Hometown Girl Read online

  “How long do you think it will take you to pack the stuff you want to bring?”

  Nick’s eyebrows snapped together. “Bring with me where?”

  “Back to Chicago, of course.” Claire struggled to keep the impatience out of her voice. “Where I live. Where you’re going to live with me.”

  The mulish look in Nick’s eyes only strengthened his resemblance to her sister. “I’m not moving to Chicago. My mom wanted me to live in Monroe. I’m staying here.”

  “I can’t leave you here.”

  “Why not? I’m nothing to you,” he said.

  “You’re my nephew. My sister’s only child. I care about you.”

  Nick gave a derisive snort. “Yeah, right. If you care so much about me, how come you never came around when Mom was alive?”

  Dear Reader,

  There’s something compelling about returning to our roots—how can you resist watching a woman return to the places and people of her past? Especially if that past includes a hometown she’s vowed to leave behind forever. In Hometown Girl I’ve given Claire Kendall many reasons to stay as far away from Monroe, Illinois, as possible—and one reason to return that she can’t resist. After her sister is killed in an automobile accident, leaving Claire’s nephew Nick an orphan, she has no choice but to hurry back to Monroe to be with him.

  The challenges of becoming an instant parent to a teenager overshadow Claire’s dread of being back in Monroe. And when Claire meets Tucker Hall, the handsome, charismatic man who is Nick’s teacher and football coach, her life is thrown into even more turmoil.

  None of us has a perfect past. We all have people and places we’d rather forget, issues that we’d rather not face. But life doesn’t work that way. We all struggle to grow and change. Sometimes, if we’re very lucky, we can get past our fears and pain to find that our heart’s desire is right there in front of us, waiting for us to recognize it.

  I hope you enjoy Claire, Tucker and Nick’s journey of discovery. These three people hold a very special place in my heart, and I’m delighted to share their story with you.

  I love to hear from readers! You can e-mail me at [email protected] or visit my Web site, www.margaretwatson.com.

  Sincerely,

  Margaret Watson

  Hometown Girl

  Margaret Watson

  For Mom, my biggest fan.

  Thanks for all your support and encouragement.

  Books by Margaret Watson

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  1205—TWO ON THE RUN

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  PROLOGUE

  THE TWO LITTLE GIRLS FLED from the house, angry voices following them into the trees at the back of the property.

  “Hurry, Claire,” the older one panted, grabbing her sister’s hand. “Faster.”

  Frightened tears poured down nine-year-old Claire’s face as she raced for the refuge of the trees and the crude shelter she and Janice had built. It was their fort, their secret hideaway, the place they hid when their parents started yelling and fists began flying.

  When they reached the tangle of dead branches and pine boughs that concealed their hideaway, Janice pulled her inside and wrapped her arm around Claire’s shoulder. “They won’t find us here,” Janice whispered with the certainty of her twelve years. “Don’t worry.”

  Trembling, Claire clung to Janice and listened for the angry voices to come closer. When they didn’t, she wiped her runny nose on the sleeve of her sweater and pressed more closely into her sister.

  “Maybe she found our fort,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Maybe she’s coming to get us.”

  If her mother’s angry face appeared in the door of their fort, Claire knew she’d pee in her pants again. That would make her mother scream even louder.

  “She doesn’t come into the woods,” Janice said. “Neither does he.”

  “They’ll find us, Janny. They will,” she sobbed.

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of their father taking off his belt. His breath would have that funny smell when he called their names and she’d see that scary look in his eyes as he reached for Janice.

  “I won’t let them find us,” Janice said, her voice fierce.

  “I’m scared,” she whispered.

  Anger flashed in her sister’s eyes and her mouth tightened. “I know, Sissy. But you don’t need to be scared. I’ll take care of you. I promise. I’ll make sure she doesn’t yell at you. And I won’t let him hurt you.”

  Moisture from the damp ground seeped through Claire’s jeans, making her wonder if she’d peed in her pants after all. She shivered in the cool autumn air and burrowed into Janice’s arms.

  The voices from the house gradually faded away, the green light from the trees dimmed, and her eyelids grew heavy. Huddled close to her sister’s warmth, Claire’s fear subsided. As dusk deepened to twilight, she tightened her grip on Janice’s sweater and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CLAIRE KENDALL STARED BLINDLY down into the open grave. She didn’t see the casket that held the body of her sister, she didn’t see the face of Nick, Janice’s son, standing next to her, she didn’t see the mourners clustered around the yawning hole.

  In her mind, two little girls fled from a dark house into the green safety of the woods.

  She could smell the freshness of the trees and the heavy scent of decaying leaves and dirt as her older sister whispered that she was safe, that no one would hurt her.

  Janice had kept her word. Her parents had never touched Claire. Their preferred target was Janice, whose eyes flashed insolence and defiance, whose words dripped scorn and contempt. It was Janice who stood up to them, Janice who took the fists and the belt, Janice who shouted back. Sick with guilt and fear, Claire had crept around the house hoping they wouldn’t notice her.

