Finding The One (Meadowview Heroes 1; The Meadowview Series 5) (16 page)

“
N
o
,” Trudy said, sitting upright. “No photographs.” She eyed him warily, her voice strained.

Mac’s jaw clenched. He twisted the camera strap in his hand. Trudy still refused to see him for who he was—an artist. He wanted to photograph her but she wouldn’t let him near her with a camera. After she’d shared the pain of the Tubster Trudy event, he’d done all he could to respect her aversion to the camera. But the situation had to change. He couldn’t be worried every time he felt the urge to pull out one of his cameras.

And truthfully, he wanted to capture her on film.

He ran a hand through his hair and paced out his breath. Out of respect for Trudy, he should probably let the moment go. But a voice inside prodded at him. If Trudy would only allow herself to be photographed naked, then maybe she wouldn’t have such a gut reaction to the idea. Yeah, sure, she’d probably hate the idea, but he had to try, at least.

“This is who I am, Trudy. I’m a photographer. I live through these lenses.”

She shook her head. “I can’t risk being exposed again, Mac. The owners of Essentially Green put what they call a ‘morality’ clause in the contract. It specifically states I can be let go if nude pictures of me get out there again. They didn’t like the Tubster Trudy photo, but they agreed that was in the past. It’s the present—and the next five years—that they’re worried about.”

“You need to trust sometime. And I was hoping you’d trust me.” The words were simple, but true. He held his breath, waiting for Trudy to respond.

Trudy fixed her gaze on the blade of grass she worked nervously through her fingers. She seemed to take ages to raise her head. When she did, her green eyes stared right at him. “Will you give me the prints if you develop the photos?”

He resisted the smile forming inside him, and instead answered calmly. “The prints and the negatives. You can do whatever you want with them. And nothing will be digitalized. But I want to capture you, capture this moment on film. I want to see your expression come to life again under my hands, in the darkroom.”

Trudy kept her eyes on his. Then, in an almost imperceptible motion, she tipped her head, acquiescing.

Mac let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thank you,” he said. He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose and grabbed his camera. He fumbled, adjusting the f-stop and aperture, racing against the dying light. Dusk hadn’t yet hit, but once the sun tipped past the ridge in the distance, he’d lose the diffuse light that made Trudy glow from the inside. The radiance he sought to capture.

He found Trudy through the viewfinder and his heart stuttered. “You’re more than beautiful, you know,” he said. The light in her eyes glowed even brighter as he pressed the shutter repeatedly.

“Model for me,” he said.

She pulled back, her eyes lightly hooded.

“Like if you were working with an artist who was sketching you with pen and ink instead of using a camera. That day you inadvertently posed for me, you’d given me such an intense pose. I want to see you move. You know how to capture the light, how to form lines. Do that for me.”

She swallowed, then nodded.

He stood, adjusted the range, and snapped several full-length poses. Trudy lay with one arm cradling her head, one arm lazily draped over her breasts. She’d crossed one thigh over the other, modest but exuding sensuality.

“Great,” he murmured, deftly moving about her. “Give me more. Be my Warrior Woman.”

She moved for him then, shifting positions, holding poses, turning, standing, moving—channeling her inner warrior. He followed her, coming in close to catch her facial expressions, or backing off to capture her full frame against the backdrop of the willow trees. Long minutes passed, marked only by the snap of the camera and the growing chorus of crickets and frogs, greeting the evening.

The sun sank in the distance, dipping below the ridgeline. For a brief moment, posed at the edge of the pond, Trudy stood in silhouette against the blood-red dying day. He clicked the shutter and then lowered his camera.

A wave of exhaustion hit him. He felt spent, but not drained. Rather, the photography session had filled him with as much passion as sex with Trudy had earlier. The spent sensation came from being thoroughly satiated. He was replete.

Trudy picked her way through the meadow to snuggle in close to him. She pressed her naked body to his and quietly held him.

