Книга - Sweet Talk

Sweet Talk
Susan Mallery


Claire’s ListConnect with familyClaire Keyes is a piano prodigy. She spends her life on tour – she hasn’t seen the family bakery or her two sisters in years. Now Nicole is ill, Jesse has disappeared and Claire’s coming home to help. Be normalWhich is tough when Wyatt Knight is permanently on her case. Claire needs to rebuild her relationship with her sisters. But she’s being distracted by this provocative, annoying, sexy man…Fall in loveClaire would give anything for a home and a family of her own. She’s made a list and she’s sticking to her goals. Even though life – and Wyatt – is determined to get in her way…












About the Author


SUSAN MALLERY is the New York Times bestselling author of over one hundred romances and she has yet to run out of ideas! Always reader favourites, her books have appeared on the USA Today bestseller list and, of course, the New York Times list. She recently took home the prestigious National Reader’s Choice Award. As her degree in Accounting wasn’t very helpful in the writing department, Susan earned a Master’s in Writing Popular Fiction.

Susan makes her home in the Pacific Northwest where, rumour has it, all that rain helps with creativity. Susan is married to a fabulous hero-like husband and has a six-pound toy poodle … who is possibly the cutest dog on the planet.

Visit her website at www.SusanMallery.com


Also by Susan Mattery

DELICIOUS

IRRESISTIBLE

SIZZLING

TEMPTING




Sweet Talk

SUSAN MALLERY







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)








To my agent, Annelise Robey.With heartfelt thanks for all the support and hard work.

You’re amazing and I adore working with you. Here’s to

all the success in the world … for both of us!




CHAPTER ONE


CLAIRE KEYES jumped to answer the phone when it rang, deciding an angry call from her manager was more appealing than sorting the pile of dirty clothes in the middle of her living room.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Um, Claire? It’s Jesse.”

Not her manager, Claire thought, relieved. “Jesse who?”

“Your sister.”

Claire kicked aside a blouse and sank onto the sofa. “Jesse?” she breathed. “It’s really you?”

“Uh-huh. Surprise.”

Surprise didn’t begin to describe it. Claire hadn’t seen her baby sister in years. Not since their father’s funeral when she’d tried to connect with all the family she had left only to be told that she wasn’t welcome, would never be welcome and that if she was hit by a bus, neither Jesse nor Nicole, Claire’s fraternal twin, would bother to call for help.

Claire still remembered being so stunned by the verbal attack that she’d actually stopped breathing. She’d felt as if she’d been beaten up and left on the side of the road. Jesse and Nicole were her family. How could they reject her like that?

Not knowing what else to do, she’d left town and never returned. That had been seven years ago.

“So,” Jesse said with a cheer that seemed forced. “How are you?”

Claire shook her head, trying to clear it, then glanced at the messy apartment. There were dirty clothes piled thigh-high in her living room, open suitcases by the piano, a stack of mail she couldn’t seem to face and a manager ready to skin her alive if that would get her to do what she wanted.

“I’m great,” she lied. “And you?”

“Too fabulous for words. But here’s the thing. Nicole isn’t.”

Claire tightened her grip on the phone. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing … yet. She’s going to have surgery. Her gallbladder. There’s something weird about the placement or whatever. I can’t remember. Anyway, she can’t have that easy surgery with the tiny incisions. The lapi-something.”

“Laparoscopic,” Claire murmured absently, eyeing the clock. She was due at her lesson in thirty minutes.

“That one. Instead, they’re going to be slicing her open like a watermelon, which means a longer recovery time. With the bakery and all, that’s a problem. Normally I’d step in to help, but I can’t right now. Things are … complicated. So we were talking and Nicole wondered if you would like to come back home and take care of things. She would really appreciate it.”

Home, Claire thought longingly. She could go home. Back to the house she barely remembered but that had always placed so large in her dreams.

“I thought you and Nicole hated me,” she whispered, wanting to hope but almost afraid to.

“We were upset before. It was an emotional time. Seriously, we’ve been talking about getting in touch with you for a while now. Nicole would have, um, called herself, but she’s not feeling well and she was afraid you’d say no. She’s not in a place to handle that right now.”

Claire stood. “I would never say no. Of course I’ll come home. I really want to. You’re my family. Both of you.”

“Great. When can you get here?”

Claire looked around at the disaster that was her life and thought about the angry calls from Lisa, her manager. There was also the master class she was supposed to attend and the few she had to teach at the end of the week.

“Tomorrow,” she said firmly. “I can be there tomorrow.”

“JUST SHOOT ME now,” Nicole Keyes said as she wiped down the kitchen counters. “I mean it, Wyatt. You must have a gun. Do it. I’ll write a note saying it’s not your fault.”

“Sorry. No guns at my house.”

None in hers, either, she thought glumly, then tossed the dishcloth back into the sink.

“The timing couldn’t be worse for my stupid surgery,” she muttered. “They’re telling me I can’t go back to work for six weeks. Six. The bakery isn’t going to run itself. And don’t you dare say anything about me asking Jesse. I mean it, Wyatt.”

Her soon-to-be-ex-brother-in-law held up both hands. “Not a word from me. I swear.”

She believed him. Not because she thought she frightened him but because she knew he understood that while some of the pain in her gut came from an inflamed gallbladder, most of it was about her sister Jesse’s betrayal.

“I hate this. I hate my body turning on me this way. What have I ever done to it?”

Wyatt pushed out a chair at the table. “Sit. Getting upset isn’t going to help.”

“You don’t actually know that.”

“I can guess.”

She plopped into the chair because it was easier than fighting. Sometimes, like now, she wondered if she had any fight left in her.

“What am I forgetting?” she asked. “I think I’ve gotten everything done. You remembered that I can’t take care of Amy for a while, right?”

Amy was his eight-year-old daughter. Nicole looked after her a few afternoons a week.

Wyatt leaned forward and put his hand on her forearm. “Relax,” he told her. “You didn’t forget anything. I’ll look in on the bakery every couple of days. You’ve got good people working for you. They love you and are loyal. Everything will be fine. You’ll be home in a few days and you can start healing.”

She knew he meant from more than just the surgery. There was also the issue of her soon-to-be-ex-husband.

Instead of thinking about that bastard Drew, she stared at Wyatt’s hand on her arm. He had big hands—scarred and callused. He was a man who knew how to work for a living. Honest, good-looking, funny.

She raised her gaze to his dark eyes. “Why couldn’t I have fallen in love with you?” she asked.

He smiled. “Back at you, kid.”

They would have been so perfect together. if only there had been a hint of chemistry.

“We should have tried harder,” she muttered. “We should have slept together.”

“Just think about it for a minute,” he told her. “Tell me if it turns you on.”

“I can’t.” Honestly, thinking about having sex with Wyatt kind of set her teeth on edge, and not in a good way. He was too much like a brother. If only his stepbrother, Drew, had caused the same reaction. Unfortunately with him, there had been fireworks. The kind that burned.

She pulled back and studied Wyatt. “Enough about me. You should get married again.”

He reached for his mug of coffee. “No, thanks.”

“Amy needs a mother.”

“Not that badly.”

“There are great women out there.”

“Name one that isn’t you.”

Nicole thought for a minute, then sighed. “Can I get back to you on that?”

CLAIRE ARRIVED at the Sea Tac Airport early in the afternoon, feeling very smug about making her own travel arrangements. She’d even booked a car for herself. Normally she would have used a car service, but she would have to drive back and forth to the hospital, then to the bakery. Nicole might need her to run errands. Wheels of her own made sense.

After wrestling her two very large suitcases off the baggage claim belt, she grabbed one in each hand and dragged them toward the escalator. The catwalk to the parking garage was long and the bags heavy. She was breathing hard by the time she reached a bank of elevators she had to take down to the rental car place. By the time she got to the Hertz office, she was regretting the long wool coat she’d shrugged on. Sweat trickled down her back, making her cashmere sweater stick to her.

She waited in line, excited about being here, nervous and filled with resolve to do whatever it took to reconnect with her sisters. They were being given a second chance. She wasn’t going to blow it.

The woman at the counter waved her forward. Claire dragged the two suitcases along as she approached.

“Hi. I have a reservation.”

“Name?”

“Claire Keyes.” Claire handed over her driver’s license and her platinum credit card.

The woman studied the driver’s license. “Do you have insurance or do you want coverage on the car?”

“I’ll take your coverage.” It was easier than explaining that she didn’t own a car and had, in fact, never owned a car. The only reason she had a driver’s license at all was because she’d insisted on lessons when she’d turned eighteen and had studied and practiced until she’d passed the test.

“Any tickets or accidents?” the woman asked.

Claire smiled. “Not one.” Getting a ticket or an accident would require actual driving. Something Claire hadn’t done more than once or twice in the past ten years.

There were a couple of forms to sign, then the woman handed back the license and credit card.

“Number sixty-eight. It’s a Malibu. You said midsize. I can get you something bigger, if you want.”

Claire blinked at her. “Number sixty-eight what?”

“Your car. It’s in slot sixty-eight. The keys are inside.”

“Oh, great. I’ll pass on something bigger.”

“Okay. You need a map?”

“Yes, please.”

Claire tucked the map into her purse, then dragged her suitcases out of the glass structure. She saw rows of cars and numbers at the end of each parking space. Counting as she went, she found number sixty-eight and stared at the silver Malibu.

It had four doors and looked huge. She swallowed. Was she really going to drive? A question for later, she told herself. First she had to get out of the parking lot.

Challenge number one turned out to be getting her luggage into the trunk. There didn’t seem to be any way to open it. No buttons, no knobs. She pushed and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. Finally she gave up and maneuvered her two big bags into the backseat. Then she slid behind the wheel.

It took her a couple of minutes to get the seat moved up so she could actually reach the pedals. She managed to get the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine caught immediately. Claire carefully adjusted her mirrors, then drew in a breath. She was practically on her way.

Next she turned to the GPS system. It greeted her in French.

Claire stared at it. What on earth?

She pushed a few buttons. Yup, it was speaking French. Okay, sure, she also spoke the language, but not well enough to deal with it while driving. The potential to freak while on the road seemed big enough without adding a foreign language to the mix.

She punched buttons until she’d scrolled through Dutch and Japanese. Finally she heard the pleasant female voice in English.

The need to run screaming into the night faded slightly.

She continued reading the instruction card, then carefully punched in the address of the bakery. She’d forgotten to ask Jesse for the name of the hospital where Nicole would have her surgery, so the bakery seemed like the best place to start. Finally, she braced herself to drive out of the space.

Her chest was tight. She ignored that, along with the prickling that started on her back and moved over her whole body.

Not now, she thought frantically. Not now. She could panic later, when she wasn’t about to drive.

She closed her eyes and breathed, pictured her sister lying in a hospital bed, in desperate need of help. That’s where she needed to be, she reminded herself. With Nicole.

The sense of panic faded a little. She opened her eyes and began her journey.

The parking structure seemed dark and closed. Fortunately there weren’t any cars in the row in front of her, so she would have extra room to turn as she drove out.

