Hidden in the Heart Page 10

  She drew in a sharp breath and ignored the pain his smile inflicted. “Now? You just took the Senate seat. Come off it, Kevin. I didn’t just get off the Stupid Train.” Michelle shook off his arm and continued down the path.

  “Okay, so we’ll have to wait a bit…but…isn’t that what you want, Michelle? For us to be together?” He blocked her path, taking her by the shoulders.

  She met his eyes and waited a moment. Words wouldn’t come. “I do. You know that. I’m just not convinced we want the same thing anymore.”

  “Of course we do. It will happen. I promise you.” Kevin drew her close and placed his lips on her forehead. “Be patient a little while longer.”

  Michelle nodded, catching a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. Forced laughter caught in her throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound like a shrew. I guess I overreacted.” She pulled her arms behind her back, stretched and let out a sigh. “Won’t happen again.”

  “Good. You have nothing to worry about, Michelle. I need you. You’re my life now, okay?”

  Michelle smiled and stepped into his embrace. Everything was fine. His kiss gave her full assurance of that.

  Kevin held her hands, his face glowing in the sunrise. “Why don’t we take a drive up to Maine this weekend? I still haven’t met your parents.”

  The momentary calm she’d found faded as his words jolted her. She caught her breath and held up a hand, “I think I told you some time ago that’s not going to happen.”

  “Oh, come on.” He put on his best little boy grin. “What are you afraid of? They’ll love me. I can be very persuasive.” He slipped his arms around her once more, but she pushed him back.

  “No.”

  “Why?” He jogged circles around her, his eyes teasing. “Are they some drugged-out hippie couple? Or…maybe you were raised in the backwoods by Ma and Pa Clampett. Or no…wolves, you were raised by wolves.”

  “Stop it.” Michelle laughed and pushed him off. “My parents and I haven’t talked in years. I told you that. I have no intention of seeing them any time soon. And, persuasive or not, I can assure you they would not approve of our relationship.”

  “Conservative?”

  “You have no idea.” She picked up her pace again and started a slow jog. Irritation goaded her. “Why the sudden interest in my family?”

  “It’s not sudden. We just never talk about them, that’s all.”

  “There’s nothing to say.” Michelle glanced at her watch and groaned. “It’s almost 6:30. You’re going to be late for your breakfast meeting.”

  He ran faster, swatting her on the behind as he passed. “I think you’re keeping secrets, Michelle Hart. Have it your way, then. For now. See you at the office.”

  Michelle waited until he was out of sight before she stopped running. She sank onto the wet grass at the side of the path and pretended to stretch over her legs. Her breath came in spurts, her heart pounding far too fast to be the result of her brief sprint.

  She pulled blades of grass, one by one. She’d tempted fate by taking that trip to Connecticut with Belinda. The phone call from the DCF in Hartford just a week later proved it.

  Nausea rose and she glared at the pieces of grass in her hand. She’d been outraged, demanded to know how they’d found her. The woman said she’d simply looked her name up in the files, Googled her and dialed her office number.

  No, they hadn’t called her parents.

  Michelle blew air through pursed lips and pushed to her feet. She’d spent a long time burying her past.

  It wouldn’t catch up to her now. She’d make sure of that.

  Keeping secrets.

  Kevin didn’t know the half of it.

  ~

  Michelle woke with a start, sat up and stared through the darkness. Sirens. They roared past her apartment building and off into the distance somewhere in the city. She sank back against the pillows and pushed her hair off her damp forehead. Her t-shirt stuck to her back. The clock beside her read 1 A.M. She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but her racing thoughts refused to allow it.

  She jumped into the shower and put on fresh pj’s, pulled on a robe and padded down the hall to the galley kitchen. A glass of milk might settle her frayed nerves. She huddled on the couch in the living room with her laptop. Michelle frowned as she scanned her emails. Two from Kevin.

  “Hey, babe. Things going well here. Had good talk with F today and I think we can work something out. See you soon. K.”

