No One Like You (13 page)

She sat on a bench before a display of black-and-white photographs and ate a basket of chili-cheese fries. Sipped an orange soda. The Before and After photos fascinated her. The photographer had chosen weather as his medium. Tsunamis, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, blizzards, and more. The three-scene sequences transitioned from normality to disaster. Seamlessly.

One tragic print of Atlantic City made her swallow hard. Here was a witness to Hurricane Sandy. The photo struck home. The October progression started far left with a stretch of boardwalk and beach in filtered sunshine. Advancing, a sweep of stormy skies, high winds, and surging waves darkened the middle panel. The right side revealed the aftermath. A toppled Ferris wheel and lost storefronts. A man sat on his roof with his head in his hands. People waded through standing water. It was heartbreaking.

Beth finished her snack, tossed the paper basket and soda can in a trash receptacle, then moved closer to the display. Disaster and depression surrounded her. A stand of smaller unframed photos caught her eye. Most were eighteen by twelve inches. She felt drawn to study each one.

She traced a glossy corner of the island of Leyte in the Philippines. Once forested and mountainous, it lay devastated in the wake of Typhoon Haiyan. In another, a lone farmhouse in North Dakota stood stark against a winter sky. Light snowfall whipped into blizzard. The smoke from the chimney disappeared in the white-out.

She thumbed further into the stack. The sixth photograph stopped her cold. She came face to face with her past, and it stared back hard. She felt disoriented, out of time, out of place. All noise on the boardwalk faded. She stood in silence, oblivious to the people around her.

The Statton wedding. The photograph came alive as she relived each moment. To the left, the sun sparkled on a fairytale tent, manicured lawn, and wedding party. Absolute perfection. Until the storm crashed the reception. Mother Nature glared at her from the middle section. Black sky, thunder, and lightning. No amount of old money could’ve kept the rain away. The sky opened, and it had poured.

She gazed right, to the final frame. To the screaming bride and sobbing bridesmaids. To the swearing groom and distressed guests.
To her
. Standing wet and weary near the wedding arch. Her hands covered her face. Her linen summer suit had lost its style and sheen. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.

She was grateful that no one would recognize her, unless they knew her well. She’d changed since that day. Physically and mentally. She’d cut her hair, lost weight, and no longer hung her head. She’d moved on.

Her initial urge was to place the photo at the back of the stack. To hide it. Yet a different part of her wanted to buy it. On the off chance it would sell to someone else.

She slid her fingers nervously around the edges. Her eyes rounded. How had she missed the famous photographer’s name at the bottom of the photo? Gerald deVasi. She’d hired the man for the videos and stills of the wedding. She never imagined that he would take the worst day of her life and smear it on film. She was disheartened.

She held the photo between her finger and thumb, careful not to crush the corner. She looked over the crowd, trying to locate the man. She couldn’t find him . . .

He found her. “Elizabeth Avery?” Gerald called to her as he cut through the crowd. He was a hard man to miss with his prematurely white hair, pleated tuxedo shirt, and black pants. Reaching her, he touched her cheek. “Is it really you?

To acknowledge or deny? Everyone had a twin. Could she fool him? Doubtful. He was a photographer with a discerning eye. He’d also been her friend. Once upon a time.

“It’s been too long,” he said. “I’d heard you left Maryland. Are you living in Barefoot William now? Does your family know you’re here?”

She took a step back. He lowered his hand.

“Hello, Gerald.” She kept her voice even. Her life was private. No one knew her whereabouts. She planned to leave him and his questions in a matter of seconds—once he explained the photograph. She held up the wedding progression. “What’s with this? Why would you embarrass me? How dare you make money off my misery?”

His brow creased, but he showed no remorse. “It was a miserable day, wasn’t it?” he mused. “For both of us.”

“Who gave you permission to use the print?” She had to know.

“They’re not your negatives, Elizabeth,” he said firmly. “The photos belong to me. I never got paid. Not even for the video shoot before the storm.”

That made her feel bad. He’d deserved compensation. “Sorry about that, Gerald. You spent a lot of time working with a difficult bride.”