Slowly, carefully, she put the car in Drive. It started to move right away. She jammed her foot on the brake. The whole car jerked. She eased up on the brake and it moved again. Moving six or eight inches at a time, she managed to make it out of her space. Fifteen minutes later she’d made her way out of the parking structure and onto the road that led out of the airport.

“In five hundred feet, stay to the right. I-5 is on the right.”

The voice from the GPS system was very commanding, as if it knew Claire was totally clueless about driving in general and where she was going in particular.

“I-5 what?” Claire asked before she saw a sign for the I-5 freeway. She shrieked. “I can’t go on the freeway,” she told the GPS. “We need to go on regular streets.”

There was a ding. “Stay to the right.”

“But I don’t want to.”

She looked around frantically, but there didn’t seem to be any other way to go. The road she was on just sort of eased into the freeway. She couldn’t move to her left—there were too many cars in her way. Cars that suddenly started going really, really fast.

Claire clutched the steering wheel with both hands, her body stiff, her mind filled with images of fiery crashes.

“I can do this,” she whispered to herself. “I can do this.”

She pressed a little harder on the accelerator, until she was going nearly forty-five. That had to be fast enough, didn’t it? Who needed to go faster than that?

A big truck came up behind her and honked its horn. She jumped. More cars came up behind her, some getting really, really close. She was so busy trying not to be scared by the cars zipping around her that she forgot about merging until the GPS system reminded her, “I-5 north is to the right.”

“What? What right? Do I want to go north?”

And then the road was turning and she was turning with it. She desperately wanted to close her eyes, but knew that would be bad. Fear made her sweat. She really wanted to rip off her coat, but couldn’t. Not and keep from crashing. She was clutching the steering wheel so hard, her fingers ached.

She was doing this for Nicole, she reminded herself. For her sister. For family.

Her lane merged onto I-5. Still going forty-five, Claire eased into the right lane and vowed to stay there until it was time to exit.

By the time she got off, just north of the University district, she was shaking all over. She hated driving. Hated it. Cars were awful and drivers were rude, mean people who screamed at her. But she’d made it and that was what mattered.

She followed the directions from the GPS and managed to make her way into the parking lot next to the bakery. She turned off the car, leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and did her best to breathe.

When her heartbeat had slowed from hummingbird rate to that for a medium-size mammal, she straightened, then stared at the building in front of her.

The Keyes bakery had been in the same location for all of its eighty years of operation. Originally, her great-grandparents had rented only half the storefront. over time, the business had grown. They’d bought out their neighbor’s lease, then had bought the whole place about sixty years ago.

Pastries, cakes and breads filled the lower half of the two display windows. Delicate lettering listing other options covered the top half. A big sign above the door proclaimed Keyes Bakery—Home of the World’s Best Chocolate Cake.

The multilayer chocolate confection had been praised by royalty and presidents, served by brides and written into several celebrity contracts as a “must have” on location shoots or backstage at concerts. It was about a billion calories of flour, sugar, butter, chocolate and a secret ingredient passed on through the family. Not that Claire knew what it was. But she would. She was confident Nicole would want to tell her immediately.

She got out of the car and smoothed the front of her sweater. It was cool enough that she kept on her coat, hoping it wasn’t too wrinkled from the drive. After collecting her purse, she carefully locked the driver’s door. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the bakery.

It was midafternoon and relatively quiet. There were two young moms sitting at a corner table with pastries and coffee. Two strollers with babies were between their chairs. Claire offered a smile as she made her way to the long counter. The teenage girl there looked at her.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. I hope so. I’m Claire. Claire Keyes.”

The teenager, a plump brunette with big, brown eyes sighed. “Okay. What can I get you? The rosemary garlic bread is hot out of the oven.”

Claire smiled hopefully. “I’m Claire Keyes,” she repeated.

“Heard that the first time.”

Claire pointed to the sign on the wall. “Keyes, as in Nicole’s sister.”

The teenager’s eyes got even bigger. “Oh, my God. No way. Are you really? The piano player?”

Claire winced. “Technically I’m a concert pianist.” A soloist, but why quibble? “I’m here because of Nicole’s surgery. Jesse called and asked me to—”

“Jesse?” The girl’s voice came out as a shriek. “She didn’t. Are you kidding? Oh, my God! I can’t believe it.” The teenager backed up as she spoke. “Nicole is so going to kill her. If she hasn’t already. I just.” She held up her hand. “Wait here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Before Claire could say anything, the girl took off toward the back.

Claire adjusted her bag on her shoulder and looked at the inventory in the glass case. There were several pies, a couple of cakes, along with loaves of bread. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten all day. She’d been too nervous to have anything on the plane.

Maybe she could get some of that rosemary garlic bread and then stop at a deli for—

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Claire looked at the man walking toward her. He was big and rough looking, with tanned skin and the kind of body that said he either did physical work for a living or spent too much time at a gym. She did her best not to wrinkle her nose at the sight of his plaid shirt and worn jeans.

“I’m Claire Keyes,” she began.

“I know who you are. I asked why you were here.”

“Actually you asked me why the ‘hell’ I was here. There’s a difference.”

He narrowed his gaze. “Which is?”

“One question implies a genuine interest in the answer, the other lets me know that somehow I’ve annoyed you. You don’t really care why I’m here, you just want me to know I’m not welcome. Which is strange, considering you and I have never met.”

“I’m friends with Nicole. I don’t have to have met you to know all I need to about you.”

Ouch. Claire didn’t understand. If Nicole was still mad at her, why had Jesse called and implied otherwise? “Who are you?”

“Wyatt Knight. Nicole is married to my stepbrother.”

Nicole got married? When? To whom?

A deep, deep sadness followed the questions. Her own sister hadn’t bothered to tell her or invite her to the wedding. How pathetic was that?

Emotions chased across Claire Keyes’s face. Wyatt didn’t bother to try to read them. Women and what they felt were a mystery best left unsolved by mortal man. Trying to make sense of the female mind would drive a man to drink, then kill him.

Instead he studied the tall, slender blonde in front of him, looking for similarities to Nicole and Jesse.

Their eyes, he thought, taking in the big, blue irises. Maybe the shape of the mouth. The hair color … sort of. Nicole’s was just blond. Claire’s was a dozen different shades and shiny.

But nothing else was the same. Nicole was his friend, someone he’d known for years. A pretty enough woman, but regular looking. Claire dressed in off-white—from her too-long coat to the sweater and slacks she wore underneath. Her purse was beige, as were her boots. She looked like an ice princess … an evil one.

“I’d like to see my sister,” Claire said firmly. “I know she’s in the hospital. But I’m not sure which one.”

“No way I’m going to tell you. I don’t know why you’re here, lady, but I can tell you Nicole doesn’t want to see you.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“From who?”

“Jesse. She said Nicole was going to need help after her surgery. She called me yesterday and I flew in this morning.” She raised her chin slightly. “I’m not going away, Mr. Knight, and you can’t make me. I will see my sister. If you choose not to give me the information, I’ll simply call every hospital in Seattle until I find her. Nicole is my family.”

“Since when?” he muttered, recognizing the stubborn angle of her chin and the determination in her voice. The twins had that much in common.

Why had Jesse done this? To make more trouble? or had she been trying to fix a desperate situation? The truth was Nicole would need help and she was just difficult enough not to ask. He would do what he could, but he had a business to run and Amy to look after. Nicole wouldn’t want Drew around, assuming his good-for-nothing brother hadn’t run off somewhere to hide. Jesse was a worse choice. Which left exactly no one else.

Why did he have to be making this decision? He swore under his breath. “Where are you staying?”

“At the house. Where else?”

“Fine. Stay there. Nicole will be home in a couple of days. You can take this up with her then.”

“I’m not waiting two more days to see her.”

Selfish, spoiled, egotistic, narcissistic. Wyatt remembered Nicole’s familiar list of complaints about her sister. Right now, every one of them made sense to him.

“Listen,” he said. “You can wait at the house or fly back to Paris or wherever it is you live.”

“New York,” she said quietly. “I live in New York.”

“Whatever. My point is you’re not going to see Nicole until she’s had a couple of days to recover, even if that means I have to stand guard on her hospital room myself. You got that? She’s in enough hurt right now from the surgery without having to deal with a pain in the ass like you.”




CHAPTER TWO


CLAIRE DEFLATED like a punctured balloon, leaving Wyatt feeling like the biggest asshole this side of the Rockies. He told himself it was just an act, that she was born to play people and had only gotten better at it as she’d gotten older. For someone who claimed to care so much for her sister, she’d never once shown up here in all the years he’d known Nicole. Not for birthdays or even her sister’s damn wedding. She’d missed Jesse’s high school graduation. She was good at playing the victim, that was all, and he wasn’t going to get sucked in to her game.

Just when he thought she was going to turn around and go away, she straightened. Her shoulders went back, her chin came up and she looked him square in the eye. “My sister called me.”

“So you said.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t care enough to think about it one way or the other.”

She tilted her head so that her long, shimmering blond hair fell over one shoulder. “Nicole has a good friend in you. I hope she appreciates that.”

So she’d moved on to sucking up. Probably an effective plan on anyone who wasn’t clued in to her style.

“Jesse called me,” she continued. “She told me about the surgery. You have to know that much is true, otherwise how would I know? Jesse also told me that Nicole wants me to help out afterward and is happy I’m here. Under the circumstances, I’m more inclined to believe her than you.”

“I can tell you that as of twenty minutes before the surgery, Nicole had no idea you were going to show up. Trust me. She would have mentioned it.”

Claire frowned slightly. “Nothing about this makes sense. Why would Jesse lie? Why would you?”

“I wouldn’t.”

She looked genuinely confused and Wyatt almost believed her. This messed-up situation had Jesse written all over it. The question was, why had the kid done it? To make a bad situation worse or did she really want to help Nicole? With Jesse it wasn’t easy to tell.

“I’m staying,” Claire told him. “Just so you’re clear. I’m staying. I’m going to the hospital and—”

“No.”

“But I—”

“No.”

She looked at him. “You’re very determined.”

“I protect what’s mine.”

Something flickered in her eyes. Something sad and small that he didn’t want to identify.

“Fine. I’ll wait at the house until Nicole is ready to come home,” Claire said at last. “Then she and I can figure out what’s going on.”

“It would be easier if you just went back to New York.”

“I don’t do easy. Never have. Career hazard, I suppose.”

He had no idea what she was talking about. Did she think anyone believed that playing the piano for a bunch of rich people in fancy European cities was hard?

He shrugged. He couldn’t force Nicole’s sister to disappear. As long as she didn’t try to bug Nicole in the hospital, he would stay out of it.

“So Nicole will come home in a couple of days?” Claire asked.

“Something like that.”

She smiled at him. “You’re very determined not to give up any information, Mr. Knight, but as I’m going to be living in the same house it will be difficult to conceal Nicole’s arrival from me.”

“Wyatt. I’m not your boss and you’re not my banker.”

“Your employees call you by your last name?”

“No. I was making a point.”

“My banker calls me Claire.”

“My banker doesn’t.”

Her smile faded. “You don’t like me very much.”

He didn’t bother to answer that.

“You don’t even know me,” she continued. “That hardly seems fair.”

“I know enough.”

