The Bakery Sisters (19 page)

She leaned in and pointed her finger at his chest. “Stop putting the blame on me. Accept your share of the responsibility and stop thinking the worst about me. I'm a good person, dammit, and you know that. I've been nothing but sweet to your daughter and you know that, too. Now get out of here.”

For a second she thought he wasn't going to move. She waited for the verbal explosion to follow, but Wyatt simply muttered something under his breath and walked out of the house.

Claire stared after him until the door slammed, then she sank onto the small chair in the foyer. She felt as if she'd had a run-in with the energy vampire and he'd just about sucked the life out of her.

Her heart pounded in a way that should have made her worry about panicking, but she didn't. She'd handled Wyatt, she could handle a stupid panic attack, too. She was done being afraid or judged based on half-truths and stories. She was going to stand up and be counted on her own merit. Just as soon as she had the strength.

Nicole clumped in from the kitchen. “Impressive,” she said. “You really took him on.”

“He annoyed me.”

“I got that. So did he. Men can be such idiots. I hate to put Wyatt in that category, but I sort of have to. Are you okay?”

Claire drew in a breath, then stood. “I'm fine. He's not going to get me down. I'm stronger than he knows.”

“Apparently. You're practically self-actualized. Soon you'll be living on a higher plane.”

Claire grimaced. “I can't wait.”

 

R
ATHER THAN GO INTO WORK
and snap at people who hadn't done anything wrong, Wyatt went home to cool down.

He stood in his study and wondered what was wrong with him. He was the guy who thought first and then reacted. He made it a rule never to say anything stupid enough to require an apology. He kept his life simple, his relationships straightforward. When it came to women, no one got close, no one got involved with his daughter and no one got to him.

Except Claire.

She pushed buttons he didn't know he had. She made him crazy without even trying, which meant he didn't want to be around when she decided to deliberately push him over the edge.

He crossed to the cabinet against the far wall, opened it, stared at the liquor there, then reminded himself it was barely after nine in the morning. A little early to start, even on a bad day.

He slammed the door shut and walked to his desk. Instead of sitting in the chair, he stared down at the surface, as if the answers were there. The hell of it was, he didn't even know the question.

Did he really think Claire had been the one to bring up the cochlear implant with Amy? She was right—what did she care how Amy heard her music. The child already loved her playing. Claire had faults, but being a raging egomaniac wasn't one of them. He'd trusted her with Amy but he wasn't willing to trust her to be a decent person?

He'd been mad at her since they'd had sex, he reminded himself. Since finding out she was a virgin. So what about that got to him?

He ran through a dozen or so reasons. That not telling the truth was like lying, that he didn't want the responsibility, that it was all too strange. But he knew he was bullshitting himself. The real reason was that Claire was unpredictable. She had been from the first second he'd seen her and nothing about that changed.

He didn't like unpredictability, especially in women. If he didn't know what was going to happen, then he couldn't stay in control.

Was that what this was all about? Being in control?

Asking the question made him uncomfortable, which meant he was probably close to the truth.

His past had a lot to do with his need to be in control. He couldn't risk caring and making another Shanna-like mistake. No male in his family had ever had a successful relationship. Why should he be any different?

None of which was Claire's fault. He seemed to be on a roll, screwing up at every turn. He was going to have to do something to make that better.

W
HEN
A
MY FLEW
into the house that afternoon, Claire knew there was a good chance that Wyatt wasn't far behind. While she was annoyed with him, there was a still a part of her that wanted to see him. Which was just plain stupid. True, but stupid.

Amy hugged her and signed, “How was your day?”

“Good. How was school?”

“I got an A on my spelling test.”

“Yay, you!”

Amy went tearing into the living room to greet Nicole. Wyatt walked into the kitchen.

He was big and tall and handsome enough to make her breath catch. All part of his appeal, she reminded herself. She knew nothing about having a type, but she would guess he was hers.

She leaned against the counter, determined to make him speak first.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

Did she want to have another conversation with him? The last couple had been awful. And yet she found herself nodding.

They went downstairs, into the studio. Claire settled on the bench in front of the piano while Wyatt pulled up one of the stools in the corner.

She waited.

“It's possible I've been an ass,” he began.

Despite her lingering hurt and annoyance, and maybe because of her powerful attraction to him, she smiled. “When are you going to decide?”

“Really soon.”

“Let me know when you do.”

He looked at her. “You're not like anyone I've ever known. I like my women easy. You're not easy.”

