Never Too Late (13 page)

“Well? Have you thought about that?”

“Out of the question,” she returned. She ran a hand through her hair, gathering it up and letting if fall. “It's been over for so long, I can't even remember when I last had feelings for him. My God, I'm not even angry with him anymore! Just annoyed…that's all I can summon up. I just want to settle with him and not have to deal with him anymore.”

“You have a son,” Sam pointed out. “You'll always have to deal with him.”

“Jason's fifteen now. Whatever he has to work out with his father is between them. I can't do much beyond using willpower not to call him names and put him down.”

“Clare,” he said, “why didn't you move on a long time ago?”

“I don't know,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm a gutless wonder sometimes. I have issues, as they say. But emotionally I left that marriage so long ago, it's like it was another lifetime.”

He seemed to laugh to himself as he moved toward her. He pulled her hand and drew her into his embrace. “I love hearing you say that.” Her arm went around his shoulders very naturally. He touched her lips softly. “You ready to move ahead now? Maybe give a new guy a chance?”

“I'm worried about—”

“I know, I know—you're worried about the fact I'm younger than you and I live with my mother.”

“It does seem a tad awkward.”

“What I want is for you to worry about how you feel when I do this,” he said, covering her mouth in a deep and powerful kiss that parted her lips for his tongue. God, but he was a good kisser; strong and slow and delicious. “And this,” he said against her open mouth as one of his hands found her behind and pulled her hard against his groin. “And this,” he whispered again, as his other hand found her breast. And then he captured her mouth once more, demanding a response.

She went instantly weak in the knees and felt a fluttering take the place of her regular heartbeat. She drew him closer and a hunger she hadn't felt in some time took over. She nearly trembled with it, it was so strong. She knew, long before he kissed her under the tree the day of their ride that this was where they were headed. She might have been trying to ignore it, but he had never tried to conceal it.

The taste of his mouth was woody and natural, his scent was of wool and leather and some divine aftershave. She sighed against his open mouth. “Listen, I really appreciate that you've been so patient,” she said. “But…”

“You were almost dead there for a while,” he reminded her.

Dead inside, she thought. But Sam was reminding her that her body had needs that had been ignored for too long. She clung to him and moved her mouth under his, welcoming his tongue.

After another kiss he said, “About that marriage, Clare. I don't care that it's not final, as long as it's over for you.”

She pulled back slightly. “And what if it's not over for
him?
”

“That could be a pain in the ass. But nothing worth having is easy.”

“And so what is it you have in mind? My son lives at my house and he's a little vulnerable—I really can't have guests, if you get my drift. And you don't have your own place, either. So—do we go on dates and make out in the backseat?”

“Boy, once you decide, you decide! I've been practically nuts just wanting to hold you, but you're already worrying about sleepovers!”

“I just don't know how things like this work.”

“I have a punch card for the Motel 6. Stay ten times, get one free.” She gasped and he laughed. “God, you'll buy anything.”

She wanted more of him, more of his lips, his arms, even though she wasn't sure it was such a good idea. And certainly not on this little back porch. “You really get me riled up,” she admitted.

“That's a good thing. It's mutual. But let's get out of here, okay?” He took her hand and led the way back to the street, but to his SUV.

“Where are we going?” she asked nervously. Her whole body was ready for the Motel 6, but in her mind she was still miles from being ready. She hadn't even come to grips with the very idea that there was a man in her life; a lusty, funny, sexy man.

“Don't worry. I'm in complete control.”

Well I'm not, she thought.

She locked her car and got in his. He drove through the misting rain just a few blocks to a hamburger stand that featured carhops who delivered meals on trays to
the windows of cars under a covered roof. It wasn't a meal hour and the weather was objectionable, so theirs was the only vehicle. He ordered burgers, fries and colas and said, “You haven't eaten, have you?”

“I ordered, but didn't eat,” she said.

“I figured as much. Did you come here with your boyfriends in high school?”

“Boyfriend,” she said. “Mike.”

“Ah. The guy you were calling to at the accident.”

“You remember that, huh?”

“At the time, I thought you were asking for your husband. I was relieved to know that wasn't the case. But you must have been pretty locked into this Mike, for him to be around your subconscious for so many years.”

“Uh-huh. We started dating in high school and got engaged in college. He was a little older and went into the Air Force. I was planning our wedding when he finished flight school and was training in the F-16.” She looked down into her lap. “He was killed in the jet. I'm still not really sure what happened. I think mechanical, the Air Force says he lost control of it. There was nothing left, of course. Nothing to bury.”

He reached out and touched her cheek. “You were so young when that happened. It must have been awful.”

