I Run to You (18 page)

Insulted, nonplussed—asking himself why the
hell he was asking for more, Max said, “So. If I was a loser, out
of work, not accomplished and…. What else? You may condescend to
hold a civil conversation with me?”

“Why waste your time?” She stared out at the
yard. “And, mine.”

“I’m Brook’s brother. You seem cool with
her.”

She sighed and dropped her foot to the floor.
Max watched her take leisure drags and release them, sips, before
she stared at him again.

For some reason a new sensation overrode all
the pricks and needles. It was her eyes, he decided. Amazed. He had
never noticed at Rafael’s. But she had haunting eyes. Jade green,
and….

“Thanks.”

He blinked. “What?”

He had lost track of everything for a
moment.

“You said I play well. I said thanks. Is that
enough?”

Max smiled this time, his dimples grooved
deep in each cheek. “It’s a start.”

“Shit.” She shook her head, and stood,
flicking out the cigarette. She made to walk past him.

Max murmured, “Sit back down. Take your
break. Smoke. Have a beer. I’ll stand here and be invisible.”

She snorted.

His Kentucky drawl was more pronounced as he
murmured next, “Well at least tell me it’s not just me. Your quills
rise up with all men? Or is it successful men…”

Taking her seat again she muttered, “I
thought you were invisible.”

“Can’t help it. You’ve insulted my pride, and
shattered my ego, in one fell swoop.”

He leaned back against the banister, ankles
and arms crossed. “It’s Coburn blood— not—rich boy arrogance—or
whatever you called it. We don’t mind if people don’t like us. But
we refuse to allow it on the basis of preconceived notions.”

She was shaking her head. Her gaze turned to
him slowly, eyes going from his feet up, again, holding his. “Are
you going to tell me you don’t or didn’t have them yourself?”

About her. Max mentally filled in. He shook
his head slowly too, not looking away from her. “No. But you blew
me away in there.”

It was his turn to let his gaze roam her,
seeing her stiffen, brace almost, as he did so. Eyes meeting, he
added, “I should probably warn you, enigmas are a challenge to
photographers and artists….”

As expected, she looked away from him
again.

Max pondered his next words, debated just
keeping his mouth shut. Nevertheless, it seemed moment by moment
his artist’s eye was becoming clearer. He noticed her nice bones,
beautiful skin. Truthfully, he had never looked twice at a woman
who dressed, was, and resembled someone like that. He was thinking
about the tattoos, the dove, the phoenix, the butterfly on her
nape—that no one would ever see at Rafael’s. It was more than the
outside. Yet the man and the artist were inseparable—so yes, he
noticed her nice shape.

He normally dated long, cool, stylishly
groomed, women. He did not question why. He assumed his taste was a
mix of brains and femininity—something like that. Even though this
woman had a tough exterior, there was some vulnerability there.
Even though— she seemed one way, projected it, the butterfly, dove,
the phoenix were telling choices to permanently make a part of your
skin.

“Stop staring at me.” She finished the beer
and stood, looking at him briefly before she prepared to go in.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I see more through a
camera lens. But other times, it’s like my mind takes snapshots,
and they develop slowly.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen women who look stranger
than me, traveling around.” her tone was deprecating, “It’s rude,
staring.”

“It wasn’t that kind of staring,” he drawled
and smiled crookedly.

She turned and went inside.

Sighing, Max hung out there awhile. He could
hear the music clear enough. In fact, Madeline and Mitch were on
their porch, on the swing, listening.

Sitting up on the banisters, long legs on the
rail, he was in such a muse he didn’t even notice Jason was leaving
with one of the blondes, until they were in the truck backing out,
and Jason was giving him a shit-eating grin as he looked down.

Snorting, Max figured he could get a ride
home.

That’s— when an idea occurred to him. He took
the last two hours of practice to analyze. A little curious as to
why he was glutton for punishment. His ego aside, women usually
adored him. She did not fit anything really. Not his taste, his
nothing…and yet.

