Lips That Touch Mine (14 page)

"Impudent," he said.

He was beyond impudent. He was a rascal, a
tease, as she well knew from her own experience. A philanderer, as
he'd admitted. A rake.

But thoughtful and generous and kind. An
artist who saw beauty in simple things, who made simple things into
things of beauty.

A man with two faces.

No wonder she couldn't understand him.

He called Sailor away from the stove, then
opened the door. "I enjoyed the kiss, Claire." He winked and
stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

She released a shaky breath and carried her
cocoa to the parlor. The little fire she was burning on Christmas
Eve did not warm her at all. To her shame, she longed for the
warmth of Boyd's arms.

"This man is trouble, Grandmother," she said,
her whispered words lost in the empty parlor.

She wrapped an afghan around her shoulders
and settled in to the rocking chair to read the journal.

Boyd was prying at her resistance, forcing
her to pay attention to him, to see him and make space for him in
her thoughts.

"Is that what Abe did to you, Grandmother?
Did he make you notice him when you knew you shouldn't?"

She leaned her head against the back of the
rocking chair, feeling half crazy. She was talking to herself, and
thinking of a man who couldn't be a worse candidate for her
affection. It was crazy to think about him.

But she did.

His charm and wit challenged her to stay
alert. But the tender, serious side of Boyd intrigued her and made
her want a closer look.

Which image reflected the real man? The
impudent rakehell, or the kind and thoughtful gentleman?

A loud banging on the door brought her to her
feet with a squeak of fright. She clasped the journal to her
pounding heart.

Whoever stood outside pounded again.

Half terrified, she hurried to the foyer and
peeked out the small window beside the door.

To her utter shock, Anna—a woman Claire had
met briefly while living with Jack in a crude rooming house near
the docks—was standing on her porch.

"Dear God..." Claire clutched her reeling
stomach, unable to open the door. Anna's husband was a monster,
worse than Jack could have ever been.

"I need a place to stay." Anna pressed her
hand to the glass, desperation in her eyes. "I saw the sign for
your boardinghouse in the store window."

It would cost Claire too much to open the
door.

"Larry's in j-jail," she said, her chin
quivering from the cold. "He doesn't know I've left him."

The wind howled past the window, whipping
Anna's cape around her, pelting her with snow. Claire's heart
twisted, but she couldn't move.

"He won't come here. He doesn't know we were
friends," Anna said.

They weren't friends. They'd spoken a few
times during the two weeks they'd both lived in the squalid
dockside apartments. They had recognized each other as being in the
same inescapable situation, but they'd never talked about it.

They had talked about the approaching
holidays. When Jack drowned, Anna had expressed her sympathy and
her relief that Claire had a place to go.

Now Anna was here seeking refuge, bringing
her dangerous life right to Claire's doorstep.

Anna's bare palm slid down the window, the
hope in her eyes dying as she turned away. She pulled her cloak
around her thin body and crossed the porch.

Compassion warred with self-preservation, as
Claire watched Anna descend the steps. Where would she go? Where
could she go? That was the question Claire had faced each time
she'd thought about running from Jack.

The answer was the same for Anna. She
couldn't go to her family because it was the first place Larry
would look. Even if Claire had been welcome at her father's house,
she wouldn't have put him in Jack's destructive path. Jack had been
too sly and conniving. He would have found a way to win.

She'd been trapped with no place to go.

Just like Anna.

With a silent curse, Claire wrenched open the
door. "Are you hurt, Anna?"

Anna turned toward the house, and her eyes
filled with tears. "No. But I can't go home."

"Come inside then."

Anna brushed the tears from her eyes and
climbed the steps. "Thank you," she whispered.

Claire closed the door behind them, then
slipped the journal into the desk.

"Larry's in jail for killing a man during a
card game. He doesn't know I'm gone. I haven't told anyone about
you, so he won't be a danger to us."

Claire wished she could believe that. Men
like Larry had a way of finding their wives.

"I'll get us some hot tea," she said, guiding
Anna into the parlor. "Make yourself comfortable."

When she returned, Anna was staring out the
window at Boyd's shimmering snow castle. "How beautiful," the woman
said, her voice filled with awe. "It looks so warm and inviting
inside I want to live there."

