The Long Road Home (21 page)

Her hands tightened at her sides. “I’m really not interested.” He clasped her elbow and rubbed his thumb against the sensitive skin of her inner arm. “What’s one dance? You haven’t been on the floor all evening.”

Clarisse shrugged off his grasp, and wanted to jerk his head up by the scruff of his neck so he’d stop staring at her breasts. It was obvious class wasn’t in his vocabulary. “You don’t get the hint, do you? I want to be left alone.”

“No, you don’t,” the man insisted.

John appeared at her side, wedging himself between the blond and Clarisse. He stood large, powerful and threatening by the slighter man. “Are you having a problem, Clarisse?”

“No. He’s just leaving.” Her eyebrow arched. “Isn’t that right?”

“Hey.” The blond raised his hands defensively. “I’m going. I get the hint.”

She watched him disappear. “Thanks.” The word stuck in her throat.

John shrugged nonchalantly. When he did not immediately leave, for an insane minute she thought he might ask her to dance.

“I think I’ve had enough for one evening,” Clarisse muttered, too tired and frazzled to care how he construed her words.

“I’ll drive you home.”

Her body recoiled in protest. “My parents—”

“Will be fine on their own.”

His voice, deep and husky, slithered down her spine. She sensed the suppressed anger simmering beneath the surface. He hadn’t cooled down, Clarisse realized with dread.

“I want some answers. And you’re not going to run away this time, Clarisse.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

She could ignore John, tell him to go to hell or flat-out refuse to go anywhere with him, but deep down she knew she owed him some type of explanation.

“What about Vivian?” she stalled.

“Don’t worry about Vivian. I’ve already talked to her. She’s taking a taxi.”

His scowl did nothing to soothe her already shredded composure. “I-I just need to get my purse and say my good-byes.”

As she followed him from the reception hall, a cool breeze scented with rose caressed her face and seeped through her gown. Shivering, she hugged herself, more from uneasiness than any chill. A full moon filtered through a layer of gossamer clouds, and the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore carried across the wind.

While John guided the vehicle through the streets, she peered out the window but focused on nothing. Uncomfortable at the lengthening silence, she shifted in her seat and tried to swallow her rising apprehension. She needed to calm down. John wasn’t about to turn into some psychopath. Everything would be over in a matter of minutes and she would be safely back at Laura’s.

John drove into a subdivision not far from her sister’s home. Houses in the middle of construction lined the empty street like cold, dry skeletons. He killed the engine and twisted around, swallowing the limited space between them. Suddenly claustrophobic, she fought the temptation to inch away. He was too big, too male, and too damn close.

“Why?”

The one word confused her. “Wh-why?”

“Damn it! Don’t start acting dumb!” His eyes glittered in the dark. “Why didn’t you tell me about the accident?”

Spine rigid, Clarisse glared. He didn’t have to act so scornful. “I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Because of your leg?”

“Yes.” The emotional pain of the plane crash and the weeks following flooded her. “You were always into how I looked, picking clothes that set off my figure and face. You never looked beyond my appearance. I was like some trophy you could parade around.”

He reeled back. “That’s a lie!”

“I don’t think so.” Her chin rose. “Just look at Vivian.”

“Forget Vivian.”

“How can I? She typifies what you look for in a female—physical perfection.”

“She has nothing to do with what happened three years ago.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe the low opinion you have of me. If you think I’m like that, then you never knew me.”

Her hands balled into fists, and bitterness burned the back of her throat. “How can you say I didn’t know you wh-when we—”

“We slept together?” he cut in. “But I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about you not having enough guts to trust me.”

“You first have to earn a person’s trust,” she accused. “Vivian—”

“Vivian has nothing to do with this. We’re talking about
you
trusting me.” He sighed. “And from what I see, that will never happen.”

She struggled for words, but they died in her throat. Maybe it did come down to trust. The idea of baring her heart, her hopes, her fears scared the life out of her. Suddenly claustrophobic, she pulled at the strap digging into her chest, then unbuckled her seat belt.

“What’s the point?” he bit out, sounding tired and discouraged. He turned away and gripped the wheel with both hands.

She blinked back tears.

Switching on the ignition, he shifted into reverse. The Explorer jerked back and hit something hard, tossing Clarisse off her seat. Hands flailing, she clutched John’s shoulder for support, throwing him off balance and against his door. The wheel slipped from his hands, and the car lurched sideways, jumping the curb. She grabbed the dashboard as her head hit the roof. The underbelly of the vehicle scrapped against cement. Tires spun wildly, kicking up dirt.

“Damn it!”

“Are we stuck?” Clarisse righted herself.

He trod on the gas pedal. The car lurched a foot then halted. “Yes.”

“Oh, hell.” Clarisse bit her lip. She should have known not to get in a car with him. Every time it led to disaster.

He opened the window and peered out. “Looks like we’re in a ditch. Let me switch to four-wheel-drive. That should do something.”

He pressed a button on the console and tried again. The Explorer trembled, and the wheels sped vainly. Suddenly, the car leaped forward and bounced onto the road.

“What a relief!” Clarisse gripped the side of the door with vise like fingers.

“Isn’t it?”

Her lips thinned at his sarcastic tone. She knew he wanted her gone, but he didn’t have to be so vocal about it!

Finally, he pulled up in front of Laura’s house. Unable to tolerate another minute in John’s company, she opened the door, nearly falling in her haste to get out of the vehicle. Not looking back, she slammed the door. Head bent, rummaging in her purse for the key, she limped up the walkway to the front entrance. She fumbled with the lock and bit back an oath when the key fell from her trembling fingers.

