The darker girl sighed. “Oh, all right! I can tell when you don’t want me, just go ahead and say it.”
They both laughed. “I’ll give you a call, okay? We can go out for coffee, and maybe go shopping or something, next week.”
“Sounds fine.” Carrie turned around, searching the clusters of conversing people. “And now I think I should go and see if Mother needs my help with anything. I’ll talk to you later.” Waving to Gail, she began to hunt in the crowd for some sign of Janet.
“Carrie!” Janet’s voice sounded from somewhere behind her, and she turned, searching the people with her eyes. She was really too short and had to stand on tiptoe. “Over here, honey!”
She located her mother, who was waving, over by one the picnic tables where the drinks were. She looked over and looked again. Then she closed her eyes. It just couldn’t be! But when she opened her eyes again, the man was still there, dark and lean and standing beside her mother, who laid a hand on his arm and was talking quickly. Then he looked over to where Carrie was standing and started to walk her way with Janet’s hand still on his arm.
It was the man who had driven the dark blue Mercedes.
Shifting her weight to one leg, Carrie endeavored to keep her chaotic thoughts from showing on her expressive face. She crossed her arms and waited for the two to reach her, mouth pursed and one eyebrow lifted as she was beginning to have a suspicion of just who the fellow might be.
He looked better than he had on the road. His blue jeans, fitting snugly over muscular thighs, were nicer than the disreputable ones of last week, and he had just recently shaved, although there was a dark shadow on his chin that would never disappear. His shirt was fresh and crisply ironed, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and unbuttoned at the throat where dark hairs showed, hinting at more on the broad expanse of his chest. His dark brown hair was smoothly combed this time, but there the differences ended.
He still had that devilish, white smile. He still exuded an aura of physical power. Although of average height—not quite six foot, she guessed—his was the type of presence that was noticed immediately in a crowd with his broad, muscular shoulders, the arrogant tilt of his head, and the slim lean length of his legs.
Janet called out to Carrie as they approached her.
“Sweetheart, I’d like for you to meet Gabe Jackson, the man who’s building the shopping centre near town and who bought the Carroll’s ranch. Gabe, this is my daughter, Carrie. She’s a photographer.”
The two reached the spot where Carrie stood resisting the impulse to turn and walk away from them (she would not admit her embarrassment!). It was very difficult for a multitude of reasons, and she was hard put to explain to herself just why. It was a gut reaction, one of those first impressions formed of a stranger. Carrie couldn’t stand the man. She didn’t like the way he walked.
Gabe Jackson looked down into her face, saw the unfriendly light in her eyes and the unpleasant tilt to her eyebrow, and a slow grin widened his firm mouth, causing creases in the sides of his cheeks. He looked to be enjoying the introduction.
Holding out a strong-looking hand—she was reminded of the effortless way he had plucked her out of the way by the road—Gabe murmured, a deep nimbly sound, “Ah, the, bad-mannered little girl.”
Smiling an insincere smile, Carrie retorted sweetly, “And the persistent boor.”
His grin was definitely widening. Janet, not quite hearing the muttered exchange but picking up odd undercurrents, asked with confusion, “Have you two met before?”
Still holding her hand tightly, too tightly as she gave an impatient tug, Gabe said, watching her, “We weren’t formally introduced.”
Finally rescuing her hand, Carrie flexed cramped fingers. “Thank the gods,” she muttered in response. He tilted his dark head down to her.
“Beg pardon?” he asked; his nearly black eyes had two unholy lights deep in them, and she stared back in hostility.
“Never mind. Mother,” Carrie turned toward Janet, “is there anything I can do for you?”
“Why, no, dear, I don’t think so. Just look after Gabe for me and introduce him to people he doesn’t know while I go and see how Emma is doing,” Janet said vaguely, her mind on other matters. “Thank you, honey.” And with that, she turned to head back to the house.
