by Delia Latham
Despite her brave resolution, hot tears overflowed Kylie’s eyes. “You’re going to think I’m the most shallow person you’ve ever met.”
The other woman chuckled. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“I don’t.” Kylie hiccupped and angrily dashed away the offensive trails of moisture on her cheeks. “How could you not?” She lifted an agonized gaze. “Destiny, scars of any kind on anybody’s face literally turns my stomach. If they’re really bad, I can’t even breathe. And then—” She lowered her head, shame sweeping over her in sick waves. “I start throwing up.”
“Hmmm.” Green eyes took on a distant expression. To her credit, Destiny did not crush her beneath an accusing stare, but kept a comforting grip on Kylie’s hand. “How long has this been going on?”
“I don’t know. A long time. But it started getting really, really bad a few years ago.”
Destiny nodded, then moved her sympathetic gaze to Kylie’s face. “Sweetie, I’m not a therapist. I’m not a doctor of any kind. But I can’t help thinking this has something to do with your amazingly low estimation of yourself.” She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, studying Kylie. “It’s really hard for me to understand it, to be honest. You’re a lovely girl, and yet you have the lowest self-esteem of anyone I’ve ever met.”
“I know I do,” Kylie moaned and sniffled. “But how can I not? I’m not pretty. I’m chunky. My hair’s a complete mess.” She huffed out a sigh. “Where’s the potential for high self-esteem in all that?”
Destiny’s eyes widened. “Do you really believe those things? Because I don’t know how you can look in a mirror every day and not see the truth. Honey, you are…” She gave a little shake of her ponytail and frowned. “You’re not just pretty, Kylie. You’re absolutely lovely. And no, you’re not skinny, but who says that’s a good thing to be?” She eyed Kylie’s body. “You’re not ‘chunky’ either. Not even close.”
“Destiny, you don’t have to say all this.”
“No, I don’t. But I’m being truthful. And if you can’t see these things on your own, then you do have a problem.” She hesitated. “Look, I don’t know much about your childhood. I don’t know your family dynamics. But I do know you need some help. I would advise a self-image expert, but I get the feeling this problem of yours goes much deeper than mere image.”
“You think?” Kylie managed a half-hearted grin.
“I know someone I’d like you to talk with, but I don’t want to offend you.” Destiny sighed, then raised her chin. “Winona Wayne is an old friend of mine. She’s a great gal, a wonderful person. She’s also a psychiatrist. How would you feel—?”
“Whoa!” Kylie sat up straight in her chair and slid her hand from Destiny’s grasp. “You think I’m crazy?”
The other woman laughed, a soft, gurgling sound that soothed Kylie’s rattled nerves. “No, I do not think you’re crazy. But I do think you have some kind of problem—mental, emotional…who cares, if Noni can help you?”
“I don’t know. A psychiatrist...” The word hung in the air like a threatening cloud.
“Yep, psychiatrist. Shrink. Whatever you want to call her. But can I tell you something, Kylie?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No. Look, here’s my opinion.” Destiny’s low laughter almost made Kylie smile in response. “It’s free, so enjoy it, because Noni Wayne’s take on this will cost you.” She sobered, absently lifting one hand to tug at the shiny strands of her long ponytail. “Folks who know they have a problem and don’t try to fix it…well, they’re the truly crazy ones. Get help, Kylie.”
When she didn’t answer, Destiny hit below the belt. “If you don’t find a way to get over this, a relationship with Rick is impossible. You know that, don’t you?”
She groaned. “I know, I know. Fine, do you have her number with you?”
Destiny bent to scoop up her purse, while a smile turned her beautiful eyes into twin emeralds. “I just happen to have it right here.”
Watching her, Kylie felt her anxiety easing. “Speaking of my relationship with Rick…when are you going to tell me what you dreamed about us?”
Destiny straightened and dropped a business card onto Kylie’s lap. “Dream? What dream?”