She stiffened, as if he’d hit her. Egotistical and sensitive, he thought grimly. Hell of a combination.

Claire turned and walked out of the bakery. Wyatt followed to make sure she really did get into her car and drive away.

He glanced around the parking lot, half expecting to see a stretch limo or a Mercedes. But Claire’s rental was a midsize four-door with luggage piled in the backseat.

“How much crap did you bring?” he asked before he could stop himself. “It wouldn’t even fit in the trunk?”

She came to a stop and looked at him. “No. That’s all I brought.”

“What have you got against the trunk? Afraid you’ll break a nail?”

“I, as you put it so elegantly, play piano. I don’t have long nails.” She straightened again and seemed to brace herself. “As I said before, I live in New York, where I don’t keep a car. I don’t drive much anywhere. I couldn’t figure out how to open the trunk.”

Now he knew why she’d braced herself. She was waiting for him to rip her a new one. It was a pretty sweet setup and he could think of a hundred cheap shots. Who didn’t know how to open the trunk? His eight-year-old could do it.

What stopped him from saying that and more was the fact that she was expecting to be trashed and that, even knowing he didn’t like her, she’d still exposed a vulnerable spot. Wyatt didn’t mind being a mean bastard, but he wouldn’t be a bully.

He moved next to her, took the keys from her hand and pointed to the attached fob. “Ever see one of these before? The little pictures tell you what the buttons do.” He pushed the one that opened the trunk. It popped open.

Claire grinned at him. “Seriously? That’s it?” She walked over and stared down into the space. “It’s huge. I could have brought more luggage. Are there more buttons?”

She was thrilled on a level the key fob didn’t deserve. “You don’t get out much, do you?”

The smile widened. “Even less than you think.”

“Door lock, door unlock, panic button.”

“That is so cool.”

She was like a kid with a new toy. She had to be jerking him around.

“Thank you,” she told him. “Seriously, I felt like such an idiot at the car rental place, standing there not knowing what to do.” She wrinkled her nose. “If only driving were this easy. Do people have to go so fast on the freeway?”

He had no idea what to think of her. Based on Nicole’s infrequent comments about her sister, he knew not to trust her. But while she was as useless as Nicole had claimed, she wasn’t nearly as cold and distant.

Not his problem, he reminded himself.

He handed the keys back to Claire. She reached out and took them. For a second, maybe two, they touched. His fingers on her palm, a brush of skin. Inconsequential. Except for the sudden burst of fire.

Goddamn sonofabitch, he thought grimly, jerking back his hand and stuffing it in his jacket pocket. No way. Not her. Dear God, anyone but her.

Claire was babbling on, probably thanking him. He wasn’t listening. Instead he was wondering why, of all the women in all the world, he’d had to feel that hot, bright, sexual heat with her.

THE CALM-VOICED WOMAN in the GPS system led Claire to the house where she’d spent the first six years of her life. She found a parking space on the narrow street in front. It was by a driveway, so all she had to do was pull forward to claim it. There was no way she would ever be able to parallel park.

She turned off the engine, got out of the car and locked it, using the fob. Feeling foolishly proud of herself, she walked around to the back of the house and found the spare key where Jesse had said it would be. She unlocked the rear door and stepped into the house.

She hadn’t been inside it for years. Nearly twelve, she thought, remembering the single night spent under this roof after her mother had died. one night with Jesse staring at her as though she was a stranger and Nicole glaring with obvious loathing. Not that Nicole had settled on communicating silently. At sixteen she’d been very comfortable speaking her mind.

“You killed her,” she screamed. “You took her away and then you killed her. I’ll never forgive you. I hate you. I hate you.”

Lisa, Claire’s manager, had taken her away then. They’d checked into a suite at the Four Seasons where they’d stayed until after the funeral. From there they’d gone to Paris. Springtime in Paris, Lisa had said. The beauty of the city would heal her.

It hadn’t. Only time had closed the wounds, but the scars were still there. Springtime in Paris. The words always made her think of the song and whenever she heard the song, she thought about her mother’s death and Nicole screaming that she hated her.

Claire shook off the memories and moved into the kitchen. It looked different, more modern and bigger somehow. Apparently Nicole had renovated the place, or at least parts of it. She continued through the downstairs and found several small rooms had been opened up into a larger space. There was a big living room with comfortable furniture, warm colors and a cabinet against one wall that concealed a flat-screen TV and other electronics. The dining room looked the same. The small bedroom on this floor had been converted into a study or den.

The place was dark and cool. She found the thermostat and turned up the heat. A few lamps helped add light, but didn’t make the house any more welcoming. Maybe because the problem wasn’t the house. It was her and the memories that wouldn’t go away.

The last time she’d come to Seattle had been for their father’s funeral. She’d received a terse phone call from a man, probably Wyatt, Claire thought as she sat on the edge of the sofa, saying her father had died. He’d given the date, time and place of the funeral, then had hung up.

Claire had been in shock. She hadn’t even known he was sick. No one had told her.

She knew what they thought—that she couldn’t be bothered with her own family. That she didn’t care. What she’d tried to explain so many times was that she was the one who had been sent away. They’d been allowed to stay here, where it was safe, where they were loved. But Nicole had never seen it that way. She’d always been so angry.

Claire rubbed her hands against the soft fabric on the couch. None of this was familiar. Wyatt had been right—she didn’t belong here. Not that she was leaving. Nicole and Jesse were the only family she had left. They might have ignored her phone calls and letters over the years, but she was here now and she wasn’t leaving until she somehow got through to them. Until they made peace.

Claire stood and went up the stairs. There were three bedrooms on the top floor. She paused by the master suite. Based on the color scheme and items scattered across the dresser, she would guess that Nicole slept there now. At the other end of the hall were the two remaining bedrooms and the bathroom they shared.

One looked like a typical guest room with a too-tidy bed and neutral colors, while the last was done in purple, with posters on the walls and a computer on a desk filling one corner.

Claire walked into that room and looked around. The space smelled of vanilla.

“What have you done?” she asked aloud. “Jesse, did you set me up? Is Nicole really ready to forgive me?”

She desperately wanted to believe her sister, but found herself doubting. Wyatt had been very convincing in his dislike of her.

The unfairness of it, a stranger judging her, made her chest hurt, but she ignored the sensation. Somehow she would get this all fixed.

She returned downstairs and walked toward the front door. On the way, she saw a narrow staircase leading to the basement. She knew what was down there.

Every cell in her body screamed at her not to do it—not to go look—yet she found herself walking toward the opening, then slowly, so slowly, moving down.

The stairs opened into a basement. But what should have been an open space was closed off with a wall and a single door. Nicole hadn’t destroyed it, Claire thought, not sure what to make of that. Did it mean there was hope, or had the project simply been too much trouble?

Claire hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. Did she really want to go in?

When she and Nicole had been three, their parents had taken them to a friend’s house. It was a place neither girl had been before. At first the visit had been unremarkable. A rainy Seattle day with two toddlers trapped inside a house full of adults.

One of the guests had tried to entertain the girls by playing the piano. Nicole had grown bored and wandered away, but Claire had sat on the hard bench, entranced by the keys and the sound they made. After lunch, she’d gone back on her own. She’d been too short to see the white and black keys, but she’d known they were there and she’d carefully reached above her head and started to play one of the songs.

Despite how young she’d been, Claire remembered everything about that afternoon. How her mother had come looking for her and stared at her for the longest time. How she’d been put on her mother’s lap in front of the piano, where she could make the pretty music more easily.

She had never been able to explain how she knew which key produced which sound, how the music had seemed to begin inside of her, bubbling up until it spilled out. It was just one of those things, a quirk of an, until then, unremarkable gene pool.

Nicole had also sat on her mother’s lap, but she’d shown no interest in the piano and when she put her tiny hands down, there was only noise.

That moment had changed everything. Within two days, Claire started lessons. Then the work on the basement began and a soundproof studio was built. For the first time in their lives, the twins weren’t doing exactly the same thing at exactly the same time. Music, and Claire’s gift, had come between them.

She pushed the door open. She could see the piano that had seemed so beautiful and perfect when she’d been a child. She would guess the cost of it had decimated her parents’ savings account and then some. Claire had played on many of the most famous pianos in the world, but this was the one she remembered most.

She stared at it now, at the dust on the cover. It probably hadn’t been touched in years. It would need tuning.

She had no desire to play. Just the thought of sitting down on the bench made her chest tighten. She forced herself to keep breathing. She didn’t have to play if she didn’t want to. Everything was fine. She didn’t even have to make up excuses to avoid her masters classes. She was a whole continent away from that world.

Panic haunted the edges of her conscious mind. She pushed it away. When it stayed stubbornly in place, she retreated upstairs, to safer ground. Once on the main floor, she could breathe more easily.

She would ignore the piano, she told herself. Pretend it wasn’t here at all. Except for getting it tuned. A lifetime of training wouldn’t allow her to let it sit untended.

With the monster in the basement, if not vanquished at least momentarily glared at, she went out to the car and wrestled in her two suitcases. After dragging them up the stairs and putting them in the guest room, she returned to the kitchen to make herself something to eat.

There wasn’t a lot of food in the house. She found a can of soup and started heating it on the stove. In the meantime, she located a phone book and started calling hospitals until she found one that said her sister had been admitted and offered to connect her to the nurses’ station. Claire declined and hung up.

The good news was the surgery had gone well, since Nicole’s room had been on a regular floor, not in ICU. The bad news was that according to Wyatt, Nicole knew nothing about Claire’s visit and had no interest in seeing her. Had she come all this way for nothing?

She checked her cell phone out of habit and saw she had two messages from Lisa. As her manager couldn’t possibly say anything she wanted to hear, Claire deleted them without bothering to listen.

Standing at the sink, she ate soup out of the pot and stared into the small, fenced backyard.

She knew when things had gone wrong with Nicole. She knew what the problem was. So why couldn’t she fix it?

Did it matter? She was here now. Here and determined to make Nicole and Jesse a part of her life. No matter what they said or did, they weren’t getting rid of her. She was going to make them love her and she was going to love them back. They were her family and that mattered more than anything.

NICOLE DID HER BEST not to move. She hurt. The pain was dulled by the miracles of modern drug therapy, but it was still there, lurking, threatening. She ignored the heat of it and blessed whoever had invented beds that raised and lowered with the push of a button. She would just lie here for the next six or eight years and eventually she would be fine.

Someone walked into her room. She heard the footsteps and braced herself for the inevitable poking and prodding that followed. Instead, there was only silence. She opened her eyes and saw Wyatt standing next to the bed.

She felt like crap and figured she didn’t look a whole lot better. At times like this she was grateful they had only ever been friends.

“It’s going to be a hell of a scar,” he told her.

“Guys are into scars,” she whispered, her mouth dry. “I’ll have to beat them off with a stick. Not that I can ever imagine having the strength to lift a stick. Can I beat them off with a straw? I could handle a straw.”

“I’ll be there to help.”

“Lucky me.”

He touched her cheek, then pulled up a chair and sat down. “How are you feeling?”

She managed a smile. “That falls under the category of really stupid questions. Did you get the whole concept of surgery? I’ve been sliced and diced and I’m thinking of getting hooked on painkillers.”

