Читать книгу Out of Sight - Michelle Celmer - Страница 9

Abi sat alone at a table in the dining room that evening, picking at her dinner. Though she had planned to eat in her cabin with Adam, she’d wanted a chance to observe Eric. As she’d expected, he hadn’t said a word during orientation and had begrudgingly participated in as few activities as he could get away with today. He hadn’t made any effort to meet the other kids and now he sat by himself at the rear of the dining room. He was so alone, her heart ached for him. And as badly as she’d wanted to approach him—and possibly throw her arms around the poor kid and hug him—she had to be very careful with this one. One wrong move and he would completely shut her out.

From what she’d learned from his file, he was an only child who’d had the misfortune of being born to two parents who were more interested in their social status and careers than raising their son. He’d spent most of his life in boarding school or away at camp. It made a person wonder why his parents had become ensnared in a bitter custody battle. And as was usually the case, he’d landed right in the middle.

Now he was so closed off, so afraid to trust, she feared it might be too late to salvage what little self-esteem he might have had left. Four weeks wasn’t nearly long enough to undo years of neglect and heartache, but she and the staff were going to give it a valiant effort.

“Mind if I join you?”

Abi looked up to find Will Bishop standing beside her table. Before she could even open her mouth to answer, he set down his plate and slid into the seat across from her. Even if she had intended to say no, he didn’t give her the option. She couldn’t help wondering why, of all the people in the retreat, he chose to sit with her.

Several times that day, during outdoor activities with the children, she’d had the odd sensation that someone was watching her and looked up to find him close by. He’d been engrossed in some activity and hadn’t appeared to notice her, and for some baffling reason, she found herself watching him. A few times he looked up, caught her staring, and she’d quickly looked away. She had no idea what it was about him that made her feel so…aware. She only knew that when he was around, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from looking at him, studying him.

A startling thought occurred to her. Maybe he’d sat down at her table because he thought she was interested in him.

“Busy day?” he asked, draping his napkin in his lap.

“The first week is always a little hectic,” she said, keeping her eyes glued to her plate. Why did she feel so nervous? She’d once defined her life by her ability to manipulate men. Now it unnerved her to sit three feet from one.

Maybe she was just out of practice. Although, never in her three years there had being around a male guest made her the least bit edgy.

“Are you enjoying your stay so far?” she asked, feigning great interest in the chicken on her plate.

“Is it my face?”

She was so startled by his words, her head shot up. “Your face?”

“My scars. Is that why you won’t look at me?” He said it casually, as if he’d just asked her about the weather, but something dark simmered in his eyes.

“No, of course not,” she said.

“It bothers some people. As if when they look directly at me, all they see are the scars.” He ran one large, tanned hand down the side of his face. “I guess they don’t know how to act. If they look too long, they’re staring, if they look away, they’re avoiding.”

She surprised herself by asking, “How did it happen?”

A smile lifted the left side of his mouth. “The direct approach. That’s different.”

She couldn’t tell if he was serious or being sarcastic. It wasn’t like her to be so direct—not anymore—and it set off a siren of warning in her head. “I’m sorry. If I’m being nosy—”

“Not at all,” he said. “It was a car accident—it caught fire. I’m lucky to be alive.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “No need to be sorry. It’s not your fault.”

She looked down at her plate. How did she keep managing to say the wrong thing? The man was going to think she was a complete flake—if he didn’t already. Although maybe that would be best.

But he was a guest, so she couldn’t be rude.

Will was quiet for a minute, then he said, “If my being here makes you uncomfortable, I can move to a different table.”

“No! I’m not uncomfortable,” she lied because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. And as badly as she did want him to get up and leave, she wanted him to stay just as much. The warning bell clanged louder. She didn’t want to want that. It was too dangerous. She’d done a pretty darned good job of numbing her emotions when it came to the opposite sex. What had once been like an addiction was now just an unpleasant memory. If she were ever to revert back to her old ways, would she have the strength to change back? And if she didn’t, what would become of her son?

“As long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” she said, forcing a smile.

Two chatty guests—teenage sisters from her morning session named Cindy and Leanne—joined them a minute later, relieving them of the need to make small talk. Yet, as hard as she tried to concentrate on her food, her eyes kept straying up to Will. She wasn’t sure what it was about him that she found so fascinating. He was just so in-your-face bold. Maybe it reminded her a little bit of herself—the way she used to be. It could also be the deep hurt she saw in his eyes, a feeling she could identify with. It was second nature for her to want to heal him, to take away the pain.

Speaking of pain, she suddenly remembered Eric and looked up only to find he’d finished his dinner and was walking toward the door.

“He’s a rich snob,” Cindy was saying to her sister. “I don’t like him.”

Leanne, the younger and more reserved sister, got a dreamy look on her face. “I think he’s cute.”

