Lips That Touch Mine (44 page)

And that was the crux of her problem.

Her father had called her a foolish chit for
spurning Boyd's proposal. Addison's words were kinder, but he told
her she was letting love pass her by, and without love, what point
was there in living?

She'd wanted to argue that she had her
friendship with Anna, her charity work, and her boardinghouse, but
not one of those things brought her the love Addison was talking
about. After reading her grandmother's journal again, Claire knew
that life wasn't worth a plug nickel without love.

As she'd been learning, living scared wasn't
living.

Anna entered the parlor with a cup of tea,
and kept her concerned gaze on Claire as she sat on the sofa. "You
look...upset. Are you all right?"

Claire shook her head, unwilling to pretend
that everything was fine when her heart was crumbling. She wasn't
all right. "I'll be back shortly," she told her friend, then went
to the foyer.

Her ribs weren't as tender anymore, but they
still twinged with pain when she pulled on her coat and boots. She
tucked the journal under her arm and left the house. Ten minutes
later, she knocked on Addison and Desmona's door.

Addison answered her knock, and frowned when
he saw her. "What are you doing out on this wretched
afternoon?"

"I'd like to talk to you and your wife."

He hesitated, but Desmona's voice came from
behind him. "For mercy's sake, Addison, invite her in. You're
letting the heat out."

He stepped back so Claire could enter their
small but surprisingly cozy home. Had Desmona decorated it to give
her the comfort Addison's arms hadn't?

"Come in," Desmona said, her voice
surprisingly cordial. Claire stepped into the kitchen. Desmona was
sitting near the stove with an afghan draped around her shoulders.
"How are you feeling?" the woman asked, her eyes roving Claire's
face and body as if genuinely interested.

"Sore, but the doctor assures me I'll feel
much better by next week."

Desmona nodded in approval. "I've been
wanting to call on you," she said, "but I assumed you weren't up to
receiving callers."

"I wasn't. Today is the first I've been
outside since I was...since you ladies gathered at my house."

"That man did a terrible thing to you."
Desmona's shoulders drooped and remorse deepened the grooves in her
face. "I did a terrible thing too. Nothing can excuse my awful
behavior, but I do apologize for pushing into your home and
threatening your life." She glanced at Addison, then lowered her
lashes as if deeply ashamed. "I embarrassed my husband and myself,
and treated you in a most dreadful and disrespectful manner." She
looked up, her brown eyes filled with regret. "I'm deeply
sorry."

Claire was too. She was sorry for Addison and
her grandmother, who'd loved so deeply and made the ultimate
sacrifice for their families. And she was sorry for Desmona who had
lived an empty, loveless life. Most of all, she was sorry for
herself because she'd been a coward.

She believed a solitary life was a safe life,
and it had brought her more pain than Jack and Larry and Karlton
combined.

She didn't have the courage to say yes to
love, to trust, to believe in Boyd when he asked her to marry him.
She let her fear stop her. She was no smarter than Desmona, who had
allowed her painful past to ruin what could have been a decent
life. Claire was doing the same thing, and if she didn't change,
she would spend her life alone like Desmona had spent most of hers,
a pathetic, lonely, old crone.

Claire had to change. She had to stop hiding
in her cage and peeking out at world around her. She needed to step
right into the middle of life and embrace it all, the risks, the
excitement, the loss and sorrow, the joy and the love-all of
it.

And she could only do that by putting her
past behind her.

She looked at Desmona, who seemed to be
waiting for her forgiveness or condemnation. "I've made mistakes of
my own, Mrs. Edwards. And now I realize how deeply you've suffered
over my grandmother's affair with your husband."

Desmona's mouth opened at Claire's bold
statement.

"I'm sorry for the worry and heartache this
journal has caused you," Claire said. "I came here to put your
fears to rest." She pulled the journal from her pocket and looked
at Addison. "I'm going to burn my grandmother's diary."

Pain and shock flashed in his eyes. Surprise
lit Desmona's.

"It's the compassionate thing to do," she
went on, hoping she could forgive herself for desecrating something
so beautiful.

