Once More From the Top (The Women of Willow Bay) (9 page)

ELEVEN

Exactly a half hour later, Liam tapped on the screen door.

Carrie had barely had time to shower and change into a pink polo and white capris. Still barefoot and detangling her damp, loopy curls, she held the screen door open. “You’re up early.”

“I’m always up early.” Clad in jeans and a faded plum-colored T-shirt, he flashed that killer grin as he eyed her up and down. He’d already gotten some sun in the couple of days he’d been on the boat, and the color suited him.

Carrie’s heart stopped for second, but amazingly, resumed beating as he ambled in, fingers tucked in his pockets. She headed for the kitchen. “I like mornings too. How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled, if that’s okay.” He stared around the big open space that served as living room, dining room, and kitchen for her and Jack. “Nice place.”

Nodding, she began work on breakfast. It was better to keep busy. If she didn’t, she was sure to humiliate herself since she longed to touch him. Longed for him to touch
her
.

He roamed around, peering at the paintings on the walls, picking up pictures from the baby grand. “
What a beautiful piano.” He ran his fingers over the keys.

“It was my mother’s. One of the few things I brought with me when I came up here.”

“This is her, isn’t it?” With a smile, Liam picked up a gilt-framed photo of Beth Anne Halligan sitting at a piano. “She was a knockout.”

“Yes, she was. I don’t really remember her, only that my father was heartbroken when she died. That’s Dad with her in the blue frame.” Carrie turned on the gas under a skillet. “Are you okay with butter or are you a low-fat kind of guy?”

“Butter’s great—that’s how I always make them.” One by one, Liam took photos off the piano—her father, Margie and Noah, Jack in the sailboat, she and Julie on the beach. He gazed at a picture of Julie, her husband Charlie, and their kids, taken last Christmas. Eliot at his piano. Carrie and Jack by the lighthouse. He examined each photo intently. That was how he did things, she remembered from Montreal. Always scrutinizing. Studying.

“You cook your own eggs?” Somehow that wasn’t a picture she had of him. She’d never thought of the man as holding an ounce of domesticity.

He looked up and laughed, a warm, sexy sound, and a quiver shot through her. “I cook. How do you think I eat when I’m home?”

“I guess I figured you had people for that, like servants or a maid or a cook.” A warm flush crept up her neck.

Grinning, he continued his tour of the apartment. “A service comes in to clean once a week when I’m home, and I send my laundry out. Otherwise, I take care of myself.” He passed by Jack’s closed bedroom door under the open stairs, then glanced out the back window at the pines. Leaning his elbows on the bar, he watched her pour golden, frothy eggs into the sizzling skillet. “I think you have me confused with some rock star, sweetheart. I’m a symphony conductor. I don’t have servants. I live a pretty simple life in Chicago.” He gestured to the stairs. “What’s in the loft?”

“A bedroom and a bathroom. Uncle Noah remodeled this old place when Jack was about three. Before that we lived in the big house with them. I love this apartment. It’s perfect for us.” She stirred the eggs gently, smiling up at him, noting that he’d wandered back to Jack’s door. “It’s okay if you want to go in and take a peek.”

“Are you sure?” Hand on the knob, he hesitated. “I’m dying of curiosity, but I don’t want to trespass.”

She paused. Jack’s domain was his own, and they were always conscious of one another’s privacy. How would he feel about a stranger in his room?

But this isn’t a stranger, it’s his father.

“Go ahead, it’ll be okay.” She prayed the tour wouldn’t set off the anger she was certain still smoldered in him.

Liam drew a bracing breath, turned the knob, and shouldered the door open. Sunshine streamed in from the open shutters over the south-facing window. His eyes swept the small room that held some of the clues to his son’s personality. Carrie watched from behind the kitchen bar, picturing Jack’s room in her head, most likely slightly messy but not so much that she needed to be concerned about Liam checking it out.