Carrie put a hand to her hip, sighing exasperatedly as Janet disappeared. This was the last thing in the world that she had meant by her offer. She made a poor attempt to hide her feelings from Gabe and asked him, “Have you met all your neighbours yet?”
His eyes flicked carelessly over the people around him, then dropped back to hers. “I believe so, thank you all the same.” They watched each other carefully.
Carrie looked about her also. “Nice weather,” she stated unoriginally with a fine show of boredom.
The grin, never, it seemed, absent long, tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yes. Would you like a drink?”
She was about to refuse, just for the sheer perversity of it, but she suddenly changed her mind, ashamed of how she had been acting. It was hot still, and her mouth was dry. “Yes, please.”
“I’m surprised you know how to say ’please’. I would have thought the word wasn’t in your vocabulary,” he remarked in a pleasant voice. She stared at him as she wondered if he was being nice or not. She decided not. “What would you like?”
Looking over the array of different bottles with distaste, she said, “Orange juice, thank you.”
He located the jug that sat near several bottles of vodka and quickly poured some into a glass, dropping a few cubes in. “Teetotaller?”
“Do you like to speak in incomplete sentences?” she asked in reply as she took hold of the glass proffered. He refused to let go.
“You didn’t say ’thank you’ the last time, either,” he remarked.
Starting to smile in spite of herself, Carrie retorted, “I’ve already said ’thank you’ for the drink once. Besides, as I recall, I didn’t ask for help, nor did I want it!” Her eyes met his over their joined hands. She said deliberately, “If you must, thank you once again—for the orange juice.”
Relinquishing the glass, Gabe smiled wickedly as he replied, “You’re welcome for the orange juice—and the help with the flat tyre!”
She turned slowly in the direction of the pool, walking casually and sipping her refreshing drink. He fell into step beside her. “You really did try hard, didn’t you?” he commented. He had an attractive voice that brought Carrie’s eyes around to him.
“What do you mean?” she asked. Reaching one of the lounge chairs, she dropped into it lightly, settling her feet in a graceful movement. The setting sun was still bright and she watched the water glimmer, unaware of those dark eyes watching her. He settled into a chair as well.
“I’ve had my share of women who’ve tried to get my attention before, but using reverse psychology so strongly is a bit unusual, even for one of my experience.”
Carrie’s head snapped around and her eyes widened.
Then she caught sight of the light of amusement in Gabe’s eyes and the way his chest was quaking very slightly. He was laughing. She said dryly, “Well, I can see it worked.” Her sarcasm made him laugh harder, and she began to chuckle too. His charm was endearing and quite harmless, and it put her at ease with a surprising swiftness.
Carrie tried to be honest with herself at all times, and this innate tendency prompted her to say impulsively, “You know, I was horribly rude the other day, and I’m sorry. You caught me at a bad time, and I’d had a bad day as it was, besides being late. I’m afraid when I get frustrated, I get a sort of a perverse attitude.”
He nodded, an understanding look on his features. “A ’cutting off your nose to spite your face’ mood—I understand. I have those moods myself. And I didn’t really help matters any by butting in when you’d made it perfectly clear that my presence wasn’t wanted! Not,” he added humorously, “that my appearance helped matters much, as I recall.”
&n
bsp; “Yes, you were a bit of a wreck,” she laughed.
He nodded again. “It had been a long day—a thirty-six-hour day, to be exact. And you saw me at the end of it. Not one of my prettier times. Are you a good photographer?”
She blinked at the sudden question, and noticed again his eyes watching her, narrowed against the evening sun. “Very,” she answered calmly.
“Are you any relation to Margaret Metcalfe, the photographer from Chicago?” Gabe asked another question and noting her reactions.
“I am Margaret Metcalfe,” she said, amused. “At least, professionally I am. My middle name is Carol and somehow when I was small, everyone just started calling me Carrie. Margaret, Margie, or Maggie didn’t seem to fit.”
“So you use your first name as a professional one,” he concluded for her.
