The Long Road Home (11 page)

Vivian tossed her a look of utter loathing, before she pivoted and stormed into the restroom. With the redhead’s departure, she relaxed only slightly. She knew Vivian would get even at losing this battle.

“Are you sure you want the responsibility of bringing that animal along?”

Meeting John’s skeptical smile, she nodded. “Positive. I might regret it later, but I’d feel far worse leaving it behind.”

Laughter crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Yes, you’ll probably regret it. I remember all those times you couldn’t say no to some unfortunate soul. It always landed you in some type of predicament.”

“What can I say?” Clarisse smiled wryly, loving the clean sweep of his jaw and cheek, the warmth in his eyes. “I’m a sucker for a bleeding heart.”

“And people sense it.” He fondly returned her gaze. “You always attracted characters who were hurting inside, flawed or just plain off the wall.”

He squeezed her shoulder. His fingers burned through the thin cotton of her shirt and into her skin. Her heart rate surged, while sounds and images faded around her. Everything centered on the heat of his palm. Such a simple touch. But it affected her like nothing else.

“I never did that when it came to any serious relationships. You were never needy.”

He pulled away. His smile froze, and his eyes shifted and changed with an emotion Clarisse was old and wise enough to recognize as sexual awareness.

“If you thought that, then you were wrong.”

The restroom door closed, and Vivian’s step broke the spell. Flooded with a myriad of emotions she didn’t want to decipher, Clarisse turned away and entered the small convenience store attached to the station. When she returned to the car with a glass of water, napkins and the dog, Vivian and John were already seated in the front.

She didn’t contribute to the small talk. She didn’t know what to say. Her feelings were so confused and jumbled. Being forced in the car with John and his current girlfriend and striving to act blasé about the situation, were eroding her self-control.

She blinked back sudden tears and focused on the dog. Maybe if she concentrated on something else, her mind would clear. She found a pair of scissors in her suitcase and plopped the dog on her lap. She began the long process of trimming the animal, slipping the clippings in the bag she received from the station. A couple of areas she had to cut close to the skin to remove the mats.

The dog squirmed within her grasp, impatient to be free. She held tight, but the animal broke lose, slipping through her fingers. It leapt onto the armrest and into the front.

“What in the world!” John’s arm blocked the dog before he jumped into his lap, but then he scrabbled right and vaulted onto Vivian’s legs.

“Damn it! Get that thing off me. Now!” Vivian shoved at the animal, but he deftly dodged her hands. Arms flapping, she terrified the dog even further, causing him to skitter wildly on her lap.

“Calm down, you’re scaring him and making matters worse. Here boy,” Clarisse called. “It’s okay.”

“That’s easy for you to say! You don’t have fleas all over you.” Vivian scratched at her hair. “Shoo. Get!”

A second later, Vivian screeched, “See. There’s a tick on me!” Frantically, she bounced and shifted around in her effort to get the insect and dog off her.

John glanced over at Vivian and brushed at her lap. His deep-throated laugh vibrated through the vehicle. “That’s not a tick. It’s just dirt.” He held a piece of gray lint between his fingers for everyone’s inspection.

The dog leapt over into the back.

“Humph. Well, it looked like a tick. I didn’t want it attaching itself to my skin.”

Suppressing a smile, Clarisse pulled the dog onto her lap and put a soothing hand on his back. She really shouldn’t laugh, but Vivian had looked so comical. And as hard as she tried, she couldn’t find it within herself to sympathize with the woman. After this morning, she felt only contempt toward her.

The dog’s quaking subsided and Clarisse resumed with the haircut. After almost an hour, she put the scissors down and eyed the animal critically. Not bad. He didn’t seem to have any ticks or fleas, and most of the dirt had been removed with the clippings. She pulled a brush from her purse—later she’d get a new one for herself—and stroked the short curls.

Once done, she put the dog down on the seat beside her. He settled in a tight ball. He probably hadn’t had many opportunities to relax out in the elements.

The animal soon surrendered to a well-deserved nap, but after a half-hour, he started circling the seat. When the animal didn’t subside, Clarisse decided it might be a good idea to stop. The last thing she needed was an accident in the vehicle’s spotless upholstery. She would never hear the end of it from Vivian, or for that matter, John.

“Can you stop off at the next exit, John?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think the dog needs to go to the bathroom. It’s been over a couple hours. He’s held out pretty good.”

“You mean we’re going to stop every two hours for a dog?” Vivian’s voice rose in horror. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“No, I’m not,” Clarisse returned patiently, though she wanted to say something equally snide and obnoxious. “I’m just thankful he seems housetrained.”

“This is ridiculous! I told you this would be a mistake, John, but no, you had to listen to Clarisse. The dog’s dictating when we stop and go. It’s an animal—not some human!”

John shrugged. “It’s done. Complaining about it isn’t going to change the situation.”

“We can dump it on the side of the road, for one.”

Clarisse bristled. “It figures you would say something like that!”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Take it however you want!”

“No! I want to know what you meant by that.”

Too long she’d kept silent. But no more. Enough was enough. “Fine! It’s something a person would say when they only care about themselves. But of course, it’s the least I would expect from a woman that gets unraveled when she sees a little bug on her.”

“Why you…you—” Vivian spluttered.

“Okay that’s enough!” John broke in with a mixture of amusement and disgust. “Stop it. The both of you! This heat is getting to all of us. But acting like a couple of adolescents will only make matters worse.”

“You’re right,” Clarisse admitted, though grudgingly. She was acting childish.

“That’s fine coming from you! Mister cool, calm and collected. Nothing fazes Mister stone man.”