“You won’t like rehab. You’re too cynical.”

“And crabby. Don’t forget crabby.” She pointed to the plastic cup on the tray beside her bed. “Could you hand me that?”

Wyatt picked it up and passed it to her. She took it and risked a sip. The last one had nearly made her throw up but a very mean-looking nurse had informed her she had to start drinking and peeing. Nicole didn’t see the point, but the nurse had been insistent.

She took a tiny sip and winced as a wave of nausea washed through her. At least it was less intense than the previous one. She sipped again and didn’t feel much of anything. Progress.

She handed him the water and drew in a breath. “You talk. I’ll listen. But please, don’t be funny. I don’t want to laugh. It will hurt too much.”

Wyatt leaned forward and took her fingers in his. “I went by the bakery. Everything is fine.”

“Good. They’ll be okay without me. They know how to handle the business. I don’t have to worry about anything.”

She would worry because it was her nature, but it was nice to know it wasn’t required.

“So, um, I met someone there.”

Despite the pain and the drugs, Nicole opened her eyes. There was something about the way Wyatt wouldn’t look at her. Something almost … guilty.

“A woman?”

He nodded.

She didn’t understand. What was the big deal? He’d met someone. That was a good thing. “So ask her out.”

“What?” He straightened and stared at her. “You’re not—” He leaned toward her again. “I didn’t mean I’d met someone I liked. I met someone I didn’t expect to be there.”

“Maybe it’s the surgery and everything, but you’re not making sense.”

“I met Claire.”

Claire who? But even as the question formed, she already had the answer. Claire, her sister. Claire, the perfect one, the princess. The concert pianist and soloist. World traveler. Rich bitch. Her selfish, narcissistic, shallow, cruel, awful sister.

“Not possible,” she murmured as her eyes closed. Sleep would be good, she told herself. She would sleep now and this would all go away.

“Apparently Jesse called and told her about your surgery and she flew in.”

Nicole’s eyes opened. “What?”

“She’s here to help during your recovery.”

If Nicole hadn’t been so uncomfortable and drugged, she would have laughed. “Help? She wants to help? Where the hell has she been for the past twenty-two years? Where was she while I was stuck here, raising Jesse and working in the bakery? Where was she when our mother went off to be with her and then died? Where was she when Dad died? Does she bother to show up even once? I can’t believe it. She needs to leave right now. She needs to get her designer-wearing ass out of my city and back to her cocktail party circuit or wherever it is she spent her—”

Nicole made the mistake of trying to sit up on her own. Pain ripped through her, stealing her breath and making her moan. She sank back into the bed and closed her eyes. Claire here? Because Nicole’s life wasn’t sucky enough already?

“I hate her.”

“I know.” Wyatt squeezed her fingers. “She thinks she’s helping.”

It was too much, Nicole thought. “I can’t deal with her right now. Just keep her away from me. I mean it, Wyatt. Don’t let her come to the hospital.”

“I won’t,” he promised, then kissed her forehead.

He was a good guy, she thought as sleep beckoned. One of the best. Why hadn’t she been smart enough to fall in love with him? Instead she’d fallen for Drew. Talk about a disaster. All of it. And now Claire? What was next? Locusts?

CLAIRE ARRIVED at the hospital in plenty of time to take Nicole home. The previous day she’d made the drive twice so she was familiar with the route. Driving was a little less scary, as well. As long as she stayed off the freeway, she felt almost competent. She’d also talked to Nicole’s nurse, explaining that they were family and that she, Claire, wanted to pick her up. They had given her the approximate time of release. Now Claire was here and ready to help.

She tried not to think too much about Wyatt’s claim that Nicole knew nothing about her visit and wasn’t going to be happy to see her. Despite repeated calls to Jesse’s cell phone, she’d been unable to catch her, nor had Jesse answered any of her messages. Obviously something was going on, but Claire was confident it was little more than a misunderstanding that could be easily cleared up. At least that’s what she told herself every time her stomach flipped over or her chest started to constrict.

She tightened her grip on her handbag as she exited the elevator and started down the long hallway. The signs pointed to the nurses’ station, but before she got there, she saw Nicole in a wheelchair being pushed by a nurse, with Wyatt bringing up the rear.

Emotions flooded Claire, bringing her to a stop as she just stared at the sister she hadn’t seen in years. Nicole looked good, pale, but that made sense. The woman had just had surgery. She wore a zip-up hoodie over a T-shirt, with her hair pulled back in ponytail. Claire instantly felt overdressed.

“Nicole,” she whispered, fierce joy filling her. They were together again. Finally.

“Oh, crap,” Nicole muttered. “Can I get more drugs?”

“Your sister?” the nurse asked. “You look alike. Almost like twins.”

“Fraternal and don’t make a bad situation worse by talking about it,” Nicole said.

Wyatt put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll take care of this.” He walked to Claire. “What are you doing here? I told you not to come.”

She ignored him and Nicole’s snarky comments, instead rushing forward, then crouching in front of her sister. She wanted to hug her, but was afraid of hurting her. She settled on touching her arm and smiling into her eyes.

“You look great. How do you feel?”

Nicole stared at her. “Like I had an organ ripped out. What are you doing here?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“No, you’re not,” Wyatt said. “That’s why I’m here.”

“What are you doing in Seattle?” Nicole asked. “Please tell me it’s a short visit that ends in an hour.”

“I heard about your surgery, so I flew here to take care of you.”

“That’s so sweet,” the nurse said.

“I don’t need your help,” Nicole said. “Go away.”

Claire was doing her best not to react to all the hostility. She told herself that her sister was in pain, that Wyatt didn’t know her and that a lot of time and bad feelings had come between the Keyes sisters. It was going to take more than a day to heal old wounds.

What she wanted to do was stand up, stomp her foot and point out that she was the wronged party here. That Nicole had turned her back on Claire years ago and refused to reconsider her position. That she’d been blamed for things that had hurt her just as much as them. But there was no point in starting there. She was here for a purpose.

She stood. “I’m not going anywhere.You need me.”

Nicole groaned. “I need a lot of things, but you’re not one of them. Wyatt, did I tell you to shoot me before? Did you listen?”

Wyatt put his hand on her shoulder. “I told you I couldn’t do that.”

“All men are useless,” Nicole muttered, then looked back at Claire. “You want to get up so I can get out of here? I hurt, I’m tired and I just want to go home.”

“My car is right out front,” Claire told her. “I know the way. I practiced the drive.”

“We’re all so proud.”

The nurse gave Claire a sympathetic smile, then pushed her patient toward the elevators. Claire trailed after them, not sure what to say or do. She couldn’t force Nicole into her car. Maybe it would be better to let Wyatt deal with getting Nicole to the house and Claire could take over from there.

Still, it hurt to be rejected and ignored. She’d hoped things would be different.

“I’ll change them,” she told herself as they walked out into the cool, spring morning.

There was a large truck parked in front of the entrance. Wyatt opened the passenger door, then lifted Nicole inside and put her on the seat.

Claire watched, aching at the sight of the tenderness and care Wyatt displayed. She wanted a little of that for herself. Not from Wyatt, but from someone. She wanted a man to care about her, worry about her. She wanted friends and family. She wanted a life.

Which was mostly what she’d come home to find.




CHAPTER THREE


“I THOUGHT YOU WERE LYING,” Nicole said as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot. “I thought I was having drug-induced hallucinations. I can’t believe she’s here. She’s possibly the most useless human being on the planet. Why me? Why now?”

Wyatt didn’t have any answers, so he kept quiet. He’d heard enough about Claire over the years to form an unflattering opinion of her. But today, at the hospital, she’d looked so hopeful and wounded at the same time. He’d almost felt bad for her.

Which only proved what a fool he was when it came to women. He always picked wrong. He had the divorce to prove it. Nicole knew her sister a whole lot better than he did, and he trusted Nicole. What she said went.

“What are you going to do about her?” he asked.

“I supposed asking you to shoot her would be a waste of time.” She sighed. “I don’t know. Ignore her and hope she goes away.”

“You’re going to need some help, at least for a couple of days. You won’t be able to take care of yourself.”

He kept his eyes on the road, but felt Nicole’s angry stare. “You have got to be kidding me. You’re not suggesting I let her stay and attempt to take care of me. Do you know how incredibly useless she is? She’s not a person, Wyatt. She’s a trained monkey. I’m amazed she can even drive a car. Oh, wait. I haven’t seen the car. I’ll bet you money it’s a limo, with a driver. Claire wouldn’t want to risk her delicate and valuable hands by actually doing work. Holding the steering wheel might impact her performance and we wouldn’t want that.”

He’d known the sisters didn’t get along and the bare bones of the estrangement, but he’d never understood the depth of Nicole’s anger and bitterness before.

Nicole had been hurt when Claire had gone away, but until now, he’d never known the wounds went so deep. Sarcasm and black humor concealed a lot of pain. It was just like her to play the bitter bitch to protect herself.

“I can come over in the evenings,” he said. “After work.”

She slumped down in the seat, then pressed her arm into her midsection and groaned. “I don’t want that. You have to take care of Amy. I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I don’t want to think about it. Not right now.”

None of this was supposed to be a problem, he reminded himself. When the surgery had been scheduled, Drew, Nicole’s husband, had still been in the picture.

Wyatt thought of his stepbrother and instantly wanted to pound him into the ground. What a total idiot. Talk about screwing up big-time. Drew had crossed the line and Nicole was never going to forgive him. Wyatt wasn’t sure he would be able to forgive his brother either.

He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Claire in the car behind them. Even from a couple of car lengths away, he could see her death grip on the steering wheel and the determination in her face.

“You should move in with me and Amy,” he said. “That’s the easiest solution.”

“No.”

“You’re being stubborn.”

“It’s part of my charm.”

Under normal circumstances, Jesse could have pitched in, but that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

“If you don’t want me, you’ll have to have someone,” he said. “At least for the first couple of days. Claire can keep food in the house, bring it to you.”

“Ha. You think the piano princess can cook?”

“She can order takeout.”

“I can do that.”

“And check on you.”

“Did I mention a trained monkey? It would be a lot more helpful. Or one of those service dogs.”

“She’s your sister.”

Nicole glared at him again. “She was the start of my bad luck streak.”

“You’re overreacting. Use her. There should be some pleasure in that.”

“Less than you would think.”

They arrived at the house. After parking, Wyatt came around to the passenger side and opened the door.

Nicole looked at him. “Don’t even think about carrying me. I can walk.”

“When was the last time you let a man sweep you off your feet?”

“I would never do that.”

“You need to work on your trust issues.”

With that, he gathered her in his arms. Claire had already opened the back door. She followed them inside.

He went up the stairs and into Nicole’s bedroom. Someone, probably Claire, had pulled back the covers. When he set Nicole in the bed, she sucked in a breath, then forced a smile.

“Thank you.”

She’d gone pale. He knew she had to be hurting. “When can you take something for the pain?”

“Not for a while. I got a shot in the hospital. I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t look fine.

He pulled off her athletic shoes, then unzipped her sweatshirt. She eased out of it and he tossed it on a chair.

