by Ginna Gray
"It is now, but you should have seen it six weeks ago, after Abigail got through with it."
Rebecca's eyes grew round. "David's wife?"
"Yep. They met when she came to him for help. The KGB and the CIA were both after her. Before the whole mess was" cleared up the Freewind got shot all to hell and gone and the Russians tore the interior apart searching for a microdot that contained classified information. If that wasn't enough, Abigail, who has got to be the world's worst skipper, used the Freewind to ram a speedboat."
"Are you serious?"
Travis grinned, remembering the Keystone Cops chase around Alhaja Verde's harbor. "Yep. Blew two KGB guys right out of the water." ,
"But....Erin and Elise said that David's wife was a sweet, retiring little thing."
"She is. But Abbey draws trouble like honey draws flies." His grin flashed again. "David had to marry her to keep her out of hot water."
Travis looked around at the restored interior of the boat, and his expression sobered. "This boat is David's pride and joy. He must love her a lot—after the collision he didn't so much as turn a hair over the damage. All he was worried about was Abbey.''
"He must love her very much," Rebecca agreed with a trace of wistfulness. Then she chuckled. "I have to admit, I have a hard time imagining David as a married man. He always seemed like such a confirmed bachelor."
"Sooner or later most of us take the plunge."
"You haven't," she came back, then immediately looked chagrined. "Or have you? Oh, Lord, Travis, I'm sorry. Just because I haven't heard about it doesn't mean—"
"No, I haven't gotten married," Travis interrupted, taking pity on her. "Heck, no woman would have me."
To his surprise, that brought a derisive snort from the elegant woman sitting across from him. "Oh, come on," she chided. "Who are you kidding?
"You look a little different now, I'll admit." Her gaze Rimmed over his long hair, the scruffy beginnings of a beard, the leopard tattoo, and finally came to rest on the long earring swinging from his left lobe. She made a wry face. "All right, all right. So you look a lot different. But I can't imagine that things have changed all that much. I remember our high school days back in Crockett. Every girl in school was crazy head-over-heels in love with you."
Travis fixed her with a level stare. "Not every girl," he countered softly. "You weren't."
Her reaction fascinated him. First her eyes widened, and a look of panic flashed across her face. Immediately, a fiery blush followed. Then, with an effort, she seemed to pull herself together.
She stirred her soup, lowering her gaze to contemplate the swirling motion. "Are you sure about that?"
The soft question made Travis's heart trip over itself. His fork halted halfway to his mouth, and he went utterly still. "What are you saying?" He tried to sound casual, but even he could hear the tension in his voice.
Slowly, Rebecca looked up, straight into his eyes. Her own twinkled with rueful amusement. "I was so in love with you I thought I would die of it."
Travis's jaw dropped. His fork hit the plate with a clatter, sending chicken salad bouncing onto the table and the deck. "You're kidding! C'mon, you've got to be kidding," he insisted when she shook her head and started chuckling. "I don't believe it."
"It's true. I swear it. In fact..." She grimaced and rolled her eyes. "I can't believe I'm telling you this, but... since I'm being so honest I might as well confess all of it. The truth is, I'd had a crush on you from the time we first met, when I was five and you were seven."
"Good Lord." Stunned, Travis gaped at her. He frowned and shook his head. "Wait a minute. If you were so nuts about me, then why did you give me the cold shoulder all those years? I could come into a room where you and my cousins were talking and giggling and you'd clam up. Most of the time you looked right through me as though I weren't even there. Not once did you ever let on that you even liked me, much less loved me."
"Of course not. Good heavens, Travis. I was much too shy and insecure to do that. Why, I would have died of mortification."
"Shy? Insecure? You? Hell, Rebecca. You were the daughter of the richest man in town. All your life you had everything you ever wanted handed to you on a silver platter. What the devil did you have to be insecure about? Or shy either, for that matter?"
