Ideal Image: Snapshot, #2

by Freya Barker

  “It’s hardly nothing, Anastasia,” he says, stepping into my space and placing his hands on my shoulders before he continues. “And I don’t think Mak would object to staying at the farm for a few days.”

  “Maybe that’s true, but not under these circumstances. We’ll be fine, Nick. I’ll keep my gun with me and I’ll have Mak sleep in my room.”

  Nick drops his head between his shoulders and sighs deeply, before lifting up a fraction and looking at me from under his surprisingly thick lashes. I’d never noticed those before.

  “Fine,” he grumbles. “But I’m sleeping on your couch.” He quickly raises his hand and presses a finger against my lips when I’m about to object. “No. No ifs, ands, or buts, Stacie. Work with me here. You want to stay here? Fine, then I’ll be sleeping on your couch. Ben would fucking skin me alive if I left you alone.”

  A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. He’s not lying about Ben. He would probably tear a strip off him.

  “Phfime...” I mumble against his finger, which he quickly removes. “Fine,” I repeat.

  I’m rewarded with a grateful smile that momentarily stuns me. Up close I can see his deep brown eyes warm, sprouting lines from the corners all the way to where his hairline would be, if he had any. Deep grooves run on either side of the tip of his rather broad nose, down to frame his smiling mouth. And an attractive mouth it is, with nice firm lips spreading wide over strong teeth. Instinctively I reach out, stroking a finger along the stubble of his five-o’clock shadow, to the middle of his chin, where a small dimple gets deeper when he smiles.

  “Anastasia...” he warns with a growl, as the warmth in his eyes turns to heat. “Don’t play with me when your daughter is about to come home, and there’s no time for me to do all you make me want to do to you.”

  As if burned, I drop my hand from his face, but his words linger in the air like a promise. There is no lie in the desire he shows for me. No guise in the deep hunger his eyes betray when he looks at me.

  There may have been times where a man has looked at me like that, but never quite with that intensity, and certainly not at this new version of me.

  “Anastasia...” he warns again.

  This time I heed his warning and turn away, just in time to see the bus stop in front of the house. I rush to the door to catch my girl, and watch from the porch as I spot Becca climbing off the bus behind Mak. She seems to hesitate, but my daughter grabs her by the hand and drags her along.

  “Hey, girls,” I call out as they come up the path. “I was just about to make some s’mores in the microwave. You guys interested?”

  The whoops are loud as Mak storms past me into the house, a slightly more subdued Becca following behind, eyeing my bandaged face suspiciously as she passes. I can’t help notice the way she seems to hold her left arm close to her body, barely moving it at all. Even when she takes off her backpack in the small entryway, she gingerly slides the strap down that arm.

  Mak has already barged through to the kitchen, where I can hear her chattering at Nick. Becca, however, lingers in the doorway, and almost jumps a foot when I gently place a hand on her back.

  “That’s a friend of mine; his name is Nick,” I tell her when she turns her large, frightened, brown eyes on me. Something is definitely not right with her. “Remember the scars on my face?” I ask her and she meekly nods, her eyes big in her face. “Well, I had surgery on Friday, to see if they could make them look a little better, make my face a little prettier. Nick’s just here to help me out.”

  She lets me coax her into the kitchen. There I introduce her to Nick properly, before I sit her down on a stool at the counter, where she watches me pull out the necessary ingredients.

  “What are we cooking?” Nick asks, leaning a hip against the counter and folding his arms over his chest.

  “Zapped s’mores,” Mak announces excitedly. “But don’t worry,” she adds. “Mom knows how to make these.”

  I drop the bag of giant marshmallows on the counter and let my mouth fall open, as I glare at my daughter. Nine flipping years old and already with the snide remarks. Puberty is going to be a long haul.

  Mak is unimpressed, and just giggles at my expression, which draws a chuckle from Nick.

