The Bakery Sisters (11 page)

The studio was as it had always been, with the piano in the center of the room. She'd had it tuned, maybe because she'd known it would come to this.

The need to play swelled up inside of her. She'd managed to ignore the urge for a while, but playing for Amy had changed things. It was as if a wall had broken down and let everything spill out.

Life was messy, she thought, but music was calm and sure and beautiful.

She sat in front of the piano and lightly touched the keys. The sound was good. It would take a few more tunings to get it right, but she wasn't in a place where she could be picky.

She closed her eyes and let the need grow inside of her. She didn't have to ask what she wanted to play. That would come to her. She put her fingers on the keys and began.

 

W
YATT KNOCKED
on Nicole's back door and let himself in. He'd braced himself to deal with Claire, but instead found Nicole standing at the counter.

“Look at you,” he said. “You made it downstairs by yourself.”

“I know. I'm practically ready to run a marathon. How are you?”

“Good. I wanted to check on you.”

“I'm fine.”

She didn't look at him as she spoke, instead dumping the contents of what looked like her dinner into the sink. She put on the garbage disposal and ran water until the drain was clear.

“Not hungry?” he asked.

“I was. I just…” She sighed. “Claire and I had a fight. Nothing like family discord to blow my appetite. The last two years Jesse was in high school, I lost ten pounds using the little-known ‘I'm too sick to my stomach to eat because my personal life sucks' diet. If I wrote a how-to book about it, I could make millions.” She looked at him. “How does it go so wrong so fast? This wasn't what I wanted. I came downstairs specifically to have dinner with Claire so we could talk. Instead, we end up fighting. I don't get it.”

Wyatt was careful not to say anything. He loved Nicole like a sister, but she could be a handful. From what he'd seen, Claire was a lot more even tempered. Not that he would admit to that, even if tortured.

“She's been gone a long time. You're dealing with a lot,” he said instead. “Take things slow.”

“I guess.”

She turned to him, stepped into his arms and buried her head in his shoulder.

“Do you think I'm a good person?” she asked.

“Of course! Why?” He rubbed her back.

“It's possible I'm the biggest bitch on the planet.”

“No way.”

“You weren't here.”

“I didn't have to be. I know you. You're not a bitch. You're difficult and stubborn, but not mean.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You're welcome.

He put his arms around her and held her close. She closed her eyes. He paused, hoping to feel something…anything. A flicker. A spark. Even an ember would be welcome. There was nothing.

The fire only happened with Claire, he thought grimly. Just his luck.

“My life sucks,” she muttered as she pulled back and sank into the chair. “And I just made it worse.”

He took the seat across from hers. “I doubt that.”

“Stop defending me. I don't deserve it. I was mean to Claire.”

He didn't say anything. He'd learned a long time ago that when a woman wanted to talk, it was best to stay out of the way and listen.

“She made dinner,” Nicole continued. “She cooked a chicken. It was really good. We were getting along, but then she started talking about George Clooney. She's met him. She's met all kinds of stars and famous people and hearing about them really pissed me off. I hate that her life has been so great. She spends all her time going from city to city, playing the piano. Oooh, there's a tough job. She talked about the guys in the orchestra, how they like to party every night. Of course she claimed she didn't party. Her life was just so hard. I suppose fitting in that extra massage would be a real problem. And counting her money. That has to take days and days.”

Nicole stopped talking and looked at Wyatt. “You want to change your opinion about me now?”

“No. But I do want to know why she pushes all your buttons.”

Nicole hesitated. “It just makes me so angry. She got everything. She's the one our parents talked about all the time. They were so proud. She was the star and I was stuck home taking care of everything. I hate her.”

“No, you don't.”

Nicole narrowed her gaze. “I don't like it when you're reasonable. Have I mentioned that?”

“Once or twice. You don't hate your sister. You don't know her well enough to feel much of anything. You hate what happened to you because of her life and it's easier to say you hate her than blame your parents or circumstances.”

“Have you been watching
Oprah?
”

“You're saying a guy can't be insightful?”

“Pretty much.”

“I've known you a while now. It's a lot easier for me to see what's going on in your life than it is for you.”

“I guess, but I like it better when I'm the deep one in our relationship. I just…” She shrugged. “I feel guilty. I hate that I feel guilty. I know she's fine.” She looked at Wyatt. “Tell me she's fine.”

“Want me to go check on her?”

“Please. She's downstairs.”

“In the basement?”

“In the studio.”

Wyatt got up and headed for the basement stairs. He'd forgotten about the enclosed soundproof room built for Claire to practice. She'd gone away when she'd been six or seven, which meant it hadn't gotten a whole lot of use. As he stepped in the basement, he frowned as he realized Claire had been a couple of years younger than Amy was now when she'd gone off with her grandmother. She must have missed her family a lot.

