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  “Jeez, you poor kid. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  Victoria knew if she stopped talking, she’d never restart, so she kept going. “It wasn’t long before my dad came looking for me. He knew I’d be in the closet; I always hid there. I remember the sounds of his footsteps as he staggered toward my room, and his ragged breaths as he slid the closet door open. ‘Victoria, c’mon out of there. I’m not gonna hurt ya.’

  “His voice came low and sounded almost kind, and for a second I thought I’d imagined the noises in the kitchen. Maybe if I wished hard enough, I’d have a smiling dad and mom who kissed each other and put hot food on the table for breakfast and dinner.

  “Maybe if I was a good girl, I’d have parents who watched TV with me in the living room after helping me with my homework, instead of drinking and fighting until they fell asleep. I remember squeezing my doll and my eyes tight, hoping we could open the closet door and find everything had changed for the better, like magic.

  “Then I heard my mother whimpering in the kitchen and knew nothing would be ever be better. Though I was scared, I was weak with relief that she was alive, and then wondered if she’d rescue me. But deep down I knew she wouldn’t. She’d never saved me before.”

  Beverly seemed to have stopped breathing beside her, though she kept her eyes on the road.

  Victoria went on while she still had courage. “My father scrabbled around the closet, clawing the blankets. He was drunk, and it was dark, and I was able to push tightly against the back wall, out of reach, for a little while. But the more he struggled to find me, the madder he got. He made a final leap, reached into the pile of clothing, and pulled. I screamed when he raked the Strawberry Shortcake doll from my hands.”

  Beverly reached for her cigarettes and cracked the window. “Holy Immaculate Conception,” she said, before lighting the smoke with hands that shook so badly she almost dropped the lighter. “You poor kid. I can’t imagine being that scared.” She took a deep drag and offered the pack to Victoria.

  Victoria shook her head.

  “Then what happened?”

  “My father told me, ‘If you want your doll back, come out and get her. Now.’”

  Victoria touched her fingers to her chest. “My heart pounded so hard I almost vomited. I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t move. He roared then like a bear. At least, that’s how it sounded to me. ‘If you’re not out here by the count of three, you little bitch, you can’t imagine what’ll happen to you.’”

  She licked her mouth with the terrifying memory. “Well, my imagination was pretty good by then, since I’d already faced more than my share of domestic reality. I didn’t dare move.”

  “Good for you,” Beverly cheered, puffing her cigarette. “Wish I’d been there so I could have hospitalized the prick for you.”

  Beverly pursed her lips in distaste and tossed the butt out the window. “Tell me the rest. I want to know.”

  Victoria slid a glance Beverly’s way. With trust came a new kind of freedom.

  She went on. “Something amazing happened. I heard the sounds of car doors slamming and saw flashing red lights outside my bedroom window. Someone pounded on the front door and it banged open. Feet thundered across the wooden floors and someone ran into my room. There was a struggle, and I heard my father shouting and cursing as he was dragged away. Still, I remained in my hiding place, quiet as ever.”

  She stopped talking then, because her heart was pounding like she’d run a marathon. She took another sip of soda and returned the can to the holder.

  “Go on,” Beverly whispered. The only other sounds inside the car were the hum of tires against the road surface and the blood rushing past Victoria’s ears.

  “A kind voice spoke to me from the other side of my closet door. At first I thought it was an angel. ‘I’m Officer Beals,’ the voice said. ‘We’re taking your mother to the hospital. A nice lady will be here soon to drive you to your grandmother’s house. Will that be okay?’”

  Victoria took a deep breath and let it out slow. “The officer waited a long time for me to crawl out of the closet. When I looked up, she was sitting on the edge of my bed, holding what was left of my Strawberry Shortcake doll. My father had slashed my doll to ribbons with his penknife.”

  “Shit,” Beverly said, lighting another cigarette. “That son of a bitch.” Her hand trembled as she fought to steady the flame against the tip of her red plastic lighter.

