by Nora Roberts
“Look, there’s Voltara.” Bryan grabbed Shade’s arm and swung him around to see a life-size poster that gave her lavish curves and scant cover as she was being strapped into what looked like a homemade electric chair.
Shade looked at the painted spangles over generous cleavage. “Might be worth watching, after all.”
With a quick snort, Bryan pulled him toward the Ferris wheel. “Let’s take a ride. From the top we’ll be able to see the whole layout.”
Shade pulled a bill out of his wallet. “That’s the only reason you want to ride.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” They walked over, waiting while the attendant let a couple off. “It’s a good way of covering ground and sitting down at the same time,” she began as she took the vacated seat. “It’s sure to be an excellent angle for some aerial pictures, and…” She slipped a hand into his as they started the slow swing up. “It’s the very best place to neck at a carnival.”
When he laughed, she wrapped her arms around him and silenced his lips with hers. They reached the top where the evening breeze flowed clean and hung there one moment—two—aware only of each other. On the descent, the speed picked up and the drop had her stomach shivering, her mind swimming. It was no different from the sensation of being held by him, loved by him. They held tight and close through two revolutions.
Gathering her against his shoulder, Shade watched the carnival rush up toward them. It’d been years since he’d held someone soft and feminine on a Ferris wheel. High school? he wondered. He could hardly remember. Now he realized he’d let his youth slip by him because so many other things had seemed important at the time. He’d let it go freely, and though he wouldn’t, couldn’t, ask for the whole of it back, perhaps Bryan was showing him how to recapture pieces of it.
“I love the way this feels,” she murmured. She could watch the sun go down in a last splashy explosion of arrogance, hear the music, the voices, ebb and fade as the wheel spun around. She could look down and be just removed enough from the scene to enjoy it, just separate enough to understand it. “A ride on a Ferris wheel should be required once a year, like a routine physical.”
With her head against Shade’s shoulder, she examined the scene below, the midway, the concessions, the booths set up for games of skill. She wanted to see it all, close up. She could smell popcorn, grilling meat, sweat, the heavy-handed after-shave of the attendant as their car swung by him. It gave her the overall view. This was life, a sidelong glance at it. This was the little corner of life where children could see wonders and adults could pretend for just a little while.
Taking her camera, she angled down through the cars and wires to focus in on the attendant. He looked a bit bored as he lifted the safety bar for one couple and lowered it for the next. A job for him, Bryan thought, a small thrill for the rest. She sat back, content to ride.
When it was dark, they went to work. There were people gathered around the wheel of fortune, plopping down a dollar for a chance at more. Teenagers showed off for their girls or their peers by hurling softballs at stacked bottles. Toddlers hung over the rope and tossed Ping-Pong balls at fishbowls, hoping to win a goldfish whose life expectancy was short at best. Young girls squealed on the fast-spinning Octopus, while young boys goggled at the posters along the midway.
Bryan took one telling shot of a woman carrying a baby on one hip while a three-year-old dragged her mercilessly along. Shade took another of a trio of boys in muscle shirts standing apart and doing their best to look tough and aloof.
They ate slices of pizza with rubber crusts as they watched with the rest of the crowd as Dr. Wren, Fire Eater, came out of his tent to give a quick, teasing demonstration of his art. Like the ten-year-old boy who watched beside her, Bryan was sold.
With an agreement to meet back at the entrance to the midway in thirty minutes, they separated. Caught up, Bryan wandered. She wasn’t able to resist Voltara, and slipped into part of the show to see the somewhat weary, glossy-faced woman strapped into a chair that promised to zap her with two thousand volts.
She pulled it off well enough, Bryan thought, closing her eyes and giving a regal nod before the lever was pulled. The special effects weren’t top-notch, but they worked. Blue light shimmered up the chair and around Voltara’s head. It turned her skin to the color of summer lightning. At fifty cents a shot, Bryan decided as she stepped back out, the audience got their money’s worth.
