“You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not. They just can’t relate to what I like to do for a living. Dad calls my work ’frivolous’. He was furious when I left home.”
Gabe’s mouth tightened. “What an ignorant statement! I, for one, will be looking forward to it. Will you let me know?”
“Gladly.”
“Thank you.” His attention returned to the photographs on his lap and he took his time looking carefully at each one. Carrie settled back in her chair and sipped her drink gratefully, enjoying the tangy sour taste. She hadn’t realised how much she had missed her work until she started back again. Carrie wasn’t one to idle her days away; she was too restless for that.
Gabe said finally, “I’m pleased with these pictures. I think we can use them all. It’s a shame that the black and white one can’t really be used—it’s my favourite of all these.”
“Mine too.” Ridiculous, she knew, to feel so pleased.
Standing up, he reached into his shirt pocket and handed Carrie a folded cheque. She took it and put it in the pocket of her jeans without reading it, and he said, “Thank you for interrupting your vacation for me. I really appreciate it.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. I enjoyed myself more than I would have if I’d been on vacation all this time. I’m too easily bored with life, always have to keep on moving.”
He nodded, his eyes keenly watching her, taking in the intelligent eyes, the restless hands, the stubborn chin. “You need action. You’re too energetic to be tied down.”
“What I am is too unstable,” she sighed in exasperation. “I can never concentrate on anything but photography for any real length of time—I’m too undisciplined.”
Gabe smiled, stretching hugely in his chair and yawning. Carrie laughingly said, “Apparently I’m too boring, as well.” He broke off his yawn to chuckle at that.
“No. You’re many things, but never are you boring, Carrie. I’ve had a long day, that’s all. I wonder if Mrs. Hastings is almost ready with supper. That reminds me—how do you like my housekeeper?” he asked mischievously.
“She’s an absolute darling,” she said sternly, “and much too gentle to be working for you.”
“You’re so right. I scare the poor thing to death,” he drawled. Sobering a bit, he continued, “Actually, she does act nervous around me, no matter how careful I am with her. In fact, the more careful I am, the more nervous she gets.”
Carrie stood. “In that case, I’ll go and check to see how supper is coming along. She might get so flustered at you, she could ruin it! And I’m much too hungry to sit back and let that happen!” She listened to him laugh. “By the way, I hope you don’t mind my attire?” She indicated her jeans, serviceable for work in the darkroom with the chemicals, but not dressy.
“Don’t mind a bit,” he commented, running an appreciative eye across her neat bottom and the pretty top she wore. Carrie headed for the stairs fast to get away from the embarrassment of his wicked laughter. She had to hide a grin as she entered the comfortable kitchen to find Mrs. Hastings scurrying about. “Can I help with anything?” she asked gently, watching the birdlike woman fly.
“Oh,” she said, startled. “No, dear, thank you. Everything is just about ready, if you are. If you would be so good as to tell Mr. Jackson for me…” Mrs. Hastings let the sentence trail off hopefully.
“Oh, of course,” Carrie replied, returning to the basement. “Ready when you are, chief.” Gabe stood swiftly, muscles in his thighs rippling in the easy movement. Carrie looked down at her hands and said, “Maybe I’d better go and wash my hands to make sure I have all those nasty chemicals off. Excuse me while I disappear.”
She dashed upstairs and quickly scrubbed her hands thoroughly and dashed out again, then stopped. She was in the main hall where a half bath was positioned, and where she washed her hands, and now Carrie wasn’t sure where to go, besides the kitchen and the front door. She had just decided to try the kitchen and see where she could go from there, when Gabe poked his head around the corner. His dark eyes danced. “Lost?”
“A little,” she admitted sheepishly.
“Follow me, then.” He led the way to a large dining room, cool and elegant with a darkly polished, hardwood floor and a large, gleaming and richly brown table that was set for two. Gabe held out a seat at one of the place settings and Carrie seated herself, thanking him. Briefly, she thought she had felt a light touch in her hair, but then thought she had been mistaken.