****
Rick couldn’t decide how to feel. He drove toward home, thinking over what just happened. He had noticed Kylie was a little pale when he first arrived. But she seemed OK—right up until her face lost all hint of color and she flew out the door on invisible wings.
He shifted in the truck’s leather seat, mulling over the possibilities. Maybe she really was ill. Clay had suggested as much, and Rick didn’t think his friend would lie. Still, it seemed a little odd that it hit her so hard and fast at the very moment she took a look at Lea’s scarred face.
No. He was being over-sensitive. Kylie’s reaction most likely had nothing at all to do with Lea. Unless Kylie proved something different, that’s what he would choose to believe.
He should have stayed to make sure she was OK, but whatever her reasons for that sudden rush of nausea, he had a feeling she’d be embarrassed to find him waiting when she returned. No one liked being the center of attention at a time like that. He still wanted to discuss his plans for the ranch with her and Clay, but he could do it another time.
Right now, he had some calls to make. He expected a minimum of five attendees at tomorrow’s initial meeting, and he still needed to return that actress’s call. Why would someone like her be applying for a position at a therapy camp? Well, he’d hear her out. Bound to be an interesting story. Late notice, but if he reached her, it wasn’t out of the question that she’d be able to come tomorrow, as well. He’d like as many of his potential staff together as possible. The sooner he got his people lined up, the sooner he could move forward with his plans.
“Daddy!” Lea threw herself into his arms the moment he entered the house.
“Hey, Sweetie Bird.” Rick kissed her cheek and nuzzled her soft hair. “Miss me?”
“I always miss you when you’re not here.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Me, too.” Rick set her down. “I have some calls to make, baby, but when I’m finished we’ll take a walk, OK? I want to show you what I’m planning to do with the camp. Would you like that?”
Lea clapped her hands and her eyes shone like blue stars. “Oh, yes! Hurry, OK?”
“I’ll hurry.”
He ducked into his office and behind his desk, where he’d jotted the actress’s name on a notebook he devoted to the camp project. Shayla Matts-Hughes. He picked up the phone and punched in her number. He’d take care of this one first.
“Hello?” Her voice jarred him with its vague familiarity, which was ridiculous. He’d no doubt seen her in a movie—he did watch them occasionally. Which reminded him, he needed to take Kylie up on that popcorn and movie date. But this was no time to be thinking about Kylie. “Ms. Matts-Hughes?” He’d hate to try to say that one three times fast.
A throaty gurgle of laughter followed his greeting. “I’ll never get used to that ridiculous stage name. Look, I don’t give this number out to many people, so I’m going to go a little wild and crazy here and just assume this is Rick Dale. Am I right?”
Rick laughed. “You are.”
“Well, then, let me set the record straight right up front so we can dispense with that silly name, which is nothing more than a bad play on my real name. I grew up in Castle Creek. My name is Shay. Shay Matthews. I’d like you to use it.”
Matthews. A rock landed in the pit of Rick’s stomach as he realized why her voice sounded familiar. Not because he’d seen her in some movie, but because she sounded a little like Kylie. In a town the size of Castle Creek, the chances of them not being related were slim to none. Why did that likelihood set off a half dozen warning gongs in his head?
Oh, boy.
Kylie's Kiss
9
He knelt to pull Lea’s ligh
t scarf more securely over her face. Just a precaution. No use inviting an altercation with some insensitive jerk who didn’t know better than to make crude remarks.
The half dozen bunk houses on the east side of Looking Glass Ranch teemed with workers carrying out renovations that would transform the buildings into a therapeutic haven for emotionally and physically scarred girls. Three additional buildings stood in various stages of new construction, their framework stark against the spring sky.
“Who are all these people, Daddy? What are they doing?” Lea’s gaze darted here and there, trying to take in everything at once.
Rick hefted the child into his arms and picked his way through the disarray of lumber, nails, sheetrock and other materials for which he had no name. “These men are making Daddy’s dream come true.” He dropped a kiss on his daughter’s cheek.
Lea giggled. “What dream?”
