Cara O'Shea's Return, page 13
part #1 of Small Town New England Series
Chapter Twenty
Furious, as much with himself as the greedy freelance photographer, Finn’s knuckles showed white from his crushing grip on the steering wheel. He knew only too well the kind of firestorm a woman would face, being seen with him, but he had ignored his own instincts, because he wanted Cara near.
With Stockwell on her scent, the smart thing to do would be to send her home, tonight. But damn it, he wasn’t nearly ready to give her up yet. He didn’t plan to have a future with her, any more than he had with any of the other women he’d held and let go since his divorce, but for reasons he didn’t want to consider, he didn’t like the idea of Cara joining the ranks of those other women. And she would, if her picture turned up in one of Stockwell’s journalistic rags.
The chances were fifty-fifty the ambitious photographer would hold back the picture he’d snapped. Finn could only hope the promise of a future exclusive would tip the scales.
“Sorry about that. Stockwell is a piranha, but he’s backed off in the past when I’ve asked him to. Hopefully, he’ll do the same this time.”
She snorted a laugh. “I think that’s a safe bet. He could barely contain his excitement at your offer of an exclusive. The question is…how long will you make him wait?”
He jerked his head in her direction, but she was staring out the side window so he couldn’t see her face. Though she had no qualm voicing her disdain of his lifestyle before they became lovers, she hadn’t made reference to his reputation since they’d been sleeping together. He didn’t like hearing her do so now.
“I like women, Cara,” he said stiffly. “There have been a lot of them since my divorce. It’s who I am, and I won’t apologize for it.”
“I didn’t ask for an apology.” She glanced at him, her big, green eyes full of disappointment. She laughed, a short and humorless cough. “I went into this affair with my eyes wide open. You don’t owe me any explanations, and I certainly don’t expect any.”
“Jesus.” He flexed his cramping fingers on the wheel. “I’m sorry. Dealing with the press always puts me in a vicious mood.”
“I can see that,” she said, her voice now as stiff as his.
“It pisses me off that I can’t just flatten an asshole like Stockwell when he gets in my face.”
“Then why offer him an exclusive? And that’s not a criticism. I’m just trying to understand. Why reward him for hounding you, when that will only encourage him to continue?”
“First, because nothing I do or say is going to stop him. To bottom feeders like Stockwell, celebrities are a multimillion-dollar business, and they take their job seriously. Feeding them information on my terms allows me to have at least a little bit of control over what’s being reported. And second, though it ticks me off to admit it, the paparazzi have their uses. Having my name and face in the public eye increases my interest quotient, or so my agent tells me. When you make your living as a pitch man, the publicity comes in handy at the bargaining table.”
“That sounds like a crappy way to make a living.” She turned back to the window. “It must drive you crazy sometimes.”
“You have no idea.”
****
“Word on the town grapevine is, Cara O’Shea has moved into the Sawyer House.”
Finn closed the cover on the electrical panel and shot Maive an aggravated frown where she perched on her basement stairs. “She hasn’t moved in. She just needed somewhere to stay while we replaced the stairwell in her studio.”
“Would that be the stairwell you finished over a week ago?”
He squatted to close the toolbox at his feet. “What is it you’re driving at, Maive?”
“I’m not driving at anything, boy. I’m asking flat out. What are you up to with Mary O’Shea’s middle daughter?”
“Since when do you ask questions about my love life?”
“Since you’ve invited a woman into your home for the first time since Andrea.”
“Don’t make more of it than it is.”
“And what is that?”
“A temporary arrangement between two consenting adults.” He snapped the latches on the box and hefted it as he stood. Maive rose as he reached the bottom step, blocking his way.
“It’s me you’re talking to, Michael Finnegan. Since Andrea, you haven’t let a woman get close long enough to have even a temporary arrangement, until Cara. I like her.”
He sighed and shook his head. “I like her, too. What’s not to like? But don’t go spinning dreams of happily-ever-after. You’ll only be disappointed. Neither of us wants anything permanent. We’re simply two healthy adults, enjoying each other’s company for a time.”
Perplexity marred her brow. “Why don’t you want something permanent? She’s perfect for you, and I’ve seen the way you look at her. She has feeling for you, too.”
He grunted, recalling the acceptance in Cara’s eyes when she named what they were doing together, an affair. She couldn’t have made it any clearer she considered their relationship temporary. She may care for him. Her eyes said so, as did the way she responded whenever he reached for her, but she was smart enough to know their relationship wouldn’t last. Her insight should have relieved him. Instead, it left him feeling itchy.
“Maive.” He sighed and moved to step passed her. She stuck out her arm, stopping him.
“Don’t Maive me, boy. Just answer the question.”
“Maive darling, you know I love you, but you’re seeing things that aren’t there. Besides, we both know I don’t have what it takes to make a relationship work.”
“Poppycock!”
He barked a laugh. “Poppycock?”
She ignored his grin, pointing a finger in his face. “Andrea was the one who didn’t have what it takes. If she hadn’t left, you’d still be there, doing everything you could to make your marriage work. And you’d be miserable. When are you going to stop blaming yourself for her selfishness?”
