Resignation went through Jordan. He’d said some stupid things about Nicole when they were kids...things that would have gotten back to her. She was probably going to spend their time together trying to expose his biases.
Her fingers brushed his as she handed him a basket of garlic bread, and he ignored the warm flush up his arm...that is, he almost succeeded in ignoring it.
* * *
NICOLE WONDERED WHERE Jordan’s mind kept wandering to; he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the discussion.
Something touched her foot and she saw it was Toby. He stared up at her with wide, pleading eyes.
“I wish I could, baby,” she told him, “but the rescue center told me it’s best if you don’t get table scraps.”
“He does a great job of acting like an orphan without means of support,” Jordan observed, seeming to come out of his reverie.
“I know. I fed him twenty minutes ago and still feel guilty.” She leaned down, grabbed one of Toby’s toys and tossed it into the yard. Delighted, he went tearing after it, only to be distracted by a butterfly.
Everyone had finished eating, so Nicole headed into the kitchen to fetch dessert. Jordan followed her.
“Can I get something for you?” she asked brightly.
“No, but I’ve been wondering why you invited your neighbor. He seems nice and the conversation has gone smoothly, partly because of him, I suppose, but I still can’t help wondering.”
“Wow, the conversation has gone more smoothly because of Barton,” she said in a dry tone. “Isn’t that enough reason to issue an invitation?”
“You must know him fairly well to realize he’d be helpful.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I only moved into the house a short time ago. But I made a good guess, with no ulterior motives involved. I asked a couple of other neighbors as well, but they had plans. What’s so important about who was invited to dinner?”
Jordan looked conflicted, his brow creased. “It doesn’t matter. I’m a reporter, I like to know things.”
Her smile flashed unexpectedly. “Oh, you’re a reporter now? You didn’t appreciate being called that the other day.”
He sighed. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, that Syd wants me to stretch as a writer. She’s always kept an eye on my career. We went through some tough times together when we were both reporters, including two days as hostages when we were covering events in the Middle East.”
“Good heavens.” Nicole felt an odd flutter inside as she considered the possibility that Jordan could have been murdered and they would have never met again. “That must have been an awful experience.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone, but going through it together forged a bond we’ll never lose. Syd kept her head, probably a lot better than I did.”
Nicole pursed her lips. “It seems out of character for you to reveal information to me. Perhaps you’re the one with an ulterior motive. Are you hoping to win sympathy and get me to drop my guard?”
“In case I haven’t made it clear enough yet, this isn’t an exposé.”
“You’d just ignore a juicy tidbit that might boost PostModern’s circulation?”
“There’s a difference between looking for a scandal and reporting something you happen to learn.”
He ran his fingers through his dark hair and Nicole wondered if his lovers did the same thing. The time they’d kissed in high school, his hair had been short and prickly against her palm. She’d figured he was going for a tough square-jawed I-can-take-anything persona.
Shaking her head to clear irrelevant memories, she filled her whipped cream canister.
“Do you see the difference?” Jordan prompted.
“Not if the information you ‘learn’ isn’t relevant or necessary to reveal. And especially if it isn’t even reported correctly.”
“The subject of an article isn’t always the best judge of what needs to be reported, or what the readers like to know. Don’t you believe in freedom of the press and free speech?”
“Definitely. In fact, we’re starting a blog for the agency. My partners suggested I write about what it’s like to be interviewed by you for these magazine articles.”
His gaze sharpened. “Are you comparing a blog to freedom of the press?”
“Who’s to say what a blog is? They’re still figuring out what things on the internet represent and even after they do, I bet they keep redefining it. Besides, no matter what, it’s about freedom of speech.”
He was massaging the back of his head and neck, a drawn expression on his face. “Okay,” he agreed finally, “you have a point. But why do you need to write about me?”
“Maybe you aren’t the best person to decide what our readers may find interesting.”
“Don’t use my arguments against me.” His voice sounded rueful. “That isn’t a fair tactic against a guy with a headache.”
“Never let it be said that I didn’t give aid to someone in pain.” Opening a cupboard, she grabbed a bottle of aspirin and handed it to him with a glass with water. “Help yourself.”
Jordan swallowed two aspirin tablets. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Picking up a tray with shortbread, a bowl of sliced strawberries and the whipped cream, she nodded at another tray with bowls on it. “Can you bring that one for me?”
“Sure.”
“That looks fabulous,” Chelsea said as they approached.
“I’m addicted to anything strawberry, especially in spring when the berries are at their best,” Nicole answered.
“I agree.” Barton picked up the canister she’d filled with cream. “What’s this?”
“A gadget that makes whipped cream. You just pour in the cream and use a gas canister. Ain’t modern technology wonderful?” She gave Jordan an innocent look. “Is whipped cream a frothy enough topic for a model?”
“Very amusing.”
“I do my best.”
It probably wasn’t very nice to keep yanking his chain; the guy did have a headache. She’d have a headache, too, a permanent one, if she lived in the tiny condo that Chelsea had described. It obviously suited him. Jordan wanted a carefree bachelor life—the apartment-style condo would have told her that without the little she’d picked up from his column and his remarks the previous evening.