  “After my mother was released from the hospital, we lived in a shelter. We couldn’t stay with my grandmother for fear my father would find us. As it turned out, he stopped looking by the time I reached fifth grade. He’d moved to another state and I heard he spent time in jail.”

  “Thank God for that,” Beverly replied. “Let’s hope you never see that freak again.”

  Victoria nodded. “We lived in shelters or rooming houses on and off for a long time. When I was a teen, my mother disappeared…and I went into foster care.”

  “Well, that sucks. Have you been in touch with her recently?”

  “My mother and I rarely see each other…though I send her money every month.”

  Beverly’s eyebrows rose.

  “Some people don’t function as well as others, you know? They need more help. My mother didn’t manage her life well, and I’ve learned to forgive her failures. When I married James, she acted like she’d hit the lottery when I increased her allowance. She lives in Arizona now and has been sober for eight years. I’m proud of her for that.”

  Beverly steered the Mercedes off the next exit ramp and into the parking lot of a rest area. She pulled into a space, shut off the ignition, and turned to face Victoria. “You are absolutely the coolest, bravest, most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

  Victoria didn’t know what she’d expected Beverly to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. She couldn’t help but grin in spite of the gnawing headache that crept up the back of her neck and across her forehead.

  Beverly pointed a finger. “Despite the nightmare you lived as a child, you managed to finish high school, work your way through college, snag a great job in an upscale department store, and marry a billionaire architect who adored you.”

  Beverly’s face beamed with admiration. “Do you know what that means, Vic? You survived with your self-esteem intact. Do you know how hard that is? Many women can’t do that under the best of circumstances. Most people repeat the violent patterns, but you broke the cycle. All by yourself. That’s truly amazing.”

  Warmth rushed through her with Beverly’s praise. “I guess I never looked at it that way. I did what I had to do.”

  Victoria exhaled and rubbed her fingertips against her throbbing temples. “When I was a child, I learned the difference between good people and bad people. My father was evil, and my mother was weak and alcoholic, but she loved me, at least a little. That understanding kept me going.”

  Victoria rummaged through her purse for some pain reliever and reached for her soda in the console. She drank deeply and washed down the tablets. “I won’t say my self-esteem hasn’t been battered. My mother and I received counseling at the shelters when I was a kid. I went into therapy during foster care. James supported my sessions after we were married, and even went with me several times. I’ve managed to keep the ghost of my father at bay most of my adult life. But make no mistake about it: there are times when I still desperately want to kill him.”

  Beverly’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I wanted to kill someone, once.”

  Victoria hitched a breath. “You did?” Beverly was the most laid-back person she’d ever met. She couldn’t imagine her feeling that kind of desperation. “Who?”

  The older woman fixed her eyes on the roof and exhaled. “Me.”

  “Oh my God, Beverly. Why?”

  “I got into serious financial trouble a few years ago. The desperate kind. In case you haven’t noticed, I like to buy things.” She shook her bangled and bejeweled left hand. “My spending got so out of control I almost
destroyed my marriage along with my credit rating.”

  “But you’re okay now, right?”

  Beverly nodded. “Do you know who saved me?”

  “Tell me.” Though she thought she knew the answer.

  “Steve Carlson. He gave me a salary increase, paid down some of my debts, and offered me bonuses if I promised to get my act together. I stopped my irresponsible spending because I couldn’t bear to disappoint him after he’d been so kind to me.”

  Victoria sat back in her seat. So, Steve’s generosity was authentic.

  “I’d do anything for that man, honey.” Beverly reached out and squeezed Victoria’s fingers. “That’s why I want him to be happy. He has feelings for you. And I think you have feelings for him you’re denying. Out loud, at least.”

  Maybe Beverly was psychic, after all. Or maybe Victoria had become more transparent.

  Beverly shifted around in her seat to face her. “I know you suffered after James died. It doesn’t take a psychologist to see why you married him. But it’s time to move on.”

  Victoria wouldn’t meet her friend’s eyes. She hated that her marriage had been such an obvious patch to her wounded soul. What was wrong with wanting to be safe? James had given her security and so much more.

