Every Waking Moment Read online

  For a moment he looked taken aback, and she felt guilty for cutting him off the topic of meeting Heather. But then he answered her easily enough. “I haven’t lived there very long at all, as a matter of fact. I’m still finding my way around the city. I haven’t had much time to explore. My job keeps me pretty busy.”

  “Where did you live before that?”

  “The East Coast.” He grinned at her. “I’m ready for some dessert. How about you?”

  She shook her head. “Oh, I couldn’t. I’ve eaten too much already.”

  It wasn’t until later, as she was driving home, that she wondered if he’d deliberately changed the subject when she’d questioned him about where he’d lived before Seattle. It seemed odd that someone in real estate wouldn’t know his way around the city, now that she thought about it. And he didn’t sound as if he’d come from the East Coast.

  Impatient with her suspicions, she reminded herself that a lot of people from the East Coast didn’t have that much of an accent. It just depended where in the East they’d lived. As for Blake finding his way around Seattle, it was a sprawling city and not easy to become familiar with. She was overreacting again.

  After letting herself into the house, she gave Darcie a quick call to satisfy herself that Heather had settled down for the night. Reluctant to field any more of Darcie’s questions, she cut the conversation short and hung up.

  In spite of her weariness, she didn’t feel like going to bed. She made herself a cup of warm milk and took it into the living room, where she sank into her favorite armchair and tried not to think about Blake.

  After flipping through the pages of a magazine, she had to admit she wasn’t having much success in keeping him out of her mind. She kept remembering his deep chuckle, the way his eyes rested warmly on her face, the appealing twitch at the corner of his mouth whenever he was amused by something she said.

  He was good company. He’d made her feel more alive, more aware of herself. She’d never had much of a sense of humor—there had been little to laugh at in her life. Yet she’d found herself trading quips with Blake as if she’d always been the life and soul of the party. It was fun and exhilarating to know she could make him laugh.

  She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She could see him so clearly in her mind—his gray eyes, sometimes guarded, mostly warm and sympathetic, and his thick, dark hair curling slightly on his nape.

  She could picture his mouth, the hard lines softened by his smile. She could imagine what it must be like to be kissed by him. If only she could let things go that far, instead of having to hide behind a different identity.

  Her eyes snapped open and she sat up. This was insane. Blake was simply amusing himself while on vacation. He was simply passing through her life and would soon be on his way back to Seattle.

  Which was just as well. There could never be a future for her with someone like Blake Foster—or with any man, for that matter. If he learned the truth, he would soon back off. How could any man be interested in a woman suspected of having plotted to kill her own husband?

  Leaving her milk untouched, she hauled herself to her feet. Perhaps, once she was in bed, she would feel more like sleeping. She wandered into the bedroom, her gaze moving instinctively to the dark space under the bed.

  She hesitated, then gave in to the impulse. Reaching underneath the bed, she found the box she’d hidden there.

  It was all there inside.

  As she took out the newspaper clippings, she could feel the horror of those days creep over her. Almost against her will, she began to read, sitting there on the edge of the bed alone in the empty house.

  The headlines shrieked from the front page. Local Retailer Brutally Murdered. Wife Suspected in Love Triangle.

  Even now, months later, the shock of those words numbed her. She’d found Frank dead in the office of the furniture store he’d owned. He’d been lying in the corner, covered with blood from the gunshot wound that had killed him.

  Frank’s brother, Mike, had been arrested the next day. The day after that, the police had come for her. Mike Stevens had implicated her in the murder.

  In spite of her frantic denials of any wrongdoing or conspiracy, Mike had insisted that she had helped plan the murder. The prosecution did its best to link her romantically with him—a man she despised almost as much as she hated her husband. There were witnesses who claimed they’d overheard Frank arguing with her over Mike.

  Thanks to an astute lawyer, she’d been released for lack of evidence before the trial. But not before Mike had promised her that she would never be free. In his twisted mind she’d tempted him, then rejected and betrayed him. He’d killed his brother because of her and she would have to pay. He had friends on the outside who would help him, he told her. He would destroy what mattered to her the most. Her daughter.

  The trial had caused a sensation in what was, after all, a fairly small city. The final verdict was declared and Mike was convicted, still swearing she had helped him. Then came the recriminations—the sidelong glances, the suspicious looks. She knew what they were thinking...that she was guilty. They’d let her go because they couldn’t prove anything, but she was guilty.

  The phone calls in the night had started soon after the trial. Certain that she was being followed, and terrified for Heather’s safety, she’d told the police about Mike’s threat. They’d dismissed it as a lovers’ quarrel, making it clear they still believed his story that she was romantically involved with him.

  Knowing she could expect no help from them, and afraid that Mike might somehow find a way to harm Heather, she had sold all her personal possessions, packed up what little she’d kept and headed out of town. She hadn’t stopped until she’d hit Mellow Springs.

  Carefully, Gail put the newspaper clippings away and locked the box again. Her hands trembled as she pushed the box far back under the bed. Heather must never know. If Gail had to spend the rest of her life living a lie, she could never let her daughter know the truth.