Now this was a conversation Abi could sink her teeth into. “Who’s cute?” she asked.

Leanne’s cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. She was the delicate, petite type, with long, straight brown hair she kept tucked behind her ears and she had a sweet, tranquil disposition.

“That Eric kid,” Cindy said with disdain. While both girls were pretty, she was more exotic-looking, with long, shiny black hair, sparkling violet eyes and a personality to match. She also had a chip large enough to fill the Grand Canyon resting on her shoulder and, according to her file, had been getting herself into quite a bit of trouble. The normal stuff teenage girls did to get attention from their estranged parents—ditching school, experimentation with drugs and alcohol, getting involved with the wrong crowd.

Abi had already instructed the staff to keep a close eye on her. Though they were fifteen miles from the nearest town, kids like her had a knack for finding trouble where adults didn’t think it existed.

“He is cute,” Abi agreed and asked Leanne, “He’s got that young Brad Pitt look, doesn’t he?”

Leanne bit her lip and nodded, her cheeks blushing even brighter.

“He thinks he’s better than everyone else,” Cindy snapped.

“Why do you say that?” Abi asked.

“He won’t talk to anyone! He’s a total snob.”

“Have you tried to talk to him?”

Cindy shrugged and said, “Why would I?”

If only she knew what Eric had been through, she might not be so quick to judge. Or maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference. Either way, it would be unprofessional for Abi to divulge his private information. If he wanted to talk to them, he would in his own good time. All she could do was guide the girls and encourage them to be open-minded. Especially Cindy.

“Maybe you should try to talk to him before you go jumping to conclusions,” Abi told them. “Things are not always what they seem.”

“I think he’s sad,” Leanne said softly. “He just doesn’t want anyone to know.”

Cindy shook her head and rolled her eyes. “God, you are so naive.”

She was definitely angry and appeared to take a lot of her frustration out on her sister. Leanne in turn only crawled deeper inside herself.

Abi glanced over at Will and saw that he was trying not to smile. In the eyes of a childless bachelor, the feminine banter must have been fairly amusing.

Abi finished her chicken, set her napkin alongside her plate and rose to her feet. “I’ll see you ladies tomorrow, bright and early.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Will said, rising to join her.

“Oh, th-that’s not necessary,” she said, suddenly flustered. “I’m just going to my cabin.”

Will shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’m in the mood for a little fresh air.”

It was another sticky situation. If she said no, she could hurt his feelings. Besides, what would be the harm? It was just a casual stroll, right? Maybe he was just looking for a friendly face among strangers, and hers appealed to him somehow.

But as she nodded and they headed out of the dining room together, she had to fight back an eerie feeling of apprehension. Because she knew from experience things were not always what they seemed.

Hands tucked in his pockets, Will followed Abi out of the dining room and fell in step beside her as they walked in the direction of the employee cabins. Already the sun had begun to set and there was a nip in the air that made her shiver under her T-shirt. It would be a chilly night. A good night for sleeping.

Having been the foreman’s quarters when the retreat was still a ranch, her cabin was the largest and set off by itself, tucked back several hundred feet into the woods, where enormous pines towered like sentries. It made her feel safe, and she treasured her privacy. It was the perfect home for her and Adam. She would be forever indebted to Maureen for giving them a place to stay when she’d had no place else to go, for helping her turn her life around when she’d run out of options.

“That boy they were talking about,” Will said. “Eric, was it? He’s had it pretty rough, huh?”

At the mere mention of his name she felt a jab to her heart. “I can’t go into specifics, but yes. His life hasn’t been a picnic.”

“You’re good with them—the kids, I mean.”

“That’s my job.”

“No, you really care about them. That makes it more than a job.”

For some reason his words made her feel all warm and soft. She did care. Sometimes too much. To the degree that it was hard to let go when their stay there ended. But it was worth it if those children walked away a little less angry or a little less hurt and confused than when they’d arrived. And there were always new kids to focus on, new activities to plan. Her son to take care of.

“What do you do for a living, Will?”

“I’m an analyst for the federal government. Homeland Security.” It was about as close to the truth as Will could get without coming right out and saying he was FBI. He’d worked undercover long enough to know you stuck with the truth as often as possible. The fewer lies he had to remember, the less likely he was to make a mistake.

“Sounds exciting,” she said.

“It’s not. The truth is, it’s a lot of paperwork and red tape.”

“Where are you from?”

Small talk, he thought with a grin. He could do that. It was the first step to friendship, which was exactly what he needed from her. “I’ve lived in New York for the past fifteen years, but I was raised all over. I’m an Army brat.” He plucked a leaf from a cluster of scrubby-looking shrubs as they walked past and slowly picked it apart. “How about you? Where do you call home?”