The world seemed to narrow. Sound and scent filled the air. Bumblebees, out finishing their day’s foray, buzzed heavily about, headed to the hive. Trudy’s hair smelled like fresh water, sex, and wildflowers. He breathed deep, attempting to imprint her scent on his brain. For the rest of his life, every time he smelled the pond he’d think of Trudy.

The thought startled him. He pulled back. He’d known Trudy for what, less than a month, and he was already planning on thinking about her for the rest of his life? He’d already told her he was seeing her exclusively, and truth be told, he had no desire whatsoever to see any other women. Ever. Why was he so locked into her? Why had he imagined her pregnant after her sister had given birth? When had she started to matter so much?

Realization sunk in as one last question formed in his mind.

When had he fallen in love with Trudy?

* * *

T
heir afternoon swim
had been followed by an evening meal on the patio, lit by candles and scented by blooming honeysuckle. Doe had taken Aaron to a friend’s and was spending the night there, so Trudy and Mac had the place to themselves. A fact Trudy was intent on making the most of.

Starting with getting Mac naked.

So far, so good—Mac had already divested her of her clothes and was undressing, although he seemed a little distracted.

“Mac?”

“Sorry,” he said, bringing his attention back to her and shucking his jeans. “I was remembering something. Remy left a message earlier. Told me to bring my girlfriend over for a barbeque later this week.”

“
Girlfriend
?” Oops—the word had popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. But yeah, she figured they were at that stage. With the exception of the the few nights she’d stayed at her place, she’d been in Mac’s bed most nights since the middle of April. But was that where she wanted things to be with Mac?

It took a moment, but she realized that the answer to her question was yes. She wanted to pursue things further. See what the future had to offer. Be his girlfriend. Only to do that, she needed to tell him she couldn’t bear children. The information was important at this stage in a relationship. She couldn’t keep it from him any longer. She had to tell him, even though that meant risking him walk away from her.

The bed bounced heavily beside her. Mac grabbed her in his arms and tumbled her onto the bed, his hands going wide.

Tickling. The man was
tickling
her. Goof. She let out sharp, staccato bursts of laughter, vainly attempting to ward off his nimble fingers.

His hands slowed. “Yep, girlfriend.”

“Are you okay with that term?” she asked, then added quickly, “Some guys aren’t.”

“It’s better than ‘bed buddy,’ which is how I’ve been referring to you. That, and ‘Queen of the Mattress.’”

She gaped at him. “You can’t be serious. Queen of the Mattress? Who did you tell that one to?”

Mac smacked her with a pillow. But lightly. “No one. You were looking too serious there. I wanted to lighten you up a bit.” He dropped the pillow to run a strong hand up her thigh.

Trudy forgot about the topic of discussion and closed her eyes, focusing on Mac’s hand. Bliss. Sheer and utter bliss.

He kept his gaze riveted to hers, a question on his brow. His hand returned to her thigh, continuing its course upward. She swallowed, hard, then sank her hands into his hair. A gentle tug was all it took to pull Mac up her body until he hovered over her. He bent and kissed her, open mouthed and hard. The trembling began.

She succumbed to his kiss, cradling his head in her hands, running shaky fingers over his brow, his cheeks, his jaw. And then her hands went wild, sliding over his sweat-slickened skin, grappling for a grip on his whipcord shoulders. She pitched her hips upward and he shuddered, igniting the fire in her belly even hotter.

“Oh, god, Trudy,” he groaned, then slid into her, stretching her, filling her—filling not only her body, but her mind, her heart, her soul. He held her tight, so no space existed between their bodies. The pounding beat grew harder, rougher, faster and Trudy went with it, melding with Mac until she no longer knew where she ended and Mac began.

She only knew she loved him.

Oh, god, she loved Mac.

The cry wrenched from her lips echoed his as each of them hit their peak at the same time. Mindless, and as one, they came back to earth slowly, as if one step at a time down a long spiraling staircase.

Mac rolled off her and rummaged around in his nightstand drawer. Satiated and still bowled over by how deeply he’d penetrated her heart, Trudy let out a deep and shuddering sigh.