  Michelle hit the delete key. Kevin’s delusions were beginning to bore her. The sad thing was, he actually believed everything he said. Once upon a time, she had too.

  The other email from him was all business, confirming another invitation list for a dinner he was hosting next month. And then he was going to spend June on the Cape with the kids. And Felicity.

  Each week that passed snatched a little more hope from her.

  Michelle finished her milk and gazed out the window at the city lights blinking in the darkness. A hard knot formed in her stomach, pulled tight and threatened to evict her supper. One of these days she’d get out of New York. She’d quit her job and…

  A deep sigh brimming with regret worked its way out of her. The approach of summer somehow managed to dump melancholy at her feet. The feelings she battled all year came back full force and there was very little she could do to defend herself against them. She pinched the bridge of her nose and turned her attention back to the computer screen as her Skype conversation button beeped.

  What are you doing up at 1 AM?

  Belinda.

  Michelle smiled and typed back. Same thing you are, I guess. Couldn’t sleep.

  Thinking?

  Yeah.

  Her birthday’s coming up in a couple of months.

  Michelle raised her eyes to the ceiling. Yep.

  Nobody in the world knew her as well as Belinda.

  Well, maybe one person did. Or had.

  Hard to believe it’s been twenty-seven years, Shel.

  Yep. Michelle studied her polished fingernails. That aching, longing for God only knew what, started up again. Some days it feels like yesterday. She hit the keys harder than necessary.

  I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. Belinda tacked on a sad-faced smiley. And then… Shel…why don’t you try to find her?

  Michelle bit her lip and almost shut down her laptop. Honestly…this was just like Belinda, always out for that proverbial happy ending.

  She pounded out her answer. What for?

  Shel…

  I’m tired. Going to bed. Call you tomorrow.

  Michelle closed her laptop. What did Belinda expect? She let out a cry of aggravation and pushed all thoughts of the past out of her head. There was too much to do, she didn’t have time to worry about long-ago mistakes. She reached for her leather dossier and pulled out the latest speech she was working on. It was a good speech so far, maybe even one of the best she’d written. He’d like it.

  Michelle ran her tongue over her bottom lip and gave a wry smile.

  If only she could make Kevin Harrison mean what he said beyond the podium.

  Chapter Ten

  The rolling hills of Connecticut climbed higher as Claire left her home state, crossed over into Massachusetts, up through New Hampshire and into Maine. Tall, lush pines of varying shades of green surrounded her on all sides. Blue lakes and spectacular views beckoned around every turn, but she didn’t stop. She drove until she could go no further, hunger and exhaustion forcing her off the road for lunch at a roadside cafe. But she’d reached Maine, and in good time, less than five hours.

  After a satisfactory meal, she focused on the road ahead and tried to ignore the devastation of her soul. She didn’t deserve to be happy anyway. James would be better off without her. He’d see that soon enough.

  Driving through the almost deserted streets of Bethel, Claire wondered if there had been a plague she hadn’t heard about. Only a few people walked along the sidewalks a
nd one or two cars passed her every now and then. As she slowed for the stoplight, she glanced up and down, taking in her surroundings.

  Plenty of quaint shops seemed open for business. Angel’s Antiques, Kathy’s Knick Knacks, Bookends. Flowers of every description hung from baskets on the street lamps. Driving on, she spotted the bank, library and post office. Not a Starbucks in sight.

  Claire slid a mournful glance toward her empty paper cup, grimaced and continued on. She hadn’t had anything else for two days. A pinch of pride brought a smile to her lips. Maybe she could do this.

  But she’d left her husband, not cared enough to celebrate their anniversary. Self-loathing loomed, doubt hot on its heels.

  She knew as soon as she reached her destination, her self-imposed prohibition would more than likely become just a fleeting memory. She’d brought a supply of wine with her under that exact expectation.

  Claire forced her mind back to the reason she was heading north. She’d looked through the telephone directory when she’d stopped for lunch, but there were more than a few Kellys listed in the area. The owners of Tara’s Place might not be her relatives, but they could have information that would help track down her birth mother. She’d find out soon enough.