Before he finished speaking, her smile collapsed and the sparkle faded from her eyes. Travis could have kicked himself. For the first time in their lives she had relaxed enough to open up to him, and he had to go and shoot off his mouth. She looked as though he had slapped her.
"You're wrong. I didn't get everything I wanted. This may sound like a cliche, but there really are things that money can't buy. And they're a lot more important."
The icy reserve was back, in her voice and in her eyes. Briefly, she met his gaze head on, her lovely face impassive as marble.
Lowering her gaze, she reached for his plate and stacked it on top of hers. "Excuse me. I'm going to do the dishes."
Travis's hand shot across the table and closed around her wrist. "Rebecca, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Don't go."
"It doesn't matter." She kept her face averted, refusing to look at him.
"Yes, it does matter. It was a stupid, insensitive thing to say. I guess I was just falling back on habit. Please.. .explain to me what you meant."
She shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"C'mon, Rebecca. I'd really like to know."
She looked at him then, warily, her blue eyes full of suspicion.
"Please," he urged, and rubbed his thumb across the underside of her wrist in a gentle caress. I She kept her gaze fixed on the table. Several seconds 'ticked by, and he began to think she wasn't going to speak. He wanted to urge her again, but he was afraid she'd retreat farther. He didn't dare push his luck.
"A housekeeper is not the same as having a mother, you know," she said finally in a flat voice.
"No, I suppose it's not."
"You're just a job to them. Looking after you is just part of the duties they're paid to do. Anyway, the longest any of them ever lasted was two years."
Travis remembered, then, hearing his mother and aunt cluck and shake their heads over the string of housekeepers that had come and gone at the Quinn home. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, but now...
"Still... you had your father."
The minute Travis made the statement, he regretted it. The ironic look she flashed him spoke volumes.
"When I was in the first grade, I marked on a calendar every day that Daddy spent in Crockett. At the end of the year I added them up. You want to know what the total was? It was eighty-seven. Eighty-seven," she repeated sadly. "He spent less than one-fourth of his time at home."
With her forefinger, she drew circles in the condensation on her glass. Her gaze followed the action, but there was a faraway look in her blue eyes. "Even when he was at home he didn't have much time for me. My father is not exactly what you'd call... well... an affectionate person."
Affectionate? Hardly, Travis thought, recalling the hard, impatient man he'd known in his youth. Using the word in connection with Richard Quinn was almost funny. Except ... there was nothing funny about Rebecca's carefully controlled expression.
"It's just his nature. I don't suppose he can help being the way he is. But I spent most of my life trying to make him love me and wondering why he didn't. I thought I was somehow to blame. That sort of thing doesn't make you feel very secure or confident."
She said it all matter-of-factly, as though she were talking about something as mundane as the weather, but Travis still held her wrist, and he felt the fine tremor that ran through her.
"Yet you always seemed so self-assured."
"We all have our defenses, Travis. I discovered early that if I cried or complained in any way, my father became even more aggravated, so I learned to hide my feelings and pretend to be unaffected. It also became a way to save face, at least outwardly."
Travis st
ared. The Richard Quinn he'd known had used his wealth and position to run roughshod over other people, but Travis had always assumed that with his daughter he showed a softer side. Apparently that wasn't the case.
Reading the surprise on his face, Rebecca shook her head. "Didn't you ever wonder why I spent so much time at the Blaine house when we were growing up?"
"No, not really."
"Their family was exactly what I had always dreamed of having. There was always laughter and warmth and love in that house. Even when the twins and David were squabbling, or when Erin would pull one of her crazy stunts and their father would punish her, you could still fed the love. I tried to pretend that I was part of the family." Rebecca's mouth twisted in a wry grimace. "It never really worked, of course. Most of the time I felt like a penniless child with her nose pressed against the candy-store window. But I adored being there, anyway."
Looking suddenly embarrassed, she straightened and forced a smile. "Even if you did glare at me all the time."
