Finding The One (Meadowview Heroes 1; The Meadowview Series 5) (10 page)

Trudy shook her head and her hands in simultaneous action. “No…” she said, her voice pitched high.

Realization hit him like a cannonball to the belly. Trudy wasn’t laughing at him—she was crying.

“Oh hell, Trudy.” He’d been an ass. An ass so wrapped up in his own insecurities he couldn’t even tell he’d hurt her. But how? What had he said?

In one smooth movement, Mac left the couch to come over to where she sat. He cradled her against his chest and swayed back and forth, keeping time to a beat that existed only in his mind. Bending his neck, he nuzzled hers. “I don’t know what’s going on in that beautiful and brilliant head of yours, but I’m pretty sure it has to do with something more than a difference in opinion about art.”

Her shoulders shook again. “It’s what you said…how photographs can show the truth about someone. I hate that.”

“But why? I developed those photos I took of you in that first Warrior Woman pose. They were brilliant.
You
were brilliant. Amazing. The power I saw in you the first time I set eyes on you was clear—I could see you in those photos. I could really
see
you. Why would you hate that?”

She waggled her head back and forth and he could feel the wetness of tears leaching through the chambray of his shirt to his chest. Whatever ate her up inside wouldn’t relent. And he needed to make it better. Needed to make
her
better.

“Trudy,” he said softly, “I did come here to apologize, yeah, but also to ask you for another do-over. To convince you to stay as my model for the Warrior Woman series. I want to see you through my camera lenses. I want to see images of you emerge onto paper in my darkroom.” He hesitated briefly, then added with a smile, “And to see if maybe, even though we’d be working together, we could try dating again.”

Trudy lifted her head up and chuckled. “Is that what you’re calling the other night? A
date
?”

He laughed, then kissed her neck, drinking in the sensation of the softness of her skin, how she smelled of the warm spring air, sunshine and jasmine. He fought the urge to bury his lips in her clavicle. To run his tongue up her pulsing carotid artery. To twist her around and take her mouth with his.

“How many do-overs were you planning to request?” she asked before he could answer her question, laughter in her voice but a tremor from crying still evident.

“Last one. I promise. You can answer me about being my muse later, but for now, will you please tell me how I’ve reduced you to tears?”

* * *

T
he myriad
of emotions Mac kept churning up in her had been throwing Trudy off guard since the night at the art gallery. Her body was drawn to his like a magnet to metal. And somewhere along the way she’d seen a glimpse of who he was—or at least, who she thought he might be. One of the good guys. She needed to come clean. Explain why she hated photographers so much. She owed him that.

“Look,” she said, placing her her hands on his shoulders and pushing him back far enough away so she could look him in the eyes. She sucked in a deep breath and prepared herself to tell him the truth, difficult and painful as it was to recount. “A few years ago I was hired to model nude for an artist. Shouldn’t have been a big deal—I model nude for artists often. But this guy…he ended up putting those photos online, without my consent, and…”

Mac shook his head, obviously puzzled. “And what?”

“Are you on social media much?”

“A little. Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr. Not Pinterest, though.” He mock shuddered. “Why?”

She grimaced. “That was the first modeling job I’d taken after experiencing several abdominal surgeries.”

“I noticed yesterday. Did your client not like that your tummy has scars on it? I thought they added dimension.”

“No, that wasn’t it. I’d gained a lot of weight after the surgeries, and when he put the photos of me online, people started commenting. Images of me went around the cyber-sphere with the tag, Tubster Trudy. I was humiliated.”

Tubster Trudy… The name didn’t ring any bells, but then again, he didn’t give much attention to other people’s cruelty. “Had to be tough.”

“I was trying to come to terms with the fact that because my body had changed so much. I’d lost my career as a high-fashion model. Clients didn’t care about the scars, but they did care about the fact I’d gained almost thirty pounds. I couldn’t walk the runway anymore. And then when the online comments started, and when people started calling me Tubster Trudy behind my back, I caved. Lost my self-esteem. Started to believe them that I was, oh, I don’t know…useless. Fat. Ugly.”

Mac pulled back, fury covering his face like a dark veil. “Don’t ever say that. You’re beautiful. Amazing. Strong.”

