by Alison Kent
Chapter Twelve
ZACK HAD CHOSEN THE lily pond for his first set of calendar shots. Surrounded by rough stone walls, crisscrossed by wooden footbridges, and bordered on one side by a bamboo grove, the low lying area captured the flavor of the Orient with simple perfection.
Still waters reflected the bright blue morning sky. A canopy of leafy green shielded pebbled walkways. A secluded gazebo offered solitude, privacy, a soothing sanctuary for the senses.
The lily pond was Eva’s favorite spot in the park. She was proud of the work she had done here. Winning the Botanical Gardens’ contract had been an iffy proposition. Though well established, Blooms was a small operation. The Lake City Garden Club board could have negotiated with a larger nursery in Houston or Austin to outfit the gardens.
That they’d had faith enough in Eva to choose Blooms was a kernel of professional victory she nurtured. Her certification as Master Gardener had helped. But none of that wondrous feeling matched the pride she felt that Zack had chosen to honor her by featuring her work in the Garden Club calendar.
Carrying one camera bag while Zack carried a second and a tripod, Eva followed her son down a hard packed trail scattered with pine needles and fallen pods and leaves. He’d pulled his hair back with a thick red rubber band, and wore his standard uniform of white T-shirt, faded jeans, and tan work boots turned brown with use.
Eva wasn’t sure if he had inherited his work ethic from her, if she had passed on a subliminal message about idle hands, or if he was truly the prince she knew him to be. And he was. Understanding their financial situation and pitching in far beyond what she’d ever thought to expect.
The only child of a widowed mother and now a widow herself, Eva had experienced both sides of the money-worries coin. She didn’t know which was harder, wanting and being denied as a teen, or wanting to say yes and having to deny as a mother. She didn’t have to tell Zack no very often.
And fortunately for the both of them, Bobby’s will had left a good chunk of Zack’s college fund in trust. Zack didn’t have to earn the bulk of his college money, but one wouldn’t know it from watching him work.
He began the day with homework left unfinished from the night before, or he headed to school early to put in time in the photography lab. His evening hours varied; with spring baseball in full swing, practice and games took a big bite from the day. Five out of seven afternoons, though, he put in time at Blooms, and somehow still found time to take up slack at home.
Oh, Bobby. I hope you’re able to see what’s become of your son. I hope you’ve watched him grow and haven’t cringed too often at the choices I’ve made.
Eva smiled and blinked a burst of mixed emotion from her eyes. It saddened her that Bobby hadn’t had the chance to see his son cross the threshold from boy to man. But she couldn’t deny any of her own joy and mother’s pride at the result.
Every parent should be so lucky as to have a son like Zack. And every woman should be equally lucky in her choice of a man, she added, then sighed. She had a feeling Katie Crenshaw knew exactly how lucky she was.
And the fact that Katie was the same age now as Eva had been when introduced to Carson Brandt... Eva sighed again. Suffice it to say, she knew enough about young love to be a bit concerned when Zack ran late after a night out with Katie.
The hardest part of being a single mother of a teenage son was being the single mother of a teenage son. Talking about sex with Zack hadn’t been difficult, but those initial talks had happened before Zack was old enough to experiment with his newfound knowledge.
Now he was more than old enough and, though they had an open line of communication, Eva doubted her son would come to her with questions. Even if he did, she doubted she could dispense objective advice without grounding him until he was thirty-five.
When Zack stopped on the trail in front of her, Eva had to sidestep to avoid plowing into his back. She stepped around and glared up at him, only to have Zack throw her that loving-son-to-mother look that said, “I told you we were going to be late.”
Her nemesis had arrived first, and when Eva glanced over Zack’s right shoulder to get a better view, she wished she hadn’t. Carson wore a snug black T-shirt and khaki Dockers, a black-banded wristwatch, a black Nike sandal, and his cast. As a fashion statement, it wasn’t much to write home about. But on Carson the simplicity devastated.
