The first few boxes contained Becky’s high-school year-books and grade-school artwork. Others were packed with knickknacks and souvenirs from races. The box with the extra photographs turned out to be at the bottom of the stack.
Jake decided she hadn’t been exaggerating by much when she’d said her mother had taken a million pictures. Most were still stuffed into the envelopes from the developing company, with the slot for the negatives. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the outer envelope with the date the film had been developed, nor had they been packed in any discernible order. The only way to find what they wanted was to look through each one.
By mutual agreement, they settled on the floor with their breakfast and the box of photos between them. This was the kind of tedious detail-checking that Jake was accustomed to doing in the course of his work. Yet after the tenth lot of photos, he realized that he couldn’t regard them with the detachment that he should. He was seeing what Becky’s life had been like when she’d been a child. She’d appeared healthy and had plenty of toys, but in the vast majority of shots she’d been alone.
He didn’t feel pity for her, exactly; it was more of a sadness for what she’d missed. Though it had been annoying at times to share his bedroom and his toys with his brothers, most of the time he’d been grateful for their company. And while his parents had gotten into the occasional argument like any couple, their marriage had been strong. Even after his father had died and times had been tough, Jake had never imagined belonging to any family except the one he had.
Yet growing up alone with battling parents hadn’t broken Becky’s spirit. She appeared to be a secure and self-confident woman. As she’d told him, she wasn’t afraid to take risks with her heart. Patsy was pretty courageous in that regard, too. As for Becky’s determination, she might have gotten that from Dean…
If she was Gina, he reminded himself. That was still a big if.
He tucked in the flap to close one envelope and reached into the box for another. The photographs in this one appeared to have been taken when Becky had been around seven, so they weren’t any use to him, yet he paused to look at them anyway. He could see hints of the adult Becky in her clear, blue eyes and wide, honest smile. She was holding an Easter basket and wearing a yellow dress that had an embroidered white rabbit, complete with a pom-pom tail, on the skirt. In the next picture, the front of the dress was smeared with what looked like chocolate, as was her smile.
“What?” Becky asked.
He looked up to find her watching him. He lifted his eyebrows. “What do you mean, what?”
“You’re smiling. Did you find something?”
He turned the photo around so she could see it. “For a future model, you didn’t seem too worried about how you looked on camera.”
She laughed. “My mother was always dressing me up for special occasions, but I was happier in jeans. I still am,” she added, glancing down at the dirt-smudged denim that covered her legs. She dug into the box for another envelope of photographs. “I’m more interested in whether something’s comfortable than whether it’s fashionable.”
“That’s a strange thing for a model to admit.”
“Why? Modeling is how I earn my living, that’s all. I’m essentially an easel for a client to display his art on. I’m lucky to have a face that photographs well, but that’s not really an accomplishment, it’s just an accident of genetics.”
Jake had no doubt she believed what she said. For a beautiful woman, she had an astounding lack of vanity. “It’s more than that, Becky. Your personality comes through in your ads. That’s what makes them so memorable.” He replaced the photo in its envelope. “How did you get started, anyway?”
“An agent approached me when I was with my friends at a NASCAR race in Richmond. He claimed he could make me a fortune and gave me his business card, but I thought he was a nut.” She chuckled and shook her head. “I had just turned seventeen and was taller than everyone in my class, including the boys. I felt like an uncoordinated giraffe. I thought no one would want to pay me just for getting my picture taken.”
“What made you change your mind?”
Her expression sobered. She thumbed her stack of photos.
“Becky?”
“It was silly, but remember, I was only seventeen.” She set the photos on the floor and looked at him. “As I said, I was taller than nearly everyone I knew, including my father, and I got to thinking about how I must have inherited my height from my real parents. I must have gotten my face from them, too. So I thought that if my face ended up in an ad or on a billboard, maybe they would recognize it and try to find me.”
It took all of Jake’s willpower to stay where he was. Her eyes held a trace of lost-child sadness again, and he wanted to take that away. Not by finding her birth parents. No, the urge he felt had nothing to do with his case. He wanted to slide across the dusty floor between them, pull her into his arms and kiss her until her smile returned.
He’d come close to doing that yesterday, when they’d been in his office and he’d leaned over her chair. He’d wanted to kiss her then. The feel of her shoulders beneath his hands had gone right to his head. That’s why he’d been careful not to touch her today. Didn’t seem to make any difference.
Oh, hell. Aside from the whole lack-of-professionalism issue, he was old enough to be her father, a fact these pictures were making crystal clear. He was only a couple of years younger than Patsy and Dean. If they did turn out to be Becky’s parents, they wouldn’t be too pleased to know she was the object of Jake’s middle-aged desire. They would give him the same kind of looks as Shirley Dalton and Lena Krazowski had. And he’d deserve it.
He reached for his coffee, saw he’d already drained the cup, so he grabbed another envelope of photos instead. “It wasn’t silly, Becky. Putting the faces of missing children on milk cartons works. It was worth a shot.”
“Once I got started, I more or less forgot about it,” she said. “It was years before my picture got in anything beyond small catalogues and sales flyers. By then, it was just a job.”
