No Knight Needed (4 page)

Instead of answering, Griffin stopped the truck and jerked his chin at the windshield.

She turned and saw her daughter’s face. Worried, scared and pinched with cold. Tears sprang in Clare’s eyes, and her composure fragmented with the relief of seeing her daughter. “Katie!” She shoved open the door and nearly fell out of the truck as Katie ran up.

“Mom!” Her darling daughter, who suddenly seemed so much younger than fifteen, threw herself into Clare’s arms. As Clare wrapped herself around the trembling body of the most precious thing in the world to her, she looked over her daughter’s shoulder and saw Griffin watching them with a wistful expression, longing etched so deeply in his face that she wanted to reach out and sweep him into their hug.

Her heart ached for him, for this powerful, strong man who had taken on the storm and commanded a happy ending. His eyes were dark, his damp hair tousled, his broad shoulders nearly taking up the whole front seat. He was so masculine, a man who wanted no comfort, and yet that’s all she wanted to give him. There was a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, but she sensed a deep sadness from him as well.

Clare wanted to hold out her hand to him, to offer him the kind touch she sensed he craved, but then his gaze met hers, and the vulnerability vanished from his eyes. He nodded, a satisfied gleam in his eyes of a job well done.

And it was. She smiled at him and mouthed her thank you. He flashed a real smile and winked, a special look only for her that made her belly tighten.

Then he turned away and stepped out of the truck to help the other teenagers, who were scrambling for their gear.

As she hugged her daughter and watched Griffin make his way toward the kids, getting them organized with a few commands of encouragement and reassurance, she knew she owed him a debt she would never, ever be able to repay.

No matter who he turned out to be.

* * *

Wright & Son was as busy as always on a Sunday morning.

Normally, Clare loved walking into the local general store and seeing half the town streaming through its doors to get a morning coffee, or gathering around the wooden tables for a gossip session over breakfast and fishing poles. She loved the scent of coffee, freshly-baked muffins and hot chocolate, and she usually enjoyed the rowdy discussions that almost overwhelmed the store. But on this particular morning, after last night’s stressful escapade in the mountains, she suspected her head was going to explode from the noise the moment she stepped inside.

All she wanted was to sit on her own back porch with coffee and silence, so she could figure out how to deal with the terror of last night, the unexpectedness of Griffin, and her daughter’s illicit camping adventure. But people were expecting her, so there would be no quiet Sunday morning for her.

Balancing her stack of pastry boxes, Clare pushed open the door with her shoulder, and a five-year-old boy with a shock of red hair ducked under her arm and sprinted out onto the porch. “Sampson!” The top box on her stack started to slide, and she yelped, trying to catch it.

“Got it, sweetie!” Ophelia Wright, the wife of the current proprietor, swept up the wayward box. Her short gray hair was tucked neatly behind her ears, and the necklace of the day was blue and yellow sea glass with driftwood bits mixed in. “We’ve been getting requests for your cupcakes all morning. Glad you finally got here.”

“Morning, Ophelia,” Clare said to Ophelia’s retreating back as the old but very solid woman carted the box of Clare’s homemade cupcakes back toward the deli. The cupcakes were supposed to be located in the bakery section, but Ophelia always took some for her deli and forced them upon whoever she thought needed one, free of charge, of course.

The fact that Clare got no money for those cupcakes? Not a concern. Ophelia figured that the town’s estate planning attorney could afford a few freebie cupcakes to those in need.

Sadly, Ophelia was not quite as right as Clare wished.

“Clare!” Beckoning from one of the tables by the front window was Clare’s best friend and office mate, Astrid Monroe. Astrid had moved to Birch Crossing only three years ago, but their connection had been instant, filling both their lives with a beautiful friendship so strong that Clare felt like she’d know Astrid forever. Her brown hair was cascading in all directions, held at bay only by a colorful scarf twisted artistically through her curls.

Ah…relief was on its way. Clare grinned, her whole body relaxing at the sight of her friend. There was nothing like coffee with the girls to keep her head from actually spinning off. “I’ll be over in a sec.” Nodding greetings at assorted patrons, Clare worked her way through the crowd to the front register.

