He beamed me a wide, sexy grin that had my toenails sweating. “You don’t think I’d hire a photographer without seeing her work first, do you?”
How nice, he’d seen my work. He thought I was good.
Wait a minute. Just when had he seen my work? I opened my mouth to ask, but he’d already turned and had headed over to talk to Margaret. I sure as Hades wasn’t going anywhere near her right now. I could wait.
But I’d find out. Jake couldn’t hide info from me. I work for a publication that prides itself on finding out secrets, after all. I knew a few tricks.
I smiled evilly. Just you wait, Blackwood.
The rest of the afternoon moved along pretty fast. There was a steady stream of customers, mostly tourists, possibly in town for the Big Foot Festival. Which was one more thing I needed to use my awesome snooping ability on. I’d seen one of the big hairy varmints. I longed to get a shot of one. To prove they existed—maybe to myself. The idea blew across my mind like an out of control rocket: one clear photo of Bigfoot and my career would be made.
An arrow of guilt immediately impaled my heart with such impact I gasped and all but collapsed over my laptop. The repercussions to the creatures—and to the town—would likely be devastating. Oh well, I didn’t have a picture, so I could safely worry about that tomorrow. Or the day after. Hey, if it was good enough for Scarlett O’Hara it’s good enough for me.
A little more than two hours after I’d dodged that inner turmoil, it was time to go back to Margaret’s house. With Margaret. Just the two of us. Alone in her car. Oh boy.
I smiled at her, climbed into the Mustang, and opened my laptop so I could pretend I was doing something important.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed, hon. I grew up in the Sixties. You know, the age of free love.”
It was like one of those nightmares where you show up for a presentation at work, only to find you’re buck naked. I stared at the computer screen, and tried to pretend this conversation wasn’t happening, but the dang thing was going dark. It was a new battery. Why hadn’t it charged?
“Breathe.”
Huh?
I felt Margaret put her hand on my arm. “Breathe, Stephie, or you’re gonna pass out.”
I nodded, and took a couple of slow, deep breaths. She was right, I did feel less lightheaded.
“That’s a very attractive couple. Friends of yours?”
I looked at my laptop, and was horrified to see I’d inadvertently opened it to one of the couples I’d photographed. “Acquaintances.” I shrugged and hoped to downplay the whole thing. “I enjoy taking shots of couples. It’s kind of a hobby of mine.”
She nodded. “Sounds like a fun thing to do.”
“It is. I see so much bad stuff; it’s great to relax a little. I like printing out the shots and giving them to the couples.”
“That’s really sweet of you, Stephie.”
“I get more out of it than they do.”
I leaned back and looked at the woman behind the wheel. All my embarrassment melted away, replaced by a strong desire to get to know her better. “So you and Maddie discuss journalism?” My own mother couldn’t care less about photography or my job.
Margaret shrugged. “It’s something we have in common.”
“In common? But didn’t you work for a law firm before you started working for Jake.”
“Well, that’s true, but I was a journalism major in college. I worked as a reporter until I had Madison and started looking for a job with more regular hours. Once I started with the firm, I found I truly enjoyed the work.”
Doing what you enjoy. That’s the way to live your life. In theory, anyway.
She told me some stories of her exploits as a reporter for a Nashville newspaper. By the time we pulled into Margaret’s driveway, I had developed a great respect for the woman.
“Thank you, Margaret,” I told her as we walked toward the house.
“For what, hon?”
“For giving me a ride, and for sharing some of your life.” And for keeping your mouth shut.
Margaret gave me a quick sideways hug. “I’m happy to be of help.”
As I trucked up the stairs, I realized there was an extra car in the driveway. A silver Lexus. Maybe I should have paid more attention because I opened the bedroom door and walked in on Maddie and Liza having a primp party.
Clothes covered both beds. Makeup was strewed over Maddie’s dresser, chest, and the desk she’d probably used to do homework when she was in high school.
