Within Striking Distance

by Ingrid Weaver

  Becky rubbed her arms. “No, she’s not my mother. I won’t believe it.”

  Jake stroked her hand. “I’ll check into the Shillington family while we’re in town. There must be someone who is willing to talk to us. Gerald couldn’t be the only one who knows the truth.”

  A woman laughed from the neighboring table. Becky looked at the group and felt a pang of envy. There were six people crowded around the table, and most of them were wearing Sanford Racing colors. They were talking together as if they were all old friends, but they could just as easily have met only minutes before. Being fellow NASCAR fans made them like family.

  Becky knew that was one of the reasons she attended every race she could. She was guaranteed to feel part of the group, whatever city she happened to be in. She’d always wished to belong to a large, happy family…

  “Careful what you wish for,” she said.

  Jake squeezed her shoulders. “What brought that on?” he asked.

  “I used to wish I had a family like the Daltons. Then I wished that the Grossos were my family. I don’t know whether I’d want to belong to the Shillingtons.”

  “Do you want me to stop, Becky?”

  “Stop?”

  “We don’t have to keep looking for your birth parents.”

  “You told me it’s not up to me. You’re being paid by the Grossos.”

  He hesitated. “My job for the Grossos only entails finding out whether you’re Gina. I’m offering to keep looking even if it turns out you’re not.”

  “And you think I’m not.”

  He didn’t reply. The regret on his face was enough of an answer. He stood and held out his hand. “It’s been a long day, Becky. Let’s get out of here.”

  Well, she couldn’t say that he hadn’t warned her about getting her hopes up. She grabbed her beer and drained it before she got to her feet. She wished she could pretend that her tears were from swallowing too fast.

  Someone jostled her shoulder as they moved toward the exit. It was a middle-aged man with a Will Branch ball cap pulled low over a fringe of red hair. “Sorry,” he said, shouting over the noise of the music. “I didn’t…Hey, don’t I know you?”

  Becky shook her head and kept going. She wasn’t in the mood to explain who she was. The posters for the blue jeans campaign and her modeling career were the last things she wanted to think about. On the other hand, there wasn’t anything else she wanted to think about, either. Her dream of being Gina was over. Tara had once told her that she’d be the same person, whatever her last name turned out to be, but it wasn’t that simple. If her last name was Shillington…

  She could never belong in that fancy house, or get accustomed to maids, or be comfortable in pearls and silk suits. Not that she’d be welcomed there anyway, since she’d been discarded at birth as an embarrassment to the family. No one had been trying to find her. It wasn’t anything like her fantasy. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back against the car seat as Jake drove to their motel.

  He parked close to the staircase that led to the second floor where their rooms were and walked her to her door. “Let me check things out before you go inside,” he said, taking her key from her hand.

  Becky watched him from the doorway as he moved around the room. The place wasn’t luxurious but as motels went it was clean and neat, with a sturdy wooden dresser and a television against one wall and a bed against another. It was easy to see that no one was lurking in the corners or the bathroom. Everything appeared to be exactly as she had left it. “Len was probably right,” she said. “We must have over-reacted to that break-in and the accident. They could be totally unrelated. If I’m just a teenage girl’s unwanted baby, I don’t think anyone’s after us.”

  “We don’t know that for sure yet,” Jake said, closing the curtains on the window. “We’ve only started investigating the Shillingtons. It’s better to be careful.”

  She crossed her arms, rubbing her palms over her sleeves. “I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve said that. You’ve been trying to protect me from the time we met.”

  He turned to face her. “I tried to keep you safe.”

  “Right. Safe from getting my hopes up and safe from crazy ex-cons who might or might not be trying to do me harm.” She laughed without humor. “You even tried to keep me safe from you.”

  “I realize my attitude frustrates you at times but I don’t want you to get hurt. Is that so hard for you to understand?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not. I know that’s how you’re wired. You can’t help being protective. But do you think you could knock it off? At least for tonight?”

  “Becky…”

  She stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind her. “Jake, I don’t need you to check my locks or look under the bed for intruders. I need you to hold me.”

  He closed the distance between them in three strides, dropped his cane to the floor and pulled her into his arms.

  Becky laid her cheek on his shoulder and pressed her face to his neck, inhaling his scent. As it always did, the feel of his embrace steadied her. “I don’t want you to look for my family anymore,” she mumbled. “It doesn’t really matter who gave birth to me. It was all just a stupid dream.”

  “Give it some time.” He stroked his hand over her hair. “You’re disappointed now but you might feel differently about it tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think so. My dream was about more than finding my birth family. I was looking for somewhere to belong, for someone to love me. I don’t expect to find that with the Shillingtons.”

  “It’s too soon to know that.” He brushed his lips over her forehead. “Don’t give up. As I’ve said before, you’re a courageous woman, Becky.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m a fraud.”

  “Where did that come from? You’re one of the most honest people I’ve known.”

  “I’m a fraud,” she repeated. “People always tell me I’m beautiful. On the outside I must be, because I make my living from my looks. But there’s got to be something inside me that’s wrong. That’s repulsive. That makes people not want me.”

