Her Little Secret

“You dreaded seeing me, too.” She pulled away from him. How could he bother her so much after five years? After the revulsion he hadn’t been able to hide before she’d left?

She started over.

“I came straight from the airport,” she said. “What are you doing here?” She forbade herself another glance toward Hope. Sometime he’d have to know but, please God, not now. Not yet.

“The house was a—we have to talk, Cass.”

“Don’t call me that.” Her old nickname tugged her toward him as if he were her true north. Everyone had used it, but from Van it meant familiarity and whispers in the cocoon of their bed. Secrets only they knew.

He nodded, his eyes so intense she wanted to scream. He shut the door behind him. “Parts of the house were in bad shape. Are in bad shape.”

“What are you talking about?” She reached past him. Just then, the back door of her rental car opened, and a small voice shouted, “Mommy?”

She turned. “Hope.” Cassie ran across the grass and snatched her daughter into her arms, holding on so tight Hope tried to wriggle free.

“You’re squishing me.”

“Sorry.” Tears choked her, but she never cried. “Sorry, baby.” She turned, her daughter in her arms.

Van had followed, shock draining his face of color. She wished the sunset would just finish up and fade and make them all invisible.

Cassie shook her head, begging him not to say anything that might hurt Hope. Naturally, he wondered if she belonged to him. Despite five years and the certainty he hadn’t wanted her or their marriage, she feared his unspoken question.

At last, he dragged his gaze away from Hope, moving his head as if his muscles were locked. Pain pulsed from his body.

Cassie relented. She’d assumed a lot of bad things about Van’s inability to be human, but he obviously had feelings.

“No,” she said. “Not yours.”

He grimaced, looking confused. Then he put his hand over his mouth. She was close enough to see sweat bead on his upper lip.

As it had the last time he’d tried to make love to her.

She’d been right to leave Honesty. She was the only one who could love the whimsical, curious girl who danced through her life in joy.

Only Cassie could love the daughter born of her rape.

CHAPTER THREE

“MOMMY, WHOZZAT MAN?”

Van’s eyes darkened. His mouth froze in a sharp, thin line. He clenched his fists at his side.

Cassie pressed her face to her daughter’s head and breathed in Hope’s warm, still-babyish scent. Cassie swore silently. He could still make her tremble, but she and Hope were a family.

“Van, this is Hope, the love of my life.” Be careful, she warned him in her head. Don’t say anything to hurt my daughter. “Baby, this is Mr. Van. He’s a—” She stopped. If explaining Hope’s long-lost Grampa had been hard… “a friend of my father’s.”

“Hello, Mr. Van.” Hope stuck out her tiny hand. As always, Cassie marveled at her long slender fingers. She’d know her daughter decades from now, if only by her hands. God had been kind. They were Victoria Warne’s hands, too. “Mr. Van?” her little girl said.

He literally shook himself, staring at her.

“Is he okay?” Hope stage-whispered.

He forced a false smile, but Cassie was grateful. Finally, he dwarfed her hand in his and shook it.

Giggling, Hope dropped her head against Cassie’s chest and didn’t see Van press his palm to his jeans.

Watching him, Cassie felt more than the cold of the Virginia winter. Not even the coat she’d draped over the backseat would have warmed her. Why had she expected anything more compassionate from him?

“Sorry.” He shook his head. His disgust this time was clearly for himself, but it came too late.

Cassie swept past him. “I’m taking her inside for dinner and bed.”

“There’s no food,” he said, “and a couple of the rooms…”

She waited. He didn’t go on. She didn’t look back. “What about the rooms?”

“Your dad.” He came after them. The kitchen steps dipped beneath his weight. “He had some collections.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Paper towels,” he said. “And those dishwashing sponges. Hundreds of them.”

“What?” She stared at him underneath the porch light.

“In the guest rooms. I’ve cleaned your room and his and your old playroom, and I cleaned off and remade the daybed in there. But the others—I called the women’s shelter in town to see if they could use anything.”

He actually blushed, but for no valid reason. Obviously, his mind had gone to the women’s shelter because of what had happened to her. They’d be well sponged and paper-towel clean, because she’d forgotten she’d left her bathroom window open one night five years ago.

