Lips That Touch Mine (18 page)

She was older and wiser now. She understood
the difference between real life and make-believe. But she wondered
what her life would have been like if she'd met Boyd instead of
Jack.

"Beautiful," Anna said with a sigh, rising to
her feet with the rest of the audience and clapping vigorously.

Claire shook her head and got to her feet.
She was still an idle dreamer. Boyd was with Martha. When Martha
returned to Buffalo, Boyd would find another beautiful lady to
cling to his arm.

Desmona Edwards was looking straight at Anna.
Claire moved forward to shield her friend from the gossip. Desmona
was too nosy. She would ask too many questions. Anna needed peace
and privacy, not an interrogation from the prying old crone.

They moved into the congested aisle ahead of
Boyd and Martha. They couldn't hurry because of the crowd filling
the hall, but Claire felt Boyd's tall body shifting behind hers.
She imagined him looking at her while he held Martha's hand in the
crook of his elbow.

Some men did that. Jack had. Those men held
one woman on their arm and ogled others.

Jack's arm had been reserved for her, but
every woman in the crowd had been his. He'd admired them, winked at
them, cast lascivious gazes that made them giggle. He was tall and
golden and gorgeous.

Claire had believed she would feel proud on
his arm. She'd felt like a ball and chain.

Boyd touched her arm and stopped her.
"Beebe's Saloon was loud earlier, so pay attention on your way
home."

Claire thrilled to his unexpected touch, and
immediately called herself a fool. He only wanted to caution her to
be careful. He wasn't flirting with her. He was simply being
considerate.

She nodded to Martha. "Good-bye, Miss
Newmaine. Perhaps we'll meet again."

"I'm sure we'll see each other soon, Mrs.
Ashier." The woman turned to Anna. "That dress is lovely on
you."

"It's a magic dress," Anna said again, with
wistful smile that made Claire's heart ache.

They chatted and shivered all the way home.
Inside, they took off their coats, made tea, and carried their cups
to the parlor.

"What was your favorite part?" Anna asked, as
Claire knelt to stoke the fire.

"When William confessed his love for
Estella," she said. "What was your favorite part?"

"I couldn't possibly choose." Anna released a
dreamy sigh. "I loved every minute. It was wonderful to escape life
for a while. Thank you for taking me. And thank you for letting me
wear this dress."

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

"I did," Anna said. "Did you?"

"Of course."

"I thought you might have been uncomfortable
with Boyd watching you all evening."

Claire brushed her hands across her skirt.
"He wasn't watching me."

"He most certainly was! His eyes barely left
your face during the whole performance."

"Nonsense. Martha had his full
attention."

"No, Claire. You did." Anna sighed. "That man
is definitely attracted to you."

"Twaddle." She flapped her hand and sat in
the rocker. "Boyd Grayson is attracted to every woman."

"That's not true. All women are attracted to
him, but few of them can get his attention. Believe me, you've got
his full attention."

"Only because he's playing games with me,
hoping I'll stop marching and badgering him to close his saloon.
This is sport for him, Anna. "

Anna sipped her tea in silence, but her
downcast eyes reflected her disagreement.

"Why would Boyd bother with me when he has
women like Martha swooning at his feet?" Claire asked

"Because you're beautiful, and because you
aren't swooning at his feet."

"Then he's pestering me because he sees me as
a challenge?"

"Possibly." Anna lowered her cup. "Although I
think he's genuinely attracted to you. He can't keep his eyes off
you."

"That's because he's a rake."

Anna leaned back on the sofa. "Rake or not,
that man is smitten."

Bosh. Ridiculous. Utter nonsense. Boyd
Grayson was smitten with Martha. Even now he was probably seducing
the lovely woman

The thought pierced Claire's heart with such
pain, she shoved the image from her mind and took a large gulp of
tea. The hot liquid scorched her throat and made her eyes water.
Served her right for being such a ninny.

How on earth had she let that reprobate sneak
beneath her guard?

It was that damned carving. That little gift
from him had been the beginning of her downfall. The exquisite
piece of art had elicited her curiosity about the man. From the
first, she'd been awed by his talent and attracted to his good
looks. But it was the way he tended her injured foot, the way he
loved his dog, the way he built that astonishing snow castle just
for her, that had touched her heart.