The session over, Brook came outside first,
carrying her case. She glanced at him before going down the steps.
“I’m heading to Mom’s. You coming over?”

“Maybe later.” He got down and leaned over
the rail as she went to pack the gear in her car. “You okay?”

“I will be.” She paused, standing by the car
door, looking up at him as if thinking at the same time. “Life’s a
little complicated at the moment.”

“I’m here.”

“I know.” She smiled. “Keep me a beer cold. I
may come by this week.”

“Will do.”

Some of the others left. Renee was inside
when Jordan came out. She had her helmet under her arm.

He fell into step behind her as she descended
the steps, aware that she knew he was.

At the motorcycle he said, “I need I ride
home.”

“I’m not a taxi service.” Her eyes met his
before she straddled the Harley.

“I’m serious.”

She looked around. “Your whole damn family
lives around here.”

“Okay.” He shrugged and smiled. “I want to
ride on your bike. Please. And I need a ride home.”

“Safety laws. I don’t have a spare
helmet.”

“Haven’t you heard, we own this damn
town?”

She rolled her eyes and stood, giving him
room to swing his leg across.

When Max cupped her waist as she set down,
she paused in the process of putting on her helmet and glared over
her shoulder at him. “I’m sure you can ride without falling
off.”

“Yeah. But I don’t want to die alone.”

“So funny.” She put the helmet on and started
the engine. Backing, turning, they were soon at the edge of the
drive, waiting for traffic to let them in. Since Brook was on the
porch with Mitch and Madeline, he could just imagine the
conversation that took place as they rolled by.

He enjoyed the ride. She was experienced.
Despite having matured early, and having “life” experience, riding
on the back of a Harley with a chic, was a new one for him.

Considering he may not like her—yet was
fascinated, in some morbid way, —Max found it a little sexy.

He directed her to the turn off.

They went down the black top, passing Coy’s
house, reaching his.

She stopped the bike but didn’t kill the
engine, so once he climbed off, Max did.

“Come in.”

“No thanks.”

“You don’t work on Sunday.” He finger combed
his hair. “I’ll show you my treasure and trophies—and all the fan
mail I get.”

She almost smiled. He was surprised how much
that thrilled him.

“Come on,” he insisted. “I’m going to annoy
you until you do, so—”

Sighing long-suffering, she set the stand and
hung her helmet on the sissy bar. She’d put on a leather jacket
before the ride, now removed it, and draped it over the same,
before following him.

They walked up on the front deck.

Frogs were already croaking, katydids and
evening/night creatures stirring. He opened the door. They stepped
through, Max watching her look up and around at the vaulted open
room.

“I’ll get us some coffee. Make yourself at
home, look around.”

She had not moved when he left.

Had it been his Uncle and Aunt’s estate he’d
inherited in Kentucky he took her to, he might cringe a bit,
thinking himself as flaunting—see what I have. But this was a
modest lake house. Everything here was about his interests, and his
family, his private life.

Waiting for the coffee to brew, he stepped
back to peek in and see if she was still hanging out by the front
door.

She wasn’t.

He had oversized framed photos covering the
walls, a miss mash of his family, landscapes, sunsets, and
sunrises, all sorts of interesting people. Jordan stood back,
looking them over.

When the coffee brewed, he brought her an
earthen mug full.

She had wondered over to the collections he
had. some of the covers were tagged, others, hadn’t been
sorted.

He watched her flip through a thick one that
had informal photos from when he traveled with the ball teams.
After that, she looked through one that had anything from Coburns
cutting lose at the lake, to locals, old men on porches, women in
their church clothing and hats. Mostly black and whites.

She pulled a book off the bottom of his
shelf.

Max inwardly groaned. It was pictures of
himself. From babyhood all the way through school and college.

“You look younger than everyone else.” She
motioned to the school photos.

“I was.” He stepped around to peer over her
shoulder. “Finished high school early, graduated college early.” As
she flipped, he pointed. “That’s the Uncle and Aunt who adopted
me.”

“Passed on?”

“Yes.”

Max was distracted by her scent. It was a
mixture of fruit and sun, something light.

