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He wanted to believe Tim was right. But Tim hadn't seen her face when she called their marriage a travesty. No. She didn't love him. She wanted to be free. "I'm not going to beg."

Tim stared at him for a long moment. "There's a difference between fighting for something you believe in and begging. I thought you knew that."

"Why fight to save something that never existed?"

"I saw the way she looked at you, Nick. The way you looked at her. The two of you had more going than a simple marriage of convenience. And if your pride wasn't hurt so badly, you'd admit it." Tim gave him a cunning look. "I never thought you were a quitter. I can't believe you're giving her up without a fight. Believe me, if Claire was my wife, I wouldn't give up unless she married someone else." Tim laughed, the sound self-deprecating. "And maybe not even then."

"Well, I'm not you."

Tim stood. His voice hardened. "How well I know that." He picked up the papers he'd brought into the office. "So you want me to draw up the divorce documents?"

"Yes." Why didn't Tim just leave him alone?

"Nick, I've given this a lot of thought, and I decided that if you were determined on this course of action, you'd have to get yourself another lawyer."

Nick's jaw tightened.
"You're
my lawyer."

Tim took a deep breath. His dark eyes glittered as they met Nick's squarely. "In all fairness to you, I can't represent you on this. There would be a conflict of interest."

"Explain yourself."

"I'm interested in Claire, even if you aren't. If it's really over between the two of you, I'd like to see her." Tim's chin lifted. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Why should I mind? She's nothing to me. She never was." He pretended an interest in the report he'd been reading before Tim came into his office. "If you don't want to handle the divorce, fine. I'll ask Angelo to take care of it."

After Tim left, Nick abandoned the report. He walked over to the window and stared unseeingly at the bleak day.

Bleak. Gray. Cold.

He rubbed his temples. Bitterness welled into his throat. Once again his personal life was a dismal failure. What the hell was wrong with him that he continued to set himself up for a fall? He'd always prided himself on his good sense, his ability to see a situation, assess it, and make good decisions. And once more, he'd walked headlong into disaster.

Well, he had finally learned his lesson. Never again.

The words mocked him. Too late, they said. The damage has already been done. You did it again. You allowed your emotions to become involved. And, bingo, you lost your edge.

How had it happened? When had it happened? He had thought he was so smart. He had picked a woman with his brains, offered her money and security, and then he had married her. He had scoffed at her questions about love when he'd first proposed, told her he'd give her something better.

He was a fool. He had married a woman who believed in love, but by forcing her to give him only what he thought he wanted, he had killed any chance he'd had that she could love him. The laugh was definitely on him.

He had fallen in love with his wife but too late. Now he had to pay the price. Now he would have to stand by and watch her fall in love with someone else.

Punching his right fist into the palm of his left hand, Nick fought the tightness in his chest and the hot tide of misery that threatened to engulf him.

Then he turned away from the window, grabbed his briefcase, and charged out of the office, down the short hallway to the reception area.

Wanda looked up, obviously startled, hands poised over her keyboard. Her dark eyebrows arched up.

"I'm leaving for the day," Nick said. Before she could answer, he stalked off.

* * *

For the first month after she left Nick, Claire avoided the Buffalo Children's Home. Then one day she realized she was depriving herself unnecessarily. Nick never visited the home except on the weekends. He worked too late most weekdays. So she was perfectly safe stopping there on her way home from work.

The following Tuesday she did just that and spent an hour and a half visiting with the children she'd come to love so much. They all wanted to know where she'd been.

"I started a new job, so I've been very busy," she explained, keeping her voice light.

"I missed you a lot," Brigitte said. "I even called the house one day, but whoever answered the phone said you weren't there."

A dull pain throbbed in Claire's breast. "Honey, I'm sorry. It was thoughtless of me not to come sooner."

Brigitte, who was too sharp to be fooled easily, said, "Nick hasn't been around much lately, either."

At the mention of Nick's name, Claire's heart bumped painfully against her chest wall. She was on the verge of fabricating another excuse but something in Brigitte's eyes stopped her. Claire couldn't lie to her. Brigitte deserved the truth. "Nick and I are separated, Brigitte. And . . . well . . . things have been . . . difficult."

