A Mother's Heart (Sweet Hearts of Sweet Creek Book 6) Read online

  He leaned closer, their breath mingling for a heartbeat.

  Stifling doubts, second thoughts and warnings, he gave in to his yearnings, leaned in closer and kissed her.

  Her lips were warm and soft and inviting. He slipped his arms around her, drawing her closer as their kiss deepened. She wrapped her arms around his, her mouth moving over his.

  Her fingers caressed his face, slipping over his cheeks, his chin, as if memorizing his features.

  Too quickly she drew back but kept her forehead pressed against his, her eyes downcast. He couldn’t make out her features and didn’t want to catch her reaction. But she didn’t move out of his embrace.

  And he wasn’t apologizing for his impulse.

  It felt right to have her in his arms, her slight body pressed against his. It felt like they were both exactly where they were should be.

  Her breath feathered over his mouth and while he wanted to kiss her again, he also sensed she needed a moment to absorb what had just happened.

  So did he.

  Then she slowly leaned back in his embrace, a question in the depths of her eyes.

  Curbing his own questions about what they were doing and where they were going, he kissed her again.

  When he leaned back on the couch she came with him, curling up against him, one arm around him, her hand resting on his chest. He laid his cheek against her hair, releasing a long held, deep sigh. He closed his eyes, shutting out the house, letting the classical music Claire had playing on the stereo soothe the harsh feelings. Letting him simply enjoy holding this amazing woman in his arms.

  Her fingers made circles on his chest, their gentle movement easing away the tension that always gripped him when he came in the house.

  “I’m glad you did that,” she said, her voice soft, a gentle murmur. “Kissed me.”

  “I am too.” He pressed a light kiss on her head and eased out another sigh. “Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

  “What do you mean, ‘a long time?’” She pulled back at that, frowning in her puzzlement. “You’ve only been here a couple of weeks.”

  “This time around.” He fingered a strand of hair away from her face, wondering what she would think when he told her. “I would see you in town, like that time I saw you with Tess. I liked watching you biking around town. You always looked so carefree and happy.”

  “I was biking to get out of the house. My parents were probably fighting, and I wanted to be free. So I’d come and either bike or walk past this place.”

  “I remember that. There were lots of times I’d be in my room in this house, sitting at my desk. I was supposed to be working and I would see you stop on the sidewalk and look at the house.”

  “That means you were staying in either my mom’s sewing room or my dad’s study. Those are the only rooms that look out over the street.”

  “It was the one on the north end of the house.”

  “My mom’s sewing room then. It was tiny.” And then her face grew serious. “And it had a couple of cubby holes in it. The ones that Emma loves hiding in.”

  He nodded, his heart starting up again.

  “Were you locked in them?”

  He gave her another nod.

  Claire closed her eyes, as if she didn’t want to acknowledge that.

  He wanted to comfort her. To assure her that those events were another part of his life.

  But that would be hypocritical.

  Breaking down in her arms had released an army of memories, marching through his brain, relentless. Take no prisoners.

  He wanted them gone.

  And he knew the only way that would happen was if he razed this house to the ground. Burying the memories and destroying the place they dwelled.

  Once that was done, he could finally be released from that humiliating and painful part of his past.

  A door slammed upstairs, and Claire jumped away from Nik.

  “I think that’s Emma,” Claire said, her voice trembling with the emotions that still raced through her.

  She got up, smoothing her hair, struggling with a guilt she didn’t want to feel.

  “Mommy,” Emma called out. “I’m thirsty.”

  “Just stay up there. I’ll bring you some water,” Claire returned hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. She shot Nik a warning glance. But his head was down, and she hesitated, wondering what he was thinking.

  As she walked past him to the kitchen, she blamed her impulse on loneliness, and the fact that a man had broken down in front of her. Had shown weakness. Had shed tears.

  That had never happened to her before. And even though she had felt sad for him, that emotion shifted to a whole different one as he kissed her.

