Ryan's Return (5 page)

"Not anymore."

"He didn't want to leave the big city?"

"You could say that."

"What on earth do you see in this godforsaken town?" Ryan leaned forward. His voice took on a harsh tone. His eyes darkened, and his face tightened with tension.

"I like it here," she said quietly.

"But there's nothing here."

"Maybe that's why I like it. Not all of us need to spend every second of our lives trying to get somewhere other than where we are. Not all of us have to grab the brass ring on the carousel. Some of us just like to go around and enjoy the ride."

"Meaning me?"

"Actually I was talking about my ex-husband, but if the shoe fits..."

"It doesn't. And I hate being compared to other people."

Kara realized that her innocent statement had touched a nerve, obviously a painful one. "I'm sorry."

"Forget it." He sat back in his chair. "So, how's business?"

Kara relaxed, relieved by the change in subject. "Pretty good in the spring and summer, nonexistent in the fall and winter, but we're hoping to change that with the Centennial Celebration."

"I have to say I'm surprised at the timing. February usually means rain, hardly the best time to use the river."

"But that's the point. There are still wonderful recreational opportunities here in the winter. In fact, up-river the rafting is spectacular right now. The fishing is good, too. We can't afford to have tourists just in the summer. We need them all year round if we want to grow."

"I'm surprised the town is interested in growing. When I lived here, there was a single-minded approach to keeping things exactly the way they'd always been."

Kara sighed. "There are still a few of those people left. I'm hoping to win them over."

"One of them being Jonas Hunter, I presume, and number two being my brother, Andrew."

"Andrew is being open-minded."

"Now, that surprises me. Andrew never picked a side until he knew where the apples would fall."

Kara rested her arms on the table. She liked having something solid under her hands. It made her feel secure, not that Ryan was threatening her. He wasn't even flirting with her anymore, although she had a feeling his charm could be overwhelming when put to use. He was just sitting there staring at her, and it was the intensity of his regard that unnerved her, as if he knew something about her, something about them all.

"Why did you invite me?" Ryan asked abruptly.

"I want you to photograph the centennial activities and send the photos out to be published in one of the magazines that features your work." She looked straight into his eyes when she answered his question, having learned after a lifetime of mistakes that the only way to get what she wanted was to ask for it.

Ryan started to laugh. "Good God. You have a lot of nerve. And honest as hell, aren't you?"

"You asked me why. I told you."

"Do you realize there are people living in this town who hate my guts?"

"Yes."

"How did you get them to agree?"

"I didn't tell them until after I sent the invitation. Frankly most of them didn't believe you'd come."

"I'll bet they didn't. I hope you know what you're doing."

"What I'm doing is trying to revitalize this town."

"You're fighting a losing battle."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Ryan looked down at his glass, seemingly absorbed in the color of the liquid. "How's my father?"

"Jonas? He's ..." Kara searched for the right words. "He's older."

Ryan raised his head. "We all are. Is that the best you can do?"

She tipped her head. "Why don't you go see him?"

"I will eventually. Do you know Andrew?"

"Yes. Andrew and I are very good friends, as are our children." Kara stood up, walked over to the counter, and rinsed her glass in the sink.

Ryan didn't say anything for a moment. "You're involved with my brother?" He sounded disappointed.

"Yes."

"And Andrew let you invite me to the party?"

Kara turned to face him. "I make my own decisions."

"I hope you can live with them." Ryan stood up. "I'll get my bag out of the car."

"Do you need help?"

"No, I like to travel light -- a couple pairs of pants, a few shirts, my cameras, and my saxophone."

She raised one eyebrow. "You brought a saxophone with you?"

"It goes everywhere with me."

"Why?"

"Because it's more reliable than a woman."

"But not as warm, I'll bet. Or do you use it as a tool for seduction? The every-woman-wants-a-musician fantasy?"

He grinned back at her. "You mean that would work?"

"On some women, maybe."

"On you?"

"Definitely not."

'Too bad. Actually I don't play for anyone, especially not women."

"I see. Just you and your horn."

Ryan laughed out loud, and Kara couldn't help but blush. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"You don't have red hair for nothing, do you?" He paused. "See, I'd rather have a saxophone than a woman, because my horn doesn't ask questions. It doesn't want to talk at three in the morning. It doesn't want to discuss my hopes and dreams and plans for the future, and most of all it doesn't ask for commitment."

