Branded by Firelight, page 13
Huh. Ben was a hero. Who would have guessed?
Claire wasn’t sure how she felt about that discovery. Maybe a little less special, if saving distraught women was something he made a habit out of.
They drove a few more miles while she picked apart that insight into his character. The road was dark. The mountains now loomed on the left, Flathead Lake to the right.
“I don’t need to be rescued,” she said.
“No, you don’t. It’s a good thing, too. I’m done for the night.”
“How would you feel about it if I stayed in Patterson’s cabin for the winter?” she asked. “Would it be weird? Would it make things awkward between us?”
“It wouldn’t make things awkward on my end, and no, I don’t think it would be weird.” He cut a glance sideways at her. “I’d like it very much if you stayed for the winter. I’ve got a brand-new library card to break in and could use literary advice from someone who’s smart.”
“You really could,” she said.
The heavy weight in her chest refused to budge. She should tell him about Tabitha. She wished she knew how he’d take it. Uncertainty was what held her back. She hated to ruin things.
There was another brief period of silence. A sign for Cherry Lake swept by and disappeared into the night.
“For the record, I never cheated on her.”
“I never once thought you did.” Claire settled more comfortably into her seat, tucking her feet under the dash so the heater blasted against them. “How long were you together?”
“Two months. They were long ones.”
“You’re a paragon of monogamy.” She reached for his hand and squeezed his fingers. “I don’t know how you survived. I’m so impressed.”
He rubbed the pad of his thumb against the inside of her palm. When she would have withdrawn her hand he tightened his grip.
“I’m really glad you’re staying the winter,” he said. The warmth in his voice rolled over her like a summer breeze rippling through a cherry orchard in full bloom. “I’m not going to lie. I like the benefits. But you also make a fantastic friend.”
Ben carried the last load of Claire’s belongings into the cabin and dropped the box in the corner of the living room. She claimed these were all of her worldly belongings. If so, she lived light.
“I sold a lot of it before I left Redmond,” she said when he commented on it. “The furniture wasn’t worth what it would have cost me to move or store it.”
He’d bet it was better than the sagging sofa she sat cross-legged on.
“You were checking out my ass, weren’t you?” he asked as he straightened.
“Get over yourself, cowboy.” But the heat in her eyes said he’d guessed right.
He loved it when she looked at him like that. He had no trouble reading her mind when she did. The best part of it was that they now had space where they could be alone. He planned to spend the first night here with her. All he required was an invitation.
“I’m not the one who needs to get over me,” he said. “Lucky for you though, I have no objection to you checking me out. You can look at me any time you like. And if you’re nice to me, I’ll even consider letting you touch. I’m generous like that.”
She edged warily to the far end of the sofa. Then, with a saucy tilt of her nose, proceeded to goad him. “No thank you. I’ve already touched you. It was okay, but hardly worth seconds.”
“Not worth seconds?” he echoed. He crooked an eyebrow at her, calling her on the lie. “By my count, this would make fourths. It’s my job to keep track of these things. I work in the service industry with high-end clientele and customer satisfaction is my personal guarantee.” He took a slow, deliberate step toward her. “Prepare to be satisfied.”
She scrambled over the arm of the sofa, then sprinted for the bedroom with him in pursuit. She got there first and tried to close the door behind her, but she was a second too late. He shouldered his way in, scooped her into his arms, and tumbled her to the king-sized bed. Then, straddling her and pinning her down with his greater weight, he began tickling. She writhed and squirmed on the bedspread beneath them, shrieking with laughter and begging for mercy until she couldn’t breathe.
He got his hands under her sweater, which had ridden up to expose a strip of flesh above her hip-hugging jeans. Then, instead of more tickling, he glided his palms over the smooth, sensitive skin below the curve of her breasts. He skimmed his thumbs over the swells. Her chest heaved as she sucked in great gulps of air. He had his knees on either side of her hips and half-sat on her exposed belly, careful not to crush her with too much of his weight. He had to be at least sixty pounds heavier. Her clothes were rumpled. Her face was flushed and her hair was as wild as he’d ever seen it, mussed into snarls from her attempts to escape.
This was the way she was meant to look—not all perfect and untouchable and... damaged.
She stared up at him from heavy-lidded, promise-filled eyes. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” she whispered. “Of course you do,” she answered herself. “Look who I’m talking to.”
A small laugh of undiluted joy escaped him. He had this smart, funny, gorgeous woman here, with him, and she seemed to want him as much as he wanted her. He dipped his head lower so that he could kiss her. She ran her hands over the rounds of his ass, which was what his goal had been, although with fewer clothes to impede her. He wanted her touch. He wanted her naked. He wanted inside her. He unzipped his jeans, and with her help, had them off in seconds. And then he undressed her as well, taking his time.
She was out of breath again when he finished, but for a different reason this time. He fumbled with the condom he’d brought along—just in case—and once he had it on, he took no time in heading straight where he belonged.
Mine. He listened to the soft, eager sounds she made as she came apart beneath him, her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted, her back arched so that she could take him in deep, with a possessive sense of wonder and pride.
