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."
"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.
"You're wrong," Kara said, cutting off Beverly as she attempted to elaborate. "Ryan Hunter was not anywhere near the scene of the accident."
"But he called her," Margaret Woodrich said. "He told her to come. Tell them, Andrew. Tell them."
Andrew sat up in his chair. He looked flustered and embarrassed. Kara felt sorry for him, but also a bit angry. Why the hell didn't he get up and tell them all the truth?
Loretta stood up. "Tell them, Andrew. Tell them what you think."
Kara watched Andrew's gaze shift to Loretta. She could see the battle raging within him. Finally he took a deep breath and stood up. "Ryan had nothing to do with Becky Lee's death. She was hit by a drunk driver. That driver was not my brother."
"Well, hallelujah," Loretta muttered as she sat down in her seat, approval in her eyes.
"I didn't want Ryan to come," Andrew continued. "Like most of you, I have reasons to dislike my brother. But I can't deny his success or the fact that he's here. Maybe Kara's right. Maybe the centennial is more important than one man."
Kara smiled her thanks as he sat down. "Andrew is right. Mr. Hunter is here. The banquet is sold out. And every available room in town has been booked for this weekend. We're predicting an increase in sales receipts at our shops and restaurants of over two hundred and fifty percent during the next three days. We have already had requests for books and other literature on the town and the river," she added pointedly, looking directly at Mr. Woodrich as she did so. No one said a word.
"There are some people in this room who are upset. I apologize. But I hope we can pull together as a town, a community. I've spoken to several developers over the past few days. Their presence at the centennial has nothing to do with Ryan Hunter, but has everything to do with our town, with the land that we have to offer. I don't think I need to remind you that we all have a lot at stake this weekend. Please, give us your..." Her voice faded away as she saw Jonas Hunter standing at the back of the room. She stumbled on. "As I said, the committee would very much appreciate your support. Please remember that Ryan Hunter's participation is only one small part of our celebration."
The crowd looked toward Jonas, eager to see his reaction. He didn't move a muscle. But the stony expression on his face told her she would not have his support.
"Never," Beverly Appleborne declared, taking the moment of quiet for her own. "If you want the centennial to be a success, you will ban Ryan Hunter from the dinner tomorrow night and all other events. As for the developers, that is another issue that we will continue to discuss. But on the Ryan Hunter issue, we will not compromise. We know the truth, no matter what Andrew says. Obviously his interest in you has clouded his judgment. Don't you agree, Jonas?"
Kara felt her stomach twist into a knot. She could fight Beverly and even Margaret, but Jonas was a cornerstone of the town. To some, he was the town.
"If you want to save the town, pick up the trash, don't bring more in. Cherish the land, don't tear it up for concrete." Jonas spoke in a loud, booming voice, like a Sunday preacher calling to the sinners to repent. "We cannot trade the river for dollars. We cannot ignore the cost of progress. We cannot allow outsiders to take what is not theirs. We cannot let them turn the river into a whore, using her and abusing her, then walking away. This is our town. We must fight for it. We must protect it at all costs. Stand with me, not against me."
"I am standing with you," Kara replied, somewhat shaken by his impassioned speech, his loyalty to the town, his love for the river. "I want to celebrate our history. That's what the centennial is about."
"The centennial is about money. Money in your pocket," Jonas declared. "You're willing to sell out this town if it means booking rooms in your inn."
"He's right," someone shouted in the back. "We shouldn't sell our souls for a few extra bucks."
"And we should not honor a man without honor," Beverly Appleborne said as she walked to the back of the room and stood next to Jonas. Margaret and Jeremy followed. A few other people joined them.
Kara held her breath as the town divided into factions, those who hated Ryan and those who didn't, those who wanted progress and those who wanted things to stay the same.
When the musical chairs stopped, Andrew sat alone in the middle of the room, torn between her and his father. Kara knew how much Andrew valued Jonas's opinion. She also knew how much she wanted Andrew's support.
"Kara, perhaps we should reconsider," the mayor said quietly, apparently seeing his chances of reelection fading fast.
"Reconsider what?" she asked. "Ryan? The whole Centennial Celebration? Because of Jonas? The man is stuck in the dark ages. He has run the same damn editorial in his paper every Sunday for the past six months and probably longer than that." Suddenly furious, Kara turned back to the crowd, deliberately forcing her voice to ring through the room.
"We can have progress without chaos," she said. "We can make money without prostituting ourselves. And we can honor a man for his photographic accomplishments without dissecting his personal life, without treating gossip like the gospel truth."
"Here, here," Loretta said quietly. "Go get 'em, Kara."
