Born Innocent Page 2

  The longing grew, like something warm expanding from the core of her. Just one touch, her heart cried. Only one. Just to reach up and lay her hand softly along the line of that rough cheek—

  Clenching her fists, Claire cut off the treacherous thought. She made herself step back. Joe blinked when she moved. He glanced away, and then back at her.

  She forced herself to say the words, “If that’s all, then I think you’d better go.”

  Joe didn’t reply. He was looking steadily at her once more. For one forbidden moment she allowed herself to again imagine the impossible—that he would reach for her, take her in his arms, and swear he couldn’t live another millisecond without her at his side.

  But then bitter reality returned. “Yeah,” he muttered gruffly. “I’d better go.”

  As always, except for that one taboo night, he was stronger than she was. He turned on his heel and stalked out the way he’d come.

  Chapter Two

  For Claire, there was one overwhelming desire right then: to chase after him and beg him to give what they might share a chance, to plead with him to let himself love her. But begging for his love had never worked before. She’d done it twice. Once at eighteen, and then again six years ago, when she was twenty-four. Both times he’d turned her down flat. So she knew by hard experience that chasing after Joe Tally would get her nowhere at all.

  Claire sighed and rubbed her eyes. Then, though she despised herself for doing it, she wandered forlornly out to the lobby and peeked through the curtain as Joe started up his truck and drove away. Only the sound of more firecrackers going off—this time a string of loud ones tossed right onto the porch of the cottage—snapped her out of her self-pitying reverie.

  Claire almost flung open the door to chase the errant neighbor boy down the street and yell at him to cut it out.

  But she controlled herself, and finally smiled. It was only a prank, after all. And it was high time she stopped mooning over a man who would never allow himself to return her love.

  Right now, she’d do better to cheer up and get on with her day. She forced a smile, but it wavered when she recalled the pregnancy test that was waiting on her bedside table in its plain brown bag.

  She knew she probably ought to take it and be done with it. Within three minutes, she’d have the results. But there were hours of dealing with the public still ahead of her—not to mention the barbecue tonight at her mother’s house, which she’d promised to attend.

  No, if the result was positive, she’d rather find out at the end of the day, when she would be guaranteed a block of time alone, time to absorb the fact that she was carrying Joe’s baby.

  She would wait a little longer. Until tonight. And then, no matter what, she’d get it over with.

  Over at the desk, the outside line rang.

  Life goes on, Claire thought, as she marched across the room to answer the call.

  After turning the desk over to Verna again at five-thirty, Claire walked to her mother’s house. It was a pleasant half-mile stroll. She crossed the bridge that spanned the Yuba River, which flowed through the center of town. Then she walked through the commercial area of town and on up the street to where Main became North Main and the stores gave way to houses.

  Ella Snow no longer lived in the big house on Serpentine Street where Claire had grown up. Instead, when Claire’s father had died ten years ago, Ella sold the big house and bought a smaller place on North Main, a place with only two bedrooms and no yard to worry about.

  The white-trimmed blue house perched on the river side of the street, right below where Cemetery Road branched off. The entry porch could be reached by ascending a flight of stairs. In back, the house was supported on stilts to keep it dry during high water. Claire went through the front screen door to the kitchen, which faced the street.

  At the squeak of the door, her mother turned from the sink where she was busily slicing summer squash. “There you are. About time.” Ella held out her cheek to be kissed. “Where’s the German potato salad?”

  Claire extended the casserole dish she’d carried with her from the motel. “Right here.”

  “Good. Just set it down. No, not there.” Ella pointed farther down the counter. “Over there.”

  From the other side of the kitchen peninsula, at the big, round oak table, Ella’s other guests, two couples she played Bingo with on Thursday nights and her best friend, Dinah Richter, called greetings. Claire smiled at them and gave a wave. “Hi, everybody.” She turned back to her mother. “What can I do?”

