Unexpectedly Mine (Birch Crossing Book 1) Page 6

  "There's nothing else," the old man behind the counter said. "Not until next week."

  "Oh, well..." Clare swallowed, her nervousness apparent. "Well, if your wife and daughter are in River Junction, there are some nice places near there—"

  "Ex-wife," he interrupted. How in God's name did she know about Hillary and Brooke?

  "She's his 'ex' because of his rages," the old lady with the lavender hair whispered loudly enough to be heard all the way back to Boston. And from the way the energy in the room shifted, it was clear that everyone there was right on board with her sentiments.

  "Ex-wife," Clare repeated, and there was something softer in her voice, something he couldn't decipher. But that gentleness drew his attention back to her, and suddenly, the world was gone again. Just them.

  His life was a crazy whirlwind of action, negotiation, movement, and people. Never had it closed down into a single moment, a single person, a single thought.

  But in this moment, with Clare, he was consumed by her. By nothing but her. He felt his entire body thrum with focus and energy, and he knew he wasn't finished. Not with this moment. Not with this woman. Not with this feeling. "I'm not going to stay in River Junction," he said to her, only to her. "I'm going to stay here."

  Her forehead furrowed anxiously, and tiny tension lines creased around her eyes. "Why?" Her question was almost desperate, as if she could will him to go somewhere else.

  Because you're here. The thought sprang unbidden into his mind, and he dismissed it as quickly as it had come. He was here because he'd plotted his strategy, and this was the best place to launch his assault. Like Jackson and his tires, Griffin knew that every successful invasion began with a solid foundation, and Birch Crossing was his launching point. "Because this is where I need to be."

  Clare pressed her lips together, and he smiled. No, she was definitely not the cold, ruthless female his ex-wife was. Clare was different. She couldn't conceal all the emotions rolling so turbulently through her, and he relished that expressiveness. Her passion was such a tremendous relief after spending so many years fighting to get past the hard shell with his ex-wife, to have some glimpse of the humanity beneath. Clare poured everything she was out into the world, and it ignited a response in him that made him want to stride across the room and bury himself in everything she was.

  "You don't want to stay at my place," she said. "The roof is leaking and I'm always up late working..."

  "You have Wi-Fi?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

  "Well, yes, but—"

  "Rats?"

  "No, but sometimes a squirrel will get in the kitchen—"

  "I'm in."

  The room came alive as people began to whisper. He didn't even bother to look at the two older women behind him, but he could feel their stares. He simply kept his gaze on Clare, waiting for the play of emotions he knew he'd see on her face, waiting for her answer.

  The tension was thick, the silence intense, but Griffin didn't move, his body taught with the need for her to say yes.

  Clare's friends broke into wide grins, but Clare simply stared at him. She looked shocked and utterly uncertain how to answer. But he was pretty sure he saw a flash of interest in those crystal-blue eyes of hers, even as her small hands tightened around the smashed box of cupcakes.

  "Okay, that's it, young man." The woman with the garish pink hat walked up to him. "You do not get to prey on the women in our town. Leave now, or we'll have you escorted out—"

  "He can stay," Clare interrupted, her voice rising defiantly over the crowd. Her gaze met his, and her face softened. "You can stay," she said more quietly, and he knew she was talking only to him.

  Hot damn. Intense satisfaction pulsed through Griffin, along with hot anticipation. Clare had stood up for herself, for him. She had courage, and he liked that. Damn, did he like that.

  Her cheeks were red with emotion. But her shoulders were back, and she was holding her chin aloft. She was a woman with substance, standing firm despite the pressure in that room to walk away from him. Her fear was evident in the way she glanced nervously at the pink hat lady, but her conviction was clear. She was going to protect him, and the only way she knew how was to invite him into her home.

  His determination to stay with her softened at her show of courage, and he strode across the room toward her.

  The tension in the room began to rise as he got closer to her, and Clare lifted her chin even higher, but she didn't step back as he came to a stop directly in front of her. As he got closer, he could see the gold highlights in her auburn hair, pure natural beauty that made him want to sift the strands through his fingers.

