One Summer

by Nora Roberts

  “Yet for the next three months you’re going to be photographing the everyday. Why?”

  “Because there’s a spark in all of us. I’d like to find it in a farmer in Iowa, too.”

  So he had his answer. “You’re an idealist, Bryan.”

  “Yes.” She gave him a frankly interested look. “Should I be ashamed of it?”

  He didn’t like the way the calm, reasonable question affected him. He’d had ideals of his own once, and he knew how much it hurt to have them rudely taken away. “Not ashamed,” he said after a moment. “Careful.”

  They drove for hours. In midafternoon, they switched positions and Bryan skimmed through Shade’s discarded paper. By mutual consent, they left the freeway and began to travel over back roads. The pattern became sporadic conversations and long silences. It was early evening when they crossed the border into Idaho.

  “Skiing and potatoes,” Bryan commented. “That’s all I can think of when I think of Idaho.” With a shiver, she rolled up her window. Summer came slower in the north, especially when the sun was low. She gazed out the glass at the deepening twilight.

  Sheep, hundreds of them, in what seemed like miles of gray or white bundles, were grazing lazily on the tough grass that bordered the road. She was a woman of the city, of freeways and office buildings. It might’ve surprised Shade to know she’d never been this far north, nor this far east except by plane.

  The acres of placid sheep fascinated her. She was reaching for her camera when Shade swore and hit the brakes. Bryan landed on the floor with a plop.

  “What was that for?”

  He saw at a glance that she wasn’t hurt, not even annoyed, but simply curious. He didn’t bother to apologize. “Damn sheep in the road.”

  Bryan hauled herself up and looked out the windshield. There were three of them lined unconcernedly across the road, nearly head to tail. One of them turned its head and glanced up at the van, then looked away again.

  “They look like they’re waiting for a bus,” she decided, then grabbed Shade’s wrist before he could lean on the horn. “No, wait a minute. I’ve never touched one.”

  Before Shade could comment, she was out of the van and walking toward them. One of them shied a few inches away as she approached, but for the most part, the sheep couldn’t have cared less. Shade’s annoyance began to fade as she leaned over and touched one. He thought another woman might look the same as she stroked a sable at a furrier. Pleased, tentative and oddly sexual. And the light was good. Taking his camera, he selected a filter.

  “How do they feel?”

  “Soft—not as soft as I’d thought. Alive. Nothing like a lamb’s-wool coat.” Still bent over, one hand on the sheep, Bryan looked up. It surprised her to be facing a camera. “What’s that for?”

  “Discovery.” He’d already taken two shots, but he wanted more. “Discovery has a lot to do with summer. How do they smell?”

  Intrigued, Bryan leaned closer to the sheep. He framed her when her face was all but buried in the wool. “Like sheep,” she said with a laugh, and straightened. “Want to play with the sheep and I’ll take your picture?”

  “Maybe next time.”

  She looked as if she belonged there, on the long deserted road surrounded by stretches of empty land, and it puzzled him. He’d thought she set well in L.A., in the center of the glitz and illusions.

  “Something wrong?” She knew he was thinking of her, only of her, when he looked at her like that. She wished she could’ve taken it a step further, yet was oddly relieved that she couldn’t.

  “You acclimate well.”

  Her smile was hesitant. “It’s simpler that way. I told you I don’t like complications.”

  He turned back to the truck, deciding he was thinking about her too much. “Let’s see if we can get these sheep to move.”

  “But, Shade, you can’t just leave them on the side of the road.” She jogged back to the van. “They’ll wander right back out. They might get run over.”

  He gave her a look that said he clearly wasn’t interested. “What do you expect me to do? Round ’em up?”

  “The least we can do is get them back over the fence.” As if he’d agreed wholeheartedly, Bryan turned around and started back to the sheep. As he watched, she reached down, hauled one up and nearly toppled over. The other two bleated and scattered.

