“Um…Trudy?” Mac’s voice sounded muffled from the other side of the door. “I know this must be difficult, but—”
“I can’t do this now, Mac.” She pushed her hair back off her brow. After heaving in a few breaths, she pushed herself off the door and gathered her clothes. She didn’t even bother with her undies and bra, and instead, with shaking hands, she shoved her legs into her pants but had a difficult time getting her fingers to work on the buttons on her blouse. Forget it. She could button later.
She swung the door open and Mac nearly tumbled into the room. She frowned and said, “We need to make one thing clear: I never would have signed a contract to pose nude for a photographer, artistic or otherwise.”
“But you’d planned to pose nude for Gregor. So I’m a little confused.”
“I’d pose nude for a world-famous sculptor. Not for a photographer who might put the photos on the Internet, for all I know.” Yeah, sure, the words were harsh, but her past had created creases around her soul.
A fire lit in Mac’s eyes. “I’d never do that without a model’s permission,” he said measuredly, as if working hard to keep his temper in check. “I’m an art photographer, and a damned good one. And while I may not have the international reputation of my father, I do quite well in the art world. At least, I did at one time.” He shoved his hand through his thick black hair, tension lining his face. His full lips, so sensual, were pressed into a hard line.
For a moment, Trudy softened.
“Can you at least tell me this? Is all of this about the crappy sex we had the other night?” he asked.
Whatever compassion that had been momentarily building inside Trudy vanished with that comment. She nearly exploded. “I humiliated myself the other night and you have to rub my nose in it? Wasn’t once enough for you?”
“What do you mean, you humiliated yourself? I’m the one who—”
“Stop, Mac. Just please stop.” She’d had enough. She sucked in a deep breath. “My agent put a specific clause in the contract. No photographs will be leaked. You’d better honor that or you’ll be hearing from your attorney.”
“I always honor the contract,” Mac said, but she’d already bent down, grabbed her heels, and took off through the vegetation toward her car, holding her blouse together in the front with her other hand.
She’d spouted the brave words and with defiance in her voice, but tears formed far before she reached her car. Before she’d even backed up and spun out, kicking up gravel, the tears had spilled down her face. Now what was she going to do? That had been her only job. Her desperately needed job. Even more than that, she’d walked away from a client—and despite the fact that she’d signed the contract with Mac thinking he was Gregor Johansson the sculptor, the contract was legally binding and he was her boss.
She could only hope he’d adhere to the clause in the contract that said he wouldn’t disseminate any images of her without her consent.
Because judging from the number of clicks she heard before she shut down the shoot, he had quite an number of pictures of her to choose from.
All of which could trigger a new wave of Tubster Trudy comments. Great. Just great. She’d barely survived the humiliation the first time. She wasn’t sure she could take it again.
* * *
Mac stood at the gate, hands on his hips, his Mamiya camera dangling around his neck. Trudy tore out of his driveway, hitting the gas hard and spinning out the wheels of her car. The tires kicked up gravel, sending a spray of sharp pebbles against his shin.
He winced but didn’t move. He deserved the pain.
Doe’s goat Nanny wandered up to him and rubbed her head against his leg. Absently, he scratched between her horns, still staring at the plumes of dust arcing from Trudy’s car as she drove farther from the estate, down the windy gravel road.
The front door squealed open behind him.
From the front porch, Doe spoke. “What happened?”
“She thought the job was with Dad.”
“But you promised, Mac. You said you’d let her know.”
He wiped a hand over his face. “I did. I wrote a letter to her and included it with the contract.”
“A letter? Why on earth would you write a letter?”
He shrugged. “I thought it would be cool, giving her a handwritten explanation instead of an email. Make it more personal. The letter said everything—how the contract was with me and not Dad, how excited I was when I realized she had applied to win the contract, and how sorry I was I hadn’t given her unicorn glitter—”
“—unicorn what?”
He shook his head. “Never mind. I swear, Doe, it was all in the letter. That courier is going to get fired. Whose second cousin once removed did we hire this time?”