  Janice had saved her. But she couldn’t save herself.

  Her sister’s self-destructive behavior had culminated in a pregnancy at seventeen. Refusing to name the father of her child, she’d run away from home and Claire had heard from her only sporadically for the next sixteen years.

  Until the late-night phone call four days ago.

  A sympathetic voice identifying himself as a Monroe police officer had informed Claire that her sister had died in an automobile accident. As Janice Kendall’s only known relative, Claire was now responsible for Janice’s fifteen-year-old son. If Claire didn’t come to Monroe immediately, Nick would have to be placed in a foster home.

  The droning voice of the minister stopped, and Claire snapped back to the present. The minister waited, and Claire frantically tried to figure out what he’d just said.

  “You’re supposed to take a flower,” Nick muttered, shooting her a black look. “Or don’t you care?”

  His jaw muscles jumped as he grabbed a rose from the arrangement next to him. He gripped it tightly in his hand, then hurled it into the open grave. A bright red spot of blood blossomed on his hand before he curled his fingers into a fist.

  She chose a small rose just b
eginning to unfurl and dropped it gently into the hole in the ground. Then she turned away, reaching for Nick’s hand. The boy jerked his arm back and walked out of reach.

  Their movement away from the grave broke the silence of the mourners clustered behind them. She hadn’t expected many of the eight thousand people who lived in Monroe to attend the services, but she’d been surprised. As the crowd began to leave, they offered quiet condolences.

  “Thank you for coming,” she replied mechanically, over and over. Several people took her hand and Claire gave them a tight smile.

  When the last straggler slammed his car door and left, she turned to Nick, fumbling for the right thing to say. “Are you hungry?” she finally asked. “Do you want to get something to eat?”

  It was a safe question. In the past four days she’d learned one thing about Nick—he was always hungry.

  Nick shrugged. “I don’t care.”

  She took that as a yes. “Anywhere you’d like to go?”

  “I don’t care.”

  Claire tried to swallow the mounting panic. Nick was now her responsibility. Since she had no idea who his father was, she was all he had. If he wouldn’t talk to her about where he wanted to eat, how would they talk about the important stuff?

  “I saw a restaurant on my way into town,” she said, praying for patience. “How about that?”

  “Fine.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders.

  Neither of them spoke on the way to the Golden Coin Restaurant. The shops and stores of downtown Monroe flashed past the windows of the car, bringing back the past with a painful clarity. It was only a couple more days, she told herself. She could handle two days. Maybe even three. But as soon as they could pack Nick’s belongings, she and her nephew would drive away from Monroe forever.

  The interior of the restaurant was cool and dimly lit. The décor had been fashionable in the 1970s, but now looked tired and slightly shabby.

  The young waitress at the restaurant took their order, gazing at them with bright curiosity in her eyes. Clearly she’d heard all the stories about the Kendalls.

  Claire’s family was notorious in Monroe. The death of her father, and his victim, in a drunken accident twelve years earlier had only capped a lifetime of gossip and averted eyes. Janice’s car accident would have started the tongues flapping all over again.

  The gossip could no longer hurt her, Claire reminded herself. And neither could the averted eyes. She’d escaped Monroe and erased it from her life years ago.

  After they’d ordered their meals, Claire leaned toward Nick. “How long do you think it will take you to pack all the stuff you want to bring with you?”

  His eyebrows snapped together. “Bring with me where?”

  “Back to Chicago, of course.” Claire struggled to keep the impatience out of her voice. “Where I live. Where you’re going to live with me.”

  Nick stared at her, the mulish look in his eyes only strengthening his resemblance to her sister. “I’m not moving to Chicago. My mom wanted me to live in Monroe. I’m staying here.”

  “You can’t stay here, Nick. I live in Chicago.”

  “Then go back to Chicago. No one’s stopping you.”

  “I can’t leave you here.”

  “Why not? I’m nothing to you,” he said. He crushed a dinner roll into the table with his fingers, grinding it into the wood.

  “You’re my nephew. My sister’s only child. I care about you.”

  Nick gave a derisive snort. “Yeah, right. If you care so much about me, how come you never came around when Mom was alive?”

  Why was she surprised at Nick’s bluntness? Janice had been exactly the same.

  “Your mom and I had a…complicated relationship. She didn’t want to spend time with me.”

  Scorn filled Nick’s eyes. “You never asked.”

  “I invited you both to visit many times. Your mother always found a reason she couldn’t make it.”

  “Mom didn’t want charity. She wouldn’t go crawling to her rich sister.”

  Claire flinched as though the boy had hit her. Is that how Janice thought of her? As the rich sister who would dispense largesse to her down-and-out sibling?