  Ella shot her a swift, sneaky glance. Claire should probably have known instantly that her mother was up to something. “Why don’t you go out on the deck and see if you can be of some help with the barbecue?”

  Claire frowned. Ella had said she was inviting her Bingo friends and Dinah, so everyone was inside. “Help who?”

  Her mother’s fatuous smile told it all. “Why, Alan Henson, of course. Didn’t I mention I’d asked him to join us?”

  Twenty minutes later, Claire slid around the door of her mother’s bedroom and closed it softly behind her.

  Ella, who’d excused herself “to freshen up,” was standing in front of her dresser mirror and carefully blotting her lipstick with a folded tissue.

  “Mother, you have got to stop interfering in my life.”

  Ella gave a little gasp of surprise as she realized she’d been trapped in her own bedroom. “What is the matter with you, Claire? We have guests.” Ella grimaced at herself in the mirror; the lipstick had smeared. “Now is hardly the time to—”

  “You have guests, Mother,” Claire pointed out. “This isn’t my house. As a matter of fact, I’m a guest, too.”

  “Oh, stop pouting.” Ella scrubbed at her lips with a fresh tissue and prepared to begin again. “You know what I mean. You’re my daughter, the substitute hostess in my absence. We shouldn’t both be back here at once.”

  Claire decided to drop the relatively unimportant question of her responsibility toward her mother’s guests. She went straight to the real issue. “Why did you invite Alan Henson tonight?”

  Ella reapplied the lipstick and blotted it with great care. “I thought you liked Alan. After all, you are dating the man.”

  “I am not dating him.” Claire watched her mother as she smoothed the gray wings of her hair. “He’s a casual acquaintance, that’s all.”

  “So you say. But everyone in town says...”

  Claire gritted her teeth. She’d had about enough of people jumping to conclusions about herself and a man she hardly knew. “Who cares what everyone in town says, Mother? If you want to know who I’m dating, the best person to ask is me.”

  “Well.” In the mirror, Ella’s reflection wore a wounded look. “I certainly didn’t think you’d mind if I invited him. He’s such a nice man, after all.”

  “You were matchmaking, Mother. Just admit it.”

  Ella turned then and faced her daughter. ‘ ‘And what if I was? I can’t see how my creating a pleasant opportunity for you to enjoy the company of a decent man is going to hurt you.”

  “I’m not interested in him, Mother. Get that through your head.’ ’

  “Oh, no? And why not?”

  “I’m just not.”

  “That’s no answer.”

  “It’s answer enough.”

  “Oh, stop this. Let’s be honest, at least, just between you and me. Let’s have it out in the open. You’re not interested in a nice, respectable man because—”

  “Mother, don’t start,” Claire warned.

  But it had no effect. Her mother finished triumphantly, “You’re too busy waiting around for a single glance from that no-good bounty hunter, Joe Tally!”

  Claire said nothing for a moment. She was trying to keep from defending Joe, because defending Joe would only play into her mother’s hands. But, in the end, she couldn’t stand the unfairness. Joe was a good man who’d never had a single break in his whole life. And Claire wouldn’t stand by and let
people run him down. She softly advised, “Don’t call Joe names, Mother.”

  “Names? What names? I suppose you’re going to try to tell me he isn’t a bounty hunter?”

  “You know what I mean. You said he was no good.”

  “It’s only the truth.”

  “It is not. Joe is...” Claire contained herself, reminding herself of the true issue here. “Joe’s got nothing to do with this discussion.”

  With a snort of pure disdain, Ella waved her hand in front of her face. “Good heavens, how you do delude yourself. But you can’t delude me. Joe Tally has everything to do with why you won’t give a decent man a chance. I’ve watched you since you were little more than a baby, chasing after him, following him around like a lovesick calf. And even though you tell me there’s nothing between you, I know what’s before my eyes.”

  “It’s none of your business, Mother.” Claire tried to sound strong and purposeful, but her mother became nothing short of an emotional battering ram once she got going. Claire found herself wishing she’d kept her mouth shut about Alan Henson. She should have just left well enough alone and ignored her mother’s embarrassing attempts at matchmaking.