“I was born in New Mexico, but my mom moved us around a lot, too. This is the only real home I’ve had.”

He wanted to ask about Maureen, but he knew it was too soon. If he pushed now, she might get suspicious. He had to gain her trust first and he was getting the feeling that might not be so simple. She walked alongside him, head lowered as if she were afraid to look him in the eye, and she kept a good two feet of mossy ground between them. Everything about her body language screamed Back off, so he kept his distance.

“It was hard on you?” he asked. “Moving around like that?”

“I guess. Sometimes we weren’t even in one place long enough for me to make friends. Other times she’d meet someone and we’d stay a while. She married a couple of them, but it never lasted.”

“My parents were married for thirty-five years when my father died—not that it was a good marriage.” The words father and husband had merely been titles to Will’s dad. What he’d been right up until the day he died was a glorified bully. Will had never understood why his mother had put up with it for so long. But she had, spending year after year taking orders and doing whatever she could to keep her husband happy, and he’d not been a man easily pleased.

“So many marriages aren’t,” she said, sounding inexplicably sad. She probably saw some pretty nasty stuff working at a place like this.

After two hellish divorces, you wouldn’t catch him taking that walk down the aisle again. Wife number two had been clingy before the explosion, but in the months afterward she’d been downright unbearable. She’d cried the entire first week after the bandages had come off. She’d be fine; then she’d look at him and the tears would start to pour. He couldn’t run to the store for a six-pack without her giving him the third degree, and if he wasn’t back at the exact second he said he would be, she would go into hysterics.

A week before his medical leave was scheduled to end, she’d said she couldn’t take it anymore and had given him an ultimatum—quit his job or pack his bags. Ironically in the span of a year it was the only time she’d ever asserted herself.

So he’d packed.

His marriage to wife number one—who he fondly referred to as “the whiner”—had ended similarly. She had always been complaining about something. He was too bossy or too unemotional or he just didn’t love her enough. Then she’d gotten on her baby kick and he’d thought he’d never hear the end of it. What it boiled down to was she’d wanted babies and he hadn’t been ready, and all the crying and whining and carrying on she’d done had only driven him further away. Then had come the ultimatum. Give me a baby or pack your bags.

So he’d packed.

His philosophy was that some people just weren’t meant to be married. They weren’t built that way. There was no perfect mate a person was meant to be with. It was all a crapshoot. It was luck, and he’d never been particularly lucky when it came to his personal life.

They passed a group of children coming back from the direction of the lake, and when they saw him, eyes widened and jaws hung. He was used to it. It amused him sometimes how honest children could be with their emotions. And yes, sometimes it annoyed him. Sometimes it even hurt a little.

They whispered to each other, giggled, then scurried off toward the guest cabins on the opposite end of the resort.

“I think I’m going to have a talk with those kids about manners,” Abi said, her tone so sharp and biting it surprised him. “That kind of behavior is unacceptable.”

Will brushed it off with a wave of his hand. “It happens all the time. It’s normal for kids to be afraid or curious about things or people that look different. It’s human nature.”

For the first time since they’d begun walking she looked up at him. “There’s nothing they can do? About the scars, I mean.”

“They considered doing a skin graft, but they couldn’t guarantee how good it would look. There was talk about infection and complications. I could lose sight in that eye and end up with even more nerve damage. I decided I would rather leave it this way than take my chances. I figure it gives my face character.”

She smiled up at him—a genuine and open smile. Even in the fading light he could see that her eyes were really quite remarkable. What he’d believed was a dull brown upon closer inspection was really a spectrum of browns and greens and yellows.

“That’s a nice way to look at it. Not many people are that comfortable in their own skin.” She gestured past the other cabins, into the woods. “I live over there.”

They turned down a narrow path that led to the large cabin nestled back among the trees. The front porch spanned the entire width of the house, and a wood swing hung from its eaves. The temperature dropped as they walked deeper under the trees, and the scent of pine and moss filled the air. He found himself slowing his steps, prolonging their inevitable parting. She was a little closer now. If he were to sway slightly to the right, he might bump arms with her. For some reason the idea of touching her held an almost irresistible appeal.

“This is home,” she said.

“Cozy.” Despite growing up in urban areas, it had always been a dream of his to live somewhere like this. Somewhere serene and peaceful, away from the hectic pace of the city.

Someday, when he retired maybe.

“The first time I saw this place I fell in love with it,” she said, her face the picture of tranquility, until she glanced up at him and the shutters came down again.

“My face really does bother you, doesn’t it?”

“No, I just…” She bit her lip and lowered her eyes to the ground. “I don’t know what my problem is.”

“You know,” he said as they reached the porch, “when a child is frightened by my face, when they don’t know how to act, I have a trick to put them at ease.”

“You do?”

“Give me your hand,” he said, and she gave him a wary look. “It won’t hurt, I promise.”