Sitting on his high stool, his ancient black ball cap on his head, was Norm Wright, the second generation of Wright men to anchor Wright & Son. Norm was leaning back against the wall, arms folded across his chest as he observed the chaos. A few strands of gray hair peeked out from beneath his cap, and his two-day beard was as white as the snow-tipped mountains in January. Despite being in his early seventies, Norm was still as sturdy and low key as she remembered from her childhood.

“Good morning, Norm.” Clare set the boxes on the counter, happy to see the man who had been an icon in the town her whole life. Even though he plunked himself in the middle of chaos by running Wright & Son, Norm had a relaxed, unhurried way about him that always eased her stresses and made her smile. “How are you doing?”

“Always good.” He gave his standard answer, his pale gray eyes focusing on hers with alert interest. “Katie okay after last night?”

Clare stifled a sigh. Of course Norm had already heard about the crisis in the mountains. Knowing Norm, he probably also knew she hadn’t sat down with Katie to talk about it yet. Last night had been about comforting each other, and Katie had still been sleeping this morning when Clare had left the house. Dinner would be interesting tonight. “Yes, she’s fine.”

Norm nodded once. “Listen to what she has to say.”

Clare smiled. “You mean, after I ground her for the rest of her life?”

“No. Before.” Norm’s gaze was unwavering. “She’s a good kid.”

“I know.” Clare warmed as she thought of Katie. She never would have made it through the last fifteen years without her daughter, even if Katie did make her crazy sometimes. “I brought an assortment of cupcakes today. A few extra, since you keep selling out, but remember—”

“If they don’t sell out, I have to toss ‘em at the end of the day,” Norm finished with a wink. “Clare, the world won’t end if someone eats a day-old dessert.”

“I won’t have anyone thinking that I make dried-out cupcakes.” Clare’s stomach rumbled. Coffee and food could be delayed no longer. She leaned over the counter and kissed his cheek, laughing at the way he still turned red when she did it. “I’ll see you later, Norm.”

He winked at her, and she waved her farewell as she headed over to the deli. The refrigerated glass cases looked like they were the same ones that had housed salads, sandwiches and deli meats for the last fifty years, and the pine counters were dented and worn, but as always, completely immaculate. Above the grill was a painting of Wright’s the first year it opened, and the old white building looked exactly as it had ninety-two years ago.

Her plaid sleeves rolled up to the elbow and flour covering her faded pink apron, Ophelia already had coffee, scrambled eggs and a blueberry muffin on the counter for Clare. “Here you go, Clare.”

“Blueberry today?” Ophelia’s muffins were the best in the state. She claimed her special ingredients were the milk from the Daniels’ farm and the local berries she froze for use all year long. Whatever it was, they were legendary and Clare was delighted to see that Ophelia had saved one for her. “Thanks, O!”

Ophelia blew her a kiss. “Anytime, sweetie— Wait a sec.” Ophelia plucked a cupcake from Clare’s box and set it on the plate. “Here.”

Clare laughed. “I have a dozen at home. I’m all set.” She tried to hand it back.

“Doesn’t change the fact you need one today. I can see it in your eyes.” Ophelia waved her off and turned away to deal with a local carpenter who was attempting to order an omelet without ham, much to Ophelia’s disgust. According to Ophelia, the man was too peaked to forego some good, solid protein, and she was going to make sure he got it. Clare had been dismissed.

Resigning herself to the pink and white dessert on her antiqued wooden tray, Clare hurried across the deli, avoiding friendly chit-chatters and diving into the seat across from Astrid. “The store is bedlam today.”

“I know.” Astrid’s dark brown eyes were gleaming. “The energy of this place always fires me up. I’m ready to go to work!”

Clare laughed, already buoyed by Astrid’s energetic presence. “It’s Sunday, Astrid. Take the day off.” Astrid designed and created nature-inspired jewelry, and she sold it both locally and on the Internet. Her friend was truly gifted and adored what she did. Her signature was an “A,” beautifully designed in the shape of an orchid blossom, though she had never explained the significance of the orchid to Clare. The peacefulness on Astrid’s face while she worked always made Clare a little envious. There was nothing like looking up from an hour of bleary-eyed document-reading to see Astrid’s eyes gleaming with delight as she wove another magical pattern out of her jewels and wire.