Especially Nicole, he thought. They were twins.

He knew Nicole had a lot of issues and he didn't blame her for any of them. She'd had it tough, looking after Jesse, working in the bakery. She'd been the responsible one. But what had Claire been?

He opened the door to the studio and was immediately caught up in the beauty of the music. He didn't know anything about classical songs or concertos or whatever it was she was playing—only that the piece was incredibly rich and almost…sad.

The piano was situated such that Claire's back was to him. She swayed as she played, her long, blond hair moving with her, catching the light. She either hadn't heard the door or didn't care that he was there. He would guess the former.

She seemed to be almost in a trance of some kind. As if the music transformed her.

He backed out the way he'd come and returned to the kitchen.

Nicole looked at him. “How is she?”

“Fine. Playing the piano.” He walked to the refrigerator, pulled out a beer, then joined her at the table. “Why isn't she on tour? Isn't that what she does?”

“I don't know. I guess. Maybe she's on vacation.”

“Her time off just happened to be when you needed surgery?”

Nicole scowled. “Don't try to make me feel guilty about her being here.”

“I'm not.”

“You're saying she might have had plans, but she dropped them to be with me.”

“I don't know. That's why I asked.” He knew Jesse had called Claire and that she'd shown up the next day. Had it just been good timing or had she had to cancel events to be here?

“I would guess she probably books up weeks at a time. Is there a concert season?” Nicole asked. “A better time to hear Mozart?”

“You're asking the wrong person.”

“I know. It's just I hadn't thought of that. What you said. About her being here when she might have other stuff to do.” Nicole didn't sound happy about the fact.

“Does it change anything?”

“Maybe.” She paused. “I'm sure she's on vacation,” Nicole said firmly.

“If you say so.”

“You don't agree?”

“You're not going to get the answer you want regardless. Either she walked away from prior commitments to take care of you or she took her vacation time to come look after you. It's hard to make her the bad guy in this.”

“Give me time,” Nicole muttered. “I can work the problem. Besides, it's not as if I hate her. You were right about that.”

He took a drink of the beer.

“I don't hate her. I don't like her.” Nicole sighed. “Say something.”

“You're doing all the talking.”

“Have I mentioned how annoying you are?”

“More than once.”

“What do you think about her?” Nicole asked.

The question caught him off guard. Before he could stop himself, he remembered the last time he'd touched her. How deep the fire had burned. Then he pushed away anything close to an erotic image and shrugged. “I don't.”

Nicole stared at him. “You are so lying. You like her.”

He suddenly wanted to squirm in his seat. “I don't know her.”

Nicole's gaze narrowed. “You think she's hot. Oh, my God. You're attracted to her.”

“It's just chemical. It doesn't mean anything.”

“You want to sleep with her? That's so not fair. You don't want to sleep with me.”

“We've been over that material already.”

“But Claire is a pain in the ass, Wyatt. You can't like her more than me.” She covered her face with her hands. “I'm whining. How horrible is that?”

“You're allowed to feel what you feel.”

She dropped her hands. “Don't you dare be sensitive and understanding over this. Besides, she's my sister, which puts me in the weird position of telling you to back off.”

He looked at her over the beer bottle. “Because she matters to you?”

“No. Maybe. I don't know. Just don't do anything rash.”

“You have my word on that.”

He wasn't going to do anything at all. Wanting and doing were worlds apart and he had no plans to make an awkward situation any more difficult than it already was.

“C
OME IN
,” Amy signed before getting out of the car. “Come in.”

Claire hesitated, looking at the two-story house, then back at the girl next to her. She didn't mind going into the house or spending extra time with Amy. What made her hesitate was the big truck parked in the driveway. Wyatt was home and as much as Claire wanted to see him, the thought of seeing him made her feel oddly nervous. Still, she nodded and got out of the car.

They walked up the main path. The front door opened before they could knock and Amy flew toward her father. He caught her hard against him and laughed as he spun her in a circle.

“How's my best girl?” he asked, looking at her as he spoke so she could read his lips.

“Good,” Amy signed, then looked at her and spoke. “Claire's driving is getting better.”

Claire laughed. “Gee, thanks for the compliment. I've been practicing. The freeway still doesn't make me happy, but I can manage. And my GPS barely yells at me at all.”

“Come on in,” Wyatt said. He put down his daughter and held open the front door.

Claire walked into the house. She'd been here several times. There was no reason to be nervous. Yet her stomach kept clenching and her skin felt funny. Sort of tingly and tight.

Maybe all this was because she'd been looking over her to-do list and had thought Wyatt would be a great candidate for the “have sex” item.

