than a client, his loathing for her and his lack of forgiveness remained impenetrable barriers.
Claire wanted to tell Dutch that it was partly Natalie’s decision to let the friendship go. Natalie must’ve known, somewhere deep in her heart, that Claire still cared for Dutch.
The thought startled Claire. Had she painted Natalie as too naive, too “innocent,” to be aware of Claire’s feelings?
She wished she could talk to Natalie. But if Natalie were still here, Claire would never have sought out her company after moving back. It would’ve been too awkward.
Everything that involved Dutch was awkward.
She shifted away from the counter and looked out the kitchen window. Dutch’s truck was still there.
“This is ridiculous!” she muttered as she thrust her feet into her waterproof fleece-lined boots. If Dutch was going to come out here, she had to talk to him—and he’d have to face her. She had to let go of the past and be the woman she was today.
He was headed for his truck when her feet hit the gravel pathway.
She stared at him hungrily before he noticed her. Tall, commanding in his work clothes. Not many men looked as good in loose jeans and a sweatshirt, but Dutch pulled it off. The regrets of their history tugged at her.
He stopped for a beat, then went to his truck and got in the front seat. He left the driver’s door open, though, and sat half in, half out of the cab. A small concession to her presence.
“Charming,” she murmured.
“What’s that?” He was working on his laptop, which rested on his thighs.
“Nothing. I wondered how things are going.”
He spared her the briefest of glances. His demeanor appeared cool, but his eyes gave him away.
So she did affect him. The moment in the cottage hadn’t been an aberration.
“I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. You’ve made this much less of an ordeal than it could’ve been.”
Dutch didn’t look up as he typed on his laptop. He half sat on the front seat of his pickup. One long leg hung down to the running board.
“It’s my job, Claire.”
“I know what your job is, Dutch. Can you let down the ‘I hate you’ wall for a minute?” Her exasperation came out with more force than she’d intended. Dutch raised his eyes and looked at her.
“Okay.” Was that amusement in his expression? Contempt?
“I know you have a hard time with me, Dutch, but Sasha—”
“Sasha’s my daughter, Claire.” His voice was flat, and the emotional drawbridge came back up. His eyes homed in on her, as if she were prey. Or rather, as if her motives with Sasha were his target.
“I’m not trying to get between you and Sasha, or Sasha and Natalie’s memory—” at his indrawn hiss, Claire held up her hand “—but it’s pretty clear to me that Sasha’s benefitting from her time out here. I’m giving her a sense of connection to Natalie at her age. I was the closest to Natalie until…until—”
She didn’t finish. They both knew that until Dutch and Natalie made love, Claire had been Natalie’s best friend.
Dutch’s lips thinned and his chin jutted out.
“Sasha’s had enough hurt, enough loss. It’s very nice that you want to come in and play the great friend of her mother, but let’s face it, Claire, you hadn’t been a friend to Natalie for a long time before she died.”
She ignored the sting of his accusation. “Maybe not. But I’m here now and I’m filling in the blanks for Sasha—and I can do that better than anyone else. And you know it, Dutch. Look how happy she is when she’s out here.”
Dutch sat still, his right hand on the steering wheel and his left cradling the laptop. He gazed at some unseen object through his windshield.
Tears of frustration burned Claire’s eyes.
“Can’t you look past your disgust with me and see that this is good for Sasha? She thrives when she comes out here.”
Dutch sighed and lowered his head. “I’m aware of that. I also know she’s been pulling away
Claire wanted to tell Dutch that it was partly Natalie’s decision to let the friendship go. Natalie must’ve known, somewhere deep in her heart, that Claire still cared for Dutch.
The thought startled Claire. Had she painted Natalie as too naive, too “innocent,” to be aware of Claire’s feelings?
She wished she could talk to Natalie. But if Natalie were still here, Claire would never have sought out her company after moving back. It would’ve been too awkward.
Everything that involved Dutch was awkward.
She shifted away from the counter and looked out the kitchen window. Dutch’s truck was still there.
“This is ridiculous!” she muttered as she thrust her feet into her waterproof fleece-lined boots. If Dutch was going to come out here, she had to talk to him—and he’d have to face her. She had to let go of the past and be the woman she was today.
He was headed for his truck when her feet hit the gravel pathway.
She stared at him hungrily before he noticed her. Tall, commanding in his work clothes. Not many men looked as good in loose jeans and a sweatshirt, but Dutch pulled it off. The regrets of their history tugged at her.
He stopped for a beat, then went to his truck and got in the front seat. He left the driver’s door open, though, and sat half in, half out of the cab. A small concession to her presence.
“Charming,” she murmured.
“What’s that?” He was working on his laptop, which rested on his thighs.
“Nothing. I wondered how things are going.”
He spared her the briefest of glances. His demeanor appeared cool, but his eyes gave him away.
So she did affect him. The moment in the cottage hadn’t been an aberration.
“I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. You’ve made this much less of an ordeal than it could’ve been.”
Dutch didn’t look up as he typed on his laptop. He half sat on the front seat of his pickup. One long leg hung down to the running board.
“It’s my job, Claire.”
“I know what your job is, Dutch. Can you let down the ‘I hate you’ wall for a minute?” Her exasperation came out with more force than she’d intended. Dutch raised his eyes and looked at her.
“Okay.” Was that amusement in his expression? Contempt?
“I know you have a hard time with me, Dutch, but Sasha—”
“Sasha’s my daughter, Claire.” His voice was flat, and the emotional drawbridge came back up. His eyes homed in on her, as if she were prey. Or rather, as if her motives with Sasha were his target.
“I’m not trying to get between you and Sasha, or Sasha and Natalie’s memory—” at his indrawn hiss, Claire held up her hand “—but it’s pretty clear to me that Sasha’s benefitting from her time out here. I’m giving her a sense of connection to Natalie at her age. I was the closest to Natalie until…until—”
She didn’t finish. They both knew that until Dutch and Natalie made love, Claire had been Natalie’s best friend.
Dutch’s lips thinned and his chin jutted out.
“Sasha’s had enough hurt, enough loss. It’s very nice that you want to come in and play the great friend of her mother, but let’s face it, Claire, you hadn’t been a friend to Natalie for a long time before she died.”
She ignored the sting of his accusation. “Maybe not. But I’m here now and I’m filling in the blanks for Sasha—and I can do that better than anyone else. And you know it, Dutch. Look how happy she is when she’s out here.”
Dutch sat still, his right hand on the steering wheel and his left cradling the laptop. He gazed at some unseen object through his windshield.
Tears of frustration burned Claire’s eyes.
“Can’t you look past your disgust with me and see that this is good for Sasha? She thrives when she comes out here.”
Dutch sighed and lowered his head. “I’m aware of that. I also know she’s been pulling away
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