In From the Cold Page 7

  “Well, what have we here?” Sharon slurred. “How…cozy.”

  It was obvious that we’d been—intimate? Serious? Like a guilty elephant, it filled the room, but Sharon liked nothing better than elephants. Hell, she cracked the whip and put them on parade.

  I longed to hide, mortified, like a schoolgirl caught in the backseat of some boy’s car, but she blocked the door. Drake’s jaw tightened, whether from embarrassment or anger, I wasn’t sure.

  She tilted her head at me, her eyes fixed on him. “So this is why you ditched the party tonight? Really, Drake. The nanny? How clichéd can you get? Next you’ll tell me you’ve been screwing your receptionist.”

  “That’s enough, Sharon.” He was deadly calm.

  “Oh, not nearly.” She cackled, a mirthless, high-pitched sound that could shatter glass. I felt sorry for her, something she’d hate even more than rejection.

  “What, did you tell her about Wanda and Miles? Sob in her skirts so she’d hoist them for you? Isn’t that how the sympathy pitch works?” She staggered and almost fell against the wall, then pushed herself upright. “Pathetic really. Can’t you do better than that?”

  “Sharon, I’m warning you…” Drake stood, every muscle in his body tense. I placed my palm on his leg, and he looked around at me.

  “Don’t,” I said. “She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

  She snorted. “That’s right. I’m drunk. In fact, I’m very drunk, but I know exactly what I’m saying.” She poured her body head-first over the back of the couch, giggling, then stretched out luxuriously. She laughed up at Drake, his face dark with anger.

  “And you’re warning me? What? Are you going to hit me? Tell on me?” She closed her eyes, flopping her arm across them. “You’re all wet again, lover. You’re too nice to hit me. You’ve always been too nice.” Her words started to fade. “And who would you tell?” She thought a minute, as if trying to puzzle that out. She lifted her arm and squinted at Drake, frowned, then closed her eyes again and waved her hand as if brushing off gnats. “Nobody. I’ve got nobody.”

  Drake reached back and took my hand. “Come on. There’s no talking to her when she’s like this.” He pulled me toward the hall.

  “Don’t leave on my account, chickens. I like a little ménage a trois. Wouldn’t be the first time, would it, Drake?”

  We left her chuckling on the couch.

  “Will she be all right?” I asked in the hall.

  “I think so.” He rolled his neck, trying to calm down. “She’ll probably pass out on the couch, then sleep it off.” He studied my expression, then ran a finger from my eye down my cheek. His touch made me breathless, quivery. “I hope you didn’t pay any attention to her. She’s a mean drunk.”

  “I didn’t. She’s bitter and unhappy.” A wave of empathy swamped me. That human wreck could have been me. If I’d continued the way I’d been going, if my sister hadn’t pulled me out of my room, I might have become like Sharon. A wave of gratitude swept over me. I needed to call Debra, and soon.

  Drake flicked my hair back from my forehead, his brow furrowed, then stroked one hand down my arm. “She is bitter. She really loved Miles, I think, but she knew what he was like when she married him. He’d been the same all through college, but she thought she could fix him, or wait him out, or something.” He shrugged, then looked over his shoulder, back toward Sharon, now sprawled on the sofa, one arm slung over eyes.

  Had that been my problem, I wondered? Had I recognized Jim’s flaws, but thought I could fix him? Had I been in denial all along, more mad at myself than at him?

  Drake didn’t look at Sharon like he condemned her. He seemed sad and resigned, as if he recognized her problems, but knew she was helpless to change herself.

  “You care about her.”

  His eyes returned to me, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess.” He sighed. “Miles was my oldest buddy, but he’s selfish and totally thoughtless. He hurt a lot of people, Sharon the most because she stood too close, too long. She’s obviously fried.” He closed his eyes. “It’s hard to just walk away when you’ve known them so long.”

  A loud snore rent the air. Sharon lay asleep, her mouth wide open.

  He shook his head, as if his brain needed clearing like an eight ball, then rubbed his hands up and down my arms. My nerves purred from his soothing touch. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I nodded and then yawned, a huge lion’s roar of a yawn, almost as loud as Sharon’s snore.

