Love on the Line (15 page)

No, that wasn’t exactly right; she cut those thoughts off.

She wasn’t going to hide behind the half-truths any longer. She’d been gone long enough, had learned enough about herself and about other people, that she could face the true problem head on. What she’d really hated back then was that most people hadn’t known her. Hadn’t seen her. Even those she’d helped. They saw the family name or the foundation’s reputation. They certainly saw the dollar signs.

But they didn’t see the woman. Just as those in school hadn’t seen the girl. The only value she’d had was because of her family connections and the family’s very great success with making money.

She’d left her privileged world not because of what she was, but because of what she wasn’t.

She was rich, but she had no value. And that damning reality carved a hole that yawned wide. That dark place had swallowed not only Laci but many of their friends. They hadn’t died, but every day they fought the destructive power of the drugs they used to keep from facing the truth, to keep from facing their fear, to keep from falling into the black hole that fear called home. Cara was lucky that she wasn’t into drugs, but she knew the fight, she knew the fear. If life didn’t feel meaningful, even in some small way, it was a slippery incline into the jaws of self-destruction.

She didn’t want to be loved, or even just tolerated, for her bank balance. She wanted to be someone’s friend because her friendship was appreciated. Because she, just herself, no money or reputation, was valuable to someone else.

She rubbed her forehead again. Why was she even thinking about those things? She had friends in Albion Bay, friends who did appreciate her. And she was supposed to be trying to find a way to help them.

“I can’t believe my grandfather set things up this way. Two months”—she tried to regulate the exasperation in her voice—“why would he give me only two months to decide?”

“He may have suspected your father would try to stack the board in the interim. And your grandfather liked deadlines; he thought they made a person focus on what’s important.”

“He got that right.”

But the part he hadn’t gotten was what she wanted. What she
needed
. Placing her in an impossible situation was no gift.

Before she’d escaped her old life she could help plenty of people, but she couldn’t have friends. Now she had friends that she couldn’t help.

“Cara, let’s talk this over when you come into town next week. I think so much better face-to-face.” He paused. “We’ll come up with something. Maybe even something that might work.”

Cara’s warring thoughts didn’t let up as she drove her afternoon bus round. Each time she let herself imagine taking even the smallest step back into the world of privilege and big philanthropy, into the world where the force of the money itself held a power that could sweep even the most resolved person along with it, her throat squeezed shut and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. The very things that made her love her life here were the things that made her situation excruciating. She loved these people. She wanted to be able to help the community in a real way.

And deep down, she didn’t want to hide. Not anymore.

But stronger than all of those was her love of freedom. No amount of therapy was going to change that fact. Within weeks of finding her cabin, landing the bus-driving job and beginning to work in the garden, she’d realized that she’d been wrong about how much she craved a change. She’d thought that wrapping a life of her choosing around her would buoy her, help her push back at the dark cloud that Laci’s death had hung over her life. But living and working with the people of Albion Bay had done much more than that. Life in the town had revived her soul.

She parked the bus in the school lot and walked to her car. Before she stepped in she looked out over the hills toward the coast. A pair of hawks sailed above her, riding the currents of the afternoon winds. Dave Jenkins waved as he strode out toward the baseball practice diamond, carrying an overstuffed equipment bag. Cara felt the familiar warmth of belonging wash through her as she waved back.

Some days, when she went to Grady’s to buy seeds for her garden and talked with the locals about their hopes and plans, she felt like she’d been airlifted into a Norman Rockwell painting. There was a reason screenwriters and novelists wrote about small-town life. But Albion Bay was no idealized figment of a writer’s imagination—the community had a spine to go with its heart. Democracy wasn’t easy; like any place where individuals came together, there were problems and conflicts to be solved. But in this town and, she suspected, in many others, people wanted to solve the problems facing them. They drew together and worked at creating a place where they could maintain their diversity and yet still have heart.

She watched as Dave unloaded bats from his equipment bag and lined them up like sentinels waiting for the boys to come and bring them to life. And wished that she really was the person she was pretending to be.

She swallowed down the anxiety tightening her throat. Deception wasn’t a tool of community or of democracy. One wrong step and her peaceful life in the town might all whoosh away.

It hadn’t helped that a couple of her friends who were also heiresses had done those damned reality shows. They’d made heiress-watching a national sport. One tabloid picture, one suspicious reporter, and her life would change faster than she could say abracadabra. One reporter or
one nasty-ass foundation president blackmailing her father
. One likely to do anything in his power to bully her as well.

Wasn’t that a twist? If she played along and didn’t rock Bender’s boat, her secret was safe. She’d just watch the guy squander the money her grandfather had given his life to make and save. Money intended to do good and now used to curry favor and maybe get kickbacks. She found herself wanting to wield the power she’d been offered and trounce the guy. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the steering wheel, and the force of her feelings surprised her. A hell of a lot was surprising her these days.

When Cara arrived home, loud banging from her back deck told her that Adam hadn’t finished for the day. The blows of his hammer and the loud country music blaring from his radio ramped up the pounding in her head.

She should’ve texted Ryan and canceled their date. She’d started to. Twice. But seeing him was the one positive she’d looked forward to.

Adam cursed above the blare of the banging and the music. She wasn’t up for a long conversation with him about the sad state of her cabin. Or for finding a way to gently maneuver away from his sweet overtures. Adam was related to half the people in town, so dating him would be another disaster. She hung her jacket on a hook inside her front door and tiptoed upstairs.

