by BJ James
“You’re early.” Nicole went to her desk, depositing an arm load of mail she’d picked up from the post office. Annabelle was almost never temperamental, but when she was, it was best to leave her alone to work through her mood.
“Ahh, an intelligent perception from an intelligent woman.”
Nicole looked up from the stack of letters she was sorting, astonished at the bitter sarcasm. “Annabelle, are you upset with me?”
“Of course I’m not upset with you. Why should I be?”
“I did leave you in charge here while I went out to play, when I shouldn’t have.”
“And why shouldn’t you? What’s wrong with the idea that you should grab a little happiness and excitement, if you wish? Goodness knows, you’ve worked hard enough and long enough without it. Anyone would think you were supposed to be a monk, or something.”
“Nun,” Nicole corrected automatically.
“All right, nun.”
Dropping the letters, Nicole laid her hands, palms down, on the desk. “I think you’d better tell me why you’re so angry.”
Annabelle sighed and slumped down into the chair at her own station. “I’m not upset with you, Nicole. But I am angry, in fact, I’m more than angry. I’m mad as hell with Mrs. Atherton, and Ashley and, most of all, myself.”
Nicole leaned back and closed her eyes. “Let me guess. Mrs. Atherton has been gossiping.” Hardly a guess, she should have known it was coming.
“Second to harassing us for ridiculous prices, isn’t it what she does best?”
“What is it this time? Jeb?”
“Bingo! She saw you leave the marina with him. Fueled by what she witnessed the day he arrived in Charleston, it was enough cloth to make a whole garment of speculations. Stated loud and long, of course. And you don’t want to hear what they are.”
“I can imagine, that’s more than enough,” Nicole muttered. A twinge of pain settled in her temple. She brushed at it with an impatient hand, as if she would brush it away. But it wouldn’t go away. None of it would. “So, Mrs. Atherton has sharpened her spiteful tongue. That isn’t new. But why Ashley? Why are you angry with him? And yourself?”
“He was here when the old biddy did some reconnaissance. A fact-finding raid, actually, to add to her tale. Once she embroidered on them, of course.”
“Why was Ashley here?”
“He had a new watercolor. A drawing of Folly’s ruin at sunrise.” Annabelle tilted her head like a curious bird. “With all of Charleston to choose from, why would he draw the ruin?”
“He heard what Mrs. Atherton had to say?” Nicole was more concerned with Ashley’s state of mind than his drawing.
“Every lurid speculation, until I invited her to leave.”
“Good.”
“What came next was not so good. Ashley had a tantrum, and being the smart woman I am, I scolded him, and lectured him about life, and that you needed to have one of your own. And that Mrs. Atherton had no right to judge. The poor man probably understood only every third word, but some of my message got across. He kept thumping his chest and saying, ‘me, me, me.’ Then there was something about kisses and best.”
“How did you calm him down?”
“I didn’t. He tore up the drawing of the ruin, then he smashed the paintings he did at the zoo, and ran away. I could swear he was crying.” Annabelle’s face was haggard, her eyes shone with stifled tears. “Have you ever kicked a puppy?”
“No.” Nicole looked to the exhibit wall. Order had been restored, but the paintings that hung over Hunter Slade’s small sculptures were not Ashley’s. She buried her face in her hands. The twinge was an avalanche. “No.” She sighed sadly and looked at Annabelle. “But I know exactly how you feel.”
“How could you?”
“Because this is all my fault.” Ashley had drawn the ruin because it was a rare, unthreatening place for him.
Annabelle snorted indelicately. “How could anything be your fault when you were off sailing on the mighty ocean blue?”
“It’s my fault because there’s more to the incident in the park than you know.” Once she’d begun, the rest of the story spilled out. She left nothing out, spared herself nothing as she described Jeb kissing her, she kissing him back. Ashley afraid and crying for her. Then, finally, the morning at the ruin, Ashley’s anger and rivalry with Jeb. “I tried to assure him. To be honest, I can’t remember now exactly what I said. I don’t know if I put the idea I liked him best in his head, or if Jeb did. Maybe Ashley settled on the idea himself. I just don’t remember.