  She followed the directions they emailed her, hoping she was going the right way. Her car didn’t have a GPS and she’d forgotten to pick one up before leaving. James always drove wherever they went. He was a much better navigator.

  Her SUV bumped along the unpaved road, rocks flying every which way. Thick forest lined the road on either side, the trees almost touching overhead in some areas. Claire slowed and let the car idle for a moment. She stared at the long road in front of her, watching the sun shoot golden rays through the green leaves above. The tranquil scene looked like something straight out of National Geographic. The stillness overwhelmed her.

  She leaned back against the seat and allowed the cool air from the vents to hit her face. Slow tears trickled down her cheeks. The whole idea was ridiculous. Going up to total strangers and asking them if they knew anything about a child given up for adoption twenty-seven years ago…

  The temptation to back up, turn around and head home crept over her with the stealth of a tiger on the prowl. Claire shifted, placed her hands on the wheel again and strengthened her resolve. Her father was barely speaking to her. Her marriage was all but over. She had nothing left.

  But she wasn’t a quitter. She’d come here on a mission, and she’d complete it. No matter the cost.

  She gunned the engine and flew down the rest of the road, eager to catch a glimpse of Tara’s Place. It had to be perfect. She knew it. Something had led her here. There must be something special about this place—something besides the name Kelly—some reason why the urge to come had been so strong.

  Claire sucked in a breath as she drove through open wooden gates and onto the property of the main house.

  A rambling mix of white clapboard and natural stone stretched out before her. The two-story house with green shutters sat pristine and proud. The sun’s rays bounced off long glass windows along the first floor. A wrap-around porch invited visitors; wicker rockers with chintz-covered cushions were positioned here and there across the length of it. Rose vines mingled with new ivy and wound their way around the thick front stone posts and clambered up the side of the house. A few pink buds poked through waxy green leaves. Daffodils and crocuses dotted the lush green grass around her. Beyond the house, the blue lake glimmered under the afternoon sun.

  Claire had visited many places with her parents. She’d seen most of Europe, the Caribbean, South Africa and Australia. But nowhere she’d been evoked such a strong, certain connection within her the way this place did.

  There was something special about Tara’s Place.

  She pressed down on the gas again and moved forward, peering out the side window of the car, searching for any movement inside the house.

  The car jerked to a sudden stop and a horrible scraping sound reached her ears. Claire let out a yelp. She’d hit something.

  She parked and got out of the car, her nerves shot. She almost couldn’t look. Could barely breathe. Not a deer, please. She’d never hit an animal and didn’t intend to start now.

  A loud yell reached her ears and she turned to see a man charging down the front steps of the house, followed by an elderly couple.

  “What did you do?” He ran across the lawn, wild eyes fixed on her. Claire swallowed down fear and squinted at him through her sunglasses.

  “Um, I don’t know. I…might have…hit something.” Fear slammed her at the roar he gave as he bent over and looked under her car. Maybe she’d hit a kid…his kid…oh Lord, no… “What is it?” she squeaked, slowly making her way toward him.

  He straightened, ripped a hand through dark straggly hair and glowered. “Back up.”

  Claire did.

  He raised his ink-blue eyes skyward and shook his head. “Not you. Your cah, sweetheart. Back it up. Slowly.”

  Claire looked across the lawn. The couple hadn’t come any closer. Smart people. She looked back at the man who towered over her and met his angry glare. “First of all, I’m not your sweetheart. Second of all, I’d like to know what I hit before I move my cah. And third, you could say please.”

  A sound very close to a growl stuck in his throat. He brushed past her and before Claire knew what was happening, he’d hopped in the driver’s seat and reversed her car, revealing a large, tangled pile of metal. He unfolded himself from the inside of the vehicle, slammed the door shut and strode to the front of it.

  Claire clapped a hand over her mouth and stared at the wreckage. “Was that your bicycle?”