She wasn’t wearing a bra. He could see her breasts moving under her thin T-shirt and wished the curves tempted him. Falling for Nicole would solve a lot of problems. Unfortunately, he felt nothing.

He pulled the covers over her, then sat on the edge of the bed.

“It’s just for a few days,” he told her. “I’m happy to hang out here in the evenings and you know Amy loves you but you’ll need help during the day.”

She closed her eyes.

“It won’t be so bad,” he said.

“I hate you.”

“Is that a yes?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

He stood. Claire hovered in the doorway. He went past her then waited until she’d trailed after him into the hallway and downstairs. Once they were in the kitchen, he faced her.

“You said you came here to look after your sister,” he said.

“Yes. Obviously. Why else?”

“Fine. Then that’s what you’re going to do. Help. This isn’t about you. Nicole is in a lot of pain. She’s going to be healing and your only job is to make her life easier. You don’t get to run off to visit clubs or hang out with your friends. You’re to be here and be responsible. This is a serious commitment. I’ll be checking in every night and I promise you, if you screw this up, you’ll be sorry.”

Claire looked at him as if he were an alien life form. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“What was unclear?”

“Is that really what you think of me?” She shook her head. “Never mind.” She crossed to the counter and leaned against it. “Part of me wants to ask what she’s told you, but I don’t really want to know. I mean, why would I set myself up that way? I’m bad and she’s good and that’s how it’s always been.”

She paused and swallowed. Wyatt had the sudden sense that she was fighting tears. While he was a typical guy and would do almost anything to make a woman stop crying, he told himself that this was nothing more than an expert performance. He refused to be engaged by the play.

But Claire didn’t cry. She took a couple of breaths, then faced him.

“You don’t know me. Regardless of what Nicole has told you, you know nothing about me. I could say the same about her, which is sad. We’re twins. Fraternal, but still. I hate how much we’ve messed over each other’s lives. I hate how things are now. I don’t …” She stopped and pressed her lips together. “Sorry. You don’t actually care about any of this, do you.”

He watched her without saying anything.

She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “I’m here to help. I have no interest in nightclubs, I never have. I don’t have any friends here in Seattle, so you don’t have to worry about distractions. I want to take care of Nicole and reconnect with her. Nothing more. Those are the only words I have. You’ll either believe them or you won’t. The bottom line is, I’m not going anywhere. Not until Nicole is better.”

She spoke with a quiet dignity that appealed to him. His instinct was to believe her, but Nicole had always talked about how Claire played people with the same easy skill that she played the piano.

Still, he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t take off from work and he had a daughter to deal with.

“I’ll be around,” he told her. “Watching.”

“Judging. There’s a difference.”

He shrugged, not caring if he offended her.

He pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket. “My cell is on this. You can always reach me on it. If there’s a problem, call.”

“There won’t be.”

He handed her the card, instead of just putting it on the counter, then realized his mistake the second their fingers touched.

The heat was so bright and raw, he expected the kitchen to explode. He swore under his breath as he glared at Claire, blaming her for the unwelcome chemistry flaring between them. She stared at the card, then looked at him.

“That was weird,” she said.

There was genuine confusion in her voice and questions in her eyes, as if she’d felt it, too, but didn’t know what it meant.

Yeah, right, he thought to himself. She was playing him.

Play away. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter how he reacted when he touched her—he would never act on those feelings. He wasn’t controlled by his hormones. He was a rational man who thought with his head, not his dick.

Still, when she smiled at him and said, “Thank you for taking care of her,” putting her hand on his arm, he wanted to pull her hard against him and kiss her until she begged for mercy. The image was so powerful, his mouth went dry and he got hard in a heartbeat. Talk about humiliating.

He stalked out of the kitchen without saying goodbye and vowed he would keep his distance from Claire. The last thing he needed in his life was another useless woman making him crazy and ruining everything she touched.

CLAIRE STARED at the clothes she’d laid across the bed and sighed. Apparently packing was not an intuitive skill. She’d been so careful with everything. Yet here were all her clothes, horribly wrinkled.

Normally Lisa’s assistant du jour would whisk the clothes away and bring them back perfectly pressed. If she wasn’t around, Claire could call the valet service at the hotel herself. But this wasn’t a hotel.

She studied a silk blouse and wondered if it was safe to iron. With another sigh, she reminded herself she didn’t know how to use an iron and if she wanted to practice, perhaps a designer silk blouse was not the place to start.

“Am I really totally useless, or is this an isolated incident?” she asked herself, speaking the words softly aloud. Better to know the truth than pretend. Her goal was to change—to fit into the real world. She needed to know where she was to find out how much work was required to get where she needed to go.

A sound from down the hall caught her attention. Still holding the blouse, she hurried toward Nicole’s room and found her sister coming out of the bathroom. She was bent over at the waist, one arm pressed across her midsection. Her face was drawn, her mouth pulled in pain.

“You should have yelled for me,” Claire said as she hurried to her side. “I’m here to help.”

“If you figure out a way to pee for me, I’m all ears. Otherwise, stay out of my way.”

Claire ignored the snarky comment and rushed to the bed where she quickly smoothed the sheets and pulled back the covers. Nicole ignored her and what she’d done as she slowly, carefully, crawled back in bed. Claire reached for the covers.

“If you tuck me in, I swear I’ll kill you. Not today, but soon and when you least expect it.”

Claire stepped away from the bed.

When Nicole was settled she closed her eyes. After a second, she opened them again. “Are you just going to stand there?”

“Do you need anything? More water? Ice chips? They’ll help you stay hydrated without making you nauseous.”

“How do you know that?”

“I was reading some articles on the Internet.”

“Aren’t you mama’s little helper?”

Claire clutched her blouse in one hand. “They didn’t say anything about surgery making one ill-tempered, so I guess the sarcasm is all you.”

“I wear it proudly, like a badge of honor.” Nicole shifted and winced. “What are you doing here, Claire?”

“Jesse called me a few days ago and told me about the surgery. She said you were going to need my help.” Claire didn’t want to say the rest when it was obviously untrue, but she couldn’t think of a way to avoid it. She’d already told Wyatt and she suspected he had passed it on to Nicole. “She said you were sorry we were still estranged and that you wanted us to be a family.”

She spoke without shaking, without her voice giving away her potential hurt. But it was still there, hidden. Because connecting was the one thing she wanted.

“You believed her?” Nicole shook her head. “Seriously? After all this time, you think I’m suddenly going to change my opinion of you?”

“Your opinion of who and what you think I am,” Claire told her. “You don’t actually know me.”

“One of the few blessings in my life.”

Claire ignored that. “I’m here now and you obviously need help. I don’t see anyone else lining up for the job. Looks like you’re stuck.”

Nicole’s expression tightened. “I have friends I could call.”

“But you won’t. You hate owing anyone anything.”

“Like you said, you don’t actually know me.”

“I can guess.” Claire hated being obligated, too.

“Don’t pretend we have anything in common,” Nicole snapped. “You’re no one to me. Fine, if you think you can help, help. I don’t care. The good news is I don’t think you’re capable of anything beyond being served, so my expectations are fairly low.”

This was so not what she’d imagined, Claire thought sadly. She’d hoped they would be able to find their way back to each other. She and Nicole were twins … fraternal, but connected from conception. Had all the time apart, the anger and misunderstandings really broken that bond?

She was here to find out.

“You probably want to rest,” Claire said. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“If only.”

She ignored that and started to leave, then paused. “Do you have a cleaning service you use?”

“For the house? No. I managed to scrub it all by myself.”

“Oh. Okay. I didn’t mean. Never mind.”

Nicole stared at her. “What didn’t you mean?” Her gaze dropped to the blouse in Claire’s hand. “You mean a service to clean my clothes?”

Claire took a step back. “It’s not important.”

“Yeah, right. Let me guess. A piano princess like you couldn’t possibly be expected to take care of your own clothes. I’d tell you how to use the washer, but that’s probably not going to help, is it? Too much silk and cashmere, I’ll bet. Poor, poor Claire. Never owned a pair of jeans. You must cry yourself to sleep every night.”

Claire did her best to deflect the hurtful darts that jabbed at her. “I won’t apologize for my life. It’s different from yours, but that doesn’t make it any less valuable. You’ve changed, Nicole. I’ve always remembered you being angry before, but I don’t remember you being mean. When did that happen?”

“Get the hell out of here.”

Claire nodded. “I’ll be down the hall if you need me.”

“That is not going to happen. I’d rather starve than deal with you.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

Ignoring the burning in her eyes and sense of loss weighing her down, Claire returned to her room, determined to fix whatever had gone wrong.

THE ALARM WENT OFF at three-forty-five in the morning. Claire turned it off and then stared at the unblinking red light. What had she been thinking? Who got up this early?

People who worked in a bakery, she reminded herself. She was one of the Keyes sisters. She had an obligation to the family business. As Nicole was in no position to check on things and Jesse had disappeared for reasons still not clear, it was left to Claire.

She got up and pulled on clothes. Wrinkled clothes made only marginally better by their time in a steamy bathroom. She washed her face, applied some light makeup, pulled her long hair back in a ponytail and quietly crept downstairs. Less than fifteen minutes later, she had arrived at the bakery and parked in the back by the other employee cars.

There were lights on in the building. Claire hurried to the rear door and walked inside.

The space was warm and bright, smelling of sugar and cinnamon. Equipment filled counters and lined walls. Huge ovens radiated an impressive amount of heat. There were deep fryers and massive mixers, stacks of flour and sugar and what smelled like the richest chocolate in the world.

Claire paused and breathed in the delicious scents. She’d only been able to fix soup again the previous night, not that Nicole had been all that interested in eating. But three days of a nearly liquid diet had left Claire starving.

A middle-aged man dressed entirely in white saw her and frowned. “Hey, you. Get out of here. The bakery opens at six.”

She gave him her best smile. “Hi. I’m Claire Keyes. Nicole’s sister. I flew in because of her surgery. I’m helping out.”

“Sister? She doesn’t—” The man was small—a couple of inches shorter than her, but built like a bull. He drew his bushy eyebrows together. “You’re the one who plays the piano? The snooty one?”

“I do play the piano,” Claire said, wondering what Nicole had been telling people about her. “I’m not really snooty. Nicole, um, asked me to come by to help, what with her being laid up and all.”

The man frowned. “I don’t think so. She doesn’t like you.”

Something she’d apparently shared with the entire world. Claire had felt guilty about lying, but she didn’t anymore. She was going to find a way to fit in and the bakery was the obvious place to start.

“We’ve come to an understanding,” she said, still forcing a smile. “There must be something I can do to help. I’m her sister. Baking is in my blood.”

Or it should be. Claire had never tested the theory by actually baking anything.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like it. You need to leave.”

The man walked away. She trailed after him. “I can help. I’m a hard worker and I’m really good with my hands. There has to be something. I’m not asking to work on the famous Keyes chocolate cake or anything.”

The man spun back to face her. “You stay away from the chocolate cake, you hear me? Only Nicole and I do that. I’ve been here fifteen years and I know what I’m doing. Now get out of here.”

“Hey, Sid? Come here for a sec.”