“But who or how isn’t important, anymore. The damage was done the minute I stepped on the Gambler. Ashley painted the ruin because he was happy there. I doubt he ever will be again. He has no idea what the word betray means, but, thanks to me, he knows how it feels.”
“You didn’t do this.” Annabelle’s eyes were hard. “The old biddy did.” An angry gesture indicated strongly that if the old biddy were here now, she should stand in fear of being throttled.
“Perhaps she was the messenger, but I was the catalyst.” Nicole’s gaze moved over newly hung paintings. They were excellent, but not as compelling as what Ashley had done. “Where is he now?”
Annabelle was silent for so long, Nicole turned to her. “Annabelle?”
“That’s the worst of it. Nobody knows where he is. I looked for hours. Harry looked for hours.” Her shoulders moved in an expression beyond defeat. “Nothing. Not a trace. I even considered calling in the city police, but that would only make matters worse. Ashley is petrified of uniforms.”
He had been since his childhood, when uniformed officials had taken him from his beloved streets and locked him in a cage. Nicole knew because, in his few and halting words, Ashley had told her. Only a few words were needed to express his fear, and the hurt, that the people he had trusted had betrayed him. Now she’d added herself to that long, terrible list.
“I know him better than anyone. Maybe I can find him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nicole. If Harry Devereaux couldn’t find him...Nicole! Nicole!”
The bell chimed, the door closed, and Annabelle had the gallery all to herself.
* * *
There were customers when Nicole returned. Lunch-break browsers, who looked but seldom bought. Out of principle, and because she would have it no other way, they were given full attention.
Annabelle was at her desk, dealing with three people simultaneously. One was actually buying, one needed directions, one simply wanted attention. Slanting her an apologetic look, Nicole hurried to the lounge, she was in no condition to deal with customers. Her blouse was soiled, the hem of her skirt had ripped loose. A long angry scratch scored her cheek from the bridge of her nose to her ear. Her frame of mind was worse.
For once, Annabelle tapped on the door first, and then barged in. “Good Lord! You look awful.”
“Thanks a bunch.”
“You didn’t find him.”
“I went everywhere. Every one of his favorite places. I saw signs that he’d been there, but who knows when? His regular customers say he hasn’t been at the hotel lobby to shine their shoes in days.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I wish I knew what to do. You saw him, Annabelle, do you think there will be trouble?”
“Only as much trouble as a pouting three-year-old can cause.”
“A big three-year-old.”
“Yes, well, there is that.” Annabelle came to sit beside her, taking away the damp cloth she held to her cheek. “Oh, wow! Maybe you’d better get this treated.”
“It’s just a scratch.”
“Then you’re really okay?”
“I’m fine, Annabelle.” She took back the cloth and pressed it to her cheek. Out of sight was not quite out of mind, she could see it in her friend’s face. Gently she assured her, “It’s nothing, really.”
“It’s a lot more than that and you know it, but I won’t nag. Instead, I’d better get back to the gall
ery. I herded the gawkers out, and put a sign on the door saying I’d be back in fifteen minutes. All we need now is for Mrs. Atherton to see it.”
“More gossip.”
“Without question. But, tell me, what does it matter now?”
“It doesn’t to me, I just hope that Jeb won’t...” She snapped her fingers. The bleak look eased from her features. “That’s it.”
“That’s what?” Annabelle demanded. “You aren’t making sense.”
“Yes I am, for the first time today. Jeb, Annabelle.”
“What about him?”
“He can find Ashley. Or, if he can’t, his crew can.”
“The men out of GQ?”
“Precisely.” Nicole opened a drawer; taking out a soft bound book, she turned through it searching for the number she needed.
“They’re sailors, remember. Not Indian scouts.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Matthew Sky may not be a scout, but he’s part Indian. Part, only by blood. His heart is pure Apache.”