“Get over it, Van. I have.”

“Have you?”

His simple question rattled all her doubts. “I had to.” She glanced down at Hope’s head.

He wiped his mouth again. “I don’t know how to talk to you.”

“Fortunately,” she said, trying to be kind because she didn’t want grudges between them, “we don’t need to talk. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. We’ll both have beds to sleep in, and I can go by the grocery store.”

“Let me.”

“We’re not your problem. Good night.”

“Come on, Cass.” She’d known Van nearly all her life, but never had she heard the kind of anger he was fighting to quell—all the more frightening because he was normally so controlled. “Give me a chance,” he said. “What did you expect me to do when I found out?”

She looked down. Hope’s eyes had drifted shut. “I expected the reaction you had. That’s why I left town and never meant to come back.”

“Not because you didn’t love me anymore?”

She stopped, feeling naked, sensing the eyes of everyone who’d ever known her in this town. “You stopped loving me,” she said, praying Hope was really asleep and not just pretending.

“I always told you I was the problem.” He edged closer to her shoulder as if emotion brought him there. His nearness and her unaccountable urge to remember what it was like to be in his arms made her want to scream.

“I know. It’s not you. It’s me.” Hearing Cassie’s frustration, Hope tried to lift her head, but she was too tired. “Go home, Van. I’m busy.”

“Let me help you carry your things in. The house will be a shock.”

“I don’t need your help.” She opened the door. Something smelled awful, and the kitchen looked darker than she remembered.

Van stepped inside.

“Bad man,” Hope muttered.

“Not overly bad.” No doubt Hope would have to see him again. Cassie walked around him and tried to shut the door, but he wouldn’t let her.

“I feel as if I’m barging in, but the house is going to come as a shock.” The past, moments in time that should have ended, reopened the gulf between them.

“I’m fine.”

Her little girl looked up. “Mommy, what are you talking about?”

“Old stuff,” Cassie said. “And what you and I should have for dinner. Can you stay awake long enough to eat something?”

“I’m pretty hungry.”

“Me, too.”

Hope wrinkled her nose. “Something smells funny.” She covered her face with both hands. “Are you sure this is your daddy’s house?”

“The smell is bleach.” Cassie sniffed harder. “And garbage?”

Van nodded ever so slightly.

She stared at the faded paint and worn appliances. How had this looked before Van started cleaning? “Can I see Dad tonight? Does the hospital have late visiting hours?”

“What about—” He looked at Hope.

Cassie had known people would treat her and Hope like freaks, but she hadn’t expected Van to be the first. “I’ll manage. Thanks for your help.” She went to the door, forcing him to follow, and then ushered him through. “And for looking after Dad.”

On the porch, Van turned, opening his mouth, but Cassie had stopped worrying about manners. She shut the door.

And locked it. Tight as a drum.

THE MOON HUNG above thick trees. Van stared at it as he measured each step to his car.

His hand shook so much he could barely hit the button for entry. He stared at the house and wished he’d opened all the blinds. Whatever Cassie was doing, she wasn’t letting in light or prying eyes.

Whatever she was doing… Finding something to feed her daughter. He got in the car and grabbed the steering wheel to keep from crashing his fists through his windshield.

His wife had given birth to that rapist’s child.

His wife loved that animal’s child. Love for Hope was a coat she wore—a second skin—a part of her he’d seen the moment the girl had called her name.

Damn her. Damn her to hell along with that bastard who’d stolen everything from him.

No.

That made it sound as if the rape had been her fault. He’d never thought that, never blamed her, never wanted her anywhere but at his side.

But it didn’t feel as if five years had passed. He was still living that last night they’d tried to make love. His head swimming with images of that guy forcing her, he’d had to get away or punch the damn wall.

She hadn’t understood. It was almost as if she’d preferred thinking he couldn’t stand being near her.

And tonight, she’d sprung Hope on him like another test. He’d failed again, but how could she expect the people who’d loved her to accept a constant, living reminder of the worst moments in their lives?

So, he hadn’t thrown a party. He hadn’t said anything to hurt Hope or Cassie, either. Why couldn’t Cassie give him a break?