She wasn't even sure she knew what easy meant in that context, but knowing she wasn't made her happy.

“You push all my buttons,” he continued. “The hell of it is, I don't know how to fix that. I like things predictable and you're not that, either.”

Safe, she thought. He wanted relationships safe and meaningless. Did that mean he cared about her? He sure put a lot of energy into being mad at her.

“I would never get between you and Amy,” she told him.

“I know. I'm sorry. It's what you said before. I don't want to lose control. I don't want her to grow up and away and that's what's going to happen.”

She didn't totally understand his pain—after all she didn't have a child of her own. But she could imagine it would be uncomfortable.

“Amy loves you,” she said, rising to her feet and crossing to him. “You're everything to her.”

“For now. In a few years, some kid is going to show up and try to steal her heart.”

“That won't change how much she loves you.”

“Maybe not.” He looked her in the eye. “I don't want you getting close. It's one of the rules. I tried to be clear about that, but after we were together, I figured out you didn't play by any rules.”

Meaning she was too innocent to have rules or she just didn't bother? She wasn't sure and…She frowned. “Wait a minute. It's not up to me if I get close to you or not. You control that.”

“I know.”

There was something in the way he said those two little words. Something dark and sexy that made her toes tingle and her blood heat.

“I'm getting to you.” She wasn't asking a question. For the first time in her life, she felt sexually powerful.

“More than you know.”

Electricity snapped between them.

She didn't know what to do. Rush toward him and risk it all? Run in the opposite direction?

One corner of his mouth turned up. “Don't sweat it, Claire. It doesn't have to mean anything.”

But it meant something to her. Then the floor overhead creaked and she remembered they weren't alone and could be interrupted at any moment.

“A safer topic might be better,” she told him.

“How about that piano you're sitting next to? Did you practice on it when you were little?”

“Until I went away.” She opened the cover and pressed her fingers lightly against the keys. “It's been unused for so long, it's hard to keep tuned. The strings keep wanting to go back into their old position. But we'll get it right.”

“Hard to make magic with an instrument that isn't in tune.”

She stiffened in surprise. “I don't make magic.”

“What would you call it?”

“I don't know. Everything used to be so clear to me. My life was mapped out for me, one concert season at a time. I was always busy. Practicing, traveling, recording. Now I'm not doing anything.”

“Which is better?”

“Neither,” she said without thinking, then realized it wasn't true. “I miss playing.”

He seemed to squirm in his chair.

“What?” she asked.

“Knee-jerk guy reaction. See problem, fix problem. I want to say, ‘so play,' but I know it's not that easy for you.”

“The panic attacks,” she murmured. “I haven't had one since that first morning I worked at the bakery. I came close when I played at Amy's school. I know I'm better, at least in my regular life, but could I perform again? I don't know.”

“You need to, Claire. It's what you were born to do. It's your passion.”

Maybe, but she wouldn't mind something else being her passion, too. A man, children, a family.

“I miss playing, but I want more in my life this time.”

“So make that happen. Aren't you in charge?”

“Not according to my manager.”

“Get a new one.”

As easy as that, she thought, knowing if it were him, he probably would. “I've been with Lisa since I was twelve years old. That's more than half my life.”

“It's business,” he told her. “You had to sneak away to get time off to help out Nicole. You've given away all your power. Do you want to keep doing that?”

The easy response would be to get mad at him, but he was only telling the truth. She let Lisa run her life because it was easier than doing it herself.

“I've never stood up for what I wanted,” she said slowly. “I can't tell you why. Maybe fear or inertia.” She gave a harsh laugh. “I've always prided myself on not being a diva. I never made demands. I didn't need certain foods or special flowers in my dressing room. But I let Lisa handle the most important decisions—the ones about my time and my talent. I'm twenty-eight years old. Shouldn't I be more grown-up than that?” She sighed. “Be careful how you answer. I'm feeling vulnerable.”

“You are grown-up. You've been lazy until now. That's all. Decide to do things differently.”

If only, she thought. “You make it sound easy.”

“Why does it have to be hard? Decide and then follow through. Or go back to things the way they were.”

“No. I won't do that.”

“Then you're halfway there.”

She smiled. “You're coming across as very sensitive and understanding. You probably don't want that being spread around.”

“No way.”

“So I can hold something over you.”

“You like having power, don't you?” His voice was teasing as he spoke.

“Who doesn't? Power is good.”

“In the right hands,” he told her.