"No wonder you're not married."

"No wonder," he agreed.

"You're in room three, up the stairs to the right," she said briskly, deciding it was past time to change the subject. "The room is all ready for you."

"I'll get my stuff."

Kara let out a breath of relief when Ryan left. The room was ready for Ryan, but she obviously wasn't. What a piece of work he was -- he had probably broken more than a few hearts with his love 'em and leave 'em philosophy.

Thank goodness he was leaving on Sunday. Andrew was right. Ryan Hunter was nothing but trouble.

Andrew Hunter took the paper out of his printer, scanned the article, and abruptly crumpled it in one hand, then tossed it in the trash basket. He couldn't concentrate on work knowing that Ryan had arrived in town, that his younger brother was probably sitting at Kara's kitchen table feeding her lies about the past.

He hated the thought of Ryan getting anywhere near Kara. But there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Andrew leaned back in his chair and glanced around the newsroom. He usually took comfort in his surroundings, the furniture that hadn't changed in twelve years, the water cooler that was always empty, the telephones that rarely rang, and the photos on the wall of his father and grandfather and great-grandfather, each with his own special edition of The Sentinel, headlining the biggest story of his generation.

There had always been a Hunter at the helm of The Sentinel. Jonas's grandfather had started the paper at the turn of the century, and the tradition had been passed on through the generations down to Andrew. Only he didn't have his photo on the wall. He didn't have his story, not yet. Sometimes he wondered if it would ever happen.

He was thirty-six years old and still playing Jimmy Olsen to his father's Perry White. They didn't have a dashing Clark Kent or a wily Lois Lane, just sixty-year-old Louise Johnson, who wrote the society page; fifteen-year-old Howard Philips, who got school credit for covering sports at the high school; and a college kid who was building his portfolio by taking photos for the paper. Andrew wrote most of the other articles and sold advertising, but his father kept the editorial page for himself and refused to discuss their financial status, thereby effectively keeping Andrew in the number two position.

Their news came off the AP wire and from the gossip counter at Nellie's Diner. There was never much local news -- at least not until now. The Centennial Celebration was creating a big problem for his father. It was the biggest thing to happen to Serenity Springs in the last hundred years, but his father refused to publicize it. Jonas thought Kara was trying to ruin the town, change it into a suburb instead of the wild and rural river town it was meant to be.

Now that Jonas knew Ryan was coming back, he was fit to be tied.

There had been a time in Andrew's life, many times actually, when he had desperately wanted his father's attention on him and him only, times when Andrew had wanted Ryan to screw up in his father's eyes. He had dreamed of those moments, never expecting that one day he would get exactly what he wished for.

But now his brother was back.

Jonas walked into the office. He tossed the paper down on Andrew's desk. "What the hell is that?" he demanded.

Andrew glanced down at the article on Thursday night's banquet. "It's an article on the centennial kick-off."

"His name wasn't in the version I approved."

"I rewrote it." Andrew looked up at his father, seeing anger and tension written in every line of his body.

Jonas was a big, strong man. He had intimidated Andrew every day of his life. The years had not been good to Jonas, drawing more lines in his craggy face, adding more gray to his hair and beard. But he had never lost his ability to make grown men cower.

"Damn you."

Andrew stiffened under the attack. "You can't pretend he's not coming back. In fact, he's back. Will gave him a speeding ticket right outside of town about two hours ago."

Jonas allowed himself a small smile at that piece of news. "Already in trouble. Doesn't surprise me."

"Or me."

Jonas sat down at his desk. He focused his attention on a stack of papers, but Andrew didn't think his father's mind was on circulation figures or advertising. It was on his youngest son. Always had been. Always would be. It didn't seem fair that Ryan could disappear for twelve years, come back, and once again be the center of attention.

Suddenly fed up, Andrew shoved back his chair. "I'm going home."

"It's not five yet." Jonas tipped his head toward the clock on the wall.

"So dock me for twenty minutes."

"What's your problem?"

"Nothing. I'm fine. I'm great. I'm on top of the world," Andrew said.

"He always could get to you."