  “No.” He crouched before the metallic mess and poked at it. He lifted a piece, gray tinged with green, let out a long groan and let it drop from his hand. Claire winced as it clanged onto the top of the pile on the grass. “Tha-at…” He pushed himself to full height, brushed dirt off the white button-down shirt he wore over a pair of dark jeans and sighed. “…was a Rick Matthews original sculpture. Swans by Morning. It cah-an’t be replaced.” His thick Maine accent almost rivaled that of the gas-station attendant’s she’d tried to get directions from about an hour ago. She’d kept asking him to repeat himself. He hadn’t been too friendly either.

  Claire gulped. She’d ruined an original sculpture. Great. But at least it wasn’t an animal. Or a kid. “I’m sorry.” Her feeble apology didn’t appear to touch him. The groove between his eyes deepened.

  The two observers approached and she heard the elderly man chuckle. “I told you to put that thing closah to the house, son. You okay, Miss? You weren’t hurt?” Blue eyes twinkled at her and a friendly smile warmed her through and put her at ease.

  Finally, somebody with manners.

  Claire smiled, taking in the wrinkled face and almost white hair. She had few memories of her own grandfather, an austere, thin man with nothing good to say about anyone. The man in front of her resembled the grandfather she’d always wished she had.

  “I’m all right, thanks.” She laughed with relief and turned toward the other man. He looked to be in his forties, definitely not much older than fifty. Maybe he was an art dealer. “Look, I’m really sorry about the sculpture. Just tell me what I owe you. I’ll write you a check.”

  He stared like she’d spoken in some tribal tongue. He tipped his head to one side and studied her. His bearded jaw twitched and his mouth formed a thin line. “Are you deaf as well as blind? I said it cannot be replaced.”

  “Now, Rick.” The silver-haired man stepped forward and gave him a thump on the back. “It was just an accident. She didn’t mean to…”

  Claire took off her sunglasses, her mind beginning to work. “Rick? Let me guess. You’re Rick Matthews? You made this…thing. Correct?”

  “Ayuh,” he answered gruffly, folding his arms across a thick chest. His long hair played around a chiseled face, the breeze coming up from the lake tossing it this way and that.

&n
bsp; Claire smiled triumphantly. “Then it can be replaced. Do another one. I’ll pay for it.” She turned her smile on the older of the two men and searched his face for any resemblance, but saw none. “I’m Claire Ferguson. I have a reservation. I think.” Perhaps she’d made a mistake coming here.

  Rick Matthews turned on the heel of his cowboy boots and began to gather up his ruined sculpture. The warmth of the sun began to make her feel dizzy. Her stomach churned and her hands trembled. Sweat dripped down her neck. “This is Tara’s Place, right?”

  “Yes, yes.” The woman, a petite figure with a kind smile, hurried forward. She looked like the kind of grandmother any kid would want. A flowery apron sat over her ankle-length denim skirt. She wore a blue blouse under a thick red cable-knit sweater that she probably made herself. Her face didn’t bear many lines, but Claire put her around the same age as the older man, late sixties, early seventies maybe.

  “We’ve been expecting you. Why don’t you come in, sit a spell.” She moved closer and Claire practically fainted from exhaustion, tension and nerves.

  She tried to get a handle on her feelings and put her sunglasses back on. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “No trouble.” The woman’s brown eyes sparkled under the sun. Brown eyes. The same shade her own. Claire tried to focus on them but the task proved impossible.

  The woman spoke again. “I’m Jessie Kelly. This here’s my husband Mac, and that’s Rick. Who I guess you already met.” Her friendly laugh made Claire smile in spite of herself. “Come on in and let me get you some tea.”

  “Tea would be nice.” She hadn’t enjoyed a cup of tea for a long while. Her mother-in-law Margaret loved the stuff and swore by it. In her Irish blood, she said. They’d spent many a long afternoon sipping tea and swapping stories. Hit by unexpected sorrow, Claire shifted, reached inside the car for her purse, made sure she took the key out of the ignition, and made some effort to put herself together.

  The two men were loading the pieces of the unfortunate sculpture into the back of a black pickup. She eyed them a little cautiously. “Should I leave my car here?”