feels like such hatred,” she said. “It’s creepy to think that somebody could possess this much hatred directed toward me.”
He reached out and touched her chin, a familiar gesture that might have ushered in a million memories if she allowed it. “Maybe you’re taking this all too personally,” he said softly.
A disbelieving laugh escaped her. “It’s hard not to take this personally.”
He dropped his hand back to his side. “It could be kids, some teenagers with too much time on their hands looking for a little excitement. If that’s the case somebody will talk to somebody else and eventually I’ll hear about it.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said and for just a moment she wished he’d pull her into his arms and hold her, take away the chill that refused to go away.
And for just a minute she thought she saw in his eyes the desire to take her into his arms. It was there only a moment, a soft yearning that quickly disappeared and made her wonder if she’d only imagined it.
“I’ll have a talk with Joe and see where he was last night and if he had anything to do with this,” Caleb said, all business as he started to back toward the door. “And if you think of somebody else who might want to cause you trouble, call me.”
“I will, and thank you for all your help in cleaning up,” she said.
He nodded once and then walked out. As she watched him go she felt a small stab in her heart, a faint echo of the way she’d felt years ago when she’d watched him walk away that final time.
Crazy.
They’d had their chance at making it work and he’d blown it. He’d obviously moved on. She knew he’d been engaged a year ago to Laura Kincaid, a statuesque blonde who was two years younger than Portia and Caleb. The engagement had fallen apart and Portia had just assumed it had been Caleb who had called it off, who had probably cheated on her. After all, that was what he’d done to Portia—cheated on her and broken her heart and there was nothing to indicate to her that over the years he’d changed his ways.
Laura had left town soon after the broken engagement and Portia had heard through the grapevine that Caleb was once again playing the field.
Portia wasn’t sure now if her rapid heartbeat was because she was still just a little bit afraid or if it was because Caleb Grayson still had the capacity to touch her in a way no other man ever had.
The rest of the day passed in a haze. For the first time in years the day care was silent on a weekday. No childish laughter, no sloppy kisses, just a silence that pressed in on her as she finished trying to clear up the last of the mess. The carpenter arrived late in the afternoon to put in a new window.
Maybe it would be best to keep the kids at Melody’s for the next couple of days until they could figure out who was behind all this. She could take the time and give the walls a new coat of paint, she thought as she closed and locked the door.
She’d been wanting to put a fresh coat of paint on the walls for a while now, but had never found the time. There was no way she could have the children come back until she was certain there was no danger to them.
She hoped Caleb solved this issue quickly so she could get the day care back up and running, but in the meantime she’d use the time with the children absent to do some grunt work.
It was just after five when she went inside her house. She would sleep with one eye and her bedroom window open tonight to make sure she’d hear anyone who tried to break into the garage again. On second thought, she’d keep her windows closed and locked. Anything that was destroyed in the day care could be replaced, but she couldn’t be.
The kitchen smelled faintly of fresh oranges and the chicken salad she’d made early that morning for the children’s lunch. She tossed her keys on the table and then walked from the kitchen through the living room and into her bedroom.
What she wanted more than anything was a quick shower, her favorite robe and maybe a quart of chocolate ice cream for dinner. She positively didn’t want to think about break-ins or vicious flyers—or Caleb Grayson.
Minutes later as she stood beneath the warm spray of water she found thoughts of Caleb creeping into her mind. She wondered who he was dating at the moment.
He’d promised to love her forever, had promised she was the only one he wanted in his life, and then she’d gone out of town for her grandfather’s funeral and the rumors had begun, rumors of his betrayal.
She frowned and shut off the faucets, then reached for the fluffy towel that awaited her. Ancient pain, she thought. She wasn’t that naive young woman anymore, and she’d learned her lesson well where Caleb was concerned.
Once she was dry she pulled on her short, green silk nightgown and a matching robe. It was not quite seven when she settled on the sofa in front of the television with a tray holding a plate of chicken salad and a tall glass of iced tea.
She’d just finished eating and carried the tray back into the kitchen when the doorbell rang. She went to the front door and peered out, surprised to see Caleb standing on the porch.
Maybe he had news, she thought as she cracked open the door. “Caleb,” she said in greeting.
“Hi, Portia. Mind if I come in?”
She unfastened the chain and opened the door to allow him entry. As he walked into her living room, he looked around with interest.
She followed his gaze, wondering what he thought of her bright color scheme, the oversize throw pillows on the gleaming wooden floors and the bookshelf jammed full of books, knickknacks and pictures of kids who had passed through her care.
“Nice,” he said as his gaze went first around the room, then slid down the length of her body, making her unsure what exactly he thought was nice. He sank down in the overstuffed chair next to the sofa.
Self-consciously she belted her robe more tightly around her waist and sat on the edge of the sofa.
“What’s up? Please tell me you’ve solved the crime and the vandal is behind bars.”
“Not even close,” he replied with obvious reluctance. “I just wanted to let you know that I talked to Joe this afternoon. He insists he had nothing to do with the flyers or what happened here last night. I also talked to several high school kids to see if they knew anything about it, but nobody seemed to have any information.”
“You didn’t have to make a trip here for that. You could have called me,” she replied. She wasn’t at all sure she liked him being here in her personal space. She didn’t want to smell his cologne when he was gone, didn’t want a mental picture of him sprawled in her chair as if he belonged here.
“You were upset when I left here earlier. I wanted to stop by to make sure you were okay.” His gaze was too warm as it lingered on her, on her throat, on her lips.
“You know me, Caleb, I always bounce back from things.”
One of his dark eyebrows lifted slightly. “That’s just the thing, Portia, I don’t know you. We’ve been sharing this small town for a long time and we never talk.”
She shrugged. “We say