  “Hey,” I protest with an admonishing finger in his direction. “I’ll have you know that I won a ribbon once for my zapped s’mores in college.”

  “Uncle Ben says that was a con...consild...consilderation prize,” Mak feels the need to enlighten.

  “Consolidation,” Becca corrects her softly, and then throws a cautious glance in my direction, as if scared I might get angry.

  Nick stifles a laugh. “I think you mean consolation prize, girls.”

  I narrow my eyes, but let a smile play on my lips when I look into Becca’s worried eyes. Then I throw the full force of my ire at the others. Mak’s still giggling, and only giggles harder when Nick snorts in an attempt to hold back his own laughter.

  “I didn’t know you were culinarily challenged,” he jokes.

  “Careful, buster,” I threaten. “I might decide to get creative with my meatloaf on you someday.”

  “Oh no!” my daughter, who was never a fan, cries dramatically. “Not the meatloaf.”

  “Double serving for you next time,” I threaten her teasingly, and this time I could hear a reaction from the other little girl.

  A tiny little tinkle of sound, like the dainty peal of a wind chime in the summer breeze. She seems as surprised as the rest of us at her giggles, and I quickly give her a reassuring wink with my one visible eye, before turning to the serious business of zapped s’mores.

  “WASH YOUR HANDS, GIRLS.”

  The milk and treats were inhaled, and not just by the two kids. Nick had come back for seconds, and was currently licking his fingers, which was not just a little distracting.

  “You were already pretty.”

  I look down at Becca, who sidled up to me to get to the sink. Her soft voice was almost drowned out by the running water, but the message was firm. I have to swallow hard when I look into her earnest, upturned face.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” I tell her gently. “Now wash your hands and then you can go play in Mak’s room.”

  I turn to Nick, who’s observing the interaction and make an awww face at him. He silently smiles before his attention is drawn to Becca, a frown on his face. I look and see her lift her left hand with her right to reach the stream of water.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” I ask, and watch her little back straighten.

  “I fell,” she says quickly, her eyes staying fixed on the sink as she rinses the sticky residue off her hands.

  “Can I see?” I ask carefully, handing her a towel to dry.

  “It’s okay,” she says softly, taking a step back before she turns and rushes after Mak, who’s already ensconced in her bedroom.

  I was going to ask Nick if he noticed that, but one look at the way he stares after Becca, and I already know his suspicions match mine.

  NICK

  I don’t know kids. I’ve never really been around them, but there’d been no mistaking that little girl’s body language.

  It’s been two days since she followed Mak into Stacie’s house, but I haven’t been able to shake the glaze of fear in those big brown eyes.

  I ENDED UP DRIVING Stacie’s SUV when it was time to take Becca home, since she still only has the use of one eye. I was shocked to see where the girl lives. It didn’t help that a tall, lanky kid with dark straggly hair—later identified by Mak as Becca’s older brother—was sitting on the steps of the trailer when we pulled in and didn’t look too impressed.

  Stacie and I didn’t have a chance to talk that night because she crashed at the same time Mak went to bed. Yesterday wasn’t much better, since I ended up driving Mak to school in the morning. I had appointments in the office all day, but Jen promised to check in with Stacie, who’d all but pushed me out the door.

  By the time I got back to her place last night
, the bedroom windows had been replaced, and the sheriff was sitting at the kitchen island, chatting with Mak over what appeared to be dinner. The sight of that did not make me happy.

  What also didn’t make me happy was the knowing grin Drew tossed over his shoulder at me. Fucker.

  Trying to stay on top of my cases, the worry about Mak and Stacie’s safety, and now concern about Becca’s wellbeing, had already drawn me in twenty directions. Good thing Pops was looking after the campground, or I would’ve had to add that to the list. As it was, I was wearing a little thin when I walked into that kitchen, and tipped right over the edge when I saw the resident playboy sheriff taking up what had been my stool just the night before.

  Not even the surprised smile Stacie gave me was able to stave off my dark mood.