He looked up at the closed windows and the door whose locks still clanked and clicked in his ears. Five years, and it was as if she’d left last night and come home this morning.

All the feelings were so familiar. Fear, anger, dread.

And somewhere down deep, the love he hadn’t been able to abandon or smother. No other woman had ever made him forget Cassie.

He’d been stranded in a time capsule since the evening she’d left him outside her lawyer’s office. Him still swearing he’d make her love him again. Her looking sad. Out of his reach.

And early on, whenever he’d suggested he come to Washington to see her, she’d refused. Finally, she’d said her life would be easier and she’d forget the past better if she never again saw anyone connected with it.

Especially him.

He took a last look at the windows, like eyes closed against the world. Cassie had made enough rules for him and her father. Surely Leo was a living illustration that Cassie’s way led to disaster.

Van made his own rules in every other part of his life. If Cassie wanted to throw away love, she’d have to say so, flat out.

He turned the key in the ignition and then pulled his cell from his pocket. Cassie took three rings to answer.

“Hello?”

If she’d sounded certain, instead of wary, maybe he’d have backed off. If she hadn’t sounded afraid…

“Don’t start dinner. I’ll bring something back.”

“I don’t want you to come back.”

“I don’t blame you. I didn’t treat Hope right and I’m sorry.”

“She deserves better, and so do I.”

Before, he’d have handled her with kid gloves. She’d been hurt, inside and out, and he couldn’t hurt her more.

“Cassie.” If he gave in, he’d lose any chance of finding out if they could still love each other. “I don’t want to hurt that kid, but she reminds me of—” He couldn’t say her father. If he did, he’d never look the child in the eye again. “She reminds me of what happened. Give me a chance to live with it.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not coming back here. You and I have been divorced for almost five years. We’re over.”

“Your father is extremely ill. You won’t throw him into some nursing facility and run away.”

“I will,” she said through what sounded like gritted teeth.

“I know you.”

“You’re living in a crazy dream. You need treatment as much as my father.”

“You might be right, but I’ve never said goodbye to you. I don’t want to give up.”

“On what? On nothing. It’s been nothing since the night I left here.”

“Do you think I’m proud of feeling this way? I’m a man. I don’t want to run after a woman who couldn’t be more clear about not wanting to be with me. But I think you were lying five years ago about not wanting us in your life, because you were afraid for your child. I have to know if we can still care for each other.” He tapped his fist against the steering wheel. “Don’t make me talk about feelings, Cassie. And don’t make me beg.”

Her silence stretched so long he pulled the phone away from his ear to see if the signal had faded or she’d hung up.

“Mommy,” said a small voice on Cassie’s side of the connection, “I’m really hungry.”

“So I’ll be back,” Van said. “With dinner for both of you.”

“For all of us?” Cassie asked.

He stiffened. “Are you inviting me or preparing yourself?”

She took a deep breath, but he was holding his. “Maybe a little of both.”

“That’s a start,” he said. “I’ll be back.” He hung up before she could change her mind.

She might be right. What kind of man held on to a woman who’d turned her back on him in the most final of divorce decrees five years ago?

But she’d kept information to herself then. She’d been pregnant. With a rapist’s child, but she’d been his wife and she’d been carrying a child. He’d loved her. He’d had a right to know—or to tell her he couldn’t face it.

He wasn’t sure he could face it now.

He pulled away from the curb, not letting thoughts of Hope reignite his old anger. She was a child, not someone to blame.

And he was through giving up on everything that had mattered because Cassie didn’t believe in him. It was his turn to take charge.

For the first time in a long time, he felt a little hope.

He drove to the town’s new overpriced luxury market, parking next door at the Honesty Sentinel because everyone who wanted to see and be seen had already taken all the open spots at Posh Victuals.

The second he hit the aromatic air inside, his stomach muttered with guttural hunger. He flattened his hand against his belly, but in the Babel of dinnertime shopping, no one else noticed.

He waited in line at the Poshly Prepared Pasta counter. A high school girl, wearing a checkered napkin folded artfully into a cap, finally got through the three customers before him.

“What may I feed you, sir?”

As if she were wearing a toga and offering grapes. “What do you have that will make a four-year-old girl happy?”