  As long as Heather was Annie Morris, she was safe. It was better she didn’t know the truth. Not only that, if Heather ever heard about Mike’s accusations, there would always be a shadow of doubt in her mind about her mother. Gail was not about to risk losing her daughter because of Mike’s lies.

  Pacing back and forth across the carpet of his hotel room, Blake tried to put things into perspective. So he was attracted to the woman. He’d been attracted to women before and hadn’t done anything about it.

  He wasn’t sure why she appealed to him more than any other woman. True, she was nice to look at, as well as intelligent and warmhearted. But it was more than that. Maybe it was because she was such a damn good listener.

  He’d told her more about himself than he’d meant to, and once or twice he’d let his guard down enough to blow his cover. Luckily she hadn’t picked up on it.

  She had a way of slipping past his defenses, making him forget everything except how much he wanted her in his bed.

  Cursing, Blake strode to the window and opened it. Cold air rushed in at him, laced with flakes of snow. He drew in deep gulps of it, trying to erase the heat of his erotic yearnings.

  He had to get off this merry-go-round, he thought in desperation. The longer he was around her, the more intense his feelings were likely to grow.

  He should quit while he was still ahead, or he would botch up the job when the time came. He couldn’t allow his emotions to sway his judgment—it was the number-one rule in his profession. He’d learned that the hard away, a few years back.

  He closed his mind to the memory of dead bodies strewn across a dark wet street. They’d assured him it wasn’t his fault. He’d known better. He hadn’t done his job right. He’d trained them, and they should have been able to handle it. But they hadn’t. And they’d died. No matter what anyone said, deep down he knew he had to answer for that, some day. He could only hope that the chips weren’t being called in now.

  The truth was, he told himself, he h
ad one hell of a problem. He had to stick with her until he could make his move. The best way he could do that was to pretend he was interested in her. Not that he had to do much pretending. How the hell was he supposed to ignore what she was doing to his mind, let alone his body?

  He slammed the window shut and reached for the bourbon he’d taken from the bar earlier that evening. He would have to make sure he ignored her effect on him—that was the bottom line. She had lived in Seattle; she could easily trip him up. He would have to keep his mind clear of everything except his cover, and the reason he was here. Heaven help him.

  All the next day Gail did her best to concentrate on her job. It wasn’t easy. Every time the door opened her heart skipped crazily, while she half hoped, half dreaded she would see Blake’s tall figure striding into the store.

  Polly gave up teasing her after the first few dry comments, apparently sensing that Gail was in no mood for joking.

  Once more she avoided the diner at lunchtime, then spent the afternoon wishing she’d had the courage to go there. When the last customer had finally left for the day, she thankfully helped Polly close up shop. In spite of her best efforts, she couldn’t ignore the dull ache of disappointment.

  Despite her apprehension, she’d felt quite sure Blake would find an excuse to call in to see her, and the fact that he hadn’t, told her that he wasn’t as interested as he’d appeared.

  It didn’t help to remind herself that he was on vacation, after all, and had better things to do than hang around town on the off chance he might spend a few minutes with her.

  He was most likely spending his day exploring the mountains, she decided, and had forgotten all about the casual acquaintance he’d had dinner with the night before. He’d more or less told her he’d invited her out of boredom, and had grasped the opportunity to pass some time with someone to keep from feeling lonely.

  It didn’t help, either, to remind herself that it was for the best. She kept going over their conversation, wondering if she’d said something to offend him. She could think of nothing except, perhaps, ignoring his wanting to meet Heather. And that was definitely for the best.

  She spent the evening playing with Heather to make up for the night before. After putting her daughter to bed, she decided to go to bed early herself. Again she dreamed of two men fighting each other.

  At first she thought they were Mike and Frank, but then she realized Mike was fighting Blake. They were struggling over a gun, and she knew that any second it was going to fire and someone would die. She must have cried out, as she awoke to find Heather standing by the bed, her eyes wide with fear, shaking her by the arm and mumbling her name over and over.

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Gail drew the trembling body into her arms and cuddled her. “Mommy just had a bad dream, that’s all. You have bad dreams sometimes, don’t you?”

  Heather sniffed. “Sometimes.”

  “Well, then you know that it’s only a dream and it goes away when you wake up, right?”

  Heather slowly nodded. “Are you frightened, Mommy?”

  “No, I’m not frightened. But tell you what, why don’t you keep me company tonight and sleep in my bed with me? Would you like that?”

  Heather’s face brightened. “Can we go sledding tomorrow? I don’t have to go to school and you don’t have to go to work.”

  Still feeling guilty for waking her daughter, Gail relented. Thank heavens for a boss who gave her weekends off, she thought gratefully. “We have to go buy you some new shoes in the morning, but if you like, we’ll go up to the mountains after that.”

  “Yeah!” Heather bounced up and down in the bed. “Can I take Fuzzy?”

  Gail smiled. Fuzzy was a well-worn bear with one tattered ear, and Heather never went anywhere without it. Darcie had once joked that she thought Fuzzy was permanently attached to Heather’s hand.

