Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Claire finished the glass of tea April had practically forced on her and headed upstairs, wishing Tony were home so she could explain everything and get it over with.
She undressed slowly, carefully hanging her dress on a padded hanger so it wouldn’t wrinkle. Her necklace and earrings went into the jewelry case one by one.
Too restless to nap or even read, Claire changed into running shorts and a T-shirt. She laced her shoes, clipped her hair back, and headed out the front door before she could talk herself out of it.
Normally she wasn’t big on physical exertion, but she’d gone running a few times with Tony and, to her surprise, had enjoyed it. Maybe even needed it.
The steady rhythm of her feet against the path calmed her. Each step helped shake loose some of the anxiety knotted in her chest.
Would Tony understand? Would he see that she’d done the right thing for the right reason—or would he think she was foolish? Or worse, think she’d used April’s call as a convenient excuse?
She picked up her pace and shook the thoughts off. Worrying wouldn’t help.
By the time she reached the edge of the downtown district and turned back, her breath came in short puffs, but the tension had eased. Her limbs felt heavy, her head lighter.
Claire looked up at the darkening sky and whispered, Dear God, I know I’m supposed to give my fears to You. So I’m trying. Please take them now. Amen.
If her gaze had stayed grounded, she might’ve seen the tiny dog that darted across the path.
And if she’d seen it, she might not have fallen.
* * *
Tony paced the living room.
He’d been home for half an hour. The Jeep was parked outside, but there was no sign of Claire. April had gone to bed, the house was quiet, and Mrs. Sandy was still out with Harold.
Where was she?
Unless something better comes along…
He knew she’d been joking, but the words stuck in his head like a splinter. This evening had mattered to him—and she’d known it.
A car engine rumbled outside. Tony strode to the front door and yanked it open. “About time you?—”
He stopped short.
It wasn’t Claire, but Mrs. Sandy and Harold. And judging by their startled expressions and the way they stepped apart, he’d interrupted a goodnight kiss.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I thought you were Claire.”
Mrs. Sandy frowned. “Isn’t she with you?”
“She was supposed to be…”
They followed him inside, and Tony explained the dinner, the delay, the unanswered questions. “When I saw the Jeep out front, I assumed she was home. But she’s not.”
Harold’s expression turned grave. “Maybe you should call the sheriff.”
“And say what?” Tony asked, half-laughing, half-exhausted. “That my fiancée missed dinner and now I can’t find her?”
Mrs. Sandy laid a hand gently on his arm. “But she promised you.”
“I know. She said I could count on her.”
Unless something better…
He shoved the thought away.
“Tony.” Harold’s tone was firm but kind. “Just call. Around here, folks look out for each other.”
“Mrs. Perkins called once because her cat didn’t come home,” Mrs. Sandy added with a wry smile. “The cat weighs twenty-five pounds.”
Tony cracked a smile. “Okay. I’ll call.”
Mrs. Sandy gave a nod and nudged Harold toward the kitchen. “We’ll make coffee.”
Tony flipped open the phone book, found the number, and dialed. He explained the situation quickly. To his surprise, the dispatcher didn’t dismiss him. She promised to send someone right over.
He hung up and dropped his head into his hands.
God, please keep her safe.
“Tony?” Mrs. Sandy returned, her voice gentle. “What did they say?”
“They’re sending someone.” As the words left his mouth, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” she said, already hurrying toward the door.
Harold reappeared with two mugs. “Drink up,” he said, handing one to Tony.
“I’m not?—”
“Just drink. We might have a long night ahead.”
Tony took a sip. The brew was strong and bitter, and it burned on the way down. It suited his mood perfectly.
Footsteps returned. Mrs. Sandy entered, escorting a uniformed deputy. Tony recognized him instantly—Mark Crouse, one of the regulars in his men’s Bible study.
“Tony, you know Deputy Crouse.”
Tony stepped forward, offering his hand. “Thanks for coming.”
“That’s what we’re here for, Pastor,” Crouse said, giving his hand a firm shake.
Harold and Mrs. Sandy started to move away, but Tony stopped them. “I’d like you both to stay.”
Mrs. Sandy nodded and returned to her seat.
Crouse took off his hat and sat. A flicker of sympathy crossed his face, and Tony’s heart pounded harder.
“Mark… do you know what’s happened to Claire?”
“I don’t know where she is now ,” he said. “But I do know where she was earlier tonight.”
Tony straightened. “Where was she?”
Mark met his gaze squarely. “She was in my patrol car.”
* * *
If his heart hadn’t been pounding so loudly, Tony might have sworn it had stopped altogether. It was hard enough to breathe—much less speak—but he had to know.
“Was she...?” His voice cracked. He steadied himself and tried again. “Was she hurt?”
Deputy Crouse shook his head. “No, sir. She’s fine.”