“You have very beautiful hair,” he commented as he seated himself opposite to her. She began to wonder if she had felt something in her hair after all. Gabe was watching the gleaming lights in her hair, the rich highlights of yellow blonde and light red, the result of the many hours that she spent out of doors. Curls cascaded unfettered down her neck. It was a pleasantly tousled mess right at the moment, from Carrie tugging odd parts as she concentrated on her work. She was quite resigned to her own hair and didn’t try to keep it under control, for she had found through experience that the more she would try to tame it, the wilder it would become until it would fairly radiate from her head in a chaotic halo. The only way to wear it was either up in a tight knot high on her head or down in a free, casual style, letting the hair do what it would.
Right now she sighed. “Do you really think so?” she asked. “I get so tired of it. It has a mind of its own.” At this she reached up and tugged a curl on her forehead.
“Most women would give their eye teeth for such thick and naturally curly hair,” he said, amused. “It must be the classic case of the grass being greener on the other side.”
Carrie laughed. “That must be it.” She peered into the dish that Gabe handed her. “Mmm, this looks delicious! What is it—creamed chicken?”
He nodded. “That green stuff floating around is asparagus, so don’t look so dubious. It’s perfectly safe to eat.”
“But I wasn’t looking dubious!” she protested against Gabe’s teasing. “I was looking hungry—really.”“
He told her sternly, “Just so that you clean your plate, young lady. Otherwise you don’t get any dessert.”
She looked meek. “Yes, sir.”
It was a light and easy meal as they exchanged jibes and quick witticisms. Gabe was a comfortable host and always managed to keep the conversation flowing nicely. He asked Carrie quite a few questions about her past and she answered readily, finding him a sympathetic and pleasant listener. However, he didn’t volunteer much about himself, and she began to get curious as to what motivated him.
“You know, we’ve talked about me throughout this whole meal,” she said calmly as she relaxed with her coffee in front of her. Mrs. Hastings was preparing their dessert. “And I don’t really find myself all that interesting. Why don’t you tell me about yourself? Where are you from originally?”
He answered easily, “I’m from the west. I was born in Portland, Oregon. My parents died when I was little, around seven, and I was brought up by two very loving grandparents, whom I visit every chance I get. I put myself through college, started my own business, branched out in several different areas—and here I am. It’s that simple.”
She disagreed. “I don’t think it’s simple at all. You’ve managed to make light of what must have been years of hard work and frustrations. What was the business you started in originally?”
“Computers and electronics.”
“Electronics?” She was floored. “Good God! Gabe, are you Jackson, Incorporated?”
Gabriel, leaning back in his chair, laced his fingers behind his head and said casually, “Why, yes.”
“I am so stupid,” she said slowly. “You know, I never made the connection before between you and the company. I just assumed that you’d started out doing something like what you’re working on now. So the shopping centre is just something on the side?”
“Yes. When it opens, I’m going to hire a general manager to keep things running smoothly. I don’t know yet if I’ll be staying around
in the area permanently or not. That’s really too far in the future still for me to decide.”
Carrie was unprepared for the depression that Gabriel’s words induced. It was, of course, totally illogical, for she herself didn’t live in the area. She surely had no reason for feeling let down if he would decide to move. It didn’t have anything to do with her, after all.
She toyed with her empty coffee cup, staring down into its small depth silently. Suddenly she didn’t have anything to say. Gabe watched her hands play in front of her on the table. “Would you like more coffee?” he asked quietly.
She looked up swiftly. “Oh, no,” she replied. “Thank you, anyway.” She stared into the deep, warm brown eyes for a few moments and then her eyes fell again to her cup, faintly disturbed. There was a silence and then Gabe, moving out of his watchful stillness, stood up from the table.
“Perhaps you would like to walk a bit outside,” he suggested. “That dessert needs to be exercised off! Come on.” Taking her by the hand, he led her through the wide glass doors that were on the back wall of the dining room and into the unfenced back yard. It stretched out into the early evening’s darkness, hinting at the large acreage the ranch consisted of. Still holding on to Carrie’s hand, he walked on, slowly strolling into the night.
