Emma raked her hands through her disheveled hair in exasperation. “Maybe that’s because I wanted you to let me get up from the blasted table sometime before I was old enough to vote.”
“Emma—” Deirdre started to protest.
“Come on, be honest. You would’ve kept hammering me and hammering me until I said, ‘yes, Mommy,’ like a good little girl.”
Deirdre winced. Emma was right. Deirdre clasped her hands together, squeezing back the panic. Don’t screw this up! A voice screamed inside her head. This might be the most important conversation she’d ever had with her daughter, except for the one she’d had in this same kitchen when she’d returned to Whitewater to reclaim her child six years before.
“Okay,” Deirdre said. “I’ll bite. What do you think about sex?”
Emma met her gaze unflinchingly. “I think if I decide I want to have sex you can’t stop me.”
Deirdre’s hands trembled, iron bands crushing her lungs. Then suddenly air rushed back into her system. If. Emma had said if she decided to have sex. That meant there was still time….
“That means you haven’t?” Deirdre ventured.
“Not yet. But I’m thinking about it.”
“Oh, God, Emma. You barely even know Drew. I want so much more for you than—than what you can find at a place like Sullivan’s Point. Trust me, no girl ever got the best of the deal in the back seat of a Chevy.”
“It’s my decision, Mom. My life.”
“I know. That’s why I’m so damned scared for you. Emma, you sneak out in the middle of the night, and—”
“You act like Drew is a serial killer or something. Make him feel as uncomfortable as possible whenever he’s over here. But you’re such a control freak you won’t let me go to his house. You won’t even meet his parents and give him the chance to—”
What? Tell me how he knows all about safe sex?
“Emma, you barely know this kid!”
“We’ve been in the same class since sixth grade, and in every high school play we’ve ever done. I’ve been crazy about him since I was a freshman, but I didn’t think I had a chance in hell with a boy like him.”
“Like him? What do you mean ‘like him’?”
“He’s going to be valedictorian, Mom, and he’s first seed in the varsity tennis team. Everybody knows he’s going to be prom king.”
“That’s what makes you want to have sex with him? Because a school full of idiot kids who tortured you think he’s terrific? When did you start basing your life decisions on what girls like Brandi Bates think?”
Anger reddened Emma’s cheeks. “This isn’t about Brandi or any of those nasty witches. It’s about Drew. He’s not like them at all. And he never dated Brandi. They went around with the same crowd of friends, and people just assumed they were together.”
“It never occurred to him to tell Brandi they weren’t? Sounds like a line of bull to me. I just want you to be careful.”
“So careful I end up like you? Thirty-three years old and alone?”
Deirdre tried not to let Emma see how deep that cut. “I had you to take care of. I didn’t have time for…for—”
“Sex?” Emma supplied.
“A relationship. That takes time. Time to get to know each other, see if you have the same core values, the same dreams. See if you’re sure enough to risk not only your future but your child’s. There was never a man I trusted enough to risk letting him be near you, Emma.”
“Right, Mom. Blame it on me. Truth is, you’re scared. Of sex. Of life. So you’re hiding out in the middle of nowhere, pretending you’re making all these sacrifices for me.”
“That’s not true, Emma! It’s no sacrifice!”
“That’s what makes me saddest of all. You don’t even have the brains to realize what you’re giving up! It felt so good when Drew held me. I felt so…alive.” Emma hugged herself. “So safe.”
“Safe? For God’s sake, Emma—there is no safe in a situation like that!”
“You’re wrong. I love Drew. And he loves me. I want my first time to be with him.”
Temper flared in Deirdre, cutting through fear. “Maybe you think I should just fling open your bedroom door, set a box of condoms on the bedside table next to your Phantom of the Opera poster and tell you both to have at it?”
Emma made a face. “I hardly expect you to go that far.”
“What kind of mother would I be if I—”
“One who knew when it was time to let go.” Emma stood, crossed to the door leading to the hallway. She paused, turned back toward Deirdre. Black curls tumbled about her face, big, dark eyes filled with accusation. “As for the condom suggestion, why don’t you pick up your own box? That Stone guy is hot for you. Too bad he’s a nosy jerk who runs around wrecking decent people’s lives.”
