The Man From Her Past (10 page)

They walked around the first building. “It looks like a movie set,” she said, as they stepped into light that was almost like day.

“It’s not real,” he said. “The buildings are, and so are the sales going on inside, but the ambience works because it’s what people want.”

Where had her gloves gone? She tucked her hands into her pockets. “What are you trying to say?”

“We’ve put five years’ worth of days between us because it was what you wanted, but your father and I haven’t lived. Maybe it’s different for you with Hope, but I’ve tried to make a home out of a house that was meant for you, and your father’s made a mess out of the home you shared.”

“Things,” she said, “that we can fix for Dad.”

“Your father needs the connection you had.” He turned her suddenly, and she found herself inside a shop filled with knitted goods. Afghans, featuring Santas and reindeer, but also ducklings and building blocks. Hooded sweaters with mittens swinging from their empty sleeves.

Van walked straight to a set of cubbyholes filled with knit gloves. He chose a pair made of pale pink yarn. When he laid them in her nerveless hand, they were so light she hardly felt them.

“What’s this?”

“Your favorite color.” He covered her left hand with both of his and rubbed some warmth back into her skin. Warmth that traveled all through her body.

She shuddered. “Stop.” And she pushed the gloves back at him.

He took them from where they’d stuck to the wool of his navy coat. Catching her hand, he tugged her with him and laid the gloves on the cashier’s counter. “We’ll take these.”

He paid, while she fought heaviness that nailed her feet to the wide plank floor. Need sparked by his mere concern for her.

After he paid, she turned toward the door first. Outside, he caught her again and tried to put a glove on her hand.

“I’ll do it.” She didn’t care for her own irascible tone. “What’s happening?”

“You’re upset because I can still make you want me.”

“What?”

A woman walking by stared at her. “Cassie?”

“Hi.” She didn’t recognize the passerby. “Visiting my father.”

With matching poor manners, Van wrapped his arm around her shoulder and suddenly, they were standing in the doorway of the next store down the street.

In the bay windows on either side, chocolates of every kind rested on red satin. It was like a brothel for desserts.

“I’m sorry ahead of time for taking advantage, Cassie.”

He curled one finger beneath her chin and urged her head up. She saw mistletoe on a silver strand before his mouth grazed her chin. She breathed in—Van and chocolate and evergreen and the freshness of falling snow.

He kissed her cheek. His eyes were closed. His eyelashes, darker than his dark blond hair, tempted her lips. He pressed her face to his.

“Van,” she whispered.

He reached her mouth. It was a chaste kiss, a touching only. But still a temptation, because his hands, just beneath her breasts in her open coat, stroked the way she’d always liked, teasing, making her want.

But his touch was light. She could have pushed him away. She could have stepped out of his arms. She knew why he was being so gentle. He was thinking of that other man, the one who’d taken her with a knife, and Van didn’t want to scare her.

His mouth lifted for a moment. He opened his eyes. Frustrated, she moved toward him and looped her arm around his neck, dragging him closer.

This time he kissed her the old way, the way of the first lovers and the way of the last who’ll ever live. His mouth invited her into the past, and yet, he was different. He needed her, and his hunger was in the tilt of his head, his harsh breath, the desperate clasp of his hands.

“Wait,” he said, pulling away.

A couple pushed past them, laughing.

Cassie closed her eyes, and then opened them to run out of the doorway with Van, into the cobbled road no car had ever dirtied. Beneath the bow-laden trees, darkness hid her embarrassment.

“Cass?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“No one cares. It’s Christmas. Everyone gives in to excess this time of year and I started it.”

“Your voice…” She shivered. She’d awakened from dreams, hot and cold and sweating, hearing his voice, knowing she’d never feel his touch again.

“I want you,” he said. “I never stopped. I just didn’t want to hurt you, and I had a hard time believing any man touching you wouldn’t hurt.” He laughed, pulling at his own black gloves. “I finally said just what I meant all these years. We should have tried mistletoe first thing.”

“It happened in July.”

“Give us a chance to forget and move on, Cassie.”

“I don’t know if I can let you that close.” She pressed her hands together, enjoying the soft yarn against her skin. “I haven’t…there’s been no one else since I left here.”

“For me, either,” Van said.

“I don’t believe you.” She hadn’t been his first. She’d known the other women in town who’d been with Van. “You were always—”

“Because I loved you.” His eyes ran over her, a moody brush of sensation that made her knees weak. She sat on a frozen bench.

“Cassie, there’s snow.” Van pulled her up and brushed the snow off. She sat again, hard. He made room for himself beside her.

She pressed her knees and her feet together and burrowed her hands into her pockets.

“What do you want to do?” Van asked.

“Go back to Washington, where it’s safe.” She remembered the man she’d fought at her shelter on her last day at home. “Where it’s safer than here with you.”

