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“Come on, Cass.” She’d known Van nearly all her life, but never had she heard the kind of anger he was fighting to quell—all the more frightening because he was normally so controlled. “Give me a chance,” he said. “What did you expect me to do when I found out?”
She looked down. Hope’s eyes had drifted shut. “I expected the reaction you had. That’s why I left town and never meant to come back.”
“Not because you didn’t love me anymore?”
She stopped, feeling naked, sensing the eyes of everyone who’d ever known her in this town. “You stopped loving me,” she said, praying Hope was really asleep and not just pretending.
“I always told you I was the problem.” He edged closer to her shoulder as if emotion brought him there. His nearness and her unaccountable urge to remember what it was like to be in his arms made her want to scream.
“I know. It’s not you. It’s me.” Hearing Cassie’s frustration, Hope tried to lift her head, but she was too tired. “Go home, Van. I’m busy.”
“Let me help you carry your things in. The house will be a shock.”
“I don’t need your help.” She opened the door. Something smelled awful, and the kitchen looked darker than she remembered.
Van stepped inside.
“Bad man,” Hope muttered.
“Not overly bad.” No doubt Hope would have to see him again. Cassie walked around him and tried to shut the door, but he wouldn’t let her.
“I feel as if I’m barging in, but the house is going to come as a shock.” The past, moments in time that should have ended, reopened the gulf between them.
“I’m fine.”
Her little girl looked up. “Mommy, what are you talking about?”
“Old stuff,” Cassie said. “And what you and I should have for dinner. Can you stay awake long enough to eat something?”
“I’m pretty hungry.”
“Me, too.”
Hope wrinkled her nose. “Something smells funny.” She covered her face with both hands. “Are you sure this is your daddy’s house?”
“The smell is bleach.” Cassie sniffed harder. “And garbage?”
Van nodded ever so slightly.
She stared at the faded paint and worn appliances. How had this looked before Van started cleaning? “Can I see Dad tonight? Does the hospital have late visiting hours?”
“What about—” He looked at Hope.
Cassie had known people would treat her and Hope like freaks, but she hadn’t expected Van to be the first. “I’ll manage. Thanks for your help.” She went to the door, forcing him to follow, and then ushered him through. “And for looking after Dad.”
On the porch, Van turned, opening his mouth, but Cassie had stopped worrying about manners. She shut the door.
And locked it. Tight as a drum.
THE MOON HUNG above thick trees. Van stared at it as he measured each step to his car.
His hand shook so much he could barely hit the button for entry. He stared at the house and wished he’d opened all the blinds. Whatever Cassie was doing, she wasn’t letting in light or prying eyes.
Whatever she was doing… Finding something to feed her daughter. He got in the car and grabbed the steering wheel to keep from crashing his fists through his windshield.
His wife had given birth to that rapist’s child.
His wife loved that animal’s child. Love for Hope was a coat she wore—a second skin—a part of her he’d seen the moment the girl had called her name.
Damn her. Damn her to hell along with that bastard who’d stolen everything from him.
No.
That made it sound as if the rape had been her fault. He’d never thought that, never blamed her, never wanted her anywhere but at his side.
But it didn’t feel as if five years had passed. He was still living that last night they’d tried to make love. His head swimming with images of that guy forcing her, he’d had to get away or punch the damn wall.
She hadn’t understood. It was almost as if she’d preferred thinking he couldn’t stand being near her.
And tonight, she’d sprung Hope on him like another test. He’d failed again, but how could she expect the people who’d loved her to accept a constant, living reminder of the worst moments in their lives?
So, he hadn’t thrown a party. He hadn’t said anything to hurt Hope or Cassie, either. Why couldn’t Cassie give him a break?
He looked up at the closed windows and the door whose locks still clanked and clicked in his ears. Five years, and it was as if she’d left last night and come home this morning.
All the feelings were so familiar. Fear, anger, dread.
And somewhere down deep, the love he hadn’t been able to abandon or smother. No other woman had ever made him forget Cassie.
He’d been stranded in a time capsule since the evening she’d left him outside her lawyer’s office. Him still swearing he’d make her love him again. Her looking sad. Out of his reach.
And early on, whenever he’d suggested he come to Washington to see her, she’d refused. Finally, she’d said her life would be easier and she’d forget the past better if she never again saw anyone connected with it.
Especially him.
He took a last look at the windows, like eyes closed against the world. Cassie had made enough rules for him and her father. Surely Leo was a living illustration that Cassie’s way led to disaster.
Van made his own rules in every other part of his life. If Cassie wanted to throw away love, she’d have to say so, flat out.
He turned the key in the ignition and then pulled his cell from his pocket. Cassie took three rings to answer.
“Hello?”
If she’d sounded certain, instead of wary, maybe he’d have backed off. If she hadn’t sounded afraid…
“Don’t start dinner. I’ll bring something back.”
“I don’t want you to come back.”
“I don’t blame you. I didn’t treat Hope right and I’m sorry.”