  “I was dragged kicking and screaming into widowhood.”

  Beverly nodded. “But you healed. And there’s a hot guy waiting for you in the wings. My guess is that Steve’s worried he’s in over his head when it comes to you. You’re a Van Orr. James left big shoes to fill.”

  Victoria tilted her chin. The days of trying to live up to other people’s expectations were over for her, just as Steve had followed his instincts to become his own man. “Do you think it’s time I showed him I’m not worried about his shoes?”

  Beverly’s eyes twinkled. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  Victoria’s headache eased and her shoulder muscles relaxed. “I’ll try,” she said, smiling.

  Beverly chortled in her typical style. “You know how I love butting into other people’s business. This will be fun for me.” She poked Victoria’s thigh. “But I’ll have nowhere near the fun you’ll have, honey.”

  Chapter Seven

  The phone rang. “Go away,” Victoria moaned, closing her eyes tighter against the morning sun. She turned her cell off, rolled over in bed, and pulled the satin sheet and linen coverlet over her shoulders. She willed herself to doze, reveling in the luxury of a day off as she snuggled deeper into the covers.

  Sleep had become a time of relaxation, and not escape, since her heart had mended.

  Twenty minutes later the ringing returned, though more insistent this time. Victoria groped to answer her phone and remembered she’d turned off her cell. She sat up in bed and rubbed the remnants of sleep from her eyes.

  Someone was at the front door, ringing the bell.

  Victoria tossed off the coverlet and slid into her slippers. She threw on her robe and marched down the hall. “Coming,” she shouted. The bells chimed again.

  “Be right there,” she hollered down the stairs, wrapping her peignoir tighter while she descended.

  Victoria opened the door.

  “It’s about freaking time,” Beverly shouted and pushed past her. “I’ve been trying to reach you forever.”

  “I’m off today, remember?”

  “Get dressed. I’m taking you to Carlson’s. It’s an emergency.”

  Victoria’s heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way.” She pointed to the upstairs landing. “Hurry.”

  Victoria turned toward the stairs and said over her shoulder. “You are a bossy one, have I told you that?”

  “Tell someone who hasn’t met me.” Beverly pulled out her cigarettes and headed for the door. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

  Ten minutes later, as Beverly’s Mercedes streaked down the driveway, Victoria adjusted a sandal and tucked her silk blouse into her twill skirt in the passenger seat. Though she’d brushed the knots from her hair she’d had no time for makeup. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Pirate.”

  Victoria’s heart skittered. “Is he okay?”

  “He got out of his cage and I can’t catch him. He’s been flying around the store all morning, leaving messes all over the place. The last time he zipped across the room his wing hit an antique reproduction of the Pieta. I think it might be broken—his wing, not the statue. Pirate’s been sitting on the Blessed Mother’s head for at least an hour and won’t move.”

  A lump rose in Victoria’s throat. Though Pirate was a pet, he was the only family she had left, and she couldn’t imagine losing him after losing everyone else she’d loved.

  Beverly opened the driver’s side window and lit another smoke. Her silver-ringed hands shook with the effort. “It’s my fault. I gave him his food, but forgot to lock the cage afterward. The phone rang, and by the time I was halfway across the room and remembered to latch the door, it was too late. Pirate was out.”

  She took a deep drag of her cigarette and blew out the smoke. “I’m so sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  Victoria shook her head. “I shouldn’t have foisted him on you. He’s not your responsibility. I just thought he’d be happier around more people.”

  Beverly took a few more puffs and then put her cigarette out in the ashtray. “And you were right. I love that bird almost as much as you do. I feel really bad. He won’t come to me, but I’m hoping he’ll fly to you. We’ll take him to the vet.”

  “Poor Pirate,” Victoria sighed. “He must be scared half to death.”

  “Yeah.” Beverly’s eyes filled with tears.

  “It’ll be okay.” Victoria touched her friend’s forearm. She’d thought of Beverly as the strong one, but realized how fragile the woman could be.

