Here it comes. She wants me to take pictures of her family or something. “I’m not pissed at you, Glory. What’s up?”
“Well,” her old friend said, a wheedle in her voice. “Tomorrow night’s our ten-year high school reunion, and I was hoping—”
“Are you crazy?” Libby shouted. “Why in God’s name would I even consider going to something like that? You know what high school was like for me, Glory. You went through it with me. Don’t you remember the time Bodie lured me out to the baseball field and ruined my entire photo spread for the yearbook?”
Glory’s evil laugh came across the line. “Yeah, I remember—we were the geek sisters—but think about it. What’s that old saying? Looking good is the best revenge? You’re not that geeky kid anymore, Lib, nor are you starry-eyed over Bodie and Ty Cade anymore. If you look anything like the picture on the back of your book . . . Did I mention Bunny King got fat?”
Libby wrapped the towel around herself and went to sit on the edge of her childhood bed. “No way.”
“Way. Got fat as a horse after she married Greg Tilton. She has a passel of kids, and it’s all she can do to strap her seat belt around her when she climbs into her minivan.”
Libby uttered a choking laugh. “Bimmer Bunny drives a minivan? There is a God.”
“Oh, honey, it just gets better and better. Joe Puckett has a monkey butt the size of a real monkey’s ass and uses that spray-on stuff to cover the bald spot. And he sells used cars for a living.”
Libby made a strangling noise. “No. Hottie Hot Joe? Say it ain’t so.” Libby fell backward on the bed, fascinated by Glory’s descriptions of the two most popular kids in their graduating class.
“Come with me, Libby. I’m on the committee, so I have to go, but since Jake and me . . . I don’t have anyone to go with.”
“God, that is so not fair, Glory Campbell. There’d better be alcohol at this shindig, or you are definitely off my Christmas card list.”
“I’ve never been on your Christmas card list. We’ve rented the National Guard Armory for the occasion, and there’s going to be an open bar. It’s even being catered by some company in Jackson Hole.”
“In that case, you’ve got yourself a date. How do we dress?”
“Sunday best, honey.” Glory laughed happily. “I’ll pick you up at eight sharp tomorrow night.”
“Oh God. This has the potential to be a real disaster.”
Chapter Two
Libby gripped the steering wheel hard before switching off the ignition. She took a ragged breath and glanced over at Glory.
“How did I ever let you talk me into this? I so do not want to go in there.”
She let Glory peel her fingers back from the steering wheel one at a time, grimacing as she did so.
“I have three words for you—Bunny and Joe.”
Libby let loose a bark of laughter. “You are the devil incarnate.” But she grabbed her little silk brocade bag from India and got out of the car before she could change her mind. Glory hurried to her side, handing her the deep cherry red pashmina she’d picked up on her travels.
“Put this on, honey. Nothing says I’m doing great like a pair of red patent leather Louboutins and a cashmere shawl.” When Libby swathed herself in the soft material, Glory gave her a little nudge. “Best to rip off the Band-Aid, Lib.”
Libby took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay, let’s do this.” Head held high, she crossed the parking lot and swept inside the armory as if she owned the place.
And there was Bunny King-Tilton, round as a pumpkin, sitting behind the registration table handing out stick-on name tags that read: Hi, My Name Is ______. Right, like there was any place on her skimpy little black dress to stick the tacky blue and white tag. Bunny looked up and frowned as if trying to place Libby, who merely smiled politely.
“Libby Wild,” Libby reminded her.
The look on Bunny’s face said she’d deny her entrance if she thought she’d get away with it. She frowned, studying her for a minute. “Do you have chopsticks in your hair?” She consulted her list. “Oh, we didn’t get your RSVP.”
“That’s okay, Buns,” Glory trilled. “Lib’s my plus-one.” She grinned at Libby. “I’ve always wanted to say that. It’s so big city.”
“Well, I guess it’s all right, then.” The woman grudgingly scribbled Libby’s name on the tag and handed it to her.
“Thank you.” She offered Bunny a dazzling smile and whipped off her cherry red shawl to reveal her dress. The cowl neck dipped to a deep V in the front, leaving her no place to stick the name tag had she been inclined to wear it. “I’ll just hold it. Come on, Glory. You promised me a drink, and I’m holding you to it.”
When she turned to enter the main room, Bunny’s outraged hiss was music to her ears. The back of the dress was cowled as well, dropping deeply below her waist. The only thing that kept it from falling off her shoulders was a tasseled string tie that tickled her bare back when she walked.
