Picture Perfect Page 14

  “What doesn’t he want? He thinks I’m disloyal. He thinks I don’t support him. He thinks I ought to follow his dreams with him and live off the clouds. Come on—I’ve told you all this a dozen times.”

  Kurt kept his voice level. “Let’s take it one point at a time. He thinks he can find another job if you leave Pine Cove.”

  Naomi waved his words away impatiently. “Doing what? That’s what I want to know. All he knows is construction, but who’s going to hire somebody who’s drunk all the time to run heavy machinery? I’m the only one working, but he wants me to quit this job and run off with him when he doesn’t even have anything lined up.”

  “And you don’t want to.”

  “Kurt, everything’s a fairy tale to him. He refuses to face reality.” She leaned forward suddenly and placed her hands on his desk. “Look, I don’t want to go over this again. I’ve made up my mind and I know what I want. I’m filing for divorce and I want you to represent me.”

  He’d been expecting this. Naomi was his cousin, but he’d known Bill all his life. How could he choose between them? Most divorces happened this way. Two sides. Two stories. Two sets of right and wrong. “I wish you wouldn’t ask me to do this.”

  “Are you refusing?”

  “No.” He leaned toward her and took her hands. “I’m not refusing. I just wish it wasn’t necessary.”

  Naomi flashed him a wary look. “You’ll do a good job, won’t you? You’re not going to sabotage me?”

  “Of course not.” He’d take the case and he’d give it his best. But he’d hate doing it. “Bill’s going to despise me for this.”

  “You and me both. I’ll go get the forms.”

  He watched as she crossed the room and opened the door. Seeing a marriage fall apart was never easy. As an attorney, he rarely came across a case where one person was entirely at fault and the other blameless. In his own divorce, he and Laura had each played a part.

  He shuffled through the files in the center of his desk, pushing them aside when concentration evaded him. So what part had Abby played in the breakup of her marriage? What blame lay at her door? Was he right? Was she hiding in Pine Cove because her husband was abusive and she was frightened of him? Or was it something else?

  He fingered the Rolodex on his desk. He’d asked Tony Graham to check on her, but he hadn’t heard anything back yet. And now that he’d kissed her, keeping a private investigator on her trail seemed dishonest.

  Pushing the Rolodex away, he pulled a file from the top of the stack and tried to concentrate. Hiding from an abusive spouse might explain the confusion over where Abby and the children lived. It certainly explained Michael’s nightmare their first night in town. But it didn’t explain why Abby didn’t know about Michael and baseball. Or whether her children could make their own beds. Or who was or wasn’t allergic to dogs.

  He closed the file and shoved his fingers through his hair. If he called off the investigation, he might never know. But would that be so bad? Did he have to know what Abby was hiding?

  He picked up the telephone.

  She hadn’t exactly been truthful with him. And he’d long ago outgrown the age where he’d trust a woman because of the way he felt when he kissed her. He replaced the receiver and stared at the file on his desk. He couldn’t call off Tony Graham’s investigation. Not yet.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “DON’T YOU EVER miss your mom?” Michael took aim with his slingshot and fired at a dead branch dangling from a tree.

  Abby stopped just inside the house, her hand frozen on the screen door.

  Brody tossed a rock at the side of the house and scowled. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “She didn’t want me, so why should I miss her?”

  Michael gave Brody’s answer some thought, nodded and loaded a pebble into the sling. “Does she ever call you?”

  “Are you kidding?” Brody sent a rock flying.

  Michael took another shot at the tree and missed. “Why didn’t she want you?”

  Brody shrugged. “Dad says it’s because she didn’t really want to be a mom. Not because of me, you know, but because she wanted to live somewhere else for her work. You’re lucky your mom lives with you.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Abby released her grip on the door and leaned her head against the wall. Michael must really be missing Rachel. Or was it Vic he missed, even after everything they’d gone through? She knew there’d been good times mixed in with all the bad. Vic’s abuse had finally driven Rachel to divorce, but his good qualities were what had kept her with him for so many years. The attacks that put Rachel in the hospital had come after the divorce. As terrifying as those attacks were, Michael still might miss his father, especially as the terror of them faded, and time gave him a false sense of security.