He stood with his hands braced at his hips, the pose utterly male and suggestive. The rising sun lit the fire in his hair, gilded the hair dusting his arms, and gave a bronze cast to the early morning beard he hadn’t bothered to shave. His shoulders were broad, his hands large and capable, his forearms corded with the sensual strength of a pagan god.
Electricity buzzed over Eva’s skin, swelling her breasts, flowing through her belly with heavy expectation. She hugged the lapels of her over shirt tighter. Sex and Carson were intrinsically linked in her mind. She couldn’t see him, think about him, without remembering their passion, remembering he’d made no promises.
Remembering he’d given her all he had to give. Which wasn’t enough. She’d wanted, needed him to love her. The way that she’d loved him.
She groaned. She did not need this complication in her life. She had a business to run, a son to raise and ground until he was at least thirty-five, and no emotion to spare from either. She wouldn’t deny she and Carson generated an intense physical chemistry; how could she after that night last week?
But the spontaneous combustion that occurred in her kitchen would never happen again. She wouldn’t let it. Zack was her life. Blooms was her life. Carson was... a distraction, a reminder of a past she’d long forgotten.
“Uh, Mom? Anytime you’re ready.”
Eva looked around to find Zack staring. She forced a casual shrug. “Sorry. I always forget how beautiful it is here. Guess I got lost for a minute.”
Seemingly oblivious to her internal upheaval, Carson limped forward. He took the tripod and the camera bag from Zack, barely sparing Eva a glance as he said, “Zack tells me you did the landscaping here.”
Handing Zack the bag she carried, Eva finger-combed self consciously at one side of her hair. “A landscape architect designed the gardens. I did the easy part and followed his plans.”
“It wasn’t all that easy,” Zack grumbled, attaching his camera to the tripod as Carson looked on.
“What do you know?” Eva teased, tugging at a lock of his hair. “You were only twelve.”
“Old enough to know I was being used as slave labor. Cheap slave labor.”
“You weren’t that cheap, kiddo.” Eva crossed her arms over her chest and stood back to watch her son work. “You cost me a 35mm camera.”
“And some of the pictures I took during the park’s construction are hanging in the information center. Not bad for a twelve year old.” He stuck out his tongue and blew a loud raspberry. “So there.”
Eva just rolled her eyes. “You weren’t the one buying film. And film. And more film.”
Legs spread wide, Zack got to work. He peered through the viewfinder, adjusting the settings as he studied the pond. “I’ll bet Carson was probably just like me. Running around taking pictures of anything that didn’t move. Chasing down anything that did.”
Zack’s comment fell among the three of them with a deafening thud Eva was sure she wasn’t the only one to hear. It hadn’t occurred to her to tell her son—she’d had no reason to tell him—that Carson never talked about his childhood.
She’d known he hadn’t been a particularly happy child. He hadn’t been a particularly happy adult when she’d met him, at least compared to the state of mind in which he’d been when she’d left.
During their years together in New York, he’d never revealed anything from which she could draw conclusions about the home in which he’d been raised, and had redirected all questions or comments she’d made in that direction onto his definition of safer ground.
She waited for him to do the same to Zack now. But Carson’s only v
isible sign of reaction was the measured tic in his strong, square jaw. Eva waited for the brewing storm, not knowing whether to expect ice or heated fury. Curiously enough, she received neither. Hmm. Maybe Zack had found a way to ferret out answers Carson hadn’t revealed to Eva during their time together.
And maybe with those years now so far behind, he’d finally mellowed enough to talk about them. He certainly hadn’t turned out to be the ogre she’d imagined two weeks ago when she’d rounded that aisle in Blooms. And that had come as a definite surprise. Equally surprising was his tenacity in staying where he wasn’t wanted, especially when she hadn’t been shy in asking him to leave.
“My first camera was a Leica,” he said, looking out across the pond, his profile taut. “My parents gave it to me when I was ten.”
“Gave it to you? You mean you didn’t have to earn it?” Zack queried, looking up from the viewfinder to arch one eyebrow in Eva’s direction.