The grin slid from his face. “You’re biased, Auntie Maive. It took two of us to screw up our marriage. I knew the kind of life she expected to live when I married her. When I was injured, I quit trying to give her the life I had promised.”
Her face softened and she cupped his cheek with a gentle hand. “And she didn’t love you enough to give you the time to work through your own disappointment at never playing football again. She was a selfish woman, more concerned about being seen about town than she was about what you were going through. You’re better off without her.”
All true, but still only half the story. He’d been so caught up in his own nightmare he didn’t noticed how unhappy Andrea was until it was too late. Maybe he hadn’t loved her enough to notice.
“I love you, Maive.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm before using his grip to turn her and guide her up the stairs. “And like I said, you’re biased.”
“Cara, on the other hand is just the kind of woman you need.” She continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “She’s strong enough to stand up to you, but human enough to make you happy.” She spun around at the top threshold, her eyes even with his when he stopped several steps below. “I promised your mother I’d watch out for you. I’ve tried to do that.”
“You’ve succeeded.” He squeezed her hand before letting go. “You’ve always been there for me.”
“Yes, I have, even when you resented it.”
His mouth kicked up in a crooked smile. He’d tested his budding manhood against her indomitable will more than once. She’d been as tough as any coach he ever played under and she had usually been right.
“But the one time you really needed me to be there for you, I wasn’t.” She shook her head when he would have argued and moved aside so he could join her in the hallway. “I didn’t speak up when you told me you were marrying Andrea. I should have. I won’t make that mistake again.” She poked him in the chest with a gnarled finger. “Cara O’Shea is perfect for you, boy. Don’t screw it up!”
Chapter Twenty-One
“It’s an important celebration, Finn. The anniversary committee has been waiting for your answer for weeks now. You can’t keep dodging us.”
Despite her agitation, Jill Carlson appeared fresh and crisp in a pale peach business suit. Her perfectly styled hair flitted about her shoulders as she followed Finn around the studio.
Cara chewed on her bottom lip, and remained silent. In contrast, Finn was hot and sweaty in his ripped T-shirt and jeans. Crouched beside one of the new French doors, his narrowed eyes warned he was considering using the hammer he held to clobber the Palmerton anniversary committee chairwoman on the head.
“Palmerton is my home, Jill. Keeping my name out of functions and events here keeps the press away.”
“Exactly,” she persisted, ignoring his valid point and settling on emotional blackmail. “Palmerton is your home, and you owe it to the people of this town, who supported you in your career, to step up to the plate for this celebration.”
He answered her with a silent, sardonic arch of his brows.
“We need you.” Her New England accent deepened with her whining tone. “The two-hundred-fiftieth anniversary of incorporation only comes along once.”
“There are plenty of others who would be happy to take the position.” Finn pounded away at the shim he was attempting to install to level the French door’s threshold. “Tom O’Shea is the town manager. Ask him.”
“He’s the one who suggested you!” Despite her bulldog tactics, Jill was genuinely interested in the senior center the celebration would help to fund. Finn’s presence would draw the kind of crowds the committee was hoping for, if only she could talk him into it. Her eyes pleaded with Cara. “Can’t you talk to him?”
“Leave me out of this.” Cara held up a hand. “I’ve only been in town for a few weeks. I don’t have a dog in this hunt.”
“Don’t have a dog in this hunt?” Jill stared at her as though she’d lost her mind. “You’re a resident of this town too, and you’re sleeping with him! If anyone can talk some sense into him, it’s you!”
Struggling with her own shock, Cara barely noticed the sounds of construction go silent, until one of the men groaned behind her. Beside her, Finn rose slowly from his crouch. Six-foot-five, two hundred and twenty pounds of muscled menace turned on Jill.
“Oooh, nooo.” Jill breathed shallowly and paled.
“Oh, no, is right!” His voice rose until the last word was a shout.
Cara stepped between them to pull the hammer from his hand before he decided to put it to good use. She turned on a horrified Jill.
“You’re right, Jill.” She crossed her arms, the hammer dangling from her gripping fingers. She was amazed her voice sounded so calm, considering the town crier had just announced her sexual escapades to a half dozen men. “I am sleeping with him, but unlike you, I’m only using him for sex, not to put Palmerton on the map.”
Ryan burst out laughing behind her. Several of the other men snickered. That is, until Finn jerked his furious gaze in their direction. A round of nervous coughing ensued.
Tears filled Jill’s eyes. “God, I’m sorry, Cara.” She turned to Finn. “I’m sorry, Finn. I never should have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” He stomped over to the water cooler and filled a paper cup, draining it without taking a breath.
The damage done, Cara attempted to diffuse the tension, despite her own embarrassment. “Why can’t you find someone else to be the grand marshal? Finn obviously doesn’t want to do it.”
“There is no one else. Everyone wants Finn to do it. He’s just concerned about the potential chaos because of the press he’ll draw. But we’ve already addressed that problem.” Jill shifted into sales mode once more. “We’ll have a press tent beside the viewing stand for the parade. He’ll only have to make a brief statement and answer a few questions.”