She’s all mine.
“I’ve got to get dressed. I’m supposed to be at Alayna’s for dinner at six.”
She slid from under the blankets and crossed the room naked, all feminine curves and sleek, glowing skin, without any awkwardness. An air of contentment floated in her wake. Yes. Claire knew her own worth.
The bathroom door opened and closed behind her. Ben flopped onto his back. Shadows enshrouded the room as the afternoon waned. She was having dinner with the newlyweds, Patterson’s parents, and her mother. They weren’t a couple so he had no reason to feel left out because he hadn’t been invited. Besides, he knew what was up. Claire would likely have to suffer through an interrogation as to what their relationship was. Alayna and Patterson were going to let it slip that he was the one who’d asked for her to stay here. Patterson would feel obligated to protect her from him.
Whose fault was that? Who knew him better than anyone else but his best friend?
He’d see her later and find out how much damage control he’d need to do. He still planned on spending the night. To have Claire so close and not be with her was not going to happen—unless she decided otherwise, of course. He didn’t believe she would though. Not after their latest round of lovemaking. And Alayna and Patterson couldn’t tell her anything about him she didn’t already know.
The shower came on. He thought about joining her, but they weren’t quite there yet in terms of intimacy and she was already going to be late. He hauled on his jeans, and barefoot, padded into the tiny kitchenette in search of a glass of water.
She’d left her phone on the counter. He picked it up, a grin on his lips. No password protection. Big mistake, babe. He’d leave her a selfie so she could think of him when he wasn’t around. If nothing else it would make her smile, and he enjoyed doing that.
The first photo wasn’t flattering. He’d taken it at the wrong angle. He snapped three more before he got one that sent the right message. He wanted her to catch the thoughts he was having about her—if she used her imagination, she’d have some things to anticipate the next time they were alone.
He went into her photo album to delete the images he didn’t like. He wasn’t being nosy—he had to scroll through her entire photo album in order to get to her “deleted albums” folder. Otherwise, those images would be there for thirty days and he didn’t want her to think he was vain. He supposed that meant he kind of was.
As he thumbed through the various photo albums, one image caught his attention. He stopped for a closer look, trying to figure out why, so yes, now he was being nosy.
The photo was of a pretty little girl with dark, glossy curls. A pink party dress topped frilly white panties worn over a disposable diaper. He wasn’t much into babies, but something about the way her smile and her eyes interacted made his heart take a few extra beats. Like a disaster unfolding, he couldn’t look away.
There were several more images of the same little girl. In one, she was blowing out a single candle on a white birthday cake covered in pink roses—or at least, making a valiant attempt. Another showed her with one plump little hand scooping a fistful of cake into her mouth. A third was of her with an attractive couple who had to be in their early forties at least. She sat on the woman’s lap while the man crouched beside their chair. He had his arm extended, obviously taking the picture.
A memory resurfaced of Claire on the night of the wedding, alone in her car, holding her phone in one hand and a beer in the other. She’d been flicking her thumb across the screen. Then his mind flashed to the afternoon on the mountain trail where he’d held her in his arms while she sobbed as if she’d been completely broken. He remembered the night of the party and her frozen expression when Alayna had brought up her hopes for her future family.
You’ll always be her child. Her firstborn.
The words Claire had spoken to him when he’d told her of his mother’s abandonment took on an entirely new meaning. A hard knot formed in his gut and he couldn’t swallow. He stared at the photo before him. The hair was different. So was the shape of the little girl’s face.
But the eyes...
Those eyes were pure Claire.
The shower turned off. He deleted all of the photos of himself that he’d taken and positioned her phone on the counter exactly as she’d left it.
Chapter Twelve
When Claire left the library at closing time, the sky gleamed an indigo blue and streetlights speckled the town. She rolled up her coat collar to fend off the icy fingertips of wind and clutched her laptop bag tighter. A teenaged girl, one with nerd written all over her, hurried past, clutching an armload of books and a cellphone.
Claire had once been that girl.
She tipped her purse into the glare of a floodlight and dug in it for her car keys, fighting the disquiet that had niggled at her all day. She’d thought Ben would spend last night with her. She’d anticipated it, far more than she should if they really were keeping things casual. But he hadn’t.
Something was wrong.
He’d been preoccupied when she’d finished her shower. He’d dressed, kissed her good-bye, and told her not to believe everything “that douchebag Patterson” said about him. Then he’d left, and she hadn’t seen him since.
By lunchtime she’d gotten tired of waiting for him to show, and reminding herself that he had a job and didn’t have to explain himself to her, she’d taken her work to the library so as not to waste the entire afternoon trying to catch glimpses of him through the window.
Hours later, her unease refused to settle. She didn’t like being friends with benefits anymore. It was great in theory, but in reality, there was too much uncertainty involved. She couldn’t even hunt him down and demand to know why he hadn’t spent the night, because she had no reason to expect that he should. Was he tired of her already? Had he decided her being at the ranch was too great an invasion of his personal space?
What had happened between her leaving the bed, when everything had been fine, and getting out of the shower, when suddenly, it wasn’t?