  “Sorry.” I grinned ruefully. “Tired, though.”

  “Yeah? Imagine that.” He grinned, then gave me a kiss on the forehead. It was simple and sweet, friendly. “Go to bed. You’ve had a long day.”

  I nodded, happy to comply. I returned to the sofa and draped the fleece throw over Sharon, and then we walked together down the hall. I opened my bedroom door, but then I heard him stop.

  “Claire?” His face was obscured, but his voice sincere.

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for the talk. I needed that.” Then he walked into his bedroom and shut the door.

  I felt lighter somehow, as if sharing my pain had broken its hold on me. Sharon was a wake-up call. Were men and booze her version of my sleep and withdrawal? Could Drake keep me out of that awful hole I’d dug for myself?

  “Thanks for the talk. I needed that,” he’d said.

  Yeah, me too.

  The next morning dawned clear and cold, with no sign of Sharon. She must have dragged herself to bed later that night, but I didn’t have time to dwell on her. The girls had me up at dawn and by the time Drake joined me, I was already tired and frantic for something to occupy them. He scooped Suzie up to his chest, kissed her loudly, then scooped up Yvette and did the same. She looked startled at first, then wonder flitted across her face. When he put her down, she reached her hand up to where he’d kissed her, as if branded with happiness. A smile flickered, stayed for a second or two, then died away. I knew exactly how she felt. The wonder, the happiness, then the reality again. We both knew how fleeting happiness could be. Poor Yvette. Poor me.

  I smelled him before I registered that Drake had come up to me, all flannel shirt and jeans and muscles. His outdoorsy scent of balsam and smoke had me leaning into him. His eyes sparkled with devilment.

  “What do you think, girls? Does Miss Claire need a kiss this morning too?”

  The girls giggled and started to chant. “Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.”

  I put my coffee down and edged away. “I don’t…”

  He stalked toward me, intent on his prey. “Oh, but you do.”

  He grabbed me around the waist, then pulled me up to his chest until I was face level. He stilled and waited, giving me a chance to decide. I smiled, gave him a peck on the cheek, then looked at his face. Something shifted in his eyes, and before I could even breathe, his lips were on mine. I could feel the smile on his lips, taste his toothpaste. He moved slowly, deliberately. One hand came up and held my neck, gently, but forbidding any retreat. And I didn’t want to. If anything, I was starved.

  Something had changed last night, my panic gone, and now, in his arms, some inner switch flipped. I followed the heat in his lips and melted against him, like wax filling a mold. Dimly, I noticed my breasts grow heavy and achy, felt warmth spread in my abdomen, felt my hips press against him, felt my feet leave the floor. He hardened against me, his arms pulling me tighter, deeper, higher. He slanted his mouth to take mine more completely, and I drowned in sensation, until a sound reached in and yanked me from the vortex.

  A giggle.

  No, make that two giggles.

  I broke the kiss and pushed against Drake’s chest. He must have heard them too, because he grinned ruefully as he let me slide to the floor. I rolled my eyes at him, grinning too.

  He looked over at the girls. “Do you think Miss Claire need
s another kiss? Or was that good enough?”

  Suzie put her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “Why do you kiss her like that?”

  He winked at me, then bent over and swung Suzie up on his hip. “Miss Claire is a big girl, so she gets a big-girl kiss because I really, really like her.”

  She frowned. “Does that mean you’ll kiss me like that when I’m a big girl?”

  I smiled and waited to see how he’d dig himself out of that one.

  He hiked her up higher on his hip. “No, you’ll always get my daddy kiss. Those are different.” He glanced at me and winked, then back at Suzie. “And a boy only gives a big-girl kiss to a big girl that he really, really likes. Someday when you’re a big girl, a big boy will really, really like you and kiss you like that.”

  She wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something bad, then looked at me.

  “Did you like that, Miss Claire?”

  Drake lifted an eyebrow at me over Suzie’s head.

  I told her the truth. “I did. Very much.”

  She took in the grin on my face, then looked up at her dad and saw the matching grin on his and wrinkled her nose. She wiggled down from his hold and sat with Yvette and their toys. “I don’t want to be a big girl,” she told Yvette matter-of-factly. “It’s too messy.”

