“No, I meant you.”
“You want me to walk to Brooklyn Heights? From here?”
He grinned. “Not by yourself, pipsqueak. I’ll go with you.”
“It’s at least two miles. Maybe three. I mean, the Brooklyn Bridge is a mile long.”
“So?”
“It’ll take an hour. Maybe more.”
“So?” he said again. “You were complaining about not being athletic a minute ago. Walking is good for you.”
“I wasn’t complaining about not being athletic. I have no desire to be athletic.”
“Walking is still good for you.” He took her right hand and placed it in the crook of his left arm, leading her back to the sidewalk like an old-fashioned gentleman escorting a lady. “Let’s go.”
He expected her to drop his arm immediately, but she didn’t. They walked along in silence for a few minutes, but it wasn’t an awkward silence.
They kept pace with each other pretty well, considering their height difference. He could feel the warmth of Jane’s hand through his shirt, kind of soft and electric at the same time, and the sensation made his heart beat a little quicker.
When they came to the entrance of Jane’s usual subway station, they paused by mutual accord. Jane did drop his arm then, and he hoped she couldn’t tell how much he missed the contact.
“What’s it going to be?” he asked. “Walk or ride?”
She looked down the stairs that led into the subway and then back at him.
Her face was well lit by the ambient glow of the city all around them. But even so, it was hard to tell what she was thinking behind those blue eyes.
That’s how it always was with Jane. He’d met her for the first time when he and Sam were seniors at CU, and he’d wondered then what he was wondering now.
What are you thinking?
It wasn’t something he usually wondered about people. With most people, you could tell what they were thinking. And if you couldn’t, once you talked to them, you found out they hadn’t been thinking anything much. The natural world—oceans and mountains and the stars and planets above them—was a million times more interesting than what most of humanity thought about at any given moment.
They were thinking about what they’d had for breakfast and what they might have for dinner. They were thinking about money. They were thinking about sex. They were thinking about football.
Not that there was anything wrong with that stuff. It was just . . . well, predictable. Nothing new or odd or interesting. But with Jane, it was different.
The first time he’d asked her that question, she’d turned to him with a dreamy expression in those blue eyes.
“I was thinking about how science fiction stories have to deal with the problem of language. In Doctor Who, all the aliens seem like they’re speaking English because the TARDIS gets into your brain and translates, so they just skip right over that problem. But if you think about it, language is one of the most interesting things about contacting an alien race. I mean, can you imagine what trying to understand an alien language would be like? I just read a story about a linguist trying to communicate with aliens, and it makes you think about the whole concept of language, you know? How the way we think is shaped by it, and how learning another language changes us.”
He’d just stared at her when she finished, not sure what to say. After a moment she walked away, her eyes still dreamy as the wheels in her mind turned.
His mind didn’t work the way Jane’s did. He didn’t live in his imagination. He preferred to live in the moment, thinking about the problem right in front of him and the decisions he needed to make for the comfort and safety of the groups he took into the wilderness. That felt real to him.
But his next expedition had been to the Danakil Depression in Ethiopia. With two active volcanoes, a bubbling lava lake, geysers, acid ponds, and several mineral deposits, the place looked more like an alien planet than anywhere he’d been on earth.
And he’d found himself thinking about aliens, and what Jane had said about language, and the dreamy, faraway look in her eyes as she talked.
What are you thinking?
This time, here on a Manhattan sidewalk, he was sure he knew the answer. She was thinking that a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge on this perfect October night was a wonderful idea, and that Caleb was a genius for suggesting it.
Okay, she probably wasn’t thinking that last part. But he was positive about the first part.
“I think I’ll just take the subway tonight. Maybe another time, though.”
It actually took him a moment to process that she’d turned him down.
“Huh?”
“I said, maybe another time. Thanks for dinner, Caleb. Have a good night.”
And before he could come to grips with her answer, she’d already started down the steps to the subway.
Chapter Seven
Jane stared at her own face reflected in the window across from her as the subway rattled along the track.
Why had she said no to Caleb? It had felt good walking with him after dinner.
More than good, actually. Comfortable and safe but also . . .
Exciting.
Exciting?
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. That’s why she’d said no. After the whole Dan debacle, the last thing she needed was to feel excited about some guy . . . especially when the guy was Caleb.
When you looked in the dictionary under Nerd-Girl Hopeless Crush Objects, the first thing you saw was a picture of Caleb Bryce.
Naturally, she’d had a crush on him when they first met. She was a freshman at Yale, and Sam and Caleb were seniors at the University of Colorado. She spent their entire graduation ceremony staring at Caleb’s face. She’d been a normal red-blooded nineteen-year-old girl, and Caleb was . . . well, Caleb. Strong and confident and masculine and a hundred other sexy things.