  “Heavier than they look,” she managed, and began to stagger toward the fence strung along the shoulder of the road while the sheep she carried bleated, kicked and struggled. It wasn’t easy, but after a test of wills and brute strength, she dropped the sheep over the fence. With one hand, she swiped at the sweat on her forehead as she turned to scowl at Shade. “Well, are you going to help or not?”

  He’d enjoyed the show, but he didn’t smile as he leaned against the van. “They’ll probably find the hole in the fence again and be back on the road in ten minutes.”

  “Maybe they will,” Bryan said between her teeth as she headed for the second sheep. “But I’ll have done what should be done.”

  “Idealist,” he said again.

  With her hands on her hips, she whirled around. “Cynic.”

  “As long as we understand each other.” Shade straightened. “I’ll give you a hand.”

  The others weren’t as easily duped as the first. It took Shade several exhausting minutes to catch number two, with Bryan running herd. Twice he lost his concentration and his quarry because her sudden husky laughter distracted him.

  “Two down and one to go,” he announced as he set the sheep free in the pasture.

  “But this one looks stubborn.” From opposite sides of the road, the rescuers and the rescuee studied each other. “Shifty eyes,” Bryan murmured. “I think he’s the leader.”

  “She.”

  “Whatever. Look, just be nonchalant. You walk around that side, I’ll walk around this side. When we have her in the middle, wham!”

  Shade sent her a cautious look. “Wham?”

  “Just follow my lead.” Tucking her thumbs in her back pockets, she strolled across the road, whistling.

  “Bryan, you’re trying to outthink a sheep.”

  She sent him a bland look over her shoulder. “Maybe between the two of us we can manage to.”

  He wasn’t at all sure she was joking. His first urge was to simply get back in the van and wait until she’d finished making a fool of herself. Then again, they’d already wasted enough time. Shade circled around to the left as Bryan moved to the right. The sheep eyed them both, swiveling her head from side to side.

  “Now!” Bryan shouted, and dived.

  Without giving himself the chance to consider the absurdity, Shade lunged from the other side. The sheep danced delicately away. Momentum carrying them both, Shade and Bryan collided, then rolled together onto the soft shoulder of the road. Shade felt the rush of air as they slammed into each other, and the soft give of her body as they tumbled together.

  With the breath knocked out of her, Bryan lay on her back, half under Shade. His body was very hard and very male. She might not have had her wind, but Bryan had her wit. She knew if they stayed like this, things were going to get complicated. Drawing in air, she stared up into his face just above her.

  His look was contemplative, considering and not altogether friendly. He wouldn’t be a friendly lover, that she knew instinctively. It was in his eyes—those dark, deepset eyes. He was definitely a man to avoid having a personal involvement with. He’d overwhelm quickly, completely, and there’d be no turning back. She had to remind herself that she preferred easy relationships, as her heart started a strong, steady rhythm.

  “Missed,” she managed to say, but didn’t try to move away.

  “Yeah.” She had a stunning face, all sharp angles and soft skin. Shade could nearly convince himself that his interest in it was purely professional. She’d photograph wonderfully from any angle, in any light. He could make her look like a queen or a peasant, but she’d always look like a woman a man
would want. The lazy sexuality he could sense in her would come across in the photograph.

  Just looking at her, he could plot half a dozen settings he’d like to shoot her in. And he could think of dozens of ways he’d like to make love to her. Here was first, on the cool grass along the roadside with the sun setting behind them and no sound.

  She saw the decision in his eyes, saw it in time to avoid the outcome. But she didn’t. She had only to shift away, only to protest with one word or a negative movement. But she didn’t. Her mind told her to, arguing with an urge that was unarguably physical. Later, Bryan would wonder why she hadn’t listened. Now, with the air growing cool and the sky darkening, she wanted the experience. She couldn’t admit that she wanted him.

  When he lowered his mouth to hers, there wasn’t any of the light experimentation of the first time. Now he knew her and wanted the full impact of her passion. Their mouths met greedily, as if each one were racing the other to delirium.