The voice calling came from behind a wall of ovens. Sid gave her a scowl, then hurried off in the direction of the voice. Claire used the alone time to explore the inner workings of a real bakery a little more. She smiled at a woman injecting yummy-looking filling into pastry shells. The woman ignored her. Claire kept moving.

She found another woman working a machine that applied frosting to doughnuts. The smell was heavenly and Claire’s stomach began to grumble in anticipation. She took a step toward the machine and bumped into a man carrying something.

As they struggled to get their balance, the bag he’d been carrying flew up in the air. Claire instinctively reached for it. But instead of catching it, she only bumped the side, sending it tumbling, sprinkling its contents on them, the floor and onto the already frosted doughnuts moving on the narrow conveyor belt. It spun and spun before landing, open end up, in a massive vat of dough.

“What the hell did you do?” the man demanded, as he began to swear in a language she didn’t recognize.

Sid came running. “You! You’re still here?”

The woman managing the doughnuts flipped off the belt and hurried over to inspect them. “Salt,” she muttered. “It’s everywhere. They’re ruined.”

Claire wished she could slink away. “I’m sorry,” she began. “We ran into each other and—”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Sid yelled. “Did I tell you to leave? Did you listen? Jesus, no wonder Nicole talks about you the way she does.” He leaned over the vat of dough and swore. “Salt,” he yelled. “There’s a five-pound bag of salt in the French bread dough. You think anyone’s going to want that? It’s our batch for the day. The day.”

Oh, no. “Can’t you make some more?” she asked in a tiny voice, feeling so awful.

“Do you understand anything about making bread from scratch? What am I asking? Of course you don’t. Get out. Just get out. We can’t afford any more disasters this morning.”

Claire wanted to say something to make it better, but what was the point? All four of them stared at her as if she was the lowest form of life they’d ever seen. They wouldn’t care that she’d only been trying to help. That she hadn’t meant to run into the other guy. That it had only been an accident.

Not knowing what else to do, she turned and left.

It was after five when she arrived back at the house. Claire checked on Nicole, who was still sleeping, then went down to the kitchen and made coffee. The first pot smelled funny and tasted worse. She threw it out and started over.

The second batch was drinkable. She poured herself a cup and sank into a chair at the table.

How could her day have started so horribly? How could she have messed up so badly without even trying? It wasn’t fair. She wasn’t a bad person. Okay, yes, she lived a strange, twisted life that most people couldn’t relate to, but that didn’t change who she was on the inside.

But it seemed existing outside of her gilded cage was going to be harder than she’d first realized.

“I’m not giving up,” she said aloud. “I’m going to figure this out.”

She didn’t have much choice. If she couldn’t play the piano anymore, she was going to need to have a life without music.

No music. The thought of it made her sad. Music was everything to her. It was her reason for breathing.

“I’ll find another reason,” she told herself. “I have unexplored depths.” At least she hoped she did.

A little after six, she went looking for the toaster. There was plenty of bread in the freezer. She managed to burn the first three slices she put in before getting the adjustment right. She was digging around for a tray when the back door opened.

She straightened and saw Wyatt walking into the kitchen. Wyatt, who hated her nearly as much as Nicole. Wyatt, who’d made her hand tingle so strangely the previous day.

But before she could wonder what that all meant, she saw the pretty little girl who trailed behind him.

Wyatt set several grocery bags on the counter. “Something smells bad.”

“I burned some toast.” Claire couldn’t look away from the girl. “Your daughter?” she asked. Wyatt had a daughter? Which meant he had a wife.

The realization caused her to take a step back, although she couldn’t say why. Still, she wanted to meet the girl. Claire had always liked children and dreamed of a family of her own.

“This is Amy,” he said, moving his hands as he spoke. “Amy, this is Claire.” He used his fingers in an odd way. “Amy’s deaf.”

“Oh.” She looked at the child and noticed hearing aids in both ears.

She’d never known a deaf person before. No sound. What would that be like? Never to hear a Mozart concerto or a symphony? No melody or rhythm. Her whole body clenched at the thought.

“How horrible.”

Wyatt glared at her. “We don’t think so, but thanks for sharing your enlightened and sensitive opinion. When you see a one-legged guy walking down the street, do you kick it out from under him?”

She blushed and glanced at his daughter. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I was thinking about music and how …” There was no recovery from this, she thought as guilt swamped her. “I didn’t mean anything bad.”

“People like you never do.”

He wouldn’t understand, mostly because he didn’t want to. He assumed the worst about her and she seemed to do nothing but prove his point.

He began taking groceries out of the bags. She thought about offering to help, but knew he would refuse. Instead, she retreated to the living room and wondered if she should simply hire a nurse for Nicole and escape back to New York. At least there she fit in.

She sank onto one of the sofas and did her best not to cry. Why was everything going so wrong? How could she make things better? Because as easy as escaping would be, she didn’t want to be a quitter. She’d never quit. Not once—no matter how hard things got.

But this situation was impossible.

Amy walked into the room. Claire started to apologize for what she’d said, only to realize the child probably hadn’t heard her. Which meant she would have to explain why she was apologizing, assuming she could even get her point across. She sat there, feeling both stupid and awkward, not sure which was worse.

Amy didn’t seem to pick up on any of that. Instead she walked over to a bookshelf in the corner and picked up a large picture book. She carried it back to the sofa and handed it to Claire.

“You want me to read to you?” Claire asked, looking at the book. “Aren’t you too old for this book?”

Amy waved her hands to get Claire’s attention, then touched her chin. She motioned to her lips, then her eyes.

“See you speak.”

The words were spoken slowly, with exaggerated pronunciation.

Claire’s eyes widened. “You can talk?”

Amy raised her right hand and waggled it sideways, then held her thumb and index finger an inch or so apart.

“A little,” Claire said, feeling triumphant. “You can speak a little.”

Amy nodded. “My school teaches me.”

“Your school is teaching you to talk?”

Amy nodded. She pointed to her mouth again. “Lips.”

“And read lips?”

More nodding. The girl smiled. She pointed at the book. Claire opened it. There was a girl holding a book. Amy pointed at the girl, then made a fist and rubbed her thumb across her cheek.

“Girl” Amy repeated the motion. “Girl.”

Understanding dawned. “I get it,” Claire told her. “This is the sign for girl?”

Amy grinned and pointed to the book. She held both her hands together, as if she was praying, then opened them.

Claire repeated the gesture. “The sign for book?”

Amy nodded.

Claire flipped the page. “This is so cool. What else can you teach me?”

WYATT WALKED into Nicole’s room with coffee and the bagels he’d brought.

“Hey, sleepy.”

She opened her eyes and groaned. “Hey, yourself.”

“How do you feel?”

“How do I look?”

“Beautiful.”

She winced as she pushed into a sitting position, then leaned back against the pillows. “You are such a liar, but thank you for that. I feel awful. I have to tell you, the drugs in the hospital are much better than the stuff you get at the pharmacy. Is that coffee?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t sure if you were allowed any.”

“So you brought it to taunt me?” She reached for the mug. “I’m supposed to take it easy and eat what sounds good. Coffee sounds like a miracle, right now.”

He set the tray on the nightstand, then pulled up a chair. After she’d taken her first sip and sighed with pleasure, he asked, “You doing okay with Claire?”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “Do I have a choice? She’s staying away, which is my preference. Sid called my cell about a half hour ago.” She motioned to the small phone by the tray. “She went to the bakery this morning, apparently to help. He sent her away. Instead she managed to run into Phil and dump a five-pound bag of salt into a batch of bread dough. It’s totally ruined.”

“How did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

“She didn’t do it on purpose, did she?”

Nicole glared at him. “Probably not, but don’t you dare take her side.”

“Not my plan.”

“Good, because I’m not sure I could handle that. She’s even more useless than I’d first thought. She actually asked me about a cleaning service for her clothes. Apparently a few things are wrinkled and she doesn’t know how to deal with that. We should all have such problems. I hate her.”

“You don’t hate her.”

“I know, but I wish she’d go away.”

So did Wyatt. As it was, he was keeping his distance. The last thing he needed was another raging fire keeping him up at night … in both senses of the word.

Why her? Why couldn’t he have chemistry with someone else? Someone normal? Someone like Nicole? His body sure had a sense of humor.

Nicole glanced at the clock. “Where’s Amy?”

“Downstairs with your sister.”

“Check her before you leave. Who knows what Claire might do to her.”

“I’ll make sure she’s in one piece.” He stood and crossed to the bed, then kissed Nicole on the top of the head. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Come right away if you see smoke rising in the sky.”

“Promise.”

He went downstairs. As he entered the living room, he heard laughter. Amy sat next to Claire, watching intently as Nicole’s sister carefully signed the story in the picture book on her lap. Her movements were studied, but she got all the words right. When his daughter signed the word good, Claire laughed again.

“You’re a good teacher,” she said slowly.

Amy signed, “Good student.”

Claire reached out and hugged her.

Amy went easily into her arms.

Wyatt was unimpressed. Claire might be able to fool a child, but he knew better. She wasn’t going to be able to suck him in so easily.




CHAPTER FOUR


THE FOLLOWING MORNING Claire waited until she was sure Wyatt wasn’t going to show up, then made breakfast herself and carried it upstairs. She found her sister awake, which was a surprise. Every time she’d checked on Nicole the previous day, she’d been asleep, or pretending to sleep.

“You’re still here, I see,” Nicole said by way of greeting.

“Are you always this crabby in the morning, or is it me bringing out the worst in you?”

“You get all the credit.”

“Lucky me.”

She set the tray on the nightstand. Nicole looked over the simple meal.

“Thank you,” she said through obviously gritted teeth.

Claire was so proud, she could have floated. “The oatmeal is really good. I made it myself.”

“Two ingredients, including water. Very impressive.”

Claire refused to let her sister’s sarcasm spoil her happy mood. This was her first real breakfast and it had turned out with only one try. Yay, her. Today oatmeal, tomorrow, a sandwich!

Nicole reached for the bowl. “I thought maybe you were leaving.”

“No, sorry. I’m here until you’re back on your feet.” She thought about Jesse’s unexplained absence. “Unless you want me to call Jesse and ask her to come.”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

Nicole’s gaze turned icy. “Jesse is not welcome here.”

Okay, so there was a problem. Claire had already guessed as much. “When did you two stop speaking?”

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

“What did she do?”

“What part of my previous statement didn’t you understand? She’s a born liar and a cheat. She lied to you about me wanting you here and she—” Nicole dropped her spoon back into the bowl. “Just go.”

Claire assumed she meant from the bedroom rather than the house. Either way she stayed in place. “She’s just a kid.”

“She’s twenty-two and you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Claire wanted to understand the problem, but she had a feeling that pushing wasn’t going to help. “You need to eat something.You’ll get better faster if you do.”

“Motivation. That’s good.” She took a small taste of the oatmeal. “Brown sugar?”

“Uh-huh.”

Nicole ate a little more while Claire hovered in the doorway. She wanted to go sit down, but that felt too intrusive.

The whole situation was crazy, she told herself. Why did things have to be so awkward? Although she knew the answer, she wanted it to be different. She wanted them to be different.