Of course she hadn’t said a word to her sister. Sam always meant well, but she had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, and the prom-date incident had taught Jane that it was better to have loved and lost than to tell Samantha Finch you liked a guy. That would only lead to Sam cornering him in your kitchen on prom night and threatening to beat him to death with a shovel if he hurt you.
The only thing worse than having a hopeless crush was having your older sister try to help you with it. Since she knew very well the cure would be worse than the disease, Jane had kept her mouth shut about Caleb.
Getting over her crush turned out to be easier than she’d first thought. She and Caleb had nothing in common, and he had this way of looking at her like she had three heads when she talked about things she was interested in. But he was also a really good person—steady and dependable in spite of the wanderlust and need for adventure that seemed to drive him—and as he and Sam turned a little start-up into a thriving business, Caleb had become a part of the family.
The little voice inside her head that commented on Caleb’s arms and his butt and his sexy-as-hell grin had faded into the background where it belonged. And the last thing, the very last thing, she needed right now was to revive it.
She’d already been humiliated today by an attraction to a guy who didn’t feel the same about her. And Dan was a part of her tribe—a bookworm and a Tolkien geek. He even loved Anne of Green Gables, for goodness’ sake. If she couldn’t get a guy like that interested in her, why would she try to level up to the sexy cowboy every woman wanted?
So when those little darts of excitement and pleasure had shot through her body from the place where her hand touched his arm, and when she’d felt tempted to keep going like that all the way to Brooklyn, she’d forced herself to relive the pain of that afternoon.
She practically glows. Like she’s surrounded by an aura or something.
Now, as the train pulled away from the last stop before hers, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. One more subway stop and the walk home to feel sorry for herself, and then she’d get back to what Anne Shirley had taught her s
o long ago.
She had an imagination, and she could use it.
She’d sit down at her computer and actually finish the first chapter of the thriller she’d been mapping out in her head. She belonged to a writing group that met once a month, and she’d been putting off giving them anything to critique. The next meeting was in two weeks, and this time she’d have something.
When she got home and settled down at her desk, her eyes fell on one of the quotes she’d posted on the corkboard above her computer.
You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.
That was Ray Bradbury, someone else who understood the power of imagination.
She opened up the folder marked “Mack Connor, PI,” flexed her hands over the keyboard like a pianist ready to play, and got to work.
The next two hours passed by in a flash. When she finished chapter one and read it over, it wasn’t horrible.
So, she thought in satisfaction as she stood up and stretched her cramped muscles, it had turned out to be a good day after all.
Then her phone buzzed.
She glanced at the screen, saw Caleb’s name, and hit Accept.
“What.”
“Wow. So that really is how you answer the phone now, huh? Or are you in bed?”
“I’m not in bed yet,” she said, walking across the living room to curl up on her couch. “I just find you annoying.”
“I wanted to make sure you got home safe.” He paused. “And to see how you’re doing.”
“How I’m doing?”
“After the whole Dan thing.”
Two hours ago “the whole Dan thing” had still felt raw. But now, with a good writing session under her belt and the knowledge that Caleb was miles away in his Washington Heights apartment, she felt better.
She was touched that he had called to ask. To be honest, it showed a lot more sensitivity than she’d thought he was capable of.
Not that Caleb wasn’t kind. He was incredibly kind. Kind, generous, dependable, all of that. But sensitive was something different. It required imagination, for one thing, which wasn’t exactly Caleb’s strong suit.
“I’m fine. I had a good writing night,” she added, even though she didn’t usually talk to Caleb about her writing. Instead of seeing it as a process that was worth something in itself, he was always pushing her to finish things and submit them to agents and publishers, even when she told him over and over she wasn’t ready for that.
“What about you?” she asked quickly, before he could go into his usual pitch. “How are you doing?”
“Me? I’m fine. I’m always fine.”
That was definitely the Caleb persona—levelheaded, easygoing, laid-back. Nothing ever seemed to get to him.
Then she remembered their conversation at the restaurant. Caleb had his buttons, too . . . he just didn’t talk about them.
She’d gotten used to respecting the boundaries Caleb had put up against certain lines of questioning. His childhood, his parents, where he went every year for Christmas. But Caleb had called to check on her emotional state. Didn’t that open the door, just a little bit, for her to check on him?
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” he said.
“Why do you always spend Christmas alone?”
He was silent a moment before he answered.
“That’s just how I like it.”
Not everything about Caleb’s family was off-limits. She’d met his brother once, and Caleb spoke often about his aunt Rosemary. But in all the time she had known him, he’d never once mentioned his mother or father. All she knew was that his aunt had raised him and Hunter from the time Caleb was twelve years old.
“Doesn’t your aunt get lonely over the holidays?”
“No. My brother usually makes it to the ranch for Christmas, and the hands are like family. And Rosemary is friends with everyone in town. She doesn’t suffer from loneliness, believe me. I visit her a couple times a year, more if I can. I just don’t visit at Christmas.”