  But it was too late. Ella, who was a tall woman, anyway, drew herself up even taller. “None of my business? How can you say that? My only daughter is ruining her life and she tries to tell me it’s none of my affair?”

  “I’m not—”

  “Don’t tell me what you’re not doing. I can see. And don’t fool yourself. I know what’s best for my own child. And what’s more, I will never stop providing opportunities for you to get to know nice men—any men—as long as they’re not that trouble-making loser, Joe Tally!”

  Claire was reaching the end of her rope on the subject of Joe. She spoke very precisely. “Joe is not a troublemaker, Mother. Nor is he a loser.”

  But Ella would not be silenced. “He is and always has been nothing but bad news. And if you weren’t so blinded by your sick infatuation with him, you’d realize the truth. It is purely a miracle that he’s managed to end up on the right-hand side of the law. Why, when he was a boy—”

  “Stop it, Mother. I’m not telling you again. Just leave Joe out of this.”

  “Well, that would be just fine with me. There is nothing I’d like better than to leave that—”

  “Stop. Stop right there. I mean it. No more about Joe, or I will leave this house now.”

  Ella must have decided Claire was serious, because for several seconds she said nothing, only glared and fumed. Claire took those precious seconds to make her other point. “And be warned. The next time you provide one of these opportunities for me, you’d better anticipate that I’ll be tossing the German potato salad on the counter, and walking right out the door.”

  Ella continued to glare at her daughter. She said tightly, ‘‘Unfortunately, you are too old to spank. I imagine you’ll do what you want to do, whether it mortifies your mother or not.”

  “At last you understand,” Claire said quietly.

  Ella made a small, tight sound of exasperation, then turned to the mirror once more and gave her hair a final pat. When she faced Claire again, she wore a determined smile. “Well,” she said carefully, “since that’s settled, let’s return to our guests.”

  “Fine,” Claire agreed, admiring her mother in spite of her frustration with her. Ella Whitney Snow’s father had been a minister, and her grandfather a judge. She had married Pine Bluff’s one doctor and devoted her life to her family and a number of worthy causes, for which she worked unstintingly and without pay. A true pillar of her community, she knew how to put a proper face on things when there was nothing more to say.

  Somehow, Claire got through the evening. But it was grueling. Her mother listened, enthralled, every time Alan Henson opened his mouth. And her mother’s friends kept tittering and whispering to each other whenever they thought Claire wouldn’t notice.

  By eight-forty-five Claire had had enough. The dishes were done and put away, and everyone sat in the living area explaining to Alan all about the Independence Day parade and the annual races, both of which would be held on Main Street tomorrow.

  Claire waited awhile for an appropriate opening, but everyone kept filling each smidgen of silence with another tale of how Gerry Hines won the potato sack race last year, and why little Pookie Evans cried every time the starting gun went off. Claire’s mind began to wander—to the test from the drugstore, which she intended to finally put behind her as soon as she’d achieved the privacy of her own cottage.

  She stood, aware that the move was abrupt, but past caring if anyone noticed her eagerness to be gone. “Well, I should get back to relieve Verna. Dinner was great, Mother. Good to see you all.”

  Alan shot out of his seat as if Ella had pinched him— which Claire would not have put past her for a minute. “I should get back, too. I’ll walk you.”

  Claire restrained a sigh and realized this was probably as good a time as any to explain to Alan that she would never be getting any more involved with him than she was right now.

  She smiled. “Sure. Why not?”

  Ella, Dinah and the others made approving little clucking sounds. Ella rose to see her guests out.

  “Ella, it was wonderful,” Alan enthused when the three of them had formed an awkward knot by the kitchen door. “I honestly can’t say when I’ve had a more satisfying evening.” Claire shot him a glance, thinking he was laying it on a little thick. He went on, “And from now on, I’m adding that dash of fresh chopped jalapeno to my own barbecue sauce.”