“Remember, I told you about a place where young women with scars like yours could come and learn to feel good about themselves?”
“I remember.”
“Well, that’s what these men are building.”
Lea kissed his cheek and hugged him. “I’m so proud of you!”
Rick swallowed. Hard. “I’m proud of you. When these kids come here, they’ll be hurting. Some will be angry. We may not be able to help all of them.” He sighed, then squared his shoulders. “But we’ll work miracles for others. We’ll show them that they still matter, that they have as much value as they ever did, and that they are beautiful, if they can only see it.”
For a moment, he forgot he was talking to a six-year-old child. That happened often with Lea.
“Not everyone understands that imperfections don’t make a person less human. But then, you know that better than I do, don’t you?” His voice caught, recalling many hurtful moments when people couldn’t look past Lea’s shocking scars and see the beautiful child she was. “So we’ll also teach our guests how to cover their disfigurements, if they choose to, and make themselves more acceptable in a world that can’t always see past the surface to find the pretty that’s still there.”
“That’s good, Daddy.” She nodded her head in somber approval.
Rick chuckled, watching her oh-so-serious expression. “By the time they leave here, I want them to be just like you, my little Sweetie Bird. Whole and healthy, and wiser than any of those poor fools on the outside who don’t know how to handle a little owie or two.”
Lea grinned and pinched his nose between her thumb and finger. “I’m wise?”
Rick laughed. “Wiser than any six-year-old has a right to be.”
Her expression grew serious again. “Can I help, Daddy?”
He cocked his head, puzzled. “Help?”
“You know, with the camp—the girls.”
“Of course you can. What would you like to do?”
Lea’s eyes hazed over for a moment, and one little hand came up to touch her damaged cheek. “I want to help them find the pretty,” she said. Her fingers slid downward to rest on her tiny chest. “In here.”
Rick hugged her close and tried twice before he could force the words out. “You will, Lea. You’ll be so good at helping them find the pretty.”
****
Kylie studied her new home with a critical eye. OK, so it didn’t compare with Shay’s Hollywood condo. But Shay’s place would never be this cozy. Thoughts of her sister gave her a second’s guilt, and her gaze flicked to the phone. No. Not yet.
Standing in the middle of the living room, she could see the entire kitchen. Dayna’s castoff dining table, paired with a couple of ladderback chairs they’d found at a thrift store, worked great in the tiny room. A couple coats of red paint covered all the scuff marks on the chairs. A cheery cloth did the same for the tabletop. She had purchased two of the table covers and used the extra one to make simple curtains for the window over the sink. Humble, but homey.
A small ivory sectional in the adjoining living room was her one splurge in honor of the new place. A morning out scouting neighborhood garage sales provided occasional tables, a television set complete with shelving for her favorite DVDs and videos, a couple of mismatched but somehow complementary lamps, and a Dalmatian statue that Dayna deemed unarguably hideous. Kylie loved it. Since she couldn’t have a dog in her apartment, the porcelain animal was her only pet. She gave Gus the place of honor—right next to the front door.
Her parents gifted her with the bedroom set she’d slept in most of her life, so she hadn’t needed to worry about bedroom furnishings.
The place looked as good as it was going to.
Kylie crossed to the counter between the two rooms, perched on the lone barstool and pulled the phone closer. Her fingers hovered over the keypad, not quite touching the numbers. This seemed like a worse idea with every passing second. Destiny Gallagher might be smart and beautiful, and Kylie thought she probably waved some kind of magic love wand with a few of her clients, but this…well, this idea had surely been born on one of the lovely matchmaker’s off days.
But she’d promised. Besides, she needed to find out—and the sooner the better—how far away she’d pushed Rick with yesterday’s reaction to Lea’s picture. If she’d wrecked any chance of a relationship, she needed to know now. Then she could move on and let Destiny find another possibility for her.
Trouble was, she had no interest in other possibilities.
She drew in a lungful of air and punched in Rick’s number, hoping he wouldn’t answer, praying he would. What a time for God to start listening.