“Hi, Stephie.” Maddie spoke without moving her head. Probably because Liza was diligently rolling Maddie’s long, golden hair on hot rollers. I’d have thought the cast on her arm would slow her down, but the hair-rolling was moving right along. “We’re getting ready for the pageant tonight,” Maddie said.
I managed to keep the groan mostly inward. We’ve already established beauty pageants aren’t one of My Favorite Things. And this was the big girl version. No cute little darlings for me to go nuts about.
“Oh get over it, Steph. You’re a girl, you should like pageants. They’re a lot of fun, you know.”
Oh boy. I heard the irritation in her voice. Maddie was still pissed I had kissed Jake and was now working for him. If she knew what else we’d been doing…
I wasn’t about to allow myself to think of that. The way things were going, either Maddie or Liza could probably read my mind.
I started to tell her I was finished with the project I was doing for Blackwood Antiques, then rethought the situation. Probably better I didn’t bring up the subject at all.
So I gave into the inevitable. “Okay, so what does one wear to a Miss Ugly Creek Pageant?”
“Well, for most people it doesn’t really matter.” Maddie gave me a sideways glance. She might as well have delivered it while looking down her nose, for all the dismissal in her voice.
“But for former winners like Liza—junior year—and myself—senior year—it’s a very big deal.”
My fists tightened, even as tears filled my heart. “Congratulations,” I managed.
I went to the closet where my clothes were hung, grabbed an emerald sleeveless blouse and a black pencil skirt. I jerked a bra and panties out of my assigned drawer. “I need a shower,” I said as I went out, not caring much whether either of them heard me or not.
As the hot water sprayed over me, I allowed the tears I’d been holding back to fall. I understood Maddie was angry with me for consorting with a man she considered the enemy. I also knew she was still angry with her mother for the same offense.
Still, even if I did understand, her attitude had torn into me like a vulture into carrion.
I finished showering, blew my hair dry, put on a bit of makeup, dressed, and headed down the stairs. The last thing I wanted was another run-in with Miss Junior Year and Miss Senior Year.
Margaret looked up from the pot she was stirring and smiled my way. “You look beautiful, Stephie. That shade of green really makes those gorgeous eyes of yours shine.”
“Thank you,” I said, wondering if it was the tears I was holding back as hard as I could that was making my eyes shine.
“Are you all right?” She put a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m just not crazy about beauty pageants.” Which is true. Not the whole truth, but true nonetheless.
“I don’t really like them either. Maddie loves them though.”
I felt Margaret’s hand tighten on my shoulder. “Try to remember she’s in pain. You can’t lock your feelings up in a little box and expect them to stay there. I was hoping she’d use coming home as an opportunity to try to put things right, but that girl is as stubborn as her father was.”
Margaret was even more emotionally torn in the battle between Maddie and Jake than I was, and I felt serious sympathy for her. “I do understand, Margaret. I know she’s hurting and I want her to be happy. I should have stayed away from Jake Blackwood. She’s my friend, and that’s more important than a man.”
Margaret looked at me, a deep sadness in her eyes. “Sweetie, your loyalty to my daughter is admirable, but please think twice before you destroy any chances you and Jake have, based solely on Maddie’s confused feelings about him. I’d hate for you to live with regret long after Jake and Maddie have put aside their differences.”
“I think I need some fresh air,” I said, as I grabbed my camera and headed out the back door.
Even the screen of the porch made me feel claustrophobic, so I sat on the outside steps. I made a big deal out of cleaning my camera and changing the batteries in case someone was watching—or psychic. But my mind wasn’t on photography.
I berated myself as I put my Nikon digital back together. Madison was my closest friend. We’re great roommates, work well together, and she truly accepts me, the real me. Not the model of perfection my mother expected, or the stereotype many people seemed to think described everyone from Alabama.
Take that idiot Butch for instance, assuming I’d come from a trailer park. How biased was that? Like everybody in Alabama is poor. Or illiterate. Or redneck.