  “No, Becky. There are all kinds of reasons people decide to give up a child for adoption.”

  She locked her hands behind his neck and arched back to look at his face. “Do you think that’s all I’m talking about?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you want me, Jake?”

  A tremor went through his body. Although he’d discarded his cane, he was leaning against the door for support, so she didn’t believe the tremor was from weariness. He moved his hands to her waist. “You’re upset,” he began.

  “And you’re avoiding the question.” She stepped between his feet to nestle closer. “Don’t run away from it this time, Jake. Don’t make a joke or pretend there’s nothing special between us. It seems as if you want me. Whenever we kiss, you make me feel as if we’re the only two people in the world, but whenever I try to talk about it, you push me away.”

  “I do want you, Becky. More than you can imagine.” He pulled her hard against him and looked at her lips. “That should be obvious. But you’ve just had a difficult day and you’re vulnerable right now. I respect you too much to take advantage of the situation.”

  She fisted her knuckles in his hair. “What situation would that be, Jake? Is it because we’ve spent practically every waking minute together for more than a week and I feel as if I’ve known you my whole life? Or because we’re alone in a motel room and all you want to do is check the door locks? Or is it the fact that I’m falling in love with you?”

  “You don’t love me.”

  Becky sucked in her breath as she realized what she’d just said. She loved him? Of course, she loved him. The admission had slipped out so easily, she must have known it for days. Maybe weeks.

  She loosened her grip on his hair so she could run her fingers through the unruly clumps. She loved his hair as much as his crooked smile and the laugh lines around his eyes. She
loved his tenderness and his strength. She even loved the way he was determined to deny the possibility of love, because she knew why he was so cautious.

  She slid one hand to his chest and put her palm over his heart. “I do love you, Jake. I love you enough to understand that most of your caution isn’t for me, it’s for you.”

  Beneath her palm, his heart was racing. Naked emotion sparked in his gaze. It wasn’t only physical desire, it was a yearning for a connection that was more elemental than that.

  Becky trembled from a shock wave of recognition. She knew that look. It was the same emotion she’d seen in the mirror. Jake longed for love as much as she did.

  “Everyone left you, too,” she said slowly. “It wasn’t only Heather. Your brothers grew up and no longer needed you to take care of them. Your mother remarried and moved away. You loved all of them, but you ended up alone anyway. That’s why you joined the army, wasn’t it?”

  “There were plenty of reasons I enlisted.”

  “Sure, but the main one was you were looking for a place to belong and for people who needed you. You loved your time in the army, didn’t you?”

  “I was good at what I did.”

  “Of course you would be. And you loved Heather, too. But then after your accident, you lost both. You were so hurt you gave up trying. That’s why you don’t let anyone get close to you. It’s safer that way.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “You’re wrong. It is simple. You’re the one who’s making it complicated. You’re a warm and caring person with a huge capacity to love, but you channel all your feelings into protectiveness because that’s safe. That lets you keep your distance. It makes you keep your distance because it lets you ensure your relationships are temporary.”

  He pressed his lips together and eased her backward, breaking the contact of their bodies. “You’re only focusing on me because your dream of being a Grosso didn’t turn out the way you wanted.”

  She flung up her hands. “There you go again. You just proved my point. You’re making excuses to protect yourself. First it was your age, then because we were working together, and now you’re hiding behind this excuse of nobility.”

  “I should leave.”

  “And then what? I told you, I don’t want to find my birth parents anymore. Your job is over. I don’t need a detective or a bodyguard.” She dropped her arms to her sides and stepped back. “I don’t want you to be my protector. I want you to be my lover.”

  He regarded her in silence, his hands curling into fists. He clenched his jaw so hard, the tendons stood out on his neck. “There’s nothing I’d like more, Becky,” he said finally. His voice dropped to a low rasp. “I’ve tried, but I can’t stop myself from touching you. I keep imagining how well we’d fit together. I fantasize about feeling the heat of your skin against mine, and I dream about you so vividly it surprises me when I wake up alone.”

  “Then why don’t you stay with me?”

  “Because you would want more than sex.”

  He was right. She wouldn’t want just a night with him; she wanted a future, a lifetime, the very things that he’d claimed he didn’t want.

  But she hadn’t believed him when he’d first told her that, and she still didn’t. The yearning on his face spoke more powerfully than his words. “You want more, too, Jake. I can see it in your eyes. I feel it each time you kiss me. You might think we’re different but deep inside we’re the same.” She swayed toward him. “You want to be loved as much as I do. That’s why we recognized each other when we met. It’s a bond we share that has nothing to do with our circumstances.”

  He closed his eyes and tipped back his head, his chest heaving.

  “You can go on keeping your heart safe forever if you like,” Becky whispered. “But why bother saving it if it never gets used?”

  Jake turned to the door. Had she pushed him too hard? Becky pressed her knuckle to her mouth to keep from calling him back, but then she saw that he wasn’t reaching for the knob.

  Instead, he reached for the chain and slid it closed.

  THE PETERS GIRL was as common as her mother, Cynthia thought, peering through the windshield. McMasters had stayed in her room all night. But then, many men had a weakness for tramps. Even Hank hadn’t been immune.