A sigh that was interrupted by Mac shaking a box of glimmering dust over her.

“What are you doing?” She ran a finger through the iridescent sparkles now covering her breasts and belly.

“Glitter.” Mac grinned. “Just in case I didn’t make you come hard enough to see butterflies and glitter. Thought I’d supply my own.”

Trudy couldn't stop smiling. No wonder she’d fallen in love with him. Mac was one adorable, sexy, hellishly gorgeous hunk of a man. And goofy enough to pour glitter over her after sex. She sent a silent thank-you to whatever good fortune had brought her to Mac. She grinned, and, sleepily, closed her eyes, then opened them.

Now. She needed to tell Mac about the hysterectomy now. No more Chicken Little.

“Hey Trudy, you know what?”

She glanced up to see Mac hovering above her, wearing a gigantic grin. What she had to say was serious, but Mac looked like he still wanted to play. “Um…” she started, hesitated, then tried again. “So, uh, I need to talk to you about something.”

“It can wait.” He was still smiling.

She shifted, coming up onto her elbows. “Actually, I don’t think it should.” Now that she had her nerve up, she had to do this thing.

“We forgot the condom again,” he blurted out.

“What?”

“Protection. Birth control.” His face grew more excited. “Trudy, what if we just made a baby?”

Something felt as it if had grabbed hold of Trudy’s heart and squeezed. Her throat constricted. Not what she’d expected to hear. Not by far. She turned her head to the side. “We didn’t, trust me.”

Mac stroked the side of her cheek. “But what if we did? What if I got you pregnant?”

“I’m sure we didn’t,” she said behind gritted teeth.

“I’d be happy about it. Really. Sweetheart, I’m in love with you. I think I have been since the moment I saw you glare at that grape between your boobs. Being your boyfriend isn’t good enough. I think I want more. And if you were pregnant…well, that would be awesome. I’d love it.”

Whoa…wait. This couldn’t be happening. Too soon. Too fast. Tears seeped from Trudy’s eyes. How could Mac want to have a baby with her? He didn’t even
know
her.

M
ac plowed
his hands into his hair, gripping the strands tight. What the hell had he done to deserve Trudy walking out on him? He’d only been trying to reassure her that if they had made a baby, he’d be fine with becoming a father. Shit. He’d just confessed his love for her, practically told her he wanted to marry her. But she was leaving. And apparently for good. What the fuck?

In front of him, Trudy stumbled about his bedroom, pulling open drawers and rummaging through his closet, shoving clothing, makeup, and shoes into an overnight bag.

Trudy was leaving. Leaving
him
. He had to stop her. Had to figure out what the hell had just happened. Because nothing she’d said in the last five minutes made any sense. Not whatsoever.

“Would you please stop? Sit down for a minute?” He gestured to the bed. She ignored him. “Trudy, we need to talk.”

She grabbed a tortoiseshell comb off his nightstand and shoved it into the bag. “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s over.”

Like hell it is
. “Explain it again. Only this time, convince me. Because what you said earlier seems illogical. How could you want to stop seeing me because I
didn’t
panic when I thought I might have knocked you up? I thought that’s what a perfect gentleman does—reassures the woman he loves that he’ll always be there for her.”

Trudy hesitated, but still wouldn’t look at him. “Look, we want different things. You’re a family man. You like babies. It’s clear you’re finally ready to be a parent, to settle down. You’ve played the field for years, and your male biological clock is now ticking, and loudly, from what I can tell. But I’m not the answer, Mac.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth. Ideas in my head that aren’t even there,” he protested. “And you’re not really making sense. It’s like you’re—”

She cut him off. “I won’t ever be able to give you what you need, and I don’t want to waste either of our time on something that ultimately won’t work out.” She cast her gaze about the room, as if searching for any more remnants of herself that she could have left behind.

Like his fucking heart.

She’d ripped it out of his chest as quickly as she’d ripped her damned hairdryer out of the electrical outlet.

