The Way Back (4 page)

What if he had a motorcycle?

The image of him on a bike, flying down the road without fear or caution seemed accurate. Definitely a motorcycle, she decided. Or, at the very least, a convertible.

Which is why the old white truck was such a letdown. It sat alone at the top of the driveway parked a short distance from the house. Gabby remembered the dog from last night and listened for the sound of barking to announce her presence, but she heard nothing.

A dumpy, old white truck. Not fast, sleek or high performing. Maybe when he’d walked away from his former life he felt he needed to go to extremes. This truck was it. And a pretty good symbol of a man who once had everything and now had nothing.

Yeah, when they did finally talk, they were going to have a lot in common.

A muffled woof startled her. The sound wasn’t close and followed by an even softer bark, so she could tell it was moving away from her.

Circling the vehicle she looked toward the house and could see the new deck extending from the rear. The deck McKay Publishing paid for apparently.

In the summer it would provide a magnificent vista of green leaves and blue water. But the leaves had yet to come out and all she saw was a barren landscape leading down a hill to what she imagined was a narrow shoreline. The gray water seemed to blend with the overcast sky.

“Shep. Come on, old man.”

Gabby instinctively ducked at the sound of Jamison’s voice, not sure she was ready to announce her presence. She could see he was already heading down the hill that ran away from his house. She spied the top of his head, then a few seconds later his dog followed.

The dog stopped briefly, turning his head in her direction, but another command from Jamison had Shep moving forward tentatively, until eventually his master met him on the path, picked him up and carried him out of sight.

The plan had been to wait for Jamison to leave the house then meet him on neutral ground. A beach was fair game, wasn’t it? Gabby couldn’t imagine he owned all the property from the house to the water, so it wouldn’t be trespassing. She was just a regular tourist, out for a walk on the beach on a blistery April morning in Cole Hahn loafers.

Okay, not great. But it was better than if she’d been in stilettos.

Scrambling, she reached the edge of his deck and saw a path down the rocky hill. She waited a good two minutes to follow because she didn’t want to risk him spotting her on the approach. Not to mention each
oomph, ow, oh, yikes
she muttered as she tried to descend would certainly give her away. By the time she actually reached the beach, which was no more than a stretch of rocky pebbles approximately twenty feet wide, her ankles, calves and thighs were screaming.

“Don’t suppose you’re lost?”

Gabby shrieked at Jamison’s comment. There he was standing not ten feet away with his arms crossed over his chest.

He looked different in the daylight. A little older—maybe because of the gray hair. But there was nothing old about his physique. In a tight zip-up jacket and jogging pants he looked younger than she did. Lean, fit and strong. Definitely strong.

He should have been several minutes ahead of her on the beach by now. The fact he wasn’t meant stealth was not her strong point.

“You heard me coming.”

“Even Shep heard you coming.”

The brown and black German Sheppard tilted his head in acknowledgement.

“I was out for a walk.” Gabby tried not to cringe at the way her voice went up at the end of what should have been a statement.

“You were trespassing. We do have a sheriff on the island. I have every right to call him and have him pick you up. A few hours in a holding cell in the mainland might cure you of your curiosity.”

“Please don’t.” It seemed like a silly plea but she couldn’t stop herself. She’d made all that effort to get down the stupid path. Her feet were like blocks of ice. Here closer to the water the wind had picked up and was throwing her hair all around. And she was hungry because she’d only eaten dry toast for breakfast. So, no. Being arrested was not a good way to start her life over.

“Look, lady—”

“Gabby. Remember? Gabby Haines.”

“Gabby, I’m not going to give you what you want.”

“Why not?”

That seemed to give him pause. He opened his mouth and then closed it. “Because.” Then, as if realizing it was a ridiculous answer, he added, “What makes you think I would?”

“Because it’s been, what? Eight years?” she said taking a step forward. The dog let out a warning growl and she stopped. “It’s time people heard the whole story. There were so many rumors, so much speculation. You walked away without any explanations and left people assuming the worst about everything. As bad as what you did was, I can’t imagine you were as awful as the media painted you at the time.”