“Difficult?” he snorted. “You’re being nice. Nothing and no one pleased her. Her mother was the definition of rude.”

“I know . . .”

“I know you do.”

“Still, I hate to have you selling me at my worst.”

“It’s not about you, sweetie. I captured Mother Nature bitch-slapping the Stattons. That’s priceless.”

She glanced at the photo, then back to him. “How many prints did you make?”

“Just this one.”

“How much?”

“You want to buy it?”

“I don’t want anyone else to ever see it.”

“Not many people would know it was you.” He was sincere. “You’re in the background. Your hands are over your face.”

“But I know, Gerald.”

“You know what, Beth?” Rylan Cates came up behind her.

She said the first thing that came to mind. “That photography is an art, and Gerald is incredibly talented.” She hoped Ry would accept her answer.

He did. Rylan took a moment to scan several pictures. “You have an interesting style,” he said to Gerald. He glanced down at Beth’s hand. “Did you find a photo you wanted to buy?”

“Possibly.” She hesitated. “Depending on the price.”

Gerald eyed them curiously. He seemed interested in their relationship. Beth had no intention of clueing him in.

“Let me see the photo,” Ry requested.

Her hands began to sweat. Praying he would not recognize her, she placed her thumb over her face in the image and held up the print. Ry tilted his head and looked at it thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I understand what you see in the photo,” he commented. “Weather can be unpredictable. It ruined someone’s big day.”

That it had,
Beth thought. Both the bride’s and her own.

Rylan slipped his wallet from his back pocket before she could locate her checkbook in her handbag. She was hesitant to write a check. It had her old Maryland address on it. “Let me buy the photograph for you,” he offered. “A welcome to Barefoot William.”

She shook her head. “I can’t let you do that.”

“If not from me, would you accept a gift from Atlas?” His mention of the Great Dane made her smile.

“You make it hard for me to say no.”

“The big boy’s become attached to you. He’d want you to have the print,” Rylan insisted. He turned to Gerald. “What do I owe you?”

Gerald debated. Beth could almost hear his mind work. None of his photographs had a price tag. Some people appeared able to pay more than others. She figured Gerald priced them when he sold them. Had he recognized Rylan Cates? Everyone else on the boardwalk seemed to know him. If so, the price of the photo was about to go up. She refused to let that happen.

She took a chance and said, “You mentioned I was the first to take interest in this particular photo.” She hoped to devalue Gerald’s dollar.

“That you were,” Gerald replied honestly. He held her gaze until he came to his decision. “It’s worth five hundred dollars, but I’ll let it go for fifty.”

“Twenty,” Beth countered.

“Let’s split the difference. How about thirty-five?” Rylan paid the photographer.

Gerald took the print from Beth, slipped it into a protective cardboard envelope, and passed it to her. Instead of a hug, he squeezed her wrist. “I wish you sunshine.”

She understood. He hoped her rainy days were behind her. So did she.

Rylan took her hand and drew her into the crush of the crowd. It was a friendly gesture. The stream of people was never-ending. “Have you eaten?”

“Fries and a soda.”

“Did that fill you up?”

“I’ve room for cotton candy.” She grinned. “Maybe a funnel cake.” She pointed two storefronts down. “There’s a fudge shop ahead.”

“You’re making my stomach hurt.”

His heart was about to hurt, too, Beth realized, given the group walking their way. The foursome was hard to miss. Halo Todd, Landon Kane, and their dates. The men wore their Cates T-shirts and seemed at home on the boardwalk. The ladies hung on their arms. She pegged the blonde as Ava Vonn.

Face or avoid them?
That was the question.

Rylan had yet to see them. A fan had stopped him, requesting an autograph. His back was to the oncoming four.

Leave it to Halo to spot them. To flag them down. “Ry-man, Beth, are we having fun yet?”

R
ylan heard Halo shout for him. He’d barely finished signing his name on the shoulder of a young boy’s baseball jersey when Beth grabbed his hand once again. Her urgent squeeze warned him something was up. She rose on tiptoe, her words low and rushed. “Halo’s dating Ava Vonn.”