  Instead of feeling more secure with the passage of time, each day without word from home increased Abby’s anxiety. If Vic wanted Erin and Michael badly enough, he wouldn’t hesitate to attack Rachel again. He’d already hospitalized her once. And he’d hurt anyone else who got in his path. Abby looked out at the boys once more.

  Michael grinned suddenly and punched Brody on the shoulder. “Let’s ask my mom if she’ll make us some cookies.”

  “Chocolate-chip?”

  “Yeah.”

  Abby envied their ability to switch gears so quickly. She knew the snatch of conversation she’d just overheard would haunt her for a while.

  Brody’s face lit up. “Do you think she’ll say yes?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “My mom didn’t like to do stuff like that.”

  “My mom’s cool,” Michael assured him.

  Though Abby had no doubt about Rachel’s culinary skills, she hoped she could measure up. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d made cookies.

  Abandoning her spot on the porch, she found Erin at the kitchen table, her nose buried in a book. “What are you reading?”

  “Nancy Drew.”

  “Really? I loved Nancy Drew when I was a kid.”

  Interest sparked in Erin’s eyes. Laying the book aside, she smiled shyly. “I’ve read almost all of them.”

  “Did you bring the rest with you?”

  “No. They weren’t mine. I had to borrow them from a friend.” She smoothed the open pages of the book almost reverently. “I didn’t have time to give this one back to her before we left.”

  “You can’t spend the entire summer up here without something to read. What do you say we go book hunting tomorrow?”

  “To the library?”

  “I was thinking about finding a bookstore where we can buy you a few of your own. I hear there’s a good one in Clam Beach.”

  Erin’s face was a mix of emotions. Hope and doubt battled inside this child who’d suffered endless broken promises and shattered dreams. In the end, skepticism won. “Okay, I guess. If you want to.”

  Stuffing her hands into her pockets, Abby leaned against the table. “Do you want to help me with something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Michael’s out there telling Brody that I’ll bake cookies tonight. Will you help me?” Erin nodded.

  “Or would you rather keep reading?”

  “I’ll help.”

  “You’re sure? You don’t have to, you know. If you want to, that’s great, but I won’t be upset if you don’t.”

  “I want to.”

  “Okay. What do we need?”

  “A recipe,” Erin suggested softly, but a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  “And boys,” Abby said firmly. “If they want cookies, they can help, too.”

  To her surprise the boys seemed eager to help, and within minutes they’d formed an assembly line around the kitchen table. While Michael fetched ingredients, Erin measured and Brody added them to the bowl. But the boys’ enthusiasm proved almost more detrimental than helpful, and by the time the batter was complete, the kitchen and all four participants wore a fine d
usting of flour.

  While Abby worked the wooden spoon through the dough, Michael raced down the hall toward the front of the house, and seconds later, rock music filled the air.

  “It’s too loud,” Abby protested when Michael returned, but her words fell on deaf ears.

  The boy hopped around the kitchen in time to the music, grinning at Abby. “Bet you can’t do this.”

  “Bet I don’t want to.”

  Brody laughed. “Come on, Abby. Do it.”

  “No.” She dropped spoon-size globs of dough onto the cookie sheet.

  “Come on,” Michael pleaded. “Look, it’s easy.” Slowing his feet, he showed her an easy step.

  Brody followed, embellishing the dance with wide arm movements.

  Laughing, Abby shook her head. “Absolutely not. You don’t know how silly you look.”

  “It’s not silly. It’s cool,” Michael protested.

  In the corner, a shy smile of pleasure lit Erin’s face. More to keep the smile in place than for any other reason, Abby gave in with a show of reluctance. When her first few awkward moves actually brought a laugh from Erin, Abby increased her efforts.

  She knew she looked frightful—wearing old sweats, covered with flour and chocolate smudges, her hair flopping wildly in a ponytail—but she didn’t care. These three children were laughing and forgetting, and Abby couldn’t remember when she’d felt better.

