her, they’d never said a word about their parents’ deaths, or about the many changes in their lives since that awful night. She’d yet to see them display the grief they must be feeling.
Should she bring up painful topics? Wait until they did? She wanted nothing more than to help them in any way she could.
They spied a meadow, just beyond a line of pines standing like sentinels along the road, and moved quietly to its edge.
“This looks like a perfect place for fairies, doesn’t it?” Claire whispered.
Annie nodded, her eyes wide and solemn. “I bet they dance here at night.”
They stood in silence for a while. The earthy scents of cold, damp moss and fallen leaves reminded Claire of her college years away from home—of hayrides and fire-roasted hot dogs and homecoming games of the past. She wondered if the somber girls were even aware of their surroundings.
“You can talk to me about anything,” Claire said softly, giving their hands a gentle squeeze. “Are you feeling sad? Will it help to tell me?”
Lissa dropped her head lower, but Annie looked up with eyes filled with such haunting pain that Claire drew a sharp breath.
“T-telling makes you cry. If we m-make you—”
Lissa jerked her hand away and spun around to face Annie. “No! Don’t say!”
Dear God. What did I do wrong? Claire cursed her own inadequacy. She dropped to her knees, drawing the little girls into a snug embrace. “Lissa. Annie. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Lissa glared at Annie, clearly issuing a silent warning. Annie stared at the silver ballerina appliqué on her sweatshirt, then sniffled and rubbed her nose against her sleeve. “If we talk about M-Mommy, you cry. If we make you s-sad you might—you might—” Small hiccuppy sobs shook her fragile shoulders.
Claire pulled the girls even closer. Her heart shattered. “I love you so much,” she murmured, her damnable, betraying tears welling hot and heavy against her eyelashes.
“See, see what you did?” Lissa’s voice rose to a shriek. She Hung a small fist at Annie, but Claire gently caught the blow in midnight.
Annie, like a stoic saint awaiting execution, had remained deathly still within the curve of Claire’s arm, ready to accept her sister’s punishment. Her voice, whispery soft, came indistinctly at first, then a bit louder. Complete resignation framed every word.
“You might send us back to Grandmother and Great-grandmother if we make you sad.”
Curse those women. Claire’s coldly aristocratic grandmother and mother were cut from the same cloth. No wonder her father had escaped to New York years ago. She could imagine them telling the girls, “Crying does not help. Sit up and eat your dinner” without so much as a pat on the shoulder. Heaven only knew how many times her own childhood emotions had been ignored. It had been a bad mistake to let the children spend any time—let alone five months—in that house.
The twins searched Claire’s face, as if sure their only refuge would now collapse in ruins.
Claire stroked their corn-silk hair and gave each a gentle kiss on the cheek. “If I cry, it’s because I’m sad for you. I’m sad for me, too. Your mother was my sister. It’s okay to cry.”
Annie snuggled closer, her tear-damp face pressed against Claire’s neck. Lissa wavered, her big blue eyes probing Claire’s expression.
“You’ll always have a home with me,” Claire added softly. “Cross my heart.” She considered for a moment, then added with a smile, “At least until you’re grown-up and ready to fly. Deal?”
“D-deal,” they said in unison.
Annie and Lissa snuggled deeper into her embrace, like two starving waifs finding unexpected salvation. A primal rush of tenderness surged through Claire. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to keep these children safe.
From just ahead came the unexpected clank of metal against metal. The rusty screech of a gate hinge. Claire lunged to her feet and scanned the surrounding forest, which suddenly seemed dark. Menacing. There were several other properties along the lane leading to the resort, but none of them included homes, and she had yet to encounter any of the owners. A feeling of vulnerability washed through her. She’d been foolish, walking so far with the girls this evening.
“Let’s turn around,” she murmured. “It’s getting late.”
They had walked just a few feet when Claire heard another unexpected noise—the soft rumble of an engine. She whirled around. A dozen yards away, a black Explorer slipped out of the trees and onto the road, angled toward the highway.
She stopped dead and stared. Logan Matthews. The vehicle also came to a stop, backed up a few feet, changed direction. Headed their way. Her pulse speeding up, Claire reached for Annie’s and Lissa’s hands.
The truck pulled up a few yards away. Its smoked-glass passenger-side window slid down a few inches. “I don’t mean to be unpleasant, but I don’t allow resort guests on my land,” he said.
Claire couldn’t see Logan clearly in the shadowed depths of the vehicle. Its darkened windows and the deepening twilight apparently prevented a clear view of her. The window began to glide upward.
Motioning the girls to stay behind, she crossed the road in two long strides, then braced one hand against the door and rapped sharply on the glass. Her career had taught her how to deal with men—and cowering before this one would be a major mistake. Bullies never expected strength.
“We’re not guests. And I believe you’re on my land, Matthews.”
“Claire?” His door opened, then he slowly unfolded himself from the front seat. Facing her from the other side of the truck he stared at her for a long moment. “I didn’t recognize you in this light—” he looked down at the girls, who had followed her across the road like ducklings “—and with children.”
His eyes were shadowed with old anger and dark secrets, but pure male interest glimmered there as well. Another man, another time...and her shivery inner response might have pushed her into the next step of a tentative relationship. But this was Logan Matthews.
“Three kids, actually,” she pointed out, sure his interest would wither. “The teenager is at home.”
He gave her a knowing look, as if he understood exactly why she’d elaborated, then grinned at Annie and Lissa. They hid behind her.
He gestured toward the path she and the girls had followed from the meadow. “The surveyor’s stake is hidden in those weeds.”
Claire stiffened. “I—I’m sorry. My original tour of the property was brief and in the rain. I thought the line was another twenty-five yards down.” A sudden thought chilled her. “Do you live out here?”
“Yes. I designed my house years ago, but didn’t get around to building it until this summer. By next spring, I’ll run my business from up here.”
As an architect he could do his work almost anywhere, she supposed. Which meant he would be practically underfoot every day of the year—a constant reminder of Brooke and her family’s deep bitterness over