  She pressed her hands to her heated cheeks, then opened a packing box on the table and pulled a glass out. She hadn’t wanted to put too many things in the cupboard, knowing she would have to pack up again once she found a place to stay. Though it had only been a couple of days, living out of the boxes was getting boring. And a stark reminder of how tenuous her life was. No house to buy, no apartment to return to. The future was a foggy place of uncertainty.

  She fought down a beat of fear as she filled Emma’s glass from a pitcher in the fridge.

  Dear Lord, please let me trust in you. Please let me know you are watching over us. Help me to trust you will get us through this.

  Her parents had always taught her to bring everything to God in prayer. This was how she got through those dark days after Andy left her high and dry with a three-month-old baby and she had to find a way to make it on her own. But lately it seemed even her prayers were agitated, creating more ambivalence than comfort.

  She took a deep breath and turned.

  “I always get thirsty when I’m lying in bed,” Claire heard Emma say.

  The little stinker had come downstairs anyways.

  Claire walked into the living room and sure enough there was Emma, perched on the edge of the coffee table, her hands on her hips in her I’m-so-cool pose.

  “I heard Mr. Nik talking, and I wanted to say hello,” Emma said, her eyes wide, the picture of innocence.

  “Well, you’ve said hello, now I want you to scoot back upstairs,” Claire said, her tone firm.

  “Are you coming to the church picnic on Saturday?” Emma asked, ignoring her mother, eyes focused on Nik.

  It was as if she knew she held power and was wielding it.

  “I didn’t know there was a church picnic,” Nik said. He leaned back in his seat, one ankle rested on his knee, looking surprisingly comfortable considering what had just happened. He was smiling.

  “It will be so fun,” Emma said. “We’re having races, and contests. I baked some cookies for it, even.”

  “Oh, and here I thought they were for me,” Nik said with a laugh.

  “Yes, they were for you, but they were also for the picnic.” Emma’s quick recovery was admirable and before Claire could reprimand her, Emma continued, shooting a pleading look Claire’s way. “I really want Mr. Nik to come to the picnic. All the other kids will bring their dads and I don’t have a dad.”

  And here we go again. It was time to stop that line of conversation.

  “Here’s your drink and then it’s bedtime, missy,” Claire warned.

  “But I’m not tired,” Emma whined. “Can we play a game?” Before Claire could protest, Emma ran to another packing box and lifted the flaps. She pulled another box out and brought it back to the coffee table, setting it down. “I like playing Chinese checkers, and I just learned how to do it. I’m not very good at it, so you can help me.”

  She was doing this on purpose, Claire realized. Pushing back in front of Nik; forcing Claire’s hand. Short of grabbing Emma by the arm and dragging her up the stairs, Claire was stuck. And after what Nik had just told her, she wasn’t using physical force on her daughter.

  “We can play one game,” Claire conceded. “But then you have to go back to bed.”

  Emma’s grin
went from ear to ear. Claire knew she had lost some authority, but she wasn’t engaging in public battle with her daughter.

  Emma set the box on the table and lifted the lid, explaining the directions to Nik. She looked up at Claire, “You can just put my glass of water beside me,” she said.

  “Yes, boss.” Claire rolled her eyes and set it down then knelt beside her daughter resting her elbows on the table and looking directly at Emma. “Just one game, remember?” she warned. She was giving in, but sensed Emma knew not to push back too hard.

  Emma agreed and pulled the marbles out. She handed one pile to Nik, laid out one for herself and then gave her mother hers.

  “I’ll just watch,” Claire said. Playing with the three of them would extend the game.

  “Please, Mommy? We hardly ever get to play games together.” The pathos in her voice made it sound like Claire seldom did anything with her daughter. So, with a stifled sigh, she gave in. Again.

  She blamed her slack discipline on the tangle of their lives the past few days. Hard to find a rhythm when you didn’t know which direction you were marching.

  “You aren’t allowed to take my marble when you jump it like you do in checkers or chess,” Emma warned Nik.