“Pretty awful. Now I see that it explains a lot. I graduated in spite of my state of mind and started teaching. I hated it, but I hated everything so I blamed it on grief, not on having made the wrong career choice. And then there's Roger. This handsome flirt came into my life at just about the time I decided to go on living and bam! I was so relieved to smile, to sleep through the night, to actually look forward to things, I went ahead and married him. And my family and friends, so happy to see
me come out from the dark cloud, never took a closer look at Roger. We all should have. He and I weren't right for each other.”

“But was it always bad? The marriage?”

“Of course there were bright spots, not the least of which is Jason. But you know what was the very worst part? When it became evident—at least ten years ago—that I was in a hopelessly bad relationship and really didn't do much to save myself, the people around me, the ones I love the most, began to give up on me.”

“Aww,” he said in protest.

“No, it's true. The first time I separated from Roger, there were cheers that could be heard for miles! But three months later I took him back. I felt I owed him a chance to redeem himself, to be the husband and father he said he wanted to be. It was like I was the only one who didn't know it was virtually impossible for him change. They all tried to be supportive, but then came the second time, and the third, and they seemed to collectively throw up their hands in helplessness.” She took a breath. “I think my father and sisters were as unhappy as me. That's why…” She found the right words difficult, but for once she was going to be strong and follow her instincts. “That's why it's so important to me, now, not to make bad choices.”

“You mean—me.”

“I mean a lot of things, but you definitely fall into that category.”

Instead of looking dejected, he dazzled her with that grin. That decidedly boyish grin. “Don't worry so much, Clare. Roger pushed. I'm going to give you all the time you need.”

She just shook her head in wonder. “Are you sure you're only twenty-nine?”

“My mother says fatherhood grew me up fast. Actually, she said
too
fast.”

“You don't have a mother-thing, do you?”

“You are not old enough to be a mother-thing.” The carhop brought the food and he passed her a burger. “You know, if you were dating a man ten years older than you, you wouldn't think twice about the age difference. Get beyond this. If it's right, it's right. If it's not—we'll move on. Undamaged.”

“What about broken hearts or severe disappointment? I think that's overly optimistic.”

He pulled his fries off the tray. “You're lucky to be alive. You were given a second chance. Focus on what's really important and enjoy your life a little. Follow your gut. Take a chance.” He put a long fry in his mouth, leaving the end out. He leaned toward her, inviting her to bite what was left up to his lips. She smiled, then obliged.

“How's that feel?” he asked.

She chewed the fry. “Everything about you feels nice. That doesn't mean I'm ready to get serious. We can only keep this friendship if you understand that I don't know when or if I will be ready to get involved on a deeper level.”

He popped a fry into his mouth and smiled at her. “Okay. You have issues. I don't. You handle your issues, I'll try to behave.”

“Thing is—you tempt me.”

The smile broadened. He lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Try not to hold that against me. Okay?”

Then she said, “You could have taken advantage of me back there. I'm a little vulnerable and you're…Well, you know what you are.”

He put the cardboard carton of fries in his lap and put his hand against her cheek. He threaded his fingers into her hair at her temple. “I intend to take advantage of you, Clare. But when I do, you're going to welcome it.”

C
lare had a very big day. Maggie called her to say the money from the insurance company had been deposited in Clare's checking account, so Clare asked Maggie to meet her for a glass of wine after work to celebrate. Then she called and invited Sarah to join them. And then she agreed to go out to dinner with Sam.

The Fireside was one of the few fine dining restaurants in Breckenridge, so named because of the strategically placed fireplaces in the restaurant and lounge. It was one of the McCarthy sisters' favorite places to meet for a drink, especially once the weather cooled and the hearths were ablaze.

It was only six when Clare arrived at the restaurant, but already it was dark outside. The late-September evening was cold, promising that in a few weeks the kids would be trick-or-treating with jackets and snowsuits under their costumes.

She checked her coat and looked around for her sisters. She had assumed she would be first to arrive. Maggie was always delayed by some legal business and
Sarah, well Sarah could get so easily absorbed in a work of art that time would elude her. They called it keeping Sarah-time.

To Clare's surprise she saw that Maggie had beaten her. She was already seated in a comfortable chair at a low table. As Clare started across the room, she saw Maggie's mouth fall open slightly as she noticed Clare. Clare wore an elegant, slim-fitting, long-sleeved black dress, dark stockings and pumps. Her only jewelry were diamond stud earrings and a gold chain. She was most commonly seen in jeans. She seldom dressed up and when she did, preferred slacks, but this was a special occasion. She'd even done her nails.

“Look at you,” Maggie said when Clare arrived at their table. “Wow. You didn't come from the hardware store.”

“I left early today. After I made sure the check was there, I made an offer on an old house—a fixer-upper.”