Intrigued, she wandered around in back of the midway to where the carnival workers parked their trailers. No colorful lights here, she mused as she glanced over the small caravan. No pretty illusions. Tonight, they’d pack up the equipment, take down the posters and drive on.
The moonlight hit the metal of a trailer and showed the scratches and dents. The shades were drawn at the little windows, but there was faded lettering on the side. Nightingale’s.
Bryan found it touching and crouched to shoot.
“Lost, little lady?”
Surprised, Bryan sprang up and nearly collided with a short, husky man in T-shirt and work pants. If he worked for the carnival, Bryan thought quickly, he’d been taking a long break. If he’d come to watch, the lights and sideshows hadn’t held his interest. The smell of beer, warm and stale, clung to him.
“No.” She gave him a careful smile and kept a careful distance. Fear hadn’t entered into it. The move had been automatic and mild. There were lights and people only a few yards away. And she thought he might give her another angle for her photographs. “Do you work here?”
“Woman shouldn’t wander around in the dark alone. ’Less she’s looking for something.”
No, fear hadn’t been her first reaction, nor did it come now. Annoyance did. It was that that showed in her eyes before she turned away. “Excuse me.”
Then he had her arm, and it occurred to her that the lights were a great deal farther away than she’d have liked. Brazen it out, she told herself. “Look, I’ve people waiting for me.”
“You’re a tall one, ain’t you?” His fingers were very firm, if his stance wasn’t. He weaved slightly as he looked Bryan over. “Don’t mind looking eye to eye with a woman. Let’s have a drink.”
“Some other time.” Bryan put her hand on his arm to push it away and found it solid as a concrete block. That’s when the fear began. “I came back here to take some pictures,” she said as calmly as she could. “My partner’s waiting for me.” She pushed at his arm again. “You’re hurting me.”
“Got some more beer in my truck,” he mumbled as he began to drag her farther away from the lights.
“No.” Her voice rose on the first wave of panic. “I don’t want any beer.”
He stopped a moment, swaying. As Bryan took a good look in his eyes, she realized he was as drunk as a man could get and still stand. Fear bubbled hot in her throat. “Maybe you want something else.” He skimmed down her thin summer top and brief shorts. “Woman usually wants something when she wanders around half naked.”
Her fear ebbed as cold fury rushed in. Bryan glared. He grinned.
“You ignorant ass,” she hissed just before she brought her knee up, hard. His breath came out in a whoosh as he dropped his hand. Bryan didn’t wait to see him crouch over. She ran.
She was still running when she rammed straight into Shade.
“You’re ten minutes late,” he began, “but I’ve never seen you move that fast.”
“I was just—I had to…” She trailed off, breathless, and leaned against him. Solid, dependable, safe. She could have stayed just like that until the sun rose again.
“What is it?” He could feel the tension before he drew her away and saw it on her face. “What happened?”
“Nothing really.” Disgusted with herself, Bryan dragged her hair back from her face. “I just ran into some jerk who wanted to buy me a drink whether I was thirsty or not.”
His fingers tightened on her arms, and she winced as they covered the same area that was already tender. “Where?”
“I
t was nothing,” she said again, furious with herself that she hadn’t taken the time to regain her composure before she ran into him. “I went around back to get a look at the trailers.”
“Alone?” He shook her once, quickly. “What kind of idiot are you? Don’t you know carnivals aren’t just cotton candy and colored lights? Did he hurt you?”
It wasn’t concern she heard in his voice, but anger. Her spine straightened. “No, but you are.”
Ignoring her, Shade began to drag her through the crowds toward the parking section. “If you’d stop looking at everything through rose-colored glasses, you’d see a lot more clearly. Do you have any idea what might’ve happened?”
“I can take care of myself. I did take care of myself.” When they reached the van, she swung away from him. “I’ll look at life any way I like. I don’t need you to lecture me, Shade.”