  They pulled into Carlson’s parking lot a few minutes later and rushed into the store. Steve stood on a stepladder, trying to coax the cockatiel from the top of Mary’s head. He turned to Victoria with a chagrined expression and said, “Not a religious fellow is he?”

  At least Steve hadn’t lost his quirky sense of humor. Victoria glanced around the room. Considering that Pirate had trailed a mess of feathers, dander, and doo across the store, Steve had remained remarkably calm. A surge of gratitude and affection for him filled her. The crusty exterior he presented was a sham.

  “Let me try.” When she moved forward, Pirate seemed to recognize her, and squawked. His little legs danced and his black eyes blinked. He stretched his white wings and flapped them as if to lift off, but stopped short of flying and settled again on his perch. The down-covered flesh on his breast fluttered over his rapid heartbeat.

  Victoria clicked her tongue and called to the bird. Steve vacated the stepladder and she climbed up after him, leaned close to the statue, and turned her left side against the cool stone. After a bit more prompting, Pirate hopped onto Victoria’s shoulder, preened, and whistled. He winked, looked around, and said, “Got any weed?”

  Victoria gasped. Beverly’s hands flew to her cheeks. Steve laughed. Victoria stepped down the ladder with Pirate in her hands and marched him to his cage. She inspected his wing and found, to her relief, that his feathers were merely ruffled. The delicate wing bones were intact.

  She placed the cockatiel safely inside his little house and turned back to Steve and Beverly. “Who taught him to say that?”

  Beverly’s face flushed crimson. “We were just having a little fun while I bird-sat. I taught him some other stuff, too. Just for laughs.”

  “I hate drugs. I don’t want my bird saying that.”

  “It was a freaking joke. Lighten up. He’s okay, isn’t he?”

  Beverly turned toward her studio and strode away in a whirl of peasant skirt with miniature bells attached at the hem.

  Victoria frowned and clenched her jaw. Steve stared at her with the unmistakable gleam of laughter in his arresting blue eyes.

  “What?” she snapped. Why did he ha
ve to look so damned appealing when she was trying to be mad? The curve of his lips made her want to…

  She shook away thoughts of kissing—or laughing.

  “Beverly was worried sick about Pirate,” Steve said. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly. You know that, right?” His tone was firm, but kind.

  He angled his head to meet her gaze. His eyes seemed bluer today, with flecks of white that heightened their intensity. “I’m taking a trip for a buying appointment, but I didn’t want to leave Beverly alone in the store until Pirate was safe.”

  “How long will you be gone?” Suddenly, the thought of him going away made her heart beat faster. Anxiety fluttered in her chest. She hoped her voice didn’t betray her physical response to the news.

  It shouldn’t matter to her one ounce if he left—even if his jeans were wrapped around his finely shaped butt like a Dove chocolate wrapper. And damn if that Hollywood smile wasn’t chipping away her resolve.

  What in the world was she thinking? They’d been talking about Pirate and Beverly. She had to snap out of this ridiculous…crush.

  Crush? Is that what you called this heady, can’t-breathe-around-you feeling? She’d known admiration, attraction, and respect for a man, but had never lost her head over one. Steve Carlson made her want to do…things. Crazy things she could hardly put a name to.

  She needed to get a grip. “Never mind.” It wasn’t her business how long he’d be gone. “I’ll talk to Beverly. I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

  Maybe she’d overreacted. After she apologized to Bev and cleaned up the store she’d take Pirate and go. Her association with Carlson’s had caused nothing but grief for everyone. To complicate matters, she’d entered some ridiculous flirtation that could only end in disaster.

  “It’s the other way around, don’t you think?” Steve reached out and brushed her chin with his knuckles.

  “What do you mean?” The feel of his hand grazing her face and the masculine scent of his skin sent tingles down her neck and over her breasts. Her heartbeat sounded like a drum roll. She touched the tip of her tongue to her bottom lip and took a quick breath. She was running out of reasons to deny his effect on her.