“Never! If I don’t spin a few pairs of earrings, I’ll lose my mind.” Astrid lowered her voice and leaned forward, her eyes dancing. “So, tell me about the guy. Is he as hot as I’ve heard, and more importantly, is sex finally going to become a part of your life again?”

For a split second, the only word Clare could think of in response to Astrid’s question was a resounding
yes,
the kind of yes that started deep down in her soul and reverberated through every inch of her body, a yearning so powerful it tore at her heart and made her belly pulse with need.

Her mind flashed back to the previous night. The torrential rain, the anguish and helplessness she’d felt when she’d encountered the tree blocking her path, and the relief that had poured into her when Griffin had climbed out of his enormous black truck and strode across the drenched road.

The moment she’d seen him, she’d known everything was going to be okay. She wasn’t one for fantasies and knight-in-shining-armor yearnings, but last night, she’d been desperately out of answers, and he had carried himself with the aura of a man who always got it right.

And he had. This total stranger, this man from nowhere, had delivered everything she’d needed. For the first time in fifteen years, she hadn’t needed to figure out the solutions on her own and make it happen. It had been the most incredible relief to surrender everything to him.

“Clare!” Astrid waved her sparkly pink manicure in front of Clare’s face. “You here? Tell me about the guy.”

Yanked back to the present, Clare ducked her head and peeled the top off her coffee cup. “What guy?” she managed to ask, struggling to regain her composure.

“The one who helped you rescue Katie and her friends.” Astrid gave her an impatient look. “I heard about it from Richie, who heard it from Jenn, when he called her this morning to talk about the fundraiser for the new rec center, who’d heard it from her nephew who was with Katie last night.”

Clare inhaled the rich aroma of her coffee. The Columbian brew was mixed with vanilla today, always her favorite. Ophelia knew she loved her coffee that way, but that didn’t mean the woman was always willing to make it for her. Clare was glad today had been one of the days Ophelia had taken pity on her. “His name’s Griffin Friesé.”

“A very manly name.” Astrid’s eyes gleamed. “And who is he? What’s his scoop?”

Clare shrugged and broke off a piece of muffin. “I have no idea.” Excitement was strumming through her. “He has strong hands, though.” She could still remember when he’d grasped her to help her over the tree, the way his hands had supported her, reaching nearly all the way around her waist. He’d lifted her as if she’d weighed nothing, and tossing her over the massive tree had been no strain at all.

He’d been all man, and it had been a very long time since there had been a man in her life, even for a fleeting moment.

“You should see your face!” Astrid grinned. “Girl, you look dreamy. I’ve never seen you look dreamy in your whole life, except the day you came running into my house and told me you’d met this cute boy named Ed Gray.”

Clare’s excitement faded. “Yeah, well, look how well that turned out—”

“It did turn out! Ed was your moment of true romance and love. He opened your heart, he gave you a daughter, and he made you smile.” Astrid shrugged. “Sure, he died, but that doesn’t change that you were so happy when you came home and said that your heart had taken flight.”

Yes, well, maybe not quite all happy in the end. Clare sighed and spun the coffee cup in her hands. Ed was a good reminder not to get involved…but she still couldn’t stop thinking about Griffin. The moment in the truck, when she’d been consumed by the scent of leather, man and—

“Wow.” Astrid leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful look on her face. “You’ve got that expression again. You look a thousand years younger than you have in ages.”

“A thousand years, huh? That’s quite a statement.” But Clare did feel a little perkier than usual, she had to admit. She’d been a little bit giddy dreaming of heroic rescuers in muddy boots last night.

Fanciful moments while sleeping were one thing, but real life was another matter entirely. Clare picked up her fork and took a bite of her eggs, trying not to get caught up in Astrid’s excitement. She had things to do. A daughter to raise. A business to run. Bills to pay. “I don’t have time for dreamy. I have no idea who Griffin is, and I’m sure I’ll never see him again—”

“Oh, I know who he is.” Eppie Orlowe, the oldest and dearest friend of Clare’s mom, pulled up a chair beside them. Like everyone else in the store, she was wearing jeans and hiking boots, but her head was adorned with a hot pink straw hat with artificial sunflowers and a tiny stuffed turtle. “Griffin Friesé is the Slipper King.”