A Perfect Storm
Page 93
From swaying treetops, blackbirds swooped down to peck at insects. Chattering squirrels scurried around, gathering berries and nuts. A cicada chirped relentlessly.
Laughter, casual conversation and lots of love surrounded her. For most, it’d be the perfect day.
But, God, she felt like a fraud.
Like an interloper.
She didn’t belong in this cozy family atmosphere. She didn’t really belong anywhere.
As beautifully wrapped gifts were pressed toward her, she tried not to be too conspicuous. But her smile felt wooden, her face stiff.
She detested being the center of attention—at least for something like this. If she drew attention kicking ass, well, so be it. That she didn’t mind so much. She was good at that. In the middle of a low-class bar, she fit right in.
Here…not so much.
On this hot afternoon, near a lake, after dinner off a grill, eaten from a patio table, her inexpensive shorts and top should have been appropriate. But next to the other women, even though they wore similar outfits, she looked…cheap. Their casual clothes were somehow classier. Richer. Better-fitting.
They had polished fingernails and pedicures. They had salon-styled hair and lotion-rich skin.
She’d never cared about that stuff. She wanted her clothes to be comfortable, period. She made sure that the legs of her jeans hid her ankle holster, and her tops had to be long and loose enough to conceal the sheath for her knife, usually fastened at the small of her back. That mattered.
Style did not. Keeping up with fashion had never been her forte.
Now she sort of wished she’d put some thought into it instead of stewing over the whole swimming thing.
With her long red hair in a thick braid, Priss looked elegant, especially in the breezy and colorful cover-up she wore over her swimsuit. And Molly in her white cotton capris and tailored halter defined chic.
In her feminine sundress and designer sandals, Alani was the classiest. Even the way the breeze teased her pale blond hair seemed affected for style. Right now, Alani had a hand protectively over her middle—and Jackson had his hand over hers. Though she wasn’t showing yet, they were both so excited about the pregnancy.
A baby.
The idea boggled Arizona’s mind. The only thing she knew about kids was that they scared her. But Jackson assured her over and over that she’d be a great aunt. He didn’t seem to find that whole idea absurd—and oddly, neither did Alani.
But who knew? She might not even be around by the time the baby was born, so why should she worry about being a bad influence?
In her ear, Chris, Dare’s right-hand man, said, “Chin up, kiddo, or everyone will think you’re glum.”
Crap. Arizona glanced up and found them all waiting on her. Their expressions varied from indulgent to amused to concerned.
Chris, always easy to be around, sat to her right. He gave her a nudge. “Start with the small packages,” he suggested, “and you can work up to the bigger stuff.”
Bigger stuff? No, she didn’t even want to know. Accepting the box he handed to her, she gave a gruff, “Thanks,” and untied the ribbon.
It surprised her to find three gifts inside: a camera, an empty photo album and a framed photo of her with Jackson and Alani. She stared at it blankly.
“I snuck and took it,” Chris told her, “because Alani wanted you to have a family photo, but she also wanted it to be a surprise.”
Her heart lodged in her throat. Jackson and Alani stood together, facing the camera, full of smiles, while she wore a silly smirk, her gaze on Jackson. It looked as if she’d been laughing at something he said.
“I love that crooked grin,” Alani told her.
Jackson reached across the table to tweak a long hank of her hair. “It’s cute.”
Cute. Not a word usually applied to her, and maybe that was what she loved most about Jackson—he saw her differently than others did.
It was also a problem, because in the most important ways—like attitude and determination—she wasn’t different at all. And for a woman to be like Jackson…well, it was hard for others to accept. It was especially difficult for macho, protective guys.
Like Jackson, Dare, Trace…and Spencer.
But, yeah, in the photo, she didn’t look bad. She actually looked…happy.
Swallowing hard, she forced herself to face Alani. “It’s great.” More wonderful than she’d ever imagined anything could be. “Thank you.”
“So you like it?”
Luckily it was a five-by-seven, not larger, because she didn’t have a wall to hang it on. She lived out of her trunk, utilizing motel rooms and other various dives. But, yes, she liked it very, very much. Maybe she could attach it to the dash of her car somehow.
Words seemed impossible, so she nodded.
“It’s a digital camera, so you can hook it up to any computer and print off more pictures. Eventually you’ll fill the album.” Alani smiled at her. “It’d be nice for you to have photos of all your family.”
Leaning in, Chris bumped shoulders with her. “She means us, you know. We’re adopting you whether you like it or not.”
“Hey, what’s not to like?” Jackson grinned at her. “If she can tolerate Trace, the rest of us are cake.”
“Ha!” Priss stretched across the table to smack Jackson. “Trace is the best part and you know it, Jackson Savor!”