What the hell? Was she serious?
“You know this how?”

“He mentioned it this morning when he delivered the bench.”

“And you’re just telling me now?” A little warning would’ve been nice. He hated being the last one to know.

Her face was pale. Her eyes, a distressed gray. She squeezed his hand so tightly, he lost circulation in his little finger. “I wasn’t sure it was my place.”

“Trust me, this was worth sharing.” Still, he couldn’t fault her. She’d just started working for him. They’d yet to set boundaries. He didn’t want her feeling bad, so he suggested, “Tell Atlas next time. He loves to gossip.”

She managed a small smile. Eased off her toes.

He appreciated her concern, but she shouldn’t have worried. His older brothers had taught him to man up in any awkward situation. To take control.

His game face in place, he glanced down the boardwalk. Seeing Ava with Halo gave him a moment’s pause. It was unexpected, but not hurtful. It was what it was. He had escaped some serious scratches.

Beth’s intentions suddenly became clear. Halo’s haircut didn’t reflect team unity. It was all about the man’s hookup. Sticking up for Ry, she’d snipped Halo’s hair. Better than his balls.

Rylan moved beyond the foot traffic and found a place along the blue metallic railing that separated the boardwalk from the beach. He double-squeezed Beth’s hand, signaling that all was well. Or as good as it was going to get at the moment. She eased her grip, but only slightly.

Easygoing worked for him and he smiled to himself over their silent communication. She got him.

Ava Vonn did not. The lady was high maintenance. Her purple satin jumpsuit, sparkling jewelry, and stilettos proved his point. She was a peacock amid Florida casual.

Halo seemed inordinately glad to see him and Beth. He greeted Ry with a complicated fist-bump. Landon did the same. Ava couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Hello, Ava.” He played it straight. His greeting seemed to surprise her.

Halo, too. “You know each other?”

Ry nodded. “Ava interviewed for my assistant position.” It was important for him to clear the air. “I invited her to dinner when she didn’t get the job.”

Ava narrowed her gaze on him. Looking spiteful.

Her reaction meant little to him. He was most concerned about Halo. He had a season ahead with the right fielder. He didn’t believe in hiding the truth.

Halo turned to Ava, his expression puzzled. “You’ve dated Ry-man?”

Ava ran a long, lavender fingernail down Halo’s arm. “Just to show there were no hard feelings. We didn’t click.”

Halo frowned and questioned his date. “Who doesn’t get along with Ry?”

“Me, for one,” Ava said, more sharply than she may have intended.

“He’s a great guy,” Halo insisted. “You missed out.”

Ava shrugged a shoulder. “My loss.”

Rylan watched and listened to their exchange. Halo wasn’t pleased by her response. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Rylan had never expected his teammate to take his side. It was a surreal moment.

“You could do worse than Ry-man,” Halo told her.

Ava arched an eyebrow. “I’m debating that now.” Her comment was cutting. “You all look alike.”

“Same haircuts.” Halo winked at Beth. “We’re trending.” He went on to make the introductions. “Beth Avery, this is Ava Vonn.”

She pinned Beth with instant dislike.

Beth didn’t flinch. She was polite. “Nice to meet you.”

Ava’s lips pinched. “Or not.”

Landon nodded to his date. “Gia, meet Beth and Rylan Cates. Gia’s a friend of Ava’s. Ry’s a Rogue. Beth is his PA.”

Everyone now knew everyone else. Ry figured that was as far as it would go. The men might be tight since they were teammates. He didn’t foresee friendships forming among the women.

The throng thickened around them. Loud voices and laughter rose on the night air. Sunlight faded and pole lights came on at dusk. The nighttime entertainers emerged. Jugglers, magicians, and guitar players. Slow-moving stilt walkers, and unicyclists joined the Gallery Walk. Pedicab service stalled. The fringed rickshaws were swallowed in the crowd.

Beth hadn’t moved from his side. Clutching her photograph to her chest, her left shoulder brushed his chest, and her hip leaned against his thigh. Halo and Landon seemed interested in the sights. Ava and Gia were visibly bored. They wanted to go shopping. They would return in an hour or so they said. They left the group and strolled south toward Saunders Shores.