One wall was a huge window that looked south across the bay. Posters covered the other
walls—one from Willow Point Lighthouse, another from Sleeping Bear Dune. The colorful Beatles Sergeant Pepper poster, a movie poster, and a picture of the Milky Way with a tiny red arrow and the words,
You are here
. Some young and fabulous starlet, whose name Carrie couldn’t remember smiled from above the bed while next to her, Eric Clapton bent over his guitar. A Chicago Bulls team picture was tacked up above a cluttered desk, along with a bulletin board covered with ticket stubs, photographs, and playbills from area theaters, many of them from Interlochen.

She set the skillet aside and moved to the open door, breathing in
scent of teenaged boy—sweat and dirty socks mixed with Irish Spring soap and pine from the trees outside. When she leaned against the jamb, she saw that the bed was neatly made, but the open closet door revealed shirts and pants hung haphazardly on hangers, some even spilling onto the floor. A small flat-screen TV and a stereo sat at the end of the bed, which was on a platform that contained drawers. A T-shirt sleeve peeked out of one of the drawers. CDs and DVDs marched in orderly rows above several shelves of books below the stereo.

Liam leaned down to squint at the collections and Carrie couldn’t help smiling.
Some of the books were obviously from his younger years—the Hardy Boys, Harry Potter, even Dr. Seuss and Mercer Mayer nestled next to the story of Ernest Shakleton’s exploration of the South Pole, Stephen Ambrose’s
Undaunted Courage
, and several Clive Cussler adventure novels. The CDs were a diverse mix of rock, classical, and everything in between, including Bob Marley, Daft Punk, the Beatles, Alicia Keyes, The Kinks, BB King, and John Legend. She grinned when Liam’s brow furrowed at a CD of the music from Baz Lurhmann’s
La Bohème,
as well as Jack’s newest fascination—Broadway musicals. The soundtracks to
Rent, Cabaret
, and the original Broadway production of
Camelot
were stacked on top of the other CDs on the shelf.

He
glanced up as she backed out of the room. “Quite an eclectic music collection,” he said, following her to the kitchen to accept a plate of eggs.

“There’s really not much he doesn’t like when it comes to music.” She was grateful he still seemed to be in a good humor. Either that or he was concealing any anger remarkably well. “Maybe not twangy country so much, and he’s not into hip-hop, but he likes rap. For some strange reason, this spring, he discovered Broadway musicals.”

“I saw the CDs. What’s that about?” Liam set his plate on the table, then held her chair while she sat.

She smiled over her shoulder at the courtly gesture, remembering how he’d always been such a gentleman around her. It still made her heart beat faster.
“It’s a weird phenomenon. He cycles through music, really getting into something for a while, then moving on. Over the winter, it was Ben Folds and classic rock like the Beatles and the Stones. After his school put on
Guys and Dolls
in April, suddenly he was all about Broadway.
Cabaret
,
Rent
—even
The Music Man
.” She laughed. “He sings with the CDs in the car, so conversation is out of the question.”

Liam grinned, shaking his head as he dug into breakfast. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes.

Carrie inclined her head toward the album sitting on the table near him. “That’s for you.”

“Really?” Liam hefted the album. “Are these pictures of Jack?”

She nodded, taking up a forkful of eggs.

He opened it. Staring at the first page, he ran a finger over a photo of newborn Jack. He started to reach for his glasses in his shirt pocket and appeared puzzled for a second when he realized he didn’t have either
glasses or a pocket. Carrie got her own wire-framed reading glasses from the bar.

“Here,” she handed them to him. “Try these, but eat. Your food will get cold.”

Liam put them on, giving her a strange half-smile that sent a prickle up her spine. As he ate, he stared at the first page—Jack as a newborn in the hospital bassinette. Noah and Margie swinging a toddling Jack between them. Eliot smiling tenderly at the sleeping baby in his arms. She could tell he didn’t even taste the food, so absorbed was he in the photos. He didn’t comment at all, just kept studying the pictures, almost as if he were trying to memorize them.

