The Place I Belong (22 page)

“What is it?” Adam asked.

“I’ve cooled off now that we’ve stopped exercising,” she lied.

He eased her over onto the rug and surged to his feet in an eye-catching display of flexing muscles under bare skin. With a few quick motions, he shifted the food first to one side of the tablecloth, folded it, and shifted the food back to the bare table. Whipping the cream-colored brocade off the table, he spread it over her where she lay curled on the floor. He lay down beside her and slid under the tablecloth, pulling her back up against
his fron
t.

He wrapped his right arm around her waist, tucking his hand under her hip. The front of his thighs fit against the back of hers like a warm, living puzzle. His breathing feathered through her hair, and his left arm pillowed her neck.

As she drifted down into slumber, the images of the last few days floated randomly through her mind.

All desire to sleep fled as one scene rose with shocking vividness. Matt stood in Satchmo’s stall, his hands thrust in his jeans pockets, his voice raw with pain, as he said, “He’s trying to find someone from my mother’s family to adopt me.”

She couldn’t put it off any longer. She needed to know
the trut
h.

Chapter 17

H
ANNAH WAS WIDE
awake now, and she tried to keep her voice casual. “Matt said the strangest thing to me last night.”

“Strange how?” Adam’s voice held the rumble of drowsiness.

“He told me you were looking for a family member to a
dopt him
.”

He didn’t tighten his grip on her or flinch. He went completely still. Even his breath no longer ruffled her hair. “Where did he get that idea?” he asked after what seemed like a long silence.

“From you, he said.” She waited for the categorical denial.

“I never told him that.”

Not as categorical as she had hoped. “I was surprised because you were so upset about being refused a part in his life.”

“I’m upset, but I have no right to feel that way.” The arm he had flung around her waist tensed.

“Emotions have nothing to do with rights. But why would Matt think that?”

There was a moment’s hesitation. “Matt’s mother Maggie was repudiated by her parents when they found out she was pregnant and had no intention of marrying the father. So Matt never met any of the McNallys. I’ve located some of his relatives in Boston, a cousin and her husband. I’m going to fly up to meet them next week, as long as Satchmo remains stable.”

“You told him that?”

“He must have overheard something.”

Ward had used that same careful tone when he suspected a conversation wasn’t going his way. Trying to pin him down had always resulted in a fight. She didn’t know Adam well enough to push him. “If the McNallys shunned Matt’s mother back then, why are they interested in him now?”

“They didn’t know he existed until I contacted them.”
His voice was surer now. “They didn’t even know Maggie
had died
.”

A horrifying thought struck her. “What happened to Matt when his mother died? Was he all alone?”

“Fortunately, no. Maggie’s neighbor babysat Matt when he was younger, so she took him in. Maggie understood how precarious it was being a single parent, so she made sure the neighbor knew to contact me if something happened to her.” He had to stop to clear the gruffness from his voice. Clearly, he didn’t like to think about what might have happened to Matt either. “They reached me within twenty-four hours.”

“That’s a relief. I’d hate to think of him…” She couldn’t finish the sentence as the image of a grief-stricken Matt left without someone to comfort him clogged her throat with tears.

He pulled her closer to him. “I know. I went to pick him up that day.” Huffing out a laugh without any humor, he said, “Although I think he would have preferred to stay with the neighbor.”

“Maybe at that moment, but not in the long run.” She ran her hand along his arm where it encircled her waist. “You feel it’s important he know these cousins, so think how much more important it is to know his father.”

That made him shift. “With some fathers, it’s better not to know them.”

“Why do you think you’re not capable of being Matt’s father? All I’ve seen from you is concern and caring and commitment.”

His sigh blew strands of her hair across her face. “None of that changes what I am.” He sat up, pulling her with him. Smoothing her hair back to expose her neck, he laid a trail of kisses down to her shoulder. “Let’s finish the caviar.”

The brush of his warm lips sent pure delight tingling through
her. It was easier to let him change the subject than to keep beating
against the implacably dark image he had of himself. Where she saw
a man of profound kindness and extraordinary awareness, he saw
an alco
holic who was unworthy of love. An ugly little gremlin of
doubt crept into her mind. Could Adam’s grim vision of himself l
ead hi
m to give up his son in a misguided burst of altruism? His
cautiously phrased answers to her question pointed in that direction.