She could hear the sounds of the chirping and whirring of little night creatures off in the distance. Something tiny flew by her cheek and she absentmindedly brushed her hand around to scare away whatever it was. She was oddly reluctant to speak, to break the wonderful stillness between them. It was, for the time being, enough to just walk side by side.
Gabe seemed to feel the same, for he didn’t break the silence either. As they went along, she became aware of how pleasant it was to feel his fingers, warm and hard, strong and yet very gentle, pressing against her smaller fingers. It was a well-formed hand, controlled and lean. She glanced up at the shadow of his face, acutely aware of his long, panther-like stride. Never had she been so attuned to another person, not even Neil. This was something quite unique, a harmonic melding of personalities. Carrie started to wonder if she was imagining the whole thing. She was certain that Gabe was not experiencing the same emotions, for all his quiet.
“Beautiful.” Gabe spoke softly, his voice a dark and low rumbling sound. It petered off into the night, swallowed by the darkness and the unending rhythm of the night creatures’ talk.
“Isn’t it, though?” she answered just as quietly, pleased. “I love these kind of nights when the sky is so clear that you can see every constellation. In Chicago, all that’s visible is a neon glow. Light pollution, they call it.”
Gabe stopped walking, withdrawing his hand from Carrie’s light grasp. “I wasn’t talking about the night, although it is rather nice. I was talking about you, Carrie.”
Carrie felt uncomfortable. Half laughing a little, she shook her head. “No,” she said almost sadly, “I’m not beautiful. Maybe someday, when I’m older and more mature, more serene inside myself, maybe then I’ll be beautiful, for all my wrinkles and grey hair.”
“You’re wrong, Carrie. Just because you aren’t as you would wish to be, it doesn’t mean you’re less beautiful. Consider the beauty of a rosebud, with the great promise of a full-blooming beauty to come. As long as you’re unsatisfied, and you keep striving for something better, in some way trying to fulfill that promise of beauty, you will always remain beautiful.”
Gabe stepped back a pace, turned around, and looked about him, studying the night sky and the dark purple shadows that surrounded both Carrie and him. He almost seemed to melt into the purple shadows himself, all at once appearing very far away to her.
She felt again the depression that she had felt when Gabe had so lightly mentioned leaving the valley.
Suddenly, in her mind’s eye she could picture a thousand barriers between herself and Gabe. It was a strange and lonely feeling, and she turned away too, with a curious sense of defeat. Why she felt the way she did, Carrie couldn’t explain, nor did she stop to analyze the different emotions flitting by so quickly like a winged night creature, giving her no chance to examine their purple depths. All she knew consciously was that she was alone.
Carrie turned back in the direction of the house and prepared to walk back, expecting Gabe to follow her automatically since he had seemed to look about him with an air of finality. She had naturally assumed that this was the course the evening was to take.
He said quickly, sounding startled, “Do you have to go? It’s so early.”
Carrie replied as quickly, “Oh, no. I just thought you were ready to go back now.” She couldn’t see his face as she peered up. He was a being made of moonlight and darkness, a pillar of fantasy, ethereal illusion.
Slowly Gabe approached. He said, softly deep, his head cocked to one side, “You look so fragile and unreal. You look as though you’re going to melt away forever and just disappear from sight.” He reached out with one hand, touching her cheek carefully. “You feel real enough. Warm.”
Carrie stopped breathing and held herself very still. She searched the blue of Gabe’s face, seeing only the dark glitter of his eyes and the impression of hair falling on his brow.
He lowered his head, almost as if he were hesitant to approach her. She stayed exactly where she was, with her face upturned and her heart starting a slow, hard pounding, the heavy slug of her blood’s flow feeling pronounced at her wrists and throat.