He snorted rudely, but Jill continued “We’ve already set up a four-man subcommittee to deal with the press, Finn. If they want a spot at the press conference, they’ll have to abide by our rule that you be left alone.”
“The press makes their own rules.” He tossed his empty cup in the trash pail, turning an angry glare on the workers who were following the conversation with interest.
Ryan cleared his throat. “I think it’s time for a lunch break. Come on, guys.” Finn tossed him an appreciative smile as the men filed out through one of the open French doors.
Before Finn could speak, Cara interjected. “Is the press the only reason you don’t want to do it?”
His lips thinned with displeasure. “Isn’t that enough?”
She had a taste of his disdain for certain members of the press at dinner the other night, and yet he had pointed out they also had their uses.
“If anyone knows how to work the press, Finnegan, it’s you. Besides, the attention wouldn’t hurt the fund raiser for the senior citizens center, and your involvement will up the interest quotient.” He glared at her, hearing his own words coming back at him. She refused to be intimidated. “That was the reason the committee decided to combine the fund raiser with the celebration in the first place, wasn’t it?”
At his darkening scowl, Jill shifted toward the front of the room. “I’ll talk to you about this later. I forgot I had another appointment.”
When the door banged shut, Finn lurched forward and wrenched the hammer from her loosened grip. He pointed it at her, handle first, leaning in until they were almost nose to nose.
“Using me for sex doesn’t give you the right to stick your nose in my Goddammed business!”
She stumbled back as though he had slapped her. After the incident with Stockwell last week, and the contentious conversation that followed, she expected Finn to make some excuse to end their affair or least send her packing. He hadn’t, and she began to believe she wasn’t alone in her belief that they had something lasting. Having him reconfirm the temporary nature of their relationship made her want to cry, but she couldn’t blame him for being angry. He’d told her what he thought of the press. She should have stayed out of it. And she shouldn’t have said what she did to Jill, either.
She heaved a weary breath. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have interfered. I won’t again. And I’m sorry for the using you for sex comment. Jill pissed me off, and I wasn’t thinking.” She tossed the shim she held onto the counter. “I think I’ll call it a day.”
****
Finn watched Cara climb the stairs to her apartment and barely stopped himself from hurling the hammer through the glass of one of her new doors. The hurt in her eyes when she offered her apology stung like a raw wound. He cursed himself for putting it there, but damn it. Why couldn’t women just enjoy an affair for what it was, without involving themselves in every other area of a man’s life?
Afternoon stubble scratched at the palm he rubbed over his face. He should have followed his instincts the night they met up with Stockwell, and walked away from her then. Each day their affair continued, their relationship became more and more complicated, for both of them.
His gaze followed the curve of her prized spiral staircase to the apartment door at the top of the landing. Their argument was the perfect excuse to put an end to a relationship he would screw up eventually. But instead of climbing those stairs and doing what needed to be done, he pulled the cell phone from his pocket and punched Jill’s number.
“I’ll ride in the damn lead car,” he growled when she picked up. “But don’t come crying to me when your quaint little celebration turns into a circus, because I’ll just say, I told you so!”
****
The week leading up to the anniversary celebration passed swiftly for Cara. With Finn’s promise to act as grand marshal, volunteers spruced up Cooksen Park where the viewing stand would be located. The Blue Bell diner did a brisk business, supplying lunch for the workers. Merchants decorated their storefronts, while town workers swept and scrubbed the curbs. The citizens of Palmerton were abuzz with excitement over the town’s big day.
Finn adamantly refused to discuss the celebration. He’d be the grand marshal, fulfilling his obligation to the town that had supported him his whole life, but he damned well didn’t want to know anything more about it. Just tell him what time to show up, he had said. He would make his speech and ride in whatever car they pointed him toward.
Though Cara wished she could blame her imagination, she sensed a change in him. He did nothing she could point to conclusively, as if to say, aha, that’s it! That’s the kind of thing making me sense a cooling of your interest. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling his interest had cooled somehow.
He still talked with her and made her laugh while they worked to finish the studio with his crew, or in the evenings when they were alone. He certainly hadn’t pulled away when it came to their physical relationship. There was no question he still wanted her, not when he took every opportunity to see she wanted him, too. When they were in lying in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, he never wore the haunted expression she had seen in his eyes once or twice, when he didn’t know she was looking.
She moved back into her apartment the day after Jill’s visit. With the stairs and doors installed, she decided she shouldn’t overstay her welcome. He’d invited her for a couple of nights, and those nights had stretched into several weeks. He didn’t argue when she told him she was going home, but when work on the studio was done each day, he climbed the stairs behind her. He had spent every night since in her bed.
Work continued to progress on her studio with thrilling results. With only finish work left to do, Bob Burns and Finn were the only ones left working on Friday morning when the front door opened.
“Evan!” Cara squealed, running across the expanse of the studio to launch herself at her friend. He swung her in his arms before setting her back on her feet. She returned his grin. “What are you doing here?”
