Tender Absolution

  Carlie’s blood began to boil, but she gritted her teeth as she started across the park. Attila bounded ahead, scaring birds and chasing runaway balls. Carlie barely noticed because she was thinking of Ben and their one night together. It would have to be their last. Just like before. She was too damned selfish to share him with Tracy and her son, and Ben belonged with the boy.

  She’d just crossed Main when she heard a horn blast behind her. Ben’s pickup cruised up to the curb and he leaned over the seat and shoved open the door. “The least I can do is drive you the rest of the way.”

  She didn’t argue and both she and Attila climbed into the cab. “How’d Randy do?”

  “He didn’t.”

  “No?”

  “No one, not even God himself, could have talked that kid into finishing tryouts. If you ask me, it was a case of flat-out rebellion. He’s tired of his mom pushing him so hard.”

  “So what’re you going to do about it?”

  “Nothing I can do. This is Randy’s call.”

  “What about Tracy?”

  “She’s fit to be tied,” he admitted as he slowed for a corner, “but then she’s got to remember that Randy’s just a kid—no special hero and certainly not his father.”

  “She wants you to be his father.”

  “I can’t, Carlie.” Ben stared out the window. “I’ll be his uncle. Hell, I’ll be the best damned uncle in the world. He can call me anytime and I’ll do whatever I can to help out. But I can’t be the kid’s dad.”

  He pulled into a parking spot beneath a spruce tree and walked her upstairs. “Can I see you tonight? As much as I detest the idea, I think I should put in an appearance at Toni Fitzpatrick’s engagement party.”

  “I, um, I’ll have to meet you there. I promised my mother I’d take her and Dad, and since she had to twist Dad’s arm to go, I don’t want to change plans.”

  He hesitated. “Hey, look, I’m sorry about Randy—”

  “Don’t be,” she said. “Life’s just a lot more complicated than it used to be.”

  He offered her a smile that lifted one side of his mouth. “Then I’ll see you there.”

  “I’d…I’d like that.”

  He hesitated. “I think the whole damned town will be there. People at tryouts were talking about it. Even Tracy.”

  Carlie’s muscles tightened. “She was invited?”

  “Her father worked for Fitzpatrick for forty years. Seems as if she knows him and Toni.”

  Carlie felt a huge sense of disappointment, but Ben reached for her and drew her into the circle of his arms. “I guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to be alone with you.” His smile was sexy.

  “Yes.” She knew she should tell him no, but couldn’t, not while he was touching her. Then she remembered. “Oh, no, that doesn’t work, either. Believe it or not, I’ve got a dinner meeting with Thomas Fitzpatrick.”

  He didn’t move, just stood there stunned, as if she’d slapped him. “A dinner date?” he repeated, his eyes slitting suspiciously.

  “Yes. He asked me a few weeks ago and I turned him down, even canceling once, but he insists that we have to talk about the photographs for the company brochure—”

  “Over dinner?”

  “Hey, it wasn’t my idea.”

  “But you went along with it.”

  “That’s right, Ben, I did,” she said, suddenly angry. All her coiled emotions released in a burst of fury. “Just like you might have lunch or dinner with a potential client. It’s no big deal.”

  “With Fitzpatrick, everything’s a big deal! Do you know that he’s planning to buy this house?”

  “This house?” she whispered, glancing around her apartment. “This house.”

  “Yep. All of a sudden it seems as if old Tom has an interest in the property.” He clamped his hands under his arms. “I wondered if it had anything to do with you.”

  “Of course not!”

  His skeptical look said he didn’t believe her.

  “What is this phobia you’ve got against the man?”

  “He’s slimy and two-faced and out for number one.”

  “I know that. Don’t worry about me, Ben. I can take care of myself.”

  “Maybe I don’t want that,” he said, his eyes growing dark. “Maybe I want to take care of you.”