Nicole sighed. Jordan had created a life that worked for him and she felt a hint of envy to realize he had everything together, a little too much perhaps for her taste, but he did seem to have things under control. By contrast it seemed as if she was racing to catch up with herself.
Then good sense kicked in.
For years she’d fashioned her own life to suit her, as much so as Jordan was doing. The only reason things were more chaotic now was because she had made a decision to change her life and it took time to settle into a new home, a new city and a new career...not to mention having to deal with a reporter while she was doing it.
And the reporter was Jordan Masters, who’d turned into a sexy and dynamic man who was disrupting her satisfaction with her platonic lifestyle. That just added insult to injury.
* * *
CHELSEA FOCUSED ON her bowl as she carefully arranged a layer of strawberries over a slice of shortcake. The dinner conversation had been awfully pleasant and Barton seemed as nice as she’d first believed him to be.
But she couldn’t forget that she’d also thought Ron was nice in the beginning, so she needed to be careful the next time she got involved with a guy. Not that it was an issue with Barton; it was far too soon to think about romance, even if he was interested, which he probably wasn’t. Well, he had asked her out, but she’d also gotten the impression that he’d been hurt in some way. So inviting her to dinner or a movie could have just been him being neighborly.
Annoyed with the way her brain kept churning, Chelsea accepted the whipp
ed cream gadget from Terri and squirted out a generous amount.
“How can you do that?” Terri said, peering at the tiny dollop in her bowl. “It’s like having a little strawberry with your whipped cream.”
“I disagree,” Barton returned firmly, “your sister is a woman who knows how to eat strawberry shortcake.” He put an equal amount on his own dessert.
Chelsea didn’t know if he was just being nice, but she appreciated his support. While she loved her sister, Terri was tough and had edges...the same as Jordan. They were both strong and never seemed to be afraid, the total opposite of her.
“Where are you from originally?” Terri asked Barton.
“Seattle, born and bred,” he told her.
“That makes you the only Northwest native here,” Chelsea said. “What’s the best part of living in Washington?”
“I hesitate to say. I’d hate getting into an argument.”
“Why would we argue?”
Nicole pointed to the ribbon around her neck. “He may be referring to baseball, Chelsea. Your keys are on a lanyard with the Angels’ logo.”
“Oh.”
“There’s nothing like watching a baseball game at Safeco Field,” Barton said. “But I suppose you feel the same about the Angels’ stadium in Anaheim.”
“They’re the Los Angeles Angels now,” Terri objected.
“Except they didn’t actually move out of Anaheim.”
Chelsea was glad that Barton didn’t seem put off by Terri’s attitude. She wondered why her sister was always so thorny. Maybe Terri did it to keep people at a distance.
Terri looked ready to continue the debate and Chelsea felt a familiar clench in her stomach.
Nicole waved a spoon mounded with whipped cream in the air. “While I’ll never abandon my first love altogether—and I’m talking about the Dodgers here—there’s room in my life for a new friend. Safeco Field is a great place to bond.”
“That’s right,” Barton said approvingly. “The next thing you know, it’ll be season tickets and a Mariners flag on your garage. I understand the team has one of the biggest female fan bases in major league baseball.”
“I’ve heard that, too, and I’m ready to fall in love again.”
Sinking back in her chair, Chelsea ate a bite of strawberry. She was grateful for the way Nicole had defused the tense moment. If only she were so adroit.
If she had the nerve, she’d ask Barton if he had a season ticket to Safeco Field and how often he went to home games, but it might have looked as if she was hinting for a date. She wouldn’t have been, though having him as a friend would be nice.
* * *
JORDAN’S HEADACHE STARTED easing off as the evening wore on. He should have taken something when it first started instead of playing iron man. Of course, he was still uncomfortable in other ways.
Some of it stemmed from his attraction to Nicole, which he couldn’t completely ignore. It wasn’t that there was something terribly wrong with her. In fact, she was proving to have an interesting personality, though it was inconceivable to consider them getting together. But he would feel that way about any woman. He didn’t want ties. He wanted to be free to live life on his terms, and generally spent time with women who wanted the same.
The other part of his discomfort was professional. Nicole’s light comment about being ready to fall in love again had been offered playfully to ease the social awkwardness that Terri sometimes created. But a moment after the words had left Nicole’s lips she’d sent him a cool, challenging stare. It was as if she was daring him to take the words out of context and tell the magazine-reading public that Nicole George was anxious to find love. That kind of thing probably had happened and was a reminder of the gray areas involved with his work.
“Mount Rainier is incredibly beautiful,” Nicole said and he realized the conversation had shifted once more. “My friend Logan does photography up there whenever he has time.”
“My folks used to take us to Rainier to pick huckleberries,” Barton said. “We’d bring a picnic and spend the day picking.”
“I’ve heard of huckleberries, but what are they like?” Chelsea asked.