She looked at him now, from under her lashes, appreciating the way his broad shoulders stretched his shirt. He was strong. What would it be like to have someone to lean on? Someone dependable who could handle anything? Not that his strength was any reason she would want to sleep with him. Or maybe it was. She certainly wasn't an expert.

Amy signed that she was going to her room, then disappeared down the hallway. Wyatt watched her go, then turned to Claire.

“I really appreciate you looking after her.”

“I'm happy to do it. She's a lot of fun and very patient with my signing.”

“She's happy you want to learn.”

Claire frowned. “Why wouldn't I? It's how she communicates.”

“A lot of people won't take the trouble.”

“Why?”

“I don't know.” He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and looked at her. “We never discussed me paying you for your time. We should.”

“I don't want to be paid,” she told him. “I don't want to talk about money.” When he didn't look convinced, she added, “We're family. Sort of.”

He nodded. “Almost related until Nicole heals enough to get a divorce lawyer. I can't believe how Drew screwed that up.”

She couldn't, either. Who did that kind of thing? She remembered her attack. “Is he okay? Is there still a puncture in his face?”

“Do you care?”

She considered the question. “Not really.”

Wyatt grinned. “Now you sound like your sister.”

“She's rubbing off on me.” Which might be a good thing, Claire thought. Nicole wouldn't have let Lisa push her around. Nicole would have told her exactly what she could do with her stupid, demanding schedule and then she would have walked.

“You're looking fierce about something,” Wyatt said. “What are you thinking about?”

“My manager. I'm wishing I was more like Nicole so I could tell her off.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“Sometimes. Right now I'm avoiding her calls. Not the best way to handle the situation.”

He led the way into the kitchen. The room was large and bright, like most of the others in the house. The cabinets looked relatively new. There were granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.

Impressive, she thought, remembering he knew how to cook. Talk about the perfect man. Except, if he was so perfect, why wasn't he married or at least with someone.
Was
he with someone?

“Want something to drink?” he asked.

“Anything diet.”

He looked at her. “Do I look like a guy who drinks diet?”

The tingles were back. “Not really.”

“Good. But I keep some around for Nicole.” He got a soda out of the refrigerator, collected a glass, filled it with ice and set it in front of her. “So why don't you tell her off yourself?”

“Lisa? I don't know. I never have. I should. It's different now. I'm not a kid anymore.” The problem was that she still
felt
like a kid. As if she had to ask for permission.

“Is she why you're not playing?” he asked.

She stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“You're not playing the piano,” he said. “Shouldn't you be? Isn't that what you do?”

Not anymore, she thought sadly, remembering the previous evening when she'd managed to lose herself in music. She'd played for hours, until she was trembling with exhaustion and soaked with sweat. She'd played and played, wanting the music to heal everything. Unfortunately the complications in her life were such that playing was only a distraction, albeit a satisfying one.

“I don't have any current tour dates,” she said. “It's close to summer. The season winds down during the late spring. Everything starts back up in the fall.”

Wyatt pulled a beer out of the refrigerator and took the chair across from hers. “You didn't cancel anything to look after Nicole?”

“No. Would it have been better if I had?”

“I don't know. We were talking about it last night. I dropped by to check on her.”

He'd been at the house? Claire fought a sense of loss for having missed the visit.

“I would have canceled dates to be here,” she said. “Not that Nicole would believe that.”

“She can be tough.”

“Is that what we're calling it?”

He smiled. “You're more alike than either of you realize.”

Because they were twins. There was a connection. At least there had been.

“How does it work?” he asked. “Do you just play out of New York? Are you with an orchestra? I don't know anything about what you do.”

It was a simple question that might have been brought on by casual interest. Nothing more. Yet she felt both flustered and pressured.

“I, um, usually book for individual nights. I can do a series in a city, as well. I've played with different orchestras in the past. For a season or part of a season. But I—” Her chest tightened and not because Wyatt was so good-looking. “I'm not playing anymore. I can't.”

“You're a little young to retire.”

“I haven't retired. I just…” She didn't want to tell him, didn't want him to be ashamed of her. Yet she couldn't seem to hold in the words. “I can't play. I have panic attacks.”

He looked at her as if he didn't understand the words.

“They started last year,” she said in a rush. “I was so tired. I wanted a break and I was looking forward to doing nothing for a few weeks. But Lisa wanted to book me on a special summer tour. I got upset and sort of faked a panic attack. She totally backed off. I know it was wrong. I know the mature thing to do was tell her the truth, right? I'm an adult. It's my life, but it's just not that easy.”

She grasped the glass in both hands and stared at the contents. It was better than looking at him.