Kara rapped her gavel on the table as chatter once again broke out. "Jonas is right about one thing. By standing together, we all stand taller, but we must respect one another's beliefs. We must honor our differences, and we must give this town a chance to grow, to survive, so that we can all survive. Now, let's have no more dissension. We have work to do."
She offered Jonas a challenging look. He returned it, then walked out of the room. Beverly Appleborne, Margaret, and Jeremy Woodrich went with him. The rest stayed with her, including Andrew. Kara let out a breath. It was a partial victory, but she would take it.
"You won," Andrew said to Kara as they walked up the steps to the Gatehouse later that night.
"I'm not so sure about that. Your father is a formidable man."
"And he doesn't like to lose," Andrew added. "Especially not when it concerns this town."
"How can I make him see we're on the same side?"
"I'm not sure you are."
"Oh, Andrew, if I can't convince you, how can I convince him?" Kara sighed. "I just want to make things right for everyone."
"Some things can't be fixed."
"I know, and I wouldn't put it past Mrs. Appleborne or Mrs. Woodrich to make a scene tomorrow night."
Andrew turned toward the river, his profile grim and forbidding. Kara knew that Andrew took Billy over to the Woodrichs' house every Sunday afternoon for dinner, but she had no idea of Andrew's own relationship with his former in-laws -- another thing they never spoke about. She sighed, wondering why she suddenly felt she knew nothing about the man standing next to her.
"Margaret and Jeremy spoiled Becky Lee rotten," Andrew said after a moment. "They've never been able to accept her death. You can't expect them to welcome Ryan with open arms when Becky Lee made it clear that she was running off to be with him."
"And it's so much easier to blame Ryan than it is to blame Becky Lee," Kara said sharply. "For goodness' sake, Andrew, the woman had a mind of her own. She knew what she was doing when she left."
"She didn't know. She was hung up on him, so crazy about him she couldn't think straight. And he led her on, Kara. He promised to show her a big, exciting world. I couldn't compete with that." He paused. "I don't want to talk about it. Why are we talking about it?" His voice filled with pain. It was the most he'd ever told her about his marriage.
"Because I need to understand."
Andrew walked over to the porch railing and gripped it tightly.
"Why, Andrew? Why did she marry you? Did she love you? Did you love her?"
He swung around to face her. "She married me because she was pregnant, dammit. Because she was scared. And because Ryan didn't want to marry her. Are you satisfied?"
"She was pregnant with your child?"
Andrew didn't answer her. There was something in the way he avoided her eyes, the way he hung his head, the way he turned his body away from her penetrating question.
"Oh, my God." Kara clapped a hand to her mouth.
"No." Andrew immediately shook his head. "It's not what you're thinking."
"It's not?"
"I'm Billy's father. Leave it alone, Kara. Leave the goddamned past alone."
Andrew knew he should walk straight home, but anger at Kara and Ryan took him away from his own house. He never should have told Kara that Becky Lee was pregnant when they'd gotten married. He hadn't meant to tell her that, hadn't meant to tell anyone.
He was Billy's father. End of story.
Silently he counted to ten. Then he turned down another block and tried to walk off his frustration. He realized his mistake as soon as he saw the woman standing on the front porch of the last house on the left -- Loretta's house.
He didn't want to see her now. Didn't want to deal with her and feelings that he shouldn't be feeling. Instinctively he turned away, but Loretta called his name, and he was too polite to ignore her.
"Andrew. Is that you?" Loretta called again, waving at him from her porch. She looked distressed and kept pointing to the big oak tree in her front yard.
He had no choice but to see what she wanted.
Loretta wore next to nothing, a silk robe over a T-shirt. Her legs were bare and her hair flowed loosely around her shoulders. She looked soft, feminine, sexy, as if she had just gotten out of bed, which was not something he wanted to think about. She was pregnant, for God's sake. Her stomach was as big as a basketball. What was he thinking?
"You are a lifesaver," Loretta declared as he joined her on the lawn. "Trillion is stuck in the tree."
"Trillion?" he asked in confusion.
"My cat." She pointed to one of the higher branches where there was indeed a cat clinging to a branch. "I need you to get her down."
"Excuse me?"
"She doesn't like the wind. She senses another storm coming," Loretta explained.
Andrew glanced up at the sky. There were no stars, just thick clouds that would surely bring rain sometime in the next twenty-four hours.
"So -- "
"I need your help."
Loretta looked at him in a way that made him want to help, only he wasn't sure he could. He could barely solve his own problems, much less anyone else's. "I don't know," he said. "Won't she just get tired and come down the same way she went up?"