Shoving the uncomfortable thoughts out of her mind, she tried to wrap herself in the circular tablecloth only to find it wouldn’t stay tucked in. “May I borrow your shirt?” she asked.

His smile went sinful as he scooped the shirt off the chair. “If that’s
all
you wear.”

“Deal.”

He held up the dark garment for her to slide her arms into while the tablecloth crumpled down around her ankles. The shirt’s fine fabric whispered over her skin and she caught the scent of spice that she associated with him. The sleeves fell down to her fingertips, so she rolled them back.

Adam pulled on his trousers, leaving the belt unbuckled so they rode low on his hips. He seized the tablecloth and snapped it wide open, letting it drift to the carpet right by the hearth. “We’ll picnic in front of the fire to keep you warm,” he said, moving plates, glasses, and the champagne bottle to the cloth.

“I’ll handle caviar transport,” Hannah said, carefully balancing the dish on its tray as she walked to the fireplace.

Once the food had been shifted to the warmer location, Adam sat cross-legged and covered each diamond of toast with perfectly piled mounds of caviar and laid them on the serving tray. With his back to the fire, the tips of his hair and the arcs of his shoulders were outlined in gold, but his face was in shadow. Only his eyes caught a glint of the candle flames still burning around the table.

He looked like the kind of seducer the devil sent to persuade you to sell your soul. Hannah shook her head to rid herself of that unfair idea. Ward was the one who had sold his soul. Adam still battled to reclaim his.

She raised her champagne glass in a toast. “Here’s to second chances.”

“Amen,” he said, touching her glass with his. Was she thinking about her problems in Chicago or his problems in Sanctuary? He needed third, fourth, and fifth chances.

Hannah stared into the fire, twisting the stem of her champagne glass between her fingers. The light shimmered along the flyaway strands of her flaxen hair and gilded her creamy skin. Giving her the black shirt had been a mistake. It covered too much of her beautiful body and looked like a dark shadow
casting a pall over her glow. Or maybe that was cast by his
h
alf-tru
ths.

He slid down onto his side and picked up a toast point, shoving it in his mouth and chewing without really tasting the precious caviar.

How had Matt found out about his quest for an adoptive family? Shame had driven Adam to keep it a secret from everyone except the private investigator. Matt must have discovered something about the Boston cousin and drawn his own conclusions. A razor blade of guilt sliced through him as he thought of how his son must feel.

Adam had called Ellen O’Brien from the restaurant that afternoon. The image of Matt with his fingers buried in Trace’s fur had forced his hand. Despite his resistance, Matt was growing attached to his new life. The pony. The dog. Hannah. Maybe even his father.

The razor blade expanded to a machete hacking at Adam’s chest as he imagined sending his son away. It would be kinder to both of them to make the break quickly.

He must have uttered some sound because Hannah’s gaze swung around to him. Her soft, warm eyes scanned his face, searching for whatever needed healing. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He could spill his guts about yearning to be Matt’s father but knowing he was the worst possible candidate for the job. She might understand the terrible choice he was forced to make. Or she might gather up her clothes and stalk out of his life in disgust. “I was just thinking I don’t like black on you.”

She glanced down at his shirt. “But it’s a classic.”

“All right. I don’t like clothes on you.”

“Ditto on you.” She smiled and picked up the last caviar-loaded toast point, holding it out to him. “Someone should eat this before we get distracted again.”

As he reached out for it, she pulled her hand back. “Open your mouth,” she said, using her other hand to flick the top button of her shirt out of its hole. She leaned toward him so the fabric gapped open to display the curves and shadows of her breasts.

He took the bite of toast and nearly swallowed it whole in his haste to yank the shirt up over her head.

“Hey, you’re supposed to savor expensive food,” she said, as he pushed her backwards to sprawl onto the carpet. “You told
me that
.”

He knelt above her and skimmed his hands down over her breasts, along the indent of her waist, and around the out-swell of her hips before he buried his fingers in the liquid heat between her thighs, making her eyelids close and her pelvis arch up against his palm on a gasp.

“I’m going to savor something so much better than food.”

