She was doing this for Nicole, she reminded herself. For her sister. For family.
Her lane merged onto I-5. Still going forty-five, Claire eased into the right lane and vowed to stay there until it was time to exit.
By the time she got off, just north of the University district, she was shaking all over. She hated driving. Hated it. Cars were awful and drivers were rude, mean people who screamed at her. But she’d made it and that was what mattered.
She followed the directions from the GPS and managed to make her way into the parking lot next to the bakery. She turned off the car, leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and did her best to breathe.
When her heartbeat had slowed from hummingbird rate to that for a medium-size mammal, she straightened, then stared at the building in front of her.
The Keyes bakery had been in the same location for all of its eighty years of operation. Originally, her great-grandparents had rented only half the store-front. Over time, the business had grown. They’d bought out their neighbor’s lease, then had bought the whole place about sixty years ago.
Pastries, cakes and breads filled the lower half of the two display windows. Delicate lettering listing other options covered the top half. A big sign above the door proclaimed Keyes Bakery—Home of the World’s Best Chocolate Cake.
The multilayer chocolate confection had been praised by royalty and presidents, served by brides and written into several celebrity contracts as a “must have” on location shoots or backstage at concerts. It was about a billion calories of flour, sugar, butter, chocolate and a secret ingredient passed on through the family. Not that Claire knew what it was. But she would. She was confident Nicole would want to tell her immediately.
She got out of the car and smoothed the front of her sweater. It was cool enough that she kept on her coat, hoping it wasn’t too wrinkled from the drive. After collecting her purse, she carefully locked the driver’s door. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the bakery.
It was midafternoon and relatively quiet. There were two young moms sitting at a corner table with pastries and coffee. Two strollers with babies were between their chairs. Claire offered a smile as she made her way to the long counter. The teenage girl there looked at her.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes. I hope so. I’m Claire. Claire Keyes.”
The teenager, a plump brunette with big, brown eyes sighed. “Okay. What can I get you? The rosemary garlic bread is hot out of the oven.”
Claire smiled hopefully. “I’m Claire Keyes,” she repeated.
“Heard that the first time.”
Claire pointed to the sign on the wall. “Keyes, as in Nicole’s sister.”
The teenager’s eyes got even bigger. “Oh, my God. No way. Are you really? The piano player?”
Claire winced. “Technically I’m a concert pianist.” A soloist, but why quibble? “I’m here because of Nicole’s surgery. Jesse called and asked me to—”
“Jesse?” The girl’s voice came out as a shriek. “She didn’t. Are you kidding? Oh, my God! I can’t believe it.” The teenager backed up as she spoke. “Nicole is so going to kill her. If she hasn’t already. I just…” She held up her hand. “Wait here, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Before Claire could say anything, the girl took off toward the back.
Claire adjusted her bag on her shoulder and looked at the inventory in the glass case. There were several pies, a couple of cakes, along with loaves of bread. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten all day. She’d been too nervous to have anything on the plane.
Maybe she could get some of that rosemary garlic bread and then stop at a deli for—
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Claire looked at the man walking toward her. He was big and rough looking, with tanned skin and the kind of body that said he either did physical work for a living or spent too much time at a gym. She did her best not to wrinkle her nose at the sight of his plaid shirt and worn jeans.
“I’m Claire Keyes,” she began.
“I know who you are. I asked why you were here.”
“Actually you asked me why the ‘hell’ I was here. There’s a difference.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Which is?”
“One question implies a genuine interest in the answer, the other lets me know that somehow I’ve annoyed you. You don’t really care why I’m here, you just want me to know I’m not welcome. Which is strange, considering you and I have never met.”
“I’m friends with Nicole. I don’t have to have met you to know all I need to about you.”
Ouch. Claire didn’t understand. If Nicole was still mad at her, why had Jesse called and implied otherwise? “Who are you?”
“Wyatt Knight. Nicole is married to my stepbrother.”
Nicole got married? When? To whom?
A deep, deep sadness followed the questions. Her own sister hadn’t bothered to tell her or invite her to the wedding. How pathetic was that?
Emotions chased across Claire Keyes’s face. Wyatt didn’t bother to try to read them. Women and what they felt were a mystery best left unsolved by mortal man. Trying to make sense of the female mind would drive a man to drink, then kill him.
Instead he studied the tall, slender blonde in front of him, looking for similarities to Nicole and Jesse.
Their eyes, he thought, taking in the big, blue irises. Maybe the shape of the mouth. The hair color…sort of. Nicole’s was just blond. Claire’s was a dozen different shades and shiny.
But nothing else was the same. Nicole was his friend, someone he’d known for years. A pretty enough woman, but regular looking. Claire dressed in off-white—from her too-long coat to the sweater and slacks she wore underneath. Her purse was beige, as were her boots. She looked like an ice princess…an evil one.
“I’d like to see my sister,” Claire said firmly. “I know she’s in the hospital. But I’m not sure which one.”
“No way I’m going to tell you. I don’t know why you’re here, lady, but I can tell you Nicole doesn’t want to see you.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“From who?”
“Jesse. She said Nicole was going to need help after her surgery. She called me yesterday and I flew in this morning.” She raised her chin slightly. “I’m not going away, Mr. Knight, and you can’t make me. I will see my sister. If you choose not to give me the information, I’ll simply call every hospital in Seattle until I find her. Nicole is my family.”
“Since when?” he muttered, recognizing the stubborn angle of her chin and the determination in her voice. The twins had that much in common.