“I faked a couple more attacks, just to get her off my back. But then one day an attack happened on its own and I couldn't control it. I guess I'd gotten so good at faking them that they became real. They got worse and worse and now they control me. I barely got through the final week of my schedule and I collapsed at my last performance.”

She ducked her head as shame rushed through her. She felt the heat on her cheeks. As much as she tried to forget what had happened, she relived the experience over and over again.

“I'm so ashamed. I don't know what to do. I've been to a therapist, who has tried to help. I know in my head that as long as I believe this is the only way I can get power, I can't get better. But I don't know how to change how I feel. And what if I can't play again? This is all I know. It's who I am. What will I be without that?”

Wyatt regretted bringing up the subject of her playing more than he could say. Now he was faced with an obviously upset Claire and he had no idea what to do or tell her. This was completely foreign to him—not just female and emotional, but nothing he'd ever experienced.

“Maybe, uh, if you saw, you know, someone else,” he mumbled. “Another therapist.”

“I guess I could try. I just don't know.”

She looked small and broken, which made him feel like crap. In typical guy-speak, he wanted to tell her to ignore the problem and it would eventually go away. But he knew that wouldn't help.

“I hate feeling helpless,” she said. “Weak.”

Weak he could handle, he thought with relief. He was strong and tough. He could protect her. He could offer to…

He put on the mental brakes and did a one-eighty. Protect her? Where had that come from? He didn't want to protect any female, except for Amy. And maybe Nicole because she was his friend. But not romantically. He didn't get involved—ever.

Sex was fine. He liked sex, looked forward to it. He understood it. But caring, feeling and anything else emotional? No way. He knew the disaster that could result. He came from a long line of men who totally screwed up when it came to women. Drew and his ex-wife were only the latest illustrations.

“To be honest,” Claire said, “Jesse's call came at a perfect time. Not that I wouldn't have come no matter what. I would have. But I'm kind of hiding out from my manager and Nicole's surgery gave me the perfect reason to disappear. Is that terrible?”

He thought about how she'd totally accepted his daughter, learning sign language and listening patiently as Amy slowly worked to speak clearly. He thought about how she'd kept showing up with Nicole, despite her sister's ill temper. He remembered her sitting at the piano, playing as if it was as important to her as breathing. How her gift and abilities had stunned him.

“It's not terrible,” he said. “Everyone needs a place to go when things get hard.”

“According to Nicole, they're not hard for me at all.”

“She doesn't know everything.”

“She thinks she does.”

“She's wrong,” he said, staring into her blue eyes. There was something there, a hint of sadness, but something else. Something he couldn't place. Interest? Passion?

Talk about projecting what he wanted to see.

Still, he found himself wanting to hold her. To put his arms around her and be the rock she needed for a while. Of course there was also a part of him that wanted to drag her close and kiss her until they were both breathless.

Claire smiled. “Thanks for listening. It helped.”

“Good. Want to stay for dinner?”

The invitation had come from nowhere. He was rewarded by a slow smile that heated his blood.

“I'd love to.”

 

N
ICOLE TOLD HERSELF
she wasn't actually watching the clock. What did she care if Claire was taking a long time to return Amy. It wasn't as if she was worried or even cared. Claire was nothing to her.

Still, as the clock in the great room ticked along, she found herself getting nervous and thinking about accidents and car jackings.

“You're being stupid,” she muttered to herself. “If something bad had happened, you would have heard by now.”

Just then, someone knocked on the front door.

Nicole pushed herself into a standing position and started toward the door. She wasn't moving very quickly and the person knocked again before she could get there.

“I'm coming,” she yelled, annoyance sliding over worry. “Hang on a sec.”

Expecting to see a uniformed police officer or sheriff, she could only stare at the well-dressed older woman standing in front of her.

“Who are you?” the other woman asked coldly.

“No one who is going to answer that question,” Nicole told her. “You must have the wrong house.”

“Is Claire Keyes here?”

Nicole hesitated a second before saying, “Not at the moment.”

“But this is where she disappeared to?” Her dark gaze moved over Nicole before dismissing her. Her red lips thinned. “You're the sister, I presume.”

Nicole felt no need to confirm or deny. “Who are you?”

“Lisa Whitney. I'm Claire's manager.”

With that, the other woman swept into the house. Nicole didn't think she'd healed enough to physically throw the other woman out, so she closed the door and followed her into the great room.

Lisa shrugged out of her tailored coat, revealing a slim body, quality clothing in neutral colors and a handbag with a designer label. Nicole's idea of high fashion was a cashmere blend twin set, so she didn't recognize the shoes, but would guess they cost as much as a decent used car. Lisa's short brown hair was expertly styled, her makeup suited her face and the gold earrings, watch and necklace were probably real and 18 karat. Nicole pretty much hated her on sight.