by B. J Daniels
“I’m not going to talk about my past with you,” he said.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Other people’s lives are fair game, but yours is off-limits?”
“That’s right.”
“That hardly seems fair.”
He cocked his head at her as if surprised. “Life isn’t fair. I suppose there is no reason that you would have learned that yet, since yours seems to have been pretty cushy so far.”
It was her turn to look away. “You know nothing about my life.” She could feel his gaze on her.
“I doubt you’ve even had your heart broken.”
Turning to face him, she said, “My life is also off-limits.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay. At least that is something we can both agree on.”
But she could still feel his penetrating gaze on her. She wished she could take back her words. Now he was probably wondering what she had to hide. Just as she was wondering the same thing about him.
CHAPTER NINE
MAX DOZED ON the two-hour flight to Los Angeles. Or at least pretended to. He had a lot on his mind. From the first time he’d met Kat, he’d suspected she didn’t like men. Not that she wasn’t heterosexual. She just had a closed-for-business way of dressing and acting. His instincts told him that someone had hurt her and badly.
He told himself it was none of his business. They’d agreed to stay out of each others’ pasts. And since it didn’t have anything to do with the story he was working on... And yet he couldn’t help but be curious. It was his nature. He liked ferreting out the close-held secrets people kept, especially after he got to know them a little. He’d gotten to know Kat just enough that he couldn’t let it go.
Did her sisters know about whatever had happened? Or had Kat kept it to herself? Somehow, he thought that was more like her. He’d seen an independence in her. She liked going her own way.
He’d found out a long time ago that what made people interesting and worth-his-while subjects was the painful things they’d been through. It was why he liked to do articles on those over a certain age. Most twenty or even thirtysomethings often hadn’t lived long enough to experience life’s hard knocks, let alone had time to process them and come out the other side.
Kat, though, he suspected had. But what in her seemingly perfect life could have happened to her? Even as he told himself not to, he was wondering how he could find out. With Kat, he would have to get closer to her. Really close.
Now he checked his watch as a car was brought around.
“You rented this?” Kat asked taking in the convertible sports car.
He grinned as he dumped their overnight bags into the trunk. “Only the best for you.”
“You charged it to me,” she said and shook her head.
He didn’t tell her different. Kat had been subdued—or was it worried?—the rest of the flight. Yesterday, she hadn’t seemed to be listening when he laid out this theory about the radical group the Prophecy for her. Now she patted nervously at her hair as they waited. He could see that her hair was curly. He couldn’t wait to free it from that damned knot and let it flow around her shoulders.
Who was the woman she kept locked up? He thought back to the plane ride. She’d caught him off guard when she’d asked him about being married.
Normally, he let people think he’d never been married. Otherwise, they wanted the whole story in every detail. It was one story he wasn’t ready to tell. Maybe he never would be ready.
“I think it would be best if you let me do the talking once we get to the newspaper,” Max told her and caught her irritated expression as he opened the passenger-side door for her. “I’m not being a male jerk. If they know who you are, then it could open a Pandora’s box that I don’t think you’re up for. Also it could make them suspicious as to why you wanted to see this particular photo. I don’t want them digging into places I don’t want them to go.”
“For a moment I thought you were actually being considerate,” she said as he slid behind the wheel. “I should have known it was only about your story.”
“It’s always about the story,” he said as if reminding himself as he started the engine. “Don’t ever doubt it.”
They said nothing the rest of the ride to the newspaper office. Kat didn’t do anything more than nod when he introduced her to the archivist as his girlfriend who was just tagging along.
“You do that on purpose,” she said, though, after they’d been led to a small room and told to wait.
“Do what on purpose?”
“Make people think you aren’t a serious journalist. The laid-back way you act and dress and joke around, and now bringing your girlfriend along to the newspaper as if you weren’t on an important story. The same way you asked for a half dozen photos to cover up for the one you’re really after.”
Max had to hand it to her. She’d nailed him pretty well.
The archivist came in with the photos he’d requested. “I can let you look at them, but I’d prefer you don’t pick them up because of their age.” He spread them out on the table and stood over them.
“Thanks. My kid sister has been doing a paper on social unrest in the 1960s and ’70s.” Max didn’t rush. He stepped slowly to the table and looked down at the photos. Kat was right. He’d requested a variety of photographs pertaining to unrest during those years.
So he took his time, looking at each before he got to the only one he was really interested in. It was a color snapshot taken almost forty years ago by one of the members of the Prophecy. Eight people, seven men and one woman, stood against a brick wall. They all held weapons, mostly automatic weapons and assault rifles. It reminded him of a photo he’d seen taken of the SLA, which confirmed his suspicion that the Prophecy had modeled themselves after the earlier SLA.
The other thing about the photo that struck him was their expressions. It made him doubt this was the first shot the photographer had taken. All in the group seemed to be trying to look serious as if reminding themselves that they were involved in serious business. And yet several of them looked as if someone had said something funny and they were trying hard not to laugh.