I grew up in a big house in an expensive neighborhood and attended the best schools in the state. After high school I headed to Columbia University to study journalism, and nailed a job in Washington, D.C., the center of government. Where the action was.
I sighed. At least that’s what I’d imagined. Most of the time I was chasing down a lead that never panned out, or managing to catch a legislator or judge or celebrity overindulging in a bar or restaurant. Or if they were female, I’d try to catch them without makeup, if male, with makeup. Whoop-dee-do. What do I care? Why anyone cares is beyond me.
Shaking the evil thoughts away, I focused on the things I had to be thankful for, like Maddie, the bestest roommate in the history of the world. And my job. It paid the bills quite well, thank you. Even in the expensive city of Washington, D.C.
Or at least that’s what I told myself every morning as I got dressed for work.
Movement caught my attention, and I looked out into the wooded area behind Margaret’s house. In the afternoon sun I could clearly see her backyard butted up against the mountains. A cool breeze stirred the leaves and cooled the hot Southern summer heat a bit. That’s probably what I’d seen, the leaves moving.
I took a long, deep breath of fresh air, and felt relaxation pull at my muscles. For a moment I considered telling Maddie and Liza I was too tired to go to the pageant. I could curl up on the porch and read that Janet Evanovich novel I bought almost a month ago, but hadn’t even had time to open.
No! I was here to support Maddie. Just because she had Liza to do that, and she was pissed at me anyway, was no excuse. I’d made a commitment and I intended to follow through.
This time the movement was big and the foliage rustled. No doubt something large was in a bush behind one of the oak trees. My first instinct was to raise my camera; I was a champion catch-a-celebrity-at-an-inopportune-moment photojournalist after all. And when I saw what came out from behind the bush my finger triggered the shutter without my even thinking about it.
As I watched the creature turn and run toward the heavier foliage closer to the incline of the mountain, I caught a few more shots. I knew without looking that none were as good as the first, but it was second nature for me to take more.
And then it was gone, and I lowered the Nikon back into my lap. Damn! Ugly Creek was awesome.
The door opened, and I instinctually clicked off the camera. I turned to see Liza’s head sticking out the door. “Are you about ready to head out?”
“Whenever you are.”
“Give us ten minutes.” She started to close the door, but stopped in mid-movement. “I’m really sorry Maddie’s being so bitchy. You don’t deserve that.” I saw her swallow. “Neither does Jake, for that matter.”
“What happened between—”I heard Maddie’s voice coming our way and bit back the words.
“We’ll talk later,” Liza whispered, and hurried inside.
I took one more look out into the trees, but saw nothing moving. Sighing, I pulled my tired, frustrated body to its feet. One ugly part of my brain whispered that a picture of a real Bigfoot could make a photojournalist’s career.
Or bring that career to an abrupt, painful end.
Chapter 11
The Ugly Creek High School auditorium was done up in a “Reach for the Stars” motif. “Because that’s not cliché,” I muttered.
“At least they didn’t do ‘Under the Sea.’ Again.”
The voice had icy guilt growing in the pit of my stomach, while hot flames of desire fired in points farther south. I turned and looked into warm brown eyes that kicked my pulse up a few notches. “Jake.”
He smiled, and guilt fought hard to hold its grip on my conscience. “Stephie.”
“I didn’t peg you as someone who’d be interested in beauty pageants.” I was glad to hear an edge to my voice. He was a chauvinist pig. That explained things. He saw women as meat, as objects, not as real people.
“Just doing my part for Ugly Creek. Blackwood Antiques is one of the pageant sponsors. Actually, pretty much every business in Ugly Creek is.”
“Oh.” Well, rats.
He took my hand in his and pulled me into the shadows. His lips touched mine and I melted into him, savoring his warm scent, the feel of his body pressed against mine. It felt good, it felt perfect.