Patterson had taken her aside last night while Alayna was busy with his parents and their mother. “Ben has a tendency to aim high when it comes to women,” he said. He thrust his hands in his back pockets and appeared to be struggling to find the right words. “He pretends he’s all about a good time, but that’s not really him. It’s possible he might have a few issues when it comes to letting anyone close. I know you’re Alayna’s sister, but he’s my best friend. I couldn’t love him more if he were my brother. I’m appealing to you as the one with the common sense. All I ask is that you don’t hurt him, okay?”
Claire couldn’t remember how she’d responded. The idea that she was the one with the common sense in this non-relationship, or the ability to raise unrealistic expectations, was so far from the truth she’d been speechless. Ben wasn’t the one aiming high. If anything, he set his standards too low.
“Excuse me,” someone said. “You’re Claire Brand, aren’t you? I’m Grace Anderson. I used to be Grace Nichols. I’m Ben’s mother.”
The older woman huddled against the side of the building, shifting from one foot to the other in an obvious attempt to stay warm. Judging by her face, flushed pink from the cold, she’d been here a while.
Red flags began waving wildly. Claire saw where this conversation was headed and she wished she could avoid it, but that wasn’t likely. A headache pulsed behind her eyes. Her only hope was to shut it down as fast as she could. Ben wouldn’t be happy that his estranged mother had tracked her down. He’d be even less thrilled about Claire speaking with her.
But if she could act as a buffer between them, for his sake, she was happy to spare her a few minutes—on the understanding they weren’t likely to become BFFs. “I know who you are,” she said. “I was with him the other day when you spoke to him.”
“He told you about me?” Grace couldn’t hide her pleasure. “I saw you waiting for him, so I asked around to find out your name.”
“I didn’t realize you knew anyone in Sweetheart. I thought he moved here after you and his father had already separated.”
“Sweetheart isn’t that big. They told me at the diner who the pretty girl Ben’s been spending time with lately is.” The woman’s lower lip quivered. She was like a nervous bird, reminding Claire of her own mother and the way she relied too heavily on others. “I was hoping you’d do me a favor.”
It was time to be frank.
“Please don’t put me in this position,” Claire said. “He and I are friends. If you really know your son, you’ll know that I can’t make him change his mind about speaking to you.”
“Just...” Grace wrung her hands as if wrestling with a major life choice. She reached in one jacket pocket and withdrew a fat envelope. She seized Claire’s hand with both of hers and pressed the envelope into her palm. “Just give him this and ask him to call me.”
The envelope was thick enough to be more of a packet. Based on the bulk and feel, it contained photos. Claire, not knowing what else to do, slid it into her purse. She felt sorry for Grace. She really did. But Grace didn’t get to decide when the right time to reconnect with the son she’d abandoned was. That was all up to Ben, and regardless of what sort of relationship they had, or more likely didn’t, Claire’s loyalty was to him.
“It’s none of my business,” she began, treading with care since it really wasn’t, “and I’m trying to find a kind way to put this, but Ben’s not at a place where he’s ready to reconnect with you. He might never be. Maybe it’s better if you let him come to you on his terms, not yours.”
Grace’s face pokered up, plainly expressing what she thought of the unwanted advice. She was like a spoiled child being denied a toy she’d demanded and expected to receive. “I don’t expect you to understand something only a mother could.”
The pain of loss that knifed through Claire was an all-too familiar sensation. It struck her at whim, usually when least expected or at the worst possible moment, and she reacted to it in multiple ways. Right now the pain morphed into anger—ice-cold, yet controlled. How dare anyone challenge her ability to understand the toughest decision a mother could ever make?
This woman knew nothing about her. Nothing.
And little more than that about her own son.
“I understand that mothers do what’s best for their children,” Claire shot back. “If you walked out of his life for his own good, then you should allow him to determine when it’s right for him to let you back in.”
“I have two teenage sons and I have to do what’s best for them too. They’d like to know their brother. The youngest is seventeen now and wants to get into team roping. Ben can help him out.”
Any pity she’d felt for his mother dried up and faded away. This wasn’t about reconnecting with the son she’d given up. Not really. She wasn’t here for his sake. “I’ll give him your message.” Only because it wasn’t her right to withhold it. “What he does after that is up to him.”
But he wouldn’t contact his mother, and she could see by the defeated look in Grace’s eyes that she knew it too.
Claire got in her car. It took her two attempts to get the key in the ignition. She didn’t know Ben’s whole childhood story, only bits and pieces of it, but what she’d heard—and seen—left a sour, bitter taste in her mouth. His mother was a selfish woman. Otherwise, she’d leave Ben alone.
And now Claire found herself in an impossible situation. She’d known, if she ever became seriously involved with a man again, she’d have to tell him about Tabitha, but in her heart, she’d wanted to avoid having that painful conversation with Ben. It was too soon. The wound had barely begun to scab over. She’d let herself believe that, by labeling her developing relationship with him as “friends-with-benefits,” and saying it was only temporary, it meant he had no reason to know.