Why had Jesse done this? To make more trouble? Or had she been trying to fix a desperate situation? The truth was Nicole would need help and she was just difficult enough not to ask. He would do what he could, but he had a business to run and Amy to look after. Nicole wouldn’t want Drew around, assuming his good-for-nothing brother hadn’t run off somewhere to hide. Jesse was a worse choice. Which left exactly no one else.
Why did he have to be making this decision? He swore under his breath. “Where are you staying?”
“At the house. Where else?”
“Fine. Stay there. Nicole will be home in a couple of days. You can take this up with her then.”
“I’m not waiting two more days to see her.”
Selfish, spoiled, egotistic, narcissistic. Wyatt remembered Nicole’s familiar list of complaints about her sister. Right now, every one of them made sense to him.
“Listen,” he said. “You can wait at the house or fly back to Paris or wherever it is you live.”
“New York,” she said quietly. “I live in New York.”
“Whatever. My point is you’re not going to see Nicole until she’s had a couple of days to recover, even if that means I have to stand guard on her hospital room myself. You got that? She’s in enough hurt right now from the surgery without having to deal with a pain in the ass like you.”
CHAPTER TWO
CLAIRE DEFLATED like a punctured balloon, leaving Wyatt feeling like the biggest as**ole this side of the Rockies. He told himself it was just an act, that she was born to play people and had only gotten better at it as she’d gotten older. For someone who claimed to care so much for her sister, she’d never once shown up here in all the years he’d known Nicole. Not for birthdays or even her sister’s damn wedding. She’d missed Jesse’s high school graduation. She was good at playing the victim, that was all, and he wasn’t going to get sucked in to her game.
Just when he thought she was going to turn around and go away, she straightened. Her shoulders went back, her chin came up and she looked him square in the eye. “My sister called me.”“So you said.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I don’t care enough to think about it one way or the other.”
She tilted her head so that her long, shimmering blond hair fell over one shoulder. “Nicole has a good friend in you. I hope she appreciates that.”
So she’d moved on to sucking up. Probably an effective plan on anyone who wasn’t clued in to her style.
“Jesse called me,” she continued. “She told me about the surgery. You have to know that much is true, otherwise how would I know? Jesse also told me that Nicole wants me to help out afterward and is happy I’m here. Under the circumstances, I’m more inclined to believe her than you.”
“I can tell you that as of twenty minutes before the surgery, Nicole had no idea you were going to show up. Trust me. She would have mentioned it.”
Claire frowned slightly. “Nothing about this makes sense. Why would Jesse lie? Why would you?”
“I wouldn’t.”
She looked genuinely confused and Wyatt almost believed her. This messed-up situation had Jesse written all over it. The question was, why had the kid done it? To make a bad situation worse or did she really want to help Nicole? With Jesse it wasn’t easy to tell.
“I’m staying,” Claire told him. “Just so you’re clear. I’m staying. I’m going to the hospital and—”
“No.”
“But I—”
“No.”
She looked at him. “You’re very determined.”
“I protect what’s mine.”
Something flickered in her eyes. Something sad and small that he didn’t want to identify.
“Fine. I’ll wait at the house until Nicole is ready to come home,” Claire said at last. “Then she and I can figure out what’s going on.”
“It would be easier if you just went back to New York.”
“I don’t do easy. Never have. Career hazard, I suppose.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. Did she think anyone believed that playing the piano for a bunch of rich people in fancy European cities was hard?
He shrugged. He couldn’t force Nicole’s sister to disappear. As long as she didn’t try to bug Nicole in the hospital, he would stay out of it.
“So Nicole will come home in a couple of days?” Claire asked.
“Something like that.”
She smiled at him. “You’re very determined not to give up any information, Mr. Knight, but as I’m going to be living in the same house it will be difficult to conceal Nicole’s arrival from me.”
“Wyatt. I’m not your boss and you’re not my banker.”
“Your employees call you by your last name?”
“No. I was making a point.”
“My banker calls me Claire.”
“My banker doesn’t.”
Her smile faded. “You don’t like me very much.”
He didn’t bother to answer that.
“You don’t even know me,” she continued. “That hardly seems fair.”
“I know enough.”
She stiffened, as if he’d hit her. Egotistical and sensitive, he thought grimly. Hell of a combination.
Claire turned and walked out of the bakery. Wyatt followed to make sure she really did get into her car and drive away.
He glanced around the parking lot, half expecting to see a stretch limo or a Mercedes. But Claire’s rental was a midsize four-door with luggage piled in the backseat.
“How much crap did you bring?” he asked before he could stop himself. “It wouldn’t even fit in the trunk?”
She came to a stop and looked at him. “No. That’s all I brought.”
“What have you got against the trunk? Afraid you’ll break a nail?”
“I, as you put it so elegantly, play piano. I don’t have long nails.” She straightened again and seemed to brace herself. “As I said before, I live in New York, where I don’t keep a car. I don’t drive much anywhere. I couldn’t figure out how to open the trunk.”
Now he knew why she’d braced herself. She was waiting for him to rip her a new one. It was a pretty sweet setup and he could think of a hundred cheap shots. Who didn’t know how to open the trunk? His eight-year-old could do it.
What stopped him from saying that and more was the fact that she was expecting to be trashed and that, even knowing he didn’t like her, she’d still exposed a vulnerable spot. Wyatt didn’t mind being a mean bastard, but he wouldn’t be a bully.
He moved next to her, took the keys from her hand and pointed to the attached fob. “Ever see one of these before? The little pictures tell you what the buttons do.” He pushed the one that opened the trunk. It popped open.