“Do you like doing it?”
“Sure. Thanks to my mother’s photography habit, I’ve always been comfortable in front of a camera. Apart from having to keep away from hamburgers and sunshine, I’ve got no complaints.”
“The hamburgers I get, but sunshine?”
“Wrinkles and tan lines.”
He remembered the wide-brimmed hats he’d noticed her wearing when she’d been outdoors. “Ah. I’d thought the hats were just a fashion statement.”
She smiled. “I do like hats. I’ve enjoyed the travel, too. The real downside of this business is the lack of job security. I contract for one shoot at a time and can never be sure when my ‘look’—” she made quote marks in the air with her fingers “—will go out of demand.”
“That’s similar to how I work. It’s on a case-by-case basis, no security.”
“Lucky for you, your detective skills don’t have a best-before date. I’ll have maybe another three years of steady work and that’s it. A lot of clients are finding it’s easier to use makeup to transform a twelve-year-old into a twenty-year-old than to make a thirty-year-old woman look younger. Young skin is flawless, and young bodies need less airbrushing. It sets impossible standards for consumers who don’t realize to what extent the images they see are being manipulated.”
He didn’t know anything about the advertising industry so he couldn’t dispute what she’d said, but he didn’t agree with the reasoning at all. He couldn’t imagine not wanting to look at Becky, no matter what age she was. “Have you given any thought to what you’ll do afterward?”
She nodded. “I’ve been keeping up the contacts I’ve made in the industry and saving my money. I hope to open a clothing store here in Charlotte, something that would be a cross between a fashion boutique and a designer outlet.”
It sounded like a doable plan, yet he thought there must be more to it. For a woman who valued family as much as Becky
did, and who chose to live in such a family-oriented neighborhood, would she really be content devoting the rest of her life exclusively to a business?
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Don’t you think I could pull it off?”
He must be slipping. He hadn’t thought she’d be able to read his face. “That’s not it. I’m positive you’d be a huge success, but what about getting married and having children? Isn’t that something you see in your future?” When she didn’t reply, he softened his tone. “A lot of people who grew up with quarreling parents might be soured on the idea of marriage, but I don’t think that’s the case with you. Given your personality, it’s my guess you’d want to establish your own family because of your childhood.”
She laughed awkwardly. “Wow, you really are a good detective. You have some reasoning skills.”
“If you’d rather not talk about it…”
“No, you’re right. I confess I’d love to be married with a whole bunch of kids, like the Daltons. You met them at the track last weekend.”
“Yes, Bud and Shirley. I remember them.”
“My parents’ marriage was a bad example. The Daltons showed me how good things could be with the right people. They’ve been together for forty years and they’re still going strong. It would be incredible to have a relationship like that. You’d never have to be alone. You’d always be loved.”
It was how he’d already guessed, but it was just as well that she’d spelled it out. He wanted no part of marriage or any of the trappings that went with it, which only added to the list of reasons he shouldn’t be having any feelings for Becky. “Yet you’re still single. I can’t believe it’s because you haven’t had any offers.”
“The short answer is, most guys I date only see this,” she said, waving her hand toward her face. She followed that by tapping her finger against the side of her head. “They don’t see this. What’s your excuse?”
“What?”
“How come you’re still single?”
He shrugged. “All that love and marriage stuff holds no appeal for me. I’m not the marrying kind.”
“I don’t know about that.” She pointed at his chest. “I think under all that muscle you’ve got a soft heart. You care what happens to your clients. You’re protective of the Grossos.”
“They’re family.”
“And you wanted to help your friend with the pizza place.”
“Sure. We’re talking pizza.”
“You also worry about my feelings.”
“I would feel responsible if you got your hopes up for nothing.”
She shifted so that she sat cross-legged, braced her hands on her ankles and leaned toward him. “Jake, why are you so determined to deny that you’re a nice guy?”
Simple. He knew perfectly well that a relationship between Becky and him couldn’t go anywhere, so if he was a nice guy, he wouldn’t be ogling her legs, no matter how well her jeans molded her calves and thighs. He wouldn’t be noticing how the hollow at the base of her throat was gleaming with dampness from the heat in the loft. And if he had any niceness in him, he wouldn’t be wondering what that damp skin would taste like if he placed his lips there and kissed his way up her neck…
Jake gave himself a mental shake. He should get out of here before he made a total ass of himself. He braced his knuckles on the floor, preparing to stand, when his eyes returned to Becky’s legs. The photos that she’d set down were fanned out beside her knee. She must have knocked them over when she’d changed position. “Becky, those look like baby pictures.”
She followed his gaze, then grabbed one of the photos from the floor. “You’re right!” She dug into the box and looked into another envelope. “So are these. Maybe we finally got through to the right layer.”
“Great.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Would it be okay with you if I took them with me?”
“I thought you wanted to look through them now.”
“Changed my mind. It’s getting way too hot for me here.” He scooped up the envelopes of pictures they’d already gone through and stuffed them into one of the other boxes, then stacked the boxes on the pile she’d taken them from. “Anyway, it’s probably better if I continue this on my own.”