There were no numbers listed for Jeb Tanner. Information proved to be a recording, informing Nicole in a tinny voice the number was unlisted and unpublished and not available. Dropping the receiver in its cradle, she gathered up her purse. “Close up for the day, Annabelle. It will be simpler than answering a lot of questions.”
“Wait. Where are you going this time?”
“I’m going to Kiawah.” Nicole paused in the open doorway. “To find Jeb.”
* * *
“What the devil?” Jeb stood on his deck, glaring at her. The glass he held nearly slid from his fingers.
“I need to talk to you.” Ignoring his shock, Nicole dodged past him, going into the great room without an invitation.
“You’re mighty right you do.” Jeb followed, set the glass aside and took her face in his hands. “Good God! What happened?”
She tried to turn away, he wouldn’t let her. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing, hell.” He tilted her cheek to the light and grimaced. “What son of a bitch did this to you? Tell me.”
“Nobody did it, Jeb.” She laid her hands on his chest, a placating motion. “I did it myself on a shrub.”
“How?” he snarled. “Why?”
“I was looking for Ashley.”
“Why?” Anger seethed in him, a muscle rippled in his jaw as his teeth clenched on the question.
“Jeb, Ashley is—”
“Forget it. I don’t want to hear it. Not yet.”
“But—”
“First things first.” His hands were heavy on her shoulders as he propelled her down a hall to his bedroom. When surprise registered on her face as he pushed her down on the bed, he snapped, “Just sit there and don’t worry, sweetheart. I brought you here to do something about your face, not make love to you. Though, God help me, I’ve thought of it often enough since Saturday.”
By the time her world righted itself again, he was rummaging through a medicine cabinet. Listening to a steady stream of snarled curses, some she’d never heard before, she folded her hands primly in her lap and wondered what to expect next from this mercurial man who seemed to be two men in one.
One made love to her, fiercely. With a touch and a kiss, he suspended time and tide. He was her world, and, for that little while on Eden, she’d thought she was his. The words he’d whispered were tender, intimate, so sweet she’d wanted him again and again.
Anything so right had to be shared. He had to feel as she did. She was sure of it, until he’d walked away without a backward look.
The trip back from Eden had been strained. Jeb had kept his distance, as if he were angry with her. Mitch had tried to fill the empty silences with his teasing at first. Then even he’d given up. Matthew had spoken only once, touching her shoulder, smiling a bittersweet smile as if he knew what she felt, murmuring a single word—”Patience.”
What should patience have to do with loving?
She didn’t understand then, she didn’t understand now. Especially after encountering this other Jeb. The one who, after nearly two days of ignoring her, was fussing over a dirty blouse and torn skirt as if it were a calamity. From his alarm one would think the mark on her face was a matter of life or death. That was a new one, a life-threatening scratch.
“When the hell did you do this?” He was standing over her, furious and fierce, enunciating each word as if he were having trouble with his voice. Then he knelt at her feet, a pan filled with a disinfectant solution at his knee, and sundry salves and bandages in a box. “What fool let you go wandering around in scrub and whatever?”
“Ouch!” She shied away from the sudden, odorous sting of Betadine.
“Be still.”
“I will not be still.” Grasping his wrist, she took his hand from her face. “To back up and answer your question about this—this mortal wound, I just did it not more than an hour ago. And as to the fool who let me wander around in the ‘scrub or whatever,’ as you call it, the answer is nobody lets me do anything. I did this to myself, and I’ll survive without anyone fussing over me like a mother hen.”
“I’ll fuss when I damn well please, and however I please.”
“Jeb, stop. Please!” She looked into his heated stare. “What are we doing? I came to ask for help finding Ashley, not to fight with you.”
“Find Ashley? Is that how you got this? Running all over looking for some idiot—” When he realized what he’d said, he drew a deep breath and closed his eyes as he sank back on his heels. “Ahh, no.” His sigh was long, and heavy with regret. “Obviously if there’s an idiot here, his name is Jeb Tanner, not Ashley.”
