Jordan beamed. “Good. Then may I kiss you?”
Prickles of gooseflesh rose up and down her spine. She took a half step toward him and traced his lips with her finger. He kissed it gently. “Yes,” she whispered.
He leaned over, and Randi closed her eyes.
“Jordan?” The front door of the studio slammed open.
Randi’s eyes flung open.
“Randi?” Jess stood there with her hands on her hips. “Did I …?” Her words trailed off. “Sorry,” Jess mumbled. She turned and marched out of the studio.
“What was that all about?” Randi asked.
“I don’t know, but her timing leaves a lot to be desired.”
Maybe. The moment had passed. Randi slipped out of Jordan’s embrace.
“Miranda?”
“We should see what Jess wants.”
“Uh, sure. Whatever you say.” Jordan went after Jess.
Randi tried to regain her footing. She knelt down and patted Duke. Was she really ready to involve herself with that level of commitment to Jordan? She still didn’t know him all that well. Could she truly trust him? What were his parents like? An image of Jordan and her in their own home with children in the living room and the two of them preparing breakfast in the kitchen flickered through her mind.
Is he the one?
thirteen
Jordan packed his bags and flew out to Niagara Falls the next day. Jess’s interruption had ended the kiss before it happened. Miranda pulled out of the studio faster than an old-fashioned camera flash burning the powder in the trough. And to be confronted by lovers strolling arm-in-arm all over Niagara on the Canadian side of the falls just reminded him of what they didn’t have.
He was still puzzling over this when he flew back to Boston three days later. He’d thought of calling Miranda at least a hundred times, but he never got up the nerve. The fact that he no longer had a cell phone made it even more problematic. And she couldn’t call him, with no number where she could reach him. But something still didn’t feel right. Should he call? Or should he wait patiently for Miranda to be over the pain Cal had caused her?
On the other hand, Brenda’s uninvited visit and Miranda’s reaction to it indicated she was ready to move on. But then again, she had left the studio before he returned with Jess. This circular thinking was getting him nowhere. He took the T and walked up the hill to his parents’ home. They lived a few blocks from Fenway Park. Cars lined the streets. The Red Sox must be playing tonight. A person could watch the game from his parents’ roof.
He took the steps two at a time and knocked. His mother answered. She looked good, and her smile sent a wave of peace through him. “Hey, Mom.”
She pulled him into a bear hug. “It’s good to see you, Jordan. We’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too. What are you cooking? It smells good.” He stepped into the front hall.
“New England boiled dinner.” She closed the door behind them. The coolness of the air-conditioning felt wonderful.
“My favorite.”
She winked. “I know. But your father enjoys it, too.”
“Where is he?”
“Down in the basement. Go put your bag in your room. I’ll tell him you’re home.”
“Thanks.” He hadn’t lived at home for years. It seemed strange that his folks still called it his room, especially since it had become his mother’s craft room. But there in the corner sat the twin bed and dresser he had used since he was two years old. He glanced at the table and looked over her newest scrapbook. It held pictures of him and his siblings when they were young. He thumbed through the beautiful pages she had designed and laid out. His mind filled with childhood memories, page after page.
“Jordan!” his father’s voice boomed through the room. “Good to see you, son.”
“Good to be home, Dad.”
“So you’re working more with this Dena Russell?”
“Yup, I have a nice, steady income now.”
“Wonderful. Aren’t those”—he pointed to the scrapbooks—“great?”
“Yes, she’s done an incredible job.”
“I think so, but, then again, I didn’t mind just looking at the pictures in the plastic sleeves. Can you tell me why the pictures from the sixties are turning color?”
“It was the process they used back then. You can have them scanned and restored. I can do it for you if you’d like.”
“That would be wonderful. Your mom’s had duplicates made of most of the photographs before she puts them in the books. Not to mention duplicates so each of you kids can have your own copies.”
“You mean I’ll get to have these one day?”
“Absolutely. They’ll be good to have especially when you have children. On the other hand, they’ll be even better to have for me to show my grandchildren.”
“First, I need a wife.”
“That would be helpful. So tell me more about this gal in Maine. Randi, I think her name is, isn’t it?”
Jordan took in a deep pull of air. “Yeah, it’s Randi. Miranda is her full name. I love her—I really do—but she’s been hurt by a fiancé who ran around on her. At least she found out before they married, but it still has her in a tailspin of sorts. I know she doesn’t fully trust me.”
“Trust develops over time, son. Give her a chance. She’ll come around if she’s the one the Lord has in mind for you.”
“I think she is, Dad. And I’m trying to be patient.”
“But that’s not really your strong suit, except with photography.”
Jordan chuckled. “Yeah, except with photography. So what are you working on in the basement?”
“I’ve taken up a new hobby,” his dad said. “I’m learning how to make stained glass.”
“Wow! How are your fingers?”
“Ha, ha. I’ve only nicked ‘em a couple of times. Cutting the glass is the easy part. Laying out the design and using the copper foiling is tough, but I’m starting to get the hang of it. After that, I’ll work on learning how to use the lead. The copper foil, though, is your mother’s favorite.”