“Emma—”
“But then, after all the lies you told me, maybe you guys are a perfect match.”
“I’m sorry, Emma,” Deirdre said, remembering all the times Finn warned her that the secret was going to blow up in her face. Wondering why she hadn’t listened. “I was going to tell you the truth.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Of course you were. About the same time you were going to have sex, probably. If I knew setting a box of condoms on your bedside table was all it would take, I would’ve bought you some years ago.”
“This isn’t about my sex life, Emma!”
“Too bad. At least that would have been your business.”
Emma squared her shoulders. “As for the bit about handing my part over to Brandi—just try it. I’ll be out of here and on my way to New York so fast your head will spin.”
“Maybe that would be a good thing.” Warring emotions washed over Deirdre—heartache at Emma’s leaving, fear about what would happen if she stayed.
“It’s up to you, Mom,” Emma said softly. “But if I go like that, maybe I won’t come back.”
Deirdre watched, helpless as her daughter went up the stairs, not running, slamming doors, performing the familiar theatrics that would have been strangely comforting at a time like this.
No, Emma’s tread was measured, quiet, so decided it made Deirdre’s blood run cold.
Oh, God. Unable to bear staying in the kitchen, Deirdre wandered through the first floor of March Winds, Emma’s accusations echoing in her head. Had she been hiding out here, in the middle of nowhere? Using Emma as an excuse for…what? She didn’t want a man in her life. It was that simple.
Or at least it had been until Jake Stone had almost run her over in the middle of the road tonight. A knight in tarnished armor, coming to her rescue. The man was as cynical as they came, hard-edged, arrogant…but beneath the exterior he showed to the world, he was so much more. He’d painted his grandmother’s house pink, for God’s sake. And he’d jumped out of bed at two in the morning to help Deirdre track down her daughter. He’d been so strong, so kind, that Deirdre hadn’t minded leaning on him just a little. A little?
Liar! a voice accused deep inside her. You were glad to lean on him. So damned grateful that you wish he was still here. Wish he could fold you into his arms, tell you everything is going to be all right. Wish you could spill out everything….
Deirdre’s knees felt weak. She sank down into a chair in the dark living room and curled her body tight, hugging her bent legs, her stomach churning, her hands shaking. Seventeen years of scar tissue torn away until she felt small and battered and more afraid than she’d ever been in her life.
THE LIGHT WAS STILL ON. Jake slid his truck into Park, killed the engine and knotted his fingers around the steering wheel, wondering if this was the time he was going to drive right off the cliff.
He’d dropped off plenty of clients at the brink, knowing the secrets he’d uncovered would push them over the edge. He’d only hoped that when they pieced their world back together again, their lives would be better.
No sense tearing the messenger up with guilt, Stone had rationalized. He hadn’t instigated the search they
’d sent him on. And yet, in all the years since he’d hung out his shingle as a private investigator, he’d never felt the suicidal impulse to grab on to a client’s hand and jump with them into the hellish world of consequences, into the belly of the beast he’d set loose at their command.
He’d left clients alone to deal with their changed worlds on their own, while he went off to paint Trula’s house pink or take Ellie May hiking so she could smell critters in the woods. He’d headed for the dojo, where he could practice tae kwon do, immerse himself in discipline, predictability, grateful for his uncomplicated life as a single guy who could do exactly what he wanted. Keep all that angst and human misery that had become his stock-in-trade bottled up, where it belonged.
He’d felt bad a couple of times for the people caught in the cross fire of his cases—like Cade and Finn McDaniel. But he’d never felt the slightest temptation to cross the line from business to personal until Deirdre had charged through his agency door and rocked his world.
Now, here he sat like an idiot, parked in front of her house, ready to march headlong into all that private pain he’d witnessed at Sullivan’s Point and demand to know what lay beneath all that McDaniel bravado.
