by Alison Kent
Hey, it had taken balls to ask Katie if they could drive her car to the junior prom instead of hiring a limo like so many of their friends were doing. Sure, he could pull the money from savings and chip in for a group ride. But the tux and the flowers and the dinner before were already costing a fortune. Not that Katie wasn't worth it; she was. But they still had their senior year to go. They could do the limo thing next year—when he wasn't desperate for a new telephoto lens.
Two hands slamming against the hood of the van brought his head up. He switched off the engine, which had been running all this time, and smiled at the girl he'd come to see.
Wide-eyed, Katie walked around the front of the van to his window. Her legs were long and tan between her Keds and white slouch socks and her white denim shorts. "Are you planning to sit in the driveway all night? My dad won't like that, you know."
Zack knew exactly the lines Jim Crenshaw had drawn when it came to dating his daughter. "Is your dad home?"
She shook her head. Blond hair swung around her shoulders. "Nope."
"Okay, then." He stuffed the keys in his pocket, scooted around, and leaned both forearms on the open driver's-side window, trapping Katie's fingers where she'd cupped her hands over the edge.
Katie was extra cute close-up where he could see her eyes flash and see the tiny scar where she'd pierced one eyebrow before her dad had pitched a fit. Zack figured a little teasing wouldn't hurt. "I'll get out as soon as you give me a good reason to."
She blushed, and her near white eyebrows stood out against her pink skin. "So you can pay for the pizza when it gets here?"
He released her hands, handed her the twenty he'd grabbed from the Blooms register, and shook his head.
Holding the bill by two corners, Katie lifted both brows and stared at the face of Andrew Jackson. "Because if you don't study for your trig test before the meeting you're not even going to pass?"
Zack frowned, considered if that was incentive enough. It was, but he wasn't through playing with Katie. "I've got an eighty-eight average in trig. One test won't kill me."
"No, it won't. Because I'm going to kill you first." Katie glared and let out a loud grr. "Get. Out. Of. The. Van."
"You still haven't given me a good reason."
She looked him over for a long minute, then took a step back. With the twenty waving between two fingers, she arched her arms over head, lifted up, and spun a circle on one toe. Even wearing Keds, Katie looked like a ballerina.
She came to a stop, and held both arms out to the side as if presenting herself as an offering. "Well?"
Zack's stomach knotted. No guy in his right mind would need any other reason than this girl to get moving. And right now Zack's mind wasn't the only thing he had working right.
Grabbing his backpack from the passenger seat, he jumped from the van and slung an arm around Katie's neck. As they headed toward her front door, he dropped a kiss to her temple, drawing in the clean soft scent of her hair and her skin. He was rewarded with an arm slipped around his waist.
For now, that was plenty.
Chapter Four
The sun had set, leaving the empty parking lot at Blooms safely bathed in a halogen glow. The security lamps on the building's four corners provided Eva more than enough light to walk by, while the traffic light in front of the shop scattered prisms of red, yellow, and green across the hood of her van.
Tossing her purse on the passenger floor, she climbed behind the wheel and thought of Carson. She slammed the van door, turned the key, gunned the engine, and thought of Carson. Shifting into reverse, she sent the minivan shooting backwards and nearly sideswiped her own delivery truck because she was thinking of Carson.
If he hadn't been the death of her years ago, he no doubt would be this time around.
Slowly, she shifted into drive and eased forward. Yesterday she'd told him she'd been pregnant. She'd also told him Zack was not his son. But how would she manage to tell Carson Brandt that seventeen years ago when she'd left New York she'd been pregnant with his child—a child she'd later miscarried?
She had to tell him.
Didn't she?
She rolled her minivan to a stop in the center of the parking lot and idled there. She'd done nothing for the past three days but try to figure out how to tell Carson the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Even her long conversation with Jan hadn't resulted in a concrete solution.
But she'd never, until this exact moment, stopped to consider that she really didn't have to tell him anything at all.