Finishing the meal in record time, he carried the album to the window seat. “Thank you. That was good. Do you mind if I take a minute here?” His voice was raspy as he settled in, back propped against the wall, his long legs stretched out on the cushion.

Carrie nodded as she sipped her coffee, mentally preparing herself for whatever reaction might come as he slowly turned the pages of the album. With his head bent over the book and her reading glasses perched on his nose, he concentrated on each page, examining each photo. Every so often, he’d pull a picture from its vinyl envelope and hold it up to the window. Fifteen minutes later, he shut the album, hugging it against his chest. Removing her glasses, he laid them carefully on the window seat beside him.

Carrie watched him cautiously, unwilling to be the first one to speak.

His face was closed up—no smile, nothing. A muscle worked in his jaw, his lips tightened into a grim line. Massaging the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, he took a deep breath. “He plays the piano?” His voice was deadly quiet.

“Yes.”

“How long has he played?”

“Since he was little.” She raked her fingers through her curls. “He’s very gifted, Liam. He’s–he’s a–prodigy.” The word wrenched from her.

“Shit, Carrie!” Liam burst out. “When were you planning on mentioning
that
?”

“I’m telling you now.” Her hands shook. The eggs churned in her stomach. She swallowed once and then swallowed again. “He’s been studying with Eliot for years, and he finished his first year at Interlochen last month. In September, he starts there as boarder.”

“A prodigy?” Dull color flushed his cheeks. “Seriously a
prodigy
? Not just a kid who plays well?”

“Yes. One day when he was about three or so, he began picking out notes. He’s incredible.” She held her breath. Liam hadn’t moved, but she could tell he was beyond upset. He was angry—red-hot, fire-breathing furious.

Why would hearing that his son’s a gifted pianist make him so mad?

“He’s like my mother,” she added, trying to explain.

Finally, he stood up and ran a shaky hand over his face. “I need to go.” His voice sounded rough.

“Liam?” Carrie rose from the table, but he held the photo album up in front of him like a shield.

“No.” He was in full retreat. “Goddamn you, Carrie. I’m so pissed at you right now, I don’t even want to see you. I’ve missed so much. Almost his entire childhood.” His face twisted. “He’s a teenager. And a pianist. But he’s a stranger to me. My
own
son
is a stranger.”

“I’m trying to fix that—” Carrie stood still, searching desperately for the right words to say.

“Well you can’t! I don’t get that time back.” His voice rose, the pain so evident it cut through her like a scalpel. “Jesus! He’s
fifteen
. I don’t
ever
get to change a diaper or rock him or read to him or teach him to play scales or Mozart. That’s done. It’s gone.
Over.
” Tears shimmered in his eyes. It alarmed her that he was so close to breaking. “And by God, I resent the hell out of you for that.”

Turning his back on her, he left, letting the door slam behind him.

TWELVE

Stunned, Carrie hurried to the window in time to see Liam hop over the rail of the
Allegro
and disappear inside.

Her stomach tied into nervous knots as she slumped onto the window seat. The album was meant as a gesture of goodwill—so he could see Jack’s childhood. She truly thought he’d receive it as the wonderful gift she intended, that he’d be glad to have it. Instead she’d made him angry.
Again.
And this time, he was good and pissed.

Damn, damn, damn, now what? How do I fix this?

That thought took her by surprise, because she
wanted
to fix it. Now that he was here, there was no hiding from the hunger he created in her. Not only that, it was time to think about Jack and his relationship with his father. She didn’t want to blow whatever chance her son might have of knowing his dad. And yes, she wanted to find out where she and Liam were going, to see what—if anything—was possible. However,
nothing
was going to be possible if they couldn’t spend an hour together without the hostility. Seemed like all they’d done in the last forty-eight hours was snarl at one another.

Or paw each other
.

Instinctively, she reached for her phone to call Julie and has
h it through. But as her finger swiped the screen, she paused. There was no need to call her lifeline this time. She knew exactly what her best friend would say.

Time to step up, dolly.
Get your butt down there and talk to him.