What made Deirdre the bundle of contradictions that gave him night sweats and kept him edgy with wanting her in his bed, confused as hell by wanting far more than that? He wanted to get inside her skin where the pain lived.
And do what, Stone? a cynical voice demanded in his head. Screw up her life even more than it already was? Deirdre’s kid hated him now—he was living proof her mom had lied to her. Stone doubted he could buy enough tickets on Broadway to appease Emma’s wrath.
Logic screamed that he should stay as far away from this house and the women who lived in it as possible. Knowing Deirdre and Emma, they were probably in the middle of the kind of emotional scene Stone hated. Odds were his arrival would only make it worse. And yet…
Stone glanced over at Cade McDaniel’s deserted cabin. Who else did Deirdre have to turn to?
Stone fought the strange feeling in his gut. Damn if it hadn’t felt so right when Deirdre had needed him. Her call cracking the hard shell around him, making him feel stronger, a better man, like the cocky kid he’d been when he’d graduated—the police academy’s best and brightest, the whole world laid out before him, shiny and new as the badge he’d been so proud of.
He wasn’t that kid anymore. He knew things that that kid hadn’t: that there were things he couldn’t fix even if he wanted to; that doing the right thing wasn’t as simple as it seemed; and how fast a man could lose everything.
There’s still time to turn around, the voice of self-preservation tempted Stone. Just get the hell out of here….
But if he did that, he might never get to the bottom of Deirdre McDaniel. He could sense an opening inside her, a rare moment when defenses tumbled down, when a client would tell him the truth. Gut instinct for recognizing that moment made Stone good at what he did, who he was—a ruthless bastard who didn’t hesitate at closing in for the kill.
Deirdre was right about one thing. He was ruthless enough to use that instinct in dealing with her and bastard enough to knock on that door.
Not just to satisfy curiosity this time, or even to close a case, Stone tried to rationalize. To help her. To comfort her. To get closer…
What are you, crazy? Go poking around in her secrets and you might betray some of your own.
There’s not a relationship in your life you could be honest in. There will always be truths you can’t tell. And a woman like Deirdre would sense that you were holding something back. She could never, ever trust you.
But this wasn’t about him. It was about the woman who had haunted his dreams for so damned long. He couldn’t shake the sense that something was terribly wrong. Not the surface crap he already knew Deirdre and her daughter were going through. Something so deep inside Deirdre McDaniel that it was fused into every cell. And whatever it was, it was ugly enough to bring the strongest, most passionate woman he’d ever known to her knees.
The pizza Stone had eaten for dinner the night before lodged in a burning lump of acid in his throat, his imagination raging over time. His job had given him plenty of material regarding hellish secrets. Who was Emma’s father that he could still shake Deirdre to the core?
She’d been a kid herself when she’d given birth to Emma. Was the man who fathered Emma dangerous? Violent like Trula’s mob boss? Was he in prison for God knew what and Deirdre was afraid Emma would find out? If he’d ever touched Deirdre in anger, by God, Jake would teach the son of a bitch the meaning of pain.
Grim fury settled in Stone’s very marrow, mingled with a protectiveness so fearsome no one but Trula had ever inspired it. He couldn’t shake his feelings of impending disaster as the expression contorting Deirdre’s face up there at make-out point hit Instant Replay in his mind.
His fiery-tempered, fierce lioness of a woman stark, shattered. Scared out of her mind. So damned alone it had cut Stone to the core. Hell if he was going to let her stay that way.
Resolved, Stone opened his truck door, then reached for the cardboard box on the seat beside him and retrieved two cups of hot coffee from the cup holders on the dashboard. Balancing cardboard containers, he climbed out of the truck and mounted the steps up to the veranda, the porch swing swaying gently in the breeze.
Only Deirdre’s van was in sight, so it seemed as if, blessedly, there were no guests at the bed and breakfast at present. Stone couldn’t imagine how hard it would have been for Deirdre to have to smile at strangers, fix breakfasts, help plan itineraries for day trips as if she gave a damn whether or not the tourists would see eagles or find wildflowers in bloom.