  Her throat closed for an instant and her anger melted away. It was so easy, so damned easy, to trust him. “I don’t want someone to take care of me. I’m not a child. I make my own decisions, one of which is to go out to dinner with Fitzpatrick and hear what he has to say.”

  The skin tightened over his cheekbones and he looked as if he wanted to spit out a string of blue oaths, but he held his tongue, turned on his heel and headed down the stairs.

  “Great,” Carlie mumbled to herself. “Just great.” She slammed the door behind her and wondered why she bothered with Ben. His moods were mercurial and now he wanted to control her.

  You bother with Ben because you love him.

  “Then you’re a fool, Carlie Surrett,” she told herself as she flopped down on the couch and wondered if she’d made a mistake returning to Gold Creek. Maybe she would have been better off staying away.

  You can’t run forever. And she wouldn’t. Ben Powell or no Ben Powell.

  * * *

  TONI FITZPATRICK’S ENGAGEMENT party was the social event of the year. Miniature lights twinkled from a forest of potted trees and red, white and silver ribbons looped from the chandeliers, which were suspended above the main dining room at the Coleville Country Club. Silver balloons floated lazily to the two-storied ceiling. An ice sculpture of twin swans rose from a table laden with platters of fruit, caviar and hors d’oeuvres. Champagne bubbled from a three-tiered fountain and chefs stood at attention behind serving trays of roast beef, turkey and ham. Lobster, prawns and salmon were served at yet another table and a dessert cart offered chocolates, truffle cake and raspberry mousse.

  “How’s he gonna beat this?” Weldon asked as he, with his cane, hobbled across the upper balcony and stared down at the party below. A curved staircase swept from one floor to the next and a string quartet played love songs while waiters scurried back and forth to the kitchen. “When the girl gets married, I mean. How can he top this spread?”

  “He’ll find a way,” Carlie predicted. She let her gaze wander through the bejeweled guests, searching for Ben.

  “Always does,” Thelma agreed as they used the elevator and rode down to the festivities.

  “He’ll have to rent the damned Ritz,” Weldon grumbled. The elevator doors opened. Her father, moving stiffly with his “damned walking stick,” headed toward the open bar.

  “Should he drink?” Carlie asked.

  “I don’t know.” Thelma threw up her hands. “But he’s been such a bear to live with since he gave up cigarettes and chewing tobacco, I’m not going to be the one to tell him to lay off the drinks. At least not tonight.”

  “All right. We’ll let him cut loose a little,” Carlie said with a smile.

  Even though she’d spent two hours in the beauty shop and was wearing a shimmery new green dress, Thelma looked tired. Her days of working at the soda counter and evenings of taking care of her husband were starting to tell. Between her shifts she’d had to run Weldon back and forth to the hospital for physical therapy and even though Carlie helped out when she could, the strain was beginning to show on Thelma’s pretty face.

  “Come on. You, too. Have a glass of champagne,” Carlie encouraged her mother. “I’m driving, so you can have all the fun you want. Come on. All your friends are here. It’s a party.”

  “Fun—” her mother started to complain, but changed her mind. “All right. Don’t mind if I do.” Her lips twitched and she headed off to the champagne fountain.

 
Carlie saw people she’d known all her life and stopped to speak to old classmates and friends, but she couldn’t help searching the crowd, hoping to find Ben. She allowed herself one fluted glass of champagne and mingled with the other guests.

  “Glad you could make it.” Thomas Fitzpatrick’s voice was a gentle whisper behind her.

  “Wouldn’t miss the social event of the season,” she said, turning to face him. His wife, June, stood fifty feet away, her inflexible back turned toward her husband as she chatted with a wasp-thin woman in purple and an elderly man. The woman was a reporter for the Gold Creek Clarion. The man with her owned the newspaper.

  “Oh, this isn’t the event of the season,” Thomas said proudly. “Just you wait until the wedding. That will be something. Oh, here they come now.” He touched Carlie lightly on her upper arm and pointed to the top of the stairs where Toni, in a shimmering silver dress, was speaking with a tall blond man of around thirty. An engagement ring with a huge, sparkling diamond graced Toni’s hand.