“Hello?” One word. It sent a jolt of electricity down her spine and broke out the gooseflesh everywhere else. As usual.
“Rick? It’s Kylie.”
“Hey! How nice to hear from you. Feeling better?”
A tiny smile lifted one corner of her lips. He didn’t sound too upset.
“I am, thank you. I’m sorry for dashing out on you like that.”
“Don’t give it another thought. Clay said you’d been a little puny. I still have something to discuss with the two of you, but we can do that whenever.”
“Any time. Listen, I’m calling because, uh…” Oh, good heavens, why get all tongue-tied now?
“Kylie? You sure you’re OK?”
She nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see her. “Yes, I’m fine. I wondered if…well, I finally got all settled into my apartment. I was thinking—”
“You’re in your own place? Congratulations! So when are we doing movie night?”
Relief washed over her in waves so strong she thought she might slide right off the tall stool. She gripped the edge of the counter with one hand and bit down hard on her lip. Get a grip. “That’s why I called. I know it’s short notice, but I’d like to initiate the apartment. Can you come over tonight?”
Rick laughed. “I’ll be there. You’re absolutely right—you must warm the place up with a nice, homey horror movie.”
She giggled. “When you put it like that, it sounds a little crazy.”
“Well, it is, of course. Only the certifiably insane watch those flicks, you know that.”
“Of course.” She hesitated. “I’d say bring Lea with you but I’m not sure the movie would be appropriate…”
“Oh, no. I appreciate the offer, and I’d love for us to do something with Lea another day, but murder and mayhem is probably not quite the thing.” He laughed. “I’ll think of something. In the meantime, shall I bring the popcorn?”
“No, I’m all set. Popcorn, soda, red licorice. Anything else you need?”
“As long as there’s plenty of butter for the popcorn, you’ve got it covered.”
“I’ve got enough butter to float a boat.” She giggled.
“All righty then. I’ll be there, Twink. Seven or so?”
She frowned a little, puzzled. “Twink?”
His low laughter removed the frown. “Yeah, you keep reminding me of Twinklebell. You know, from Peter Pan. That little fairy person?”
With grea
t effort, Kylie managed to bite back a burst of laughter. She wasn’t about to tell him he had the name wrong. “Yes, I’m quite familiar with the story.” Hook happened to be one of her favorite Disney movies, not that she planned on sharing that information just yet. “How can I possibly remind you of a fairy who has the impossible good luck to look like Julia Roberts?”
“It’s when you laugh, you sound like her. I like it.”
Kylie shook her head, grinning. She liked that he liked it.
Rick chuckled. “And now that you mention it, you do have a bit of a Julia Roberts look.”
OK, so he needed his eyes examined. Minor flaw. She grinned into the phone. “See you later.”
She placed the receiver on the hook and brushed both hands through her hair. Maybe she still had a chance. But not if she didn’t find a way to handle her problem.
She pulled a soft blue business card from under the phone. Nothing more than a name and number, but Kylie’s palms grew damp as she stared at them. Her breath came in short, hard puffs and an invisible vice squeezed her chest. She dreaded this call even more than the last one. But if she didn’t get help, she could kiss her chances with Rick good-bye.
She punched in the number and waited while the phone rang.
“Winona Wayne Psychiatry.”
Kylie swallowed hard and forced herself to loosen her stranglehold on the receiver. “I, uh—” Her voice caught. She cleared her throat and started over. “My name is Kylie Matthews. I—I need to make an appointment.”
Kylie's Kiss
10
Despite her intense beauty—or perhaps because of it, the woman’s wraith-like appearance made Kylie cringe in horror. She watched, spellbound…terrified. Seeming to almost float in her filmy white shroud, the beauty glided through the murky corridors of an ancient mansion. Wide, staring eyes, a vacant expression, and skin the color of untinted porcelain starkly accentuated full red lips. Her fingers dripped blood and tattered skin, evidence of her clawing escape from the coffin in which she’d been buried alive.
