Off Kilter (4 page)

Kira continued chattering away and Tessa kept one ear marginally tuned in, but the lion’s share of her focus was on the file download and creating separate folders for each subject.

It was only when the chatter died down that Tessa looked up and blinked. “What?”

“I know today was a pain in the arse.” Kira reached across the table and laid her hand over Tessa’s arm. Kira was a toucher by nature, a nurturer of the first order.

Tessa had discovered she was neither—which worked out well in her line of work. It was usually intrinsic to her job to operate apart from whatever was going on around her, so it was rare that anyone touched her deliberately, and certainly not so casually. Or kindly. When someone put hands on her, it was usually in an attempt to separate her from her equipment, or remove her bodily from wherever she happened to be standing at the moment.

That she could handle. That she expected. It went with the job.

This … this threatened her. She didn’t know how to handle it. Especially now. So she carefully slid her arm free under the guise of needing to type on the keyboard.

“I know taking pictures of any kind wasn’t what you came here to do. For that, I’m sorry.”

Tessa purposefully didn’t meet Kira’s direct gaze. She had made plenty of acquaintances in her years traveling the globe as a photo-journalist. But there was only one person who knew her. Truly knew her. Tessa was well aware that her story about wanting to take a little holiday and catch up with her old friend had only been accepted on the surface. She’d told Kira she was experiencing a little burnout, hoping that would explain her fatigue and general crankiness. She’d be fine if Kira would just allow them to operate under that pleasant façade.

“Maybe shooting half-naked Scots was exactly what I needed,” Tessa said, though not with any real conviction. “Who wouldn’t like a break from the ravages of war and mother nature for a little time spent staring at some beefcake instead? Who knows, could be the launch of an entire new career direction.”
And God help me, I need one.

Her attempt at levity was met with a sincere smile that had everything to do with extending compassion and little to do with amusement.

“Do they give Pulitzers for beefcake shots?” Tessa asked, pretending to ponder the question quite seriously as she went back to her computer screen. And hid.

Kira picked up her tea mug and scooted her chair around so she could look over Tessa’s shoulder. “Lord, give me mercy,” she said on a choked whisper and put her mug down.

“Looking a little different to you now, are they?” Tessa’s smile came more naturally, and she was thankful to shift the focus to her work. Even if the series of shots weren’t exactly her proudest accomplishment.

“All I can say is, I’m thinkin’ the Pulitzer panel might create a new category just for you if they got a load of these.”

“Who knows, the world might be a better place if they did.” Tessa clicked open another file and forced her shoulders to relax. She was safe now. And, for the first time since she and her gear had been thrust back into service, she was thankful for the distraction of it all. It provided a topic of conversation, which was an easy way to keep the focus off her personally. The way she always preferred it to be. “Where is that chocolate, anyway? This is just the beginning. We’ll need stamina.”

Kira fanned her face as she pushed her chair back. “Well, it’s grueling work, but somebody must do it if we’re to help boost the local economy’s infrastructure.” She got up and went over to the counter. “We’re such altruistic, caring women, that’s what we are.”

“Hearts of gold,” Tessa said with a dry laugh. For the first time, she felt like she’d made the right choice, truly, in coming to Kinloch. She’d known Kira since they’d gone to boarding school together in London. She’d been bad at keeping in touch with everyone else who’d crossed her path, mostly because she hadn’t felt compelled to stay connected. But despite their lives taking completely disparate paths, Kira had doggedly refused to be dropped from Tessa’s orbit. Over the years, Tessa had done her level best to keep from exasperating her only true friend too badly, but even with her best intentions, long periods would elapse between their communications.

When she’d finally capitulated to the overwhelming evidence that she needed to exit the field for a bit … there was only one place she could go. Only one person she could trust herself to turn to. Being holed up alone somewhere was the last thing she needed. She’d at least admitted that much to herself. So she’d tracked Kira down, stunned and shamed to learn her happily settled, London-based friend was recently divorced and had retreated to her own childhood home with the same need to exit her personal battlefield.