Chapter 18

T
HE SIGHT OF
Tim Arbuckle’s enormous, green SUV in the parking lot behind the veterinary clinic sent both relief and trepidation through Hannah as she pulled in first thing Monday morning. Handling the entire practice in his absence had been tougher than she expected, and she
looked forward to discussing Satchmo’s case with her more
ex
perienced boss
.

However, she also needed to tell him about Mrs. Shanks. And possibly offer her resignation.

Her knuckles went white as she gripped the steering wheel.

The cell phone chimed with an arriving text message, and she scooped it up from the center console of her car, relaxing as she saw Adam’s name. He’d declined to make a late-night visit yesterday because she had to work today. She swiped the t
ext open.

I got another shipment of caviar this morning.

Heat spread through her body. She leaned her cheek against the cold glass of the car window, trying to cool the flush warming her face and her breasts.

All it took was one text message to make her want to roar up the mountain to Adam’s house, ripping her clothes off as she went. The glimpses she’d had of Adam’s demons should have sent her screaming in the opposite direction, but instead she let herself be drawn closer and closer to him.

Looking back down at the phone, she tapped her reply on the screen:
Chocolate works just as well and it’s cheaper.

She turned off the car and grabbed her bag, opening it to shove the keys and the phone in when the chime sounded again. She looked at the new message.
I’m famous for my chocolate cake with caviar ganache. Would you like to taste it tonight?

“Oh, my goodness,” she said, as yearning coiled in her
b
elly.
Yes
.

She waited a couple of seconds for his response to arrive.
I’ll be there at 10:00.

The day stretched before her like an eternity.

“Welcome back,” Hannah said, sticking her head into Tim’s office. “Did you have a great trip?”

Her boss sat at his desk, dressed in his customary work outfit of polo shirt and khakis, staring at the long list of emails on his computer screen. A slow smile spread across his face as he swiveled his chair around toward her. Hannah understood why Tim’s wife, Claire, had fallen for that smile.

“Come on in and have a seat,” he said. “The trip was great but it’s good to be home. Looks like you’ve been busy here.” He gestured toward the computer. “I feel guilty about leaving you with all this, but you did a fine job of handling it. Couldn’t have done better myself.”

The compliment warmed her as she dropped into the chair in front of his desk. “Thanks. It kept me out of trouble.” She felt the glow fade as she took a breath. “There are two issues I want to discuss with you.”

Tim leaned back in his chair, making it creak. He was a giant of a man who moved through the world with a deliberateness that concealed a laser-sharp mind. His solid presence was both comforting and slightly intimidating. “Sounds serious.”

She led with the simpler of her two concerns.

“There’s a pony named Satchmo at Healing Springs Stable who’s been ailing since he arrived there. The test results were inconclusive, but I started treating him for EPM. Friday night he took a turn for the worse, and I nearly lost him.” She flipped her ponytail back behind her shoulder. “I’d like you to take a look at him and see if you agree with my diagnosis.”

Tim nodded. “I read through your notes and the test results in the database. Sounds like you got him through the crisis just fine, but I’ll pay him a visit later today.”

She twisted a button on her lab coat. “Satch is important to a kid who doesn’t need any more death in his life right now.”

“Which kid is that?”

“Adam Bosch’s son.”

“I didn’t know Matt was a rider,” Tim said.

“He’s learning.” She twirled the button in the other direction. “Have you heard Sharon Sydenstricker talk about whisper horses?”

Tim’s smile was both luminous and private. “You could
say tha
t.”

“You seem to know something about them,” Hannah
prodded
.

He pushed a hank of auburn hair off his forehead. “Claire has a whisper horse named Willow.”

“So you believe in Sharon’s theory?”

His smile hovered. “Well, Willow was a member of our wedding party.”

“This is a story I want to hear.”

“Ask Claire about it. She’s the true believer,” Tim said. “Does Sharon think Satchmo is Matt’s whisper horse?”

Hannah nodded. “Even more important, Matt thinks so. I guess you’re aware of his history.”

“The kid’s had a rough time of it, and so has his father.” Tim’s expression turned serious. “We’ll make sure the pony
gets better
.”

She wanted to ask him to expand on his comment about Adam, but she couldn’t come up with any work-related reason to do so. “Great,” she said and fell silent.

“You wanted to discuss something else?” Tim prompted.

Hannah laced her fingers together in her lap. “I think I lost you a client last week.”