“Huh?” She glanced around the counters as if seeking help. No one materialized.

“I have a friend who’s just arrived in town with her four-year-old daughter, and they haven’t eaten. I’d like to take them some dinner.”

Lowering her voice, she leaned toward him. “I’m supposed to talk you into buying the more expensive stuff, but take the spaghetti. Kids always like spaghetti. I have a little brother, and he can’t get enough of the stuff we make here.”

“Perfect. Pack it up.”

“Just for the girl? Would you like a whole dinner? Or a child’s spaghetti?”

“Dinner for three.”

“Okeydoke.”

“Do you have a meatless sauce?”

She nodded.

“I’d better take two orders of that.” Cassie hadn’t eaten meat for years before she’d left, and she might have persuaded her daughter to eat the same crazy way.

With deft hands, the girl packed a meal in takeout cartons. Pasta, a container of sauce, a larger one without meat, and garlic bread, so rich with spicy scents his stomach grumbled again. Louder.

The girl must have heard. Her mouth twitched, but she was too polite to mention it.

She added vegetable antipasto, a tossed salad and two containers of tiramisu. He stopped her in time to ask for crème brûlée for Cassie.

“Just warm everything up. If you boil the pasta for two minutes, it’ll be better than new.” She leaned in again. “I add olive oil to the water. Amazing.”

“Thanks.” He found her badge beneath a wavy ponytail. “Rita.”

“My pleasure. Here’s hoping your friends enjoy.”

His friend had probably changed her mind about letting him in—and changed the locks.

Back at Leo’s house, he parked in the driveway behind Cassie’s rental and carried their dinner to the front door, tapping the newly painted porch with his fingertips to make sure it was dry. He rang the bell and then waved the bags in front of the wood to spread the delicious aromas. That market might have a froufrou name, but their cooking smelled great.

Nothing happened on the other side of the Warne door. He backed up and looked around one of the porch stanchions, but the blinds remained shut tight. If the lights were on, not one sliver of illumination leaked through.

He rang the bell again. Would she really change her mind? Could she lock him out of her life again?

The door opened, and Cassie stared at him, accusation and embarrassment on her face.

“How long did it take you to decide?” he asked, fighting a smile.

She stared at his mouth, and resentment firmed her beautiful lips. “I’m letting you in, but it doesn’t mean anything.” It should have sounded churlish, but her sad eyes made him feel responsible.

“Whatever makes you feel all right, Cassie. Where’s—” he cursed himself for the three seconds it took to say her name “—Hope?”

“That’s why I don’t want you around. I don’t doubt you mean well and, obviously, I’m some sort of penance to you.” She lowered her voice. “But every time you look at my little girl, you’ll see that man.” She said it without a shudder, as if that didn’t happen to her. “Or you’ll wonder why I kept her.” She took both bags.

He caught the door in one hand, half expecting her to close it, and then he took back the heavier bag. “I’d never hurt you—or Hope.”

This time her daughter’s name stopped her for a second. “Not on purpose.” She nudged him with the other bag. Cassie, who’d never had a violent bone in her body, actually tried to push him outside. “But you can’t help—and your feelings hurt me more than anything he ever did.”

It was a kick in the gut. He swallowed—twice—before he was able to speak. “Don’t ever say that again.” The connection between his mouth and brain seemed to break. Finally, he managed to pry his tongue off the roof of his mouth. “Don’t compare me to him.”

He turned for the door, but she caught him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and he believed her because her eyes shone with unshed tears and her mouth trembled. “It just came out. I didn’t mean—”

“Let it go. There are some things you and I can’t talk about.” Nor could he explain he’d been walking through life blind, not living since she’d left him. “I was surprised about Hope. A man doesn’t expect his former—” He glanced toward the kitchen. “I never thought about you having a baby and me not knowing, but none of this is her fault. I want her to feel comfortable around me, and you’d better want that, too, because someone has to look after her while you visit your father.”

Maybe Hope could hang out with one of the nurses for the few minutes it would take for him to—“I’m the closest thing to family he’s had for the past few days. You need me to remind him who you are.”

VAN’S SPEECH, half apology and a whole lot of assumption, hung in the air.