“Um…Mac?” Doe’s voice was tight and high in the back of her throat.
He turned to her, startled to see tears forming in her eyes. He stepped toward her, arms outstretched to give her a hug. “Hey, why are you crying? You didn’t do anything wrong, kiddo.”
Doe backed away, an expression of anguish on her face. “But I did,” she choked out. Tears were coming now, and he could tell she was struggling to speak. “I think I know why she didn’t get the letter. And it’s all my fault.”
He tilted his head and looked at her. “What happened?”
“Nanny.”
He frowned. “The goat.”
She nodded and swallowed before speaking, her words tumbling out of her mouth. “You gave me the contract and told me to put it in a manila envelope and give it to the courier when he got here and then you took off. I was going to, really I was, but I set the papers down in your study and then Aaron woke up and when the courier came, I went to get the papers and saw they were scattered everywhere. Nanny had gotten into the house and gone all Destructo-Goat on your office.”
He sighed. Damned goat. This wasn’t the first time she’d mucked up things. “It’s okay, Doe.”
“I collected all the papers—and I swear, Mac, all pages of the contract were there. I checked. I didn’t know you’d written a letter, too. I thought I had everything when I packaged it up. Your funky instructions were even there. I just didn’t know there was a letter. Nanny must have kicked it under the bookshelf or something.” Doe stopped talking and looked down at her feet, then started choking on sobs.
“Aw, kiddo, come here,” he said, his heart twisting inside of him as he gathered his sister up in his arms. Their father had always been hands-off, but their mom…god, it was so unfair Doe had to go through her transformative years without their mother. An older brother was a poor substitution.
“Can I do something to make it better?” she asked, sniffling and rubbing her nose against his shirt.
“That’s okay. I need to make it all up to her somehow. And get her forgiveness. Beg, grovel, buy her flowers and candy and a pony.”
Doe pulled out of his embrace and stared at him, her gaze intent, searching his face. “Wow. You like her, don’t you? She’s more than one of your one night stands, isn’t she? And she’s more than your perfect model, too.”
“She hates me.” He clenched his jaw and looked away. Even if that were true, he was pretty damned sure that after what had transpired today, Trudy would want him far away. Antarctica, probably.
But he couldn’t let her go. No way. His professional photography career, although not exactly the path he’d prefer, paid the bills, and well. But when the Warrior Woman images had finally swirled into cohesion in his mind, relentlessly demanding to be captured film, he’d known he had what he needed to survive, but not to thrive. He needed his art.
And that meant he needed Trudy. She was his Warrior Woman. She was his new muse.
But she was also the vulnerable and tempting woman that had gotten under his skin.
“You just need a plan,” Doe said. Nanny trotted up to stand beside them, sneaking bites of greenery.
He shoved a hand through his hair. “I can call her agent and get her addr
ess. Go see her. Apologize profusely for my idiocy and the nefarious shenanigans of your goat.”
“That’s a start. You might need flowers, too.”
“And if she doesn’t want to see you?”
“I don’t know what it’s going to take, but I’ll figure it out. I have to.” He thrust a hand through his hair.
“What about Warrior Woman?”
“I caught a few photos of her before she started yelling at me. I’ll see if the positions I saw in my head translate on film. Pretty clear she’ll want out of the contract if I don’t think of something fast. I’m going to look at the photos and see if I’m close to capturing my Warrior Woman series the way I envision it in my mind, though.”
“You will,” Doe reassured him. “You’re brilliant. You’re the only one who doesn’t believe in yourself.”
“Me and a half-dozen art critics.”
“Over one show, Mac, four years ago. And they were right. That show sucked. Your earlier shows were so much better.”
“Thanks for the brutal honesty.” He ruffled her hair, which oddly, she allowed. “But you were a kid. What do you know about my earlier shows?”