  “That’s Phil,” Thomas said as he gazed at his future son-in-law. “Phil Larkin, attorney, stockbroker and financial whiz kid.”

  “You like him?”

  “Couldn’t be more pleased if I’d handpicked him myself, which, come to think of it, I did. Introduced the two of them last year. Phil’s father—you remember Kent Larkin—was a state senator in the sixties, and Phil’s ambitious. He could follow in Kent’s footsteps.”

  “I suppose,” she said, shifting to put a little distance between her body and his. Thomas dropped his hand from her arm as casually as if he hadn’t known he was still touching her.

  Thomas had always been interested in politics. Just before Roy was killed, Thomas had considered running for office himself. Now, if his future son-in-law’s dreams were realized, Thomas would have an ear to the state legislature and a doorway open to push in his ideas. It all depended upon Phil and how much he wanted to please his soon-to-be father-in-law.

  “When’s the wedding?” Carlie asked, trying to make small talk.

  “Around Christmas, if all goes as planned.” His lips tightened a bit as he watched his daughter. Toni flung her blond curls over her shoulder rebelliously and with a pout, started down the stairs without Phil. He scurried to catch up to her, his face red in embarrassment. Toni didn’t seem to care. She mingled with the crowd, smiled and seemed to ignore the man of her dreams.

  A blast of February wind seeped inside and Carlie glanced behind her as one of the pairs of French doors opened. Ben, dressed in a black tuxedo, walked into the room and Carlie’s heart kicked. His hair was slightly mussed from the wind, his cheeks dark, his expression thunderous. As if he knew exactly where she was, he glared in her direction, grabbed a drink off the tray near the door and took a long swallow. His gaze shifted for a second on her companion and his scowl deepened as he began threading his way through the crowd.

  So he was jealous. Carlie didn’t know whether to be angry or flattered. She started to excuse herself from Thomas and meet Ben, but Ben was intercepted by a petite woman with straight brown hair and a skin-tight white dress. Tracy. Carlie’s face seemed suddenly tight. Thomas whispered something to her, but she missed it.

  Tracy wound her arm through Ben’s and beamed up at him.

  Ben leaned over to whisper in Tracy’s ear. She tossed back her head and laughed lightly, as if she adored him.

  Carlie’s heart seemed to turn to stone. She told herself to relax, Ben was only talking to Tracy. She had no rational reason to feel the jealousy that coiled around her insides. Besides, if anything, she should admire Tracy. She’d overcome the stigma of being an unwed parent and was struggling to raise her child and all Carlie could think about was the fact that she was already irrevocably tied to Ben. Somehow, some way, Carlie had to learn to deal with Tracy or else she had to accept the fact that she had no future with Ben.

  Rather than watch Tracy beam raptly up at Ben another second, Carlie turned her attention back to Thomas. There was a change in his tone and she wondered if he noticed that she hadn’t been listening. He touched her again, lightly on the hand and she managed a tight smile.

  “Friend of yours?” he asked when she glanced back to find Ben still in conversation with Tracy.

  “I’ve known Ben a long time,” she hedged.

  “I was talking about Tracy.”

  “Oh.” She felt her cheeks grow warm. “I hardly know her.”

  “Good woman. Responsible. Takes care of her boy and holds down two jobs.” There was genuine admiration in Thomas’s voice.

  “She’s…industrious.”

  “Hmm. Like her father. One of my best employees. I’ve known Tracy since she was a little girl.” He smiled again. “As I’ve known you.” He sipped from his drink.

  “I think I’d better go check on my mom and dad,” Carlie said as an excuse to break free of Fitzpatrick when a group of men approached him.

  As she walked past one of the huge pillars supporting the roof, a strong male hand clamped over her arm.

  “Carlie.” Ben’s voice was a harsh whisper. She turned and found him glaring at her, the back of his neck a deep shade of red, his lips white and thin. “Having a good time?”

