A Kiss to Dream On

by Neesa Hart

  “It’s an incredibly arduous process, isn’t it?”

  “Almost as hard as recapturing their attention after you walked in the room today.”

  He covered his heart with his bandaged hand. “Ouch. Point well-taken, Doctor.”

  Cammy glanced at her watch. “Let’s grab lunch, and I’ll fill you in on your penance.”

  He attempted to sign OK. With a shake of her head, Cammy tipped his hand into the proper position for the K. “Amy told me you had trouble with that one.”

  Jackson mentally thrust aside the remnants of a sour mood as he watched Cammy thread her way through the dense crowd at the Tune-In. The morning had exacted a high price. He should have known that being around Cammy’s kids was going to batter the walls that closed off his painful memories of Leo. No matter what Chris or the rest of those morons he worked for at AW thought, he was completely in control.

  Of course, it hadn’t helped matters that he’d seen Leo in the faces of Cammy’s children. What he needed was enough solitude to work Leo, and the memory of his death, methodically out of his mind. This ploy to have him spill his guts to some shrink—he watched Cammy stop to talk to someone she knew—no matter how attractive the package, wasn’t going to work. Leo was his straggle and his alone. No one else could go there with him. He wrestled with the ghosts for another few minutes. Finally, he mastered them by forcing aside his grim thoughts and concentrating on Cammy.

  When she’d suggested the greasy Capitol Hill hamburger joint, he’d had to add another twist to his evolving opinion of her complex personality. He’d have pegged her for the falafel/humus type.

  Over the blare of the jukebox, she shouted her name to the waitress. The woman signaled her, then headed back into the dark recesses of the booth-lined restaurant.

  Cammy reached his side after dodging two waiters and a delivery driver. “Five minutes,” she assured him. “Most of this crowd is here to pick up takeout.”

  Jackson nodded, silently using the excuse of the noisy atmosphere to study her rather than make conversation. He decided he liked the way the exertion of reaching the waitress had heightened her skin color. When he’d first met her the day before, he hadn’t been able to suppress a healthy male, if politically incorrect, twinge of regret that her loose-fitting clothes had generally concealed her figure. Today, however, she wore slim-fitting jeans and a yellow sweatshirt that looked incredibly feminine.

  He’d been acutely aware of her that morning. As she’d moved around the edges of the room, interpreting for him when necessary, interacting with the children when needed, her gray gaze had stayed fixed on him. She had watched and assessed—evaluating him as often as she evaluated her kids. Her scrutiny had almost unnerved him, and with his equilibrium gone haywire, he hadn’t been able to resist moving in on her after the children had left.

  He was an expert at reading faces, and Cammy’s had been clear when he’d rubbed his fingers on her sleeve. In the back of his brain, he’d filed her startled look of awareness for further consideration.

  The waitress signaled them over the heads of the crowd. Jackson let Cammy take the lead. When they were finally seated, blissfully away from the noise in a dark corner booth, Jackson leaned against the vinyl seat and waited.

  Cammy’s eyes lifted from the menu to meet his gaze across the table. “Have you ever eaten here?”

  He nodded. “Great hamburgers. A little loud.”

  She fingered the little microphone by her right ear as she studied the laminated card. “The ambiance leaves a little to be desired, but they’ve got some of the best food in the city. Besides, I like noise.”

  The waitress approached their table. “What’ll you have?”

  Jackson suppressed a smile. The tiny restaurant was also renowned for the less than hospitable attitude of its waitstaff. He gave his order without comment.

  Cammy stuffed the menu card into the wire condiment rack. “I’ll have the same.”

  The waitress hurried off. Jackson met Cammy’s gaze. “So,” he said, “are you going to tell me how much trouble I’m in, or are you going to make me sweat?”

  She released a slow breath. Inwardly, she knew she’d been trying to avoid this. He was too engaging, and, she had the feeling, too observant. She sensed a barely leashed frustration in him, however, something he’d effortlessly hidden from her kids but couldn’t quite keep from his expression when he looked at her. She saw no reason not to ask him to show his hand. “I want you to answer a question for me first.”

  “Shoot.”

  “What have you got to be so irritable about?”

  Something unreadable flickered in his gaze. He leaned back in his seat with a slight grunt. “Look, I’m not going to lie to you. Coming off that assignment in Bosnia, my nerves are a little raw. I’m tired as hell, and not exactly in top form.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Yeah, well, my boss, and his bosses, seem to think that all I need is a few hours of psychotherapy to tune up my mental engine.”

  “Mike mentioned that.”

  His frown turned to a scowl. “Is everyone in on the joke?”

  “I don’t think—”

  He bit off a curse. “I’ve handled thousands of assignments, in thousands of places. I’ve won those bastards at AW a hell of a lot of awards, and the financial benefits to go with them.”

  “No one’s arguing—”

  “And now, they concoct this charade to send me scuttling off to your office in hopes that I’ll choke out my life story to your business partner.”

  “Jackson—”

  “What happened in Bosnia—” He shrugged, and uttered something harsh and foul. “Look, I’ve been in worse places. Nobody ever decided that I needed a shrink before.”