For a moment, Doe hesitated. When she spoke, her voice was tight. Thin. “She was my mother, too. I saw those shows you did back then, when she was dying. The critics called your pictures haunting, and it’s true. But haunting in a good way. They were full of emotion. I can close my eyes and see your photographs of her in my mind, feel them. And I do. Every day.” Doe spoke so quietly Mac almost didn’t hear her.
He was about to say something, but Doe clicked her fingers to Nanny and peeled off, heading up the hill to the pond on the far side of the property. He sucked air into his lungs, ready to call her back, but changed his mind. Better to let Doe console herself at the pond, surrounded by wildflowers, in the very place their mother had loved. He’d talk to Doe later.
Instead of going to his darkroom and preparing the chemicals to develop what few photographs he’d shot of Trudy, he wandered back toward the dais, drawn to where he’d seen his Warrior Woman through the lens of his camera.
Maybe the images of Warrior Woman in his head hadn’t translated to film and this whole problem keeping Trudy in her contract would be resolved. It had been years, his touch could be off. Maybe he no longer had the artistic eye that had captured what critics had called “brilliant” images of his mother and the others in the cancer ward. Of their children they knew they’d leave behind, playing outdoors in the hospital playground, happily living in the moment. Of their parents, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, pacing hospital corridors, seated in the cafeteria vacantly eating what had to taste of sawdust, all wearing hope and dismay and fear and faith.
After their mother had succumbed to cancer, Mac immersed himself in a life of numb living. Unable to support himself with the money he made as an art photographer, he took on contracts for fashion photography. In the wild world of fashion, he easily succumbed to alcohol, late night partying, and meaningless sex—although he never promised women anything more than that, and they always left satisfied.
His next art photography show sucked, though. The photographs illustrated all his technical skill, but none of the emotion that had been exhibited in his earlier works. The critics panned his work, and he’d given up.
But now, four years later, images of a woman, strong, fighting, challenging life, filled his mind daily. His mother’s spirit, maybe, or the spirit of the other mothers, sisters, and daughters he’d photographed—he didn’t know. All he knew was that if he could translate those images onto paper, he’d have regained his artistic side.
A light breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees. The clouds that had been building up off to the west had moved in and now covered the sky, giving everything an eerie yellowish cast. He swept a hand over his face.
Seeing Trudy standing nude in the pose he’d titled Warrior Woman in Victory, his heart had leaped. He thought she’d agreed to be his model. He’d been filled with hope, excitement, with zaps of anticipation shooting through him. And then she’d freaked out and he’d found out why.
The least he could do was go see her. Apologize for his part in oh so many things. Mistaken identity. Naughty goat. Bad sex.
A grin caught at the corner of his mouth. And maybe even ask for another do-over. It couldn’t hurt, right?
Trudy sipped her latte and quietly swore. The barista at The Sacrificial Bean, the coffee shop close to her loft, had a tendency to zone out while steaming milk, bringing it to scalding temperatures. A fact Trudy remembered too late to stop from burning her tongue. She was a little surprised to find herself thinking that Delilah at the diner in Meadowview probably wouldn’t burn her customers tongues with overly-hot coffee. She tried to focus on something other than Mac’s town but the sound of friendly diners bidding her good luck and goodbye filled her mind.
Nope, not today. She wouldn’t think of Mac today. Not at all. This would be a Mac-free day.
Pulling the lid off the latte, she allowed white wisps to escape into the crisp morning air. Although spring was in full bloom, mornings were still a mite bit nippy. She cradled the drink in both hands and leaned her face into the steam, enjoying the heat and mentally mapping out her day as she slowly walked down the street, heading back to her loft.
Tomorrow she’d call Lisa and find out from her agent how everything had gone so wrong. How she’d ended up posing naked for a photographer—Mac—instead of his father, the famous sculptor. She’d find out what happened to the letter Mac claimed to have sent along with the contract. But today…today she’d regroup, de-stress, and allow all the tension to escape from her body. She placed the plastic lid back on the cup and put a cheerful smile on her face. After yesterday’s disaster, today would be a good day. She’d make certain of that.