Steam rose from the tub as she sank neck deep into the balm of hot water. For the first moment since Alston’s call, she felt the muscles banded tightly around her head relax. The goat’s-milk soap that Belva had given her lathered into a bubbling froth on her washcloth. She shut her eyes and ran the cloth down her leg.
Donkeys
. Ryan Rea loved donkeys. Who could’ve conjured a man with his charm and excellence, a man with such body-rocking handsomeness, a man who moved to the country to make a haven for animals most people might not even consider of any value?

She dipped the washcloth into the water, watched the bubbles disperse along the surface. Who was she kidding? It wasn’t just his charm and excellence and stunning good looks. The feelings he’d roused had driven her to agree to spend more time with him, a move she knew deep down wasn’t wise.

She hadn’t finished dressing when she heard Ryan’s car in her drive. His early arrival kept her from fussing over what she would wear. It also kept her from texting him and telling him at the last minute not to come. Twice she’d fingered her phone, had tapped out a message, but hadn’t pressed Send.

She dragged on her jeans and a sweater and ran down to answer the door.

“Didn’t know you liked country music,” Ryan said. His easy grin shot heat through her like wildfire through a parched field. His biceps bulged with the weight of the massive box in his arms. A white takeout bag dangled in the crook of his elbow.

She tried not to stare at his biceps and wished she didn’t feel the blush of heat creeping into her face. “Adam’s finishing up some work on my deck.” She didn’t like the waver in her voice. “But I do like it. Among other music.”

Slanting sunlight lit his face and danced in his eyes. Magic hour, her brother called the hour before twilight. Perhaps there was magic in it. When a grin curved Ryan’s mouth, she was sure of it.

“I’d love to discuss your taste in music, but right now I’d like to put this down someplace.” He nodded toward her living room. “Think I might come in?”

“Oh, sorry. That looks heavy. I mean, sure.”

Since when did the English language and her manners fail her?

She stepped back and he set the box onto the floor, nearly spilling the contents of the bag as he did. He slid the bag from his arm and held it out.

“Soup. From Millenia in the city. Not squash,” he said with a laugh.

He saw her glance down at the box.

“It’s a TV. We can watch the game.”

Surprises used to delight her, not make her nerves fire and send bees dancing through her bloodstream.

She took the bag from him. He smelled like vetiver and lemongrass and like something she had far more interest in than soup or watching a game. But that something would just lead to trouble and heaven knew she didn’t need to tempt the fates. Soup and a game would have to do.

“I’ll just put this on to heat,” she said. Her hands were trembling, ever so slightly, but trembling all the same. “I don’t have cable,” she managed to stammer.

“It’s wireless. Works off my phone.” He nodded toward her coffee table carved from a recycled redwood slab. It was one of her few indulgences. “How about I just put it over there?”

“Sure.”

She wheeled around and headed for the kitchen. The plastic of the bag crinkled as she pulled the soup container out and set it on the counter. She leaned her palms against the cool Formica and took a breath to calm the trembling in her belly. Never in her life had a man had such an effect on her. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was coming down with the flu.

With a flick of her wrist, she turned on the gas and then pulled a pot from the shelf above her stove. As she poured the velvet red soup into the pan, the scent of coriander and a spice she couldn’t place wafted up. She stirred, willing her hands to stop shaking and her tummy to settle down. Maybe it was just a delayed effect of the shock of the day’s news settling in.

She watched the spoon as she twirled it in the thick soup and then shut her eyes. Whispering, she repeated the mantra her therapist had given her to calm herself. Though it had seemed silly when she’d first heard the phrase, she repeated it now for all she was worth. In a few minutes her pulse calmed. She tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot and laid it on the silver spoon rest on the counter. Smoothing her hands on her jeans, she took a breath and headed back to her living room.

Ryan had the TV uncrated and set up on the table. Muted sports announcers gestured across the screen.

“Gotta love technology,” he said as he fiddled with the back of the TV. “The game starts in five minutes.”

“Then we can eat in here.” Instead of coming out with a breezy casual tone, her voice sounded throaty, as if the desire that wove through her wouldn’t be wrangled.

The country music switched off outside, and the door banged behind Adam as he strode into the room.

“Not quite finished,” Adam said to Cara with a shrug and a smile. Then he saw Ryan. If a man could grow three inches by pulling himself up, Adam did it.

Ryan rose from where he crouched by the TV and towered a good four inches above Adam.

“Adam, this is Ryan. He’s fixing up the old Smith place.”

“We’ve met,” Ryan said in a gravelly voice.

The two men practically growled their greetings as they shook hands. Back East, she’d had men vying to win her, men who she suspected wanted more of what came along with her—to be part of the Barrington family and the perks such a liaison offered—more than they wanted her. Ryan and Adam were squaring off for her, for Cara the bus driver.

Any delight she felt was muted by the ratcheting tightness in her belly. The energy sparking in the room and in her was nothing to toy with. Movies and stories might attempt to portray the power of primal attraction, but she knew there was a potent quality to real attraction; its alluring power called for nothing less than being stripped down to the bone. It was power with an edge.

“Cara says you’ve done the place up well,” Adam said as he stepped back.

“Just getting started,” Ryan said. He hadn’t done anything specific, but she felt that he’d cast a glass shield around her, a shield he wasn’t about to let Adam penetrate.

“Well, I was just leaving,” Adam said to Ryan. He turned a challenging smile to Cara. “See you tomorrow.” He walked out the door.