  “You know how to play chess?” Nik sounded impressed.

  “It’s really easy,” Emma pronounced as she set the marbles out.

  “We play our own version,” Claire said, catching Nik’s surprise.

  “Ah. I see.” His surprise turned to a smile and once again she couldn't look away.

  As their gaze lengthened her breath quickened and she felt as if her lips were still warm from his kiss.

  “You can move first,” Emma said looking from Claire to Nik, breaking the moment.

  “Of course,” Claire said, ignoring her daughter’s puzzled look and moving a marble out.

  Soon the game was underway.

  “This is so fun,” Emma crowed as she hopped over Nik’s marbles which, Claire suspected, he had laid out precisely for her. “I think I will win.”

  “Which would be awesome,” Claire said, following Nik’s lead and setting Emma up. The sooner this game was over the sooner her daughter would be back in bed and not discussing dads and fathers in front of Nik.

  “Why are you doing that?” Emma challenged her. “That move doesn’t make any sense.”

  Looked like her daughter was on to her. “I’m going to jump over Nik’s marbles,” she said. “Your turn now.”

  “Let’s see, let’s see.” Emma tapped her chin as she decided which move to make. Claire was about to encourage her to do something when Emma hopped her marble all the way across the board then smiled up at Nik. “So, Mr. Nik did you think about the church picnic? I think you should come. It’s a lot of fun.”

  Claire should have known Emma wouldn’t let this go. “Mr. Nik probably has other plans,” she said, trying to catch Emma’s eye.

  “Do you?” Emma asked him as she danced her marble across the board and into her home slot. “Have other plans?”

  “I have a few things I need to organize the next few days,” Nik replied moving his marble.

  Claire suppressed her panic, guessing the things he needed to organize had to do with the house.

  “But you don’t have plans on Saturday?” Emma pressed.

  “No. Not really.”

  “You could totally come,” Emma crowed, clapping her hands. “The picnic is on Saturday and my mom is getting Aunty Tess to work in the cafe and Saturday is usually off for people.” Before Nik could reply Emma turned to Claire, her eyes wide. “Maybe Mr. Nik can buy your basket. That would be so cool. We could sit all together and eat it.” She spun back to Nik, a conversational dervish, Claire couldn’t stop. “I would love that. Last year my mommy and I sat by with my grandpa and gramma because my grandpa bought my mom’s basket and that wasn’t as much fun.”

  “I think that’s enough about the picnic,” Claire interjected before her daughter could say anything else. “You’re making Mr. Nik uncomfortable.” Claire shot her daughter a stern glance. Thankfully, this time, Emma took the hint. She looked down, her smile fading.

  “I just don’t want Billy Dansworth to poke fun of me again,” she mumbled.

  “Billy pokes fun of everyone,” Claire said making her move. “And you should learn to ignore him.”

  “But he’s so mean. The other day he told my friends at school that I didn’t have a dad because I was so ugly. I’m not ugly, am I?” This question was directed to Nik as if Emma knew what Claire’s response would be. Clearly, she needed a second opinion.

  “I think you’re a fun girl who is very attractive,” Nik returned.

  “Does that mean I’m pretty?”

  “It means you’re pretty amazing,” Nik parried.

  Claire had to chuckle at his deft responses.

  “But I want to be pretty, pretty. You know, beautiful,” Emma said.

  “My foster mother used to say that ‘grace is deceitful, and beauty is vain’. So, it’s really not important to be beautiful.”

  Emma frowned as if trying to figure out what he was saying. “So what’s a foster mother? Is that different than a regular mother?”

  Of all the things Nik had just told her, Claire did not think her daughter would land on that particular item. “A foster mother is someone who helps kids who don’t have a family,” Claire put in, sparing Nik the need to reply. “And you need to make a move missy.”

  “You don’t have a family, Mr. Nik?” Emma’s frown deepened as she hopped her marble down the board.