Cassie stared, her mouth half-open until she noticed she was catching flies and closed it. “Remind him?” The bag slipped in her arms. She managed to catch it. “You honestly think he won’t know me?”

Van eyed her right back as if he was worried she might also be losing her memory. “I told you that, Cassie.”

“I didn’t understand.” She turned with the bag, not certain where to go next. “How am I going to make sure no one tells him about—I don’t care if he hates me, but I don’t want him to hurt her.” Van’s reaction to Hope had proved she was right to shield her daughter from everyone in Honesty. “Plus, I don’t want him to get worse. Making him angry could easily make him sicker.”

“What are you talking about? You think he hates you?”

She lifted her head, an animal scenting a challenge. “I liked you better when you couldn’t hide anything you felt.” Including the fact that he’d blamed her, too. “He thought what happened was my fault.”

“He was scared. Still is, but he doesn’t hate you.”

Trust Van to protect her father. She went toe to toe with the only man she’d ever loved more than her dad. “I could never blame Hope for something like that. That’s how I know his love wasn’t enough, and he does blame me.”

Deep down, she realized she was still accusing Van, too. She couldn’t help it. His rejection—turning from her in their bed, stepping away from her as they’d gazed together out of their kitchen window—those moments lived under her skin, thorns too sharp to bear.

They’d argued until he had no more words, and hers only made him angry.

“Your father isn’t well.”

“He was fine five years ago.” A new rush of resentment shocked her. She had to get a grip. “I’m sorry.” She rubbed her forehead. “Seeing you and being here brings it all back.”

“I didn’t like your answers to our problems then. I still don’t.” Answers. Nice, antiseptic way to describe ripping out her own heart and throwing it onto a barbed-wire fence.

“You don’t get a choice,” she said, not to be unkind but to make him see it was too late to change things.

Faltering, Van turned to a safer subject. “Leo’s worse when he’s tired, and what about Hope? I’ll be glad to look after her, but she’ll have to go with us when I introduce you to him.”

“I can explain if he doesn’t know me.” She hated the thought of accepting his help. As if coming back had turned her into the naive young woman who’d married her personal Prince Charming, the habit of leaning on Van tempted her. “And Hope doesn’t know you. I’m not comfortable leaving her with anyone.”

“Like it or not, I’m not just anyone.”

“Close enough.”

He looked her straight in the eye and pretended not to have heard. “I could ask my sister to come to the hospital.”

“Beth.” Her heart ached. She’d lost more than her father and Van. “I’ve missed her.”

“You could have stayed in touch.”

“How would I have asked her not to tell you about Hope?”

“You couldn’t.” He lifted the other bag of food. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

Hope appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Mommy, I’m starwing. I need foods.”

“Coming, sweetie.” Cassie led the way. “I’ll call the hospital and see if my father’s still awake.”

In the kitchen, Hope climbed back into a chair. The water Cassie had set to boil in a saucepan on the stove was still, the gas beneath it turned off.

Hope looked up as Cassie put two and two together. “I did it.”

The stove was like theirs at home, far from here. Her little girl wanted to be a big girl as quick as she could and never thought about saucepan handles. “I’ve asked you not to mess with stoves when I’m not in the room.”

“I’m okay. It’s like ours. I knew how.”

“Hope, I’ve asked you…”

“I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“Do you like to help cook, Hope?” Van started removing paper cartons from his sack. The poisonous resentment in his voice had faded.

He was so very friendly.

“We were gonna have those instant grits.” She pointed at the counter.

He made a face at the box. “I’ve saved you from an ugly fate.”

“Mommy likes ’em.” She slid out of her chair and went to his elbow.

“You’re not such a big fan?”

He still hadn’t looked into her innocent face.

“I don’t mind ’em.” Lying, Hope smiled at Cassie, offering her loyalty.

“Maybe you’ll like this stuff instead.” Setting the last carton on the table, he looked at Hope and a smile spread across his face. A real smile. Wide, warm. Real.

Hope laughed out loud. “I was kinda scared to come here, but you’re nice, Mr. Van. I like your face.”

He laughed, too. Slowly, his hand curved around the back of Hope’s head.