“I’ll follow you this time.”

“And your business?”

“I can bring it with me or deal with it later.” He stared at the people streaming past them, their bags glittering, their laughter loud. “Although I should tell you I’m not quite as solvent these days.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“See, Cassie? You care.”

“Of course I care. You were my first love, my only,” she said. “I didn’t leave because of the way I felt about you.”

“Well, you were wrong about the way I felt,” he said. “Surely you can admit that now.”

“Maybe. I was afraid and I wanted you to see me the same way you had before. Because maybe if you did, I’d still be the same.”

Staring at the tips of her loafers, she jumped when he dropped his arm across her shoulders and scooted closer. “Damn that bastard,” he said.

“He’s pretty damned, all right. Some guy knifed him in jail about eight months ago.”

Van went as still as the frozen bench. “Why didn’t you tell me he was dead?”

“It wasn’t your business anymore.”

“Because of your decisions, not mine, and we just talked about him the other day.”

“I always thought I’d feel safe if he wasn’t around. But I don’t. He can’t hurt me again, but there are others like him. I want to be big and bad and strong, but something horrible happened to me once, so I can’t stop believing horrible things can happen.” Dizzy because she’d never admitted she was still afraid, she eased into the heaviness of his arm. “Not that any of this matters now.”

“Stay for six months.” He turned his head. His breath warmed her temple. She wished he’d kiss her again, and she was surprised. Desire had grown foreign to her. Could she feel it like any other woman?

“What about Hope?”

“I won’t pretend,” he said. “You know I care about her. I’m learning to care more. I can’t help myself, but I’m no saint. Give us six months to see if I can be her father.”

“And my—what?”

“Your husband, you idiot.”

“You’re asking me to marry you?” She half rose, but he pulled her back down.

“You don’t have to run for your life. I’m asking you to see if you can love me again.”

“Do you love me, Van?”

“D
O
I
LOVE YOU
?” Cold seeped through his bones. His options made him repeat what she’d asked and then kept him silent. Say yes and terrify her so much she panicked all the way back to Washington, or tell her the truth?

“My idea of love has changed,” he finally said, blinking a snowflake out of his eye. “It was simple before. You and I, alone. Jobs we both loved. Living together was fun.”

“Until I was raped.”

Each word stabbed him. He reached for her pink-covered hand and stood, urging her to come with him. “You must be freezing.”

“You change the subject every time I talk about what happened.”

He faced her. Around them, life went on. A mother called “Tony” in a voice only a mother used. A Salvation Army soldier rang his bell in a sonorous beat. The lights flickered on and off, painting Cassie’s skin with a pallor.

“Do you need to tell me?” He’d never forget the first time she’d forced him to listen.

“I need to know you don’t hate me for it. You run every time I try to be who I am now.”

“I don’t want him to hurt you. I want to kill him.”

“Too late.” She turned toward the street, and her glove came off in his fingers.

He was tempted to let her go. “Why can’t we do this my way for once?”

She glanced over her shoulder. She might have been any woman—young, happy, swinging along with commercial-bright independence. “You mean pretending we’re the same?”

“I told you I’m not. What are you going to do?”

“Take care of my father. Make sure Hope is as happy as I can keep her, and go home to my job. I haven’t even called my partners.”

He caught up. “What will they do if you can’t go back?”

“I will go.”

“Hope told me about a bad guy who came there one night.”

She smiled. “I’m glad she can talk about it, but I wish she’d talked to me. It’s no big deal. Some guy broke in the night before I left. In fact, I should have called to see what’s happening with him.”

Fear ran in a trickle of sweat down his spine. Her casual tone didn’t help. “Some guy broke in?”

His terror must have seeped into his voice. She lifted her chin, and he saw only reassurance. “I stopped him.”

“How?”

“With the fabled element of surprise and some skills from a good martial arts class that gave me a reason to crawl out of my apartment every day when I first moved to Tecumseh.” It was obviously the opening she’d been waiting for. “I take care of Hope and me.”

“I know.”

“So this talk of us staying comes too late.”

And she walked on without him, obviously not even considering his offer to go back with her.

E
VERYTHING CHANGED
the next day. Cassie woke early. Or maybe she’d stayed awake all night.

Before light, she gave up and went outside for the paper, her bare feet stinging in the cold snow. She made a pot of tea and carried it and the paper to her father’s office, where she shut the door and turned on the television to catch the morning news.

She basked in the slow, steady voices of gloom and doom, the inky scent of the paper and her hot tea. It was a luxury to be on her own—absolutely unnecessary to anyone.

Thoughts of Van crept in, but he’d never said he needed her. Just wanted.