She gazed down at the boat for several moments, and then taking a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and headed out the door.

* * * *

Will looked up from his laptop when Liam strode into the salon. “Hey, man, what’s up?”

Liam slammed the album down on the table. “Fifteen years of my son’s life, conveniently condensed into twenty pages.”

“What the hell?” Will reached for the leather album. “What’s going on?” Thumbing through the pages, he examined the pictures of Jack, all the while glancing at Liam who was pacing and seething. “Okay, I’m lost. I guess I don’t get why this isn’t a good thing.”

“Goddammit, I missed
everything!
She kept him from me and I missed it all.
She
spends fifteen years with him.
I
get a fucking photo album.” Liam threw himself onto the sofa. “Guess what else came out today. Jack’s a piano prodigy. Do you believe that?”

“Yeah, I believe it,” Will replied. “His gene pool is full of gifted musicians. I’d have been more surprised if you’d told me he was tone-deaf. His grandmother was Beth Ann Halligan, for God’s sake.”

Liam glared at him, but Will went on. “Look, Liam, I get why you’re pissed. It’s sad you missed so much of Jack’s childhood. But you can’t change that—no matter how much you rant and rave. It is what it is, man.”

“I hate it when people say that.” Liam
snarled. “What else would it be?”

Will stood and warmed up his coffee. “Frankly, I can see why she kept it to herself. Can’t you see it through her eyes for even a minute?”

“No! It was a crappy, cowardly thing to do. Hell, if Eliot hadn’t forced the issue, I
still
wouldn’t know Jack existed. She had no intention of
ever
telling me.”

“Are you absolutely certain of that?” Will came around and sat down in the big club chair, cradling his coffee mug in his hands. “Yeah, you missed a lot. But your world is hell and gone from hers. Try to see why she’d be a little reluctant to come into it with a kid. Or bring you into
her
life for that matter. I can see why she’d be afraid.”

“Stop defending her,” Liam snapped.

“Then stop being an ass,” Will retorted. “Last night you were so hot for her that you had your hands all over her and now, you’re too pissed to even be in the same room with her?” He took a deep sip of coffee. “Get a grip, pal. If you want to
find out what’s possible
—and those are your words, not mine—you’re going to have to forgive her for hiding Jack. It’s done, and she’s trying to make it up to you. This photo book is an olive branch, not a trump card.”

“How could
you
possibly know what her motivation is in giving me these pictures?” Liam was trying to calm down. The anger he’d spewed at Will was misplaced, but he hurt. He glared at the album on the table—a cruel reminder of what he didn’t have—would never have. “You don’t know a fucking thing about her.”

“Well, you
do
know her. She might be closed up, but is she malicious? Is she the kind of woman who would deliberately hurt you?”

Liam gazed at him for a long moment, then shoved his fingers through his hair. “No. Not deliberately. Not even me.”

“I’d be more inclined to say
especially
not you,” Will said. “The woman clearly has feelings for you. Of course, that’s only my humble opinion—based on the fact that when Tony and I came back last night, we couldn’t have gotten a postcard between the two of you.” He paused, tilting his head to peer into Liam’s face. “Her world is as wrong-side-out as yours right now. I seriously doubt she gave you these pictures out of spite.”

“He’s right, Liam. I meant the album as a gift.” Carrie stood in the doorway, her voice soft but firm. “I thought you might like to have some pictures of Jack—to see what he’s been doing. You know, to start to know who he is.”

They both stared silently at her as she came further into the salon.

“I’m sorry, truly sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” She shrugged, her dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Seems like that’s all I’ve said to you in the past twenty-four hours.”

Will stood up and grabbed his cell phone from the table. “Hello, Carrie.” He smiled and patted her shoulder as he walked by. “Well, folks, gotta run. Gotta go see a man about some music. No, no, please, don’t ask me to stay.” He slipped out with a wave.

Silence yawned between them as the sound of his footsteps faded up the docks.

Liam sighed and rubbed his face.