She arched one right back. “Don’t start with me, Zack Shelton. We’ve had the money discussion before.”
“Don’t worry, Zack. I earned it,” Carson answered, his face rather grim. He glanced briefly Zack’s way before turning back to gaze across the pond. “I kept out of their way like they wanted. Pretty hard at first for a kid as clumsy as I was. I got better with practice.”
The tense human silence that followed was filled by the buzz of insects, the rustle of wind through tall trees, and the lap of breeze on water, until Zack finally said, “Speaking as someone born with two dyslexic left feet... been there, done that.”
“Zack! Good grief.” Eva was going to throttle her loudmouthed son. How could he be so flippant about what Carson had just disclosed? And what in the world had been wrong with Carson’s parents? To treat an innocent young child like... like... Eva couldn’t even fathom a response.
“So you were ten, huh? What did you take pictures of?”
With a focusing shake of his head, Carson scrubbed both hands through his hair, then stepped toward Zack, peering over his shoulder at the camera’s settings. “I guess I started with shots of the estate.”
“The estate?” Eva was vaguely aware he’d been an only child of well-to-do parents, but this was one of those details she’d wanted to know but had never heard before.
Carson shrugged as if estates were nothing. “We had a sunken pond, not quite as elaborately landscaped as the one here. But the professional setup— the slate and red rock masonry and the waterfalls especially—was tempting to a kid with a new camera.”
“A Leica. I can’t believe it.” Zack shook his head, straightened, and made a final round of adjustments to his settings. “How old were you when you started developing your own film?”
“My parents hired a private instructor. I was eleven or twelve then, I guess. We set up a studio in one of the suites in the guest quarters and developed the shots they took while traveling. Used the bathroom for a darkroom. My parents were never home long enough to have any guests so they never missed the space.”
“Oh, no.” Eva shook a warning finger in Zack’s direction. “Don’t be getting any ideas. We need both of our bathrooms.”
“Hey, I’m easy. I don’t mind sharing yours.”
“Not a chance.”
“Somehow I knew you’d say that.” Zack turned his attention back to Carson. “Did you always want to be a photographer?”
He shook his head. “I always wanted to travel. To see the world. And I knew that photography was one way to make sure that happened.”
“What about the trips your folks took when you were a kid? You never went along?” Zack asked, and again Eva cringed.
But Carson took the question in stride. “Are you kidding? I couldn’t walk through the kitchen at the house without leaving behind a break, a burn, or a spill. Imagine what I would’ve done to Europe.”
“Got it. The two-left-feet thing.”
Carson nodded. “My parents would’ve forfeited security deposits from Italian villas to Swiss chalets if they’d taken me. They used to promise that when I got older...” He stopped and frowned, as if self-conscious, then forced a laugh. “By the time they could trust me with Limoges, I’d already photographed my way across France as an exchange student.”
And with that one revelation, so much of Carson’s personality, his struggle for perfection, his refusal to accept less from those he worked with or from himself, fell into place. He’d grown up equating excellence with acceptance. And in all their time together, Eva hadn’t been able to convince him that he didn’t have to be perfect to win her love.
“Zack, why don’t you tell your mom what you have in mind here so you can get started?”
Carson’s words jarred Eva from her deeper musings, returning her to the present a wiser woman than minutes ago when she’d stepped into the past.
Zack pointed across the pond, directing Eva’s gaze in that direction. “I want to do several shots while the sun’s coming up across the water. Depending on the angle, your shadow will be on the pond and it will look like you’re picking the flowers.”
Eva couldn’t resist. “Which one do you want me to pick? The Appleton?”
“She deserves it,” Zack said with a laugh. “I lost ten pounds changing out those suckers.”
Good grief. She’d forgotten to ask about the hibiscus. “Did it work out okay?”
“Yeah, Pete and I got ‘em delivered on time. She even had us in for tea.”
“I figured if she was going to pull you off the calendar project, she would have done it by now.”