Ten minutes later, coffee barely gone, Trudy tipped her chin up to the sun, grateful for the sense of happiness its warmth brought. In the distance she could hear Griswold, braying out his morning welcome. She’d have to bring him a carrot or two later in the day. As annoying as he could be when he woke her up, the guy was still lovable. She tossed the empty coffee cup into a recycling bin, then turned the corner to her loft.
And gaped.
There, leaning against her front door, his hands tucked neatly into jeans pockets, stood Mac.
Her smile froze, then faded. Oh, goodness gracious. This was so not what she wanted for her day. Had he seen her? Could she tiptoe away?
Too late. Mac had already caught site of her and was waving, a big dopey grin on his face.
She couldn’t make a run for it. Well, she could, but she’d look foolish and he’d find her anyway. There was no escaping. She’d have to meet him head-on. Nerves charged through her and her tummy did that now-familiar flip-flop thing and her breath went shallow. Damn it. Here she wanted to be all angry at the man and her body wanted to jump him. She sighed, resigned, and continued forward.
At her door, she stopped and tipped her head upward, forcing a glare she didn’t really feel onto her face. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “One would think I’d been perfectly clear yesterday: I don’t want to see you.”
“I came to apologize.”
She raised an eyebrow.
He waggled his in return.
She motioned at him to scoot away from her door, but he stood firm.
Ugh. The man clearly wanted to stay. And judging from the tingles flittering throughout her tummy, her body was siding with Mac (damn those hormones!). She cleared her throat, mentally informed her mind to control her instincts, and said, “Look, Mac, I think you’ve done enough damage already. Please leave.”
Mac shifted his weight onto his other hip, but didn’t move away from her door.
At least now he wasn’t standing directly in front of the doorknob. She shoved the key into the lock. Mac still leaned against the door, a fraction of an inch from her, hands still in his jeans pockets. So close, she could take in the jump of the muscl
e in his jaw. See his chest move as he breathed. Breathe in his scent as it wafted over her. Those darned tingles in her belly increased, causing her breathing to go shallow.
“Um…could you scoot aside?” she managed ask.
Mac refused to do as she’d asked. Instead, he spread his hands wide and said, “Trudy, just hear me out. Please.”
“Is that what will it take to get rid of you?”
“Yep. Let me in and I’ll say all I need to say in five minutes.”
Trudy raised her brow. “Then you’ll leave?”
Mac swept two fingers in the air. “Scout’s honor. Although to be honest, I never was a Boy Scout. Now, Doe and I both were both in 4-H, however.” He stared off in the distance, as if in reflection. “What was that motto? Head, heart, hands—”
“Mac—focus!”
He started, then riveted his gaze on her face. “Health. That was the fourth. Yes, I’ll leave in five minutes. Promise.”
Trudy closed her eyes, and with two fingers rubbed the spot in the middle of her brow. “Fine. Come on in.” She opened the door, then stepped aside and indicated for Mac to come into her living room.
There, she grabbed her favorite wing-backed chair and perched herself on the edge, then watched as Mac settled himself comfortably in the middle of her sofa, crossing his legs at the ankles and spreading his arms wide, draping them over the sofa’s back. Wow. The man was so incredibly sexy. Although yesterday she’d been yelling at him too much to take in how gorgeous he really really was, today…well, today was a different story.
Sort-of. There was the whole fact that he’d laughed at her after sex to deal with. Her face heated at the thought of her humiliation. Better to focus on the contract and how to get out of it.
“First,” he said, sending her a mega-watt smile, “I need to apologize. Or explain, really.”
She responded by raising an eyebrow. “You already told me there was a letter that explained the contract was with you, not your dad. Not sure we need to go over that again.”
He shook his head. “There was more in the letter. I had two whole paragraphs in there about the other night, when we were in bed—”
Finding The One (Meadowview Heroes 1; The Meadowview Series 5) Page 9