  “No one ever died before.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Succinctly put, Doctor. You use that kind of method on all your patients?”

  She drew a calming breath. “I was afraid you weren’t going to let me get a word in edgewise.”

  “Maybe I didn’t want to hear what you had to say.”

  Cammy’s eyes drifted momentarily shut. Story of her life, she thought. When she opened them again, he was watching her with that probing gaze she found so unsettling. “Did it occur to you that maybe they want to help you?”

  His laugh was humorless. “Let me give you a little lesson in how journalism works, Doc. Nobody helps anybody. Everybody runs for the next story, the next hot item that’ll sell more papers and earn more money. When you develop a reputation for getting that story, for outmaneuvering the competition, people notice. And they want you to keep on doing it.”

  “You’re very good at what you do.”

  “I’m excellent at what I do.”

  “And you think that Chris Harris’s only motivation in sending you to me was to make sure you weren’t going to quit on him.”

  “Chris was under pressure.”

  She watched him for several seconds. He was struggling. He showed all the signs. His fingers gripped the edge of the table. His eyes had narrowed to glittering slits. She sensed the anger, the reluctance in him to reveal anything deeper. His anger radiated toward her in the close confines of the booth.

  She found herself wanting to help him, wanting to reach inside his mind and find the place where that anger had taken root. His expression made it clear, however, that he wouldn’t be pushed. There would be time, she reminded herself, later. Cammy relaxed against the padded seat. “Thank you for telling me.”

  He watched her, his gaze wary. “That’s all you want to know?”

  “That’s not half of what I want to know. But you don’t want me to push, do you?”

  He hesitated, then shook his head. “No.”

  With a slight shrug, she said, “So I won’t ask.”

  “You’d make a rotten reporter.”

  “And you’d probably make a rotten psychiatrist.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched, banishing his mask of anger. “So we’re
even?”

  “Not quite. You were still late to my session this morning—after you promised you wouldn’t be disruptive.”

  “How long are you going to make me pay for that?”

  “Not long.” She toyed with her spoon. “I thought the children interacted with you quite well.”

  “They did, didn’t they?”

  She liked the sudden gleam in his gaze. He’d enjoyed himself that morning, that much was obvious. Even though she sensed a certain reticence about him as he’d interacted with her kids, something she’d bet real money had to do with his memories of Leo, she’d also seen him settle naturally into the dynamics of the group. “Amy wants you to come back next time.”

  “She’s trying to teach me to sign my name.” He used the index and middle fingers of each hand to form the sign for name.

  “She doesn’t usually open up to people that quickly. It took me weeks to get her to talk to me.”

  “She’s obviously come a long way since you started working with her.”

  Cammy studied him curiously. “You don’t think she just responded to your natural magnetism?”

  His eyebrows lifted slightly. Something she couldn’t quite define flickered in his gaze. He leaned across the table so his face was inches from hers. “Do I have natural magnetism?”

  His anger, she realized, was completely gone now, replaced by the teasing banter he liked to use as a shield. She refused to take the bait. “You know what I mean.”

  “Tell me?”

  “You’re very dynamic,” she told him, deciding to be honest. “You have a talent for talking to kids, and you’ve been able to use that gift to communicate with children all over the world.”

  With his hands splayed on the table, he looked almost predatorial. His eyes searched hers with unnerving intensity. “Or, maybe,” he said, “you’ve helped those kids see that not everyone in the world is their enemy. They trust you. Consequently, they know you wouldn’t have introduced me into their midst if you thought I couldn’t connect with them.” He narrowed his gaze. “Did you ever worry there’d be a language barrier between the children and me?”

  “No. Once you had a chance to familiarize yourself with sign language, I knew you could reach them. You’ve formed relationships with kids in dozens of foreign countries whether you spoke their language or not.”

  “You’d be surprised how far a guy can get on a pack of American bubble gum and an instant camera.”

  “True, but I still didn’t see any reason why the kids in my focus group would present different challenges from the kids you meet anywhere else in the world.”

  “But you weren’t sure?” he guessed.

  She raised her eyebrows. “What makes you think so?”

  Jackson leaned back in his seat again. She told herself she was relieved. “You’re the doctor,” he told her. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Cammy drummed her fingers on top of the table. “Am I going to see this in the morning paper?”

  Momentarily he pursed his lips. She couldn’t decipher the expression. He withdrew the notepad from his hip pocket and dropped it on the table. “No. I want to know what makes these kids tick. What brings them to you? How do you reach them? I want to know because I like them.” He paused. “Because I like you, and not because I think they’ll make a good story.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Don’t take it personally.”

  “So it’s just the media establishment in general, and not me in particular?”

  “Something like that.”

  “That’s encouraging.”

  “You think so?”

  “Sure. If it’s just all of us who fall in your lower-than-pond-scum category, I have a better chance of distinguishing myself from the pack. If you had a bad impression of me, I’d have to work harder.” He shrugged. “I could still do it, you understand. It would just be harder.”

  A slight laugh escaped before she could stop it. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Don’t bet on it. I’m a professional shrink, you know. It’s my job to assess people.”