  “Hey, you,” she said. “I wasn’t sure you’d come by. Drew came by with food, mentioned it was his turn to check on me, so I figured you guys had talked.”

  “Not that I can recall,” I growled, shooting daggers at the asshole.

  He just wiped his mouth on a napkin, got up, and deposited his plate in the sink, acting like he belonged here. It was all I could do not to deck him.

  “I was just giving the guy a break,” Drew said with a smile for Stacie, who looked confused between the two of us. “But I must head out. My shift is just starting, so it’ll be easy for me to swing by a few times during the night.” He bent down to kiss Stacie on the small patch of uncovered skin on the right side of her face, threw me a wink, and walked out the door, leaving me seething.

  I’ve never been good with teasing. Most of the teasing I was subjected to at the hands of guys like Drew—I’m sure he was a jock in high school and college—felt more like ridicule and bullying. Besides, in all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never been the target of his jokes, or have I?

  It’s a question I’ve asked myself a few times since last night.

  I fucked up. Big.

  I was so pissed off; I ended up taking my insecurities out on Stacie. When she offered me something to eat, I threw out some snide remark, asking if she was sure she’d have enough and how many other guys she was planning on feeding tonight. Needless to say that wasn’t received well, I’d pissed her off, and it wasn’t long after that she suggested it might be better if I left.

  Sometime during the course of the wee morning hours, after rolling around sleepless in my bed all night, I came to a conclusion: I need to come clean. There is no way I’ll ever be able to get past the insecurities of the person I used to be, unless I tell Stacie who I am, the small part I played years ago at a crucial point in her life, and the connection between us that runs much deeper than she realizes.

  NO CLUE WHERE TO FUCKING start.

  I never realized how out of my depth I am when it comes to relationships. It’s one thing when all runs smoothly, but how to get back there after you’ve hit a bump, is another matter. At least I hope it’s a bump and not an insurmountable roadblock.

  I’d seen the concern in the look Stacie had thrown me over that little girl, Becca’s head. I have to leave the investigation around the break-in at her house over to Drew, but I’ll be damned if I can’t find another way to ease Stacie’s life a little.

  Which is why I seek out Sheila the moment I walk into the office this morning. Since she works both for Doug, who handles family law, and me, I know she might have some suggestions.

  “But what did you see? Did you actually see any injuries?” she asks, grilling me.

  “She couldn’t even lift up that arm, Sheila. And you should’ve seen her eyes. You can’t be telling me it’s normal for a little girl to regard the world with suspicion and fear?” I’m getting a little riled up at her questioning.

  “Chill out, Nick,” she admonishes me. “You’re a lawyer, you know how this goes. Little or nothing can be done without tangible evidence; a witness, photographs, or a direct complaint from the child that someone is hurting her.”

  I do know, which is what is frustrating me, because I don’t have any links to the child. Nothing I can pursue, not even via the school, since I have no business there. The only option left open would be either through Stacie, who I just screwed things up with, or through law enforcement, which means Drew would have another opportunity to come out the hero. Son of a fucking bitch.

  Of course I’m going to talk to Drew—someone has to look into that girl’s situation—but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  “Carmel,” he answers on the first ring.

  “Need to pick your brain,” I jump right in, and I bristle when I hear his familiar chuckle.

  “Want some advice on the ladies?” he jeers, making me grind my teeth. “Cause I gotta tell ya, friend, those vibes you were giving off last night aren’t going to get you far.”

  “Don’t be an ass,” I grind out through clenched teeth. “I already fucked up last night, I’m not going to let you get the best of me again.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” he laughs, and I almost throw the phone against my office wall. “The great, unflappable Nicholas Flynn crashed and burned? That’s gotta be a first.”

  Those last remarks, and the tone they were imparted with, shock me.

  “You know I’m just messing with you, right?” Drew says after a lengthy pause.

