The Saint (15 page)

He went up to her slowly. “Thank you,” he said.

She took a deep breath and held him at arm's length with a fierce, unblinking stare.

“But I won't accept a penny for myself. That's not negotiable, Kieran. I simply will not do it.”

He felt her determination, and he yielded to it. He had, for the moment, no choice.

Someday, somehow, perhaps he could change her mind, but not tonight. Tonight she was immutable, like a force of nature. The current of pride that ran through her was stronger than the river below them, a river that had cut chasms into mountainsides rather than be deflected.

It was awesome…and strangely exciting. The weakness he'd seen in her the night she told him about the baby was gone. Now she was filled with a power that was brave and fierce and sexual all at the same time.

He touched her face with his fingers, and when she didn't pull away he let them slide into her hair. Soon her small, elegant head, tilted with desperate resolve and yet trembling with vulnerability, was held in his hungry hands.

“Kieran,” she said in a tight voice. “Please don't kiss me.”

“Why not?”

“Because we agreed from the beginning that this would be a mistake. Because we know it will just complicate things.”

“Claire—”

“And because I don't want to think that I have to let you. I don't want to feel that you've bought the right to touch me with your two and a half million dollars.”

Stung, he started to pull away. But he looked at her again, at her glimmering eyes and her full, frightened lips. And he knew everything she said was, quite simply, a lie. She didn't mean a word of that senseless gibberish. She'd drawn it out of air, like an imaginary shield, and she was holding it up between them, hoping he'd believe it was real.

“Then
you
kiss
me,
Claire,” he said, pulling her close again. “Not because of the baby, and not because of the money. Kiss me because it's always been like this between us,
always.
Kiss me because you want to.”

For a split second, he saw surrender in her eyes. He saw her melting toward him, into him…. Then she blinked, and it was gone.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I can't do that.”

T
HE DAY OF THE
Ringmaster Parade it rained again, and Eddie, along with the entire town of Heyday, held his breath. He had a big date tonight with Binky, and not just any date. He
needed
to see her. To talk to her.

If the rain canceled the parade…

But by sunset the clouds had cleared away, and the freshly washed sky was as fancy as a big top, painted in gawdy stripes of cotton-candy pink and snow-cone blue.

The parade began at sundown. Standing under the streetlight at the corner by the fire station, Eddie watched the first few floats go by and then checked his watch again.

Binky was late.

But just a few minutes late—no big deal. He tried to still the little voice inside his head that whispered incessantly.
Wake up, you dork,
it said.
She's not coming.

But the voice was made of pure panic and insecurity. She'd promised she would come, just as soon as she got finished preparing the cheerleaders' float. She'd even agreed not to ride on it this year—which had left Eddie speechless. Binky loved being the center of attention. If she would give up that float she must really care, no matter what anyone said.

Including that know-it-all voice in his head.

He thought back on last week, when they'd gone to the park, the morning after the fiasco with Jeff's Edgar Allen Poe paper. Binky had kissed Eddie right there in front of at least six people. She had sworn she didn't care about Cullen or Jeff or any of them. She loved Eddie.

He had been so relieved he almost cried, which would have been the most pathetic thing any guy on this entire planet ever did. In his gratitude, he had given her the lariat earrings, even though it had just about cleaned him out to redeem them from the lay-away contract.

He felt around in his pocket now. He hoped she wasn't hungry tonight. If he included his dimes and nickels, he had almost enough money left for the two of them to split a hot dog.

“Hi, Eddie.”

He turned around, pathetically eager, a grin on his face. But it was just Mrs. McClintock, not Binky. He tried not to look disappointed. Mrs. McClintock was really nice. And she obviously hadn't ever told anyone what she saw that day at Mrs. Tremel's house.

At the thought of Mrs. Tremel, Eddie's conscience wriggled uncomfortably. When he found out Binky wasn't going to dump him, he had decided not to go to Mrs. Tremel's house after all. But he hadn't ever called to cancel. He knew that was crappy, and he felt kind of bad about it.

And he also knew that, by standing her up, he might have made Mrs. Tremel mad. Maybe even mad enough to tell somebody what she'd seen.

But he'd rationalized that away, too. What, after all,
had
she seen? Eddie had handed something to
Cullen, that's all. It could have been anything. If she told anyone, he could always deny it.

Still, the whole thing didn't feel right. Tomorrow, after he was completely, one hundred percent sure about Binky, he'd fix it. Tomorrow he'd go over there, finish Mrs. Tremel's lawn and explain that she must have misunderstood what she saw. Then everything would be cool.

“Eddie, are you okay?” Mrs. McClintock was looking at him intently, and he realized he'd been lost in his thoughts a long time.