“That’s right. It saves me a lot of headaches and unwanted phone calls when I go home from work. Carrie Metcalfe is listed in the telephone book, but not Margaret. The only way to get in touch with Margaret is to call up where she works, and then the secretary of my agency deals with all of the offers of photographing weddings, anniversaries, etcetera.”
“Good God! Do you really get offers like that?”
“A surprising amount, yes.”
“No wonder you use a different name for your business!” he remarked.
“It’s not as if I’m a nationally known name, though!” She shook her head, laughing. “In fact, I’m surprised that you even know my work.”
“I’ve done some digging into the profession,” he admitted, turning his gaze for a moment to the pool. “You do good work.” Carrie smiled briefly at this. She thought he really meant it. “Have you ever thought about photographing anything else besides beautiful people?”
“I do have individual projects. Photographing for a modeling agency is just my work. I like to capture just about anything that catches my eye.”
“Would you consider shooting architecture?” Leaning back in his chair, Gabe asked the question casually. Carrie, however, was not fooled. She somehow doubted whether this man did anything casual or offhand. Even the light teasing he had given her before was carefully calculated to make her put down her guard, and she knew it.
She answered cautiously, “It really depends on the situation.”
He turned his head quickly and looked directly at her, his eyes keen. She had been right; the casualness was just an act. He spoke carefully as if unsure of her reaction. “I’m looking for someone to take some pictures of the site of the shopping centre I’m building. They must be of high quality and, preferably, of some originality, for I’m hoping to catch some very picky eyes.
“All the outside construction is complete, and I’ll be advertising soon to different and rather exclusive businesses to rent the store spaces still available. I respect your work—would you consider the job?”
Nice, she thought. Just flattering enough to make me feel pleased with praise, and then the question. You’re smooth, Mr. Jackson, I’ll give you that. She said aloud and simply, “No.” His eyes began to harden and he opened his mouth to speak, but she hastily intervened. “It’s nothing against you—really. I’ve apologized for that unfortunate afternoon last week already, please don’t make me do it again! I’m on vacation now, Mr. Jackson, a much earned and needed one, I might add. I wouldn’t take the job from anybody. I promise.” Good heavens! Why she felt the need to justify herself to this man, she had no idea! Carrie shut her mouth to avoid saying more.
Gabe studied her carefully, his eyes going slowly over the lines of her face, the curve of her neck, the blue eyes looking at him so steadily. What he saw seemed to satisfy him and he nodded slightly. “The name is Gabe, or Gabriel,” he said quietly. She smiled and nodded, and he continued, “Would you do something for me? Would you at least come to the site and look around before you tell me no definitely? At least look at the place. I believe you might like the architectural style.”
She started to shake her head, but this time Gabe forestalled her. “Please.” There was a great deal of charm in the smile he gave her and it had her closing her eyes and agreeing with him, when she really wanted to say no. He sounded quite satisfied with himself as he continued, “The price of payment could be negotiable, say, something around maybe…” He named a figure that made her eyes pop open.
“Mr. Jackson—all right, Gabe, I’m not in a position yet to be asking quite that much money for my work!” she remarked, with some heat. “And if you’ve looked into photography like you’ve said, you should know that.”
He looked serious and he sounded serious too. “It’s worth it to me,” he replied briefly. “I want a good photographer, an artistic one, and I know your work. If the price I’ve named makes you pause and reconsider, well then, all the better!” There was a subtle difference in Gabe now, a change that Carrie registered almost subconsciously. Gone was the teasing and charming voice of a few minutes ago and in its place was a neutral, calm tone. He was relaxed in his chair, but he held himself well in a controlled way, not sprawling ungainly. And yet, behind his seemingly neutral tone, she sensed an implacability and sense of purpose that was a totally different thing apart from her father’s petulant stubbornness. She began to see what this man would be like in business, and she searched for a word to describe what she perceived. After a moment she came up with one: powerful. Not only did Gabe exude an aura of physical power, his personality was powerful also.