  “I loved your mother. She was my only sister,” Claire said, staring fiercely at Nick, willing her tears not to fall. His features blurred together and softened, making him look eerily like Janice. “She took care of me when I was little. But every time I asked her to visit, she was busy.”

  “Of course she said she was busy,” he said scornfully, holding her gaze and leaning toward her. She resisted the urge to back away from him. Nick burned with the same intensity she remembered in Janice. “What was she supposed to say? ‘We’d love to come visit, but the car died last week and we don’t have the money for a bus ticket’?”

  Even pitching his voice in a falsetto couldn’t hide Nick’s anger. He shoved the table, and it slid painfully into her stomach.

  Claire pushed the table away gingerly, sadness and regret twisting through her. “Then all I can do is tell you how sorry I am,” she said. “I can’t apologize to Janice, but I can to you. I’m sorry, Nick. I should have made more of an effort to see you and your mother.”

  “Whatever,” he said. “We didn’t miss you.”

  “I’m sorry for that, too,” she said softly. “I missed you. You were ten years old the last time I saw you.”

  “I’m not ten anymore, and I can take care of myself. Go on back to your fancy house and your fancy job in Chicago. I’m staying in Monroe.”

  Losing her temper wouldn’t accomplish a thing, she reminded herself. It would only give Nick more ammunition. She spotted the waitress and closed her eyes with relief. “Here’s our food. We’ll finish talking about this later.”

  “HOW SOON BEFORE YOU head back to Chicago?” Nick sprawled in one of the chairs in the living room and watched her, challenge on his face.

  “I’m not going anywhere without you, Nick,” she answered, struggling to remain calm. He was fifteen, on the cusp of manhood, but he was still a child who had lost his mother. Of course he was defensive and scared.

  “Then I guess you’re not going anywhere,” he drawled. “Because I’m sure as hell not.”

  “Don’t swear at me.” Anger swelled inside her, masking the growing desperation. She would not stay in Monroe. Images of the people who’d whispered about the Kendalls but did nothing to stop the abuse, nothing to help the two children, rose up inside her. Her ex-husband’s sneering face joined them, and she closed her eyes against the images.

  “I wasn’t swearing at you,” he retorted. “Swearing at you would be saying ‘go to hell.’ I didn’t say ‘go to hell.’ I said hell to emphasize my determination.”

  A reluctant smile leached away her anger. “You must have kept Janice on her toes. How often did she complain about living with a smart kid?”

  He scowled. “My mom never complained about living with me.” She saw his mouth tremble. “She never said anything about living with a smart kid.”

  “I’m sorry, Nick,” she said. “I know Janice adored you. She wouldn’t have complained.” She sighed. “I was trying to make a joke. You know? Lighten the mood?”

  “Yeah, well, it wasn’t very funny.” He got out of the chair and towered over her. He was tall and gangly already, with an awkward body that would fill out as he got older. “I’ll be in my room when you want to say goodbye.”

  His limp was more noticeable tonight. Her heart ached as she watched him try to disguise his unbalanced gait. The congenital dislocation of his hip had been repaired when he was an infant, but the joint would never be normal. Nick disappeared up the stairs, and she heard the defiant bang of his door slamming shut. Moments later his stereo blasted out Eminem.

  He would be horrified if he knew she liked Eminem.

  Shoving her hands into the pockets of her tailored slacks, she wandered around the first floor of the house, trying to banish the memories. Apparently Janice had b
een able to get past those memories and the pain they evoked. When their mother had died earlier that year, her sister had said she wanted the house. Nick needed stability, she’d said. They were going home.

  Claire leaned against the kitchen counter and looked out the window. The trees stood guard at the back of the house, a wall of darkness and refuge. If she walked into the woods, could she find any remnants of the fort she and Janice had made?

  Of course not. After so many years, the branches they’d used would have rotted into sawdust. The fort was gone as surely as Janice.

  Very little else about the house had changed. The butcher-block pattern of the Formica counters had faded to white in patches, the dark wood kitchen cabinets were covered with nicks and scratches, and the appliances were at least as old as she was. Janice had tried to put some brightening touches in the room, like the vase of cheerful flowers, now wilted, on the scarred wooden table and the bright dish towels hanging from the rack, but it was the same kitchen Claire remembered.

  The living room, too, had changed little. The furniture was more shabby, more faded and worn, as was the carpet, but that was all.

  “Why did you come back to Monroe, Janny?” she whispered. “How could you bear to live in this house?”

  The ghosts of her parents haunted every room. The echoes of angry voices reverberated in the walls and the sounds of fists meeting flesh shivered up from the floor.

  There was no way she could live in this house.

  No way in hell. As Nick would say.

  Ten years ago, she’d left and vowed never to return. Although she and her mother had made an uneasy peace after her father died, their infrequent visits had all been in Chicago. And now here she was, living in the place of her childhood nightmares, a place drenched in misery and unhappiness.