"Not this time." Andrew shook his head. "I don't care that Ryan's home. I don't care that he wants to play the hometown hero when we both know he's a little shit. I just don't care. That's why I put his name in the story. It doesn't make any difference to me. And it shouldn't make any difference to you either." He grabbed his coat off the rack and shrugged it over his shoulders. "By the way, the National Weather Service is predicting three to four inches of rain by Saturday night. You might want to make sure your boat is securely tied down. The river is already high."

"She can handle it," Jonas replied, always referring to the boat as a woman.

"I hope so. I'd hate to see her flood in the middle of the Centennial Celebration."

"Might be a good thing. We don't need all those outsiders in our town. We don't need their slick money or their city ways, corrupting our young folk. Which reminds me, I saw Billy with that Delaney girl down by the river. I don't know what they were doing, but they were up to no good, I'm sure of it. If I were you, I'd put a stop to that friendship right here and now. And while you're at it, you should break things off with her mother. I don't know what you're thinking -- getting involved with Kara Delaney. She's against everything we stand for."

"Angel is a good kid, and Kara is a very nice woman. She loves this town as much as you do."

"That will be the day. You mark my words. Those two females are trouble. And Billy is -- well, you know."

"Know what?"

"He's a little slow sometimes."

"He is not," Andrew said angrily.

"Well, he doesn't need anyone putting ideas in his head. It's history repeating itself. Becky Lee taking you down to the river, now Angel taking Billy."

"It's not the same thing. Angel and Billy are eleven years old. Becky Lee and I were grown up."

"But she got you into a hell of a lot of trouble. Just like Eve teasing Adam with the apple. Sometimes a man has gotta say no. Now, are you going to tell Billy to stop seeing her?"

Andrew smiled bitterly. "No, Father. I'm not. See, I can say no." With that he walked out the door, letting it slam behind him just so he could hear his father swear. Billy and Angel were nothing like him and Becky Lee. It was a completely different situation. Billy was a good kid. He wouldn't do anything stupid. At least Andrew hoped he wouldn't. But half of Billy's genes were Becky Lee's -- the other half he wasn't so sure about.

Not that it mattered. He was Billy's father. Nothing would ever change that.

"My father has a watch like that," Angel announced from the doorway to Ryan's room. She pointed to the gold Rolex he had just placed on the dresser.

"Don't you knock?" Ryan asked, buttoning up his denim shirt.

"The door was halfway open." Angel pushed it the rest of the way open and walked inside. "My dad's rich." She scooted onto the end of his bed and sat cross-legged, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. "Are you rich, too?"

"Yeah, I'm loaded," Ryan said. "Got more money than the queen of England." He ran a comb through his hair as he looked in the mirror.

Angel regarded him thoughtfully. Ryan stared back at her. She had the most expressive face of anyone he had ever met. He could photograph her from three different angles and never come up with the same shot. Her eyes were a deep, dark brown, her skin as clear as an airbrushed photo. Her nose was straight and pert, her lips full, her teeth still finding their way in her mouth. She had a look of Kara, something in the tilt of her chin, the direct, unflinching gaze. But the rest of her belonged to someone else. He wondered who.

Angel answered his unspoken question.

"My dad's in the CIA," she said.

Ryan raised an eyebrow as he met her glance in the mirror. "Excuse me?"

"He works undercover, foreign countries, mercenaries, wars, you know the routine. He has to travel a lot. But he always sends me these incredible postcards from exotic places like Hong Kong and Barbados."

Ryan walked over to the bed and began to unpack his overnight bag. He didn't believe a word she was saying, but he had to give her credit for having a vivid imagination.

"My dad wears these great hats," Angel added. "He has one that makes him look like Sherlock Holmes and mother one that makes him look like a fisherman. It even has hooks on the side. They're disguises so no one will recognize him."

"I guess that's important if you're a spy," Ryan said, pulling a Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap out of his hag and putting it on his head. "Think anyone will recognize me with this on?"

Angel smiled. "Not if you grow a beard to go with it."

Ryan rubbed his clean-shaved chin. "Mm-mm, that's an idea. Not." He tossed her the cap, and she put it on her head backward. "Tell me more about your dad."

"He's really brave," she said. "Once he saved this old lady. It was in one of those bazaars -- in Cairo, I think, these two bad guys tried to steal the old lady's bag of fruit. My dad ran after them and grabbed one by the neck." Angel's eyes grew wide as she told her tale. "But the man struggled free, and when he turned around, he pulled out a long silver blade with a jeweled handle. My dad said it glistened in the sunlight, so bright it almost blinded him."