“Why aren’t you on tour?” Nicole asked as she reached for her coffee. “Is that what you do with your day? Play piano for people? Won’t your adoring fans miss you?”

Claire stiffened. Without wanting to, she remembered her last performance. The heat of the lights, the pressure in her ears, the murmur of the crowd and most of all, the tightness in her chest.

She’d been unable to catch her breath, and had walked out on stage, feeling as if she was going to have a heart attack and die. She’d been unable to focus on her playing. There had only been the thundering of her heart and the knowledge that she would collapse at any second.

She’d played badly because of it, she thought, recalling the humiliation. While she might play the same music over and over again, she always remembered that for her audience, this was a special event. They’d taken time from their busy lives, bought a ticket and come to see her. She owed them her best. That night she’d failed. Then she’d collapsed and had to be helped off the stage.

Shame filled her. She’d failed publicly. She’d let the panic win. Worse, she didn’t know how to keep it from winning.

“I didn’t mean for the question to be so hard,” Nicole said.

“I’m taking a break,” she murmured.

Nicole’s cell phone rang. She reached for it. “Hey, Sid. What’s up?” She paused, then groaned. “You have to be kidding. No, no. I understand.” Her gaze settled on Claire. “No way. Are you serious? But do you remember—Fine. It’s your call. I’ll tell her.”

Nicole hung up, then looked at Claire. “We have a problem at the bakery.”

Claire thought about the tumbling bag of salt and wondered what other damage it had done. “Which is?”

“Our two morning clerks called in sick. There’s no one to work the front counter. Normally I would fill in or ask Jesse, but neither of those are possible. You’re going to have to do it.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “What was unclear? Work the counter. Take money for goods. Don’t panic. There’s no actual math involved. The cash register does that for you. Just take their money and give them change. Even you can do that.”

Claire didn’t want to. She really didn’t want to. The potential to screw up seemed huge. But Nicole needed her.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

“Fine. Stay away from the back.”

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Claire had changed and was heading to her car. She walked outside only to find Jesse leaning against her rental.

“Hey, big sister. How’s it going?”

“How’s it going? How’s it going? That’s all you have to say to me? You’re kidding, right?” She was both happy to see her sister and so angry she could spit. “You set me up. You lied to me. Nicole doesn’t want me here. She hates me. What is up with that? And why aren’t you around taking care of things?”

“Nicole and I are having some issues.”

“Guess what? I don’t care about that. How could you lie to me?”

Jesse, tall and thin, pretty, with hair down to her waist, straightened. “I didn’t lie. Nicole did have surgery and she does need you.”

“But she hates me. She’s not interested in reconciling and everyone she knows hates me.”

“Well, that’s true.” Jesse actually grinned. “She tells some great stories about you.”

“Great from whose perspective?”

“Anyone listening. Probably not you.” Jesse sighed. “She needs help. I know she thinks I don’t care about her, but I do. I didn’t know who else to call. You’re here and that’s what matters.”

Claire groaned. “It isn’t what matters. I don’t belong here.” Not that she was leaving, but still. “Every moment is uncomfortable. And who is Wyatt? He hates me, too. Did she spend all her time telling him horrible things about me?”

“Not all, but some. Wyatt and Nicole are friends. Have been for a long time. His stepbrother, Drew, married Nicole. They, ah, just broke up a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know if they’re going to get back together.”

Jesse crossed her arms over her chest as she spoke. Claire felt the undercurrents but didn’t know what they meant.

“She never even invited me to the wedding,” Claire murmured.

“Did you expect her to?”

“Of course. I would have come.”

“Assuming you weren’t playing for the queen that night.”

Claire glared at her. “Don’t you dare take any attitude with me, Jesse. Most of this is your fault.”

“I’m not the one who took off and left her family behind to go be famous.”

There was a bitterness in her sister’s words. Claire frowned. “Is that what you think happened? That I simply decided to go off and be famous? I was six years old. I didn’t get to decide anything. They decided for me.” Her parents, her teacher. One day she’d been living in Seattle and the next she was on a plane to New York. “They took me away from my family and no matter how much I begged, they wouldn’t let me come home.”

“Poor little prodigy,” Jesse said. “Is the fame too much? Are you having too much fun?”

“It’s not like that.”

But she didn’t bother explaining. No one wanted to know the truth. Not the past or the present. No one wanted to hear about the hours spent practicing, the late nights and early mornings, the delayed flights, the grueling schedule. No one cared that after a while, all the hotels rooms looked the same and that the only way she could tell what city she was in was by looking at the newspaper on her breakfast tray. That while she’d visited some of the most amazing places in the world, she’d never seen them. There wasn’t time.

“I’m a trained circus animal,” she said at last. “Nothing more.”

“You were the princess.” Jesse’s mouth twisted. “Fussed over, pampered. Wanted. Probably still are. It wasn’t like that here. At least not for me.”

“What do you mean?”

Jesse shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

Claire had a feeling it did matter a lot. “Why did you and Nicole fight?”

Jesse stiffened. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“You’d better. It’s the reason you lied to me. You dragged me all the way out here to deal with some mess you couldn’t. So what happened?”

“I. “ Jesse drew in a breath. Her expression turned defiant. “Nicole caught me in bed with her husband. She wasn’t happy.”

Claire opened her mouth, then closed it. Shock flooded her. “You slept with your sister’s husband? You had sex with him?” It was impossible. Who did that sort of thing? “She’s family.”

“She would disagree with you about that. She disowned me.”

Jesse sounded so calm about all of this. As if what she’d done didn’t matter. Claire wanted to shake her. “Do you blame her? What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t doing a lot of things but no one wants to hear that.”

Claire glared at her. “You need a better excuse than that. Sex doesn’t just happen. You didn’t stumble into him and suddenly you were having sex. It requires a plan, a relationship of some kind. I can’t believe it. How long were you seeing him?”

“We weren’t seeing each other. I told you. It just … It’s not …” Jesse straightened and walked back toward her car. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“Ask me if I care.” No wonder Nicole was upset and crabby. Her own sister and her husband. “Are you in love with him?”

“Oh, please. Give me a little credit. Besides, I have a boyfriend.”

“But you slept with Drew?” None of this made sense to Claire. “Why?”

“I didn’t sleep with him.”

“What? Nicole walked in before you consummated the deal and that makes it okay?”

Jesse looked at her for a long time. “I know you won’t believe me. Nicole didn’t, either. I don’t know why it happened. Why it had to happen. Maybe because I’ve been a screwup my whole life. This is just one more way I’ve made things worse.”

“That’s not good enough.”

Jesse looked at her for a long time, then opened her car door. “Pretty funny. That’s what Nicole said.”

WYATT BUTTONED the back of his daughter’s blouse, then reached for the brush. She signed as he worked, but he pretended not to see. Amy wasn’t saying anything he wanted to hear.

But when she turned to face him and put her small hands on her hips, he knew he didn’t have a choice. He set down the brush and held out both hands, palms up, signing “What?”

“You know what,” Amy signed in response.

He did. He didn’t want to, but his daughter’s message had been clear enough.

“Not a good idea,” he signed back.

Which earned him the inevitable, “Why?”

Why? There were a thousand reasons, none of which he could explain to an eight-year-old.

“I want Claire,” she signed, her face getting that stubborn look he dreaded.

As a rule, Nicole looked after Amy from the time she left school until Wyatt got away from his work. If he was in the office, she would come there instead, but most afternoons he was on a job site—not a place he wanted his eight-year-old hanging out.

But with Nicole recovering from surgery, babysitting was becoming a problem. Amy wanted to propose her own solution.

He didn’t think telling her that Claire wasn’t the babysitting type would help. Amy wouldn’t know what that meant. He also couldn’t get into the fact that he’d decided to avoid Claire as much as possible. The sparks between them were too dangerous, not to mention unwanted.

“I like her,” Amy signed. “She’s nice.”

Wyatt could think of a lot of words to describe Claire and none of them included the word nice.

“She won’t want to,” he signed back. “She’s busy.”

Amy grinned. “She likes me.”

He didn’t know how to deal with that. Maybe Claire did like his kid—assuming she was capable of liking anyone but herself.

“I’m not asking for a pony,” Amy signed, making him smile.

It was their private joke. Nothing was too big as long as it wasn’t a pony.

He was trapped by his inability to tell his daughter the truth. That he didn’t trust Claire and he wasn’t a hundred percent sure he could control himself around her. How was that for a sad excuse?

“I’ll talk to Nicole and Claire,” he signed. “No pushing.”

Amy’s response was to throw herself into his arms. He pulled her against him and hugged her. Love filled him, as it always did around her.

He might have the worst luck with women, but when it came to kids, he’d been blessed with the best.

THE PARKING LOT at the bakery was jammed. Claire had to weave her way through cars just to get around to the back. She found a space by the wall and managed to pull in, although she had no idea how she was going to back out.

She walked purposefully across to the rear door of the building and entered. “Hello?”

When there was no answer, she headed toward what she assumed was the front of the bakery. She pushed open a swinging door and entered chaos.

There were people everywhere. They filled the waiting area, pushing aside tables and looking impatient.

There were so many people, she thought, feeling a little sick to her stomach. Did they all have to come at once?

Sid spotted her. “What took you so long?” he demanded. “We’re busy here.”

Before she could answer, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the back. He set her purse on a small desk, then reached into a box and pulled out a hairnet.

“Put this on.”

She took it and fumbled with it for a second, before he grabbed it and shoved it on her head. After thrusting an apron in her hands, he dragged her toward the front.

“Maggie will show you how to work the cash register. It’s easy. Punch in what they buy, tell them the total. Take their money. Credit cards are even easier. Good luck.”

With that he disappeared back into the bakery, leaving Claire standing there with no idea what to do.

The woman she’d seen the previous day handed someone change, then hurried over. “Prices are on the list here.” She showed Claire a laminated sheet of paper by a cash register. “Doughnuts, bagels, pastries. Don’t worry about the quantity button. If they buy five, hit the key five times.”

She quickly went over the basics of the machine, showed her how to work the credit card part of it, then pointed to the glowing number on the wall. “Call the next one.”

That was it? Thirty seconds of training and they were done? Claire looked around, not sure what to do. She glanced back at the wall.

“Um, number one-sixty-eight?”

“Here.” A well-dressed woman pushed to the front of the counter. “I need two dozen mixed bagels, the same with muffins, regular and fat-free cream cheese.”

Claire went over to where the bagels sat in metal baskets. She pulled out a small brown bag, reached for a tissue and started putting one of each kind of bagel into the bag. After a couple of seconds she realized the bag wasn’t going to be big enough. She pulled out a bigger one, then didn’t know how to get the bagels from the first bag into the second one.

“Can you hurry?” the woman asked impatiently. “I’m running late.”

“Um, sure.” Not knowing what else to do, Claire dumped the bagels into the second bag and continued filling the bag. When she got to ten, she’d gone through all the bagels, so she started back at the top of the case, trying not to bump into Maggie and the other man working.

She took the bagels to the woman. “I’m sorry. What else did you want?”

The woman looked at her like she was an idiot. “Cream cheese. Regular and fat-free. And two dozen muffins. Quickly.”