He wasn't a permanent fixture in her life. The whole situation would be different if he were. Nothing would be accomplished by confessing to the miscarriage this late in the game. If Carson had found her years sooner, they could have jointly mourned their loss.
But the loss was hers, as had been the suffering. The only truth she owed Carson now regarded Zack. She'd told him that Zack was not his son. That was the truth. And that was the end of the story.
Satisfied with that bit of logic, Eva turned her thoughts from Carson to Zack's father. She wondered if Carson would have liked Bobby Shelton. The two men could've been brothers, they looked that much alike. Both tall, blond, and ruggedly lean. But the similarities ended with the physical. Spiritually and emotionally, the two men were nothing alike.
While both possessed a passion for their work, Bobby's had been fueled by family expectations—an obligation to an inherited business and to the future of his wife and son. He'd been easygoing, a constant source of sustenance, a friend she'd depended on at the lowest point in her life.
Carson's inner fire had been demon-driven. He'd had a past to exorcise and a Faustian ambition for the future. He'd never been selfish in his search for perfection, but totally honest. He'd broken no promises because he'd made none to break. She'd gone into their relationship with her eyes wide open and he'd provided her an education in bliss.
She'd loved him unconditionally. And she'd married someone else.
A car horn from the street beyond brought her around. She glanced up, lifted her foot from the brake, and headed home. She had so much work to do once she got there and so much to consider about what to do with Carson.
One thing was still certain. She had to keep Zack out of Carson's way.
Carson had no business in Lake City now that he knew Zack was not his son. She would've preferred a more graceful segue into that confession, but the time and the place and the dynamics of the situation had overruled her common sense.
Signaling to turn onto her street, Eva sighed with resignation. No, her body had overruled her common sense—which led her to a second irrefutable certainty. She had to keep Carson out of her life as well as out of Zack's.
She'd been a long time without a man. Ten years, in fact, since Bobby's death. Ten years since she'd been embraced in loving arms. She missed the physical closeness, the comfort in being held. She missed a man's body. Strong arms wrapped around her. A broad chest above. Hair-dusted legs tangled with her own.
And she knew the wonder of Carson's body well.
Vacation or not, he had no reason to stay in Lake City.
And she'd tell him that right now, she grumbled, slamming her van to a stop alongside Carson's Jeep in her driveway. He might argue that he had reason to be in Lake City, but she'd sure like to hear him come up with a good reason to be in her house.
She pulled into the garage, yanked the keys from the ignition and her purse from the floor, then reached for the flat of marigold seedlings in the passenger seat.
Voices drifted through the closed washroom door. Deep and resonant, the sound vibrated with a double dose of male excitement and vitality—a mix she'd forgotten. Oh, how she'd forgotten. Warmth spiraled through her and feeling betrayed by her memories, she closed her eyes, wondering how one single person could throw her perfect life for such a loop.
Leaving the seedlings on the soil-dusted worktable in the garage, she eased open the door into the washroom. The accordion doors leadin
g to the kitchen were closed. Thank God. Now she could snoop in private.
"You know," Zack was saying, "I have the feeling that what I want to do isn't going to fly with the powers that be. But every year the calendar is the same thing. Mrs. A's begonias. Mrs. Sinclair's azaleas. It's like the whole project is a popularity contest."
An irrepressible smile twisted Eva's lips. Her son had the Garden Club ladies pegged.
"What do you want to do?" Carson's question was simple, smoothly direct, and way too interested.
Eva's smile vanished and she squeezed both hands into fists. Butt out, Carson. This isn't your business.
"I want to shoot at the Botanical Gardens," Zack said. "There's a lot more to work with there, and Mom helped landscape the layout. It would be great advertising for her."
"Not to mention you couldn't be accused of playing favorites with the ladies."
Eva's hands ached. She flexed her fingers and inhaled. Butt out, Carson. This isn't your business.
Zack laughed. "Right?"
"So, use the Botanical Gardens. What kind of shots do you have planned?"