Travis studied her intently. Her story tugged at his heart, stirring emotions he'd never expected to feel where Rebecca was concerned—compassion, pity, sadness...and yes, dammit... guilt.
Unless she was lying through her teeth, then he had been wrong about her all those years. Terribly wrong. He didn't want to believe that. He prided himself on being a good judge of character; in his line of work you had to be. Shit.. .she appeared to be telling the truth. For that matter, why would she lie? She'd been giving him the silent go-to-hell treatment for most of her life.
Old attitudes die hard, however, and he could not resist probing a little deeper. "Is that why you didn't let on that you had a crush on me?"
"I didn't dare. You were always so nasty to me, I knew it was hopeless. I figured if you ever found out you'd laugh in my face."
He didn't want to think so, but remembering the strength of his animosity back then, he knew it was possible that he would have, and he experienced another twinge of guilt. "I glared because I thought you were stuck-up and snooty."
"Stuck-up? Me?" She looked incredulous. "I was just trying to protect myself. If you pretend that someone's opinion of you doesn't matter, then their rejection doesn't hurt quite so much."
"Is that what you did with your father?"
"Yes," she answered without a second's hesitation, and the last of Travis's reservations faded away.
To suddenly see someone you know—or thought you knew—in a whole new light was disquieting.
In hindsight it was all so clear, so obvious—the string of housekeepers, the way Richard Quinn spent more and more time out of town, preferring his apartments in Dallas and New York over his Crockett home. Why hadn't he seen it?
Travis thought of Rebecca as a beautiful, too quiet child, always hanging around on the fringes^ of his boisterous family, watching so solemn-faced and big-eyed, and his jaw clenched. Suddenly the fancy house and the expensive clothes and the cars and privileges she'd had no longer seemed so terrific.
"God, Rebecca.. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I came to terms with it all long ago." She frowned at what she saw in his face. "I didn't tell you to play on your sympathy, Travis. I don't need or want pity. I simply wanted you to understand."
"So I'd get off your back. Right?"
"Yes."
No hesitation, no hedging, just direct, unflinching honesty. Travis experienced a flicker of disappointment, then immediately berated himself. Hell, what did you expect? That she wanted you to understand because your opinion of her mattered? Yeah, dream on, McCall. After the way you've treated her for the past twenty years or so, you're lucky she'll even speak to you.
Pulling her hand free of his, she started stacking the dishes again. Travis could tell by her nervous movements and the way she would not meet his eyes that she was having second thoughts about letting her guard down in front of him. He understood, but he couldn't let it go just yet. There were too many things he wanted to know.
"Since you wanted a family so much, I'm surprised that you and Evan didn't have children," he probed gently.
Her withdrawal was instantaneous. He could almost see the invisible wall slam down between them. With a subtle altering, her lovely features took on that aloof, ultra polite look that had enraged him so in the past.
This time it filled him with an aching tenderness.
"Things don't always work out the way we want them to," she replied stiffly. She reached for his glass and hers and carried both to the counter, turning her back on him in a clear dismissal. She squirted dish detergent into the sink and turned the water on full blast.
Travis watched her. He'd struck a nerve that time. All right, sweetheart. I understand that you're feeling vulnerable right now, so I'll drop it. But sooner or later I'm going to find out what's behind that haunted look.
Chapter Six
Fool. Fool. Fool. What on earth possessed you to say those things? To Travis, of all people. You spent a lifetime hiding your feelings—about your father, about Travis—and what do you do? You let yourself be lulled by a little friendly conversation. The first time he's halfway decent to you, you spill your guts. Idiot!
Rebecca kept her back to Travis and scrubbed a plate with unnecessary force. She could feel his gaze boring into her, and her nerves twanged like plucked guitar strings. The counselor and the others in the support group had urged her to open up and share her feelings, it was true. And it had helped. Their encouragement had given her the courage to tell Elise and Erin everything.