Brigitte's blue eyes widened, and an expression of dismay distorted her pretty face. "Oh, no! Why?"

Claire sighed. "We made a mistake, that's all."

"A mistake! But, Claire—"

"Sometimes adults do stupid things, honey. Then they have to try to correct the problems they created."

"I ... I can't believe it . . ." Without warning, Brigitte's eyes filled with tears.

Claire's throat constricted at the obvious pain the teenager was feeling. Impulsively, she drew the slender girl into her arms. Her own eyes filled. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry we let you down." Now the destruction of the child's illusions was one more thing Claire had to feel guilty about.

"I ... I thought . . ." Brigitte pulled away, and their eyes met. The girl swallowed. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"What, honey?" Claire gently wiped the tear away.

Brigitte's bottom lip trembled. She turned away, blinking furiously. "Oh, nothing. It . . . it's stupid. I'm stupid."

Claire touched her arm, and Brigitte bowed her head. Now the tears came freely. Claire put her arms around the girl and hugged her. She couldn't hold back her own tears. "It's okay," she soothed, rubbing Brigitte's back. "But I wish you'd tell me what you're thinking."

"Oh, it's so dumb," was the muffled reply. "I . . . I thought ... I used to dream about you and Nick. I . . . oh, I know you would never have been my parents, but . . ." Her voice trailed off, and Claire tightened her arms. Dear God. How cruel they'd been. Unknowingly, perhaps, but still cruel.

Before she left the home that day, she asked the receptionist if she could talk with Mr. or Mrs. Civic. Ten minutes later, Gerri Civic, an attractive fortyish woman with a sweet smile, walked into the reception area.

"Hello, Mrs. Callahan. This is a nice surprise. We've missed seeing you! The children have asked about you many times."

Keep piling on the guilt, Claire thought.

"What can I do for you?"

"Can we go into your office?" Claire suggested.

"Certainly."

When the two were settled into Gerri Civic's small office, Claire said, "Mrs. Civic, would it be possible for Brigitte to have a weekend pass? I'd like to have her come and spend the weekend with me."

"Well . . . it's unusual to grant a pass for a visit to anyone other than family, but in your case ... I don't see why not." Gerri Civic smiled. "After all, you and Mr. Callahan are our greatest benefactors."

/
should tell her Nick and I are no longer living together. It's not fair to let her think
. . . "Thank you. I appreciate it. Would it be all right if I pick her up about five-thirty on Friday?" Claire stood, extending her hand.

"Perfectly all right." The director stood, too, and the two women shook hands.

* * *

"Where's Brigitte?" Nick asked Lisa after the first exuberant greetings were over. He shouldn't have stayed away so long.

Lisa's expressive dark eyes widened. "She's at your house!"

"My house!"

"Yeah. Claire came and got her last night. She's spending the weekend with you. Did you forget?" Lisa grinned impishly.

Nick's head whirled. Claire came and picked up Brigitte? For the weekend? What was going on? "I haven't talked to Claire," he improvised.

He wanted to leave right then. Was something wrong? But he didn't want to alarm the children, so he visited with them for a couple of hours. When the visit was over he headed straight for Paul Civic's office.

"Nick! Good to see you!" Civic said, standing immediately when Nick entered his office. "We haven't seen much of you lately."

"Why did Claire take Brigitte for the weekend?" Nick said without preamble. "Who gave her permission?"

Civic's face paled. "Why . . . uh, Gerri did. Is . . . is something wrong?" He frowned. "Your . . . your wife picked her up. I saw her myself. I thought you—"

"You thought wrong. My wife and I are separated. We're in the middle of divorce proceedings."

"But surely there's no harm in Brigitte spending the weekend with Mrs . . . uh . . . Callahan ..."

"Let's hope not," Nick said. He knew he was acting irrationally, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Were Claire and what he had lost going to haunt him forever? Would he run into her and memories of their marriage at every turn? Worse, would she unknowingly build Brigitte's hopes, the way she'd built his, then let her down?