Tessa was thankful Kira had found the solace and healing she’d needed in coming back to Kinloch, but that didn’t ease her shame in not being there for her best and only friend in her dire time of need. She was objective enough about herself to know that while Kira might love her despite her faults, she had probably also known that Tessa hadn’t been the one to turn to for help or comfort.

It made her deeply question what kind of person she’d become—because Kira would have been right. Keeping herself from feeling … well, anything, was the only way Tessa had managed to do her job.

Fortunately, Kira had had a real home to return to. The only home Tessa had wasn’t a place she could go. Frankly, and possibly quite pathetically, the only home she had was wherever Kira was.

She’d been blessed by the open-armed welcome she’d received when she’d shown up on her oldest and only friend’s doorstep—duffel bag and camera gear in tow—and a haunted, ravaged look on her face.

Kira busied herself cutting up pieces of tiffin and digging out plates, while Tessa slid mercifully into the autopilot zone of work. They weren’t challenging images. And that was fine with her at the moment.

Kira slid the plate of freshly baked heaven onto the table, and topped off Tessa’s mug with hot water. “Stop worrying.”

Tessa looked up and frowned, truly nonplussed. “About what? The calendar guys? I’m not worried. We’ve got some decent
shots. It was good light out there yesterday. And the subjects were willing enough.”
Most of them, anyway.
Her thoughts veered to Roan and his affable grin and his big … sword, and she veered them right back. “You’ll have as good a chance of winning this thing as anybody else.”

Kira smiled. “I’ve always admired your ability to own your talent.”

Tessa shrugged. “It’s not ego, it’s—”

“Honesty. I know. That’s why I like it. Your confidence will go a long way to making everyone here feel better about our chances.”

“I’m not giving any guarantees,” she warned, even as her thoughts drifted to the shots presently drying in the pantry. “But if they don’t pick at least one of your island heathens for their pretty boy collection, then they’re either blind, or lack a pulse.”

Kira laughed. “They’re not all heathens, ye ken.” Then she pretended to think about that. “Wait, yes they are.” She sat down again and nibbled some chocolate crunch while she watched Tessa click open her editing software and begin working on a select few shots. “What I meant, earlier,” she went on, her voice a soft comfort as the silence stretched companionably, “was you don’t have to worry that I’m going to pry.”

Tessa sent her a sharp sideways glance, feeling a little caught off guard. She’d let her defenses down and had no immediate response that wouldn’t either be a flat-out lie or simply confirm what Kira was already suspecting. “What do you think of this one?” she asked instead, and shifted her laptop monitor to cut the glare.

She held Kira’s gaze as steadily as she could, and felt like a jerk for not finding a better way to acknowledge her friend’s support. But she simply couldn’t go there. Not yet.

Kira held Tessa’s gaze only a beat longer, long enough to confirm that she knew something wasn’t right with her friend, then mercifully turned her attention to the monitor. “Ranald?” She glanced at Tessa, then back to the screen. “Really?”

Tessa frowned and switched instinctively back into professional mode. Lately that had been a special hell all its own, but, at the moment, it felt like the haven it had always been for her in the past. She narrowed her gaze and critically studied the photograph. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It? I’m not talking about the composition. I’m talking about Ranald. He’s …” She scrunched up her nose and shook her head.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“‘Tis simply no’ right, Tessa, for a man to have that much hair.” She shuddered. “Everywhere.”

Nonplussed, Tessa looked at the picture once again. “This is the sexiest Highlanders calendar. Highlanders aren’t the waxed and shiny types. Leastwise not the ones I’ve met so far. I was going for rugged mountain man.” Again, her thoughts went, unbidden, to Roan. He was neither waxed nor shiny. In fact, he had hair in the exact right amount, in the exact right places. Damn the man and his perfect perfection.

“Aye, Ranald is rugged, if by rugged you mean ‘has been covered by a rug.’”

Tessa spurted a little laugh at that, even as her eyes widened. “Listen to you.”

Kira’s cheeks grew pink and she glanced down, suddenly looking self-conscious. “I know it, I’m being evil. It’s no’ right of me.”

“Actually, I was about to clap my hands together and say ‘finally!’ Welcome to the land of us normal mortals. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say anything that could be construed as less than kind and sweet. It’s downright annoying, that kind of karmic perfection.”