The low tug of desire grabbed her. She pressed her hand to her stomach, her heart pounding as his kiss, his touch, replayed in her mind—and the feelings, so rare in the past five years, spread through her body.

Did she need him?

Questions too disturbing for a rare morning of freedom. She buried herself in the paper again and was startled to find it was past seven when she looked up.

No one stirred upstairs. Her father and Hope must still be asleep. Maybe they’d like a big breakfast. She opened the door to the hall—and found the front door standing open.

“Dad?”

Only the hall’s icy cold answered her.

“Dad?”

She ran. He wasn’t out front. The street.

Her heart thudded in her ears, shook her whole chest. Cars and snow stood beneath the spiny arms of frozen trees, but there was no sign of her father.

“Oh, my God.” She flew back to the front door, sliding across a patch of ice on the wooden stoop. Inside, she bolted up the stairs only to find Hope’s door open, too. And her bed empty.

Tears burned her eyes.

How the hell could they have gotten out without her hearing? The TV. But she’d kept it low so as not to disturb them.

What mattered was that they were gone. She stepped into flip-flops and grabbed her rental’s keys. She hadn’t noticed whether her father’s car was in the driveway. She grabbed the banister and skipped most of the stairs getting back down, praying her father’s car would be gone. At least if he was driving, he and Hope would be warm.

It sat, encased in ice.

Her cell phone lay on the hall table. She scooped it, ran to the rental, turned on the engine and grabbed the scraper to slash at the snow and ice on the windshield.

Meanwhile, she dialed the sheriff’s office. But then she hit the End button.

They’d think she couldn’t care for him or for Hope. She’d call them if she reached the main road and didn’t find her father and her baby, her innocent, possibly frostbitten baby girl.

She had to call.

She dialed the sheriff again and reported everything. They took her info and promised to send a car. With enough open space on the windshield and windows to drive, she jumped into the car and pulled away from the curb.

Hardly able to feel her frozen fingers, she dialed Van’s cell number. It hadn’t changed in five years. He answered, sounding sleepy. “Cassie, is that you?”

“Dad and Hope are missing.”

“What?” Gone was the sleepy throatiness.

She explained again. “Someone from Tom’s office is on his way, but Van, please could you come, too?”

“I’m on my way. Are you waiting at the house?”

“I’m driving toward the road.” The lake, its surface half-iced, drew her. “Tell me she wouldn’t go toward the water.” What kid could resist a layer of ice on a huge expanse of water?

“Leo wouldn’t let her. He’s forgetful, not insane.”

“He’s outside in the snow with my baby.”

“I’m at my car.”

She rounded a car and there was her dad, strolling toward her, his robe flapping over blue polka-dot pajamas, a paper tucked beneath his elbow. Clinging to his hand, Hope skipped in her coat and a knit cap and her blue ski boots.

“I see them,” she said into the phone.

“In the water?” Van asked.

“No, no.” She hastened to reassure him. “They’re walking. Dad’s half-naked, but Hope’s all bundled up. Will you call the sheriff’s office back?”

“Yeah, but I’m still on my way to you.”

Cassie stopped the car in front of them and jumped out. “Dad?”

“Uh-oh. Mommy’s mad.”

With a peek at his granddaughter, Cassie’s dad faced her like a chastised teenager. “My paper’s gone. I took Mr. Davidson’s, but I left him a dollar.”

“We’re almost a mile from home.” She peered over his shoulder, surprised Mr. Davidson wasn’t loping after him with a shotgun.

Hope ran into Cassie’s arms and she hugged her daughter tight, reassuring herself that her little girl had come through her walk with Grampa unscathed.

“Dad, why aren’t you dressed for this weather? You must be freezing.”

“I just went to get the paper and then I planned to go right back inside.”

She took a deep breath. “What about Hope?”

“I made her put her coat and hat and boots on.”

She gave up. “We’ll talk at home.” She ushered them into the backseat and draped him in the coat she’d left back there the night they’d flown in.

“Someone took my paper without paying. I was going to walk to the market, but a cop told me to go home.”

Cassie didn’t need Hope’s gasp to tell her he was lying. “A cop? No one else is on the street now and no one from Tom’s office would have let you and Hope walk down the street with you in your pj’s.” She ducked back into the car. “We have to return Mr. Davidson’s paper.”

“I paid for it.”

“He wasn’t selling it.”

“Whatever you want, Cassie. You know best.” He started to unfold it, but she leaned into the back and covered the edges with her hands.

“Dad, your paper is at home. I brought it in this morning.”

“I only like fresh ones.”

Mystified, she eased the newspaper out of his hands. “Then we’ll go get you a fresh one.”

“I wouldn’t go like that.” He pointed at her sweatpants and tank top. “The cops like a body to be dressed.”