“Shut up Vivian, or I swear I’ll be the one who drops you off on the side of the road.”

“Well, well.” Vivian picked a couple of choice words that would redden even a teenager’s ears and subsided.

For the rest of the day, no one spoke to each other unless it was necessary. But that didn’t mean Vivian didn’t use every opportunity to throw daggers at Clarisse. She closed her eyes against the redhead and tried to think of something pleasant, but she came up blank.

By the time they stopped off at the hotel, Clarisse nearly flew from the car even with the burden of the dog and her leg. It was such a relief to get out of the suffocating confines of the car and the tension Vivian stoked.

Hiding the animal under a sweater, she smuggled him into her room. She used her shampoo to wash the animal in the shower. Flat on her butt in the stall, drenched with water and suds, she heard a knock at her door.

“Come in. I’m in the bathroom.”

“Bathroom? Are you sure?” John peered around the door and laughed. “Looks like the dog’s giving you a bath instead of the other way around.”

“I’m afraid you’re right.”

His gaze raked over her figure, stilling where her white blouse, a transparent sheath caused from the water, clung to her breasts. Her chest tightened, and she pulled the dog self-consciously closer, shielding her from his eyes.

He blinked and seemed to mentally shake himself. “Just checking if you need anything at the store.”

Warmth rushed through her body at his thoughtfulness. “I need a collar and dog food and—oh, yes. A hair brush.”

She started to rise for her purse, but he waved her down with a hand. “You can pay me back later.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I mean it.” She turned serious. “For the dog, your patience. Everything.”

At his raised brow, she wanted to retract her last word. The way he was looking at her with that devilish gleam in his eyes, she suspected he was thinking what
everything
might entail. Unexpectedly, she remembered the feel of his mouth and tongue, the touch of his hand.

“Then I’ll see you later.” But he lingered, gazing across the short distance of the bathroom.

Seeing him relaxed and confident, the day’s tension eased from his large body, reminded her of how it used to be, the good times, the simple times. One incident came vividly to mind—washing her car in the driveway during August with the sun warm on their backs. They were almost done, when she accidentally sprayed John with the hose. At least thinking back, she thought it had started out as an accident. She remembered how the cool water flowed down his neck and how the damp shirt hugged the hard indentations of his stomach.

She had liked the sight so much that she squeezed the nozzle and doused him from head to foot.

He spluttered, blinking away the cool liquid. A roguish grin flashed across his features and a mercenary light in his eyes had her protesting.

She giggled nervously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it!”

Dripping water, he advanced on her. Squealing in fright, Clarisse scrambled around the side of the car. But she didn’t get far. Catching her around the waist, he hauled her off the ground and grabbed the nozzle from her.

“Please! Please! I’ll never do it again.”

“Too late.” He smirked, then took aim and sprayed. A torrent of water cascaded down her gapping shirt. But he didn’t stop at her shirt. He pulled her waistband and sprayed into her pants.

“Why of all the—” She spat out water and struggled in the circle of his arms. Slick and slippery as a seal, she slithered free, then caught sight of the bucket of water and suds.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he laughed, his hands catching the back of her drenched t-shirt.

But he was too late. Her hands found a washcloth. Twisting around, she flung the cloth against his neck, up past his ear and into his hair. He spit out suds and his foot slipped. Stumbling, he slid down the side of the car with her still in his arms. The bucket sat by his elbow. Dipping into the water with one hand, he came away with suds and plastered her with foam.

Her shirt rode up her stomach, her skin sliding against his torso. The water’s slickness, the soap and his heated skin silenced her laughter. Her hands once mischievous turned sensual, while his laughing eyes darkened to roughened stone. They kissed, suds and all. The car sat forgotten—so caught up were they in each other. John picked her up and carried into the house, slamming the door behind them with the heel of his foot.

Fully clothed, he carried her into the shower. The next hour had been such a delicious experience. Slick skin and hungry mouths, grasping and teasing hands. He had led her to a place so close to heaven that remembering it left her breathless with yearning.

Now, she looked across the small distance between them. Physically he hadn’t changed other than deeper lines bracketing his mouth and fanning out from his eyes. He still had what it took to throw her stomach into a mass of churning need.

Something flickered in his eyes, and it made her wonder if he was remembering the same thing.

“It was good between us, wasn’t it?”

Her answer seemed important to him. “Yes. Yes it was.” The dog squirmed in her grasp. She blinked, then sighed. “Vivian’s probably wondering what’s taking you so long.”

The softness left his face, and he nodded curtly. “You’re right.”

“Can you just hold onto the dog food and everything till morning?” She wasn’t up to seeing him two times in one evening, and she still had some lunch scraps for the dog. “I’ll probably be asleep by the time you come back.”

“Sure.”

He disappeared. With the faint sound of the door closing, Clarisse breathed a little easier. But alone now, she was left to battle the images of the past.

She turned her attention back to the dog and dried his hair to a black silvery sheen. She ran her fingers through the locks and thought of John’s hair. It seemed, no matter how hard she tried he always crept into her consciousness.

Those four months together had been one of the happiest times of her life. She gave herself a self-deprecating smile and shook her head. For one evening, couldn’t she forget the man? She did have some free will. At least, she would like to think so.

She released the dog from the towels and rose awkwardly to her feet. The animal raced around the bed, through the chairs and between her legs. Maybe this four-legged creature would do the trick of keeping John from her mind.

She changed into a nightgown, then slipped under the covers. After a moment, the dog jumped up and snuggled into the curve of her stomach. Absently playing with his fur, she decided she better find a name for him.