The rumors had been awful. He was cast as a high-flying jet jockey with women all over the world. Illegitimate children spread from Russia to China to Brazil and beyond. Alcohol, drugs, sex. One article said he used to take cocaine before getting in his F-16 to fly missions over Iraq.

He grimaced. “I never— Some of those rumors— Well, some of them weren’t true.”

“I know. Talk to me. Tell me who you were. Let me tell others.”

“What makes you think anyone would even care? Like you said it’s been ten years since the space station event, eight since my personal life imploded. Other stories have come and gone. The days of my infamy are long over.”

Gabby nodded as if in complete agreement. But they both knew he was leaving out a very significant reason why people might be interested in Jamison Hunter again.

“You’ve heard the reports about the trouble they’re having with the Space Station again. I know you have. Even on this island they must have cable.”

“Satellite. It’s the only way to go,” he muttered. “You think NASA might come and call me out of retirement for one more space walk, huh?”

“You don’t?”

He shook his head. “You don’t get it, lady—”

“Gabby or Gabriella,” she corrected. She wasn’t sure why she offered him her full name. Nobody ever called her by it.

“Sorry, Gabriella. I’m an old man. A washed-out hero whose day is over. They have younger and more qualified men and women for whatever space mission they are cooking up. Trust me.”

“You talk like you’re ready for the nursing home. You’re forty-five.”

“I might as well be eighty-five to NASA.”

“John Glenn went into space when he was seventy-seven.”

“I’m no John Glenn.”

“No, you aren’t,” she admitted. The sad fact of his disgrace would forever separate him from the other astronaut heroes. “But you did what Glen didn’t do. What so many astronauts before you never did. You saved fourteen lives that day. You should be remembered for your achievement.”

“Isn’t that what the internet is for?”

Gabby sensed a stalemate approaching. She had to be happy she’d gotten this far. They were talking. Communicating. She’d made her opening pitch. Now it was time to back off.

“You don’t have to make any decisions today.”

He chuckled. “I’ve already made my decision.”

“Look, can’t you take some time to get to know me? You’ll see I’m not all that bad and I’m not out to destroy you or rehash the terrible things said about you. Maybe you’ll come to trust me.”

“Doubt it,” he said. He considered her for a moment, but she had a hard time interpreting the gleam in his eye. “You want me to get to know you, huh? Are you asking me out on a date?”

As if. Gabby couldn’t reign in her laughter.
A date.
With Jamison Hunter. Yeah, right. Pigs could fly and the sky was green.
A date.
The word was so foreign to her it might as well have been…well, foreign.

“Uh, no.”

His face fell a little bit then. “Right. No point in going out with someone you think will cheat on you.”

That had nothing to do with her reaction, but now he said it she figured it was true, as well. Gabby had been down the betrayal path and had scars to prove it. As a result she’d spent every day since avoiding situations where she might be betrayed again.

Of course, that hadn’t really worked out, either. Her boss at the station, a woman she considered a friend, had been the one to fire her.

“Can’t we just talk a bit? I can go with you on your walk.”

“I don’t walk. But if you can keep up, you’re welcome to talk.” He turned and started jogging, his dog valiantly trying to follow close on his heels.

Seriously? He wanted her to jog with him? Actually, no. He wanted to get rid of her. He probably thought this was the best way.
Outrun the girl with the chubby cheeks, why don’t you.

A fit of anger overtook her. She wasn’t an invalid for Pete’s sake. She’d eaten a few too many French fries was all. She could run. At least as fast as that. Ready to shove his words back down his throat, she started off on a pace slightly faster than what he was doing so that she’d catch up.

The loafers on the rocky soil weren’t helping though. After a few steps she could feel sand filling up the spaces around her feet.

Cursing, she stopped once to shake each shoe out, then started after him again. She’d almost caught up to the dog when she tripped. She stumbled on the ground, her hands sliding out to break her fall, collecting some scrapes along the way.

Jamison turned back, scowling at her the entire way. He lifted her to her feet as if all those French fries were a figment of her imagination. For a second their hands brushed and she tried to pretend her stomach didn’t flip as a result.