  Her body heated so quickly that the grass seemed to shimmer like ice beneath her. She wondered it didn’t melt. It was a jolt that left her bewildered. With a small sound in her throat, Bryan reached for more. His fingers were in her hair, tangled in the restriction of her braid as if he didn’t choose, or didn’t dare, to touch her yet. She moved under him, not in retreat but in advance. Hold me, she seemed to demand. Give me more. But he continued to make love only to her mouth. Devastatingly.

  She could hear the breeze; it tickled through the grass beside her ear and taunted her. He’d give sparingly of himself. She could feel it in the tenseness of his body. He’d hold back. While his mouth stripped away her defenses, one by one, he held himself apart. Frustrated, Bryan ran her hands up his back. She’d seduce.

  Shade wasn’t used to the pressure to give, to the desire to. She drew from him a need for merging he’d thought he’d beaten down years before. There seemed to be no pretenses in her—her mouth was warm and eager, tasting of generosity. Her body was soft and agile, tempting. Her scent drifted around him, sexual, uncomplicated. When she said his name, there seemed to be no hidden meaning. For the first time in too long for him to remember, he wanted to give, unheedingly, boundlessly.

  He held himself back. Pretenses, he knew, could be well hidden. But he was losing to her. Even though Shade was fully aware of it, he couldn’t stop it. She drew and drew from him, with a simplicity that couldn’t be blocked. He might’ve sworn against it, cursed her, cursed himself, but his mind was beginning to swim. His body was throbbing.

  They both felt the ground tremble, but it didn’t occur to either of them that it was anything but their own passion. They heard the noise, the rumble, growing louder and louder, and each thought it was inside his or her own head. Then the wind rocketed by them and the truck driver gave one long, rude blast of the horn. It was enough to jolt them back to sanity. Feeling real panic for the first time, Bryan scrambled to her feet.

  “We’d better take care of that sheep and get going.” She swore at the breathiness of her own voice and wrapped her arms protectively around herself. There was a chill in the air, she thought desperately. That was all. “It’s nearly dark.”

  Shade hadn’t realized how deep the twilight had become. He’d lost track of his surroundings—something he never allowed to happen. He’d forgotten that they were on the side of the road, rolling in the grass like a couple of brainless teenagers. He felt the lick of anger, but stemmed it. He’d nearly lost control once. He wouldn’t lose it now.

  She caught the sheep on the other side of the road, where it grazed, certain that both humans had lost interest. It bleated in surprised protest as she scooped it up. Swearing under his breath, Shade stalked over and grabbed the sheep from her before Bryan could take another tumble. He dumped it unceremoniously in the pasture.

  “Satisfied now?” he demanded.

  She could see the anger in him, no matter how tightly he reined it in. Her own bubbled. She’d had her share of frustrations as well. Her body was pulsing, her legs were unsteady. Temper helped her to forget them.

  “No,” she tossed back. “And neither are you. It seems to me that should prove to both of us that we’d better keep a nice, clean distance.”

  He grabbed her arm as she started to swing past. “I didn’t force you into anything, Bryan.”

  “Nor I you,” she reminded him. “I’m responsible for my own actions, Shade.” She glanced down at the hand that was curled around her arm. “And my own mistakes. If you like to shift blame, it’s your prerogative.”

  His fingers tightened on her arm, briefly, but long enough for her eyes to widen in surprise at the strength and the depth of his anger. No, she wasn’t used to wild swings of mood in herself or to causing them in others.

  Slowly, and with obvious effort, Shade loosened his grip. She’d hit it right on the mark. He couldn’t argue with honesty.

  “No,” he said a great deal more calmly. “I’ll take my share, Bryan. It’ll be easier on both of us if we agree to that nice, clean distance.”

  She nodded, steadier. Her lips curved into a slight smile. “Okay.” Lighten up, she warned herself, for everyone’s sake. “It’d have been easier from the beginning if you’d been fat and ugly.”

  He’d grinned before he’d realized it. “You, too.”

  “Well, since I don’t suppose either of us is willing to do anything about that particular problem, we just have to work around it. Agreed?” She held out her hand.

