Ryan's Return, page 7
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.
But thankfully her mind took over. Kara backed up, but there was nowhere to go; she was already against the wall.
"Kara?"
When Ryan looked into her eyes, she couldn't look away. Damn. She didn't need physical attraction, not now, not with this man.
"What? What did you say?" she asked again, trying desperately to remember what they were talking about.
"I said, I'll consider it." Ryan lifted his hand to her face. Kara thought he was going to touch her. She tensed, not sure what to do if he did. But Ryan's hand barely grazed her hair, and when he pulled it away, she saw a white thread caught between his fingers.
"Thanks," she said somewhat breathlessly.
"My pleasure. I couldn't let it spoil the picture."
"You weren't taking my picture."
"I'd like to. You have great -- bones."
For some reason she didn't think bones was his first choice. Kara cleared her throat. "You can photograph me at the centennial if you like."
He grinned. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did. So, are you going to see Andrew or Jonas tonight?"
The connection between them broke with her words. Ryan took a step backward. Kara breathed easier.
"No." He walked over to the dresser and shut a drawer that was halfway open.
"You'll have to see them sometime. It's a small town."
"They'll be at the dinner tomorrow."
"But it's such a public place. It might be awkward for you."
He turned to face her. "At least my father can't kill me in front of witnesses."
"What did you do that was so terrible, Ryan?"
His eyes narrowed. "Hasn't Andrew told you?"
"No."
Ryan tilted his head. "I thought you two were close."
"We are."
"But he doesn't confide in you?"
"Not many men do." Kara regretted that statement the moment it left her mouth, but it was too late to retract it.
"Why not?"
"Forget it." Kara headed toward the door. "There's chicken pot pie for dinner. Fifteen minutes, all right?"
"Andrew isn't coming, is he?"
"I did invite him."
"What was his answer?"
"He'd starve before he broke bread with a bastard like you."
Ryan smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "So my brother thinks I'm a bastard. What do you think?"
"I don't know. Are you?"
"Maybe you should spend time with me, find out for yourself."
Kara looked at him for a long moment. His challenging smile almost made her say yes. But she reminded herself that Ryan was a troublemaker, and she was not about to help him stir up trouble.
"You're nothing like your brother," she said thoughtfully. "Maybe a little like Jonas, though."
"God forbid."
"Of course, I don't remember your mother. What was she like?"
Ryan's face paled. Kara didn't think he'd answer her question. Andrew refused to even talk about his mother, but Ryan surprised her once again.
"She was pretty," Ryan said slowly. "She had dark brown hair, so long it almost touched her waist, and a smile so bright you couldn't help but smile back. She couldn't stand next to me without touching my hair or giving me a kiss on the cheek. She used to drive my father crazy. He wasn't a toucher." Ryan's voice hardened.
"She sounds nice."
"She was better than nice. I used to think she was magic. I remember one day I went out in the garden and I saw a butterfly land on her outstretched fingers. It was as if she were a part of nature or something."
"That's beautiful."
"But she flew away just like that butterfly." Ryan's voice held regret.
"Where did she go?"
"No one knows. Maybe back to New Orleans where she grew up. I haven't been able to find her."
"And you've looked, haven't you?"
"In just about every corner of the world."
"You're a dreamer. I didn't expect that."
Ryan shook his head as his defenses kicked in. "No. I'm a realist. I gave up on dreams a long time ago."
Kara saw vulnerability in his eyes and a deep-rooted sadness that touched her in a way that was familiar, as if he shared her feelings of abandonment and loss. She had been a little girl when her parents divorced. Ryan had been a young boy when his mother left.
She told herself that she had the same connection with Andrew, that he, too, had lost his mother. But she and Andrew had never discussed their childhoods, never shared that part of themselves.
"Aunt Josephine told me your mother had a beautiful voice," Kara said. "That she used to sing in the choir, and her solos would bring the church to absolute and utter silence. Far more effective than any sermon."
"She could sing, all right. Her whole family was musical. In fact, my saxophone originally belonged to my maternal grandfather. My mother never learned to play; she preferred to sing." Ryan paused. "I may not know where my mother went, but I do know why. Maybe someday I'll tell you."
Kara stiffened, once again struck by the belief that Ryan knew something that no one else knew. Something she might not want to hear. And it would be disloyal of her to even consider listening to Ryan. If she needed answers about anything, Andrew should be the one to provide them. He was the man in her life, the one who would still be here next week when Ryan left, when the centennial was over, when life returned to normal.