  Claire held in a groan. She thought she had helped Nik, instead she had created more questions for Emma.

  “I actually do,” Nik said. “Your baseball coach, Cory, is my sister.”

  “Did Miss Cory have a foster mother, too?”

  At that Nik’s smile slid into a dark frown. “And now I’m making an epic jump,” he said, evading her question.

  Clearly Emma had stepped into territory Nik didn’t want to discuss as he made his move.

  “So did she?” Emma asked.

  “We need to finish up this game,” Claire said, reaching over and giving her daughter’s arm a warning squeeze. “Bedtime isn’t going away.”

  “Okay, but I still think I will win,” Emma said.

  “I think so, too.” Claire gave her daughter a gentle smile, then stroked the arm she had just squeezed. “You’re a good player.”

  “I know you guys let me win,” she said matter-of-factly as she moved her last marble into place. “And that’s okay. I like winning.”

  “Isn’t that a fact.” Claire tempered her comment with another smile her daughter’s way. It seemed Emma was more perceptive than she gave her credit for.

  “And if Mr. Nik comes to the church picnic than maybe you can finally win the three-legged race,” Emma said, gathering up the marbles. “Last year, you and Miss Cory were way behind and I don’t think Auntie Tess will be much help because she will probably want to race with Uncle Jace. So what should we do about that?”

  Whatever would she do with this girl?

  “Nothing at all,” Claire said, getting up and taking the game from her daughter. “And now the evening is over for you.”

  Emma looked like she wanted to say something more, but this time Claire took her hand grasping it firmly in hers. “Say goodnight to Mr. Nik,” she said.

  “Goodnight Mr. Nik,” Emma said, her voice subdued. “I sure hope you can come to the picnic.”

  Claire tugged on Emma’s arm and escorted her upstairs. Thankfully Emma went along with no protest.

  She tucked her daughter in and sat on the bed to give her a mini lecture about her behavior concerning Nik. Emma suddenly sat up and grabbed Claire by the neck. “I’m so sad, Mommy." She sniffled.

  Claire wrapped her arms around her daughter, pulling her close. “What are you sad about, honey?”

  “I don’t want to move out of the house.”

  Neither do I.

/>   “But it’s not our house, honey. It’s Mr. Nik’s now. And we’ll find another nice place to live.”

  “But there won’t be a yard for Mooch to play in,” Emma complained. “And I don’t want to live in another apartment.”

  Claire gently released Emma’s arms and sat back, still holding her daughter’s hands. “You know what’s the most important thing, don’t you?” Claire asked.

  “That we love Jesus with all our heart?”

  “Absolutely, that is the most important thing,” Claire said with a smile. “Do you know what’s the second most important thing?” she amended.

  “That we love each other?”

  “You got it. And because we love each other so much, it doesn’t matter where we live. We will always be together, you and me.”

  “Will I ever get a dad?”

  Claire bit back a sigh at her daughter’s persistence but kept her cool and kept her response simple.

  “We have each other. We don’t need a dad to be happy.” Claire’s thoughts shifted back to Andy and the struggle she went through with him after they were married.

  Lance had often spoken of his mother and how she dominated his life. How he struggled with the pain. Claire knew Andy had a difficult family life and she foolishly thought she could love the pain away. But he never got past it. Could never stop talking about it. If anything, he grew more bitter with each month they lived together.

  Then came the day that he decided to leave. He confronted her, accusing her of being like his mother. Trying to dominate him. Tying him down. Told her how much he hated the feeling. That he needed to be free. He couldn’t let go of the pain and he couldn’t even begin to consider her and Emma’s needs.

  And on the heels of that degrading memory came the few dates she did dare go on. Dates not repeated once the guys found out that she had a daughter. She knew those words and actions shouldn’t haunt or define her but they sunk into the pit that seemed to inhabit her life, that place of low self-esteem.

  But there’s a man downstairs who kissed you. Who seems interested in you. Who is good with Emma.

  A man who is leaving once he’s done here.