  “Good enough,” she replied, bristling a little at his anger.

  “With Fitzpatrick?”

  “He cornered me.”

  “And you ate it up.”

  “Are you crazy?” she demanded, keeping her voice low. “I was just being polite.”

  His eyes narrowed on her and, as if realizing that they might be overheard, he took her hand and led her quickly through a knot of men who had clustered near a baby grand piano positioned near the front doors. The men were in a heated discussion of taxes and politics and were raising their voices over the mellow notes of “I Will Always Love You” being played by the band.

  Ben shoved on the handle, opening the door, and drew her outside where the chilly February wind cut through her dress and brushed her face.

  The door clicked shut. “I don’t know how many times I have to warn you about him!” he growled through clenched teeth.

  “Get over it, Ben,” she shot back. “I’m not a sixteen-year-old virgin who can be manipulated and taken advantage of.”

  His shoulder muscles bunched beneath his jacket. “Fitzpatrick wants something from you.”

  “Like what?”

  “Take a guess.” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Fitzpatrick’s looking for a mistress. You seem to be top on the list.”

  “Give me a break!” she said, but remembered the lingering touches and the dark glances that Thomas had cast in her direction.

  “The man’s had affairs all his life. You don’t need to be a genius to figure that out. Jackson Moore is proof enough. And now Fitzpatrick’s wife has filed for divorce, or at least that’s the rumor going about the logging company, so guess what? Good ol’ Tom is going to have his freedom.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “He’s a wealthy man, Carlie.”

  “I should slap you for that one.”

  “A powerful man.”

  “Oh, come on—”

  “He could give you everything you’d ever want.”

  Stung, she turned on her heel. “I don’t have to listen to these insults!” She tried to push past him and reached for the brass lever of the doors, but Ben grabbed her again. Before she could say anything, he yanked her roughly to him, slanted his lips over hers and kissed her with all the passion and anger that stormed through his blood. His lips were hot and hard and demanding, his body lean and firm.

  She jerked away, anger still coursing through her blood. “Don’t drag me out here, insult me and then think you can make it all better by kissing me!” she said.

  “Nothing’s better.”

  “You??
?re damned right. I don’t like being manhandled, Ben. Not by you. Not by anyone. So cut out the Neanderthal macho routine!”

  His eyes flashed fire, but he released her. “Oh, hell, Carlie, I didn’t mean to insult you.” He drew in a deep breath of the wintry air. “I’m just warning you about Fitzpatrick.”

  “I don’t need a mother.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Or a babysitter.”

  “Carlie—”

  “Shh. I don’t even need an older brother, Ben. I can take care of myself.”

  “Can you?” His voice was suddenly low and sexy. “Maybe I don’t want to think that you’re so damned independent. Maybe I want to think that you need a man.”

  “Are you applying for the job?” she asked, her anger beginning to fade.

  “I’d like to.”

  She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips gently across his. “I’m a big girl now.”

  His grin, a slash of white in the darkness, was wicked and sensual. “I’ve noticed.” His lips found hers and his hands spanned her waist. “Let’s ditch this party.”

  “Mmm, I can’t,” she said with genuine reluctance. “I promised Mom and Dad I’d drive them home.”

  “Later?”

  She wanted to say yes, to beg him to meet her at her apartment, but she held her tongue. She remembered their argument about Tracy, about the past, about Thomas Fitzpatrick. “Soon,” she promised, closing her eyes and drinking in the smell of him—of soap and champagne and some musky cologne.

  His lips found hers again and her head began to swim. Her eyes closed and desire pumped through her blood. She wondered what the future would bring, but steadfastly shoved all her cloying doubts into a dark corner of her mind. She was caught in the wonder and magic of loving him.

  Slowly she opened her eyes and saw, through the steamy glass of the French doors, a woman in white. Tracy Niday, her eyes squinting through the glass, her jaw set in renewed determination was staring at them. A chill, deep as the February night, passed through Carlie’s bones.