“You didn't!”

“I did. It's in a neighborhood that seems to be renovating—it's the worst one on the block,” she said almost proudly.

“Are you sure that's wise?” Maggie asked.

“Oh, I'm sure. If they accept the offer, I'm stealing it. I can't wait to get in there and start working on it.”

“You sure got dressed up to make an offer on an old house.”

Clare laughed. “There's that, and I think we should toast my very first date. And I'm not even quite single yet.”

“You finally gave in. To the young stud, I presume?”

“Sam,” she said. “It feels a little strange.” Clare took a breath, wishing she had a drink to steady her first-date nerves.

“Sorry,” Sarah said, rushing upon them. She took a seat, brushed at her dress which was loose fitting and matronly, pushed her glasses up on her nose and rattled on. “I was giving a class that ran over and as I was ready to lock up, a customer came in and just about bought out the store. Then I had to cover the sculpture I'd been at work on and get the lights and—Oh, well, you know how it goes.” She looked down at her hands. Her nails were choppy in places and there was still some clay around the cuticles. “God, I'm a mess. I thought I got it all off.” She looked at Clare. “Wow. Did I RSVP for the wrong party?”

“Date night,” Maggie said. “Clare is being pursued by a young stud.”

“Date night? No kidding? You're dating? Is it awful?”

“I don't know yet. This would be my first.”

“He's been chasing her for months,” Maggie further explained.

“Does everyone know about this but me?” Sarah asked. “No one ever talks to me!”

“He hasn't been chasing me. Not really. We're friends.”

“I bet he wants to be more than friends,” Maggie said.

“No, really. His name is Sam, he was the police officer at the scene of my accident and he came to the hospital to see how I was. Then about a month after I was discharged, he dropped by Dad's with coffee from Starbucks, we've talked on the phone now and then over the past six months, and there you have it. We became friends. He asked me out.”

“This has been going on for months?” Sarah wanted to know.

“She's been in denial,” Maggie explained. “He wants her.”

“I was in physical therapy for five of the last six months,” she reminded them. “He's a very nice guy, really. Good-looking, too. But I don't see this going anywhere serious. Just a date. Just friends.”

She was answered with dead silence and calm stares. It was Maggie who broke the silence. “You can have sex with friends, can't you?”

A waiter arrived just as the women were melting into laughter. He took drink orders and disappeared.

“So where's he taking you on this date?” Sarah asked.

“Right here,” Clare said. “I thought I'd meet you guys for a drink to celebrate getting the insurance check, and to settle my nerves, then have dinner with Sam.”

“When are you meeting him?”

“About seven,” she said.

Maggie and Sarah exchanged glances, looked at watches and settled back in their chairs. Clare burst out laughing as it was all too clear they weren't going anywhere until they got a look at him.

When their drinks arrived, Maggie lifted hers and said, “To sex.”

“You don't have sex on a first date,” she said.

“Where's Jason?” Maggie asked.

“Football game. He's got a ride and should be home about ten.”

“Ah, the house is empty,” Sarah pointed out, sipping her wine. “My big sister has a shot at sex.” She sipped her drink and said, “I can't remember when I last had sex. But I remember thinking it was a nice invention.”

“You know,” Clare said, “I could hook you up. It sounds like you might have more of what he's looking for.”

“You know I would do anything for my sister,” Sarah returned.

Clare told Sarah about the house and she was much more enthusiastic than Maggie had been. But then, the artist in Sarah could envision creative changes and had taken closer notice of Clare's work in her own house than Maggie had. Maggie hired things done. There was no question that if anyone could make a fixer-upper pay off, it was Clare. And any work she couldn't do herself, she'd have done. Given her connections through the hardware store, she'd get the best deals, not to mention discounts on all her supplies.

When the topic had been exhausted and Clare leaned back in her chair, Sarah asked, “So. How often does he call you? This Sam?”

“Come on, you guys,” she said, frustrated.

“I call her a lot. As much as she'll let me,” a strong male voice said.

They turned as one and looked up. There, standing right behind Clare was a young, dark-haired Adonis in a navy-blue sweater atop a crisp white shirt and gray wool slacks. When he smiled, his dimples came out to play. His shoulders were broad, his waist trim and his twinkling eyes a cornflower blue that teased.

“Sam!” Clare said.

He bent down and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Don't let me interrupt. I wanted to get here early and have a beer while I waited for you. I had no idea you'd be meeting friends.”

“Don't be silly, pull up a chair. These are my sisters and they're dying to get a look at you. There could be a brief interrogation.”

“You're sure? Because really…”

“Absolutely,” she said, pulling on his hand. “I was just telling them about that house we looked at—the fixer-upper. Not that they care in the least.”

