Free Seaborne by Katherine Irons Page B

dull to say the least. Or maybe I could go into research. Oops, I can’t read for more than ten minutes at a time, can I? Wait, I could write a book. ‘Twelve Steps to Losing Your Mind.’ ”
    “That’s enough,” Richard snapped. “You’re making a career out of self-pity. As for marriage, you had a husband, and you were unhappy then too.”
    “Great point.”
    “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked. “I know Justin did things that you found—”
    “Deceitful? Disgusting?”
    “You’re right, I’m out of line. I shouldn’t have brought Justin into this.”
    “No, you shouldn’t.”
    “I thought you two had a civilized divorce.”
    “I don’t hate him, if that’s what you mean.”
    “Then you should consider seeing him. He’s concerned about you.”
    “I’m sure.” She was so angry with Richard that she wanted to hang up on him, but that would be immature. Adults had disagreements with other adults, and they talked it out. “I should never have mentioned having a conversation on my own beach with a pleasant and educated man. It’s what women my age do. It’s what women of any age enjoy doing.”
    “You’re an innocent. Don’t you realize that you’re a very wealthy woman in an extremely vulnerable position? This isn’t like you, Claire. You could be taken advantage of. How do you know this man isn’t staking out the house for a burglary?”
    “I suppose he must be.” Now, she couldn’t keep the sharpness out of her voice. “Why else would he bother to talk to me? What could I possibly have to say that would interest a man who didn’t want to rob me?”
    “That isn’t what I meant at all, and you know it. Don’t cry, pumpkin. I didn’t call to upset you. I think you should come home. We’ll try another specialist.”
    “No, we won’t. And if you can’t rein in your wild imagination, this conversation is over,” she said.
    “Claire …”
    “Claire, nothing. I love you, but I’m finished with this father-daughter chat, and I’m not taking any more calls from you until tomorrow. ’Bye.” She hit the end button and dropped the cell phone on the table. She was so upset that her hands were trembling.
    She loved her father. She really did. But since the accident, he’d tried to control her life, and she was sick of it.
    If only she could find her birth mother … Deep inside, Claire knew that she hadn’t given her up because she didn’t love her. Whoever she was—wherever she was, her mother would understand.
    At least Claire hoped her biological mother would be more loving than Elaine had been. The most she’d ever received from her father’s wife was a cool indifference and strict rules about not leaving the nursery wing unless she was accompanied by her nanny. If Richard was in residence, which was rare because her father had traveled extensively during her childhood, he spoiled her rotten. He insisted she have breakfast and supper with the adults and be introduced when there were guests. When Richard was away, Elaine preferred her to be invisible.
    When she was very small, Claire could remember a beloved stuffed pony that she’d slept with every night. She toted Nay-Nay everywhere and carried on endless conversations, where she spoke for both herself and the toy. But one afternoon, when she was five, her nanny took her shopping for new riding boots. She was so excited about the purchase that she’d forgotten Nay-Nay and left him on the bathroom floor.
    When they returned to the penthouse, Claire was feeling out of sorts and feverish. Badly wanting her snuggle buddy, she ran to find Nay-Nay, but the stuffed pony was nowhere to be found. She remembered racing from room to room, crying and calling his name. She’d been so upset that she’d vomited all over the new black leather boots and one of Elaine’s prize Tibetan prayer rugs.
    Her mother had so been furious that she’d smacked her across the face. Claire could still remember the shock of being struck for the first