  “I’ll watch my step.” He tilted his head to one side. “You want to tell me about this gripe you have with my species, or do you want me to torture it out of you?”

  She eyed the notebook. “What about that?”

  He studied her a minute. “Okay, I’ll level with you. You’re a smart woman. And you were right. This story isn’t my usual style.”

  “I know that.”

  “You also know that Chris Harris, my bureau chief, and Mike Costas are old friends. We talked about that when I met you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Costas also tell you that he pulled strings to get Harris to do the story?”

  “I’m not sure he phrased it like that, but I got the idea.”

  He stared at her for long seconds. “I hate string pullers.”

  “Maybe you should take that up with Mike.”

  He shrugged. “Chris was going to send you some rookie just to get Mike out of his hair.”

  “But, lucky you, you got stuck with me instead.”

  “I told you, that’s because my bosses are concerned about my mental state. They think I might be headed toward burnout.”

  Her gaze dropped to the bandage on his palm. “Are you?”

  “Is that a professional question or a personal one?”

  She flinched. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Cammy, you try to second-guess my motives in every conversation. Why shouldn’t I second-guess yours?”

  The question was valid, and she knew it. She met his gaze again. “All right. What if I tell you it’s both personal and professional, but mostly more of the former? I’d like to help you.”

  “Why?”

  “Beats me,” she admitted.

  “You’re very direct.”

  “I’ve been told.”

  “I like it. You don’t meet very many direct people in this city.”

  The corner of her mouth lifted in a slight smile. “You must really make waves, then.”

  He laughed. “Why do you think the bosses at AW are always so anxious to get me out of town?”

  “Until now?”

  “Until now.”

  “I read you right, I see. You weren’t just adverse to Chris Harris sending you off for some therapy. You didn’t like the idea of this whole story.”

  “No. I didn’t. And you didn’t want me to do it either, which only made things worse.”

  Cammy shook her head. “You’re right. I didn’t.”

  “But we’re stuck. I’m going to write a series on you, and your kids, and on Wishing Star. It’s my assignment.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “No. I could have refused. It wouldn’t have been easy, but I could have done it.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Because I promised Chris I’d meet you first.”

  Their waitress plunked their plates in front of them. “Anything else?”

  Jackson shook his head, but didn’t take his gaze off Cammy. Cammy glanced at the waitress. “No, we’re fine.”

  The waitress dropped the check on the table before she hurried away. Jackson reached for the check the instant Cammy’s fingers closed on it. His hand stayed on hers. “I’ll let you buy my lunch under one condition.”

  She managed a slight smile. “I can see you’re new to this bribing business.”

  “You have every intention of picking up the bill. I can spot a determined woman a mile away.”

  “And you’re going to fight me over it unless I tell you what you want to know?”

  “You bet.”

  “What if I just give you the bill?”

  “You won’t. Your pride’s involved.”

  “I’m supposed to be the expert on psychiatry, here.”

  “Call it gut instinct.”

  She
hesitated. “What do you want from me, Jackson?”

  “Your story.” His gaze held her in a place where their conversation had very little to do with the check for a couple of hamburgers. “Right now, I’ll settle for some answers. I want to know why you distrust me so much.”

  “I thought your story was on my kids and on Wishing Star.”

  “Technically, it is.” He glanced at the notebook, where it still lay on the table. “But now I’m curious. You weren’t what I expected, and I want to know why. It’s ingrained. I can’t help it.”

  “And I’m direct, but wary. Sounds to me like we’ve got a serious problem.”

  “Not serious. Not yet, anyway. Potentially serious, I’ll grant you. So what do you say we make a deal?”

  “What kind of deal?” It was her turn to lift her eyebrows.

  Jackson indicated the notebook again. “It if doesn’t go in there, it doesn’t go in my story. Anything you tell me when I’m not taking notes is strictly off the record.”

  “If I trust you?”

  His fingers tightened on hers. “I hope you will. I’d like to know more about you, Cammy, but I’d rather hear it from you. You know, I deliberately avoided the temptation to look through the file on you I got from my research assistant.”

  “That was noble.”

  “Most people would call it dumb.”

  The amusement in his gaze affected her like nothing else could. This would have been much easier on her, she thought, if he weren’t so damned hard to dislike. Cammy carefully extracted her hand—and the check—from his. She tucked the small piece of paper into her shirt pocket. “What do you want to know?” she asked him.

  His expression relaxed. “Where do you want to start?”

  Jackson leaned back in his chair and studied the black-and-white photo of Cammy. As promised, Krista had left the developed pictures on his desk. He’d found them when he’d returned to the office that afternoon. He still wasn’t sure how Cammy had managed to talk through lunch and leave him feeling even more baffled than when they’d started.

  Enigma didn’t even begin to describe her. She’d skated deftly around his questions about her personal life, and told him all the scientific and social data he’d wanted to know about the challenges, causes, and treatments of childhood deafness. She’d explained in vivid detail the experimental cochlear implant that had restored her hearing. He’d held the processor, about the size of a pager, and examined the microphone and transmitter she wore.