“Thank God.” Mrs. Sandy’s voice quivered. Harold slipped an arm around her, and Tony exhaled a shaky breath, sending his own prayer of thanks upward.
“But if she wasn’t hurt…” Harold voiced the question weighing on all of them. “Why was she in your patrol car?”
“And where is she now?” Mrs. Sandy asked.
The deputy glanced between them all—Tony, Mrs. Sandy, Harold—then back to Tony.
“I think we should speak privately,” he said at last.
Harold immediately nodded and turned to Mrs. Sandy. “We’ll give you?—”
“No,” Tony interrupted. “You and Darlene are like family. I want you here.”
Deputy Crouse looked uncertain. “Pastor…”
“Please,” Tony said. “Just tell us.”
The deputy nodded slowly. “Okay.” He cleared his throat and checked the clock before beginning. “Dispatch got a call this afternoon—anonymous. Report of a possible intruder at the Nordstrom place. Door was open. There was a strange car in the yard. So I went in to take a look.”
Tony’s stomach clenched.
Mark continued. “It was quiet. Then I stepped into the dining room and saw them—two men and Ms. Waters.”
“Had she been kidnapped?” Tony’s voice surged, panic returning full force. Dear God, please no.
“Not exactly,” Crouse said carefully. “I knew right away it wasn’t a break-in. I recognized Wayne Nordstrom and Claire. Took me a second, but I realized the third person was Jay.”
Tony frowned. Jay Nordstrom. The dream man. The one Claire had teased him about. Cover of GQ , wasn’t it?
“What were they doing?” Tony asked, though a part of him wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.
The deputy shifted uncomfortably. “From what I could see? Playing strip poker.”
Harold inhaled sharply. Mrs. Sandy clutched her pearls.
“Explain,” Harold said evenly. “That’s a serious claim.”
“They were sitting at the table,” Crouse said, his tone defensive now. “Cards, beer bottles everywhere. Wayne had no shirt, Jay was down to boxers, and Claire—she had a beer in one hand and her nylons draped around Jay’s neck.”
“No,” Mrs. Sandy said firmly. “Claire wouldn’t—she doesn’t even like beer.”
“She was drinking today,” the deputy said, apologetically glancing at Tony. “I could smell it.”
Mrs. Sandy shook her head, stunned. “There must be an explanation. Claire would never do something like that.”
Tony said nothing. He was trying to take it in, trying to square the image of the woman he loved with the picture the deputy was painting.
“And you’re sure—” Harold began.
“There was no coercion,” the deputy said. “No sign of a struggle. She was there of her own free will.”
Tony felt like he’d been punched in the gut. The room tilted slightly, but he stayed perfectly still.
“Just to clarify…” he said, his voice hollow. “The man in his underwear—Jay Nordstrom?”
Crouse nodded. “That’s right. Wayne’s older brother.”
Mrs. Sandy touched Tony’s arm. “The one from L.A. The news anchor. Big-time.”
Tony swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat. Of course. Every woman’s dream man.
The deputy added, “It was just the three of them.”
Tony closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. “And where’s Claire now?”
“I dropped her off at the bed-and-breakfast about twenty minutes ago.”
Silence settled over the room.
Claire. Beer in one hand. Her nylons draped around another man’s neck.
You were going to ask her to stay.
He’d been ready to lay it all out—to tell her he loved her. That he wanted forever.
And she’d been playing strip poker with Jay Nordstrom.
Maybe she never truly changed. Maybe she never meant to.
Tony sat back in his chair, jaw tight. “Thank you, Mark.”
The deputy hesitated. “If you’d like to talk to her?—”
“I will.” Tony’s tone was clipped. “Eventually.”
Mrs. Sandy looked at him, her eyes full of questions. But Tony couldn’t answer them. He didn’t have answers for himself.
All he could think about was the ring. The plans. The trust.
And how everything suddenly felt like a lie.
* * *
Claire stopped short. The house was ablaze with lights. In the driveway, next to Tony’s Jeep, sat a silver Cadillac she vaguely remembered. Down the street, a black and white cruiser turned the corner and disappeared.
Ripples of panic turned her skin to gooseflesh. Why would Officer Crouse stop at the house? She hadn’t broken any laws. Maybe he hadn’t come for her. Maybe he’d found out April had been at the Nordstrom farm.
Claire drew a deep, shuddering breath. April had so much going for her. The girl didn’t need this kind of trouble. Going with Wayne had been a foolish mistake, but she didn’t deserve to pay for it with a juvenile record. And, if Claire had anything to say about it, she wouldn’t.
She straightened her shoulders and, forgetting everything but her desire to protect April, headed up the stairs. Pain shot up her leg, and her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t dare look down. Her ankle had swelled the minute she’d picked herself up after tripping over that dog, and she didn’t even want to know what it looked like now.
Each step sent fire up her leg, but the ache in her chest burned hotter. She had to explain. She had to make Tony understand.