“This is not happening,” she muttered, crouching awkwardly to the ground, hampered by her leg and cumbersome gown. She blinked away tears of frustration. This was ludicrous. She couldn’t see a blasted thing with the porch light off. Her fingers swept across the cement, then stilled on the doormat. Strange. She didn’t remember Laura having a mat.

“What’s wrong?” he growled.

She bristled. “Nothing’s wrong!” Rising swiftly, she slammed her head into his chin with such force his teeth snapped shut.

“Ow!”

She cringed. “Sorry.”

He rubbed his chin. “Forget it.” He closed his eyes as if to gain control. “What’s the problem?”

“I can’t find my key,” she confessed.

“Use the doorbell. Your parents must be home by now.”

Her hands balled into fists. “I don’t want to wake them up.”

He sighed impatiently. “Well, without a key, you have no choice.”

He stabbed the doorbell with a thumb. No answer. A minute later, he hit it again. Still no answer. “They’ve got to be home,” he muttered, clearly frustrated as he pounded on the door. A dog started barking down the street.

On the second floor, a window opened. “Who’s there?”

Frowning, Clarisse peered up at the window, but the screen and darkness shielded the woman from view. “Mom, it’s me. Open up.”

Silence, then, “You better leave or I’m going to call the police.”

Clarisse stared at John in confusion. He shrugged and shook his head.

“That’s it! I’m calling the police.”

Backing away, Clarisse eyed the window in alarm. That couldn’t possibly be her mother. This lady’s voice was deeper, scratchier.

“This is ridiculous.” John glanced up at the window. “It’s us, Mrs. Madison. John and Clarisse.”

Clarisse looked around. All the houses in her sister’s new subdivision looked the same, yet she should have noticed the subtle differences in the yard before. This place had two newly planted trees just like Laura’s, but there were potted pansies by the door and what looked like irises along the walkway.

“We’ve got the wrong house,” Clarisse groaned in dismay.

“I’m getting my gun.” This time, a man yelled from the window, which sent them running from the yard.

With the Explorer’s doors safely closed, they sped down the street.

Clarisse had had enough. “Can you get me home?” She closed her eyes against the pain ripping through her knee. “And in one piece?”

“I want to. Believe me. The sooner the better.”

Her jaw tightened at his derogatory tone. “The feeling’s mutual.”

John braked sharply in front of Laura’s house. They had missed her sister’s place by a street. Clarisse jumped out of the car, jarring her bad leg in her haste. Gasping, she flung the door shut, only to have her dress catch. Jerking the fabric, she managed to tear it free.

She hurried to the front door, remembering too late that she no longer had her key. It was still at the other house. It didn’t matter. She hammered on the door. When Toto barked from somewhere inside, she couldn’t remember being so happy to hear such a sound.

Glenda opened the door, and Clarisse stumbled in, almost colliding with her mother. Not looking back, she shut the door and leaned on the knob for support. With the realization that John was out of her life, her anger dissolved, leaving her raw with despair.

“What’s wrong?” Glenda eyes widened in alarm.

Sudden tears blurred her vision. “Nothing.” She bent down and patted Toto.

“Don’t tell me that.” She pulled Clarisse beneath the hall light. “Your hair’s a mess.” Glenda’s voice rose in horror. “And your dress is torn. You look like you’ve been in a fight. Who did this to you?”

“No one.” She met her mother’s anxious face and sighed. “Oh, all right. John’s car got stuck in a ditch and we ended up at the wrong—Forget it. It’s too strange a story to explain.”

Glenda’s lips thinned. “If John hurt you—”

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

Closing her eyes, she now knew where Laura inherited her pig-headedness. “He found out.”

“Oh.”

Opening her eyes and seeing the distress in her mother’s face made her feel even worse. Clarisse could not stop the tears from overflowing and trickling down her cheeks.

Her mother hugged her fiercely. “If you had told him the truth from the very beginning, this would never have happened. We all warned you.” Glenda groaned. “That didn’t come out like I wanted. I didn’t mean to make it sound like we told you so.”

Clarisse nodded again. What could she say? She couldn’t argue with the truth. Pulling away from her mother, she smiled sadly. “I’ll be all right.”

“Why don’t you call him when he cools down? It must have been a tremendous shock to him.”

“It’s much too late for that. He’ll never forgive me for keeping silent. Especially when he learned the truth from his girlfriend, Vivian.”

“I’m sorry.” Glenda bit her lip. “But I don’t understand how he heard about the crash from—”

“Somehow Vivian found out.” Clarisse shrugged, surprised at her lack of emotion. Anger, despair no longer existed. Only a numbness bound her. If only it would last. “I think I’ll go to bed now.” Clarisse wiped the last of her tears away. “Everything will look better in the morning.”

“Maybe a good night’s sleep will help.” Glenda squeezed her hand briefly.

But in the morning, nothing had changed. And as to a good night’s sleep, she didn’t have one, and because of John, she suspected she wouldn’t for some time.

Her mother’s words from the night before came to mind. “Why don’t you call him when he cools down? It must have been a tremendous shock...” She shivered. A sliver of hope seeped through the mantle of depression suffocating her.

All morning she stared at the telephone, wishing for it to ring and wondering if it would. It did, several times, but to her disappointment the callers were never John.

Her mother said finally, “Give him a call. It can’t hurt.”

Clarisse shrugged but considered it. And considered it seriously as the day continued. By evening, she developed enough nerve to pick up the telephone. Thank goodness Laura had mentioned the hotel’s name in passing.

“Is John McDonnell there?”

“One moment please.”

Tensely, she waited.

“He checked out earlier today.”

Her heart plummeted. “Thanks,” she mumbled, managing to place the receiver in its cradle before walking blindly away. She crawled into the nearest chair, trying to tell herself it didn’t matter.