“Yeah,” he said. “I'm fine. Everything is fine.”

“Have you seen Coach McClintock?” She tilted her watch. “We were supposed to meet here in time to see the Ringmaster float go by.”

It was a good sign, Eddie thought, that even Coach McClintock could be a few minutes late. If he could lose track of time, then obviously scatty Binky Potter could, too.

“No, I haven't seen him yet tonight.” Eddie looked at her awkwardly. “You know, Mrs. McClintock, I've been wanting to tell you how sorry I was about…you know. What happened to Steve.”

She looked completely surprised. Which made sense, as he'd pretty much pulled that one smack out of left field, hadn't he?
Smooth,
Mackey. He mentally knocked himself upside the head.
Real smooth.

“That's very nice, Eddie.” She paused. “Did you know Steve?”

“Not really. He was older than I was, and he was really popular and all, but he was really nice to me. Well, he was really nice to everybody. Everybody liked him a lot.”

God, he sounded like an idiot talking moon-
gobble. But he couldn't bring himself to be more specific. He couldn't tell her that Steve had single-handedly lifted him up out of social oblivion by inviting him to play a pickup touch football game after school one day.

It had been such an offhand, Steve-like thing to do. Eddie, just a freshman, had been hanging back, afraid to push his way in. He still remembered the flush of pleasure that had washed through him when Steve called out, “Hey, Mackey, catch!” and tossed him the football.

Luckily, Mrs. McClintock didn't seem confused. It was as if she heard what he meant, rather than what he said. Suddenly he liked her even more.

She really was Steve's sister, that was for sure.

“Thanks, Eddie,” she said, her eyes looking kind of misty. “That means a lot to me. I like to think that people around here remember him.”

“Oh, heck, yeah, we all do. Steve was the best.”

Mrs. McClintock touched his shoulder—not in that unsettling way Mrs. Tremel did, but in a gentle way, almost like his mom.

They stood together silently after that, watching the parade. Five or ten minutes went by. He saw just about everyone he knew—everybody but Binky. His heart was like a balloon losing air. It kept sinking toward his kneecaps.

Another minute, and then Coach McClintock appeared, apologizing for being late. He leaned in and kissed his wife on the cheek, just a little peck, but she smiled that special way and seemed to blush, as if she really liked it.

Coach gave Eddie a smile, and then he took Mrs. McClintock's hand. They were probably waiting for
the Ringmaster float. Coach knew Ms. Ginger, the nice lady who owned the restaurant downtown. She was the Ringmistress this year. And Mr. Hartland, who was the Ringmaster this year, was a good friend of Coach McClintock's, so they probably wanted to laugh and holler and generally make a big fuss about it.

Eddie couldn't care less who was Ringmaster. He didn't care about the whole stupid parade. He didn't care about anything but Binky.

A couple of minutes later, when the Heyday High Cheerleading Squad float came rolling by, Eddie was really glad the McClintocks were too wrapped up in each other to pay much attention to him. He knew his shock must be written all over his face, and he wouldn't have wanted anyone to see how pathetic he looked.

A dozen good-looking girls dressed in sexy, pleated miniskirts and tight tank tops held little whips, with which they pretended to control wild “beasts” inside fake circus cages. The animals wore face makeup and costumes, but Eddie knew who they were. They were the coolest of the cool football players.

Cullen and Jeff and Joe and Carter and Mark.

And there, right next to Cullen the gorilla, her silver lariat necklace and earrings sparkling as they passed under the streetlights, stood beautiful, bitchy Binky Potter, not even caring that she was breaking his heart.

 

C
LAIRE HADN'T HAD
this much fun at the Ringmaster Parade since she was five years old.

Her father had taken her here that year. It was his
last visit to Heyday—the last bubble of innocence Claire could remember in her whole life. The very next day, their little apartment had erupted in shouting and tears when her mother announced that she was going to have another baby.

After saying a few things so terrible even a five-year-old could understand, things like “I don't believe for a minute it's mine” and “you're not getting one more penny,” Claire's father had stormed off.

She never saw him again.

Almost a year later, when Stevie was cutting his first tooth, her mother had pulled Claire onto her lap, saying, “I know you heard your father say some bad things, and I just want you to know they weren't true.” She had shown Claire a bunch of important-looking papers, one that supposedly proved that her daddy was Stevie's daddy, too, and another that said he had to send them a check every month for pretty clothes and going out to McDonald's and stuff.

Claire had nodded and pretended she understood, but she hadn't. Her father never sent the checks anyhow, so what good was that paper? And she didn't see what difference it made who your dad was if he never came to see you. If you belonged to someone, you didn't need a piece of paper to prove it.