“You need something.” Grabbing the keys from her, he unlocked the van. “It’s brainless to go wandering around alone in the dark in a place like this. Looking for trouble,” he muttered as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
“You sound remarkably like the idiot I left sprawled on the grass with his hands between his legs.”
He shot her a look. Later, when he was calm, he might admire the way she’d dealt with an obnoxious drunk, but now he couldn’t see beyond her carelessness. Independence aside, a woman was vulnerable. “I should’ve known better than to let you go off alone.”
“Now just a minute.” She whirled around in her seat. “You don’t let me do anything, Colby. If you’ve got it in your head that you’re my keeper or anything of the sort, then you’d better get it right out again. I answer to myself. Only myself.”
“For the next few weeks, you answer to me as well.”
She tried to control the temper that pushed at her, but it wasn’t possible. “I may work with you,” she said, pacing her words. “I may sleep with you. But I don’t answer to you. Not now. Not ever.”
Shade punched in the van’s lighter. “We’ll see about that.”
“Just remember the contract.” Shaking with fury, she turned away again. “We’re partners on this job, fifty-fifty.”
He gave his opinion of what she could do with the contract. Bryan folded her arms, shut her eyes and willed herself to sleep.
* * *
He drove for hours. She might sleep, but there was too much churning inside him to allow him the same release. So he drove, east toward the Atlantic.
She’d been right when she’d said she didn’t answer to him. That was one of the first rules they’d laid down. He was damned sick of rules. She was her own woman. His strings weren’t on her any more than hers were on him. They were two intelligent, independent people who wanted it that way.
But he’d wanted to protect her. When everything else was stripped away, he’d wanted to protect her. Was she so dense that she couldn’t see he’d been furious not with her but with himself for not being there when she’d needed him?
She’d tossed that back in his face, Shade thought grimly as he ran a hand over his gritty eyes. She’d put him very clearly, very concisely, in his place. And his place, he reminded himself, no matter how intimate they’d become, was still at arm’s length. It was best for both of them.
With his window open, he could just smell the tang of the ocean. They’d crossed the country. They’d crossed more lines than he’d bargained for. But they were a long way from crossing the final one.
How did he feel about her? He’d asked himself that question time after time, but he’d always managed to block out the answer. Did he really want to hear it? But it was three o’clock in the morning, that hour he knew well. Defenses crumbled easily at three o’clock in the morning. Truth had a way of easing its way in.
He was in love with her. It was too late to take a step back and say no thanks. He was in love with her in a way that was completely foreign to him. Unselfishly. Unlimitedly.
Looking back, he could almost pinpoint the moment when it had happened to him, though he’d called it something else. When he’d stood on the rock island in the Arizona lake, he’d desired her, desired her more intensely than he’d desired anything or anyone. When he’d woken from the nightmare and had found her warm and solid beside him, he’d needed her, again more than anything or anyone.
But when he’d looked across the dusty road on the Oklahoma border and seen her standing in front of a sad little house with a plot of pansies, he’d fallen in love.
They were a long way from Oklahoma now, a long way from that moment. Love had grown, overwhelming him. He hadn’t known how to deal with it then. He hadn’t a clue what to do about it now.
He drove toward the ocean where the air was moist. When he pulled the van between two low-rising dunes, he could just see the water, a shadow with sound in the distance. Watching it, listening to it, he slept.
Bryan woke when she heard the gulls. Stiff, disoriented, she opened her eyes. She saw the ocean, blue and quiet in the early light that wasn’t quite dawn. At the horizon, the sky was pink and serene. Misty. Waking slowly, she watched gulls swoop over the shoreline and soar to sea again.
Shade slept in the seat beside her, turned slightly in his seat, his head resting against the door. He’d driven for hours, she realized. But what had driven him?
She thought of their argument with a kind of weary tolerance. Quietly, she slipped from the van. She wanted the scent of the sea.