“Awww, that’s so sweet. You’re like Sir Galahad,” she said, teasing, trying to lighten up the situation that had gone too dark. When his eyes lit up with sparkles, she continued. “So you can see why I’m a bit at odds against anyone wielding a camera. Especially when someone’s photographing me naked.” She poked a finger at Mac’s chest.

He rubbed his forehead. “I get it. And I’m sorry. Sorry some bonehead had to go and do something that would harm your career. Harm
you
. But I honestly had no idea, Trudy, when I took those pictures. I was just amazed at how you’d captured the image I had in my mind. Amazed to see my Warrior Woman standing in front of me.”

“Why didn’t you confirmed we were good before I stepped up on that dais?” she asked, studying his face.

He swallowed, then raised his chin in a quick motion. “I should have. In my defense, I
had
asked Doe to bring you to my office first. But we had some miscommunication—Aaron had been up the night before and she was exhausted, and I sometimes forget she just turned eighteen. She wanted to work for me and Dad, wanted to make a contribution.” His face softened. “Being a mother to my nephew is contribution enough, but I had to respect her desire to provide something.”

When he reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, she quivered, then said, “It’s okay, really. I mean, mistakes happen, and in no way am I mad at Doe. I hope she knows that. I can’t tell with her.”

“She’s more prickly than a passel of porcupines, but she uses those prickles to cover up a major soft spot.”

Trudy knew what that was like. Not the prickly part, but needing to hide the soft spot. That part of herself that was still a lost child, bouncing around from foster family to foster family, clinging to Milla like a bur on a cat’s back. Constantly informed they were moving on. Never wanted enough to be part of a forever family. Always rejected.

“Look,” he added quickly. “I’m serious about starting over again. I’d like to try again. I need get on the right foot here, Trudy. Can you give me some help?”

She stood then, and paced the length of her living room, coming to hitch a hip against the windowsill of the wide, open window that looked out over the animal sanctuary below. A grassy field spread wide, blossoming apple trees white against the green backdrop. Serene. Unlike how she felt now. In a rush of breath, she said, “I still don’t think I can model for you.”

“You’re my muse, you know.” His voice held steady, but rose a notch. The smallest of inflections, but enough to tell her he’d exposed part of his soft underbelly. “I’m officially offering you the full three-year contract.”

She had bills to pay—lots and lots of them—and modeling for Mac would get her solvent again. But one of the images from a social media site—the one of her naked form riding a gigantic slice of bacon like it was a flying carpet and the slogan,
Don’t eat and drive like Tubster Trudy
, flashed into her mind.

Bile filled her throat, but she managed to get the words out. “The contract stated no images of me would be released to the public without my permission…except for the actual showing of the art. I was fine with that when I thought the image of me would be in bronze or marble or even wood, but with your art, what would go out to the public would be an actual photo. It will be clear the nude woman would be me. I apologize, Mac, but I need out of the contract.”

Silence met her statement, and when she turned around, Mac was frowning at a spot on the floor. “The contract is already with my lawyer,” he said quietly, “but I’ll get him to draw up a nullification, okay?”

She smiled, but Mac didn’t look at her. “I am sorry, you know,” she said quietly.

A beat passed, then two, before he spoke again. “Okay, then. I acquiesce. No modeling. But what about the other thing?”

“Dating, you mean?”

Mac finally looked up, a naughty smile now on his face. “Either that, or we could start with sex—let me prove to you I don’t suck in bed as much as you may think.”

She snorted but couldn’t help but to smile. “So that’s what this is all about? Soothing your male ego?”

Mac’s cocky grin lessened. “Nah, but I’d love the chance to prove I can make you see butterflies and glitter. And prove to you the other night wasn’t your fault.”

When she hesitated, he stood, then came forward to where she leaned against the window frame and placed his hands on her hips. She allowed him to rock her pelvis forward, gently, nearly imperceptibly, until their hip bones met, then held. A breeze danced through the open window, teasing Mac’s hair and sending his scent wafting over her. Leather, bay rum, and springtime.

She bit the inside of her lip.

Mac bent his head and placed his lips on hers, nudging her mouth open to allow his tongue to enter. His lips were inviting, his tongue warm and wet and oh so very soft. Oh yeah, he was more than hot. Smoldering, really. Trudy shuddered and succumbed, kissing him back with abandon until she had to drag her lips from his to suck in a ragged breath.