  Something flipped in my chest again. Oh darlin’, out of the mouth of babes…

  We decided over breakfast to go to the Jackson Hole Children’s Museum. When I’d called to let James know when to pick us up, Drake asked for the phone. I was getting the girls dressed when he walked back into the room. He stood inside the doorway, almost shy.

  He cleared his throat and the girls stopped in mid-motion.

  “Would it be all right with you three ladies if I joined you today?”

  Suzie’s eyes widened. “Could you, Daddy? Really?”

  He nodded. “I cleared my agenda for the day.” His eyes flickered toward me. “I want to spend some time with my girls.”

  My girls. Plural. A rush of heat warmed my face.

  Suzie ran up to him and grabbed his hands, then bounced up and down. “Oh yes, yes, yes. Oh Daddy.” She hugged him around the knees, then barreled over to her closet. She plopped down on her bottom, then waved her socked feet in the air. “Boots, please.”

  “Coming right up.” I dropped down on my knees, picked up a boot and looked up at Drake. He mouthed at me, “Is that okay?” and I could see he needed reassurance, that he was doing the right thing for Suzie and not rushing me. I smiled and nodded, and his grin back, so open and relieved, made me want to throw my arms around him and tell him how wonderful he was, that he was a good father, that he was dear, special, that I…

  My hands grew still on Suzie’s other boot. I couldn’t let myself think like that. Those were unknown, perilous waters, for which I had no compass.

  I focused on my task. “We’d love to have you. You’d better get ready though.” I nodded at his bare feet. “The driver will be here in about ten minutes.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted me, then left to get his boots.

  Suzie stuffed Ontidi in her backpack and chattered happily to Yvette. “Daddy’s coming. He never gets to come. He’s always got work.”

  “My daddy always works too.” Yvette squeezed Meow to her thin chest and spoke so softly I could barely hear her. “He never plays with me.”

  “Does your mommy?” Suzie cocked her head.

  Yvette shook her head. “No.”

  She looked so lost, so sad, my heart ached for her. No little girl should feel so alone. I crawled over to Yvette, lifted her into my lap and hugged her to me. “Maybe your parents don’t have time, honey.” I rocked her gently in my arms, rubbing my cheek against her hair. “But you’re very precious and I know they love you. And Uncle Drake, and Suzie, and I…” I hugged her tightly again. “We love you too. Having you with us is the best present we could ever have.” I kissed her head and rocked her. She said nothing, but she put two fingers in her mouth and sucked.

  Even tiny children could dig themselves holes.

  Suzie crawled over and took her hand. “You’re my BFF,” she said emphatically.

  “Really?” I asked, bemused. How did she know that term?

  Yvette stirred in my arms, curious. “What’s that?”

  “That means ‘best friend forever’. My mommy wanted me to tell her that, but I didn’t, because she’s not. But you are.”

  “You too.” Yvette wiggled off my lap. She lifted Meow and handed him to Suzie. “And Meow and Ontidi are BFFs too.”

  Suzie stuffed Meow into her backpack with Ontidi, and just like that, my girls were playing again, their worries gone. How I envied them their ability to turn their feelings off and on like that. And they did feel like my girls now, if only for a little while, no matter what the future brought.

  I sighed with relief when we walked into the Children’s Museum. I loved these little girls, but it was hard to keep them entertained. The girls ran down the long ramp, already excited by the bright colors and the clean airy space. There were big sandboxes around the sides of the room, a small climbing wall, a big jungle gym, a reading corner and lots and lots of toys. Perfect.

  The girls went to a sandbox first, naturally, and I was intrigued by the idea of playing with sand inside too. They sat beside Drake, unconsciously bossy as only small children can be, absorbed in their schemes and designs. Next they moved to the jungle gym, and they crawled and climbed for another half hour. Then they were ready for a book, so we moved to the reading corner. Drake sat beside me with Yvette on his lap, Suzie on mine, as I read Melvin the Christmas Moose aloud. I was ridiculously aware of him beside me, although he didn’t seem affected. He studied Yvette, a pensive expression on his face, and probably wondered, as did I, what her life was really like. She was so sweet, but always so quiet, as if afraid to make her presence known.