Had it only been two months since they’d stood on the shore of the Pacific? Was this really so different? she wondered as she stepped out of her shoes and felt the sand, cool and rough under her feet. He’d driven through the night to get here, she mused. To get here, one step closer to the end. They had only to drive up the coast now, winding their way through New England. A quick stop in New York for pictures and darkroom work, then on to Cape Cod, where summer would end for both of them.
It might be best, she thought, if they broke there completely. Driving back together, touching on some of the places they’d discovered as a team, might be too much to handle. Perhaps when the time came, she’d make some excuse and fly back to L.A. It might be best, she reflected, to start back to those separate lives when summer ended.
They’d come full circle. Through the tension and annoyance of the beginning, into the cautious friendship, the frenzied passion, and right back to the tension again.
Bending, Bryan picked up a shell small enough to fit into the palm of her hand, but whole.
Tension broke things, didn’t it? Cracked the whole until pressure crumbled it into pieces. Then whatever you’d had was lost. She didn’t want that for Shade. With a sigh, she looked out over the ocean, where the water was green, then blue. The mist was rising.
No, she didn’t want that for him. When they turned from each other, they should do so as they’d turned to each other. As whole, separate people, standing independently.
She kept the shell in her hand as she walked back toward the van. The weariness was gone. When she saw him standing beside the van watching her, with his hair ruffled by the wind, his face shadowed, eyes heavy, her heart turned over.
The break would come soon enough, she told herself. For now, there should be no pressure.
Smiling, she went to him. She took his hand and pressed the shell into it. “You can hear the ocean if you listen for it.”
He said nothing, but put his arm around her and held her. Together they watched the sun rise over the east.
Chapter 12
On a street corner in Chelsea, five enterprising kids loosened the bolts on a fire hydrant and sent water swooshing. Bryan liked the way they dived through the stream, soaking their sneakers, plastering their hair. It wasn’t necessary to think long about her feelings toward the scene. As she lifted her camera and focused, her one predominant emotion was envy, pure and simple.
Not only were they cool and delightfully wet while she was limp from the heat, but they hadn’t a care in the world. They didn’t have to wor
ry if their lives were heading in the right direction, or any direction at all. It was their privilege in these last breathless weeks of summer to enjoy—their youth, their freedom and a cool splash in city water.
If she was envious, there were others who felt the same way. As it happened, Bryan’s best shot came from incorporating one passerby in the scene. The middle-aged deliveryman in the sweaty blue shirt and dusty work shoes looked over his shoulder as one of the children lifted his arms up to catch a stream. On one face was pleasure, pure and giddy. On the other was amusement, laced with regret for something that couldn’t be recaptured.
Bryan walked on, down streets packed with bad-tempered traffic, over sidewalks that tossed up heat like insults. New York didn’t always weather summer with a smile and a wave.
Shade was in the darkroom they’d rented, while she’d opted to take the field first. She was putting it off, she admitted, as she skirted around a sidewalk salesman and his array of bright-lensed plastic sunglasses. Putting off coping with the last darkroom session she’d have before they returned to California. After this brief stop in New York, they’d head north for the final weekend of summer in Cape Cod.
And she and Shade had gone back to being almost unbearably careful with each other. Since that morning when they’d woken at the beach, Bryan had taken a step back. Deliberately, she admitted. She’d discovered all too forcibly that he could hurt her. Perhaps it was true that she’d left herself wide open. Bryan wouldn’t deny that somewhere along the way she’d lost her determination to maintain a certain distance. But it wasn’t too late to pull back just enough to keep from getting battered. She had to accept that the season was nearly over, and when it was, her relationship with Shade ended with it.
With this in mind, she took a slow, meandering route back toward midtown and the rented darkroom.
Shade already had ten rows of proofs. Sliding a strip under the enlarger, he methodically began to select and eliminate. As always, he was more ruthless, more critical with his own work than he’d have been with anyone else’s. He knew Bryan would be back shortly, so any printing he did would have to wait until the following day. Still, he wanted to see one now, for himself.