Jordan was happy his parents found hobbies to keep them busy. He knew retirement was only a few years away for them, and he loved the idea that they kept active. “Lead on—I’d love to see what you’ve done.”
As they passed by the kitchen, his mother called out, “Don’t stay down there too long! Supper will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“Not a problem, Mom. I’m starved.”
“You won’t have to call me twice for dinner,” his father added with a smile.
Jordan quieted the laughter that bubbled up inside him. Once his father was in the basement, it took a lot of prodding on his mother’s part to get him to come up for dinner.
They rounded the corner, and both ducked as they went down the narrow basement stairs. One thing about old houses in the Boston area—they generally were made in the 1800s when stairways were put in some of the tightest spots of a house. Jordan lifted his hand and reached out to the carrying beam that had beaned him more times than not when he was growing up and moving too quickly.
“Tell me more about Miranda. What does she do? Look like? And why do you love her?”
Nothing like his father to get to the heart of the matter. “She’s beautiful—inside and out. She has these wonderful dark gray eyes.”
“Like your great-grandmother’s?”
“Yeah.”
“Interesting. Do you have a picture?”
“On my laptop. I’ll show you after dinner.”
“I’d love to see your work. Have you looked into the real estate in Squabbin Bay?”
Jordan chuckled. “I haven’t, but I guess you have?”
“Absolutely. The market hasn’t moved much in years up there. The area seems to be just far enough away from the general tourism routes that it is still secluded and underdeveloped.”
They continued talking until his mother called them for dinner. Jordan enjoyed the time wit
h his parents. He found it helped to settle him down, to continue being patient with Miranda.
Driven by distraction, Randi paced back and forth in her cottage. Jordan hadn’t come home from his Niagara trip yet. Jess had said he might spend the night in Boston, but she had no contact information for him. “E-mail! Why didn’t I think of that before?” She thumped her head and sat down at her desk.
Pulling up Jordan’s contact information, she typed his e-mail address into a new mail window then proceeded to type.
“Dear Jordan …” She paused. “Dear” seemed too formal. She hit the delete key and held it down until all the letters were erased then tried again. “Hi, Jordan …” Her fingers paused again on the keys. Why was it so hard to type a simple e-mail? What did she want to say anyway? “I miss you.”
“I’m sorry I ran out of the studio when Jess showed up.”
Nah, that wouldn’t do. Her desire for the kiss had turned the instant Jess walked in on them. All the old fears resurfaced. There was no question she was attracted to Jordan, and the attraction went way beyond his looks. She loved their time together, loved being able to talk so openly with him. But she was afraid of being vulnerable once again. A few days ago, she was confident in moving on. Today she still was…. But thinking back on the near kiss … as much as she wanted it … Fear wrapped its ugly head around her logic.
Randi deleted the e-mail. She should wait until they could speak one-on-one.
The computer flashed that she had incoming e-mail. It was from Jordan. She smiled and opened it.
Hi, Miranda,
This is just a quick e-mail to let you know I’ll be back in town tomorrow evening. I’m wondering if we can go out to dinner. Please let me know. Also I’ll be bringing up some of my earlier work. I thought we might be able to put some of the photos on my Web site and others in stock-photo archives.
See you soon.
Jordan
Randi reread the e-mail. Then she reacquainted herself with some of the various Web pages that kept stock-photo archives and the costs for those services and checked into their search capabilities. She smiled to herself, thinking about how this stuff made her parents’ heads spin. They didn’t understand the computer world and her career. They knew it could be a great benefit for those who used it regularly; they just didn’t happen to be such people. She wondered if Jordan’s folks kept up with computer technology. Even as techno savvy as she tried to keep herself, the industry kept growing at a rate too rapid to keep fully abreast of everything going on.
Two hours later, Randi had jotted down some practical ideas for Dena and Jordan in producing their own network of archives. Tomorrow she would put together a proposal for them to consider. She glanced at the clock. It was midnight. Time to go to bed. She had work in the morning.
At work the next morning, Randi’s mind buzzed with further possibilities for Dena and Jordan.
“Waitress!” A man waved his arm. “I need some more coffee here.”
Randi grabbed the brown plastic handle of the glass coffee carafe and headed to the gentleman’s table.
A baby at the next table knocked a plate to the floor then started crying. Randi poured the coffee then bent down to clean up the mess.
“I’m so sorry. He never does this at home.”
“How old is he?”
“Eleven months.” The young mother’s smile brightened.
Randi turned to the baby. “Well, you’re a cutie.” Even though you toss your plate. What is she thinking, giving a baby his own plate? What’s the age when a parent should do that?
“Miss, where’s our order?”
“Should be coming right up. I’ll check on it in a moment.” Randi finished cleaning up the baby’s mess and headed to the kitchen. She blew a strand of hair from her face. “What’s up with these people this morning?”
“Order’s up,” the cook replied. “Just one of those days.”