It seemed, however, that he was adept at submerging his own persona1ity when he made an effort to charm another. Carrie was rather uncomfortably aware that he had manipulated her into an agreement when her original and stronger impulse had been a refusal. It was an unpleasant thought.
“Hello,” purred a female voice from somewhere just beyond Carrie’s range of vision. She didn’t bother to look around, though, as she registered the owner of that voice with dismay. Erica had apparently tracked down her prey at last. Light footsteps clicked across the concrete pavement and checked abruptly. Then, like resuming its normal tick, they clicked closer.
Enter Lady Macbeth, Carrie saluted silently.
“Why, Carrie darling, I didn’t see you sitting there!” Erica cooed with a false note of surprise.
Honey, she thought, you wouldn’t, if I’d seen you first. She opened one eye to take in the slim posture of a vibrant redhead who hovered near Gabe’s lounge chair. “Hello, Erica. How’s tricks?”
Gabe’s head shot around and he started to shake silently, out of Erica’”s range of vision as she smiled unpleasantly at Carrie. “Oh, I daresay I have something up my sleeve,” she replied sweetly. “How are things with you?”
“Passable, passable. Business is good.”
Erica looked vague as she appeared to grope for a fleeting memory. “What is it you said you do, dear? You’re a secretary, or a clerk, or something?”
“Photographer,” Carrie supplied helpfully. “I take pictures.”
“That’s right, of course. How forgetful of me!” Having established to her own satisfaction just what she thought of that, Erica smiled. “Really, I must have Daddy give you a call to see about getting some portraits of the family, or something. It’s been positively years since the last ones.” They smiled at one another, and Carrie mentally muttered, bitch.
The other woman turned to Gabe, and this time her smile was very much more sweet. “Honey, I’m absolutely starved! Would you like to come and get a bite to eat with me, love?” Pouting prettily, she stared up into his dark and expressionless eyes as he stood swiftly.
He smiled down into her limpid green ones, but it wasn’t a smile that Carrie would have liked herself.
“That sounds delicious, Erica.” He turned to Carrie and asked smoothly, “Would you care to join us?”
She looked for a moment into Erica’s glittering eyes and knew that if she accepted, the supper would be enough to curdle her digestion. “No, I don’t think so, thank you anyway. I believe I’ll wait until later on to eat.”
Gabe nodded, his dark hair ruffling in the breeze. “I had a nice time,” he said, that flash of white streaking his attractive face. “Thank you for listening.”
“My pleasure.” Relaxing back in her chair, Carrie watched the two walk over to the tables laden down with food. Then she turned her head and closed her eyes, drifting away in thought.
Gabe instantly came to mind, and she spent quite a bit of time mulling over her different impressions of the man. Something, some subtle thing, didn’t jar quite right, and she couldn’t figure out what. Then it came to her, a trifling thing, but she worried at it anyway. Her strongest and lasting impression of Gabriel Jackson was that he seemed to be a man who was very much in control of his own actions, with a fine and decisive sense of purpose. He seemed to let no move go to waste and had an economy of power that she appreciated. Every action tonight, from his seemingly careless charm to his every gesture, had been for the purpose of first setting her at ease, then extracting information about her, and finally persuading her to give at least partial consent to his plans. His motive had been clear: he wanted something from her in a professional way.
Then why had he wasted the time and the energy (in her mind) to stop in the middle of a hot summer’s day, when he was tired to begin with, and offer to help her, a stranger, who had shown every evidence of competence, and no evidence of injury? And why, in the devil’s name, was she spending such a ridiculous amount of time worrying about such an irrelevant incident?
Chapter Three
The barbecue did end up lasting most of the night, but Carrie didn’t stay around for the latter part of it. She had had quite enough around twelve and after stopping to wish Elu Thingol a good night’s sleep, she returned to the house and went to bed.
A Damaged Trust Page 4
