Ticket To Ride (Passing Through Series Book 2), page 23
“Yeah?” Ben sipped his coffee, his eyes darker than the coffee he drank.
“I’m not selling it.” She rushed on before he could react. “So, you and Poppy and the children, of course, are more than welcome to stay here until your house is ready.”
Ben nodded and sipped his coffee. “Good.”
That was it. That was it?
All her agonizing and journeying into her past and Ben nodded and said good. It put her issues into perspective, and she laughed. “You’re a good guy Ben.”
“Huh?” He raised a dark brow.
Claire waved him off and got herself a cup of coffee. “This house is part of me, and selling it would be like giving away that part.”
“About time.” Poppy bustled in with a huge grin on her face. She pulled Claire into a hug. “We all knew you’d get there.”
“Did you now?” Then they’d known a lot more than she did. Claire accepted the hug while trying not to spill coffee all over the floor.
“Why are you hugging?” Brinn stumbled into the kitchen with Ciara behind her.
“Claire is not going to sell Winters House.” Poppy spoke to her daughter but beamed at Claire.
Brinn rolled her eyes. “Of course, she isn’t.”
Ciara gave Claire a very adult smile and nod of approval.
“Sean’s crying,” Ryan yelled from the top of the stairs.
“I got him,” Finn called and then said to Ryan. “You wanna put some pants on?”
“Not really. I like free balling it.”
Finn laughed. “I hear ya.”
Trying his best not to laugh, Ben deflected Poppy’s glare. “He never learned that from me.”
There was no more time for meaningful interchanges and introspection as they all got swallowed in the mayhem of a busy and full household getting ready for the day.
The dark spot in her day was Finn not looking at her. Oh, he was polite enough and greeted her, but he didn’t look at her like he normally did, like he wanted to gobble her up or sit on the sidelines and watch her for the rest of the day.
His blue eyes were glacial, and a sharp reminder that she may have sorted out part of her life, but she still had another mountain to climb.
*
Twin Elks relieved her of any need to tell Horace the news. Claire had no idea how the news beat her to the hospital, but it did.
When she got there, Rachel was sitting beside Horace, and she stood when Claire entered.
“Oh, Claire.” She got another hug. They were big on hugging in this part of the world. “I heard and we’re so happy you’re not selling Winters House.”
Horace raised an eyebrow at her. “Something you’d like to tell me, daughter?”
“I’d like to have the chance.” She disentangled herself from Rachel.
Rachel beamed at them both. “Winters House is so much a part of our community. I can’t imagine the town without it.”
“Quite right.” Peg bustled in, wreathed in smiles. “The Good Lord knows we’ve had our issues with you, Claire, but you have shown your true colors now.”
Horace raised an eyebrow at her.
“I told Poppy and Ben I wasn’t selling the house this morning.”
Stilling, Horace studied her. “Any particular reason why?”
“It’s my home, my heritage.” She felt shy admitting this. “It’s a part of me.”
“Quite right.” Horace squeezed her hand. “It took you a while to realize that.”
“Now, Horace.” Peg shook a finger at him. “Don’t be lecturing her. There is no space for I told you so between a parent and a child.”
“Peg.” Horace kept his gaze on Claire. “I’m gonna ask you real polite to get your butt out of here.”
Peg snorted. “That’s not polite, Horace, but I’m going.” She waved at Rachel. “And you’re coming with me. I’ll spread the word, don’t you worry, that the Winters House crisis is over, and that you’ll be receiving visitors when you’re back home.
“She has her uses,” Horace said as Peg bustled out. He crossed his hands over his belly and stared out the window.
Claire stared out the window with him. For such a momentous moment, neither of them had much to say.
“The Winters legacy,” Horace said, still staring at the other side of the hospital out the window. “It’s bigger than the house.”
“I thought as much.” She didn’t have all the answers to what her future looked like yet, but she was done running away from fifty percent of her ancestry. “I thought you could share some of it with me while you recovered.”
“You staying that long?”
“I thought I might.”
“Huh.”
A pigeon fluttered to the sill outside the window and strutted its stuff. Another pigeon joined him.
Horace breathed deep. “No wonder there are so many of them.”
Claire had to laugh.
“It’s right, you know.” Horace watched the pigeons. “You learning about your legacy. I’m real glad, Claire. Real glad.”
“Same.” She took his hand and held it. “I feel like I’ve wasted an awful lot of time.”
“We can’t think like that.” Horace looked at her. “We don’t get to cherry-pick the parts of our past that we change and assume the now would still look the same except for that one small piece. We are where we are, and we can only look forward.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Finn tapped the last joint into place with Hank hanging over his shoulder.
“Gentle like,” Hank crooned. “Like you’re pleasing your lady. Ease her into it, persuade her where you want her.”
Hank’s breath tickled Finn’s neck. “Seriously, Hank.” Finn glanced over his shoulder. “Personal space? You’re starting to weird me out.”
Chuckling, Hank straightened. He pointed his chin at the join in the old rocker Finn had put together. “You got a real way with the wood. My pa used to say anyone can learn to work with wood, but there’s some what’s got the way with them.” He sniffed and shoved his hands in his coverall pockets. “I got that way with me. You do too.”
