forehead and he wore dark slacks and a blue oxford button-down shirt. “Sandy was beside herself when we heard the news.”

“I’m okay. Really.” She could see the doubt in Sandy’s blue eyes. Claire smiled reassuringly. “Please, come in.”

The Wellingtons were kind and thoughtful people. They had also been instrumental in helping Claire on the way to realizing her dream of The Zone.

She took a quick peek outside to make sure there weren’t any other visitors before shutting the door.

The women and children had congregated at the edge of the kitchen, while the men had ignored the water to inspect the damage. Peggy Jordan shooed her children away, instructing them to go busy themselves. The oldest two went to the Ping-Pong table while Matthew sat in a beanbag chair to play with the puppy.

Claire’s gaze landed on Nick. He leaned casually against the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. Lori stood close by, smiling up at him. Something unfamiliar twisted in Claire’s chest.

She started forward, trying to discern what she felt. The corner of Nick’s mouth lifted at something Lori said. Claire’s steps faltered. She realized with sickening clarity that she was jealous.

Nick only half-listened to the animated brunette in the pink blouse. His attention kept straying to Claire. Every time someone new entered, she acted as if she were unaccustomed to people caring about her, worrying over her. Why in the world wouldn’t they? It was obvious these people were fond of her.

The Jordan family was friendly and he’d appreciated the way Steve had assessed him and then greeted him with a firm handshake. Mr. Wellington was honest in his wariness, had asked point-blank what his intentions were toward Claire, as if he were her father or favorite uncle.

He respected the man’s forthrightness and had answered truthfully that he was passing through and had no designs on Claire—only that he wanted to make sure she was safe before he headed out again. His honesty had earned him a quick nod of approval and a pleased smile from Mrs. Wellington before they moved on to look at the damage with Officer Bob, who acted the tour guide.

The brunette—Lori, was it?—said something mildly amusing and he gave an obligatory smile. She put her hand on his arm, her fingers cool and inviting. He shifted out of her reach but smiled again to soften the rejection to her obvious interest. She was Claire’s friend, after all. “How long have you known Claire?”

Lori sighed, clearly getting his hint. “For a while now.” Her gaze turned speculative. “She’s a hard person to get to know. Lots of walls up.”

Nick raised a brow. He didn’t see walls. He saw lots of open doors that invited trouble. He saw a woman protecting a puppy, protecting kids. “She seems pretty outgoing to me.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. She’s definitely not the shy and retiring type. She’s very sweet and giving, it’s…” She pursued her lips in thought. “She doesn’t talk much about herself. More concerned about others. Which is something I don’t encounter often in my line of work.”

“And what line of work would that be.”

“I’m a hairdresser. Cheaper than a psychologist and you get nice hair.”

He smirked and glanced at Claire. She looked tired, but her smile came quickly as she talked with the children before moving to where the adults had gathered in the kitchen. Mrs. Wellington had found a mop and was sopping up the waterlogged floor. Claire frowned before she bustled in and herded everyone into the living room. Then she traipsed right back into the kitchen, grabbed some sodas out of the refrigerator and began handing them out.

Not only did she need a protector, she needed a keeper. Someone to carry part of the burden she insisted on taking. He rolled his suddenly tense shoulders.

No way should that person be him.