  Quietly, without a word, he took her arm. Her muscles were rigid beneath his grasp, and her arm was so tiny. But it was strong beneath that denim jacket.

  She watched him warily as he bent his head so his lips were next to her ear. Her hair brushed his cheek, and he caught the faint floral scent of her soap. Natural, but so appealing in its femininity. "Clare," he said in a low voice, for her ears only.

  She caught her breath and stiffened, and her hand went to his forearm. Her grip was tight, almost desperate, and electricity leapt through him at her touch. She turned her head so her cheek was next to his, her breath brushing his ear, as she mimicked his pose. Almost touching, but not quite. "What?" Her voice was soft and feminine as she responded, her quiet question for him and no one else.

  Total privacy, shutting out the crowds even while in the midst of them. Intimate.

  "You don't have to let me stay," he said quietly. As much as he burned to accept her offer, to move into the home of this woman who awakened a fire inside him he hadn't felt in years, there was no way he would compromise her integrity or take advantage of her. The same need to protect her that he'd felt last night was hammering at him, even if it meant protecting her from himself. "I don't want to make things uncomfortable for you."

  She didn't respond for a moment, and regret weighed in his chest. She was going to accept the escape he'd offered her.

  But then she pulled back, just enough so she could look at him, but she didn't let go of his arm, and she kept the intimate, private distance between them. She searched his face, as if she were looking for answers that only she could see. "I owe you," she said, so softly that even her friends standing next to them wouldn't have heard.

  "No." Griffin was so tempted to lift one of those wayward tendrils away from her face, but he didn't. "You don't owe me." He could not allow her to make a choice out of guilt.

  Defiance flashed in Clare's eyes, as if she was going to argue with him, but then she seemed to change her mind. She simply shrugged. "You can stay with me. The reason doesn't matter."

  Relief cascaded through him at her certainty. He wanted to stay with her. And he wanted it with a fierceness he didn't even understand. "You sure?"

  "Yes." Then a twinkle danced in her eyes. "But you have to pay me up front. Once you get arrested for murder, I don't want to have to track you down for the rent payment."

  He laughed, his voice echoing out over the silent room that he knew had been trying so desperately to hear what they were saying. "I agree."

  She smiled then, a real smile full of vibrancy and life. "My office is across the street. Come by in an hour, and I'll have the rental agreement ready for you to sign." She spoke in normal tones, and the occupants of the store began to whisper excitedly. He was pretty sure he heard someone mention aiding and abetting a murderer.

  "A rental agreement?" He was surprised by the formality. It seemed out of place for this small town, for the passionate woman whose grip on his arm had softened to a temptingly intimate touch. "For a stay that's going to last only a few days?"

  She released his arm and patted his cheek. His adrenaline spiked at the warmth of her touch, the intimacy of skin-to-skin, and sudden heat rushed through him. "I'm a lawyer, Mr. Friesé. Of course I have paperwork for you to sign." She waved at the room. "See you all later. Have a fantastic day."

&nbs
p; Then cupcakes in hand, she spun around and strode out the door, leaving with just enough extra haste that he knew she was thoroughly rattled by her decision, which made him smile.

  Her friend with the headband grinned at him as she followed Clare. "Welcome to Birch Crossing, Griffin Friesé. You're going to love it here, as I'm sure you can tell."

  The gal with blond hair gave him a more thoughtful look. "Be nice to her," was all she said, but he felt the sincerity and love behind that comment. Clare had friends who cared deeply for her.

  The door slammed shut behind them, and he moved to the window to watch the women hurry across the street into a small, white building down the block.

  His vulnerable, delicate Clare Gray was a lawyer.

  Damn. He hadn't seen that one coming.

  Was she the tough lawyer who'd strode into the store this morning? Or the vulnerable, passionate woman who'd caught his attention so thoroughly?

  He grinned. He didn't know, but he was looking forward to finding out.