She tucked her head against Mac’s chest, palming his muscled pectorals. That kiss, his scent, the way his very heat aroused her—it all had to mean something. Her body wouldn’t have responded so viscerally if there wasn’t something deeper between them.

Trudy allowed her breath to calm, and then, with deliberation, laid out her terms. “We can start with a date. One date. And see where things go from there.”

“Okay,” Mac murmured into her hair, pulling her tighter.

She’d give him that one date. But as much as she believed him that the mistaken identity had been unintentional, he
still
should have made sure before snapping those photos. And she had just the opportunity for a little playful payback. She grinned as she said, “In that case, pick me up here, at five o’clock, on Saturday.”

His breath ruffled against her ear, triggering tingles and sparks of flame. “I don’t get to pick the date.”

“Um…I have something I’ve already committed to. But you can join me.”

“I’m fine with that. What is it we’re doing?”

Squirming, she glanced up at him and said, “I know I should tell you, but I’m afraid you’ll back out.”

He raised his brows. “Hmm…is this a test of some kind?”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I suppose you could call it that.”

“Then don’t tell me,” he said quickly. “Keep it a surprise. I’ll pass your test, and with flying colors. But what do I get if I pass?” He grinned, wide and bright-eyed and with hints of naughtiness in the sparkle in his eyes.

She snorted. “You’re not seriously trying to bet getting me into bed now, are you?”

He didn’t answer. Just kept grinning.

And the topsy-turvy rollercoaster in her tummy told her she hoped that’s
exactly
where his mind had gone.

G
rey and orange
filled the sky as the sun set over the suburbs just outside Sacramento. Mac cupped Trudy’s elbow in the palm of his hand, as they made their way up the walk to her sister’s home. A bottle of old vine zinfandel lay tucked in the crook of his arm. When he’d picked up Trudy earlier, she’d informed him that their date would consist of the two of them spending the evening with her sister’s family. He’d been surprised, but pleased, too. Although his time with Milla had been brief the other night, he’d enjoyed Trudy’s sister’s company. He could go for a family night in.

From what he could tell, it was only Trudy and Milla and Milla’s brood—which consisted of a couple of kids and a husband. No parents, no other siblings. His family wasn’t extensive—neither of his parents had siblings and all his grandparents had passed on a few years back—but he couldn’t imagine not having Doe or his father, as remote as his dad could be. His mother had been there constantly for him and Doe until the cancer took her. Family meant something to him, and he was touched and a little nervous that Trudy wanted him to get to know hers.

He cast a glance at Trudy, appreciating the red and black sundress with the tie at her side—a dress designed to be easily removed. A Diane von Furstenberg, he assumed. Several years as a fashion photographer in New York had given him an eye for design, something his sister ribbed him about, but the skill had proven handy over the years. Like knowing how to get a woman out of her dress. Although he’d failed pretty miserably with the dress Trudy had worn the night at the gallery.

He shoved that thought out of his head. This was a new beginning, and tonight, if things went the way he thought Trudy wanted them to go, he’d have another chance at undressing Trudy. He hoped.

Next to him, Trudy tripped on an uneven brick on her sister’s walkway. He held her steady against him, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. Funny how the aroma reminded him of a garden. So sweet. So sexy.

“We’re here,” Trudy said as they reached the front door, her voice small.

“Everything okay?” he asked. Her sudden reticence conflicted with her typical self-assured attitude. Meeting her family seemed like quite a large step for a first date. Usually meeting a woman’s family meant a relationship was brewing. Could Trudy be regretting her decision to bring him to dinner tonight?

Trudy nodded, and he transferred the bottle of wine to his other arm and knocked hard on the white paneled door, which swung open under his fist.

High pitched squeals and screams greeted them.

“It’s open!” Milla’s voice overpowered the screams. Trudy shrank behind his back, as if he were her personal bodyguard. Mac opened the door and stepped inside the cool and airy foyer, propelling a cowering Trudy forward.

“So much for my warrior woman,” he teased.

She flashed him a grin, but one that still held a bit of apprehension.