Zack sighed, and Eva could picture him threading his fingers through the long strands of hair on the top of his head. "Man, I'm dying to do some stuff in black and white. The shadows and bits of light in the gardens are incredible. But I think black and white defeats the whole purpose of the calendar."
"Not necessarily. I can show you how to make it work."
Butt out, Carson. This isn't your business.
Chair legs scooted across the floor, then Carson said, "Why don't you give me a tour of the gardens after school tomorrow? You know, show me what you're thinking about."
"For reals?"
"Yeah. For reals."
Eva felt her stomach hit her feet and go squish.
Zack groaned. "Oh, man. I can't. We've got a ball game tomorrow."
"How 'bout Saturday?"
"You'll still be here then?"
That was all the cue Eva needed. She pushed open the accordion doors to find Carson and Zack in the breakfast nook. Carson's back was to her and Zack sat across the table, slumped back in his chair, his blue-jeaned legs spread wide, and a stack of schoolbooks held tight on one thigh.
And Carson, well, she'd look at him later. After she got to the bottom of the yellow legal tablet in his hand. The one with scratches and drawings that looked a lot like shot angles.
But first she wanted to know about the camera with the circular flash unit sitting on the kitchen table. It didn't matter if the camera was Carson's. Zack knew better. Cameras were to be kept out of sight unless in use.
"Hi, guys. What's up?" Hi, guys. What's up? She sounded like June Cleaver.
Zack gave her an Eddie Haskell grin. "Not much."
"Not much?" Her gaze cut pointedly from Zack to the camera and back.
Zack grimaced and glanced at Carson. "She really hates cameras, you know."
"Zachary," Eva warned.
"C'mon, Mom. It's the truth." Zack's tone rode the line between banter and sarcasm, a tone out of character for her well-mannered son.
Eva bit her tongue and examined the dirt under her short nails. She was not going to get into a discussion of house rules in front of Carson. She and Zack would hash this out later—once the steam rising from her ears had evaporated.
As if sensing the impending contest of wills, Carson reached for the camera and set it in the chair behind the table.
"Photography's a fickle mistress, Zack. It's a love-hate relationship, depending which side of the camera you're on." He glanced over his shoulder at Eva then, a wealth of intimate knowledge wrapped up in his gaze. "I figure anyone can get tired of being coaxed to smile."
C'mon, Eva. C'mon, baby. Smile for me. Smile. For me, baby. For me. Smile. Once more. Smile.
Reluctantly, Eva held his gaze. It was bad enough to hear those words in her mind every time Zack told her to smile, but to hear them now while looking at Carson ... She shivered.
"Cold?" asked the bane of her existence.
"Chilly." She rubbed her palms up and down her arms. "The day was warm enough, but the sun caught me working outside. I can feel the dampness in my bones."
Carson's know-it-all look said he saw beyond her lie. "Sounds like we're talking about the weather."
"Maybe we ought to be talking about what you two are talking about. And what exactly brings you here."
"Actually, Zack and I were talking about ring lights."
"Ring lights?" she echoed.
"Yeah, I told Mr. Brandt about the calendar project yesterday while we were shoveling mud." Zack shook back his hair and shrugged. "We got to talking about exposure and the best way to shoot close-ups with the equipment I have."
"I see." And, oh, boy, did she. Carson had been here less than a week and the tug-of-war for Zack's attention was on already.
Carson had pinpointed her weakness—Zack's hobby—and no doubt found her lack of involvement unnatural, curious. No doubt considered her less than a paragon of motherhood. No doubt still found her wanting. Imperfect.
"Anyway," Zack was saying. "He said he'd like to give me some help on the calendar."
Eva's focus immediately sharpened. "He can't help."
Both men stared at her, expectant, wary, no doubt sure she'd lost her mind.
"What I mean is—" she struggled to come up with something, anything to prove them wrong "—Carson's on vacation. I doubt he really wants to spend his time off in Lake City. I would think there might be some of the world he has yet to see."
Carson didn't miss a beat. He shook his head. "No, Eva. I've pretty much seen it all."
"Yeah?" Zack asked, shifting forward in his chair. "So who has the best food?"