“Ayup,” she drawled out in her heaviest Maine accent. Randi washed her hands, dried them off, and went back into the restaurant. She placed the recent order on her tray and headed toward the customer’s table.
Lord, I’d really like to be working only one job.
The phone rang. A moment later the cook called out, “Randi, it’s for you!”
“Hi, Miranda. I won’t keep you, but I wanted you to know I was home. How are you?” Jordan had longed to hear her voice.
“Busy. It’s good to hear from you, but I’m afraid I’ve got to run.”
“Okay. What about dinner tonight?”
“Seriously, I don’t want to see the inside of another restaurant.”
Jordan’s heart sank. Maybe she was having second thoughts about their relationship. “All right. Call me when you can.”
“’Bye.”
He heard the click of the phone and the electronic hum that followed. He pressed the OFF button and replaced the portable phone in the charger. The bell above the studio door rang. Jordan looked up.
“Hello, Sheriff. How can I help you?”
“Afternoon, Jordan.” The sheriff was holding a sheet of white paper. “How was your trip to Niagara?”
“Fine.” Did everyone know his comings and goings in this small town?
“Dena said you’d be back sometime this afternoon.”
Jordan nodded. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck rose. This wasn’t the average customer visit. “What’s up?”
“Well, now, that’s what I came to talk with you about. Dena said you may have taken this picture at the church fair.” He handed Jordan the shot of a girl, with only her face appearing in the picture.
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you met her parents?”
“No, sir. I don’t believe so.”
The sheriff inched his cap further up his head.
“Is there a reason you posted this picture on the Internet?”
“It’s a great shot. The girl is adorable. Aside from that, no. Why?”
“Hang on. Let me ask the questions.”
“Yes, sir.” Jordan’s legs started to shake. He’d done nothing wrong, he hoped. So why did he feel as if he was about to be arrested? He looked at the picture again. He couldn’t place where or when he’d taken it because the headshot blurred what little there was of the background.
“Jordan, relax. Let me rephrase that. Do you have any other photographs of this child with her parents or of the child speaking with anyone else?”
“No … well, I don’t know. I can check. I took hundreds of shots that day.”
“That would be helpful. This girl looks like a child who was abducted from her home a few months ago.”
“Oh, no. Please say it isn’t so. She seems so happy.”
“Yeah, it is quite a smile. I’d appreciate your going through your pictures from that day.”
“No problem. I can pull them up right now.”
“Wonderful. Mind if I look over your shoulder?”
“No, not at all.”
Jordan pulled up the folder on his computer and loaded the photos from that day. One by one, they clicked through every photograph. Twenty minutes later, they had found no other pictures of the girl. Not even that one. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. I’m not even sure when I took this if it isn’t in my computer. It must have been at the church fair. I haven’t had an occasion to take other pictures of children playing except then. It’s possible the picture was accidentally deleted when I was giving Miranda copies of pictures for my Web page.”
The sheriff put his hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “No problem. You’ve done a lot just by taking this picture and posting it on the Internet. The parents are 99 percent certain this is their daughter, but they also received a ransom note a few days after the fair. It had been mailed from the same town the child had been taken in.”
“Weird.”
“Absolutely. I’m inclined to think the girl is with some family or with someone who was close to the family, in order for her to be so happy. But, then again, I saw a
few of my kids in those photographs, and they were having a great time, too. When I’m not on duty I’ll come around and order a couple of prints of my kids. But right now, I have to get back with the FBI missing persons unit.”
“I understand. I wish I had taken more photographs of her.”
“That’s all right. No one knew. I’m going to ask around and get folks to check their personal photographs. Does that machine keep track of all the photographs it’s printed?”
“Yes, but it’s temporary, in case the customer wishes to have another set of prints made. But apart from that, we don’t keep those files for long. No more than a week.”
“I was afraid of that. Okay—keep your eyes peeled. But don’t say anything on the Internet. We don’t want to warn the abductors that we’re aware they were in the area. With it being a festival, they could have just been traveling through.”
Jordan nodded. The way the sheriff’s blue eyes focused beyond Jordan, he could tell the officer was already mentally moving on in his investigation.
“Should I remove the picture from my Web page?”
“Let me get back with you on that. I’d like to see what the FBI profiler has to say.”
“All right.”
“Relax, Jordan. We know you simply took a picture.”
Jordan nodded. What could he say? That he was relieved he wasn’t a suspect? At the same time, he was also upset he was even considered a possible suspect. On the other hand, Dena must have put the police at rest about him. Once the sheriff left, Jordan called her. “Hey, Dena. Why didn’t you tell me about the girl?”
“Sheriff asked me not to. He wanted to see your reaction. I filled him in on when and how you took that picture.”
“Thanks.”
“Jordan, I also told the sheriff you were on an assignment at the time of the kidnapping. I’m thankful I had your time-dated photos from your resume to prove where you were then. You’re not a suspect, Jordan. The police just needed to be certain.”
Jordan let out a pent-up breath.
“You feel crummy, don’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
“If you need to clear your head, I can come down to the studio for the rest of the day.”
Trespassed Hearts Page 10