With March Winds’ guest rooms empty Deirdre and her daughter could be alone for a while, to sort things through. Setting the coffee cups on top of the box in one hand, Stone knocked softly on the door with the other. His heart slammed against his ribs as Deirdre opened it.
She looked raw, nothing but nerves and heartbreak, still dressed in the jeans and T-shirt she’d been wearing when she’d leapt into his headlights on the road hours before. Except the lights inside the house made one thing clear he hadn’t known before. That she’d been in such a rush to find Emma she hadn’t bothered to put on a bra.
Don’t be a jerk, Stone. You didn’t come here to stare at the woman’s breasts. Even if they were lush and soft, the pink of her aureoles a shadow against the thin white cotton.
“What…what are you doing here?” she asked so numbly Stone jerked his gaze back up to her face, feeling like a first-class lech. She looked like holy hell, and he was grateful for the coffee he was juggling. Hoping the jolt of caffeine would put some life back into her.
“I’m probably being a complete dumb-ass,” Stone mumbled. “Not that I seem to be able to help it.”
Deirdre’s forehead crinkled in weary bewilderment. She raised a hand to knead her temple. Stone wished he could take her in his arms, but he’d scald her with the blasted coffee.
“Krispy Kremes,” he said, nodding toward the box. “I didn’t know what kind you liked, so I just got one of everything.”
She looked like the mere thought of doughnuts made her sick to her stomach. “Stone, I know you mean well, but—”
“Don’t try to wheedle any more junk food out of me,” he said, stepping around her into the house. “I don’t share my stash of Twinkies with anyone.”
God, was that a shadow of a smile?
He wanted to say something smart-ass, but all that came out was, “How are you?”
“Scared out of my mind. Trying to figure out how my life got so screwed up. And where the pod people put my real daughter.”
“I can see the headlines in the Enquirer: Small-Town Juliet Has Brains Sucked Out By Alien Posing As Romeo. Mother Wages Valiant Effort To Stuff Brains Back In.” Stone headed for the kitchen, Deirdre a few steps behind. “If you can figure out some fail-safe technique for pouring brains back into teenager
s’ heads you’d be an instant billionaire. Get yourself one of those infomercials on TV at three in the morning when moms everywhere are waiting up for kids who broke curfew.”
He slid the Krispy Kreme box onto the sparkling-clean counter, grabbed a cup and turned, pressing the coffee into her hand. The gratitude in her big, sad eyes made him damned glad he was here.
“Stone, I…thank you. For helping me find her. For bringing these.” She gestured to the box with her free hand.
He shrugged, popping the lid open. “What can I say? Hormones are hell. But the real Emma is in there somewhere. Kind of like the jelly filling in one of these damned things.” He poked at a likely looking doughnut.
“I forgot you’re such an expert on teenage girls.”
“Yeah, well. You want any info about kids, junk food or the best divorce lawyers, I’m your man.” The half smile on his lips died, Stone the notorious smart mouth suddenly dead serious. The mood fit him like a cheap suit, but what the hell could he do? Deirdre needed to hear the plain truth.
“I know how much you love that kid,” Stone told her. “She knows it, too, even if her opinion of you at present puts you somewhere between Mussolini and the witch in the musical Into the Woods. What was it Bernadette Peters said in the version Trula taped?”
Deirdre sipped at her coffee, a mere act of politeness, then set it down. “Stone, I’m really not up to reciting Broadway trivia right now.”
“Rapunzel wailed that the witch had locked her in a tower, blinded her prince, thrown her out in the desert to bear twins alone. And the witch said…?” He raised his eyebrow, letting her know he wasn’t going to let her slide on this one.
“‘I was only trying to be a good mother,’” Deirdre quoted. “Emma and I used to laugh ourselves hoarse over that line. Somehow I don’t find it nearly as funny as I used to.”
“That’s why people love good theater. It touches the truth in all of us.” Hell. Had he said something serious? Aloud? Let someone glimpse the part of him that still loved the stage, even if it wasn’t the usual tough-guy fare? Way to ruin his image!