  For now, though, she looked relaxed and happy, so I continued reading, and enjoyed the contentment that wrapped itself around us. I yielded to the temptation to pretend for a few minutes that we were a happy young family, enjoying our girls. As if he answered my thoughts, Drake’s hand caressed my back. His touch conveyed comfort and warmth and connection, and my eyes filled. I stopped myself, feeling even more ridiculous, but when I glanced at Drake, his eyes looked a little shiny too.

  We’d been there for a good two hours, and we were all getting hungry, but we had promised the girls the climbing wall before we left. Suzie was already three feet off the ground, but Yvette was still frozen on the lowest step. Drake was encouraging her to try the next one up, when I felt a presence behind us. I looked over my shoulder and saw one of the most strikingly beautiful women I’d ever seen. Tall, with thick blonde hair and perfect, even features, she reminded me of a young Catherine Deneuve.

  “Hello, Drake,” she said, her voice deep and throaty, with a slight French accent. Catherine Deneuve indeed.

  He turned around, startled, one hand still anchored on Yvette’s back. “Oh, hello, Christine.” He squinted at her, puzzled. “What are you doing here?”

  I looked around, but I saw no children with her.

  She waved her hand toward the window. “I saw you through the window, so I thought I’d stop and say hello.” Her hello came out as more of an “allo”, and I was reminded of a bad French film from college. Drake winced, and I almost giggled. She was lying as well. The window stood high in the wall, and there was no way she could have seen us through it. Had she stalked us here? Or bribed our driver to tell her where Drake had gone? Drake must have wondered too, as he stared at the window, then back at her.

  “Who is she, Daddy?” Suzie said from her perch on the wall. She scowled, and I sensed she didn’t appreciate the interruption any more than I did. Yvette stepped to the ground, scowling too.

  I love kids. They have the best bullshit meters in the
world.

  Drake looked in turn at the three of us, then turned back to Christine, sighing. “This is Christine André, sweetheart.” He hesitated, obviously searching for an appropriate term. I filled in the blank in my head—lover, girlfriend, fuckmate—when he said, “She’s a business friend.”

  She laughed lightly, her perfect lips curling at the edges. “A friend, certainly.” She looked at Suzie. “Are these beautiful jeune filles your daughters?” she asked Drake. He nodded, then pulled Suzie from the wall and swung her to the ground. “This is my daughter, Suzie.” She patted Suzie absently on her head, then shifted her gaze toward me. I saw a flash of something in her gaze, but whatever it was, she masked it quickly. Then he nodded toward Yvette and me. “Suzie’s friend, Yvette.”

  “Charmante,” she murmured.

  “And their nanny, Claire.”

  “Their nanny.” Her expression relaxed. Clearly, whatever threat she had suspected disappeared with my label. She gushed and trilled, as if he were the cleverest of men. “How clever of you, Drake, to bring a nanny and little friend.” She leaned into him, putting her hand on his forearm possessively. He cleared his throat, then hoisted Yvette on his hip, a small shield against this feminine onslaught. I almost laughed at his obvious discomfort.

  “I’m afraid you give me too much credit. Yvette is Sharon’s daughter, and Jason hired the nanny.” He turned toward me, smiling warmly. “I can’t thank him enough.”

  Christine’s eyes narrowed, and I could almost see the hair rising on her neck, like a cat arching its back, ready to attack. Her big brown eyes with impossible lashes glared at me, but Drake never saw her. He was too busy gazing at me. Then a more speculative look swept across the theater of her face, a curtain ending another act.

  “Moi aussi.” She purred and stepped close to Yvette, sliding her hand softly down her back. “These poor girls, to be neglected all these nights you’ve shared with me. C’est impossible.”

  My eyes widened in surprise, but Drake’s even more. “We’ve been to the same parties, Christine, but you have not been ‘with me’.” He sounded irritated by her implication, but I was thoughtful. Was this common behavior among the women at these parties? Did he have to beat them off with a stick?