“Are you all right?”

“I guess,” she said grudgingly. Except she was embarrassed, her knee was throbbing and she suspected she was about to burst into tears at any moment. She’d fallen down in front of him. He’d had to pick her up. How much more pathetic did it get?

“If you can’t keep up, you can’t keep up. See you around.”

Great, she thought as she stood there watching the man and his dog take off down the beach without her. She knew it was probably her imagination, but the dog’s tail seemed to wag a little harder.

Even Shep was mocking her.

CHAPTER THREE

T
HE
NEXT
DAY
,
Jamison headed for his daily jog, but was stopped before he could even start. Perhaps he should have been surprised by the sight of Gabby on the beach waiting for him. He wasn’t. As a man who prided himself with being honest—at least with himself—he had to admit he was…delighted to see her again.

He really didn’t want to think about what that reaction meant.

Instead, right now he had the persistent editor who wanted to be a writer to deal with. He’d much rather deal with the attractive woman, but it was clear her professional persona came first.

Damn.

After leaving her in his dust yesterday, Jamie knew he hadn’t seen the last of her. She’d been wounded and humiliated, but he got the sense she wouldn’t quit so easily. He’d expected to find her stalking him into town. Or maybe hiding out in his bushes. What he didn’t anticipate was her making a second attempt to keep up with him running.

Her hair was tied in a ponytail. Those long dark waves hanging down her back were giving him fits at night. He was imagining all sorts of dirty things he’d like to do with that hair. Not the least of which was grip it tightly in his hand while he thrust into her from behind.

Swell, he was getting aroused before his run. That was
not
going to be comfortable.

“I wasn’t prepared yesterday so I went shopping,” she said, indicating the Lycra running pants and pullover she wore.

“I see that,” he murmured. Her legs looked long in the sleek black material. The pullover she wore came down over her hips, which, like most women, she obviously wanted to hide. But the legs were all out there for him to see and they looked pretty damn good. “You think you can keep up now you have the right equipment?”

She raised her arms over her head and put one leg behind the other as if she was stretching. Then she switched legs after only a moment letting him know she had no clue what she was doing.

“I’m going to give it my best try. You did say we could talk while we run.”

Right. He ran five eight-minute miles every day. As an obvious novice she had no hope of keeping up.

“That’s what I said.” Jamie bent to rub his dog’s collar. “I’m going to do my usual pace, buddy. You can hang back with her.”

The dog shook his tail.

“Yeah, I know you don’t like it, but those legs are getting too old for the pace. At least today you’ll have company.” It bothered him that Shep was stopping earlier and earlier into the run. It didn’t seem that long ago that Shep would outpace him for the entire five miles.

She hopped up and down a few times and he could see the cold air puffing off her lips. It wasn’t frigid this morning but the coolness would make it harder for her to breathe. He couldn’t help but wonder how long she thought she would manage.

He didn’t wait to ask her. Instead he trotted down the beach at his normal warm-up speed. He could hear her crunching behind him, her rhythm quickly becoming erratic.

“You do this every day?” she called.

“Every day,” he said without turning around. He didn’t want to give her any encouragement although he wouldn’t have minded watching the ponytail—or other parts of her body for that matter—bounce around.

“So if NASA did come calling, you could tell them you’re in good physical shape.”

“I’m in excellent physical shape,” he said trying not to brag. “But it still doesn’t mean I would be a viable candidate.”

“Because of the scandal?”

He tried not to wince at the word. It was so dramatic. “Because I’m retired.”

She was puffing now and falling back a few steps as he increased his speed. “But what if they really needed you?”

What if they did? Jamie shook his head. They wouldn’t. There were always others to fill the spaces opened by those who retired. The finest pilots. The best minds. If the Space Station was truly in trouble and the International Space Committee asked NASA for help, NASA had a rich pool of talent to select from.

Besides, he couldn’t fathom any reason why he would put himself through it all again. The press. The media. The spotlight. Hell, no. Jamie Hunter’s days of standing in front of a camera were over.

“Can you hold up a minute?”