  “Yeah, sure,” I manage, shaking my head to clear it. “Look, for the record, crash and burn was one of my nicknames in high school, and I’m so far from unflappable when it comes to this woman...” I let my words drift off, wondering if I’m just opening myself up to a whole new world of hurt.

  “No shit? Ben’s little sister? Man, do I wanna be a fly on the wall when he finds out.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t know she was his sister back when I first met her,” I confess. “Although I’m not sure if knowing that would’ve made a lick of difference in college.”

  “College? But you would’ve been a good number of years ahead of her, no?” he points out, quite accurately, since I’m probably five or six years her senior.

  “She was a student, I wasn’t.”

  “You dog,” Drew chuckles, surprised. “I bet she was a looker then.”

  “She’s even more beautiful now,” I tell him, and from the silence on the other side, I’m guessing that surprises him even more.

  Feeling a bit uncomfortable with the amount of information I’ve shared, stuff that I haven’t had a chance to tell Stacie yet, I steer the conversation back to the reason for my call.

  By the time I get off the phone, I know that although the sheriff’s office has never received any reports on possible child abuse, the trailer park in general, and Becca’s brother and mother in particular, are no strangers to law enforcement. Not exactly encouraging news, but after hearing me describe the girl’s behavior, Drew left no doubt that he’d be keeping a very close eye out for Becca.

  I felt a lot better, both about the girl, but also about the stuff I shared. I actually feel encouraged enough to drive straight to Stacie’s house when I get to Dolores. No time like the present to do some groveling first, and hopefully, she will give me a chance to explain a few things.

  But the moment I pull up to her house, I can see that plan fly out of the window. Ben’s big SUV is parked right behind Stacie’s much smaller one, and the man himself is standing on the porch, watching me get out of the car, his arms folded over his chest and his face spelling thunder.

  Shit. Forgot he was heading back today.

  CHAPTER 14

  Nick

  He doesn’t respond to my greeting, just moves aside so I can take the last step up to the porch.

  “Trusted you to take care of her,” he grinds out, even though I swear I didn’t see his mouth move.

  Ben makes for an imposing figure, but I’m prepared to take whatever he doles out to get to the woman inside.

  “I know and I did.” I cringe at how pathetically defensive that sounds, when I know I should’ve done better.

  “Then how come I never got a
call when shit went down here?” he barks, getting in my face, but I stand my ground. “First thing you should’ve fucking done was call me. That’s my little sister in there.”

  “Your sister maybe, but not helpless. She’s a grown-ass woman,” I retort, getting a little steamed up myself. “If she’d wanted you to worry, she would’ve called you herself, but you had your hands full.”

  “I asked you to look after her,” he repeats, poking a finger in my chest for emphasis. Now in a drag down fight, I’m pretty sure I’d get my ass handed to me, but that doesn’t stop me from grabbing Ben’s wrist firmly and deliberately moving his hand away.

  “I fucking did,” I growl. My turn to invade his space. “Not the way you would’ve: waltzing right over her like a caveman, but that’s not me. The woman is just getting her sea legs—her strength—back. She doesn’t need me making her feel powerless again.” I watch as he steps back, the expression on his face evening out, but I’m not done. “And one more thing: you may not see it, being her brother and all, but that woman in there is a force in her own right.”

  My impassioned tirade feels a bit anticlimactic when Ben suddenly grins.

  “Fuck me,” he mutters. “Isla was right.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Brushed her off when she said there was something building,” he says, looking at me like a bug under a microscope. “Didn’t see it then, but I see it now.” One of his big paws lands on my shoulder, forcefully. “You’re a goner.”

  “Sure, I like her,” I start, a little uneasy at this turn around, but forging ahead anyway, despite the almost knee-buckling grip of his shovel-sized hand on my shoulder. “Respect her.”

  “Is that why she’s in there, looking like someone ran over her puppy, wincing whenever your name is mentioned?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

  I should probably feel guilty at that information, but it makes me pleased instead. She cares.