“Mostly they look like miniature blueberries. They taste great, but loganberries are my favorite.”
“Where do you pick those?”
“I don’t think they grow wild. Mom buys flats from a grower to make jam, and to freeze for pies and cobblers.”
“It...it sounds as if you have one of those old-fashioned mothers who cooks and bakes.”
His sister’s face was wistful and Jordan remembered how she used to play house when she was little, concentrating on it as if she could create a different kind of life for herself. It hadn’t worked. Nor had his attempt to escape reality as a teen through sports and girls. Only time and maturity had moved him to a better place.
“My mother is both modern and traditional,” Barton told Chelsea. “She’s an engineer in the aircraft industry and also loves the home arts. She cans, freezes and dehydrates fruits and veggies in the summer and fall. She also sews and enters stuff in the Puyallup Fair.”
“She sounds busy,” Nicole commented.
“A regular Suzy Homemaker.” Terri’s voice was dry.
“Right,” Nicole agreed. “She’s deciding what a homemaker is on her own terms. I admire that.”
Jordan wanted to admire how she handled the awkward moments in the conversation, so why did he hesitate to acknowledge graciousness when it was wrapped up in a sexy golden-haired former model?
He smiled, though his facial muscles were tight. “Nicely said.”
“Which one of us?” Terri challenged.
He shrugged. When Terri was in one of her moods, it was best to let it go. And he suddenly wondered what had gotten her going. Was she upset about Chelsea moving out of the Los Angeles area? She wanted the best for their sister, but maybe she was suddenly feeling alone. Or it could be something else. He had to admit to sometimes being clueless when it came to his sisters. What he did know for certain was that when Terri was unhappy or scared about something, she usually turned to argument or anger to deal with it.
“Would anybody like coffee?” Nicole asked. “I can make a pot of decaf.”
There were nods all around and she stood.
Terri got to her feet as well, a strained expression on her face. “Let me help.”
Nicole smiled. “How nice.”
Jordan stood to join them, only to see a warning glance from her. Or at least he thought she was warning him. A sophisticated supermodel didn’t need protection from his sharp-tongued sister. As for Terri, she was able to hold her own and wouldn’t accept big-brother protection, regardless.
He dropped back into his chair.
“Barton, I apologize if Terri is...” Chelsea’s voice trailed before she took a deep breath to continue. “My sister doesn’t mean things the way they sound.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Barton answered. “You should meet my cousin. When Greg found out Nicole George was my next-door neighbor he speculated whether she did topless sunbathing in her backyard. He actually said that to her face. I could have slugged him, but she was classy about it.”
“She would be.”
Jordan seriously doubted that Nicole would do nude sunbathing where anyone might see her, though the image that popped into his head put him in acute pain.
Surreal. That was the only word to describe the evening. It wasn’t often that the past and present collided this way.
He again wondered if his attraction to Nicole was something he should mention to Syd, only to promptly decide the answer was no. She’d just be surprised to hear him say he hadn’t felt that way before and likely claim he’d just been fooling himself until now.
Pushing to his feet, he started gathering plates and utensils, anything to keep from thinking. At least
he wouldn’t be rushing into the house immediately; a decent interval would have passed.
* * *
AFTER NICOLE TURNED on the coffeemaker she looked at Terri, who was taking cups down from the cupboard and putting them on a tray. Along with the rest of the Masters family, she’d played a part in Nicole’s childhood, though Nicole had spent as little time around her as possible. Chelsea had inspired sympathy, but Terri had usually been a pain with her angry defiance about everything. Jordan could be the same way.
“I know, I know,” Terri said with a twist of her lips, “I’m a witch, spelled with a ‘b.’”
“You were always forthright.”
“What you’re saying is that I never grew up. You could be right—maybe I’m still fighting trolls and demons.”
Nicole poured cream into a small pitcher, glad she’d taken time that morning to unpack the rest of her kitchen supplies. “Most of us have a few.”
“I suppose, and they dog our footsteps at every turn.”
“But we don’t have to offer them permanent residence in the guest bedroom.”
A burst of laughter came from the other woman. “Lord, Nicole, you’re quick. How did I miss that all those years ago?”
“We didn’t know each other very well. You and Jordan were friends with my sister, not me.”
“Yeah. I never understood why Emily put up with my crap.”
“Em has a genius for friendship.”
“She certainly does,” Jordan said, startling them both. He stood at the kitchen door, holding a stack of plates and silverware. “I’ll put these in the dishwasher.”
He seemed full of suppressed energy and Nicole decided it was just as well to let him have something to do.
As part of her own research she’d gone online to read the last two months of Jordan’s columns, available on a number of major newspaper websites. In them, he’d lauded the pleasures of the tropics, with mentions of Hawaii where he had a vacation place. They gave the impression he was a laid-back guy with a sardonic wit, but there was nothing laid-back about Jordan. Even now, putting the dishes into the washer, he was as precise as if he’d written a manual on the subject. Jeez, he even rinsed the plates and silver, while she just tried to put things in so they didn’t hit and break.
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