“Are you sure? It would be faster if I helped.”
No, it wouldn’t, he thought. Not at the rate he was letting himself get distracted. He closed the flaps of the box with the photos and slid it along the floor to the top of the staircase. “I’ll bring this back when I’m done.”
She rose and gathered the containers from their breakfast. “All right, if that’s what you want.”
Not by a long shot, he thought. What he wanted was to forget he was working and be seventeen years younger.
Man, he was an idiot. He went down the staircase by the same method he’d used getting up. Becky passed the box down to him, turned around and set her foot on the top step.
Afterward, Jake marveled how quickly it happened. He’d meant to leave, he really had. His intentions had been good. He’d retrieved his cane and tucked the cardboard box under his free arm. Becky was backing down slowly, holding the paper bag from the diner in one hand and grasping the edge of the staircase in the other when somehow, her foot got hooked on a riser. Before she could regain her balance, she went over backward.
Without a thought, Jake dropped both the cane and the box and lunged for her. He felt a sharp pain in his left leg and heard something rip when he collided with the staircase but he managed to steady himself a split second before Becky fell into his arms.
BECKY STRUGGLED to catch her breath. It wasn’t like her to be that clumsy. Normally, she didn’t have trouble with that staircase but she’d been distracted because she’d been watching Jake and thinking yet again how attractive he looked when he moved and, oh, but his arms were strong. She could feel his muscles flex across her back and beneath her knees and she knew darn well it wasn’t the fall that had knocked the air from her lungs.
Yes, yes. This was what she’d wanted practically from the moment she’d met him. She didn’t care how the embrace had happened, she was just glad that it finally had.
“Are you okay?”
She drew in his scent. It was familiar to her now, that mix of spicy aftershave and male skin. Her eyes half closed in pleasure as more sensations poured over her. He was so solid. Warm, too. Everywhere they touched.
“Becky?”
“Sorry. I must have slipped.” Her hands were caught between them. She freed one and flattened her palm against his shirt. Her fingers tingled as she traced the contours of his chest through the fabric. She’d been right about the shape he was in. He was outstanding. Taut and sculpted, tempting her to explore…
What on earth was she doing? She stilled her hand. “Uh, thanks for catching me.”
He cleared his throat. “Anytime.”
“I’m all right. You can put me down now.”
He didn’t move to let her go. If anything, he tightened his hold on her.
She gripped his shoulder. “Jake?”
He clenched his jaw so firmly that a muscle jumped in his cheek. “Sure,” he murmured. He focused on her mouth. “I need to get going.”
Becky could feel Jake’s gaze on her lips as if it were a physical touch. She wanted to stay right where she was, but a subtle tremor went through his arms, as if he were straining to hold himself motionless. Belatedly she realized he’d had to drop his cane when he’d caught her. She patted his shoulder. “I’m heavier than I look. You should put me down before—”
“You’re perfect, Becky. Absolutely perfect.” He paused. “But, yeah, it would be smart to let go of you before there’s a problem.” He loosened his grip on her legs. The moment her feet touched the floor, he withdrew his arms and grasped the side of the staircase.
A dog started barking from somewhere down the block. A breeze puffed through the open garage door, stirring up the smells of dust and cement. As atmospheres went, it was a far cry from being romantic. Beck
y tried to concentrate on that rather than the disappointment she felt at the loss of contact with Jake.
The embrace hadn’t been deliberate, she reminded herself. He’d just been keeping her from landing on her butt. Even if he’d held her a little longer than he’d needed to, he evidently didn’t want to admit it, so she would follow his lead. She brushed off her jeans, giving herself a moment to regain her equilibrium while she looked around for the bag that she’d dropped when she’d fallen. She spotted Jake’s cane first and retrieved it. “Here,” she said, holding it out to him.
That was when she noticed the rip in his pant leg. She gasped. A narrow flap of fabric had torn free and hung down, exposing his leg from his thigh to his knee. “Jake, what happened?”
He glanced down, then pinched the fabric at the edge of the rip to pull it aside so he could inspect his leg. “Looks like I caught one of those slivers on the staircase,” he said.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He took the cane from her hand. “It didn’t break the skin.”
She could see for herself there was no blood on his leg. Most of what was visible through the hole in his pants was scar tissue.
It was the thick, ridged white of an old wound. A horrendous wound. The misshapen tissue encased what was visible of his knee and stretched up his thigh. The full extent of it was hidden beneath the rest of his pant leg, so she could only guess how far down it went. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.
“Yeah, it’s a sight.”
Unable to stop herself, she touched her fingertips to his pant leg beside the rip. She could feel more ridges of scar tissue through the fabric. “This must have been agonizing.”
“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
She didn’t know whether or not to believe that. How could anyone have completely healed from something so extensive? “You said it happened in the first Gulf War. How?”
“It was an accident.” He leaned on his cane and shifted back, beyond her reach. “Nothing heroic. A Bradley rolled over on me and some munitions went off.”
She dropped her hand. “I’m sorry.”
Within Striking Distance Page 7