Climbing to his feet, he went to the window, keeping his back to her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Maybe it was the thought that your face would be scarred.”
“It wouldn’t be the first, or have you forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten.” He would never forget pulling her from the water, half conscious and bleeding profusely after a surfboard hit her squarely in the face. It was the first time he’d noticed Tony’s reaction was wrong. He’d been impassive, a clinical observer, not a worried brother. Jeb worried enough for both of them, especially when she insisted on going back into the water. To please her brother, because he expected it. “You fought me then, even when you were reeling and too dizzy to stand.”
“I don’t want to fight you now,” she said quietly. “And if I seem ungrateful, I’m not. I appreciate that you care.”
He faced her, his gaze moving over her feverishly. He’d told himself he needed distance. But there could never be enough distance to put her out of his mind. To keep from wanting her. To stop the ache that lived inside him. “Are you all right?”
She opened her mouth to respond, then shut it tight as she realized he wasn’t speaking of a scratch on her face. “I’m all right,” she said after a while. It wasn’t really a lie, nor the truth, but she was getting there. “I’ll be fine.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You have no idea.”
Nicole’s chin lifted, her eyes glittered. “Are you sorry you made love to me, Jeb?”
“Yes.” The word was a hiss. An agitated hand raked through his hair, tugging at it viciously. “No!”
“Which is it, Jeb? Yes, or no?” She didn’t blink, didn’t move. Had she been a fool? She could stand anything but that.
“Nicky...”
“Yes, or no?”
He muttered a low oath, a word that was becoming too familiar. “There’s a lot I regret, and even more that I should. Making love to you should be one of them. I should carry it on my soul like a brand, but I’m not sorry.” Even a liar and a rogue couldn’t regret his one small taste of heaven. “God forgive me, I’m not.”
The blow she feared hadn’t fallen. The defensive posture of her body eased, the band constricting her heart snapped. “Then that’s all that matters.”
“T
here can’t be any more than that, Nicky. Some day you’ll understand why.” And on that day, she would hate him.
She left the bed to go to him. Standing before him, she laid her fist over his heart. The beat of it was strong, as he was strong. As she must be. When she bargained with herself, it was to have what little she could. With no regrets. “I’m not asking for any more.”
“You deserve better.”
“Then what I deserve and what I want are totally different.”
“Sweetheart, I wish...” But she never heard what he wished. Instead, he drew her to him, burying his face in her hair. He held her close until the tension drained from him, and every taut muscle uncoiled. Lifting her face with a finger under her chin, he kissed her cheek beneath the scratch, he kissed her eyes. As she looked up at him, trusting him, he murmured again. “I wish.”
When his lips brushed hers, his kiss was exquisite, poignant, rocking her world beneath her feet. As her mouth yielded to his, tears she couldn’t shed for a man who seemed lost and lonely glittered in her eyes.
Slowly, he put her from him and lifted a hand. “Peace?”
Nicole smiled, a smile too brilliant, and put her hand in his. “Peace.”
* * *
“Tell me again what he said.” Matthew leaned forward, his arms resting on the desk, his hands loose, relaxed. Before Annabelle could object, he added, “I know you’ve told me until you’re sick of telling me, but, please, just once more.”
Arms folded, face twisted in deep study, Annabelle drifted through the gallery, moving abstractedly from print to painting, bronze to stone, trailing her fingers over each frame and figure lightly. At the newest display, that had once belonged to Ashley, she stopped, focused, racked her memory.
The gallery had closed for the day as Nicole suggested, and the showroom was quiet now, eerily quiet. Other than her interrogator, only Jeb and Nicole were present. Neither of them moved or spoke, but she felt the weight of hopeful stares.
“Look!” She whirled about to Matthew. “This is a waste of time. I’ve told you all I know. Wouldn’t you do better to be out there, going to Ashley’s old haunts? His favorite places, before he does something foolish?”
