Edge of Midnight (McClouds & Friends #4)(143)

She leafed through them with trembling hands, bewildered. The drawings were unsigned. It was only when she saw the woman’s back that she recognized the subject. That pattern of moles…that was her own back. Those freckles were on her own arm. Her foot, with the mole above the toe that he’d said he wanted to fall to his knees and kiss.

It was like a punch, right to her heart.

She flung the sketches to the ground and burst into furious tears. How dare he come waltzing back, after months, to play incomprehensible games with her head, her heart. How dare he.

That twisted, sadistic bastard.

She dropped to her knees, rifled through the sketches to see if he’d dashed off an explanatory note. Of course not. Nothing so polite or normal. He was, after all, a cryptic, pain-in-the-ass wacko McCloud.

She stomped past the curious glances of the craftsmen, onto the street. She clutched the sweater against the biting wind. No way would Sean make his grand gesture and not hang around to see how she took it. She’d wait ’til he slunk out of the woodwork to take his punishment.

And then. Oh, then. God help the man.



Sean dug his shaking hands deeper into his jeans pockets as he stared past the lemon custard, huckleberry conserve and fudge that crowded the shelves of the Endicott Falls Gift Boutique. He was staring out of the shop window and across the street, at Books & Brew. Liv’s store.

The salesgirls had to wonder how candy and jam could mesmerize him for over an hour. He was so scary, none of them dared ask. He had that Frankenstein look going on, the hospital pallor, the red, nasty scars. All he needed were bolts coming out of his forehead.

He was so scared, his hands were ice cold. His belly churned.

He’d almost given up when he saw Liv’s father sign for the drawings. Old Bart marched out a few minutes later, got into his car and left. All clear.

He’d staked the place out for hours, but he still wasn’t prepared when she came out. His stomach clenched, his heart went nuts, a grassfire spread under the surface of his skin. He stared, hungrily.

Her dark hair whipped in the wind. She was so pale. Way too thin. And she wasn’t wearing a coat, for the love of God. It was blustery and raw out there, but her slender throat was exposed. Most of a shoulder, too. She had only a loose, knee-length sweater around herself.

Maybe the drawings hadn’t worked. He’d hoped to go non-verbal at first, take a detour around arguments. No such luck.

He stumbled out the door to meet his doom. Crossed the street like a sleepwalker. Cars screeched to a halt, beeping indignantly, but he just came blindly on, until he stood before her. As close as he dared.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Sean?” Her voice wobbled. “What sick game are you playing with me now?”

He inhaled. The exhale came out in a series of hiccupping, nervous jerks. “No games,” he said. “I’m throwing myself at your feet.”

She gasped. “Oh, really. Well. You can just pick yourself up and go throw yourself someplace else. Like the Dumpster. Go away, Sean. I don’t want to see you. Ever. Again. Got it?”

It was what he expected. Less than he deserved. Still, he couldn’t do as she asked. It was not one of the options open to him. He sank down onto his knees. She gasped, and skittered back a few steps.

“What the hell?” She waved her hands at him. “Stop it! Get up!”

Mud seeped through the knees of his jeans. He shook his head.

“I don’t believe it!” Her voice was thin, breathless. “You think I’m so stupid that you can charm me with your clown act? You think I’ll let you stomp on me for the third time? Fuck you, Sean McCloud!”

His jaw clenched, painfully. He shook his head again. “I never meant to do that to you,” he said tightly. “Never. I swear to God.”

Liv put her hand over her mouth. Two tears flashed down over her cheeks. He wanted to catch them. Feel their heat. Taste their salt.

She groped for her pocket, but the sweater thing didn’t have one. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled snappishly. “It never fails.”

He reached into the pocket of his shearling coat and pulled out a packet of tissues. He presented them to her with a solemn flourish.

She snatched them out of his hand, pried one out and blew into it. “Get up, you melodramatic jerk. I’m not playing your games.”

“I’m not leaving until you let me talk to you,” he said quietly.

“You’ll be kneeling in the mud for a very long time,” she warned.

“You’ll have fun explaining that one to the Chamber of Commerce,” he pointed out.

Her eyes blazed with fury. “You smart-assed son of a bitch.”

“Sorry,” he said meekly. Shit. He had to muzzle the flip remarks.

The boutique door tinkled. “Um, Liv?” a nervous girl’s voice inquired. “Is everything OK? Should I, like, call somebody?”

“Thanks, Polly. I’m fine,” Liv said coolly.

Sean swiveled his head. Polly was regarding him as if he were a slavering wild beast. “Um…you’re absolutely sure?” she squeaked.

“I’m sure.” Liv honked angrily into her tissue. “Get up,” she hissed at him. “You might as well come inside. The sooner you say your piece, the sooner it’ll be over and done. I have things to do.”