Claire turned, not sure where the cream cheese was. Maggie thrust two containers into her hands.

“Thanks,” Claire murmured, then went to get the muffins.

When she’d gathered everything, she went to the cash register. Her customer handed her a credit card. Claire stared at it, then the machine.

“Dear God, could you go slower?” the woman muttered.

Claire’s chest began to tighten. She ignored the pressure.

“I’m sorry,” Claire said with a smile. “I’ve never done this before.”

“I never would have guessed.”

Maggie came over and took the credit card. “I’ll ring this up. You go to the next customer.”

Claire nodded and looked at the number reader. “One seventy-four.”

Two teenagers in uniforms stepped forward. “A cherry-cheese Danish and a medium coffee. Leave lots of room for milk, please,” the first girl said.

“Sure.” Claire drew in deep breaths, but that didn’t make the pain go away. The tightness only increased until it made her ears ring.

She moved around Maggie and stood in front of the display case. “Which one?” she asked the teenager.

“The one with the cherry and cheese on it,” the girl said and pointed. “Hello. That one.”

Claire reached for a tissue and pulled it from the case. She handed it to the girl, then went to get coffee.

There were four dispensers standing in a row. She took a cup and managed to fill it nearly full. When she carried it back to the teenager, the girl stared at her.

“Medium, not small and real coffee, not decaf. What’s wrong with you?”

Claire looked at the cup, then back at the stacks of them. At the same time she saw a little sign above the dispenser she’d used saying Decaf.

The chest pain got worse. She couldn’t breathe. No matter how much air she sucked in, it wasn’t going into her lungs. She was going to pass out and then she was going to die.

“I can’t—” she gasped, and set the coffee on the counter. “I can’t.”

“What’s wrong?” the girl asked. “Are you having a fit? Is she having a fit? Can I have my coffee first?”

There was a buzzing in her ears. Claire staggered back. She leaned against the wall.

Maggie hurried over. “What is wrong with you?”

“Can’t … breathe. Panic … attack.”

“You’re worse than Nicole said. Just get out of here. Go. You’re scaring the customers.”

It was just like what had happened the last time she’d been on stage, only no one rushed to help her. She wasn’t urged to lie down or sip water. It was as if she didn’t exist.

As she leaned against the wall and struggled for breath, she watched customer after customer be served, then leave. They went on with their lives. They had lives. What did she have?

She sank into a crouch, still gasping. Tears burned in her eyes. This wasn’t what she wanted, she thought grimly. She wanted to be more than a crazy person with mutant hands. She wanted to be strong and capable. She wanted to be normal. But how?

She tried telling herself that despite how she felt, she really was breathing. Otherwise she would already be dead. Panic attacks were just a sensation. They were a biological response but they weren’t about anything.

What she wanted to do was curl up in a ball until it was over. Instead, she forced herself to stand. After taking in two slow, deep breaths, she walked back to the counter and called out the next number.

A man stepped forward. “A dozen doughnuts,” he said. “They’re for the secretaries in my office, so lots of chocolate.”

She nodded and reached for a box. After collecting twelve doughnuts, mostly chocolate, she went to the cash register and looked at the card. There was a single price for a dozen.

“Five-fifty,” she said.

He handed her a ten.

Claire put that into the cash register, made change and handed it over. The man smiled at her.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She checked the next number and called it out. Her chest still ached and she couldn’t catch her breath, but she kept going. Working carefully, trying to smile and give each customer what he or she wanted.

One customer turned into two. Two turned into five. Eventually the bakery cleared out. When they were finally alone, Maggie looked at her.

“You all right?”

Claire nodded. “Sorry about the panic attack. It happens sometimes.”

All the time, lately, but she didn’t want to admit that.

“You didn’t give up,” Maggie said. “That’s something. And you helped. So thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You can go. We’ll be slow from now until lunch. By then Tiff will be here.”

Claire nodded and walked into the back of the bakery. After removing the apron and hairnet, she collected her purse and walked to her car.

She started the engine and leaned back in the seat. She was exhausted. A quick glance at the clock told her less than two hours had passed since she’d arrived, which didn’t seem possible. She felt as if she’d been working days.

Her cell phone rang. Claire pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Lisa again. Nothing good would come from that call. She turned off the phone and shoved it in her purse.

No doubt Nicole would have something snippy to say about her panic attack, but Claire refused to care. She’d managed to work through it and come out the other side. It was, for her, the first victory in a long time and nothing was going to take that away from her.




CHAPTER FIVE


CLAIRE HEATED the last of the takeout Wyatt had brought over. As she waited for the microwave to do its thing, she placed her hands on the counter and closed her eyes. Without even willing them to, her fingers moved against the cool granite. In her mind, she played notes and heard music. The sound filled her until her body seemed to rise up and float.

The microwave dinged, dropping her back into this reality—the one where she didn’t play piano anymore, didn’t go to classes or teach or fit in that world.

She missed playing. Crazy, considering the fact that she could barely look at the damn instrument without having a panic attack. Maybe it wasn’t the piano she missed as much as the sense of getting lost in music, of losing herself in the richness of the sound. Plus, practice and play were her life. It was like quitting smoking—even without the physical addiction, she still had all the behaviors in place.

She glanced at the stairs leading to the basement. While she didn’t want to go back down there, she should take care of the piano. Her mental problems weren’t the instrument’s fault.

After checking on Nicole’s dinner, she found a phone book and looked up piano tuners. She called three places before finding a guy who would come out this week and tune the piano. That done, she put the plate on a tray, along with a pot of herbal tea and some bread, then carried everything upstairs.

Nicole’s door stood open. Claire entered and smiled at her sister. “I thought you might be getting hungry, so I brought a little more than last night. How are you feeling?”

Nicole lay on top of the covers. Sometime during the day, she’d changed into different sweat pants and a new T-shirt. Thick socks covered her feet. The color had returned to her face.

“I’m fine,” her sister said.

“Good.”

Claire set down the tray. “This is the last of the takeout. I’ll get something else for tomorrow.”

“Are you cooking?” Nicole asked.

“Uh, no. I was thinking maybe Chinese.”

Nicole didn’t say anything, which left Claire feeling as if she’d failed again. She didn’t know how to cook. When was she supposed to find the time?

She told herself that she didn’t have to apologize to anyone for her life, but couldn’t shake the feeling that she was once again being judged and found wanting.

Nicole slid the tray onto her lap, then looked up. “Thank you for helping out in the bakery this morning. They were swamped.”

Claire stepped forward eagerly. “I couldn’t believe how many people were there. It was a huge crowd. Everything went so fast. It was difficult to figure out how to use the cash register, but by the end of the morning rush, I sort of knew what I was doing.”

She’d come through and that was what mattered, she told herself. Every challenge met made her stronger.

“I heard you had some kind of fit,” Nicole said sounding more curious than concerned. “Are you on medication?”

Claire felt herself blushing. She forced herself to continue to stand there. “I had a panic attack, but I worked through it.”

“Don’t expect an award for showing up,” Nicole muttered.

Claire’s embarrassment shifted to annoyance. “Did I ask for an award? Did I ask for anything at all? My recollection of recent events is a phone call from Jesse asking me to come home because you needed help. I dropped everything and flew out the next morning, showed up here to do exactly that—take care of you. I’ve brought you meals and snacks, helped you to the bathroom, carried in whatever you’ve asked for, helped out at the bakery and in return you’re nothing but mean and sarcastic. What is wrong with you?”

Nicole dropped her fork onto the tray. “Wrong with me? You’re the one who totally screwed up. You think I should be grateful that you brought your oh-so-special self to the peasant world for a few days? You think that makes up for anything?”

“All your labels, not mine.” Claire’s voice rose. “As for finally showing up, I’ve been trying to connect with you for years. I send letters and e-mails. I leave messages. You never get back to me. Ever. I’ve asked you to join me on tour. I’ve asked to come home. The answer is always the same. No. Or more accurately—go to hell.”

“Why would I want to spend time with you? You’re nothing but an egotistic, selfish, mother-murdering princess.”

And I hate you.

Nicole didn’t say those last words, but she didn’t have to.

Claire stared at her sister for a long time, not sure what accusation to take on first. “You don’t know me,” she said in a low voice. “You haven’t known me for over twenty years.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Not mine.” Claire drew in a breath. “I didn’t kill her. We were driving together. It was late and rainy and another car came out of nowhere. It hit us on her side. We were trapped and she was dying and there was nothing I could do.”

Claire closed her eyes against the nightmare of memories. The coldness of the night, the way the rain dripped into the shattered car, the sound of her mother’s moans as she died.

“I lost her, too,” Claire whispered, looking at her sister. “She was all I had and I lost her, too.”

“Do you think I care?” Nicole yelled. “I don’t. She went away. She went away because of you and she was all I had. She left and I had to take care of everything here. I was twelve when she left. I was twelve when I figured out she would rather be with you than with me or Jesse or Dad. She was just gone and I had to do everything. Take care of Jesse and the house and help out at the bakery. Then she was dead. Do you know what it was like after that? Do you?”

Claire remembered the funeral. How she’d stood with Lisa rather than her family because they were strangers to her. How she’d wanted to cry, but there were no tears left.

She remembered wanting to be with Nicole, her twin. How she’d longed to have her father say it was time for her to come home. Stay home. Instead Lisa had explained about Claire’s schedule and concert dates and that she was very mature for her age and capable of handling her life without a guardian or chaperone around. Her father had agreed.

Ten-year-old Jesse had been a stranger to her and Nicole had been distant and angry. The way she still was.

“Go back to your fancy life,” her sister told her now. “Go back to your stupid piano and your hotels. Go back to where you don’t have to earn everything you get. I don’t want you here. I’ve never wanted you here. Do you know why?”

Claire stood her ground, sensing her sister had to say it and it was Claire’s job to take it all in.

Nicole’s blue eyes burned with white-hot rage. “Because every night after her death, I prayed God would turn back time and make it you instead of her. I still wish that.”

CLAIRE SAT ON THE BED in the guest room and let the tears come. They rolled down her cheeks, one after the other, washing away nothing, simply seeping from the great open wound inside of her.

She’d known about Nicole’s anger and resentment, but she’d never thought her sister wished she was dead.

The situation was hopeless, she thought grimly. She’d come home for nothing. No one wanted her and she had nowhere else to go.

She covered her face with her hands and cried for a few more minutes, then sniffed and realized she couldn’t feel sorry for herself forever. But maybe the rest of the night would be acceptable.

She stood and walked over to her suitcase. A small photo album lay at the bottom. She carried it back to the bed and sat down.

There were only a dozen or so pictures inside, all of them taken before she’d left Seattle when she was six. She and Nicole laughing. She and Nicole on a pony. Their identical Halloween costumes, when they’d both been Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. One photo showed them in bed together, sleeping, curled up like kittens.

Claire touched the cold, flat surface, remembering and wishing, knowing neither would change what time and distance had destroyed.

After washing her face, she grabbed a box of tissues and set it by the bed, then changed into an oversize T-shirt she’d bought in London—one with a huge head shot of Prince William on the front—and crawled into bed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, but curling up would make the whimpering easier.





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