Eva rolled her eyes. "The boy doesn't ask about Asian culture or European history or the Scandinavian countryside. No. He picks the lowest common denominator. Food."
Carson chuckled, twisting around to straighten and stretch his cast-encumbered leg. "Let's see. I gained ten pounds on cheese-stuffed, cheese-covered pasta in Italy, then lost the same ten pounds in India because I wasn't about to order from the mystery menu. I lived on dried beans in Ethiopia, but made up for that depravation later on French sauces and British fish and chips."
Rubbing his belly, Zack groaned. "Oh, man, I'm starving."
Great. The break she'd been looking for. Eva rubbed her palms together. "Then I'd better get dinner started so you can get to your homework. What'll it be? Chicken stir-fry? Chili? Last time I looked there was still a bowl in the freezer."
Carson and Zack glanced back and forth, and finally Zack fessed up. "Uh, we already ate, Mom."
Frowning, Eva said, "You just said you were starving."
"I'm always starving." Zack shrugged. "Anyway, Mr. Brandt came by the school. I showed him the photography lab. We got to talking and it got late and I knew you were working, so we stopped by Crenshaw's Diner and had meat loaf. Thursday night special, you know."
Eva pursed her lips to keep from screaming. "Good. Now you can hit the books. That looks like at least a couple hours' worth of work sitting on your lap."
"Well," Zack began, his face scrunched up in a sheepish grin, "I was kinda hoping you'd let me use the van tonight. Katie has a National Honor Society meeting until eight. I told her I'd try to pick her up so we can study."
"Hmm. What time will you be home?"
"Ten. Ten-thirty."
"All right." Eva sighed with resignation, dug in her purse, and tossed him the keys.
"Awesome." Zack snagged the keys with one hand and grabbed up his books with the other. "I'll see you Saturday, then, Mr. Brandt."
"Saturday. And call me Carson."
Eva clenched her fists. This chumminess was getting out of hand. Zack headed for the door, stopped, and dropped a kiss on top of Eva's head.
"See ya later, short-stuff."
"Same to you, shortstop," Eva countered, swatting him on the backside. "Hey, what time is your game tomorrow night?"
"You want me to pack you a snack to eat before the game?"
"Nah, I'll just grab some fruit in the locker room."
"Okay, then. If I miss you in the morning, I'll catch up with you at the game."
"Love you, Mom. Bye, Mr. Bra ... Carson."
"Take it easy, Zack."
Eva didn't move. Five feet of red-bricked tile floor lay between her feet and Carson's chair. In silence, she listened to Zack leave, heard the garage door come down. And then the silence turned uncomfortable.
"Well," she began. "I guess I'll scrounge up a bowl of cereal."
The chair scuffed the floor as Carson got to his feet. The sleeves of his olive and purple striped crewneck were pushed up to his elbows. The tail of the shirt bunched carelessly at his hips.
His jeans weren't tight; one leg hung extra loose around his cast. But everywhere else the bagginess was suggestive, hinting at the reason and rhyme for the excess room.
He had a black Nike sandal on one foot, a black-banded watch around one wrist. The ends of his hair curled slightly at his neck. Light from the chandelier glinted off the darkest strands, suffusing his hair with the suggestion of fire.
The combination was devastating.
"C'mon, Eva." he finally said. "I'll buy you a plate of meat loaf. Thursday night special, you know."
The food was tempting, Carson more so, but the small-town gossip wasn't. She ruffled her hand over her hair and grimaced. "I'm a little too grubby for Crenshaw's."
"I'll wait while you clean up."
Like she was going to take a shower with him in her house? "I don't think so, Carson. It's been a long day."
"Then wash your hands and I'll take you out for a hamburger. I noticed a drive-through down the street from Blooms. You don't even have to get out of the Jeep."
That she could probably handle, two seats and a console between. And she really did need to talk to him about why he was messing in Zack's life. That conversation she'd rather not get into in the intimate privacy of her home. Neutral territory was best for wartime arbitration.