“I don’t think she can. My name is on the contract. Anyway, look. The sun isn’t going to wait. We have about five minutes before it’s at the angle I need. Do you mind if I tell you what I want you to do, Mom?”
Eva raised both arms as if giving herself up in offering. “I’m all yours.”
“I want you to stand on the footbridge over there,” Zack instructed, pointing to the corner of the pond opposite the. gazebo. “That should leave your shadow the only one on the pond.”
“And where are you going to be?”
“I have a couple of places scouted out, but until you get in position I won’t know the best one to use.”
“I’m going. I’m going.” She’d loved Zack’s passion for his art, until she realized how much his intensity reminded her of a young Carson Brandt.
Praying that Zack’s vastly different upbringing would keep him from becoming the unforgiving perfectionist Carson was, or at least had been, Eva headed across the footbridge Zack had indicated.
“Okay. That’s good. Stop right there,” Zack yelled.
Eva stopped. Zack checked the Nikon’s settings yet again, turning once to ask Carson a question. Her ex-lover was only a few inches taller than her son, his hair only one shade of blond darker. They shared a width of shoulders, breadth of chest, and leanness of hips. They also shared a remarkable talent, as well as her heart.
She leaned against the railing of the footbridge, pressing her stomach against the supporting rail. The baby she’d lost, the baby that had been Carson’s, would’ve been so close to Zack’s age now. Had she borne a son, genetics would no doubt have given him the height Zack and Carson shared.
He might’ve had a head full of her darker reddish hair and skin as fair, but he so easily could’ve had Carson’s fiery coloring. Like Zack did. And Carson’s sexy killer smile. Like Zack did. And Carson’s passion and intensity. Like Zack did. Oh, God. She hadn’t thought about their baby. For so long, she hadn’t thought about their baby. Why now did she have to remember?
“Hey, Mom. That’s great. Perfect. Stay right there. Don’t move.”
Perfect. She couldn’t have moved if her life had depended on it.
Chapter Thirteen
ONCE THE SHARP SHADOWS of noon began to lengthen and grow fuzzy edges, Zack reluctantly wrapped the shoot. “I guess that’s it for today. I want to get these developed, anyway, before we do any more. I need to make sure I’m getting the results I wa
nt.”
Carson handed Zack the camera bag that was just out of the teen’s lengthy reach. “With the equipment and settings you used, not to mention having the sun on your side and a world-famous model to work with, what could go wrong?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m no longer world-famous.” Eva shoved impatient hands to hips in a gesture that was universally female and patently Eva. Carson couldn’t help but grin, which caused her to shove harder.
Zack saved the moment if not the day. “Well, you were plenty famous in Kansas.”
“I was not.” Eva stopped short of stomping a foot.
She was so indignant, Carson had to press. He turned to Zack. “This I’ve got to hear.”
“I was probably about five or six when I realized that no one pointed and stared at the other kids’ mothers the way they did at mine. I was pretty clueless until I started school,” Zack reminded his mother. “Even though Dad had framed a lot of your old ad photos, I’d never really thought about the woman in those pictures being the mom who made me oatmeal and cinnamon toast for breakfast.”
Cinnamon toast. Man, did that bring back memories. Carson remembered Eva burning as many slices as she got right because the kitchen was the last place he wanted her to be in the mornings. He avoided looking at her now, knowing she would know what he was thinking. Making her uncomfortable would reverse any steps forward he’d made so far.
He needed to gain her trust if he hoped to learn why she’d left all those years ago. And that meant moving slowly, keeping those slow movements steady—without a camera to make sure he got it right.
Zack grabbed up all his equipment and, with camera bags and lens cases hanging from both shoulders, turned to his mother, who, to avoid looking at Carson while he’d avoiding looking at her, had stooped to examine the foliage of a low-growing shrub at the gazebo’s edge.
“Mom? You ready? I gotta hustle to get to the game by four.”
Carson took note of Eva’s hesitation before she got to her feet, dusting her hands together.
He kept a wary eye on her as he spoke. “I’ll be glad to give your mother a ride home, Zack.”