"You know, Ryan, I didn't realize when I invited you here that there were so many bad feelings. I knew you were a rebel, but I honestly thought the stories were exaggerated. I didn't realize the resentment went so deep."
"Surely Andrew told you how much he hates me?"
"No, he didn't tell me. Because frankly, Ryan, Andrew doesn't talk about you at all, and neither does your father. I read about you at the library. That's where I got the idea to invite you. When I tentatively mentioned your name to Andrew one day, he just said the two of you didn't get along. But you're brothers, and I guess I thought that deep down, no matter what had come between you, you could resolve your differences and be a family again."
He looked at her in astonishment. "Now who's the dreamer?"
"Okay, so I have a tendency to believe the best about people. It's a bad habit, and I'm trying to break it." She tilted her head to one side. "You'd think I would have learned by now. I've certainly had a lot of people disappoint me."
"So have I." He sent her a pointed look. "It's not too late for me to go, Kara. I can leave tonight."
"No." The answer burst out of her before she could even consider the consequences.
"Are you sure?"
Their eyes met. Her heart quickened.
"The people in this town need you, Ryan."
"They don't need me."
"They do. They just don't know it yet."
He shook his head. "No matter what the press release says, I'm a photographer, Kara, not a hero. Don't try to make me into one."
Chapter Six
"Ryan Hunter is not a hero. He's a murderer," Margaret Woodrich declared, her statement bringing utter silence to the centennial committee meeting. There were more than thirty people present in the high school auditorium, with the committee members seated at the head table and the rest of the townsfolk in folding chairs.
The meeting had barely begun. In fact, Kara had had difficulty bringing the group to order. Even with repeated strokes of her gavel, Kara had only gotten the attention of a couple of people.
But this woman, this plain, sharp, homely woman, had done what Kara could not: She had silenced the crowd. Because Margaret Woodrich was Becky Lee Woodrich's mother, and it was doubtful that anyone in town disliked Ryan Hunter more than she did.
Now that the group was silent, Margaret looked nervous. She held her black leather purse against her waist like a shield and rocked back and forth. She didn't seem to know what to say next, glancing down at her companions for help.
Beverly Appleborne sat on one side of her. As the wife of the town's only doctor, Beverly was the closest thing Serenity Springs had to a queen. Jeremy Woodrich, Margaret's husband, sat on the other side, a brooding man who ran the local bookstore, a man who hadn't spoken much since his one and only daughter had died.
Kara cleared her throat. She couldn't allow Margaret to take over the meeting. She couldn't let these people, no matter how deep their pain, destroy the centennial. She had already sent out press releases announcing Ryan's involvement. Reservations and bookings for the dinner had increased by fifty percent since Ryan had accepted her invitation to come home.
Because he had been interviewed several times on talk shows across the country, and because his last collection of photos had made the best-seller list, Ryan was even better known than Kara had realized.
She'd been expecting flak from Margaret Woodrich and some of the others in town ever since she'd told the committee Ryan had accepted her invitation. But apparently neither Mrs. Woodrich nor Mrs. Appleborne had really thought he'd come, because they hadn't said anything until now. Now that it was too late.
"The centennial committee has already approved the plans for tomorrow night's dinner," Kara declared, refusing to look at the other committee members, who also seemed to be avoiding her eyes. She sought out Andrew in the audience, but he was picking lint off the sleeve of his shirt. No support there.
"You had no right," Beverly Appleborne declared, rising to her feet. "This issue should have been discussed publicly before an invitation was offered. I realize you're an outsider, so perhaps you don't understand the ramifications."
Kara inwardly cringed at the word "outsider." She had been fighting that tag for six months. Her only saving grace was that she'd been born in Serenity Springs, thereby giving her an edge on those who had moved to the town when they were grown. But not everyone had accepted her, and certainly not everyone agreed with her progressive ideas.
In the face of such animosity, a part of her wanted to back down, the way she had done so many times with her husband and her parents and anyone else who had intimidated her.
Who did she think she was kidding, pretending to be a civic leader when she was trembling with nerves and feeling as if she was about to throw up?
"Ryan Hunter killed Becky Lee Woodrich," Beverly added, seizing the moment. "The man should be hanged, not celebrated."
The accusation was so stark, so horrifying, and so blatantly untrue that Kara forgot her nerves. She had no idea of all the things Ryan Hunter had done in the past, but she did know that he was not the man driving the car that took Becky Lee's life.