The Shores was as high-profile as Barefoot William was honky-tonk. Waterfront mansions welcomed the rich and retired. Yachts the size of cruise ships lined the waterways. Private airstrips replaced commercial travel. Forbes listed Saunders Shores as the wealthiest resort community in the country.

The designer stores and fine dining at the Shores contrasted sharply with the T-shirt shops and food carts of Ry’s hometown. He preferred his side of Center Street where people were carefree and down to earth. Life was lived at its own pace. Going barefoot was accepted. Vacationers never wore a watch.

He decided it was time to locate the Galler-E display. A local resident and admired talent, Evelyn Wells would have a prime spot. Chances were good she’d set up at the entrance to the pier. That was his destination. He squeezed Beth’s hand, made his move to leave. “We’re off.”

Halo wasn’t ready for them to go. He looked curiously from Ry to Beth. “You two together?” He was always blunt.

Ry was always honest. “We’re both attending the art event.”

Landon scrubbed his knuckles along his jaw. “Looks more like a date.”

“We’re here as friends.”

“Friends don’t hold hands,” Halo kept on.

“It’s crowded, and we got separated earlier,” Rylan patiently explained. “It took me a while to find her.”

Halo snorted. “Beth lost? Get real.”

“A hot babe stands out,” said Landon.

Beth shifted uneasily beside Ry. She didn’t take compliments well. The men had embarrassed her.

Ry stated the obvious. “She’s short.”

Halo wouldn’t let him off the hook. “I’d have seen her.”

Landon nodded. “Yeah, me, too.”

What’s with them?
Rylan wondered. Could they be more annoying? “Go find your women,” he suggested.

“We’ll let them find us,” said Landon.

“They’re not Beth. We want to spend time with her.”

Not time with
him,
Rylan realized, but with
her.

That didn’t set well. They both had dates. He had his PA. “You were headed north when you spotted us, and we were walking south,” he reminded them.

“Easy fix,” said Halo. “We’ll turn around.”

“Beth won’t mind if we tag along, will you, babe?” Landon asked her.

She sighed. “Can you behave?”

Halo looked down at his T-shirt. “We’re Cateses and can do no wrong.”

“That’s reassuring,” she muttered.

The guys dogged them, reminding Rylan of Atlas. Constantly on his heels. He’d wanted to spend time alone with Beth; to get to know her better. That had become impossible. Three Rogues together were a target for autographs and photos. Somehow Beth got pushed to the side. Once again he lost sight of her.

When he did locate her, he saw that Halo had taken her hand and was leading her toward the amusement arcade. He heard Landon ask if she played foosball. She never had. Land called her a foosball virgin.

Ry’s annoyance spiked. His baseball buddies were sucking all the fun out of his night. And he couldn’t make a big deal out of the situation or the men would assume he liked Beth, that he wanted her to be more than his assistant. He did not. Assumptions were a bitch. Then why did he feel left out?

Beth stopped the men at the Galler-E display. She slanted a glance over her shoulder and caught Rylan’s eye. He appreciated her consideration. He wanted to buy a painting. He caught up with them to seek her opinion.

Halo gravitated toward
Two Nudes,
an abstract of flesh tones, squares and ovals without physical form. He stood before the painting, tilting his head, trying to see more in the artwork than was actually there. Beth laughed at him.

Halo pulled a face. “I don’t get it.”

“Me, either,” said Landon. “I think that small circle in the corner is a boob.”

“I think not,” Beth disagreed. “Use your imagination. See the intimacy.”

Landon squinted. “They’re doing it?”

“Hot and heavy,” she told them.

Rylan listened to their exchange and smiled to himself. The guys were staring so intently at the painting, they missed the twinkle in her eyes. She was teasing them. They’d yet to catch on.

“The woman’s on top, right?” Landon sounded unsure. “The oval’s humping the square.”

“I see missionary,” said Halo.

“It’s Kama Sutra,” Beth said.

“More than one position?” Halo was amazed.

“They’re about to break the bed.”