He had to put a stop to this. Now.

* * *

Claire's aunt and uncle had gone to visit old friends in New Braunfels for the weekend, leaving the house to Claire and Brigitte. Saturday was such a beautiful day—sunny and mild for early February—that she and Brigitte had decided to spend most of it outdoors. After cooking breakfast, they put on jeans and sneakers and sweatshirts, and Claire drove to the zoo, where they spent hours walking and talking and looking at the animals.

Claire enjoyed the fresh air and the change of scenery. For the first time in weeks, she felt almost happy. Maybe there
could
be a life without Nick, she thought. Of course, she wouldn't always have the comfort of the bright teenager's company. She quickly dismissed the depressing thought. Take one day at a time. Remember your philosophy.

"Do you miss your mother, Claire?" Brigitte asked as they walked along.

"Very much." It didn't hurt quite so much to talk about Kitty as it had when she had first died.

"I miss my mother, too." Brigitte shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and watched two grizzly bears roll around on the sun-warmed rocks. She smiled, and Claire looked at her perfect profile. The child was so beautiful. Beautiful enough and graceful enough to be a model. Maybe Claire should mention Brigitte to Peachey.

"Do you want to tell me about your mother?" Claire asked.

Brigitte turned toward her. She nodded.

"Let's go get something to drink and find a place to sit down," Claire suggested.

Over Diet Cokes they talked.

"My mother died when I was eight. But I still remember her. She was really nice. We didn't have much money. She . . . she used to draw paper dolls for me." Brigitte grinned. "The other kids in the neighborhood were jealous.

"After she died, things changed. I guess my dad tried, but he didn't know how to take care of me and my brother. He started drinking a lot." Sadness flitted across Brigitte's face.

"What happened?"

"When I was ten and my brother Sean was fifteen, my dad was killed in a barroom fight." She said it with no emotion, and Claire's heart twisted. "Sean and me didn't have any money, and we didn't have anyone to help us."

"No family?" A lock of hair fell across Brigitte's forehead, and Claire wanted to brush it back, wanted to caress the girl's cheek, wanted to tell her everything would be okay.

"No. My mother had a sister—our aunt Kathleen— but she went off to California or some place, and we didn't have any idea how to get in touch with her." Brigitte looked at Claire, her blue eyes clear. "Dad always said Aunt Kathleen was a hooker."

Shock barreled through Claire. Not that Brigitte might have an aunt who was a prostitute, but that the child was so matter-of-fact about it. She'd said
hooker
like she might have said
teacher.

"Anyway, Sean started dealing coke to make money, but then I guess he got hooked on it, and before long the neighbors called the child welfare people, and they came and Sean was sent to a rehab center, and I came to live at the home."

"And you've been there ever since?"

Brigitte nodded glumly. "I guess Sean's out now, 'cause he's eighteen. I kept thinkin' maybe he'd come and get me, or maybe someone nice would adopt me." Once more her clear, blue eyes met Claire's. "Then, when I met you, after you and Nick got married, I started to dream about what it would be like to have somebody like the two of you for a mother and father." Claire reached across the iron table and clasped Brigitte's hands in hers. She wished she could think of something to say. But everything had already been said.

* * *

Claire felt tired. A good feeling, she decided. Instead of the weariness that had permeated her bones for weeks, she felt honest-to-goodness physically tired.

She looked at Brigitte sitting in the passenger seat of the Mercedes. She smiled. The teenager was so lovable. It hurt Claire to know how many children had been abandoned, either emotionally or physically. If only she could do something about this one. Claire knew it was impossible for one person to solve all the problems in the world, but if each person solved just one . . . She reached across and squeezed Brigitte’s hand.

"What do you want to do tonight, honey? Go out to eat? Get a pizza and rent a couple of movies?" Claire's aunt and uncle had a VCR, and Claire had been indulging herself for weeks.

"I . . .I'd love to go out to eat," Brigitte confessed shyly.

She probably didn't get to eat out often, Claire thought. Why didn't I think to take her or the other kids out before? "All right. Why don't you pick the place?" She turned onto the street where her aunt and uncle lived.