  Several hours later, Clare ran up the steps to the side door of her house as Griffin's enormous truck pulled in behind her Subaru. As she reached for the doorknob of her rambling farmhouse, she suddenly noticed that the dark red paint was chipping, and that her home looked older and more worn down than she'd ever noticed. She'd been so proud the day she'd bought it five years ago, finally being able to give a real home to Katie, but suddenly, it looked rundown instead of charming. What would Griffin think, with his new truck and sparkling gold watch?

  He stepped out of the truck, pausing to study the house. She became uncomfortably aware of the missing shingles on the roof and the overstuffed gutters. Her yard looked so drab compared to Griffin's shiny truck and his pressed shirt. How would he react to it?

  Then she scowled and fisted her hands. Hadn't she learned her lesson about trying to change who she was to impress an outsider? She loved this drafty old farmhouse with its huge yard and the beautiful oak tree by the street, and she was so proud that she owned it. This was her triumph, and she wasn't going to feel embarrassed just because it wasn't pristine, modern and fancy like she was sure Griffin's home was.

  If Griffin deemed it unworthy, he was more than welcome to go back to the Dark Pines Motel. "Come inside when you're ready," she called to him, not bothering to wait for him.

  "I'm ready." He immediately turned and began heading toward the door, his stride lithe and almost predatory as he headed toward her, closing the distance between them with alarming speed.

  Ack! He really was coming in! Clare pulled open the screen door and hurried inside, casting nervous glances at the misplaced shoes, jackets and school books on the floor. "Katie?"

  "In here." Her daughter's voice drifted from the family room, and Clare was thankful her daughter was out of bed at least.

  Clare set her purse and backpack in the small foyer and walked to the door of the family room. Katie was curled on the faded navy couch watching television and eating cereal. She was still wearing her pink pajamas and her brown hair was in disarray from going to bed with it wet. The poor thing had been so cold that she'd stayed in the shower until all the hot water was used up, and then had wanted even more.

  "How are you feeling?" Clare asked, her heart softening at the sight of her daughter all curled up on the couch.

  Katie shrugged, not bothering to look away from the television. "Fine."

  "Really?" Maybe her daughter was fine, but to Clare, Katie looked so small and vulnerable under the big, fluffy blanket she'd apparently dragged down from her bed. She looked like a fifteen year old girl, not the woman she wanted to be.

  Not the grownup Clare was about to ask her to be. "I rented out the room."

  "Mom!" Katie groaned and rolled her eyes, tossing the remote control on the couch with visible annoyance. "Again? I hate having people in our space."

  "The money helps—"

  "If you need money, then don't send me to MIT this summer." Katie gave her a long-suffering look that was artfully accentuated by an expression of heart-melting pleading.

  As if they hadn't had this discussion a thousand times already. "That summer program will help you get into college—"

  "I want to stay here."

  Clare gritted her teeth. "I know you think you do, but trust me. You'll love being away from here and it will help give you options—"

  "Trust you?" Katie set the bowl down with a thump that sloshed cereal all over the coffee table and the magazines strewn across it. "How do you know what's right for me?" She folded her arms across her chest and slouched back against the pillows, clearly preparing to battle it out.

  Clare heard the thud of heavy, booted feet on her steps, and she hurriedly picked up several of the couch pillows and set them back on the sofa. "Katie, this isn't the time to discuss this—"

  "It's never the right time." Katie lurched to her feet and faced Clare, hands on her hips. Her cotton pants were too low across her belly, and her zippered hoodie was getting a little snug across her chest. How much longer was Clare going to have any influence over her at all? Katie was quickly leaving behind girl and heading towards woman. "That's why I went camping last night. I knew you wouldn't let me go, but I wanted to be with my friends and do something for me instead of always having to work and study."

  "Studying is for you! If I hadn't had good grades, I would have had no options after Dad died." Clare picked up the remote control and set it on the end table. Why was there so much stuff on the floor? She realized with dismay that the room looked cluttered and messy. How had she let it get this bad? "The fact I had great grades in high school enabled me to get into college and get my degree—"

  "So you could do what? Work on Sunday mornings at a job you hate, but still not have enough money to fix a leaky roof?" Katie flung up her arms in exasperation and rolled her eyes with a snort of disdain. "Wow, Mom, I can't wait until I'm old enough for that—" She stopped abruptly and her mouth dropped open.