It was then that Halo and Landon realized she had played them. They glared at her, then grinned. Devious grins that promised retribution.

Rylan liked her humor and how she fit in.

So did Halo. “You’re good, babe.”

“You had me going, too,” said Landon.

“Abstract art is a personal experience,” Beth told them. “We all see things differently.”

“I’m going to buy the painting and study it further.” Halo went to find the artist.

Landon went off on his own, viewing the mixed media of watercolors, acrylics, and pastels with a discerning eye. Rylan watched as his teammate paused before
City Park.
The painting portrayed a triangular-shaped face wearing mirrored sunglasses. A gray cloud floated as hair. The nose spread like a tree trunk. Tiny joggers formed the mouth. Skyscrapers were reflected in the lenses.

Weird,
Ry thought.

But Landon seemed to like it. A sleek woman dressed in a tunic and yoga pants joined him at the easel. She looked artsy. She pointed to the painting and made a comment, apparently speaking Greek, given Landon’s expression. He blew out a breath and concentrated harder.

Rylan turned to Beth. “Do you see anything you like?”

“I’m a fan of abstracts,” she told him. “Evelyn has quite a selection.”

Close to fifty acrylics, if he’d counted correctly. He followed Beth as she wandered from painting to painting, still hugging her photograph to her chest. The black and white photo seemed important to her. He hadn’t taken her for someone who liked washed-out weddings. Those pictured looked outraged. Bitter. Unforgiving of the weather. Not pleasant people to hang on her wall.

Evelyn Wells spotted him a moment later. She parted the waters to reach him, greeted him with a hug, then welcomed Beth warmly. Ry had always liked Evelyn. Flamboyant and close to seventy, she was a local talent with international patrons. She favored landscapes and intense colors. Her abstracts hung in private residences, business offices, Mediterranean villas, and a Scottish castle. She could’ve lived anywhere in the world, but she called Barefoot William home. The community considered her family.

She smiled when she said, “Beth called me. I have just the piece for you, Rylan. In fact, I painted it with you in mind. It’s at my gallery.” She hooked her arm through his, then nudged him to take Beth’s hand—which he’d planned to do, even without her encouragement. “A short walk on a gorgeous night.”

She spoke briefly to her assistant before they turned a corner and headed down the sidewalk. They soon ended up walking single file against the flow of people streaming toward the boardwalk. The Gallery Walk was well-received, attendance at an all-time high. His sister Shaye would be pleased.

Located two blocks from the beach on White Sands Way, Galler-E showcased struggling and emerging young artists. Several renowned watercolorists owed Evelyn their start. Open to the public, the most expensive pieces hung on cameo pink walls protected from the press of the crowd and the salt air. A hostess greeted patrons at the door.

An associate served iced glasses of sparkling water and trays of canapés. Rylan tried cream cheese and smoked salmon on a thin round of French bread. He finished it in two bites. Beth chose a cucumber finger sandwich with whipped Feta and sun-dried tomatoes. She ate it so slowly, Ry thought she’d never finish. The lady could savor. She flicked her tongue to the corner of her mouth, then swept her lower lip.

His blood surged. He had the strangest sensation of her licking him. His chest, his abdomen, lower. It was unnerving. His body tensed when she accepted a second canapé. He shifted his gaze away from her lips, yet the feeling lingered.

Culture and festivity met at the gallery. Paintings were walking out the door as fast as patrons could purchase them. It was a profitable night for Evelyn Wells.

A short time later, Evelyn directed them to a private room. Rylan let Beth pass ahead of him. He saw her eyes widen and her lips part when she spotted the large painting. It covered half the far wall. She was in awe. But then so was he.

The abstract had his name on it. He made the decision to buy it the moment he laid eyes on the piece. Evelyn invited them to sit on Queen Anne chairs placed at a proper distance before the powder blue seascape with curled waves and a spiral sun. A surfboard with a broken fin leaned against a weathered wooden fence.

“Azure.”
Evelyn told them the name of her painting. She then left the room, closing the door behind her.

Seated beside him, Beth released an appreciative breath. “Rylan, if you don’t buy this painting, I will.”