“I don’t believe you,” he stated baldly. “I’ve seen how you are with your sister’s kids, and with Aaron. Sure, you’re a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but you love those kids. Don’t give me this bull about not wanting to be a parent.”

He reached for Trudy but she twisted away from his touch. “You’re being a total butt about all this,” he added, knowing he sounded peevish but really the
fuck
not caring.

Trudy pulled her flaming red hair into a thick ponytail at the nape of her neck and wound a hair band through the mass. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t be nasty. That’s not my intent, but I can’t seem to make myself clear. You just aren’t hearing me.”

Mac rubbed his eyes, hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion. “I’m hearing you, Gertrude. It’s that I’m not understanding you.”

“I’m sorry, Mac,” she whispered. “I can’t ever be the woman you want me to be. I just don’t have it in me. I like,
literally
, don’t have it in me.” With shaking hands, she opened the door.

Trudy stood in the doorway, her body framed by the warm light softly radiating from the hallway. Seeing only her silhouette, he couldn’t see her facial expression, but he could read her body language.

Defeated. Her sagging shoulders and caved in spine spoke of defeat. He opened his mouth to speak, but Trudy had turned from him and was gone.

* * *

W
hen Mac walked
into the kitchen the next morning, he found Doe sitting on the countertop, cradling a bowl full of freshly-picked cherries in her lap. Cherry stained lips and fingertips told him she hadn’t been pitting the cherries for a pie. He thought about leaving, but Doe waved him forward.

“Want some?”

He shook his head. “Where’s Aaron?”

“Napping, thank god. He slept through the night at my friend’s house, though, so that’s good. Whatcha got there?”

He tossed a few eight by ten photographs of Trudy onto the kitchen countertop. He’d taken them from his darkroom earlier, needing to see her. To see if he could piece together why she’d up and left him from the photos he’d taken.

The bullshit he’d heard from her last night made little sense. Yes, he wanted a family. Never had given the idea much thought until Trudy came along, but last night, when he thought he could have gotten her pregnant, everything had fit into place. Until she went all ballistic on him and took off, claiming she couldn’t be the woman he wanted her to be. Who did she think he wanted?

He ran a hand over the back of his neck. The one thing he did know was that Trudy loved him. And yet she wanted to throw that love away.

“Where’s Trudy?” Doe asked.

“Gone.”

“Gone where?”

“
Gone
gone. As in, gone forever, gone for good.”

Doe sat up straight, scrabbling on the slick surface. “What? How’d you fuck up?”

“Language, Doe.” Mac squeezed his eyes shut. Yes, he definitely should have walked back out of the kitchen when he saw Doe munching on cherries. Now he was in for the Inquisition of the Twenty-first Century.

“You’re not the boss of me. So what happened?” Doe demanded. “Obviously you did something to chase her away. And here I was starting to get all fond of her and everything. She had a bit of a stick up her ass, but still…the way she played with Aaron always got me. Like she wanted to eat him up but was afraid he’d bite her first.” Doe popped a ripe cherry in her mouth.

He propped up his elbows on the countertop and leaned his chin on his hands. “Honestly? I don’t know what I did to chase her away. We had great sex, only I forgot the condom. So I told her I loved her.”

“And she ran out of the room?” She snorted. “Must have been some delivery. Maybe you need to work on your lines.”

“I also told her I’d be happy if we’d just made a baby. And that I’d like it if she got pregnant.
That’s
when she ran out of the room. Well,” he added, “after she located every stitch of clothing and tube of makeup she’d ever left behind.”

Doe drilled him a look. “One must admit, that’s a bit much, hearing a man tell you he wants to knock you up.”

He shook his head and opened his eyes. “She claims she doesn’t want kids. Or won’t have kids. Or can’t. I don’t remember. But I think she’s afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Not sure. Maybe of becoming her sister? Surrounded by children, changing diapers constantly, quitting her career—”

“But Milla’s super happy being a mom, and besides, you wouldn’t make Trudy quit modeling.”