“If you're sure,” he said again, pulling a chair from an empty table nearby and sitting beside Clare.

“This is good,” she said. When he was settled, she patted his hand and turned toward the women. “This is—” She stopped short. They were staring at him in shock and awe. All big wide eyes and open mouths. Sarah pushed up her glasses again. They seemed mesmerized. Clare surmised that Sam was younger and more handsome than they had imagined. And she said, “Jeez.”

Sam turned toward her and in a whisper asked, “Do I have a booger or something?”

“No,” she laughed. “Give them a second, they'll snap out of it. Maggie! Sarah! This is my friend Sam. Sam, meet Maggie my sister, Sarah my other sister.”

 

Maggie and Sarah left the Fireside at seven, although Clare and Sam had graciously invited them to stay. They hadn't interrogated him after all, but asked him things about his job and family, polite things that were nonthreatening. And he was open and friendly. Good disposition. He had a very natural charm about him—and he was clearly wild about Clare. He reached for her hand several times and held on to it until she pulled it away.

It was possible Clare was uncomfortable. Maybe with this affection around her sisters, maybe with how much he wanted her. It was almost palpable. He was hot to trot.

Maggie was so jealous she could spit.

She couldn't remember the last time Bob came on to her. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time he'd rebuffed
her
advances.

Maggie admired her house as she drove into the cul-de-sac. She always did. It was one of the bigger homes in Breckenridge and she'd labored over every detail in the design when they'd built it ten years ago. The lights shone from the ground floor; the upstairs bedroom lights were off. Bob's office light was on. Of course.

She pulled into the four-port garage and parked her BMW next to Bob's Mercedes. When she walked into the kitchen—the immaculate kitchen—she was treated to the delightful aroma of the meal Ramona had prepared. She put her purse and briefcase on the kitchen desk and glanced into the dining room. On the days Ramona worked for her, she always made dinner before she left and laid the dining table. She saw that on this occasion it was set for two, tall tapers ready to be lit. That meant Ramona had given the girls something to eat earlier and Bob had waited for her.

She shed her coat and hung it in the front closet. As she did so, she could hear Bob's voice coming from his study. On the phone again, which might explain why he hadn't had his dinner. She glanced at her watch—it was only seven-fifteen.

By the time she made herself a cup of tea and went to his office, he was off the phone and on the computer. Bob was a lawyer and lobbyist for several environmental groups in the Northwest. He kept an office in Carson City, but he was well set up here and could work from home, especially when the legislature wasn't in session. Like Maggie, his hours were long and he was extremely successful.

She reminded herself that they were lucky.
She
was lucky. Bob was a wonderful man; a fabulous and devoted father. An extremely supportive husband; a good partner. He was tall, handsome, growing sexier with age. So what was wrong? What was happening to them?

She put her tea on the desk and embraced him from behind. “Hi, honey,” she said. “How was your day?”

He didn't turn, but rubbed her hand and reclined against her. “Long. Yours?”

“Interesting. My sister is dating. A younger man.”

That made him turn. “Really? How much younger?”

“I'm not sure—I met her for a drink and he showed up there to have dinner with her before I could get more details. I think at least ten years.”

Bob laughed. “Good for her. And here I thought she was going to pine away for Roger.” He laughed again.

Maggie leaned a hip on his desk. “You know, we need a break. We should try to get away.”

“We have that trip to Hawaii planned right after Christmas….”

That was a family vacation during the girls' holiday break from school. “I was thinking…just you and me.”

“I don't think I can get away before Christmas.”

“How about a weekend? How about one night?”

“What's up? You have trouble at work?”

“No, Bob. I have trouble at home. We haven't…You know.”

He reached for her hand and stroked it lovingly. “What's the matter, honey?”

She touched his cheek just as affectionately. “Why don't we make love anymore, Bob? Is it me? I'm not attractive to you?”

“Come here,” he said, pulling her onto his lap. “Don't be silly, Maggie. You're gorgeous. I'm just overworked, is all. You know how much I love you.”

“It isn't something like someone else, is it?”

Shock registered on his features. “Shame on you. You know there could never be anyone else.” He kissed her lips, but it was one of those brief husbandly kisses. Then he rubbed her back a little. “It's been twenty years, honey. It just hasn't been the priority it was when we were younger. But don't we have a good life?”

“Perfect,” she said. “But I think I could use a little special attention, if you know what I mean.”

He smiled knowingly, with a superior smirk. “You saw Clare being pawed by some good-looking young guy and had an estrogen surge, didn't you?”

“I think I did,” she admitted. There was no
think
about it—she wanted to feel someone's hands all over her.