She reached the porch and stood at the door, which was slightly ajar. Through the screen, she could hear Tony’s baritone mingling with other voices.
Her heart sank. She’d hoped to catch him alone. Telling him wouldn’t be easy, but once she explained, he’d understand. Wouldn’t he?
Claire pushed her doubts aside, lifted her chin, and stepped inside. “Anyone home?”
The conversation in the other room stilled.
“We’re in the living room, Claire,” Mrs. Sandy called, an odd note in her voice.
Claire hobbled across the hardwood floor, suddenly missing the walking stick she’d discarded at the driveway. Pausing in front of the mirror, she grimaced at her perspiration-soaked hairline and the streak of dirt across one cheek. She wiped it away and unclasped her barrette, letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders.
She ran her fingers through the dark strands and sighed. No time for powder or lipstick. She looked like the end of a long story. But she couldn’t wait.
“Claire, what’s—” Mrs. Sandy appeared in the doorway, her expression collapsing into concern at the sight of Claire’s ankle. “Oh, my dear. What happened?”
Claire’s smile wobbled. “I fell.”
Tears pressed behind her eyes. She wanted to collapse into the woman’s arms. But she couldn’t. Not yet.
Mrs. Sandy fetched a settee and helped Claire to sit. “Don’t move a muscle.” She called into the other room. “Tony. Harold. I need your help.”
In an instant the two men appeared. Tony—tall, handsome, steady—stood with his arms folded across his chest, his face unreadable.
So angry.
Her smile faded.
Mrs. Sandy frowned. “Tony, you’re not going to do her much good over there. Claire’s ankle is hurt, and Harold’s back isn’t the best. You’ll need to carry your fiancée into the living room.”
Tony straightened and walked across the room. When he bent over, Claire wrapped her arms around his neck. She tilted her head and whispered, “There’s so much I need to tell you.”
“No kidding,” he said flatly.
She stiffened. He didn’t even try to keep his voice down.
He set her in the chair, and Mrs. Sandy propped Claire’s foot on the ottoman while Harold retrieved an ice bag.
Tony stood with his back to her, facing the fireplace.
The silence between them was louder than any shouting.
Finally, Harold spoke. “I probably should be going.”
“Sit down, Harold,” Tony said coldly. “Claire wants to tell us about her evening.”
“I don’t think Harold would be interested.” Claire’s voice was tight. “This is between you and me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Tony’s tone was like ice. “It stopped being between you and me when the deputy stopped by. He told us all about your little adventure.”
Claire tried to keep her voice steady. “Where’s April?”
“In bed,” Mrs. Sandy said. “She must’ve been all tuckered out.”
“There’s no need for her to know about this,” Tony snapped.
“As if I’d want to drag her into it anyway.”
“You’re the one who brought her up.”
Claire inhaled slowly.
“Is it true?” Tony asked. “You were playing strip poker?”
“Yes, but?—”
“What were you doing there in the first place?”
“I went to help a friend.”
“Which one?” he bit out. “Wayne or his brother?”
“Neither.” Claire swallowed hard. “She left.”
“Who was she? What’s her name?”
“I promised I wouldn’t say.”
“How convenient.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand all too well,” Tony said bitterly. “You stayed after this mysterious friend left. Playing games. Drinking beer. With two half-naked men. That’s not the Claire I thought I knew.”
“I had a plan.” Claire’s voice broke. “It was the only way to get April out safely.”
“You had a choice. You didn’t have to stay.”
“Yes, I did. You don’t know what it was like.”
“You think I don’t know what a sacrifice looks like?” Tony’s eyes flashed. “I’ve given up everything for this calling—for this town. And you—you couldn’t even show up for dinner.”
“I was trying to protect someone.”
“But you couldn’t protect us.”
She stared at him, stunned. Maybe she never really knew him either.
Claire swallowed the lump in her throat. “You know what? Let’s make this simple.” She turned to Harold. “Mr. Clarke, what kind of job do you think Tony’s been doing?”
He blinked. “Excellent.”
“I imagine you’d like to keep him around?”
“He’s got a job here as long as he wants it.”
“Good.” Claire exhaled.
She pulled the ring from her finger. Her heart clenched. She knew how to play her part. She’d done graceful exits before. But never with someone she loved.
She tossed the ring in a gentle arc. Tony caught it.
“What’s this?” he said, stunned.
“It’s over.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t love you.”
Claire turned and hobbled down the hall. Her ankle throbbed, but it was nothing compared to her heart.
Tony stared at the ring in his hand. The worst had happened. She’d moved on. Just like he feared.
Mrs. Sandy spoke gently. “All couples argue. I’m sure you two?—”
“No, we won’t.” He shoved the ring in his pocket. “I was a fool to think she could love this life.”
He rose. “It’s been a long day.”
He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. If he turned around, they’d see too much.
He had to believe she never loved him. It was easier than believing she had… and walked away anyway.