  “Of course, you can take Fuzzy.” She snuggled down with her daughter under the covers. “But you’d better go back to sleep right away if you want to have lots of energy for the bunny slopes tomorrow.”

  To her relief, the little girl drifted off to sleep almost at once, although it was some time before Gail could relax enough to join her.

  She woke up the next morning feeling exhausted, and if it hadn’t been for her promise to her daughter, she might have spent the day in front of the fire with a good book.

  The shopping trip didn’t help matters. Heather tried on several pairs of shoes, none of which she liked, so Gail had to choose for her, which resulted in an argument with her daughter.

  Gail threatened to call off the trip to the mountains if Heather didn’t behave. The shoes finally bought and wrapped, Gail took her daughter by the hand and thankfully left the store.

  Dark gray clouds piled high above the mountain peaks warned of yet another storm brewing in the distance. In spite of the sunshine bathing the sidewalks, Gail could smell snow in the air as she crossed the street to the car. The chilly wind tugged at her hair, sweeping it across her face. She brushed it back with her gloved hand, and as she did so, caught sight of a familiar figure striding purposefully toward her.

  For an instant her heart leaped, then she remembered Heather at her side. There didn’t seem to be any way to avoid the meeting, short of being downright rude.

  Blake halted in front of her, his carefree grin causing her pulse to quicken. “I was hoping I’d see you. Hawkeye told me you don’t work on the weekends.”

  She had to smile. “I have Saturdays off, and Polly closes the store on Sundays.”

  “So she told me.”

  Gail’s heart skipped a beat as he looked down at Heather, who was staring up at him, Fuzzy clutched firmly in her hand. “This must be Annie.” He hunkered down in front of the little girl, his head just about on a level with hers.

  Heather regarded him gravely, but didn’t speak.

  “This is Mr. Foster, Annie,” Gail said, striving to sound offhand. “Say hello to him.”

  “Hello,” Heather said shyly.

  “You can call me Uncle Blake.” He glanced up at Gail, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Is that all right with you?”

  “Of course.” Conscious of her faded jeans and red jacket that had been washed once too often, she wished she’d worn something a bit more presentable.

  Although Blake wore jeans with his leather jacket, somehow he still managed to maintain his downtown image.

  “We bought some new shoes,” Heather announced, apparently deciding that it was okay to confide in the stranger.

  “Is that right? Can I see them?”

  Heather pointed to the package Gail held. “They’re in there.”

  Blake took the bag from her, drew out the shoe box and opened it. “Very nice,” he murmured, studying the black patent-leather shoes. “I bet you look real grown-up in these.”

  He must have said the right thing, as Heather bestowed on him the ultimate honor. “This is Fuzzy,” she said, thrusting the bear at him. “You can kiss him.”

  In spite of her anxiety, a tiny thrill teased Gail’s heart as she watched Blake touch the bear’s nose with his lips. “Hey, Fuzzy,” he said softly. “I’m very happy to meet you.”

  Heather giggled. “Fuzzy’s going sledding with us. Can you come, too?”

  Gail’s uneasy smile vanished. “Honey, Uncle Blake has better things to do, I’m sure. Perhaps we’ll ask him another time.”

  Heather looked up at her, her lower lip jutting ominously. “I want him to come now.”

  Blake got slowly to his feet. “I’d like to come,” he said, winking at Heather. “That’s if I won’t be in the way?”

  “Can he come, Mommy? Can he?”

  She couldn’t think of a single reason to refuse. Blake was watching her, a half smile on his face and his eyes full of hope.

  “Well, if you’re sure you want to compete on the slopes with hordes of screaming children intent on mowing you down...”

  “I’d love it.” He took hold
of Heather’s hand. “Come on, we can go in my car.”

  “But—” Gail got no further. Heart pounding with apprehension, she watched Blake lead her daughter back across to the road to where a black sedan sat at the curb.

  “Oh, boy, look how big it is!” Heather exclaimed, as Blake opened the door and she scrambled into the front seat.

  “We’ll sit in the back.” Gail reached for her daughter, but Blake closed his fingers around her arm.

  “We can all sit up front. There’s plenty of room.”

  Gail wasn’t so sure about that. Even with Heather fidgeting with excitement between them, she was intensely aware of Blake sitting mere inches away.

  She felt a little like one of the heroines in the Saturday-matinee movies, tied to the tracks waiting for the train to thunder into view. Any moment she expected Heather to say something that would tell Blake she’d lied to him.

  Apparently unaware of her agitation, Blake chatted easily with Heather, asking about her school and her friends at the baby-sitter’s. Heather was only too happy to give him all the numerous details that made up her day, while Gail listened with every nerve quivering, ready to jump in if her daughter said the wrong thing.

  After a while, when it appeared that the worst wasn’t about to happen, Gail forced herself to ease her fears. Even if Heather did mention her real name, it would be easy enough to explain it away as childish imagination. In any case, it was unlikely that Blake would pick up on it.

  In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she managed to convince herself that she was being melodramatic about the entire thing. What did it matter, anyway? Within the next few days, Blake would be on his way back to Seattle, and she would never see him again. She might as well enjoy the time she had with him, and stop worrying about something that might never happen.