But every year after that—until tonight—it had always made her kind of sad to go to the Ringmaster Parade. She couldn't look at the Ferris wheel without remembering the way her father had swung his feet and made the car rock, filling her with laughter and terror.

“So where are you right now?” Kieran nudged her shoulder as they walked through the noisy little carnival. “You seem a million miles away.”

“I was.” She smiled over at him, suddenly so glad that he was Kieran McClintock, a man so different from her father there simply was no comparison. Maybe, she thought, she hadn't really repeated her mother's mistakes after all.

“I was remembering how much I used to like this when I was a little girl.”

“Yeah? What did you like best?”

She widened her eyes dramatically. “The Scrambler.”

He laughed out loud. “You're pushing your luck a little bit, aren't you? Just a week ago you couldn't hold down a cup of broth, and tonight you've had a nasty veggie hoagie, a candy apple and the last bite of my hot dog. Now you want to ride the Scrambler?”

She grinned. “Yes, sir, I do.”

He gave in, of course, and even stood in the long line without complaining. He was the most gracious, good-humored man she'd ever met. Ever since that midnight ride at the Lazy Gable Ranch, when she had refused to admit how much she wanted to kiss him, she had been expecting some kind of retaliation. A sulk, perhaps, or the cold shoulder. Maybe even outright anger.

But Kieran had offered her none of those things. His immediate reaction had been a tense withdrawal. That was only human—both of them had clearly been physically edgy, struggling against the desire that always flared when they were alone. But he had rallied quickly, and by the time they were halfway home he was himself again, solicitous and warm.

It had almost made her feel guilty for resisting him. But she had to protect herself. That sun-dazed
afternoon by the pool, when he had kissed her practically senseless, had shown her how vulnerable her defenses really were.

As they boarded the ride, she caught a glimpse of Erica Gordon in the next Scrambler car over. The two of them exchanged a laughing thumbs-up sign as the big, yellow-spider machine began to clank and turn. And then suddenly everything was flashing past her in a mad kaleidoscope of swirling color. Centrifugal force shoved her up against Kieran's side. He put his arm around her, and, with a low squeal, she buried her face in his shoulder.

When the ride stopped, her insides kept strangely spinning. She had to take Kieran's hand just to hold her balance as she stepped down.

“Oh, dear,” she said, putting her hand on her forehead. She shot a sheepish look his way. The world wouldn't slow down.

He shook his head, chuckling. “I hate to say it, but I told you so.”

“No, I'm okay,” she said, but then her head began to swim in earnest. “Oh, dear,” she said again.

He put his arm around her and began leading her away from the Scrambler. She followed blindly, squeezing her eyes shut, fighting the disagreeable echo of Portobello mushroom, stringy sprouts and green peppers.

“Kieran, I think I need—”

“It's right here,” he said. She opened her eyes and saw that he had led her to the small city hall building, which had been opened tonight in order to provide extra rest rooms. She felt a rush of gratitude for his cleverness. This was the cleanest, brightest venue in the area for someone in her condition.

“Thanks,” she said as quickly as she could. And then she rushed in, praying there wouldn't be a line. There wasn't. Most people probably didn't even know this building was open.

By the time she felt fit to return to the carnival, at least ten minutes had passed. She opened up a paper towel, ran cold water over it, and then used it to pat down her face.

At the mirror next to hers, a pretty teenage girl was applying lipstick as red and thick and sticky as a candy apple. She wedged the tube into her ultra-tight jeans and then spent several seconds arranging her shining blond hair so that it dangled seductively over one eye.

Claire, watching from around the damp paper towel, almost spoke to her. She almost said,
Slow down. You don't want to end up like me….

But of course she couldn't do it. The girl wouldn't have listened. She was clearly on the prowl. She probably thought the carnival would be a terrible disappointment if she didn't end up in the arms of whatever eager boy was out there waiting for her right now.

The girl left, but Claire waited a little longer. Outside, she could hear the sound of children screaming with that same delighted terror she remembered from her long-ago Ferris wheel ride. She smelled onion rings and corn dogs and wondered briefly if she might have to duck back into one of the stalls.

But apparently her stomach had settled. Finally she threw the paper towel in the trash, gave her hair one last swipe and returned to the place where she'd left Kieran, almost ten minutes ago.

He was still there. But Aurora York was with him.
The two of them looked up at Claire's arrival with that sudden jerk into silence that undoubtedly meant they'd been talking about her.

“Hello, dear,” Aurora said with an air of extreme solicitude. She reached out and brushed Claire's damp hair from her forehead. “Are you all right now, dear?”