The darkness slowly receded from Abe's eyes,
and the lines in his face smoothed out. She knew that he
understood. She was protecting the love he shared with her
grandmother, keeping it pure and away from gossips who might call
their grand passion a sin. It was also the right thing to do for
Desmona, who had spent fifty years knowing her husband loved Marie
Dawsen.

"I understand," Addison said, giving her a
decisive nod.

Claire leaned down and opened the stove
door.

"No!" Desmona's gnarled fingers clamped
around Claire's wrist.

Claire was too shocked to keep the woman from
slipping the diary from her hand. But when she flipped it open,
Claire's heart stopped. To burn it was one thing, but Desmona had
no right to read it.

Desmona tore out the first page and threw it
into the fire. "Is your grandmother's name written anywhere else in
this book?"

"No."

"Is my husband's name in here?"

"No."

"Then there's no need to burn it." She handed
the journal back to Claire, her eyes filled with a depth of
understanding and compassion Claire had never seen there. "I'm
entitled to some peace of mind. You're entitled to your
grandmother's life."

Desmona's selfless gesture overwhelmed
Claire, and she hugged the journal to her stomach. "Thank you."

Addison sank into a chair beside Desmona,
neither of them speaking, but they seemed to be a couple for the
first time in Claire's memory. Desmona had softened toward Addison,
and Claire suspected they would share their remaining years on
friendlier terms.

o0o

As she walked home, Claire thought about the
two people who'd survived decades of heartache, and yet had found
the courage to open their hearts again. She climbed her porch
steps, realizing that she'd already opened her heart to Boyd. She'd
fallen in love with him. But she hadn't let herself trust him. What
had begun as a test of wills between them had deepened into a test
of courage.

Sailor's happy bark and nudge against her leg
lifted her heavy heart. She hadn't seen the dog in days. Snow
speckled his nose, and his tongue lolled from the side of his
grinning mouth. When Claire looked down into his adoring brown eyes
and considered a life without him, she burst into tears.

She knelt and hugged his knobby head to her
breast. "Oh, Sailor, I'm such a fool..."

Her sobs pained her ribs, but she couldn't
stop crying or hugging the dog. She found passion and love with a
decent, honorable man, then turned him away and locked herself back
in her safe little cage. Boyd had asked her to spend her life with
him and his silly dog. And like a fool, she'd said no.

Boyd climbed his porch steps with bone-weary slowness but a deep
sense of accomplishment. The hunk of basswood had yielded its
treasure.

All the years of anguish, of false starts, of
fear, had taken their toll on him, but time had honed and focused
his skill. The lessons and losses had brought wisdom and a keen
vision he hadn't possessed. He couldn't have carved the statue
without first being reshaped himself—by life, by loss, by love. The
love of an independent and beautiful woman.

He thought about Claire constantly since
walking out of her house nearly two weeks ago. He wanted to see
her, to make her laugh, and to make love with her, but he stayed
away because he was afraid of pushing her into a commitment she
would later regret. But coming home to an empty saloon and an empty
life was hell.

Even Sailor preferred to stay at Claire's
house.

Boyd twisted his doorknob and heard the
crinkle of paper. He looked down to find a note in his hand.

Dear Mr. Grayson,

I am writing to complain about the lack of noise
from your saloon. You haven't disrupted my life in almost two
weeks. I let the best thing in my life slip away when I acted the
coward and rejected your proposal. If you're still interested in
sharing bawdy songs and leisurely body rubs, please come see
me.

With love, Cold Claire

Boyd read the note twice because his tired
brain refused to believe it was real. His heart demanded it was,
clamoring so hard it left him short of breath.

He pushed inside and straddled a bar stool,
afraid he would fall on his backside if he didn't sit down.

He read the note again. Claire had written
it, and she wanted to see him. She wanted to share "bawdy songs and
leisurely back rubs." But what did that mean, exactly? Was she
still suggesting an affair? Or had she finally changed her mind
about marrying him?

He leaned over the bar and rummaged around
for a pen and paper, but Sailor's impatient scratching on the door
made him give up his quest and let the dog inside.