  Clare felt the unmistakable heat of a powerful presence behind her.

  "Am I interrupting?" Griffin's deep baritone filled the room with a masculine warmth and a presence that had never graced these walls.

  Clare glanced back at him, embarrassed to be caught in a poor parenting moment. Griffin was leaning casually against the door, his jeans slung loosely across his hips, an amused smile making his dimple appear. His shoulders were so wide, he took up nearly the entire doorway, and his head almost reached the top of the frame. He radiated such presence, a man who owned his space and dominated the room. What had Clare been thinking, bringing him into her house? Into her private sanctuary where she didn't have to worry about men or judgment? "No, it's fine. We were just—"

  "Oh my God!" Katie's face lit up, and she beamed at Griffin. "You're here!" She raced across the room and threw herself at Griffin, giving him a huge hug. "Thank you for last night!"

  Griffin caught her, but the look of surprise on his face was so stark that Clare almost started laughing. If, of course, she wasn't feeling a little disgruntled that her daughter would shift from turning on her own mom to embracing a potential murderer in less than a second. But at the same time, Katie's exuberant reaction gave her reassurance that it was okay to have Griffin there.

  Kids were perceptive, often more so than adults, and if Katie was comfortable with Griffin, then Clare would relax and trust that her own instincts about him were on target.

  "Um, yeah, no problem," Griffin muttered. His hands were sort of stuck out at a strange angle, as if he had no idea how to hug Katie back and hadn't the slightest clue where to put his hands.

  Suddenly, Griffin didn't seem so intimidating. He seemed endearingly human and vulnerable, a man who was just a man, despite his money and his presence. Clare couldn't help but smile, relaxing at the sight of her daughter making this successful businessman look so adorably awkward.

  Katie pulled back, clinging to Griffin's arms as she grinned at him. "So, wow, that was the coolest thing ever the way you hooked
us up to that harness to get us over the tree. I mean, seriously! And when the tree started to slide— My God! You got over that huge trunk to unhook me so fast! How did you learn to do that?"

  Griffin grinned at Katie, and Clare could practically see his chest puffing out with pride at her daughter's adoration. "I did that kind of stuff as a kid. My dad knew that kind of shi— I mean, stuff."

  "Okay, Katie." Clare took her daughter's hand to pry her off Griffin and give him some space. "Give Griffin a chance to get acclimated."

  "Acclimated?" Katie's eyes widened. "Are you our new boarder? Seriously?"

  Griffin glanced at Clare, and his eyebrows went up. Giving her one last chance to back out? Her heart softened toward him. Would she really relegate her daughter's savior to living with rats? No chance. "Yes, Katie, Griffin's our new renter. Just for a few days—"

  "That's awesome!" Katie beamed at them both. "Mom, you are the coolest ever! He's so much better than that old lady who smelled like mothballs and spent hours in the bathroom."

  Clare laughed, relieved by her daughter's enthusiastic response, glad to know this wasn't going to wind up being yet another battle between them. "Yes, well, Patty was very nice and once I started washing her clothes, she smelled better."

  Griffin gave her a speculative look. "Does that mean you'll be washing mine?"

  Clare had a sudden vision of his undergarments in her wash. Men's underwear mixed in with hers? "Um, that's a little personal, I think."

  He grinned, mischief sparking in his eyes. "You washed Patty's."

  "She was a woman," Clare said, mortified by the sensation of her cheeks heating up. Was she actually blushing at the idea of washing Griffin's underwear? "It's different with a man."

  "Oh, get over it, Mom," Katie snorted. "He's just a guy. Jeremy leaves his underwear in my laundry all the time. I don't have a problem washing his shorts."

  Clare looked sharply at her daughter, sudden chills running down her spine. "Why on earth is Jeremy's underwear in your laundry hamper? How come his clothes come off at our house?" Dear Lord, she was going to pass out. "You're fifteen!" Only three years younger than Clare had been when she became a widowed mom. It couldn't happen to Katie, not her daughter, not becoming a mother at age eighteen.