“Still going with that cop story?” She drove as far as Mr. Davidson’s and took the paper up to his stoop. Then she ran back to the car to find her father and her daughter laughing as if they’d planned this whole fiasco. If her father were a child, she’d think twice before she’d let Hope play with him again.

She drove to a gas station that also sold newspapers, groceries and “sundries.” Before she went in, she tried to tidy her hair and pinched her pale cheeks in the rearview mirror. Finally, she gave up with a disgusted wave of her hand.

Her dad and Hope stopped talking when she came back to the car. Her frustration blossomed into the heartburn of too much coffee on an empty stomach.

“Dad, are you still cold?”

“I feel fine. We think Van drove by while you were in the store.”

“He was worried about you so he said he was coming over.”

He swapped a look with Hope. Cassie might have been glad they were getting along so well if she didn’t seem to be the butt of a private joke between them.

“I’ve never been so happy to see our house,” she said.

“There’s Van’s car. Oh,” Leo said, “he’s waiting on the porch.”

“I’m hungry.” Hope whined for the first time in all their recent adventures. “Grampa can make me cereal.”

“I’ll make you both breakfast.”

“I’m very good at pouring, and I’ll watch the news on television. You can have a few minutes with Van.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do, and what you’re trying to accomplish is a lost cause.” She was lying even as she tried to convince her father. The mere sight of Van made her all breathless.

He came down the steps to meet them as she helped Hope out of her seat, and her father climbed out of the other side of the car.

“Are you all okay?” Van asked.

“I was getting a paper. You two don’t have to act as if I was on my way to take out the bank.”

“I hope you would have dressed a little more warmly if that was your plan,” Van said.

“You’ve been talking to Cass, haven’t you? I don’t need parents.”

He brushed past Van and went inside the house Cassie had forgotten to lock.

She stared at the open door.

Van picked up Hope. “What came over you, little one? Felt in need of a stroll?”

“That doctor guy told Grampa—Mommy?”

Cassie broke her gaze from the door. “Huh, baby?”

“Is something wrong with the house?”

“I left the door open. I didn’t remember to lock it.”

Van moved until their arms touched. “I looked it over when I got here. Everything was fine.”

“And so are we.” Cassie touched Hope’s cheek. “What were you saying about Grampa?”

“That man told him not to go anywhere. I couldn’t let him leave alone.”

“Baby, you’re not old enough to be responsible for Grampa.”

“Huh?”

“From now on, call me if Grampa wants to go somewhere.”

“Okay. Can I eat now?”

“Let’s go see what we have. Van, are you hungry?”

“You’re asking me to stay?”

“I’m full of surprises today,” she said, thinking of the door she hadn’t bolted shut. She sighed as Hope hurtled down the hall toward the kitchen. At that age, life was all about the next meal. “Besides, I need to ask someone what kind of preschools Honesty has these days. Which one did your nephew go to?”

“You’re staying?”

“I have to call my partners and arrange for a leave of absence, but I can’t keep clinging to the hope he’ll be able to live on here without us.”

“Well, I’m not sure where Eli went. I’ll ask Beth which one she’d suggest.”

“Thanks.” She tried to look him in the eye, but she was too aware that she’d be seeing him often unless she told him once and for all to stay away.

“I should go with you when you enroll her.”

She disagreed. They were close to the kitchen, but Hope and Cassie’s father were deep in conversation while the TV voices rose, slightly higher than theirs. No one would hear. Now was the moment to send Van away. “People will think you’re her father.”

“Absolutely, and if I don’t go, they’ll think someone else was.”

She nodded. “That was hard enough to swallow when you did it for my father, but I can’t let you imply you allowed me to take your daughter from you—for the whole town.”

“Sorry, Cass, but they’ll blame you more than me. I don’t plan to say anything, just to look as if I belong there.”

“To keep anyone from guessing.”

“It’s still a small town. People will guess plenty. Doesn’t mean they’ll get anything right.”

“They’ll talk about you, too, Van.”

“I can take it.” He tugged at a strand of hair bent at a crazy angle from her face and she remembered she was wearing no makeup, hadn’t touched her hair with a comb and was still wearing sleep clothes and flip-flops.

She pushed his hand away, but not before she gave it a quick squeeze whose meaning even she didn’t understand. “Come eat breakfast with us.”

“M
R
. V
AN
,
DO YOU HAVE
any children in this school?”

They were half inside the L’il Kids building. Thankfully, the woman carrying a stack of paper down the hall hadn’t heard Hope’s question. “No kids,” he said.

“You don’t?”

“I’m not even married.”

“Neither is my mommy.”

That tossed a silent bomb into the conversation. Cassie’s face flushed pink. She could use a little more of that color. The past few days had clearly exhausted her.

But why hadn’t she ever told Hope she’d been married?

Maybe it hadn’t come up with a four-year-old.