“Thank you.” Rare as they were, a compliment from Hank was to be savored. Finn wished he were in a better frame of mind to do so. The news about Claire and Winters House had thrown him this morning. He was in deep with her, and her confusion frustrated him. He wanted to yell at her to find what she wanted and grab that thing. And he wanted that thing to be him and their future.
It had taken him this long to consider the possibility that he could have what he’d secretly always wanted. That he could love, and he was worth loving back. Now that he’d made that decision for himself and found the one, he wanted to have that with her. He wanted her all in with him.
Hank rocked on his feet and sucked his teeth. “Thought mebbe you might be thinking of sticking around.”
Finn made a noncommittal noise. Hank liked his gossip and wasn’t always partial to the facts. The less you gave him the better.
“Seeing as that honey of yours is sticking around.”
There you had it. Finn ran his fingers over the join, looking for any rough spots. “She didn’t say she was sticking around forever.”
“Is that what’s souring your milk this morning?”
Finn wasn’t about to take love advice from a man whose idea of courtship involved a Bud six-pack and a set of glow-in-the-dark condoms. “What’s with all the chatting?”
“Darn it!” Hank stamped his foot. “I’m trying to offer you a job here. You keep stroking on that wood, and I’m liable to change my mind.”
That got Finn’s attention, and he straightened so fast he almost slammed his head into the tabletop next to the rocker. “What did you say?”
“A job.” Hank sucked his teeth. “Working with me in the shop. Permanent like.” He sniffed. “I got more work than I can handle. It’s coming in from all over, what with there not being that many of us that can do this anymore.”
It took Finn’s head a moment to catch up. In addition to specialized carpentry, Hank had a workshop at the far end of town where he repaired and refinished furniture. He had told Finn that he used to make some furniture as well, but that he’d stopped that after his nephew left Twin Elks, and Hank didn’t have any help.
Finn had started working with Hank as something to do while he got his head together. It had never occurred to him to turn his hobby into something more.
The idea took root. “Let me think about that, Hank.” He stood and dusted sawdust from his pants. “But I’m thinking I buy in and make it more like a partnership than me working for you.”
“Partnership.” Hank puffed out his cheeks. “There you go getting ahead of yourself and all.”
Finn knew better than to react. Hank liked to bark, but for the most part, he was toothless. “I have some money set aside, so I could buy in. Maybe we could get to making some new stuff while we’re at it.”
Hank pulled a face. “New stuff.” He huffed. “What do you know about making new stuff? I taught you a coupla things, and now you’re all set to take over the world of furniture manufacture.”
“I have a way with wood.” Finn couldn’t resist. “You said so yourself.”
Hank went red in the face. “Now listen here, you—”
“Excuse me.” A man stood in the workshop doorway. Finn put his age at a few years younger than him. Dressed in what Finn would bet were designer duds, with a haircut that cost a whole lot more than the five-dollar trim he got on Main Street from a cousin of Kelly’s, the man reeked of money and snobbery. “I’m looking for Claire Mathews.”
There you had it. That was the thing Finn had guessed he might say but had still hoped to be wrong about.
“You a friend of hers?” Hank had gone full country bumpkin on the guy. Even adding a hitch to his coveralls for effect.
The newcomer looked like he smelled something bad. Now Hank could be ripe on occasion but not that bad. “I was given to believe she would be here.”
“Is that right?” Hank was having such a good time Finn let him roll with it. “And who exactly was it that gave you to believe such?”
“Eh?” The man blinked at him. Finn had to admit that if the guy had asked for anyone else, he might have stepped in, but a green-eyed monster had him by the balls and was hanging on tight. This guy looked exactly like the sort the Claire who had stepped out of her car in her killer shoes would date, and Finn wanted to rearrange his pretty face for him. And muss up that two-hundred-dollar hairdo he had going on.
“Who told you Claire would be here?” He interpreted Hank for the guy.
“Oh.” He looked affronted by the question. “Her mother. Look, is she here or not?”
“Not.”
Hank shook his head. “Nope.”
“Are you sure?” He tugged a smartphone out of his perfectly pressed pants and consulted it. “This is the address I was given.”
“If you can find her, young feller, you can call me a liar and spit on my grave.” Hank grinned.
“But this is Winters House?” The guy took a careful breath. “The home of Horace Winters.”
“Yep.” Hank grinned.
Finn nodded and tried like hell not to laugh.
The guy made a noise of exasperation. “Then I do have the correct address, and Claire is staying here.”
“Well now.” Hank looked at Finn and opened his arms wide, a man on whom the light had dawned. “If you’d’a started by asking if she lived here, then we would have said yes. Ain’t that right?” Hank looked to him for corroboration.
Finn couldn’t give it. He wouldn’t have told slick dick anything without hearing more of why he was here and what he wanted with Claire.
“So, she is here?” The guy gritted the question through a tight jaw.
“She is living here.” Hank enunciated slowly. “But she ain’t here now.”