He stopped and saw her several yards behind. She was bent over with her hand grasping her waist. Trying to breathe out a cramp no doubt. She’d barely lasted five minutes.

Rookie.

“Sorry. You know the rules. If you want, you can walk with Shep.”

* * *

G
REAT
. T
HE
DOG
AGAIN
.
Gabby wondered how much insight into his master Shep could provide.

“I’m guessing not much,” she wheezed. “Right. You’re not talking about him, either. Oh, my goodness, this is painful.” She was finally able to work out the cramp in her rib cage. Several deep breaths and she could stand upright. She thought about starting again, but her legs felt like rubber.

Best to walk it out for a while. As she put one foot in front of the other the dog came to walk by her side. Crazy, but she sort of liked the company and she felt sorry for a loyal friend who was getting too old to keep up with his master.

Her performance was pathetic. That she had deluded herself into thinking she’d be able to run with Jamison… Well, she would have laughed if she’d had the lung capacity. Intellectually she knew a person didn’t get in shape overnight. Not when it had taken so long to get out of shape. She never really saw it happening. She’d never been a work-out fiend. In her twenties what she ate or drank never impacted her figure at all. A couple of times a week at the gym, thirty or so minutes on the treadmill or a stationary bike and she was fine.

It wasn’t until her work weeks started getting longer and her trips to the gym grew fewer that everything changed. Gradually, the inches had packed on. Not enough to make her worried, but enough to maybe shop for clothes one size up than what she’d been wearing. Or to pick a top that hid the little extra around her middle.

Certainly there had to be some forgiveness. At that point, she’d been working harder than she ever had before. Giving more of herself to the show rather than her personal life. Yes, she knew the demographics and format were aimed at a younger audience. A local show competing against a major network had no shot of beating them, but it could target a certain age range.

The guest singers were in their teens, the actors promoting their TV shows and movies were barely into their twenties and Gabby never considered interviewing an athlete over thirty. Only really famous movies stars and the city’s mayor could break the no-one-over-thirty rule.

It wasn’t until last year that she finally stopped for a second and took notice of the people she was working with, the people she was interviewing, even the people she was working for. In an instant she felt older and bigger than she should. For Pete’s sake, how old was Katie Couric when she landed the
Today Show?

But Gabby Haines wasn’t Katie Couric and
Wake Up, Philadelphia
wasn’t the
Today Show.
And she’d gone up two dress sizes. When her boss suggested a Botox treatment Gabby had flipped. She was smart, she was personable. People opened up to her. She was a damn good interviewer. And they wanted her to inject poison into her skin to help the ratings?

After she refused she’d been fired.

“Fired,” she sighed. The word still sat like lead on her heart.

Woman and dog made their way down the beach, which framed the north end of the island. Moving around one bend, the vista opened up for a piece. She could see a few docks stretching out into the water with skiffs and bigger sail boats tied to them bobbing with the ocean’s movement.

Way up ahead she could see Jamison. Still running. Completely uncatchable.

No doubt when the dog tired, he would simply lay down and wait for his master to return. After about a mile or so the dog plopped down in the sand letting the sun warm his belly before resting his head on his paws.

“Yeah, I’m beat, too. You tell him, though, this isn’t done. Not by a long shot.”

At least she hoped it wasn’t done.

* * *

“S
O
HOW
IS
IT
GOING
?”

“Good,” Gabby lied, glad Melissa couldn’t see her wince. She knew cell phone technology was advancing so people could face time instead of just talk. Gabby had no plans to purchase one of those phones anytime soon. She’d been walking to her car when she got the call and picked up immediately the way any good employee would do.

Opening the door she sat on the driver’s seat glad to no longer be walking. “We’re talking,” she added confidently. At least that much was true.

“Has he changed his position about writing the book at all?”

“Uh…” Nope. “I think he’s looking at all the possibilities. Let me ask you, Melissa, who would do the actual writing? I mean, the man’s an astronaut not a writer obviously. Maybe that’s what is holding him back. A bad case of writer’s block.”