“She deserves better, and so do I.”
Before, he’d have handled her with kid gloves. She’d been hurt, inside and out, and he couldn’t hurt her more.
“Cassie.” If he gave in, he’d lose any chance of finding out if they could still love each other. “I don’t want to hurt that kid, but she reminds me of—” He couldn’t say her father. If he did, he’d never look the child in the eye again. “She reminds me of what happened. Give me a chance to live with it.”
“Are you crazy? I’m not coming back here. You and I have been divorced for almost five years. We’re over.”
“Your father is extremely ill. You won’t throw him into some nursing facility and run away.”
“I will,” she said through what sounded like gritted teeth.
“I know you.”
“You’re living in a crazy dream. You need treatment as much as my father.”
“You might be right, but I’ve never said goodbye to you. I don’t want to give up.”
“On what? On nothing. It’s been nothing since the night I left here.”
“Do you think I’m proud of feeling this way? I’m a man. I don’t want to run after a woman who couldn’t be more clear about not wanting to be with me. But I think you were lying five years ago about not wanting us in your life, because you were afraid for your child. I have to know if we can still care for each other.” He tapped his fist against the steering wheel. “Don’t make me talk about feelings, Cassie. And don’t make me beg.”
Her silence stretched so long he pulled the phone away from his ear to see if the signal had faded or she’d hung up.
“Mommy,” said a small voice on Cassie’s side of the connection, “I’m really hungry.”
“So I’ll be back,” Van said. “With dinner for both of you.”
“For all of us?” Cassie asked.
He stiffened. “Are you inviting me or preparing yourself?”
She took a deep breath, but he was holding his. “Maybe a little of both.”
“That’s a start,” he said. “I’ll be back.” He hung up before she could change her mind.
She might be right. What kind of man held on to a woman who’d turned her back on him in the most final of divorce decrees five years ago?
But she’d kept information to herself then. She’d been pregnant. With a rapist’s child, but she’d been his wife and she’d been carrying a child. He’d loved her. He’d had a right to know—or to tell her he couldn’t face it.
He wasn’t sure he could face it now.
He pulled away from the curb, not letting thoughts of Hope reignite his old anger. She was a child, not someone to blame.
And he was through giving up on everything that had mattered because Cassie didn’t believe in him. It was his turn to take charge.
For the first time in a long time, he felt a little hope.
He drove to the town’s new overpriced luxury market, parking next door at the Honesty Sentinel because everyone who wanted to see and be seen had already taken all the open spots at Posh Victuals.
The second he hit the aromatic air inside, his stomach muttered with guttural hunger. He flattened his hand against his belly, but in the Babel of dinnertime shopping, no one else noticed.
He waited in line at the Poshly Prepared Pasta counter. A high school girl, wearing a checkered napkin folded artfully into a cap, finally got through the three customers before him.
“What may I feed you, sir?”
As if she were wearing a toga and offering grapes. “What do you have that will make a four-year-old girl happy?”
“Huh?” She glanced around the counters as if seeking help. No one materialized.
“I have a friend who’s just arrived in town with her four-year-old daughter, and they haven’t eaten. I’d like to take them some dinner.”
Lowering her voice, she leaned toward him. “I’m supposed to talk you into buying the more expensive stuff, but take the spaghetti. Kids always like spaghetti. I have a little brother, and he can’t get enough of the stuff we make here.”
“Perfect. Pack it up.”
“Just for the girl? Would you like a whole dinner? Or a child’s spaghetti?”
“Dinner for three.”
“Okeydoke.”
“Do you have a meatless sauce?”
She nodded.
“I’d better take two orders of that.” Cassie hadn’t eaten meat for years before she’d left, and she might have persuaded her daughter to eat the same crazy way.
With deft hands, the girl packed a meal in takeout cartons. Pasta, a container of sauce, a larger one without meat, and garlic bread, so rich with spicy scents his stomach grumbled again. Louder.
The girl must have heard. Her mouth twitched, but she was too polite to mention it.
She added vegetable antipasto, a tossed salad and two containers of tiramisu. He stopped her in time to ask for crème brûlée for Cassie.
“Just warm everything up. If you boil the pasta for two minutes, it’ll be better than new.” She leaned in again. “I add olive oil to the water. Amazing.”
“Thanks.” He found her badge beneath a wavy ponytail. “Rita.”
“My pleasure. Here’s hoping your friends enjoy.”
His friend had probably changed her mind about letting him in—and changed the locks.
Back at Leo’s house, he parked in the driveway behind Cassie’s rental and carried their dinner to the front door, tapping the newly painted porch with his fingertips to make sure it was dry. He rang the bell and then waved the bags in front of the wood to spread the delicious aromas. That market might have a froufrou name, but their cooking smelled great.
Nothing happened on the other side of the Warne door. He backed up and looked around one of the porch stanchions, but the blinds remained shut tight. If the lights were on, not one sliver of illumination leaked through.
He rang the bell again. Would she really change her mind? Could she lock him out of her life again?