And now he was probably making love to
Martha.

Had he given Martha one of his carvings?

Were they laughing and flirting with each
other? Or were they whispering and touching and...doing all the
things that lovers did when they were alone in their bedchamber?
The thought of him loving Martha carved a chunk out of Claire's
heart.

How had she allowed herself to have feelings
for Boyd?

How could she be so utterly pathetic?

Anna yawned and stretched like a cat." I'm
exhausted and relaxed and truly happy for the first time in ages.
If you don't mind, I'm going to go to bed before I start dwelling
on my life again."

"Good idea." Claire placed her teacup on the
stand beside her, then followed Anna from the room.

Her gentleman boarders opened the front door
and entered the foyer holding large goblets of whiskey-colored
liquid and laughing uproariously.

"Ah, our lovely hostess," said the taller of
the two men.

"Good evening, Mr. Carver. Mr. Hosington,"
Claire said, exchanging a wary glance with Anna.

"George and I were hoping to see you ladies
this evening," Mr. Carver said in a too friendly manner.

"Why?" Claire asked, then cursed herself for
allowing her suspicion be so obvious. "Was there something you
gentleman needed?"

"Just your company. Join us," he said,
gesturing toward the parlor with his glass.

Anna backed toward the stairs, and Claire
gave her a discrete nod. "It's been a long day for the both of us,"
Claire said. "We'll bid you gentleman a good night."

"Don't spoil the evening, ladies." Mr. Carver
stepped forward and captured Claire's hand. "Stay," he said
earnestly, the whiskey on his breath assaulting her nose. "Let us
enjoy your company for a while."

Claire retracted her hand. "I provide a room
and meals, Mr. Carver. Not companionship. Goodnight, gentlemen!'
She turned to head upstairs, but Mr. Carver caught her shoulder and
forced her back toward him.

"How much?"

She frowned. "How much for what?"

"Your companionship."

The insult burned through Claire and ignited
her fury, but she remained outwardly calm.

"Don't play coy, Mrs. Ashier. The bartender
next door told us about your extra amenities. We're willing to pay
you ladies," he said.

Anna gasped, but Claire forced herself not to
slap the man's face. Without uttering a word, she walked to the
closet, opened the door, and pulled out her revolver. She turned
and pointed it at Mr. Carver.

"Get your bags and get out."

Mr. Carver scowled. "How dare you point a gun
at me."

Claire shifted the nose of the barrel toward
his chest. "Anna, go upstairs and gather their bags for them." Anna
hurried upstairs.

"This is ridiculous," Mr. Carver said,
exchanging a glance with Mr. Hosington, who seemed as upset and
uncomfortable with the situation as Claire was. "You can't toss us
out at this time of the evening."

"The Taylor House is just down the street by
the Common. I'm sure they can put you up for the duration of your
stay."

Anna hurried down the stairs clutching two
large valises. Clothing spilled from the bags and fell onto the
floor as she plunked the bags at Mr. Carver's feet.

"Take your bags and leave," Claire said,
keeping the revolver pointed at the man.

"Fine." Mr. Carver reached down, stuffed his
clothing into the bag, and picked up the valise. "The hell with you
ladies. You probably wouldn't have been worth my money anyhow." He
stormed out the door, leaving Mr. Hosington to gather up his bag
and mumble a brief apology before he followed his nasty friend
outside.

Anna locked the door, and Claire put the gun
back on the shelf in the closet. "Remind me not to rent to men who
drink liquor," she said.

"You shouldn't rent to any men," Anna said,
her quavering voice revealing her upset.

"I'd rather not, but I have to." Claire
sighed and hooked her arm around Anna's waist, turning her toward
the stairs.

"Let's try to forget this insult and remember
how much we enjoyed the cantata this evening."

Lord, her life was becoming a mess. She had
men propositioning her like a common harlot. She was attracted to
an unsuitable man who served liquor to men like Mr. Carver, and she
had taken Anna and her dangerous situation into her home. Claire
had lost her common sense for certain. She had only just freed
herself from a tyrant. She didn't have the strength or the will to
face men like Mr. Carver or a devil like Anna's husband.