“We could hire a ghost writer. We do it all the time for celebrity autobiographies. Heck, we did an autobiography of a rock star who, I was pretty sure, didn’t know how to read let alone write.”

“How does a person get that job? Would she interview or provide some samples…what?”

“What are you getting at, Gabby?”

Apparently Gabby hadn’t been very subtle. She could hear Melissa’s sharp tone loud and clear even though the cell reception on the island wasn’t the greatest. “You know I have a background in journalism. I’m a solid writer. I’m also a good interviewer.”

“You want to write Jamison Hunter’s story.”

It wasn’t a question—was that good or bad? She hadn’t been working with Melissa long enough to tell. “Am I the first newbie to suggest something so crazy?”

“No. But you’re also the only newbie I know who has actually gotten him to talk and hasn’t been crying when I called for an update.” She paused. “Look, Gabby, I can’t promise anything. But if you can convince him to do this book and you’ve forged some kind of connection with him, well, that will definitely be taken into consideration. First things first, though—we need a commitment. A time frame. Something, anything we can plan with.”

“I’m working on it,” Gabby assured her.

“Do it. And Gabby? An FYI. You’ve basically let me know you have no real desire to be an editor. So you better make this ghost writer thing work for you because I don’t know how much of a future you have as a junior editor at McKay Publishing. I know it sucks. But I don’t need people filling in time here while they search for a different career. I need people who want to do the job they have.”

Gabby swallowed hard before she could speak. “I understand.”

“Okay, good. Now, get me that book.”

Gabby ended the call and felt the air in her lungs swoosh out of her.

So this is what it felt like to burn a bridge.

* * *

I
T
WAS
AFTER
SEVEN
o’clock at night and Gabby finally had to admit she was starving. After her jog-slash-mostly-walk, she’d returned to the inn to shower, change and then set about doing what she imagined most successful ghost writers did—research and write down observations she had about her subject.

She’d contemplated using a recorder to capture her thoughts, but having tried it once to prepare verbal notes for interviews, she knew she felt silly talking aloud into it. Not to mention when she paused during her thought process she made this weird breathing sound she suspected she made a lot but was able to ignore as long as she didn’t hear it played back through a recorder.

Instead she typed random thoughts into her laptop and saved the document simply as Hunter.

Things she knew about him so far—he didn’t want to be interviewed. He was shorter in person. He was hotter in person. She deleted that point. His natural instinct was to help her when she’d fallen even though he didn’t want to be bothered by her. He drove a truck instead of a motorcycle. He spoke to his dog in soft affectionate tones, which made her shiver a little. She deleted that point, too.

Not exactly ground-breaking biographical material at this point but she was just starting out.

After the past hour of staring at the screen and telling herself her stomach wasn’t growling, she finally had to admit it was. Which meant going in search of food. After the horror at the café two nights ago, she’d chosen a convenience store hot dog for last night’s dinner. On the island there was one gas station with a small food store next to it. In the store there was a rotisserie containing three hot dogs she was fairly sure had been sitting on the rack for minimum of two years.

The store was down one hot dog and she was down about five Tums to digest the thing, which meant she wasn’t going back.

Earlier in the day she’d tried to hint to Susan an inn that served dinner probably would be a smashing hit, but the caretaker merely smiled and said breakfast was her forte. But for a fine meal Gabby could do worse than the café down the street.

Unless the café people hated her.

There was always the hope she could be worried for nothing. Maybe Adel and Zhanna didn’t work every night. Or if one of them did, maybe they would stay in the back and Gabby would have a different waitress serve her. Perfect. Where there was hope, there was food.

Gabby put on her sneakers. She concluded that as unfashionable as they might be, they were the only practical shoes she owned. Anything less than heavy socks and total foot coverage was plain stupid for as cold as it was. Bundling into her coat, she trotted down the street and crossed in front of the café. No jaywalking signs. No clearly marked pedestrian walkways. In this town you looked both ways and, if there were no cars coming, you crossed.

If there were, and you chose to ignore them, you got hit.

Seemed pretty straightforward to her and a lot simpler calculating if you could get across the street with the seconds counting down on the pedestrian traffic light.