But Madison Clark was my closest friend, my roommate, the sister I’d never had.
I pulled back. “This isn’t right.”
“Because of Madison.”
“I came to Ugly Creek to support Maddie; this pageant is important to her.”
He took my hand in his and tugged me toward him. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You mean a lot to me.”
“We’ve only known each other a few days.”
“I know it sounds crazy, but I care about you and I want to see where this relationship leads.” He pulled me closer to him, his eyes filled with emotion. “Please don’t walk out on me just because Maddie did. I don’t want to lose you too.”
“Jake, don’t.” I was horrified to hear the hurt in my voice.
He looked toward the floor for a moment, and when he met my gaze again there were tears in his eyes. “Just promise me you’ll think about what I said.”
He could be acting. He could be leading me on just to get me back in bed, or to get even with Maddie somehow.
But I knew he wasn’t. “I promise to think about it.”
He touched his lips to mine, kissing me with an intensity I felt into my toes. When he finished, he held me hostage with his gaze for an eternity that wasn’t nearly long enough. Then he turned and walked away.
My breath sucked in with a big whoosh of air. I grabbed a wall and leaned over at the waist for a minute to get myself together. I was here for Maddie, my good friend, who’d been there for me many times. Not to mention I had a job I’d agreed to for the local newspaper, and I should get my butt in gear and do it.
I had already decided to make a visual chronology of the event, so I spent the next few minutes rushing from the dressing room to the stage area, to the classroom that once again was converted into a second dressing area, and back to the stage. I documented the frenzy of preparation. Makeup, nerves, dresses, panic, shoes, and sheer exhaustion, I tried to capture it all. When one contestant broke down in frustrated tears, I quietly captured the event and then slipped away feeling like a voyeur.
Then there was the intrigue. The disappearing earrings, the foot planted firmly on an opponent’s long skirt, the glances one contestant kept giving another, glances filled with jealousy.
In spite of being witness to underhanded tactics, I was shocked to discover the night wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be. Except, of course, for that irritating man I couldn’t seem to stay away from. Every time I turned a corner, there he was. I could almost believe he was stalking me, except he seemed as surprised to see me as I him. It was more like some sort
of perverse force that kept drawing us together. It took some serious effort to keep my mind on my job.
The opening ceremonies were over and the talent portion was well underway when I heard the sound of Butch Johnson’s voice. “Well, what do we have here? The famous photographer is slumming. Again.”
I took a deep breath and counted to twenty before I turned around. “What do you want?”
Butch’s lips pulled into a repulsive caricature of what he probably meant as a smug smile. “I brought a guest with me, somebody who has something to say to you.” He gestured, and a man stepped out from around the corner. “I poked around and discovered you had a brother. Interesting story he had to tell about you, and about how you left him.”
Everything stopped. My ears rang with silence while dark spots danced through my vision.
All at once the grip of shock fractured and my lips pulled into a big smile. I took a step toward my brother. “Brandon! It’s so good to see you.”
“Buffy.”
I threw my arms around his neck, closed my eyes and held him close. I was five when Brandon was born, but when I headed off to college he’d been an inch taller than me. Now, a decade later, I had to stand on tiptoe to hug him. I was so happy he was standing in front of me I was shaking. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed my little brother until now.
It took a few, elation-filled moments to realize he wasn’t returning my embrace. I forced myself to let go of him and took a step back. I looked into his sweet face, now thinner and longer and covered with five o’clock shadow. I would have been happy to just stand there and look at him for hours. “How are you?”
“Same old, same old.” He held my gaze, and I saw pain in the dark hazel depths of his eyes. “You know how it is.”
I swallowed so hard it hurt my suddenly dry throat. There was anger in his expression, anger he was certainly entitled to.
“Why didn’t you return my phone calls?”
He shrugged. “I thought you’d be too busy with your big important job.”
“I’m never too busy for you. Please, call me anytime.”
The Ugly Truth Page 12