He shook his head. “Of course not. She’s incredible at it. Just look.” He spread the photographs over the countertop, a rush of heat spreading through his stomach when he looked at the images of the woman he loved.

Doe wiped her hands on a dishtowel. She lifted the first photograph, one of Trudy gazing at him with love in her eyes, and held it to the light. “She’s looking at you here?” At his confirming nod, she whistled, then said, “Wow, Mac. That woman’s majorly in love with you.”

His lips tightened. “I know. I thought maybe if I framed that picture and sent it to her, she’d see how in love she is. Call me sappy, but it’s an incredible picture.”

Doe shuffled the pictures and then chuckled. “Whoops—maybe don’t want to send her this one.”

Puzzled, Mac craned his neck over Doe’s shoulder. Uh oh. One of the nude photographs of Trudy had slipped in the bunch. The one of her posing for
Warrior Woman in Victory
, on that first day she’d arrived at his home.

Doe continued to hold the photograph, examining it closely. She ran a finger over its surface, tracing a line across the silvery scars on Trudy’s belly. “Why did she say she didn’t want a family?” she asked, her voice thin and reedy.

Mac scratched his head. “She said something about how she couldn’t give me what I wanted. But maybe that was bullshit. Maybe she thinks she can’t risk losing her new contract. They made her sign some morality clause. Could be that’s it.”

Doe tapped the photograph with her finger, her lips pressed tight against her teeth. “Mac, for an artist, sometimes you amaze me with how you’re unable to see what’s in front of you.”

What the hell? Where had
that
come from?

She shuffled the pictures together and placed them back down on the counter, the photo of Trudy as Warrior in Victory on the top. After blowing Mac a kiss, she hopped off the counter, grabbed the bowl of cherries, and headed out to the garden.

Leaving Mac alone, more puzzled than before. Why the heck couldn’t his sister simply say what was on her mind? All the hints, double entendres, and double-speak drove him nuts. Besides, what Doe said was crap. He was a photographer—he
always
saw what was in front of him. The camera captured the truth.

He picked the picture up and ran his finger across its surface, mimicking the action he’d seen his sister do moments before. His finger hesitated on the thick, horizontal scar below Trudy’s belly button. A scar nowhere near where an appendix would be.

Shock slammed into him.

God, he’d been such a fucking idiot.

* * *

“
M
ac
, put the picture away. Please.” Trudy’s voice shook.

Mac stood in her doorway, his foot propping the door open, a picture of her holding Aaron thrust out for her to see. She shuddered, even as the humidity eased its way through the doorway to cling to her skin.

“Go,” she stated. “Just go.” She couldn’t see Mac, not when she was so vulnerable. She did not want to show him her soft underbelly. Not right now. God, she wished she had some of Doe’s porcupine quills to ward Mac off. Why did he have to shove those photos in her face?

“Look at the picture. Look at the picture, and tell me you don’t want kids.” His voice sounded harsh and gritty, like he was speaking through sand. She tried to step away but he grabbed her by the arm. “Tell me, Trudy.”

She shook her head.

“You can’t, can you? You can’t say you don’t want children. Not according to this photograph. It speaks the truth even when you can’t. And remember, a photograph is unable lie—it captures the moment. The actual, existing, living moment. Not some figment of an artist’s imagination. Photographs give us the truth. And the truth here, Trudy, the truth here”—Mac jabbed at the picture of her looking Aaron, her eyes dancing in delight at the baby’s antics, a hint of wistfulness and longing there, too—“is that you love kids. You
want
kids.”

She pulled her arm out of his grasp and strode away. Mac followed, kicking the door shut with a bang. He caught up with her in the living room, where she collapsed into a chair, emotionally exhausted. This man would simply not leave.

“Fine,” he continued. “If you won’t look at the one of you and Aaron, look at this picture.” He held up another photograph.

Against her will she looked, and melted inside a little. Mac had shot the photo after they’d made love out by the pond that one late afternoon. A light glowed from somewhere deep within her, and was reflected in her eyes. Love. Absolute and complete love.