  “Oh, well, now...” Ella was actually blushing. Claire glanced from Alan to her mother and wondered if she’d read this whole situation wrong. Was it possible her mother might be after Alan Henson herself? Ella simpered, “All cooks have their little secrets.”

  “Thank you for sharing yours,” Alan said with a perfectly straight face. Her mother gave a gracious nod. Claire tried to keep from rolling her eyes, deciding with some irony that she must be pregnant—because listening to this exchange, she felt like throwing up.

  Alan added, as if it were an afterthought, “And I will drop by, if you’d like. Tomorrow or the next day. We’ll go over those figures, and I’ll show you just what I mean.”

  “That would be so helpful.” Ella serenely smiled.

  Claire looked at Alan. “What figures?”

  Her mother waved a dismissing hand. “Oh, nothing, Claire. Before you arrived, Alan and I were talking. He mentioned that he can show me a few ways to increase the income from what your father left me.” Ella handed Claire her clean casserole dish. “But enough about money. You youngsters be on your way now. Thanks so much for coming, Alan. You two have a lovely walk home.”

  “We will,” Alan promised, and led the way out the door. As Claire and Alan set off down the street, Claire was careful not to sway too close to him. She didn’t want to give him any encouragement—and she was thinking that she didn’t like the idea of Alan advising her mother on her finances. Joe’s cautionary remarks about the man had stuck with her.

  When they’d reached the main part of town and were strolling the sidewalk toward the turn to the bridge, Claire observed lightly, “You know, Alan, you’ve never told me exactly what it is you do for a living.”

  Alan turned to smile at her, his even teeth flashing white through the gathering darkness. “You’re kidding. I haven’t?”

  “No.” She waited for him to volunteer something—anything. When he didn’t, she asked more directly, “What is your work, really?”

  A quick glance told her that his pleasant face had grown thoughtful. “Well, to anyone who isn’t in finance, it’s a little hard to explain.”

  “Try me. I took a few business classes in college. I might be able to understand.”

  “Well, I’m a financial planner. I advise people. On how to use their money to make more money. They come to me and I show them sound investments.”

  “What kind of investments?”


  “Well, now. That’s a little complicated. I’d have to really sit down with you, to go into all that.”

  They had reached Sierra Street and the turn to the bridge. Claire stopped and faced Alan. She said as gently as she could manage, “Alan, I’d prefer if you didn’t give my mother any financial advice. Fair enough?”

  He blinked, and then pasted on a smile. “Well. Ahem. Certainly. If that’s how you feel.”

  “Yes, that’s how I feel.”

  “Well.” Even through the shadows of coming night, she could see that his soft brown eyes looked wounded. “All right, then.”

  Feeling like a first-class jerk, she muttered a thank-you and turned toward the bridge. Alan strolled along beside her, saying nothing for a few moments. As they reached the center of the old bridge, someone set off a rocket that rose screaming into the sky and exploded over the river like a bursting star.

  Alan chuckled. “I thought those were illegal around here.”

  Claire was relieved. The tension had been broken. “They are, unless you’re talking about a professional fireworks display. But that doesn’t stop some people.”

  “Will the sheriff be after them?”

  “If they keep it up. And if he can find them.”

  Alan chuckled again, and the rest of the walk passed in amicable silence.

  When they reached the motel, Alan put his hand on her arm just before Claire mounted the steps to her cottage. As far as she could recall, it was the first time he’d touched her, except in passing, since she’d met him.

  His hand felt soft and cool. It was a light, gentle touch. There was nothing pushy or offensive about it, yet Claire recoiled from it. Deep in her heart, she cursed Joe Tally, not only for refusing to love her, but also for making any other man’s touch seem all wrong.

  Alan offered, “Come to my bungalow for a drink.”

  She hesitated, not wanting to go, but remembering her resolve to get things clear between them.