“Depends on who you talk to,” he told her while ducking another swat from her. “You can’t take Trace’s word for it.”
Laughter, casual conversation and lots of love surrounded her. For most, it’d be the perfect day.
But, God, she felt like a fraud.
Like an interloper.
She didn’t belong in this cozy family atmosphere. She didn’t really belong anywhere.
As beautifully wrapped gifts were pressed toward her, she tried not to be too conspicuous. But her smile felt wooden, her face stiff.
She detested being the center of attention—at least for something like this. If she drew attention kicking ass, well, so be it. That she didn’t mind so much. She was good at that. In the middle of a low-class bar, she fit right in.
Here…not so much.
On this hot afternoon, near a lake, after dinner off a grill, eaten from a patio table, her inexpensive shorts and top should have been appropriate. But next to the other women, even though they wore similar outfits, she looked…cheap. Their casual clothes were somehow classier. Richer. Better-fitting.
They had polished fingernails and pedicures. They had salon-styled hair and lotion-rich skin.
She’d never cared about that stuff. She wanted her clothes to be comfortable, period. She made sure that the legs of her jeans hid her ankle holster, and her tops had to be long and loose enough to conceal the sheath for her knife, usually fastened at the small of her back. That mattered.
Style did not. Keeping up with fashion had never been her forte.
Now she sort of wished she’d put some thought into it instead of stewing over the whole swimming thing.
With her long red hair in a thick braid, Priss looked elegant, especially in the breezy and colorful cover-up she wore over her swimsuit. And Molly in her white cotton capris and tailored halter defined chic.
In her feminine sundress and designer sandals, Alani was the classiest. Even the way the breeze teased her pale blond hair seemed affected for style. Right now, Alani had a hand protectively over her middle—and Jackson had his hand over hers. Though she wasn’t showing yet, they were both so excited about the pregnancy.
A baby.
The idea boggled Arizona’s mind. The only thing she knew about kids was that they scared her. But Jackson assured her over and over that she’d be a great aunt. He didn’t seem to find that whole idea absurd—and oddly, neither did Alani.
But who knew? She might not even be around by the time the baby was born, so why should she worry about being a bad influence?
In her ear, Chris, Dare’s right-hand man, said, “Chin up, kiddo, or everyone will think you’re glum.”
Crap. Arizona glanced up and found them all waiting on her. Their expressions varied from indulgent to amused to concerned.
Chris, always easy to be around, sat to her right. He gave her a nudge. “Start with the small packages,” he suggested, “and you can work up to the bigger stuff.”
Bigger stuff? No, she didn’t even want to know. Accepting the box he handed to her, she gave a gruff, “Thanks,” and untied the ribbon.
It surprised her to find three gifts inside: a camera, an empty photo album and a framed photo of her with Jackson and Alani. She stared at it blankly.
“I snuck and took it,” Chris told her, “because Alani wanted you to have a family photo, but she also wanted it to be a surprise.”
Her heart lodged in her throat. Jackson and Alani stood together, facing the camera, full of smiles, while she wore a silly smirk, her gaze on Jackson. It looked as if she’d been laughing at something he said.
“I love that crooked grin,” Alani told her.
Jackson reached across the table to tweak a long hank of her hair. “It’s cute.”
Cute. Not a word usually applied to her, and maybe that was what she loved most about Jackson—he saw her differently than others did.
It was also a problem, because in the most important ways—like attitude and determination—she wasn’t different at all. And for a woman to be like Jackson…well, it was hard for others to accept. It was especially difficult for macho, protective guys.
Like Jackson, Dare, Trace…and Spencer.
But, yeah, in the photo, she didn’t look bad. She actually looked…happy.
Swallowing hard, she forced herself to face Alani. “It’s great.” More wonderful than she’d ever imagined anything could be. “Thank you.”
“So you like it?”
Luckily it was a five-by-seven, not larger, because she didn’t have a wall to hang it on. She lived out of her trunk, utilizing motel rooms and other various dives. But, yes, she liked it very, very much. Maybe she could attach it to the dash of her car somehow.
Words seemed impossible, so she nodded.
“It’s a digital camera, so you can hook it up to any computer and print off more pictures. Eventually you’ll fill the album.” Alani smiled at her. “It’d be nice for you to have photos of all your family.”
Leaning in, Chris bumped shoulders with her. “She means us, you know. We’re adopting you whether you like it or not.”
“Hey, what’s not to like?” Jackson grinned at her. “If she can tolerate Trace, the rest of us are cake.”
“Ha!” Priss stretched across the table to smack Jackson. “Trace is the best part and you know it, Jackson Savor!”
“Depends on who you talk to,” he told her while ducking another swat from her. “You can’t take Trace’s word for it.”