“You know as well as I do that we can’t save all our patients,” he said.

“The patient didn’t die. His owner refused to let me treat him because of what happened in Chicago. She took her cat to another vet.”

“That’s her prerogative, but she won’t find a better vet t
han you
.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence.” She looked away as she fought to control her surging emotions. The array of diplomas hung on his wall caught her eye. His credentials were impeccable, while hers were sullied. “I don’t want to damage your practice.”

“I can afford to lose a client or two,” he said with what appeared to be genuine unconcern.

“What if you lose more than that? Mrs. Shanks announced it to the entire waiting room. It’s a small town. Word will spread.” Hannah gave him a direct look. “I should resign.”

Tim leaned forward, his big hands gripping the arms of his chair. He seemed to swell with the anger she could see in his eyes. “Bertha Shanks isn’t worth wasting another thought on. You are an outstanding veterinarian who uses a brilliantly
intuitive approach in treating your patients. Anyone who takes their business elsewhere is doing a disservice to their
animal.”

Hannah rocked back in her chair. “I…I’m glad you feel that way. Thank you, but—”

He held up his hand to stop her. “No resigning.”

“All right.” A wave of relief rolled through her. She didn’t want to leave Sanctuary.

He lowered his hand. “It’s for my own benefit. Claire is headed for Croatia in about six weeks, and I don’t want to miss the trip. It would be tough to replace you on such short notice.”

He gave her a wink, and she managed a weak smile. “It’s good to know you’re only thinking of your own self-interest.” Her tone was dry.

He nodded and swiveled his chair back to the computer.
“Let’s see when we can work in a visit to Satchmo. Looks like we can sneak over at lunchtime if you don’t mind eating in
the truc
k.”

“I’ll get Estelle to order us a couple of sandwiches.”

“Make it more than a couple for me,” he said.

At four thirty, Hannah pulled into her driveway. As she gathered up her handbag and go-cup, she felt a sense of buoyancy. After Tim had examined Satchmo and listened to Sharon’s comments, he had turned to Hannah and said, “That was a difficult diagnosis. Well done.” But it was the look of genuine respect in his eyes that sent a thrill of pride through her.

She opened her car door and jumped out, saying, “Take that, Bertha Shanks!” before she slammed the door shut.

As she started across the winter-dull grass to reach her front door, she heard another car door open and close.

“Hannah!” a man’s voice called.

It was a voice that didn’t belong here. She whipped around in shock to see her ex-fiancé, resplendent in a navy blue suit and red power tie, strolling across the street from a shiny, black sedan. The sun turned his sandy hair into a gleaming halo, and for a terrible moment she felt her heart leap at the sight of him. She wanted to rip it out of her chest. “Ward? What are you d
oing he
re?”

Her lack of welcome didn’t stop her ex.

“It’s been a long time,” Ward said, crossing the lawn and leaning forward as though to kiss her.

She took a step back, making him sway into empty air. “You should have let me know you were coming. I don’t have
much time
.”

Although she would have preferred not to have Ward in her house, she didn’t want to make a scene outside. She stalked up the sidewalk, feeling his presence as he followed her. She dug her keys out of her bag and opened the front door. Instead of giving her dogs the sit-stay command, she let them jump all over her and Ward.

It depressed her to see how happily they greeted him, but
she couldn’t blame them. He’d wooed them with treats the
same way he’d wooed her. Once he’d won them over, he’d
reverted to an occasional pat on the head. Both she and the dogs had been grateful for getting even that. Satisfaction
bloomed inside her when she noted dog hairs speckling his pristine suit.

“They sure know how to make you feel welcome,” Ward said, trying to brush off some of the hair as the dogs’ excitement
subsided
.

“If they thought you were threatening me, they’d sink their teeth into your leg.”

“Man’s best friend,” he said, resorting to cliché as he always
did when he got caught in an unpleasant corner. “Nice place,”
he said, making a show of casting an admiring gaze around her
living
room with its mishmash of furniture.

“It’s a rental.” Hannah tossed her bag and keys on the foyer table before turning to Ward with her arms crossed over her chest. “Why are you here?”

He held his hands out at his side and gave her a cajoling smile. “Don’t I even rate a glass of water after traveling all the way from Chicago?”