Another shriek rendered the air. Apparently the start of World War Three had commenced, judging from the wails and sobs coming from the interior of the house. Some relaxed family evening. No worries—Mac was used to Aaron’s meltdowns. This felt like home. Although maybe a tad bit louder.
Someone
sure knew how to shriek. He tightened his grip on Trudy’s hand. Driving up, the cozy suburban home on a tree-lined street in the outskirts of Sacramento had appeared well-kempt and serene, with no hint of the auditory chaos now welcoming them.

Milla came charging around the corner, barefoot, and slid to a stop in front of them, wobbling a little. “Thank God, the cavalry’s arrived.”

“The cavalry?” Mac repeated.

Milla grabbed his arm to steady herself as she slid on a pair of brown and pink polka-dotted sneakers. “That’s what Jarrod and I always call the babysitters.”

“Babysitters?”

Milla stopped shoving a swollen foot into the shoe and stared up at him, then looked hard at Trudy. Her grip on his arm tightened. “You mean Chicken Little here didn’t tell you?” Milla asked, her brows forming a dark line across her forehead as she glared at her sister, who’d ducked her head and was now hiding a grin behind a curtain of long red hair.

“Tell me what?”

“Trudy’s plans for this evening.”

Mac shook his head, realization dawning. He turned to Trudy. “We’re the
babysitters
?”

Trudy nodded and looked up, her eyes shining bright.

He lowered his head until their eyes were at the same level and glowered. “Gertrude T. Prendergast, this is not the evening you led me to believe it would be,” he whispered.

“You said you didn’t want to know,” Trudy whispered back, still grinning like a fool.

True. He squeezed her hand and added, “I’ll still win the bet. And you know what that means…”

A thrill zipped through him when Trudy sucked in a quick breath and her eyes went wide and sparkly. Oh, yeah, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Thank god he’d remembered to buy a mega-box of condoms, several of which were in his wallet.

“Anyway, I’m glad to see you again,” Milla added, pulling him into a warm embrace “Even if Gertrude kept her agenda from you.”

Over Milla’s shoulder, Mac raised his eyebrows at Trudy.

“Don’t even try calling me Gertrude,” she said, defiantly. “Only Milla gets away with that.”

“TABITHA!” A high-pitched wail split the air.

Milla groaned, dropped her arms from around Mac’s shoulders and slapped a hand to her forehead. “Sorry about the nuclear meltdown.”

“What are we in for here?” Mac drawled.

Milla rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. Apparently Betsy learned how to use scissors today.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Dare I ask?”

“You’ll see for yourself soon enough. Hurry up, True.” Milla grabbed Trudy’s hand and tugged her forward. “I know you’d rather have a tooth pulled without Novocain, but you did offer to babysit, so get your butt in here.”

He shuffled to the side to let Trudy go by. His foot hit something small and wheeled, sending him crashing against the wall.

“What the…?” He braced himself while watching miniature car careened down the foyer.

“Sorry,” Milla apologized, waving a hand airily and waddling ahead. “Jarrod’s tired of me having only girls, so he got out his collection of Matchbox cars. He thought he could interest Betsy, but she thinks he’s an idiot. I’ve been finding those wheeled nemeses all over the house.”

Trudy poked him from behind, nudging him forward. With some trepidation, Mac walked forward into the great room, stepping into what he could only describe as a suburban nightmare.

A screaming three-year-old sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, holding a shock of hair in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. He could only assume this was Betsy. And the reason for her screaming he could only assume came from the freshly shorn doll cradled in her lap.

“Ta-a-a-bitha,” Betsy repeated between sobs.

Milla stepped over her daughter and flopped herself down on the couch. With her feet, she shoved a pile of laundry off the cushions next to her and onto the floor, motioning to Mac and Trudy to sit. Mac tugged Trudy’s arm, carefully picking his way through the maze of swingy-seats, chew toys (of the non-dog variety), and dolls (total carnage—most were naked and some beheaded).

“Mac,” Milla said, pointing to the man bent at the knees in front of Betsy, attempting to console the inconsolable kid, “this is my husband and eternal saint, Jarrod.”

Milla’s husband smiled at Mac and opened his mouth to speak, but Betsy let out another wail, silencing her father. Instead of shaking hands, Jarrod gave Mac a silent smile and shrug. Mac tilted his head in acknowledgement. Helping Doe raise Aaron in his home had given him more than a passing compassion. These people needed a night out.