Ryan sent her a long look. "What happened next?"

"My dad put up his hands, and they started to dance around each other." Angel got off the bed and began to demonstrate the moves. "Everyone came into a circle around them. All the chattering stopped. My dad said the place was as silent as a tomb. Then the man raised his arm. He rushed forward. My dad grabbed his arm and pulled it behind his back. The knife clattered against the cobblestones."

Ryan sat down on the bed. "What happened to the other guy? I thought there were two."

"There were. He had run on ahead, but when he saw his partner was in trouble, he came back. He grabbed my dad around the neck and started to strangle him. My dad said his hands were so big and so strong thai he couldn't get in even a whisper of air. Then the other man came at him. He picked up his knife off the ground and started walking toward my dad, really slow, one step at a time. Like this."

Angel took slow, lingering steps toward Ryan, her hand held up as if she had a knife in it. "My dad said he saw his life flash before his eyes. He knew he was going to die. But he wouldn't give up without a fight. When the man got this close..." Angel looked into Ryan's eyes from six inches away. "My dad kicked him in the nuts with his foot."

Ryan winced. "Ouch."

"The man screamed like a girl and fell to the ground. Then my dad sent his elbow into the gut of the other man. He doubled over in pain. My dad whirled around and knocked the man out with one quick blow to the head. The crowd went wild, cheering him on. My dad picked up the old lady's bag of fruit and handed it to her. She started to cry. Then she got down on her knees and kissed his feet. She was so grateful to have her bag of fruit. Otherwise she and her children would have gone to bed hungry that night." Angel sighed as she sat down on the bed next to Ryan. "I wish I could have seen it."

"So do I," Ryan murmured.

"Angel?" Kara's voice came up the stairs. "Where are you?"

Angel flung a guilty look at the open door. "I better go. The puppies are giving Mom a hard time." Angel ran to the door, then paused. "Oh, you might not want to tell Mom that story. She gets a little upset when she hears it."

"I'll bet."

Kara appeared in the doorway, looking flustered and harried. "The puppies are chewing the rug," she announced. "I still can't believe you dumped those dogs on me," she said to Ryan.

He held up his hands. "Wasn't me. Blame Father Miles."

"I'll get the puppies," Angel replied. "Don't worry, Mom. It will be okay."

Kara watched her daughter skip out of the room. "Oh, to be eleven again and believe that everything will be okay." She paused. "Do you need anything?"

"No. This room is nice. It smells like a garden. How did you manage that in the middle of winter?"

"Potpourri." She smiled somewhat self-consciously. "Sometimes I have a heavy hand."

"I like it. Everything fits together perfectly." Ryan waved his hand around, acknowledging the matching wallpaper, bedspread, and carpet. "You're quite the homemaker, aren't you?"

Kara sighed. Even though he hadn't said the word with a sneer like her ex-husband, it still rankled. So she liked to clean and cook and hang curtains. So what?

"What did I say?" Ryan asked, a perceptive gleam in his eye.

"Nothing. I'm proud of the way the Gatehouse has turned out. I want it to feel like a home, warm and welcoming, a safe haven. A place where people can find peace."

"Including you?"

"Maybe." He saw too much. She should have expected that. As a photographer he was used to studying people.

Kara walked past his prying eyes and pulled the curtains back. "Did you notice the lovely view of the river?"

"That I could live without." Ryan picked up his empty overnight bag off the bed and stashed it in the closet.

"You don't like the river?" she asked with surprise.

"I hate it."

'Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe because Andrew loves it so much."

"And you both can't love the same thing?"

"No, we definitely can't love the same thing -- or the same person." Ryan's gaze traveled down her body, then back up again. "What are you all dressed up for?"

Kara self-consciously smoothed down the sides of her winter-white woolen skirt. "We're having one last committee meeting tonight before the centennial officially kicks off. Will you think about taking photos, please? It would mean a lot."

Ryan walked over to her. He stopped too close, his hard, athletic body just inches away. Kara could see a shadow of a beard along his jawline, the tiny laugh lines that creased the skin around his eyes. She could smell his after-shave, and the heavenly scent of musk made her sway slightly, as if her body knew where home was, even if her mind didn't.