Carrie trembled, but her eyes remained locked on his as she came around the chair to him. Leaning down, she ran a gentle thumb over his lower lip, resting her other hand over his heart.

Could she feel it pounding? Closing her eyes, she touched her lips to his in a whisper of a kiss that left him longing for more.

No. Dammit, no.

“Don’t do that.” He moved his head away and leapt up, putting as much distance between them as he could in the close quarters. “What are you trying to do? Channel your inner vamp? Get me off guard? Seduce me to ease your conscience? A quick fuck and I’m supposed to forget you hid my son from me for years?”

The blood drained from her face as she sucked in a quick breath.

He immediately regretted the cutting words. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his eyes sliding away from her stricken expression. “I didn’t mean that.”

Carrie stood frozen beside the club chair, her dark eyes huge, her lower lip caught between her teeth. When she finally spoke, her voice was so small he almost didn’t hear it. “Jack is a counselor at Lawson this summer.” She swallowed hard but continued in a more normal tone. “I’ll go get him today. Or if you want, we can both go up there...
right this minute.” Her last words came out even louder, but haltingly.

Liam stared at her, his heart hammering in his chest. The tears that had been threatening since she walked in the door rolled down her cheeks, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. She looked so vulnerable. So delicate. So beautiful. In spite of his anger, he couldn’t help wanting her.

Maybe she really
is
trying.

“Aww, shit,” he groaned.

In two strides, he had her in his arms. He took her lips softly at first and as she began to respond, more fiercely. Thrusting his fingers into her hair, he held her head still for his mouth, tasting her salty tears as he increased the pressure. Then she was returning the kiss, opening her lips to his, meeting his tongue stroke for stroke.

When he lifted his head, their eyes met. They were both breathless.

She gave him a feeble smile. “We’ve got to work on our communication, Maestro, because this isn’t going well.” Her voice quavered. “So far, it seems like we’ve spent all our time being mad at each other. Oh, and making out. We seem to be doing a lot of that.”

“Making out?” Liam scoffed. “Maybe we should stick with that part.” He hugged her close and she relaxed in his arms. Rubbing his cheek on her hair, he said, “Carrie, I appreciate your offer, but we don’t have to go get Jack right now. I’m dying to meet him, but I promised you five days. I’m not going to break that promise. We’ve got to figure
us
out, that’s for damn sure.”

“I’m really am sorry you resent the time I’ve had with him.” Carrie smoothed her hands up and down his back. “I don’t blame you for being angry, but all I have to offer you is that album and the here-and-now. I can’t give you back Jack’s childhood. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for yelling at you.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “There aren’t any more secrets, right? Jack doesn’t have a twin? No husband or fiancé who’s going to suddenly appear and challenge me to a duel?”

She hid her face in his shirt front as she shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

*
* * *

Carrie knew she would have to confess at some point, but not now. Not when she was practically back in his good graces. Besides, what if they couldn’t make a go of it? What would be the point in telling him about the money if they were just going to be estranged parents sharing custody of a teenager?

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “That’s good to know, and listen, thanks for the pictures. I’m glad to have them.” He sighed. “I don’t deny there’s still a little part of me that’s resentful. Guess I’ll have to work on that, huh?”

“You’re entitled.”

More than you know, Maestro, more than you know.

She tipped her chin back to smile at him. “If we can leave the resentful part here, would the rest of you like to go to the lighthouse with me? I thought we might try relaxing and having some fun together. We can take a picnic and eat on the beach.”

“Fun? You and me? Huh. I vaguely remember having
fun
with you.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “Don’t you have clients today?”

“Nope, not a one, and the phone can go to voicemail. I don’t keep regular hours at the studio since all my work’s by appointment.” She took his hand, pulling him toward the door. “What about you? Anything you have to do today?”

“No. Tomorrow we drive up to Traverse City to meet the orchestra. I was going to go over the rest of the scores for the benefit today, but we still don’t have a couple of the pieces. Will’s going up there to see about getting them. I’ll need to work on them tonight, but for now, I’m all yours.”