Reluctantly she held it out. Her fingers were long and graceful-looking, her nails short, clean and neat. He took her hand between both of his, and she tensed.

“I don’t bite.” Lifting her hand to his face, he flattened her palm against his cheek. First her eyes went wide, then she blinked with surprise. He circled her wrist so she wouldn’t pull away. “It’s okay,” he said. “Touch it.”

Very gently, as if she thought it might sting, she brushed her fingers over the side of his face.

“See, it’s just skin.”

“It doesn’t hurt?”

“I had some nerve damage, so I really don’t feel much of anything. Extreme hot and cold mostly. And pressure.” He gave her the crooked grin that had become his trademark since the accident. “The left side of my mouth doesn’t always cooperate, either. But I have less area to shave, so it does have its positive points.”

She gave him a shy grin. “The skin, it’s almost…soft.”

He let his hand slip from her wrist, expecting her to pull away, but she didn’t. Instead she lifted her hand higher, ran her thumb over the deep scar that split his eyebrow in half.

A tiny wrinkle formed between her brows. “So close to your eye.”

“Yeah, it’s a miracle I didn’t lose it.” He watched her as she gently explored his face. Her skin was tan, and the beginnings of crow’s-feet marked the corners of her eyes, meaning she was probably older than he’d originally thought. Her cheekbones were high, her mouth wide. With a little color for emphasis, her lips could even be described as lush—especially when she smiled. She was neither tall nor short. Neither heavy nor thin.

Individually her features were ordinary, but all put together, there was something about her, something almost…sexy. Which was weird because at first glance she’d seemed one of the least sexy woman he’d ever met.

Her eyes locked on his and her lips parted slightly, and something in the air shifted. He couldn’t even be sure what it was that had changed, all he knew was that he wanted to touch her. He wanted to smooth his fingers over her face, brush his thumb over the softness of her lower lip.

He wanted to kiss her.

Her eyes darkened a shade and her lids slipped down, as if they were too heavy to hold open, and her gaze strayed to his mouth. He found himself wondering what she would taste like, if it would be slow and sweet or hot and wild.

Definitely slow and sweet, he decided. She wasn’t the hot-and-wild type at all.

Unconsciously he lowered his head, and she must have read his thoughts because the spell was instantly broken. The guard she wore snapped back down over her eyes, and she pulled her hand away from his face.

“I—I have to go.” She backed up the porch steps. In the fading light he could see her eyes were like saucers, as if he’d scared the holy hell out of her.

Let her go, his conscience warned him. He’d pushed too far too fast. On the bright side, at least she was looking at him now. Looking at him as though he was the devil incarnate.

A little bit of damage control might even be in order.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he told her.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” she said.

She was lying, but he let it go. He thought about shaking her hand, but everything in her stance said to back off.

He tucked his hands back into his pockets instead. “Thanks for keeping me company. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“See you.”

He turned and started down the path toward the main building, but he couldn’t help shooting once last glance over his shoulder.

She was already gone.

Abi closed the door and fell against it, holding a trembling hand over her wildly beating heart. Will had been about to kiss her. He’d even dipped his head a little.

She should recognize the signs; she’d seen the move a million times. Though she didn’t remember the thought of a kiss ever making her this weak in the knees before, the idea of intimacy with a man sparking this feeling of giddy anticipation. Not even her first time in the bed of Bo Reily’s pickup truck—of course, he’d had her so liquored up on Jack Daniel’s she hadn’t felt much of anything then.

She’d had enough sex in her life for five women, but she’d never touched a man the way she had Will, never felt the kind of intimacy she had with her hand on his face. Sex had been nothing but a vehicle to get what she wanted, a way to bend men to her will.

You use what assets God gave you, her mother used to tell her, and Tara Sullivan would know. She’d spent her life hopping from one man’s bed to another, and Abi had learned the apple never fell far from the tree.

She hadn’t known she could feel this way. This hot, excited, restless feeling that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her bones.

She’d felt something else, too. She’d felt vulnerable, and that scared her half to death.

She’d gone four years without a man in her bed, four years spent reprogramming her brain to reject the idea of sex in any form. And in the span of five minutes Will had undone it all. The woman she used to be, the one she’d thought was long dead and buried, was still sneaking around inside her somewhere.

God help her if she ever found a way out.

But she didn’t need a man to take care of her anymore. She’d proven to herself through determination and hard work that she was a survivor, and no one could take that away from her.

Brittney, Adam’s babysitter, appeared in his bedroom doorway and came down the hall toward her. “I thought I heard you come in. He had his bath and he’s playing in his room if you want to—” She stopped short. “Holy cow, Abi, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

A ghost. Huh. She couldn’t have put it better herself. “You know, Brit, I think I just did.”