Claire felt the same way each time she looked
at it. "My neighbor Boyd Grayson built it this evening."

Anna regarded the castle as if deep in
thought. "He's in love with you," she finally said.

Claire choked on her tea. Her sinuses burned,
and she blinked her eyes to clear her tears.

Anna glanced at the shimmering castle, then
back at Claire. "He must be."

"Boyd Grayson doesn't know the meaning of the
word. He's a rakehell who is trying to manipulate me."

"Any man who would build a magnificent snow
castle and light it with a lantern, meant it as a gift." She
gestured toward the castle. "This was a gift to you. Whatever his
motivation, he gave you a part of himself today. You can see
it."

Claire's stomach plunged and she sank down
onto the sofa. What if Anna was right?

He had given her a gift today. He'd taken her
to the cemetery to connect with her family, then he'd built a fairy
tale castle to make her feel less alone. Somehow he'd known that
she needed a friend today.

He'd been that friend.

He'd given her a part of himself.

The castle was beautiful and luminous, a gift
he'd made just for her.

How shameful that she'd never properly
expressed her gratitude, that she had insisted on seeing him in a
superficial light. There was much more to this man. He was artistic
and giving, a light to those around him.

She definitely owed Boyd a thank you, but his
saloon was stripping away her independence dollar by dollar, day by
day, boarder by boarder. No matter how charmed she was by his
gifts, she couldn't afford to overlook that.

But she felt torn between her need to thank
him and her need to protect herself.

o0o

The walk to his mother's house was cold, but
it gave Boyd time to think about Claire. He shocked her earlier
with his bold kiss, but she hadn't been offended.

She'd liked it.

He'd loved it.

And he was going to kiss her again. Soon.

She would pretend that he'd taken advantage
of her, that she was affronted by his forwardness, that she hadn't
enjoyed the kiss. But she'd liked it. He'd kissed enough women to
know when they were responding with passion. Claire had definitely
responded. And definitely with passion.

The windows of his mother's house were
brightly lit. The house would be filled with food and family and
laughter.

He always enjoyed their celebrations, but
tonight he felt an odd discomfort about attending.

Was it because Claire was alone?

He should have left Sailor with her instead
of at the saloon. Both would have enjoyed the evening more.

Before he could consider turning back, the
door opened and Duke stepped outside.

"Leaving already?" Boyd asked.

"Just getting the wine." Duke reached into
the snow bank beside the door and plucked out a gallon jug of white
wine. "Rebecca's in a snit that you're late."

"Is she now?" Their seven-year-old niece was
all curls and attitude. And absolutely irresistible.

"She's lecturing Kyle about taking care of
Ginger's litter of kittens. "

"Then I'll go in and help her give him hell."
Duke chuckled and followed him inside.

The parlor was filled with his family, and
the house smelled of cinnamon, roast turkey, and plum pudding.

Boyd had spent every Christmas Eve here with
his mother and brothers, and eventually with their wives and
children. Now Kyle's mother-in-law Victoria, who'd been widowed two
years earlier, brought her suitor Jeb Kane to share the holiday
with them. The sounds and smells were so familiar they were etched
in Boyd's brain.

But this year something was missing.

It wasn't his father's absence. He'd been
missing his father from the moment disease had started to cripple
him, and long before it had killed him. This emptiness felt
different. It was an ache in the center of his chest that left him
longing for something of his own, something to fill the void inside
him.

He stepped into the room, hoping to step away
from the feeling that haunted him. "Merry Christmas," he said to
everyone, then swept his mother into a hug that lifted her off her
feet.

She laughed and swatted his shoulder. "Don't
think that will sweeten me up. It's been almost a week since you've
been to see me."

"And I've been pining the whole time."

"The devil you have." She pushed him away,
but her eyes sparkled with love. "You were so busy making eyes at
Mrs. Ashier this morning, you nearly ran over me and Rebecca near
the Common. Rebecca even shouted at you, but you drove right by
us."

His glance shot across his brothers' grinning
faces. The wretches were savoring every minute of his discomfort.
Even Jeb was trying to hide a grin.