“Oh my God, she is green with envy,” Glory whispered. “I love it! Come on, let’s find a table and get ourselves a drink.”
* * *
Bodie nudged his brother Ty. “Look who just walked in with Glory.”
“Holy shit.”
Ty drank her in. Christ, she was beautiful. Her thick blonde locks were twisted in artful disarray and secured to the back of her head with jeweled red lacquer hair sticks. Several strands had escaped to curl at her temples. Her skin gave off the golden glow of a light tan, and he’d bet anything she still possessed a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Lush, full lips puckered in an exquisite pout that told everyone present she didn’t want to be here. “Arch said her picture didn’t do her justice, but I never expected anything like this. God, she’s got legs up to her elbows. Looks like she’s making a point to everybody here.”
“Can you blame her? We weren’t the only ones who treated her bad. I figure Bunny’s about to bust a vein, seeing Libby in that dress. Damn, she looks hot. Who’d of thought the little wallflower would turn into a bird of paradise? Should we go talk to her now or wait until she gets a little oiled up?”
Jake Striker wandered over and caught Bodie’s question. “I’d wait a bit, if I was you. Glory says she’s pissed at all of us. Didn’t take her long to figure out we fixed it so she’d have to go into the backcountry with you. Word is she’s been calling around to price gear so she can pack herself in.” Jake took a drink of his longneck Bud. “Tell you boys what, when you piss off a woman, she stays pissed off.” He grinned at the twins. “It’s a talent.”
“Fuck you, Striker,” Ty grumbled. “I don’t see Glory chasin’ your sorry ass down the road.”
Jake shrugged. “She don’t have to. Sees me every day at work. She’ll forgive me before long.”
“Says you,” Bodie said, nodding in the two women’s direction. “Looks to me like Sam Stone’s taken a likin’ to your missus.” If the look on Jake’s face spelled anything, it was trouble. Bodie put a restraining hand on his friend’s arm. “They aren’t doing anything wrong, Jake, and even if they were, you’d owe it to Glory to let it pass. You’re the one’s been leading with his dick this last year. If Glory wants to flirt some, let her flirt.”
Bodie continued to follow Libby with his gaze as she walked to the bar and ordered a drink. While she waited for what was obviously a martini, she chatted with the bartender. A jolt of jealousy shot through his gut when the man jotted something on a business card and handed it to her. His eyes narrowed when she accepted it with a flirty little smile and took her drink. Not once did she look their way.
* * *
She knew they were here, could feel their eyes on her, but she refused the overwhelming urge to seek them out. Bodie and Ty Cade. The dual bane of her adolescence. Over the years, she’d tried to figure out why they’d hated her so much, but to no avail. With the passage of time, her self-confidence grew. Her skill as a photographer earned her critical acclaim in the art world, as well as the journalism world.
You’d think I could let it go
.
But how could she when the memory of herself in Bodie’s arms, being really kissed for the first time, still clung so tightly to her psyche. God, she’d had such a crush on him, on both twins, and had since she was a kid growing up on a neighboring ranch. She could still hear his voice as he whispered and cajoled.
“Aw, come on, Lib, just one kiss. What could it hurt? You’re so pretty with those big wildcat eyes and that head of blonde hair. I’m just achin’ to kiss you.”
She’d been such a fool. She’d let him kiss her—and more. He’d touched her barely-there breasts, igniting a pleasure she’d never known was possible. His lips had grazed the shell of her ear, urging her to take off those cameras and let him hold her close. And she’d fallen for it. She’d set her precious cameras on a bench in the dugout and let him pull her young body against his. A shudder ran through her when she thought about the lengths Bodie had been willing to go to, what she might have given up to him that late-spring afternoon.
But he hadn’t wanted her, he’d wanted the film in her cameras, and while he was busy kissing her, Ty had sneaked into the dugout and exposed the film. She’d never forget the way they’d laughed at their ruse.
“You can stop feeling up those mosquito bites passin’ for boobs, bro,” Ty had drawled. “Film’s ruined for sure.”
At her shocked gasp, Bodie had merely chuckled. “You didn’t really think I was interested in some gawky little girl, did you, Cyclops? Hell, I bet you don’t even have any hair between your legs.” He set her away from him, none too gently, and poked his finger at her. “Don’t be takin’ any more pictures of us, girl, or the next time we’ll break your fuckin’ cameras.” Libby had grabbed her gear and fled, sobbing as their laughter followed behind.