  Kurt reached the back door and stopped, staring at the sight that greeted him. He’d promised to bring Brody’s things by after work, and he needed to fix the broken screen door. Knowing that Abby would find an excuse to keep him away, he hadn’t called ahead. Now he wondered if he’d been wise.

  She danced around the kitchen with abandon, to the delight of the children. Michael had stopped dancing to watch, Erin’s face shone with pleasure, and Brody looked happier than Kurt had seen him in a year.

  Maybe Theresa was right. Maybe Brody needed a mother figure to help him get over Laura. Or maybe Abby had charmed his son as thoroughly as she had Kurt.

  Unexpected emotion shook him, and Kurt backed into the shadows of the porch, unable to tear his eyes from Abby. She positively glowed. Finally, breathless, she stopped dancing and collapsed into a chair by the table.

  Brody hitched himself onto her lap and smiled up at her. “That was great!”

  Kurt couldn’t remember ever seeing a woman look more beautiful.

  Having caught her breath, she smiled devilishly. “Okay, now you owe me one.”

  Brody nodded, but Michael groaned aloud. “You don’t know what she wants. She’s going to make you waltz!”

  “That’s right. Go put on that Strauss tape, Michael. It’s time for my revenge.”

  Stepping out of the shadows, Kurt knocked on the door as Michael darted out of the room. He could either stand here watching Abby all night, or deliver Brody’s things and fix the screen. And knowing how the past few minutes had made his pulse race, he couldn’t afford to take chances.

  Three faces turned at his knock and two smiles remained in place when he entered. Abby’s slid from her face and wariness replaced it.

  He held up his toolbox. “I thought I could fix this screen door for you since I had to bring Brody’s things…”

  Abby’s face offered no encouragement, but Brody actually grinned and Erin looked almost welcoming. The strains of a waltz broke the silence, followed by Michael’s running footsteps.

  “There,” Michael cried when he returned, “but don’t make me dance with you this time. It’s Brody’s turn.”

  Looking confused, Abby shook her head. “I don’t think now would be a good time.”

  Kurt regretted his decision to intrude. He’d put Abby on guard and ruined the spontaneous fun for the children, but he couldn’t think of a skillful way to withdraw.

  “Go ahead. It looks like you were having a great time.” He handed Brody the small case he’d packed for his stay and hunkered down by the screen door.

  Abby reluctantly allowed Brody to drag her to her feet, but the joy had vanished from her face and insecurity had taken its place. “Have you ever done this before?” she asked the boy.

  He shook his head and Kurt nearly laughed aloud at the serious look on his face. Abby showed Brody where to place his hands and patiently taught him to count, waiting until he started to sway before stepping in time to the music.

  Kurt watched them as they circled the room, slowly and clumsily, his eyes feasting on Abby dancing with his son. He longed to hold her, to kiss her once more. He tried to turn away, but the sight of her dancing to the recorded orchestra drew him back.

  By the time he noticed the argument between Michael and Erin, it must have been going on for several minutes. It was hearing his own name that pulled his attention away from the dancers, and he realized the two children were staring at him, waiting for an answer.

  “What?” he asked uncertainly.

  “I said you’d teach Erin—won’t you?” Michael repeated. “Teach Erin…?”

  “To dance like that. I’m not gonna.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “You know how, don’t you?”

  Kurt lowered the screwdriver to the floor. “Yes, I know how. But…” He intended to refuse, and then noticed Erin’s expression. Her eyes were wide, her face full of fear—not that he’d touch her, but that he’d say no. That he’d reject her. She’d allowed herself to trust him on some level he couldn’t begin to guess at, and he couldn’t rebuff it.

  “There’s no one in the world I’d rather dance with,” he said warmly.

  Erin felt small and fragile. He held her at arm’s length, unwilling to hurt her in any way. Her posture was rigid as she responded to his lead with wooden arms and legs, but a tiny smile graced her face when she looked up at him.