The touch of his mouth was cool, the feel of his lips firm. He held quite still for a moment, motionless against the pressure of her lips. Then he moved, sliding his two hands around her waist and pulling her to him as he parted his lips and deepened the kiss. It was a gentle and easy movement, unhurried and calm, and yet the nearness of his body and the feeling of heat that emanated from his chest was enough to make her tremble. Gabe felt it, their embrace being so intimate, and his hands tightened convulsively on her small waist, almost hurting her with his strength. His lips became harder, the kiss more demanding, and she found herself giving back as intensely, responding wholeheartedly. It lasted forever, of that she was sure. Nothing else existed outside, this, their own little world. Nothing else mattered. And then, at the same time, it was somehow ending much too soon. He was pulling back his head and stepping back, his hands falling—she thought reluctantly—away from her waist. She was alone once more.
She turned abruptly towards the house. She felt so odd, as if Gabe had knocked her off her stride. She said jerkily, “It must be late. I should be going.”
He did not reply, but instead fell into step with her, a thing of shadows and dreams again. Never before had a kiss made her want to cry out like this one had. For a magical moment Gabe had seemed so close, almost a part of her. Now he was far away in another world, and she couldn’t bear to face that the magic had been an illusion like—like the last time. Her chest seemed to constrict as she remembered Neil, and the pain, and the terrible disappointment. She wore a calm expression on her face as she quite desperately strove to appear collected and poised as they neared the house. After all, a sophisticated man like Gabriel Jackson would not understand a woman of the world who could not dismiss illusions, the fabrications of a storybook romance. Would he? Gabe glanced at her sharply, his eyes keen and piercing, but she had herself under control and nothing that she would not allow showed in her face.
“Would you like to stay for a drink before you go?” he asked. He appeared uninterested in her reply, as if it didn’t matter one way or another to him if she stayed or not. It was this impression that made her decide to leave, although she would have stayed in a minute if he had shown any desire to have the evening linger on.
“No,” she said lightly, “I think not. It’s been a full day, and I’m ready to call an end to it. Maybe another time, though. Thank you.”
Something showed then in his face. It was a fleeting look, and harsh, but almost as soon as she perceived it, the look was gone and Gabe’s face was blank once more. Carrie thought she must have
imagined it, until he turned an easy smile in her direction and she saw that his eyes were not nearly as expressionless as they had seemed at first. They glowed with a darkly brooding look, inscrutable and intense. Carrie was puzzled at the contradiction in his face and eyes. The whole observation had taken less than five seconds.
“I’ll see you to your car, then,” was all he had to say. At a loss, she nodded.
Again, as had been the walk back to the house, the trip to her car was silent and tense. Gabe paced beside her like a stalking panther with his whole body fluid in the continuous motion. He seemed dangerous, an impression that Carrie had almost banished, from memory. The feeling brought back all the initial distrust she had experienced at first meeting him, and her initial dislike. Now she was able to disregard that few moments spent in the dark world of the past. It indeed had been an illusion. The final barrier was again erected.
As Carrie unlocked her car door, Gabe at last spoke, shattering the uncomfortable stillness. “Thank you again for interrupting your vacation for us.” The plural use of the word, almost like a royal “we”, had put a whole different perspective on the evening. Gabe was businesslike and impersonal. It was an odd note to end the evening on, for all through the dinner he had been anything but impersonal. Carrie felt anger surge up as she read into his words something that had not been intended.
She said, a little snap to her words, “Oh, you’re welcome. Thank you for an entertaining evening.” The little speech was, of course, meant to be polite, but the bite to her words, prompted by her pique at Gabe’s apparently effortless change from the attentive to the impersonal, made the words an insult. It had sounded quite unlike how she had intended it.
Gabe stiffened. Carrie could feel it from where she stood, a few paces away from him, such was the extent of his anger. She made a sharp movement down with one hand, and would have spoken, except for the fact that he started to speak first. The potential for violence had not been a figment of her imagination; he was very definitely menacing as he spoke in a soft voice, cloaked in steel.
A Damaged Trust Page 8