Sam had told Jane that the one time she’d asked Caleb about his parents, he’d snapped her head off. It was one of the only times he’d ever done that.
He’d probably snap her head off, too.
“Caleb?”
“Yeah?”
His voice sounded wary.
What happened to your parents? What happened to you when you were twelve?
But after a moment, she knew she wouldn’t ask. It was Caleb’s choice to guard his privacy, and she didn’t have a good enough reason to knock on that door.
Or maybe she was just a coward.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Nothing, huh? You’re not going to badger me anymore about the holidays?”
She smiled. “No. I’m all done badgering.”
“Good to know. Doing anything exciting tonight?”
“Reading in bed. You?”
“Me? I’ve got a thrilling evening planned. Beer and basketball.”
“You’re such a guy.”
“Usually when women say that to me, they mean it as a compliment.”
“Maybe you should call up one of those women.”
“I probably should. But for some reason, I prefer you.” He paused. “So what are you going to do about Dan tomorrow?”
“Do? What do you mean?”
“You’re supposed to get them together at lunch, right? So what are you going to do instead?”
That was a good question.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll tell him she had other plans and couldn’t meet me.”
“But then he’ll just keep mooning over her. You should tell him she’s seeing someone.”
“I already told him she’s single.”
“So tell him she just met someone you didn’t know about yet. Hell, it might even be true. She’s out tonight, isn’t she? You know guys always fall all over themselves when Sam’s around.”
She knew, all right.
“Thanks for reminding me,” she said, wincing when she heard the edge in her voice. Hadn’t she just told Caleb she was fine?
Time to change the subject.
“Why don’t you?” she asked.
“Why don’t I what?”
“Fall all over yourself around Sam.”
It was something she’d always wondered about but had never brought up. She wouldn’t have asked now, but any topic was better than her own feelings about her sister.
“Sam’s my partner,” Caleb said. “She’s practically family.”
“But she’s so your type. I mean, she’s perfect for you. She’s beautiful, and you guys have so much in common. What if you guys are soul mates? You could get married and run a business together and—”
“I’ve never been interested in Sam that way. I just don’t feel like that about her.”
“Because she’s your partner and like family? But—”
“No. I mean, yeah, but that’s not why I’m not attracted to her.”
“You’re not attracted to her?”
“You sound shocked. What’s the big deal about that?”
“Everyone’s attracted to Sam. Everyone.”
Why was it so important for Caleb to admit he’d fallen under Sam’s spell, too?
“What about when you first met her?” she pursued. “When you guys were in college. Before she was your business partner. What did you think then?”
“I thought she was beautiful. And I liked hanging out with her.”
“And you wanted to sleep with her.”
“No.”
“You must have. Every guy who meets Sam wants to sleep with her.”
“Nope. Not true. I thought she was beautiful, and I still do, but she doesn’t . . .”
“What?”
“Do it for me.”
She shouldn’t be so happy that there was one guy in the world not head over heels for Sam.
Was she really that jealous and petty? Did she really want so much for there to be some guy, s
omewhere, who wasn’t attracted to her sister?
Not that it mattered. Caleb couldn’t be telling the truth. He must sense her envy and insecurity, especially after the whole Dan thing, and was just trying to make her feel better.
“I don’t believe you.”
He made an exasperated sound, something between a snort and a grunt.
“Fine, don’t believe me. We should be talking about you, anyway.”
“Talking about me?”
“Yeah. And what you’re going to do the next time.”
“The next time . . .”
“The next time a guy turns your crank.”
“What am I supposed to—”
“You’re not going to talk about books. You’re not going to try to get to know him. Not right away, anyhow. You’re going to flirt.”
It was her turn to make an exasperated sound, but hers was between a snort and a sniff.
“What exactly are you saying? That I need remedial flirting lessons?”
“That’s a good way to put it, yeah.”
“I know how to flirt, Caleb.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Let’s hear it, then.”
“I’m not going to flirt with you.”
“Because you don’t know how.”
“That’s not true!”
“Well, then, show me your moves. What are you wearing, Jane?”
She started to snap at him again and then stopped.
What if she took him up on his challenge?
Maybe she didn’t know how to flirt. Maybe Caleb could teach her something.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Nothing.”
The silence that followed was short, but it was long enough for Jane to feel like she’d just hurled herself off a cliff.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Caleb said. His voice sounded husky, and she wondered if that was his flirting voice.
Her heart beat faster.
“What happens now?” she asked, the question sounding too loud in the empty silence of her apartment. She lowered her voice. “Aren’t you supposed to flirt back or something?”
“Sorry. Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “So. If I was there with you . . .” He paused.
“What?” she asked after a moment, her voice so low now it was practically a whisper. “If you were here with me what?”
Tell Me Page 6