  The music swelled, increasing in fervor and carrying them in the same magic countless other generations had known.

  When the music ebbed and broke the spell, Abby forced a tiny laugh. “Well, enough of that foolishness.”

  “Not yet!” Erin protested. “Once more, please? I just got to try it for a minute.”

  “What about the cookies?” Abby asked.

  “Please?”

  Her enthusiasm surprised Kurt, and he met Abby’s startled glance with a shrug. “I don’t mind.”

  “Me, too, then,” Brody insisted and assumed the position, leading Abby across the floor when the music began again.

  Kurt and Erin began to move across the floor when, without warning, Erin stopped dancing. She frowned up at him. “I can’t get it. I can’t do it right.”

  “You’re doing fine. It just takes a little practice.”

  “No,” she insisted, twisting away. “Show me how it’s supposed to look.”

  As Erin pulled away from Kurt, she maneuvered him directly in front of Abby. With a tug on Brody’s shirt, Erin dislodged him, leaving Abby only a heartbeat away. “Show me—please?”

  The only consolation Kurt could find was that Abby looked as flustered as he felt. This wasn’t wise. If he held her in his arms, even to dance, he might cross the invisible barrier again. And this time he might not be able to go back.

  Telling himself to leave, Kurt closed his arm around Abby’s waist. Bracing himself against his own heart, he took her hand and swept her up in the rhythm of the waltz. Against his better judgment, he pulled her closer.

  Only knowing that Abby was a married woman and that the children were watching kept him from giving in to his emotions completely. He concentrated on the music for as long as he could, but eventually lost himself when she noticeably softened against him.

  The music swelled, keeping pace with his own frenzied heartbeat. Abby swayed slightly and leaned against him, her arm inching around his neck. Only Abby and the music were real. The rest of the room faded away, blurred in Kurt’s consciousness until he could have imagined himself anywhere—with Abby.

  When at last the music stopped, he slowed, unwilling to release her. Wi
th her face just below his, Abby’s eyes closed. It would take so little to kiss her again, hardly any effort at all. Without even moving, he could lower his mouth to hers. She wouldn’t fight him. Every instinct told him she would welcome him if he made the slightest move.

  And they’d be as wrong as Laura and her lover had been.

  He couldn’t do it. Too many people could get hurt, and he wasn’t about to put Brody through more heartache. He couldn’t afford more heartache. Whether or not she returned to her husband, Abby would leave him at the end of the summer. Only a fool would get involved when so much heartache awaited. And he was no fool.

  Abby’s eyes opened lazily. He waited for her to regain her naturally wary expression, but to his surprise, she didn’t. With a smile of apology Kurt released her and stepped away.

  Spots of color flamed in her cheeks and she stammered, “I—I’m sorry…”

  “No. You didn’t do anything. I’m the one who should apologize…” he began, but she turned on her heel and fled the room before he could finish his thought.

  As she disappeared through the door, Michael ran after her and Brody followed his friend, sparing a small grin for his father. But Erin didn’t move.

  With her eyes riveted on Kurt’s face, Erin pressed her hands to her side. “That was nice.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have danced with your mother.”

  “It was okay.”

  “Maybe,” he said doubtfully. Then, wanting to change the subject, “I guess I ought to get that door fixed. What do you say?”

  Erin took a few tentative steps toward him, but when she didn’t speak again, Kurt got to work, trying not to let her scrutiny bother him. He checked the screws in the hinge, replaced the catch and cut another length of screen to replace the torn one.

  Though he remained aware of Erin’s presence, when she spoke again the sound of her voice startled him. “Do you want to get married again?”

  “What?”

  “Would you ever want to get married again?”

  Lowering the pliers to the floor, he searched his mind for the right answer. With another kid he might make a joke, but knowing Erin’s history of abuse, the wrong answer could easily have an adverse affect on her. Abby had her hands full enough without him unwittingly adding to her stress. He scratched his chin and looked thoughtful. “Well, now, I suppose I would if the right woman came along.”