As he and Trudy joined Milla on the couch, a baby monitor on the coffee table emitted sounds of crying, higher pitched and soft with sleep. Huh
.
How many kids did these people have?

“Trudy, hon,” Milla said, waving in their direction. “The twins are up. Could you go get them for me? They need changing, and I don’t want to risk getting pee on my going-out-to-dinner outfit.”

“Uh…now?” Beside him, Trudy sunk deep into the couch.

When Mac turned to her, surprise shot through him. He thought he’d been overwhelmed walking into Milla and Jarrod’s home, but Trudy appeared shell-shocked. Her slack jaw and dull eyes told him she was way in over her head.

He leaned in close, his eyes twinkling. “Babysit much?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

She stared straight ahead with a glazed over expression and shook her head. “No…I get a little nervous around kids and babies. That was one of the reasons I invited you along. You seem to do well with Aaron.”

Now that was downright cute. She’d needed his help. He patted her knee and stood. “I’ll get the twins. You see if you can get the little one to stop feeling so bad about scalping her doll. Milla,” he said, turning his attention to Trudy’s sister. “Why don’t you and Jarrod take off now? Enjoy your night. We’ll be fine here.”

“Are you sure?” Milla asked. Jarrod came to standing, Betsy still sobbing at his feet.

“Absolutely. No problem.” Mac grinned. “I’ll change the twins, and when I come back, Betsy and I are going to talk about how jealous her other dolls are of Tabitha’s rockin’ hair cut. Good job, Betsy.”

Betsy stopped carrying on and stared at him, her eyes as large and brown as chocolate coins. She gave a shuddering sigh, then opened her mouth wide and closed her eyes, a scream about to escape.

“Uh…let’s not encourage her,” Jarrod said under his breath. “You know, with the whole—” He made snipping motions with his hands in the air.

“Don’t worry.” Mac kneeled down next to Betsy, careful not to look straight at her but instead looked at her doll. “You know, I used to be a fashion photographer. I took pictures of cool models, like in the magazines. I have a one of my cameras out in the car.” Betsy closed her mouth. “How about after I change your sisters’ diapers we have us a fashion shoot? Tabitha can be the star.”

Betsy worked to hold back tears, her little body jolted by repressed sobs.

“She’s your most special doll, isn’t she?” he asked. When Betsy nodded, Mac continued. “Well, then, we have to make sure none of the other dolls ever get a haircut. That would make Tabitha less special. She wouldn’t be the cool fashion doll anymore.”

Mac held his breath while Betsy stared at him. In slow motion, she handed Mac first the scissors, and then the lock of shorn hair. Then she smiled.

Next to him, Trudy let out an audible gasp. He caught her impressed expression, then grinning, she held her hand up and slapped him a high five.

Milla scooped up her daughter and kissed her belly. “Okay, pumpkin, you be good for Aunt Trudy and her friend Mac. The two of them will take good care of you and your sisters.”

Betsy squirmed out of her mother’s arms. “Bye-bye Mommy.” She reached for Mac’s hand. “Mac, can we start the fashion shoot now?”

Milla burst out laughing. “Looks like you’ll do just fine. Call my cell if you need anything,” she threw over her shoulder as she and Jarrod walked to the doorway. There, Milla turned back. “And please wake the baby in an hour. I don’t want her to nap too late or she’ll never get to sleep tonight.”

Mac pivoted to face Trudy.
Baby
? he mouthed.

Trudy shrugged and grinned even wider before calling out to her sister, “We won’t forget!” before waving goodbye.

When Milla stepped outside and shut the door, Mac leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. “Trudy, how many kids does your sister have, anyway?”

She didn’t reply, but gave him a rueful smile and waggled her fingers in the air.

Four
. There were four children to take care of tonight. This was not going to be the homey family meal he’d thought. Nope, he knew how evenings with kids went. The home cooked meal would be macaroni and cheese out of a box. The wine—grape juice. Conversations about politics, culture, and art would be substituted for repeated readings of
Goodnight Moon
.

No worries—he loved mac and cheese and knew
Goodnight Moon
by heart.

Fun times were about to begin. If Trudy thought this was a test, he’d pass with flying colors. He just needed a moment to gather his energy. He’d need it tonight.