She closed her hand over the other strap—then the wind shifted, and she smelled something that made saliva pool in her mouth.
Fumbling the button into the loop, she climbed up the length of the pole, sniffing the air. That smell came from the house; the scent of meat, and earthy vegetables, and broth that had been simmering for hours. Her stomach cramped, so empty it felt like she could touch her spine through her belly button.
It’s not that far. Just across the small yard, and the reward for the effort was shelter and food. And maybe, help. Though she hadn’t heard any movement from the house, and the gravel drive was empty. But the food would be help enough, and the shelter temporary, until she found out how far she was from home.
One step at a time, the clothesline a swaying support, Claire made her way across the uneven ground. She reached the end of the clothesline and stumbled the last few feet on her own, falling against the support of the house. Numb hands gripped the weathered siding, her legs shaking with the effort of keeping her upright. She kept a running pep talk going through her mind as she inched along the wall to the closest door, praying it led to the kitchen. Praying it was unlocked.
Both were answered when she turned the knob, and pulled herself up the single step into a neat but dated kitchen. Leaning against the door, she closed it, never taking her eyes off the huge, shiny stockpot sitting on the back burner of the stove.
She didn’t remember how she got to the stove. She simply hung on to the battered Formica counter next to it, fingers trembling as they closed over the metal ladle sitting in a pretty spoon rest.
The first greedy gulp burned all the way down. Claire had never tasted anything so delicious. She managed to control herself enough to blow on the second ladleful, before swallowing it down faster than the first. Then she forced herself to put the ladle down, knowing if she ate too fast, she would throw it up just as fast.
Hunting down a bowl and a spoon kept her from eating more right away. Moving around the kitchen, using counters and cabinets as a support, helped to warm her. When she finally sat at the table, hardly spilling any of the soup, she sagged against the chair, and let go of the tight control.
Tears slid down her face, locked her throat—until the first gasping sob doubled her. Huddled in a stranger’s chair, she cried, her grief echoing in the small, lonely kitchen.
THREE
Annie slumped against the counter, her foul mood no longer hidden by the required friendly smile. The store was empty, so she didn’t have to smile.
“Why can’t we close early? It’s been deader than the proverbial nail all day.”
Marcus stood behind the counter, dressed in his usual black, wild, curling black cloaking his shoulders. He opened the ledger he used to tally sales and picked up his pen. “We post hours, which means we keep those hours, busy or not.”
“Damn it.” Annie knew she sounded like a whining brat. She couldn’t seem to help herself. “If I don’t get out of here right now, I’m going to hurt someone.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow, kept writing. It simply notched her temper up. “If you need to leave, Annie, you are welcome to do so. I can close the shop on my own.”
The reasonable tone made her itch to punch him. Instead she picked at a loose thread on the pocket of her jeans. “And if I don’t come in tomorrow?”
“I believe I can go on without you.”
She pushed off the counter, stalked to the back of the store, cursing under her breath, before she spun around and headed straight for Marcus. He didn’t even flinch when she smacked her hands on the counter. Bastard.
“Damn you, Marcus—look at me!”
With a sigh, he closed the ledger, curls brushing his shoulders as he lifted his head. “I will be happy to fight with you. After closing hours.” He caught her wrists before she could stomp away. The sympathy in those gold-laced green eyes nearly broke her. “I know what day it is, as well.” His deep, rough voice gentled. “If you want to use Claire’s birthday as an excuse to be angry, that is your choice. If you want to honor her memory today, I will close the shop, and we will honor her. But I will not take the bait you keep throwing at me. I will not have the memory of this day an angry one.”
Tears burned her eyes. She lowered her head as they slipped down her face, mortified by her temper tantrum. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t—I don’t want to hurt like this anymore.”
Marcus let her go, moved around the counter and pulled her into his embrace. The man could hug. His comfort had been the only thing that kept her going some days. That, and Eric’s voice on the other end of the phone every night.