He leaned down and kissed her, hard, quick and potent. Thought evacuated her brain. Her toes curled in her boots. A few seconds later, he released her and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her to her chaotic thoughts and a body buzzing with arousal.
His admission that he was having difficulty in maintaining his objectivity when it came to her left her stunned. It was so unlike him to be so forthright…so transparent. Wasn’t it? she wondered, her confusion mounting.
Damn that man, she thought heatedly as she smoothed her hair and tried to pull herself together.
How was it that he always managed to get in the final word?
Chapter Nine
A plate crashed onto the floor, causing Colleen to squeak in surprise. She set down the tray of china she’d been carrying on the kitchen counter and knelt to retrieve the jagged pieces.
“Be careful, honey. Don’t cut yourself,” Brigit advised from where she stood next to the oven, a whisk poised in her hand.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Colleen moaned in regret.
“It’s okay. It’s not like it’s precious china or anything.” Colleen met her mother’s blue eyes and saw she was teasing. Brigit set down the whisk and stretched out her hand. She pulled Colleen up to a standing position.
“You stir the sauce. I’ll clean that up,” she said, bustling toward the pantry. “It was just a salad plate. I’ve got plenty extra of those.”
Colleen stood at the stove, feeling clumsy and out of sorts, when she heard the broken china clinking in the garbage a moment later.
“Now,” Brigit said as she opened up the refrigerator and withdrew a casserole dish, her movements economical and graceful. “How about if you rinse off the china, and I’ll take over at the stove?”
“Are you sure you trust me with it?” Colleen muttered.
“Quite sure,” Brigit said breezily. “And while you’re at it, why not tell me what’s got you so distracted today? Or should I say who’s got you so distracted?”
Colleen glanced sideways at her mother and sighed. She’d been right last night. Her perceptive mother had picked up the sparks between her and Eric.
“Nervous about Eric coming to dinner?” Brigit asked matter-of-factly.
“A little. Technically speaking, it’s the first date I’ve been on since I was twenty years old,” she mumbled morosely. She glanced over at her mother. “Aren’t you nervous about Eric coming here?”
“Not so much. A few months ago, I would have thought it was bizarre, the idea of him coming to a family Thanksgiving. I remember how angry he was during the hearings. Sometimes I felt like he thought I was the one who had robbed him of his mother and injured Natalie.” Brigit had a faraway look, as if seeing those emotion-filled, painful memories after Derry’s death from a great distance. She sighed and turned off the gas burner. “Eric was just a kid at the time. I don’t blame him for his anger, even if I had trouble accepting it back then. I was too filled with my own grief, my own loss, to comprehend how another person could hold anger toward me. I didn’t understand that when death strikes so many, the emotions ricochet around like a bullet in a sealed room, hitting targets you would never expect. Eric’s anger toward me was just as misplac
ed as mine toward him. It was wrong, but it still makes sense. Maybe we needed to go through it. Maybe. But it’s done now.”
Colleen stood very still next to the counter, goose bumps on her arms. Seeing her mother in an unguarded moment was rare.
“You like Eric, don’t you?” Brigit asked quietly.
“Yes,” she replied, averting her face while she began rinsing the plates.
“What’s the problem, then? I see the way he looks at you.” Colleen turned her head at the sound of her mother shutting the stove. The delicious aroma of roasted turkey and sweet potatoes wafted through the air. “I can tell you’re nervous, honey. You always did get quiet when you were worried about something.”
“Quiet and clumsy,” Colleen mumbled.
“Exactly.”
She knew Brigit wanted her to open up, but she felt torn. How could she tell Brigit that one of the reasons she was feeling so conflicted about engaging in a relationship was her hurt over what she’d discovered about her mother and father? She wasn’t a child anymore. It wasn’t as if her parents owed her anything.
So why do I feel so betrayed?
Her hands stilled as she set down the gravy bowl. The thought shocked her a little. Is that how she felt? Betrayed by the knowledge of her parents’ infidelities?
“I’ve worried about you,” Brigit said, drawing her out of her thoughts.
“Me?” Colleen asked, caught off guard. “Why?”