  She scowled at the gun on the seat beside her, clearly visible now that it was morning. It had been dark when she’d pulled into the parking lot. She hadn’t anticipated needing to stay this long. Now that she was so close to finishing, the delay was frustrating.

  It had taken hours to discover which motel they were registered at. She’d gone through the phone book until the desk clerk at this one had offered to connect her to McMasters’s room. When Cynthia learned that Peters had her own room, she’d formed a foolproof plan. She would wait until the girl was alone before she approached her. Then she could take her someplace where no one would find the body and she could put this entire episode behind her.

  That’s what she should have done the last time, but she hadn’t been thinking straight. She had been too eager to get back to Hank. But it had worked out anyway. No one had questioned her. No one had even suspected her role in the death. And this time the weapon she used would be far less clumsy.

  Cynthia ran a fingertip along the barrel of the gun, then picked it up and slipped it into her handbag. She was getting tired of waiting. People were beginning to stir—she could see curtains pulled open at several of the windows and a few guests had already gotten in their cars and driven away. She couldn’t remain parked here indefinitely. Perhaps she should simply break into the motel room and kill both McMasters and the girl…

  Motion at the top of the staircase to the second story caught her eye. A tall, slim woman ran gracefully down the steps. She looked a mess. Baggy cargo pants flapped loosely against her long legs, a T-shirt with numbers on the front stretched over her chest and her streaked blond hair was a mass of tousled curls. In spite of the early hour, her face was radiant and a smile played around the corners of her mouth. She appeared as if she had just arisen from her lover’s bed.

  The Peters girl’s resemblance to her mother was stronger than ever.

  Cynthia was energized by a shaft of pure hatred. She clutched her handbag and got out of the car.

  “I’D LIKE two honey-glazed and two chocolate-dipped, please.” Becky did another scan of the shallow baskets that lined the wall behind the counter. “Oh, and two of the ones with the powdered sugar.”

  The teenage clerk yawned, displaying a mouthful of braces. “Raspberry or lemon?”

  “What the heck, make it two of each.”

  He packed the doughnuts into a box and set it beside the cash register. “Anything else?”

  “A bottle of orange juice and a large coffee.”

  “What kind of coffee?”

  “Um, the eye-wobbler kind?”

  He laughed and took one of the carafes from a hot plate. “Guess you have as much trouble waking up in the morning as I do.”

  Becky’s cheeks burned as she thought of exactly how she’d woken up today. Daylight had barely begun to seep through the curtains when Jake had swept back her hair and kissed her neck. At the first touch of his lips she’d been wide awake, even though they couldn’t have slept more than a few hours.

  She had known Jake was in excellent physical shape, and he was mature enough to have the patience to take his time when he wanted something, but his skills as a lover surpassed anything she could have imagined. The night had flown past. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. Then again, she’d never been in love before.

  Did Jake return her feelings? She suspected he did. The kind of passion he’d shown her had to spring from a source that was deeper than merely a physical attraction. She’d been right when she’d told him he had a great capacity to love. He might not have said the words, but he showed her how he felt in other, extremely delightful ways.

  Now all she had to do was convince him it would last. Get him to drop the d
efensive caution of a lifetime. Show him his heart would be safe with her and she wouldn’t change her feelings the way his fiancée had…

  The euphoria she’d awoken with began to fade. As wonderful as the night had been, she and Jake still had a long way to go. He had trusted her enough to show her his scars, both the ones she could see and the ones she couldn’t. She knew they weren’t going to heal overnight.

  “Ma’am?”

  Becky started at the clerk’s voice. A line had already formed behind her. She paid for the breakfast and left the coffee shop.

  Her mind was on Jake as she walked back to the motel. He’d been in the shower when she’d left, and she was looking forward to surprising him with the doughnuts. She remembered how he’d brought breakfast the morning they’d met in Mrs. Krazowski’s garage loft. Was that when she’d started to fall in love with him? Maybe. It was hard to choose one moment in particular since her feelings hadn’t begun all at once. It had been more of a gradual accumulation.

  She hoped it had been the same for Jake. The problems they’d already faced together added more layers to their relationship. They functioned well together, whatever they were doing. It was also a good sign that they could disagree without losing sight of the big picture.

  Or was she only seeing what she wanted to see? What if Jake really didn’t want her? What if he’d been feeling sorry for her, and had spent the night out of pity?

  No. She couldn’t let herself consider that. She knew what she’d felt when they’d made love. They’d made love.

  “Miss Peters?”

  Becky whipped her head around, shock leaving her momentarily speechless. She recognized the voice instantly, and it had the same effect on her this morning as it had yesterday afternoon. In spite of the warmth from the rising sun, she felt a chill across her shoulders.

  Cynthia Shillington Brown was standing at the entrance to the motel parking lot, looking much as she had the day before. As a matter of fact, she was still wearing her pearls and the same silk suit. But deep creases marred the front of her skirt and some of her hair had pulled loose from her French twist. As unlikely as it seemed, she appeared to have spent the night in her clothes.