What the hell did you expect? He asked
himself, ode de cactus.

Jordan examined several smaller photos;
others were taken of him with various women—at sports fundraisers,
events, in deluxe hotels, in cities all over. He still had to
oversee all the charities and things his Aunt and Uncle had founded
and funded. Max realized there was something look-like about them
all—the women.

He murmured, “And here I thought I was a man
who enjoyed variety.”

“It appears not.” She shut the book and
stepped away.

Max wondered over to the table where his
current projects were, while she eyed a row of photographs on the
wall.

He looked up from sifting—and stilled,
arrested by the expression on her face.

Trying to recall which photo was second to
the last, he could see her hand lift to touch it, having some
captivated expression on her face…

Reaching behind him for the camera, he
removed the lens cap and slowly walked over. Just a bit from where
she stood, her fingertips now touching the image.

He wanted to get both her and what she
touched in the frame. Max snapped several in quick succession.

Her hand dropped, she turned. “What are you
doing?”

“Sorry.” He grimaced contritely, yet wasn’t.
“It’s impulse.”

Her expression changed and went through a
series of subtle emotions he wished he could have captured. “The
rest room?”

He waved toward the back. “That way.”

She headed there.

Max walked slowly toward the picture. It was
a 20x20- of a little girl he had snapped during the July parade, in
Diamond Back.

While the crowds were all fascinated and
entertained by bands, floats and the like. She’d found a mud puddle
and was splashing in it. Her black curly hair plastered, engaging
little face mud splattered, and dress, shoes, soaked. Her mouth was
open with glee. She wore a smile of pure exhilaration. Her sky
azure eyes showed a mixture of mischief and childish abandon.

Putting his camera down, Max picked up his
coffee, trying to deduce what it was that drew her touch. Everyone
a loved child, and smiled at those photos— but it wasn’t that on
her face before he’d captured it.

He heard her footfalls.

“Come on. This is a great place to see the
sunset.” He invited her to take her coffee and they headed up to
the loft.

Max could almost feel her sharp glance as it
was obviously his sleeping area too. A pole bed was set snug under
the eaves, rumpled sheets showing. The rest of the area held his
favorite desk, stacks of books, and all sorts of equipment
cases.

He waved her toward the door, which led off
to a balcony.

The scents of day closing and sounds of
nocturnal nature met them. The lake stretched out, reflecting
rippled hues from a lowering sun. The balcony had a knee-high rail.
He waved to one of the Adirondack chairs, surprised actually, when
she sat.

He took the one next to it, their arms close
as they both cupped their mugs.

Lavender mingled with the red, orange, rose,
and cerulean, in the sky. Max loved the shadows and light, the
amalgam and shapes. He glanced aside and eyed Jordan, her head
resting on the back, her eyes almost hypnotic on the scene. He
watched the entire sunset while it bathed over her face.

Night came at some finite moment, and brought
a bluish darkness. He stood, leading the way back.

Down the stairs again, he supplied, “This
leads to the back deck,” Not giving her a chance to leave yet.

Still she said, “I need to get going,” but
they were standing at the rail as the moon was rising.

Max took a sip of coffee, peeking at her
under his lashes. Noticing that she had a beautiful mouth too. The
symmetry of her face was lovely. Taken separate, the nose, and the
brow, the semi full mouth…she had an interesting face.

In the golden wash of moonlight, she turned
her head and stared at him. He was utterly fascinated by what the
light did to her green eyes.

He hardly heard her say, “Stop doing
that.”

It registered long past the time it should
have.

Max looked away, but asked, “Where are you
from?”

“Around.” It was flippant.

Mentally groaning that they were back to
that, he guessed, “South though?”

A sigh. “Memphis.”

“Family?”

He felt her freeze up. Felt a sort of
palpable wall go up.

Max glanced at her profile, watching her lips
shape the, “None.”

It was a dead, awful, hollow, word. At the
same time, it was barbed and painful.

Without thinking, his fingers came up and
touched her cheekbone. “I’m sorry.”