She'd stopped short of that with Travis, thank God, but still, it had been foolish to furnish him with more ammunition to use against her. As it was, he'd no doubt found her pathetic revelations hilarious.
"Say, I have an idea," the object of her thoughts announced out of the blue.
Rebecca jumped and braced herself for a hateful remark.
"I know this great little island that has a secluded cove with glass-smooth water. It's perfect for scuba diving. So how about it? You game?"
The suggestion, the tone of his voice, were so far removed from what they had been discussing, from what she expected, for several seconds she was too disoriented to answer. "I.. .I don't know how to scuba dive," she finally managed to stammer. She kept her eyes on the glass she was scrubbing. "I've never tried it before."
"No problem. You're a quick study. It won't take me long to teach you."
The idea had appeal but she didn't quite trust Travis. Yet his voice was friendly, even coaxing, and when she darted a cautious look over her shoulder, to her surprise, she encountered only the most pleasant of smiles. "I, uh...I don't want to be any trouble."
"Hey! No trouble. I want to teach you. It'll be fun. And maybe, if we have time, we might catch a few redfish. They're plentiful out around the reef that surrounds the island."
Drying her hands on a towel, Rebecca turned to face him. As hard as she searched, she could find nothing in his face but open friendliness.
She twisted the towel. Part of her wanted to say yes, wanted his company, wanted this rare opportunity to spend some time with him without the old hostility and tension that had always marked their relationship. Another part of her—the wary part, the part that had been hurt too many times—cautioned against it.
"C'mon, Rebecca. It'll be fun. Whaddaya say?"
"I... All right. I'll give it a try."
"Great."
Travis slid out of the small dining booth and stood up. The action brought him to within inches of Rebecca, so close that she sucked in her breath and pressed back against the sink. Her eyes widened when, instead of moving past her as she expected, he raised his hand and cupped her face.
"Rebecca," he said hesitantly, and her breath caught. "Look, I... I'm glad you told me what you did. I just wish we'd had that conversation years ago."
"Would it have made any difference?"
"Maybe." He grimaced. "I don't know. Hell, I like to think so, anyway."
Neither said anything for a moment. In his ey
es she saw compassion and regret, but there were reservations, too. Rebecca sensed that he was having trouble adjusting his image of her.
His gaze lowered to her mouth. Slowly, he swept his thumb over her lower lip, and Rebecca's heart banged against her ribs.
As though suddenly becoming aware of the action, he dropped his hand and stepped back. "I'll, uh...I'll go weigh anchor and crank up the engines. It'll take us about an hour to get to that island."
She stared after him. Unconsciously, she raised her hand and touched the tips of three fingers to her lips. After a moment a bemused smile blossomed there.
* * *
An hour later, after changing into a one-piece swimsuit, Rebecca stepped up onto the main deck, feeling horribly self-conscious. She hadn't appeared before Travis in a swimsuit since she'd been a skinny fifteen-year-old. The look in his eyes when he spotted her did nothing to alleviate her shyness. Neither did his own attire.
The swath of ruby red spandex that hugged his hips was barely three inches wide and left little doubt as to his maleness. His body was sleek and hard and tanned to the color of caramel, and pale gold hair dusted his chest, arms and legs. Not the slightest hint of lighter flesh was visible around those tight little trunks, and Rebecca suddenly had the startling thought that maybe he had done a lot of his fishing and sunbathing in the nude. He'd probably strolled around the house and deck that way, too, before her arrival on Rincon Island.
Travis watched her approach. Beneath slumberous lids, his silvery eyes darkened to the color of smoke. He looked her over, taking his time about it, his gaze sliding from her pink toenails, up over the long curves of her legs, settling for a moment at the top of her thighs where the shimmering sapphire maillot was cut up over her hipbones. He continued his appraisal over her flat abdomen and small waist, lingering again on her breasts before traveling up over chest and neck to finally meet her eyes. Rebecca felt that look all the way to the marrow of her bones, and her blush deepened.