  “Agreed.”

  Their hands joined. A mistake. Neither of them had recovered from the jolt to their systems. The contact, however casual, only served to accentuate it. Bryan linked her hands behind her back. Shade dipped his into his pockets.

  “Well…” Bryan began, with no idea where to go.

  “Let’s find a diner before we head into camp. Tomorrow’s going to start early.”

  She wrinkled her nose at that but started toward her side of the truck. “I’m starving,” she announced, and pretended she was in control by propping her feet on the dash. “Think we’ll find something decent to eat soon, or should I fortify myself with a candy bar?”

  “There’s a town about ten miles down this road.” Shade turned on the ignition. His hand was steady, he told himself. Or nearly. “Bound to be a restaurant of some kind. Probably serve great lamb chops.”

  Bryan looked at the sheep grazing beside them, then sent Shade a narrowed-eyed glance. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Yeah, and it’ll keep your mind off your stomach until we eat.”

  They bumped back onto the road and drove in silence. They’d made it over a hump, but each of them knew there’d be mountains yet to struggle over. Steep, rocky mountains.

  Chapter 4

  Bryan recorded vacationers floating like corks in the Great Salt Lake. When the shot called for it, she used a long or a wide-angle lens to bring in some unusual part of the landscape. But for the most part, Bryan concentrated on the people.

  In the salt flats to the west, Shade framed race car enthusiasts. He angled for the speed, the dust, the grit. More often than not, the people included in his pictures would be anonymous, blurred, shadowy. He wanted only the essence.

  Trips to large cities and through tidy suburbs used up rolls of film. There were summer gardens, hot, sweaty traffic jams, young girls in thin dresses, shirtless men, and babies in strollers being pushed along sidewalks and in shopping malls.

  Their route through Idaho and Utah had been winding, but steady. Neither was displeased with the pace or the subjects. For a time, after the turbulent detour on the country road in Idaho, Bryan and Shade worked side by side in relative harmony. They concentrated on their own subjects, but they did little as a team.

  They’d already taken hundreds of pictures, a fraction of which would be printed and still a smaller fraction published. Once it occurred to Bryan that the pictures they’d taken far outnumbered the words they’d spoken to each other.

  They drove together up to eight hours a day, s
topping along the way whenever it was necessary or desirable to work. And they worked as much as they drove. Out of each twenty-four hours, they were together an average of twenty. But they grew no closer. It was something either of them might have accomplished with the ease of a friendly gesture or a few casual words. It was something both of them avoided.

  Bryan learned it was possible to keep an almost obsessive emotional distance from someone while sharing a limited space. She also learned a limited space made it very difficult to ignore what Shade had once termed chemistry. To balance the two, Bryan kept her conversations light and brief and almost exclusively centered on the assignment. She asked no more questions. Shade volunteered no more information.

  By the time they crossed the border into Arizona, at the end of the first week, she was already finding it an uncomfortable way to work.

  It was hot. The sun was merciless. The van’s air-conditioning helped, but just looking out at the endless desert and faded sage made the mouth dry. Bryan had an enormous paper cup filled with soda and ice. Shade drank bottled iced tea as he drove.

  She estimated that they hadn’t exchanged a word for fifty-seven miles. Nor had they spoken much that morning when they’d set up to shoot, each in separate territory, at Glen Canyon in Utah. Bryan might be pleased with the study she’d done of the cars lined up at the park’s entrance, but she was growing weary of their unspoken agreement of segregation.

  The magazine had hired them as a team, she reminded herself. Each of them would take individual pictures, naturally, but there had to be some communication if the photo essay were to have any cohesion. There had to be some blending if the final result was the success both of them wanted. Compromise, she remembered with a sigh. They’d forgotten the operative word.

  Bryan thought she knew Shade well enough at this point to be certain he’d never make the first move. He was perfectly capable of driving thousands of miles around the country without saying her name more than once a day. As in, Pass the salt, Bryan.