Raphaela's Gift (24 page)

"What do you mean?"

"I'm moving back to Ohio myself."

"You are? Why?" One corner of his mouth twitched. Was he going to smile?

"Don't look so disappointed." She tried to keep her tone teasing, but failed miserably.

"I'm sorry. That isn't what you want?"

"I don't know." She averted her gaze, feeling exposed and self-conscious. "I liked it here, but it didn't work out."

"God, I'm sorry. Really." He paused, and she felt the tension between them swell, like a giant translucent bubble. "This doesn't have anything to do with…with me, does it?"

"No. I quit."

"Are you sure?"

She lifted her gaze, to lock with his. She felt as though he were sifting through her mind, searching for the truth. The air around her crackled like static electricity and the heat grew unbearable.

"You're a bad liar."

"I know," she admitted, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Marian?"

Still unable to break free from his gaze, she nodded.

"Damn! Is there something I can do? Do you want me to talk to someone?"

"No."

" I’ll--"

"No. It'll only make things worse."

"I don't want you losing your job because of me. This is my fault." He lifted his hand and slid his fingertips through dark curls, sending them in disarray.

She reached for him and took his hand as he dropped it. "No, this isn't your fault. I'm an adult. I made my own decisions. You don't have to take the blame, and you don't have to fix it for me, either."

He tugged his hand free and glanced at the lodge. "She's a bitch!"

"She's hurt, frustrated, and angry. She wants you back."

"You're being too kind. She's manipulative and vengeful, calculating. And she's not going to get me back."

"Why not? Why not consider it? You've got history with her, and obviously care at least a tiny bit for her--"

"How can you even think that?" His eyes were wide, his mouth rigid.

"If you didn't, you wouldn't react the way you do to her." Faith sighed. "Listen, all you've said since coming to Mountain Rise is how much you love Raphaela. How you'd do anything for her. Now, you have a decision to make. Who are you going to think about? Your daughter's mother wants to be a part of her life, a part of your life again. She wants the chance you promised her three years ago."

"That was then--"

"You offered."

His jaw tensed and he crossed his arms over his chest. "I can't believe we're talking about this."

"We should have talked about this in the beginning. If we had, we would have avoided all this trouble." She reached a hand to him, laid it on his arm, and felt the muscles of his forearm tense under her fingertips. "I care about you, Garret. And about Raphaela. I want what's best for you and your family. I can't be selfish here."

"You're not. Marian is."

"By offering to make amends?"

"Make amends? She had you fired."

"No. I quit," she corrected.

"Still, I don't love her. I don't want her…" his troubled gaze met hers, his stormy blue eyes searching hers. He swallowed.

"If it's best for Raphaela, I know you'll do it. Your daughter deserves every advantage you can give her, don't you think? Two loving parents, in her home--a stable home life. No nannies. Consistency in her treatment, in her regimen."

Garret's shoulders dropped just enough to see. "I'll talk to her, your boss, whoever you want. You don't deserve this."

"It's okay. Please don't. I want to leave quietly."

He heaved a huge sigh, clearly frustrated. After a moment, he asked, "What are you going to do? Maybe I can help, somehow. It's the least I could do."

Despite everything, her heart swelled. He was truly a nice man--one of those rare good guys. She'd never met one before, had thought they'd gone the way of the wooly mammoth.

"That would be great. Thanks." She smiled, and he returned her smile. "Well, I need to find an apartment and a new job."

"That's all? I know some people. I could call in a few favors."

"Thanks, again." She turned back toward the lodge, still needing to pack up her office before packing her personal belongings in her cottage, nestled in a thicket behind the lodge. As she turned around, she stole one last glimpse at him, and like they had countless times, their gazes locked, held each other fast. The intensity of their connection sucked the air from Faith's lungs. Her lips felt like parchment, and she licked them.

A sliver of sunlight shot through the leaves overhead, igniting Garret's curls in blue flame. He stepped forward until he was so close she could smell the familiar scent of his aftershave. She reached, tangling her fingers in the softness of his hair, and he leaned down, his mouth hovering over hers so close she could feel his breath cool hers. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes," she whispered as she leaned back. "We need to stop this now. Marian might--"

"To hell with Marian!" He kissed her then, the shock of it making Faith dizzy.

She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him, her eyes closed to the world around them. Nothing mattered at that moment but the taste of him, the feel of the hard planes of his body as it pressed against her own softness, the way his mouth gently caressed hers. He trailed tiny kisses over her eyes, cheeks and down her throat.

Her face warmed instantly, and flushed heat coursed through her body. A tingling need centered low within, swelling as the kiss deepened and Garret's tongue danced in her mouth.

Then he stopped, and she opened her eyes. His smile was charming, playful, his eyelids heavy.

"No," she said, not knowing what else to say or do. She let her arms unfurl from around his neck and stepped back from him. It was simply too hard to think, to speak, with him so close. Instead, she silently turned and walked toward the lodge, instantly spying Marian standing in the doorway. Her stomach convulsed.

His head swimming, his mouth still tasting of Faith's kiss, Garret followed Faith's gaze when she froze mid-stride, seeing Marian standing red-faced in the lodge doorway. Why wouldn't Marian listen to reason? She had no right to be angry, and absolutely no right to do what she'd done to Faith. "Damn, why won't that woman leave me alone?"

"She wants you back."

"That may be true, but she doesn't have the right to treat you the way she has." He stormed past Faith, his strides gulping the distance between him and Marian. Marian's eyes widened as he approached, but she held her ground, didn't flinch. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked her.