But she couldn't stop taking in boarders any
more than she could send Anna away, not when she needed the money
and Anna so desperately needed an ally. Besides, she genuinely
liked the woman. Their relationship was the closest Claire had come
to having a friend in years.

Whatever the cost, Claire had to find the
courage to open her door to strangers and to help Anna.

"Maybe I'll dream about the cantata tonight,"
Anna I said, heading upstairs.

"That's a grand idea." Claire followed Anna,
hoping she could think about the cantata too. Or lose herself in
her grandmother's journal. Anything that would turn her mind from
thinking about those wretched intoxicated men or about Boyd
spending the night with the beautiful and exotic Martha.

She and Anna helped each other out of their
dresses and bade each other goodnight. Claire slipped into her
nightrail and a heavy velvet housedress, then took her
grandmother's journal and crept back downstairs to the parlor.

Claire was glad Anna had enjoyed herself at
the cantata; she was entitled to a bit of enjoyment, and it pleased
Claire to have had a share in giving her some pleasure. She hoped
Larry would spend the rest of his wretched life in jail, because
Anna wouldn't find happiness otherwise. A man like Larry would not
let his wife go. Anna was his possession, and the only thing
keeping Anna safe were the locked bars of a jail cell.

Weary, Claire settled into the rocking chair,
feeling she was engaged in an unending battle. First it was her own
battle with Jack. Now it was Anna's battle with Larry, and her own
battle to keep the boardinghouse open.

Her father had called her rash and reckless
from the time she'd begun to walk. She had stumbled into life with
wide-eyed wonder, grabbing and grasping at anything that promised
excitement. She'd taken dozens of foolish risks in her life:
climbing the highest trees, slipping into the elephants' tent at
the circus, running off with the first dashing rakehell to cross
her path. How foolish she'd been. How incredibly poor her
judgment.

With her history, was it any wonder she was
putting her own safety on the line for Anna? Was it any wonder she
was attracted to Boyd Grayson?

She sighed and opened the journal. She didn't
want to think about her faults, or about what Boyd and Ms. Newmaine
were likely doing at that very minute.

But in the glow of her parlor fireplace,
Claire imagined his naked shoulders flexing in the shadows, his
dark head dipping to kiss Martha's lush mouth, her slender neck,
her full breasts...

He would be a good lover. Instinct told her
that. He would be slow and purposeful, as exacting in his
lovemaking as he was in his carving. His eyes would sparkle, and he
would kiss and tease and make Martha feel like the most special
woman in the world.

But tomorrow he would flirt with the first
woman to cross his path.

Jack had.

He introduced Claire to the intimacy shared
between a man and woman. He gave her pleasure but reveled in the
power of controlling her response. She shared her heart and her
body with Jack, had forgiven him so many offenses during their
lovemaking, but it hadn't been enough for him.

For Jack, the novelty had worn off in months.
He moved on to new women and more exciting challenges.

He never understood how deeply it hurt her
knowing he was warming other women's beds, that he desired them
while still making love to her. He said a wife didn't question her
husband, and as his drinking grew worse, she learned not to
question.

But memories carved a ravine through her
heart as she sat alone in her parlor. She didn't want to think
about Jack or lovemaking or the feeling of helplessness that washed
over her each time her mind slipped into the past. The pain of his
betrayal had scarred her. His unstable personality had left her
wary and afraid.

Here in the safety and solitude of her home,
she could finally face the truth. Jack had shattered her dreams
along with her heart. His violent temper and cruel comments had
wounded her, but his tearful apologies and solemn promises hurt her
the most. He had given her hope where there was none. He made her
believe he could become the man she needed him to be.

After beating her, he would storm out of the
house. Within an hour he would be back, repentant and begging her
forgiveness. It sickened him to lose control of his temper. The
decent and sincere side of Jack's nature struggled to assert itself
against the cruel drunkard who was ruling him. But his need for
alcohol was too strong, his will too weak, and it destroyed both of
them.