Dance Away with Me - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,47
‘Wren.’ Honestly, Tess, that’s lame.”
“I was under pressure.”
Ava headed off to be with her friends. Gabi, with a look over her shoulder at Tess, went to join her.
Michelle arrived half an hour later. Her pregnant belly had grown in the three and a half weeks since Tess had last seen her. “I’m working with you because I have to,” she said as she knotted her apron above her swollen abdomen, “but I’m not going to pretend everything’s okay. That poor woman. Her body’s not even cold, and you move in with her husband.”
Until today, Tess hadn’t considered how this would look to the town.
* * *
Heather’s quirky little house was eclectically furnished with gauzy drapes, fairy lights, and mirrored pillows. Tess curled Wren against her and gazed into her sweet, elfin face. “I swear she’s gained weight since this morning.”
“She downed that bag of potato chips I gave her like a pro,” Heather said.
Wren’s rosebud mouth formed a soft oval, and Tess kissed her forehead. “The lady thinks she’s funny, but we know better, don’t we?”
Heather had a big laugh for a small lady.
Tess wasn’t anxious to get back to the schoolhouse, so she eagerly accepted Heather’s dinner invitation. The spicy mixture of quinoa, chickpeas, broccoli, and avocado tasted a lot better than it looked. As they finished eating, Tess decided to be upfront. “I’m sure you’ve heard the gossip, and so you know . . . I didn’t kill Wren’s mother so I could move in with Ian.” She’d spoken more vehemently than she’d intended. “The two of us can barely tolerate each other.”
Heather tapped the excess quinoa off the serving spoon. “Here’s what I’ve learned about people. . . . Life gets boring, and inventing conspiracy theories makes everyday existence more exciting.” She touched Tess’s hand. “This’ll blow over. The more people get to know you, the quicker the gossip will die off.”
Tess wanted to believe Heather was right, but she was too much of a realist.
* * *
She stopped at her cabin on the way back to the schoolhouse to retrieve some earrings she hadn’t felt like wearing until now. As she got ready to leave, she spotted specks of dried mud by the back door that she must have tracked in the last time she was here.
She grabbed the broom and swept it up.
Ian returned home as it was getting dark. Wren had finally settled down after a long crying jag that left Tess counting the hours until she could dump the little hellion back on Heather. As Ian set his backpack inside the door, his shoulders tested the seams of a worn brown leather jacket—shoulders that should have been hauling bundles of roofing shingles instead of cutting stencils and wielding spray cans. He took in her tangled hair, saggy jeans, and formula-stained shirt. As usual, he seemed displeased with what he saw. But not for the reason she thought.
“Did you eat at all while I was gone?”
“A simple bowl of gruel. Your absence left me bereft.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up, then settled back into its customary spot at the corner of that hard mouth. “I found Wren’s father,” he said. “But there’s a problem.”
Chapter Nine
Ian had been trapped in Bianca’s crises for so long that he’d forgotten what it was like to be with a woman who could stand on her own. Tess had tied up her hair in a messy bun. No makeup. The neckline of her rumpled white blouse slightly askew—just like her. Her straight dark eyebrows drew together over those brilliant plum-blue eyes—not all that happy to see him. “I want to hear everything,” she whispered, “but if you wake her, I will kill you.”
He wanted to wake Tess up. He couldn’t remember when he’d last experienced so much . . . unbridled lust. Bridled lust, sure. He’d felt that lots of times. But not this primitive urge to tumble her right here by the front door. It made him furious. Sex was one thing, but this was total overload. He’d never once produced decent work when he’d been entangled in a relationship. It wasn’t the women’s fault. He was the one with the fragile, emotional fault line.
As he watched Tess carry Wren upstairs, he thought of Bianca. Even without the complication of sex, their connection had sucked the creative juices right out of him. He’d never get back the days, the weeks, the months of productivity he’d lost whenever she was in crisis. And yet, if he had to