"I'd like to ask you the same thing. In the middle of the parking lot, for Christ's sake? You’re unbelievably coldhearted, you bastard."

"Me, coldhearted?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd put up with her demands for way too long. This was as much his fault, for not stopping it long ago, as it was hers. "What the hell did you do?"

"She deserved it."

"Deserved what?"

She dropped her head, and his blood turned acid in his veins. "What did you do to her?" he asked through gritted teeth. "Do you honestly think this is going to make me want you back? If you weren't a woman--"

Marian rolled her eyes, her arms crossed over her chest. "So now you're the big hero, eh? Come to the little hussy's defense. Let her fight her own battles, Garret. Don't let her get too dependent. You know as well as I do, that'll get old quick. As soon as she gets too close, you'll dump her. Give her the benefit of an early, and relatively painless, heartbreak."

Marian's logic was about as warped as any he'd seen. "Oh, so now you're doing her a favor?"

"In a matter of speaking, yes."

"Bullshit." Anger, no rage, burned within him, hot, molten, and he felt his self-control slipping from his grasp. He struggled to keep his voice low. "If I live to be one thousand, I'll never understand you."

"But--"

He needed to get away from her, before he smacked that self-righteous, smug expression from her face. In all the time he'd known her, he'd never despised her more than he did right then. "You’re a sick bitch. I can't believe I was just talking to Faith about reconciling with you!"

"Sure, you were. That's why your lips were all over her?"

He shook his head. "I was a fool to even listen to her when she told me it was best for Ella. How could living in the middle of a war zone be good for any kid? Hell, I've lived there myself. Remember all too well what that was like."

Marian paled. Her lips drew into thin lines. "I'm sorry," she said in a soft voice. "God, Garret. I'm sorry. I was so hurt and angry--"

"You were hurt and angry? How do you think I felt when you left me for that loser Michael and turned your back on our daughter? And then you made me look like the bad parent in that meeting with Tom when I was the one trying to work things out! For three years now, I've gone out of my way making things easy for you while inside I hated you."

Her shoulders shuddered, and she nodded. Her hands lifted to her mouth. "I had no idea. I was such an idiot. You're right. I'm sorry. I wish you knew how sorry I am."

He glanced around. Faith was gone. Emptiness touched his soul.

"Can we talk about this now, Garret?" Marian asked. "Can we finally face each other with honesty? No more hiding. For Ella's sake?"

He looked at her, nothing but anger and pity in his heart, her words, and Faith's coursing through his mind. He'd always proclaimed he'd do what was best for Raphaela--had fallen back to that promulgation whenever anyone challenged his decisions. But was he truly living it?

Or was he…a hypocrite?

"Yes. We can talk about it now," he said, a dark, cold heaviness swallowing him. This was the last thing he wanted--to revisit the marriage he'd thought he'd put behind him. And to face the pain and anger he'd worked so hard to ignore for three years.

As he stepped into the lodge, a startling realization dawned on him. "Where is Ella?" The play therapy sessions were over. He'd left her with Marian. When Marian didn't answer, he repeated, "Where's Ella?"

She answered silently, with a bewildered expression.

"Marian?"

"I thought she was with you," she answered, the color sliding from her face.

His breath hitching in his throat, he dashed down the corridor, threw Marian's door open and charged into her room. He scanned the empty room. Where was she? "Ella!"

He ran to the bathroom, flipped on the light and when he found it empty, cursed. They'd been so busy, so damned preoccupied with bickering, they'd forgotten about the one person who mattered the most. Damn, damn, damn!

Knocking past Marian as she jogged down the hall toward him, he swallowed a few choice words and ran to his room. He tried to door. Locked. Had he locked it? He was too flustered to remember or to think.

He fished in his pocket for the key, dropping it from clumsy fingers when he found it. Stooping over, he plucked it from the carpet, and calling Raphaela's name, slid it into the lock. With a quick twist, he opened the door.

"Raphaela?"

He searched the room. His heart jack-hammered against his ribs, his body aflame, sheer terror stealing his breath.

"Ella?" he repeated.

She wasn't there.

He ran back into the hallway, bumping into Marian again. "What the hell did you do?"

"I'm sorry, Oh, God, I'm so sorry. I left her in the room for just a minute, but when I saw…I forgot…"

His mind skidded around, like a cat on ice, not settling on any one thought, reaching, but not grasping.
Think, think. If I were Raphaela, where would I go?

And then the cat found a tree limb, an idea rose from the mire. He ran down the corridor toward Faith's studio. The door was open, and a voice softly drifted, like cottonwood seeds carried on a whisper of wind, to his ears.

Not waiting to see who was in the room with Faith, he plunged through the doorway and scanned the room with eager eyes.

Faith's gaze, at first surprised and then contented, met his and then slid back to Raphaela, who stood next to her, holding Faith's hand and smiling brightly. Raphaela held a piece of paper in her hand, and when Raphaela saw him, she ran across the room, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing tightly.

He clung to her, feeling her ribcage swell with each breath, and his heart swell as his gaze locked with Faith's again.

Faith walked toward him, her steps light, like she floated above the ground rather than trod on it. When she reached him, she lifted a hand to his shoulder. "I found her here when I came back to pack. She's made something for you."

His gaze dropped to the paper, wrinkled, practically crushed, in her tiny hand. "Ella, did you make a picture for me?"

Raphaela smiled and thrust the paper at his face. He chuckled and took it from her, smoothing it down his leg so he could see what she'd painted for him.

But it wasn't a painting that he saw when he looked at the mangy paper. In barely legible scribbles, he read the words, "I love daddy."