Heat 'burned his neck because he had been
preoccupied with Claire. While she'd been sitting beside him, he
hadn't given a damn who was strolling through town. It could have
been the Union Army, and he wouldn't have noticed one of them.

"Rumor has it you're in love with the pretty
widow," Evelyn said, the mischief in her eyes suggesting she
enjoyed watching him squirm as much as his brothers did. Radford's
wife had grown up as Boyd's neighbor, so the raven-haired beauty
was more like a sister than a sister-in-law to him.

Like a true brother, he ignored her and spoke
to his mother. "I didn't see you and Rebecca," he said, hoping they
would all drop the subject.

"You didn't see me either," Duke added. "You
damned near ran me over on Day Street."

"The devil I did."

"If it wasn't you in that decked out sleigh
with the pretty widow, then you've got a twin in town who can't
manage a pair of horses."

Boyd scowled at Duke. Brothers could be such
a pain in the ass sometimes.

"You and the lovely widow created quite a
buzz in the park this morning," his mother said. "You two made a
cozy picture in that fancy sleigh. Are you courting her?"

He was trying to court Claire, but wasn't
about to discuss his situation with his too-eager family. Instead
of answering, he winked at Rebecca. "Hey, sprite. I've got
mistletoe in my pocket. Where's my kiss?"

Rebecca's face filled with joy, and she leapt
off Kyle's lap.

"Did Mrs. Ashier like our sleigh?"

He groaned. "She loved it, Sprite."

"Why didn't you wave to me?" she demanded,
her bottom lip full of attitude.

"Because I didn't see you." He swept her up
in a twirling hug that made her squeal with laughter—and made his
head spin. "Why are you picking on Uncle Kyle?" he asked, swinging
the attention to his deserving brother. Let Kyle squirm a bit.

"He's gonna give Ginger's kittens away."

"Is that so?"

Rebecca nodded. "Aunt Amelia says she won't
let him."

Boyd slanted a your-turn-to-squirm look at
Kyle. "Looks like you're outnumbered."

"I plan to change that by giving away a few
kittens." Amelia wrinkled her nose at Kyle. "Would you want someone
to give our baby away?"

"I might consider it if he doesn't start
sleeping at night."

"You would not," she said with a laugh that
flushed her cheeks and made Kyle grin.

"Ginger had five kittens," Rebecca said,
tugging on Boyd's black bow tie. "She has two boys and three
girls."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Want one?"

"No thanks," Boyd said, but then he thought
of Claire. "But I might know someone who does."

"Ask if they want five." Amelia nudged Kyle
in the ribs. He grunted and chuckled. "All right. We'll keep
one."

"Where's your mistletoe?" Rebecca asked.

Boyd pulled it out of his pocket, held it
above his niece's head, and gave her a loud smack on her cheek. She
giggled and he growled against her neck, making her squeal and
squirm out of his arms. Laughing, he tucked the mistletoe back into
his pocket and glanced down at his nephew, who was soaking
something with drool. "What's William trying to eat?"

Rebecca squatted beside her brother. "His
shoe," she said, then giggled when her mother wrinkled her nose and
removed the leather boot from William's mouth.

Radford wasn't concerned at all that his son
was eating his shoe. Neither was Boyd. God knew what horrors the
four Grayson brothers had eaten during their lifetime, and they'd
survived.

Boyd played with William until his giggles
caused hiccups; then he introduced himself to his newest nephew,
Marshall, who promptly spit up on the sleeve of Boyd's suit jacket.
Rebecca climbed onto his lap and instigated a tickling match.

At last he sank into a chair, into the warm,
welcoming bosom of his family, feeling at home...and yet, not at
home.

The joking and light banter between them was
the same, but something inside him was different this year.

The thought gnawed at him throughout the
evening, distracting him by turns, poking him incessantly until
finally, he wandered into the kitchen to snatch a second helping of
pie. He reached for a plate, but ended up admiring the oak pie safe
his father had made for his mother before Boyd was born. Boyd
trailed his finger over a cluster of rosettes carved in the center
of the safe door. Even his father's early work had the mark of a
master craftsman.