That told him that the group was close. At least some of them knew each other well. He studied the faces, noticing how young the majority of them were. All but a couple were in their teens or early twenties. The two older members were male, one maybe in his thirties, the other older, maybe early forties. He looked distinguished. A former professor?
As he studied the two older males, he wondered which of them had brought Sarah Johnson, now Hamilton, into the fold. The distinguished professor type, he thought. Or the other older one?
Finally he let his gaze focus on the only woman in the group. The black-and-white copy of the photo he’d seen had excited him. The original confirmed it. The woman was none other than Kat Hamilton’s mother. He’d bet his truck on it.
* * *
KAT WANTED TO shove Max out of the way and get this over with. But her feet were rooted to the floor. Suddenly the room felt too small. It was as if all the air had been sucked out, taking even the oxygen from her lungs.
She clutched a hand to her chest. A trickle of sweat ran down her back, making her shiver even though it was too hot in the room.
“Want to take a look?” Max said and reached for her hand. The touch of his fingers made her jump. His gaze shot to hers, and she saw something reassuring in his eyes as if he was trying to tell her that everything was going to be all right now.
It wasn’t her mother. That’s all she could think as his warm hand enveloped hers and drew her toward the table and the photos lying on it.
Still, she didn’t want to look. She wanted him to just tell her he’d been wrong. To admit it, then the two of them could get out of here.
But he pulled her closer until she couldn’t help but
look down at the array of photos. Her eyes skimmed over them, seeing nothing familiar. She assumed given what he’d said that there would be a woman in the photo who looked like her mother.
Her gaze fell on a small color snapshot of eight people, all holding guns and looking... Her gaze went to the woman, and she felt a jolt. “Her hair is red,” she said aloud.
Max laughed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him wink at the archivist. “All of the rest of them, just like the Symbionese Liberation Army and other groups of that time, went by nicknames. Hers was Red.”
Kat swallowed and took a step back.
“Any chance I could get a copy of these for my sister? It would make her day,” Max was saying.
The archivist told him he’d have to sign a form and that it would cost him two dollars a photo. He agreed, and the man hurried out with the photographs, closing the door behind him.
Kat moved to lean back against the wall, wishing she could have gone with the archivist. She put a hand on her stomach as she tried to keep from throwing up. Her heart was pounding too hard, and each breath was a labor.
The woman in the photo wasn’t her mother. Sarah was a blue-eyed blonde. She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself or she really was going to be sick. This wasn’t like her. She didn’t have panic attacks. She stayed in control. She didn’t... She felt the first tear slide down her face as she heard the man come back into the room. Quickly wiping her eyes, she swallowed back the emotion that had closed off her throat.
It wasn’t her mother.
She clung to those words like a mantra as she tried to relax. All this foolishness was over. So why couldn’t she catch her breath?
“Is she all right?” the archivist asked.
“Her lunch didn’t agree with her,” Max said.
The other man nodded and looked worried that she might lose her lunch before he could get them out of the room.
It wasn’t until they were on the street that Kat finally was able to take a deep breath. Even smoggy air was better than that stuffy little room.
“Take deep breaths,” Max said. “You’re all right.”
She nodded, feeling foolish. All the way here she’d told herself that she was fine. She wasn’t worried that the photo would turn out to be her mother’s. There was no way her mother... She shook her head now.
“It was just too hot and close in that room. That’s all,” she said, not wanting him to see how afraid she’d been and yet knowing that he did see.
He gave her a sympathetic look as they walked to where he’d parked the convertible. “What you need is a swim in the ocean.”
“What I need,” she said as she continued to take deep breaths and got into the car, “is the next flight back to Montana.”
“That won’t be until tomorrow morning,” he said and started the engine. “So we might as well enjoy Southern California, don’t you think?”
He was way too chipper, she thought, as he drove on to the freeway. Maybe he was hoping that she wouldn’t force him to admit he was wrong. “I’m sorry this trip was a waste of time,” she said over the roar of the wind.
“A waste of time?” He sounded confused.
“You were wrong about my mother being a member of that group, the Prophecy.”
Max didn’t answer as he passed a large truck. Wind whipped around her. Her hair came loose from the knot at the back of her neck and twirled around her face. She gave up trying to get it under control and leaned back into the seat. The California sun bored down on her, making her head ache.
“You better have brought your swimsuit,” he said over the roar of the wind and the engine. “And your appetite, the real one. Tonight we’re feasting on authentic Mexican food, not that stuff they make in Montana.”
She closed her eyes against the sun and his words, surprised how tired she felt. The day had taken its toll on her. She hadn’t realized how anxious she’d been. Now that it was over...
* * *
RUSSELL KNEW EXACTLY how to get word out about his engagement to Sarah Hamilton. As he drove toward Beartooth General Store, he told himself that he and Sarah would be happy. He would make sure of that.