As if Sailor knew something big was in the
air, he wheezed and circled Boyd's legs.

"I know, I know, she's waiting for an
answer." Boyd rubbed Sailor's head. "I'm looking for a damned
pen."

Sailor followed him behind the bar, sniffing
pails and empty liquor bottles while Boyd scrounged up a writing
implement and a stained piece of paper.

Dear Claire,

I have found my David, and my treasure—you.

But I'm lost without your love and your trust.

Marry me and I'll promise the fairy tale (as long as
your version includes a clumsy saloon hound).

Our bruises should be gone by Friday. Will you marry
me in four days? Say yes, Claire, and I'll send a telegram to your
parents.

With love, Boyd

Boyd stood and cupped his palm beneath a
tapped keg of ale, then squatted beside Sailor. "I need you to take
our proposal to Claire." Sailor lapped the ale from Boyd's hand
like a drunk after three days on the wagon.

Laughing, Boyd washed his hands in the sink,
then knelt and tied the note to Sailor's neck. "Come on. Let's see
what Claire will say to our proposal."

The instant they stepped outside, Sailor
raced across the street to Claire's porch, barking. Boyd grinned,
gaining a new appreciation for the lack of subtlety in children and
animals.

Claire opened her front door and gave his dog
a smile that warmed Boyd clear to his soul. She looked across the
street and waved. Boyd waved back, but was too on edge to return
her smile. Sailor nudged Claire's legs and barked until she knelt
beside him.

Boyd held his breath while she opened and
read his note. She asked him to come see her, but that didn't mean
she was ready to commit to marriage.

She stared at his note, then pressed her
fingers to her mouth. She stood and waved the note in the air.
"Yes," she shouted, then laughed and waved him over.

o0o

Claire watched Boyd—her friend, her lover,
her future husband—crossing the street. She loved his long-legged,
confident stride and the way his golden gaze drank her in as he
climbed her steps.

He stopped in front of her, and Claire
realized how much she missed him, and that he seemed taller, and
more handsome, and that his hair had grown an inch past his
collar.

"Is this real?" he asked, the hoarse
uncertainty in his voice melting her.

For her, it was a dream come true, and she
nodded. "I've got a note to prove it."

"Will you feel well enough to marry me
Friday?" "

I'm healthy enough to start our honeymoon
tonight," she said with a boldness that flushed her face. But she
didn't care, because she ached to be held and loved by him.

"Don't tempt me," he said. Then he pulled her
into his arms and kissed her.

She moved closer to his warm, hard body. He
cupped her bottom and pulled her against him, fitting her to his
groin, his body telling her how much he wanted her. Anyone and
everyone could see them standing on her front porch, carrying on
like young lovers, but Claire didn't care. Let the neighbors
talk.

"You're shivering," he murmured against her
temple.

"I'm nervous and excited and I...I don't want
to wait one minute longer to make love with you."

He kissed her forehead, her eyebrows, the tip
of her nose. "You're worth waiting for. From this moment on, the
only woman I'll ever make love to is my wife."

She clutched the lapel of his coat, ashamed
of her neediness but desperate for reassurance. "Please make that a
promise."

"I promise," he said, brushing a kiss to her
mouth. "Only you, Claire, for now and forever. And I'll make you my
wife in all ways on Friday evening."

She drew back and looked at him, needing to
ask the question that had been plaguing her since Boyd returned
from Buffalo. "Did you see Martha when you went to Buffalo?"

"Yes, why?"

Her heart plunged. "You know why."

The hint of a smile lifted his lips. "Do you
remember the night of the cantata when Martha threatened to reveal
'our little secret'?"

Claire nodded, but it hurt to remember that
night and what she'd suspected happened between Boyd and
Martha.

"Martha was threatening to reveal that she's
my cousin."

Claire's jaw dropped. "Your...cousin?"

His smile deepened, and he nodded.

"You rat." She tried to pinch his side, but
pinched his wool coat instead. He chuckled and pulled her back into
his arms.