She fought back the familiar heat of humiliation and sipped her dirty martini. She was praying for a distraction, when a skinny, frizzy-haired woman approached. She looked at the woman’s name tag and jumped up.
“Caroline Ayers, my God! Look at you, how are you?” She embraced her old friend and former member of the school newspaper staff. “What are you doing these days?”
“I’m an editor for the
Jackson Hole Reporter
.” She looked at Glory. “Do you mind if I steal Libby away for a few minutes? There are a few people who’d love to say hello.”
Glory grinned. “Go. I’m going to grab another drink. You ready for another dirty martini?”
“You bet. Remind him, three olives.” She put her arm around Caroline. “So tell me all about your life since school. How long have you been at the
Reporter
? What do you write? Do you still take pictures?”
When they arrived at a large table in a dark corner, Libby saw all her cohorts from the school paper. Several had brought copies of her book or magazines with her cover photos.
“Do you mind terribly signing these for us?” Caroline asked.
“Not at all.” Libby sat and grinned at her old friends from high school. Amazingly, she thought she would have recognized most of them if she saw them on the street. “Wow, it’s like old times. We’re all back here in the corner, trying to avoid ridicule while everybody else has fun.” She reached for the books and magazines, chatting as she signed, taking the time to write personal notes along with her e-mail address on each copy.
Caroline put her leather satchel on the table and pulled out a scrapbook. “I’ve been saving clips about you—the time you spent in Sierra Leone and Darfur.”
Libby flipped through the scrapbook. Those photos had cemented her reputation. She tapped one with her index finger. “These pictures of the child soldiers were taken near the end of an eleven-year civil war in Sierra Leone. It’s awful, what was done to those children. They were just conscienceless, killing with impunity. They were so indoctrinated, some of them actually killed members of their families.”
Caroline flipped another page, and there were Libby’s Darfur pictures that had appeared in print media across the world. Those had earned her a nomination for a Pulitzer. “These are especially poignant. I love that you used black-and-white film.”
“I love shooting in black and white. The pictures are so much more compelling.” Libby stroked the newsprint lovingly, smiling at the shots of conjoined twins she had met at a Sudanese refugee camp. “They’re such a lovely family, and those babies were so precious.”
That series had sparked a humanitarian effort on the part of a well-known movie star to bring the family to the States for the surgery to separate them. There were several shots of her and the movie star with the family. In one of them, she and the man shared a look that clearly said they were involved.
“Why, Caroline Ayers, I thought you were much too jaded to be starstruck,” Libby teased.
“Usually I am, but I’ve never known anyone who’s been within touching distance of a Hollywood hunk. And he is seriously hot. Although, I admit I liked him better when he was on that television show.”
“Hmm. Yes, except for the doctor part, that character was probably closer to how he is in real life.” Her eyes lost focus for a moment and could almost feel the touch of the man’s hands on her breasts. He’d been a fabulous lover. A quick shake of her head brought her back. “Commitment phobic, just like yours truly.”
“So the stories were true? You actually dated the guy?”
Libby shrugged. “Not for long. His work, my work. Never the twain shall meet. But we both keep in touch with the family, and he always sends the twins something for their birthday. He’s actually a very nice man.” Her face heated just thinking about the private photos she’d taken of that movie star. They’d definitely had fun with film.
They had both flown with the family to Dallas, helped them settle in, and he stayed at the same hotel with her as she chronicled the children’s surgery and recovery. They’d shared some lovely moments before he left for a location shoot. By the time his movie wrapped, Libby had accepted the job with
Exotic World Travels
, their time together a pleasant memory.
Glory returned with the cute bartender in tow, carrying a tray full of drinks for the table. “He insisted on helping.” She winked at Libby. “I felt certain you wouldn’t mind.”
The screech of a microphone interrupted their conversation, and Joe Puckett introduced a local country-western band. To her horror, Puckett pointed right at her.
“I’d like to ask Libby Wild if she’ll allow me the honor of sharing the first dance of the evening with her. What do you say, Libby?”
The roaring in her head was back. “Ah, fuck. Just shoot me now.” She muttered it, but the entire table of people heard her and cracked up.
“That’s what you get for being one of the popular kids,” Caroline quipped.
“Well, fuck, I can’t say no without looking like a total bitch.” More laughter sent her on her way to the middle of the dance floor, where the formerly hot Joe Puckett stood with his hand extended. She took it with a serene smile on her face, forcing herself not to grimace when his damp hand pressed against her bare back.
It was official—she was in hell.