She had the feeling they switched topics, but she wasn't totally sure. She did know that the electricity was back and it was taking every ounce of her self-control not to stand up and walk into his arms.

She wanted to feel him holding her, have his mouth on hers. She wanted him to kiss her as if he couldn't help himself.

Before she could stand and make her fantasy reality, she heard footsteps on the stairs. Amy clattered into the studio and crossed to the piano.

“Please play for me,” she said.

Claire laughed and pulled her up onto the bench. “How could I refuse? You're my favorite audience.”

Wyatt watched his daughter snuggle close to Claire, then close her eyes as she rested one hand on top of the piano.

Did she hear anything at all or did she just feel the music?

The beautiful sound filled the studio, vibrating through him. How was it possible for Claire to create that with only her fingers and her memory? Why had she been singled out for her gift? What combination of genes or DNA or God had picked her?

Did it matter? She simply was. Talented, feisty, irresistible. Dangerous. He knew better than to get involved, yet he felt himself being drawn in closer and closer. Did he want to get out while the getting was still relatively easy?

Instead of answering that, he turned his attention to Amy. His beautiful daughter. While he ached at the thought of any part of her being destroyed, he knew he couldn't deny her what she asked for. The compromise lay in doing only one ear, leaving the other available for future technology. Now she wanted to hear Claire play the piano. In time she would want to hear more of the world. A friend's laughter. A man's voice. A baby's cry.

It wasn't when or what he would have chosen, but he couldn't say she was wrong to want that. Like Claire's music, his daughter was a miracle.

 

“Y
OU'RE RESTLESS
,” Nicole said after dinner. “Do I want to know what's wrong?”

“I need to play,” Claire told her. She'd been feeling the urge since her conversation with Wyatt.

No, that wasn't true. She'd been feeling it for a while now. She'd finally admitted it to herself after her talk with Wyatt.

Nicole looked confused. “I thought you were playing before. You had the studio door propped open. I heard you.”

“I mean in public. I have to play for other people.” She held up her hand. “This isn't about my ego. I don't need an audience to feel special about myself.”

“I wasn't going to say anything.”

“You were scrunchy. You had scrunchy face.”

“I don't even want to know what that is,” Nicole grumbled. “And hey, I'm sensitive, too. I get it. You need to play in public to figure out if you've conquered the panic thing. If you haven't, you're totally screwed.” She paused. “I don't mean that in a bad way.”

“Of course not.” Claire sighed. “You're right, though. I have to fix this stupid panic thing. So I need to play in front of strangers. A lot of strangers.”

“What's the plan? You could set up shop on a street corner. You might even earn some extra cash in tips.”

Claire ignored that. “I was thinking of a bar. It's contained, anonymous. Do you know any around here that have pianos or like a talent show or something?”

Nicole picked up one of her crutches and pointed it at Claire. “You are so not going to play in a bar.”

“Why not?”

“You're not the bar type.”

“I'm not looking for a second career. I just want to practice being in public. So are you going to help me find a good place or do I have to do it by myself.”

Nicole set down the crutch. “Fine,” she grumbled. “I'll give you a couple of names. Are you going by yourself?”

“I'll be okay. I'm going to order a glass of white wine, ease over to the piano and start playing. What's the worst that will happen?”

“I don't want to imagine it. When are you going?”

“Tonight. Right now.”

 

N
ICOLE WAITED
until she heard Claire's car backing out of the driveway, then picked up the phone.

“There is a serious problem,” she said when Wyatt answered. “You won't believe what Claire's going to do tonight.”

She told him, then interrupted his string of swearing by saying, “I know exactly what you mean. Bring Amy over. She can spend the night here. Then you can go and check on Claire. Don't be obvious about it. Just hang out in the back and make sure she's all right. I'm sure she'll be fine—”

“Did she ever tell you about Spike?” he asked, interrupting her.

“Spike who?”

“Some guy at my construction site. Convicted felon, still on parole, tattoos, married. He asked her out and she nearly said yes.”

Nicole's vague unease shifted to elephant-size worry. “Hurry.”

“I'll be right there.”

 

T
HE
G
REENWAY
T
AVERN
was better lit than she'd expected, relatively clean and kind of crowded. Claire made her way to the bar, settled on an empty stool and waited for the bartender to make his way to her.

She had no idea if the place was typical or not. There were a couple of pool tables, several televisions showing a baseball game with the sound down, and music playing through speakers in the ceiling. A lone piano stood covered in the far corner of the room.