The guy made a strangled sound. “Do you have any idea when you are expecting her back?”
“Nope.”
“A guess?”
“Hmm.” Hank looked at him and frowned. “Now yesterday she came back late afternoon. Day afore that it was full dark before she got back. What do you reckon?”
Hank’s playtime was over. Finn stepped forward. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Greg.” The guy stiffened and squared off. “Greg Halburton.”
“Halburton?” Hank tapped his chin. “Any relation to the Halburtons over in Rattlesnake Gulch?” He turned to Finn. “Now that Debbie Halburton can wrestle a greased hog down faster than you’ve ever seen.”
“No.” Greg looked like he might puke. “Is there anywhere I can wait for Claire?”
Hank grinned. “Yep.”
Greg waited.
Hank kept right on grinning.
Greg almost growled. “Would you care to tell me where?”
“I would.” Hank nodded.
“You can wait on the porch.” Finn pointed him in the right direction. “Just as soon as you tell me what you want with Claire and why I should let you wait for her.”
Greg drew himself up tall. “I am her fiancé.”
“Well shit,” Hank said as Greg stalked away. “That can’t be good.”
Finn clenched his fist. “No, it fucking can’t.”
*
Relieved to be home, Claire parked behind Horace’s tank of a car. Horace would come home tomorrow, and that would end her long trips to and from the hospital. She also had an inkling he was going to be fairly impossible as a patient.
The last of the twilight lovingly bathed the old house in rose gold. The beauty of it filled Claire with serenity. Now that she’d conceded defeat, the house welcomed her home, ready to comfort and shelter her.
Her feet ached, and she slipped off her heels before walking to the house.
Greg sitting on the front porch sipping a beer made her stop. Short of her mother sitting on the porch, Greg ran a close second for the last person she expected to see.
“Claire.” He put the bottle aside and rushed toward her. “Thank God.”
She didn’t react fast enough, which was how she ended up being swung in Greg’s arms with him trying to work his tongue into her mouth.
She turned her head. “Greg. Could you put me down?”
He did but kept his arms around her. He gave her the smile that always used to work wonders on lowering her guard. “You look beautiful. Did you miss me?”
Finn lounged in the doorway and raised his brow at Greg’s question, as if silently demanding she answer for both him and Greg.
“What are you doing here?” No, she hadn’t missed him. After her first few days here, she’d barely even thought of him at all.
Greg’s expression blanked, and he took a step back. “I hadn’t heard from you, and I was worried.”
“Really?” Greg had put them on hold with the ruthless efficiency of a scalpel, citing the need to make a clean break as the reason. She was tired, hungry, and that beer in Finn’s hand looked really damn good. Finn looked even better.
With Greg following she climbed the porch steps and stopped in front of Finn. “Hi.”
“Hi.” No noticeable thawing from this morning. Perhaps even a thicker layer of frost. “How’s Horace?”
“Doing better. He comes home tomorrow.”
“Great.”
“I think so.”
Finn stared at her, not giving an inch, physically or emotionally. His silence made her want to chatter.
Gaze locked on her, he sipped his beer. “Met the fiancé, by the way.”
“The what?”
“Claire.” Greg came up behind her. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
She really didn’t want to. “What about, Greg?”
“Us.” Greg gave Finn a pointed look. “Somewhere private.”
“Don’t get yourself hot and bothered about me, Sparky.” Finn sipped his beer and straightened. “I’ve seen and heard enough.”
“Finn.” Claire wanted to stop him and explain, but he kept walking. Dealing with Greg was probably a better first step. She dropped her shoes on the porch and grabbed Greg’s beer and took a long swallow. “You drove all this way, so talk.”
“Really, Claire.” Greg gave a stilted chuckle. “Perhaps we could start with basic civility and you invite me to sit.”
She waved him toward the porch swing and propped her ass on the railing.
Greg hitched his trousers to protect the crease and sat. “And since when do you drink beer?”
“I love beer.” She finished the bottle. “I’ve discovered a new liking for it.”
Greg stared, planning his point of attack. He crossed an ankle over his knee and spread his arms on the swing back. “It’s pretty here. You never mentioned that before.”
“Mostly because I was doing my best to get out of here as fast as possible,” she said. With the dark, the temperature was dropping, and she hugged herself for warmth. Greg was not getting an invitation inside. “Can we get to the part about what you’re doing here?”
“You’ve been gone for weeks,” he said, a hint of censure in his tone. “None of your friends have heard from you. God knows, I haven’t heard a murmur.”
That was too much. “You as much as told me not to contact you after our breakup.”
“Would we say it was a breakup?” Greg looked thoughtful. “Or more of a break. As in taking a break.”
Claire hugged herself tighter. She might need to yell for a sweater if he didn’t get to the point soon. “I took it as a breakup, and none of your subsequent behavior suggested otherwise.”
His expression grew regretful. “You’re right. I wanted out at the time, and I spoke before I’d thought it through properly.”
“Yes, you did.” It had hurt like hell. “You broke up a three-year relationship without any warning, and then refused to speak to me. You even left me notes with a friend about picking up my stuff.”