“And a fat lo’ of good it did me, eh?” Kira quipped. To her credit, there was barely a flicker of pain behind the self-deprecating smile. But Tessa hadn’t missed it.

She turned around in her chair and jutted out her chin toward Kira. “Go ahead,” she offered. “Pop me one. Right in the kisser. I deserve it, you know.”

“What on earth are ye goin’ on about now?”

“Punch me. Hit me. Whatever. Just inflict some pain and we’ll both feel loads better.”

Kira looked properly horrified, and Tessa laughed. It was the closest she’d felt to normal in a very long time.

“What’s funny about that?” Kira asked, looking more worried and concerned than since Tessa had shown up on her doorstep a week ago.

“You haven’t changed so much after all. Don’t worry. But you can still hit me if the mood strikes.”

Kira frowned and took up another piece of crunch. “I dinnae know what’s gotten into you, my closest, dearest friend,” she said as she munched, “but if you want me to pretend that I’m no’ aware there’s something deep and dark lurkin’ about in there—which I’m willin’ to do if it’ll help ye heal—then at least try not to act like a loon.”

Tessa’s laughter subsided. Normal time was over. She opened her mouth, shut it again, then sighed. Heavily. “I’m not in the best place at the moment, you’re right about that. But I don’t want to—can’t—talk about it. I … I just needed to be away from some things for a bit.” And connected to other things … like her only family. “I’m certain I’ll work through things on my own.” That was an out and out lie. She was certain of no such thing. No such thing at all. But she didn’t want Kira to worry. More than she already was, anyway.

Tessa stood up and walked over to her friend, tugging her arm free from where she’d wrapped it around her middle. “I wasn’t here for you, when things ended with Thomas,” she said, never more sober and serious. “And I hate that, more than you might ever believe. I’ve been such a lousy friend. But that doesn’t mean I don’t hurt for you, and wish I was a better person, a better friend. I don’t know how you’re really feeling. You seem good, you sound better than good. But I don’t truly know. So, I just want to say, I’m here now, and if you need anything, I’m willing. Whatever it is. Whatever helps.”

“Weaving.”

“What?”

“Weaving. It helps. I think it healed me. Mostly, anyway.” Kira looked up and Tessa saw, for the first time, the toll of what the last eighteen months had taken on her sweet, gentle-natured friend.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“I am, too.” Kira took a breath, regrouped, and squared her slender shoulders. “I came back here to hide, lick my wounds, feel sorry for myself. But instead, I found the thing I should never have left behind.”

“The baskets?”

Kira nodded. “I thought it was so sentimental and backward, marking me as some kind of uneducated Highlander. Outlander. You remember, when I came to London, how I was so enthralled with everything it had to offer? Big city, big moments, everything that was a world away from”—she stepped back and gestured to the tiny croft that had once been her grandmother’s home, and home to her mother before her, albeit in an even more antiquated form—“this.”

“It’s not a bad thing to dream, to explore,” Tessa said. “To want something different than what you have.”

“I know. Truly, I do. I know I was fortunate to have the life I led in London. Perhaps I had to do that, to better respect where I came from. When I came back here … I didnae intend to stay. I just wanted time away, to reset myself. The weaving …” She looked over to the studio that had been added onto the croft sometime close to a century before. “I couldn’t sleep. At first. It’s so quiet here. I’d forgotten how quiet. It almost drove me mad. But … I couldn’t go back. I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to. So many memories.” She hugged herself again. “Many of them so good. So beautifully, wonderfully good. It was torture, in its purest form. Seeing where we’d lived, where we’d laughed. Where we’d loved. So fully and completely. Me, an idiot, apparently, believing in the fairy tale, because it was all I ever wanted.”

“Kira—”

She held up her hand. “But in the quiet of the night, with too many memories and no’ enough sleep, I started with a basket. Mostly to give my mind a focus, and get it mercifully off the rest.”

“And it helped.” Developing film was much the same for Tessa. For all the photos she took of death and destruction, she’d taken equally as many of beauty, of life. Most of those didn’t make it into the newspapers or the magazines, but on many a long, very long night, bringing them to life had kept her sane. “I understand that, Kira. Maybe more than you know.”