The first step was getting Senator Buckmaster Hamilton out of their lives. Not that he didn’t expect a backlash. The engagement would send the press into overdrive. But he could handle the press. It was Buckmaster who had him concerned. The man clearly didn’t want to lose Sarah—and yet he was married to another woman. If he dumped his current wife for Sarah, it would destroy his political career.
Surely he wouldn’t give up the presidency for Sarah. The man wasn’t that big of a fool. But even as Russell thought it, he couldn’t help worrying. What kind of effect would the announcement of the engagement have on Buckmaster, given that he had asked Sarah to wait and now she wasn’t?
Pulling into the parking spot in front of the store, Russell couldn’t wait to tell Nettie Curry. He’d checked to make sure she was working today. Once he told her...
The bell tinkled over the door just as it used to in the old Beartooth General Store. The place had been restored after the fire to its original blueprint. Nettie was behind the counter. He had thought about pretending he was there to buy something, but this morning he wasn’t up to subterfuge.
“Nettie,” he said in greeting.
She was watching him with interest as he came toward her. “Russell.”
“Mr. Murdock. How are you this morning?”
He hadn’t seen the other woman until she spoke. Mabel Murphy, a busybody who was actually worse than Nettie in her prime when it came to spreading gossip. He felt as if he’d hit the mother lode.
“Morning, ladies.”
“What can we get you?” Nettie asked, looking curious, but not as curious as Mabel.
“A cup of coffee to go and...” He glanced around, spied the fresh homemade fried turnovers and said, “One of those. Raspberry, if you have it.”
“You’re quite chipper this morning,” Mabel commented, studying him openly.
He gave her his biggest smile. “I’m getting married.”
That raised two sets of eyebrows and left both women momentarily too stunned to speak.
“To whom?” Mabel asked, her voice breaking with surprise.
“Sarah. Sarah Hamilton.”
Their shock was priceless.
“Sarah Hamilton? The senator’s wife?” Mabel asked.
“His...former wife and, yes, Sarah Hamilton.”
“Congratulations,” Nettie said as if finally finding her voice.
Neither woman spoke as he paid for the coffee and turnover and, wishing them both a good morning, left. Just before the door closed behind him, though, he heard Mabel say, “Can you believe it?”
He didn’t hear Nettie’s answer. He glanced at his watch as he climbed into his pickup. He doubted it would take five minutes for the news to circulate around the county. Taking a big bite of the turnover, he smiled to himself. It was done. No going back.
But by the time the turnover was gone, along with half his cup of coffee, his stomach was roiling. His daughter, Destry, wouldn’t be happy. Nor would the senator. But who else from Sarah’s recent past might have an objection? He didn’t know, but he feared he might soon be finding out.
* * *
MAX HAD BEEN glad when Kat had fallen asleep in the car on the way to the beach house. He’d liked watching the city he’d known so well rocket past as he drove up the coast.
“Where are we?” she asked beside him, waking with a start as he parked next to the beach house.
Max was looking out at the ocean. He couldn’t believe how much he’d missed this view. He stared, trying to memorize it, because he didn’t know when he’d get to see it again. Or if he ever would. With his job, he never knew.
“We’re at the ocean, sleepyhead.” Opening his door, he took a huge gulp of sea air and began to laugh at the briny taste that tickled his throat as it brought back the best memories of his life.
“Come on,” he said to Kat and popped the trunk to get their overnight bags. He slung his over one shoulder. He always traveled light, finding that the more stuff you carried, the more problems came with them.
“You said a friend lives here?” she asked as she climbed out and looked at the beach cottage. He admired it as well for a moment, seeing it through her eyes. It was a beauty, small but obviously expensive. Her eyebrow shot up questioningly as he carried their bags to the door and then climbed partway up a rock wall to feel along the ledge for the key. When he produced it, she seemed to relax a little.
“What did you think? That I was going to break in?” He shook his head. “You really need to have more faith.”
Once inside, he saw her eyes widen in awe at the view. Like him, she was drawn immediately to the windows that filled the front wall and overlooked the Pacific. The sun, now a glowing orange ball, hung just over the horizon.
“Change into your swimsuit. We have to hit the beach so we’re there for the sunset. Hurry,” he said handing over her overnight bag and pushing her down the short hallway toward the spare bedroom.
Going in the opposite direction, he entered the master bedroom, threw his bag on the bed and quickly changed into his swimsuit. He’d grabbed some towels, a couple of beers and a small cooler by the time she’d come into the kitchen.
She wore a large shirt over what he assumed was her swimsuit and a pair of jeans rolled up capri-style. Her long curly dark hair was pulled up in a ponytail.
He wondered again what she would be like if she really let her hair down and relaxed. Or if that was even possible.
“Let’s take the elevator. It’s faster.” He drew her over to a wooden panel in the wall that opened at the touch of a button to expose a small lift.
“I take it this is a close friend?” she asked as they stepped in and he hit the button to take them down.
