Barbara Wallace - The Courage To Say Yes

Though he had to admit that, every once in a while, he missed the old way. There was a familiarity to the smell of chemicals. As a teenager, he’d come to think of the smells as the one constant amid continual change. There were nights when he still walked into hotel rooms expecting the aroma to greet him.

Maybe he should install a darkroom in the building. Might make the place feel less like a way station.

Then again, building a darkroom was a lot like hiring an assistant. Nice in theory, but not as important as the photos themselves. Besides, nothing would make this apartment feel less like a way station because that’s what it was. A place to sleep between assignments. No better than a hotel room, in reality. Less so, seeing how he actually spent more time in hotel rooms than his apartment.

Thumbnail images lined his computer screen. He’d shot more than he realized, a luxury of digital photography. He scrolled down until he found the series he’d taken of Abby. Sure enough, her face loomed from the screen like a silent-movie actress. The emotions bearing down on her reached out beyond the flat surface. He could feel the weariness. The grit, too. Hunter could see the glint of steely resolve lurking in the depths of her big, sad eyes.

To his surprise, he felt the stirring of arousal. A testimony to the quality of the shot. Good photos should evoke physical responses.

Of course, he didn’t usually respond to his own work. He knew better than to get emotionally involved anymore. Start caring about the subject, and you set yourself up for problems. Images were illusory. The world on the other side of the lens wasn’t as welcoming as photos made it appear. On the other side of the camera was pain, disinterest, loneliness, death.

Better to stay at a distance, heart safely tucked away where the world couldn’t cause any damage. Of all the photography lessons his father had taught him, distance was the most important. Of course, at the time, he’d been too young to appreciate it, but eventually life had helped him to not just understand, but embrace the philosophy.

Yet for some reason, Hunter found himself being drawn in by a simple photo of a waitress. Seduced by the emotion he saw lurking in her eyes. So much simmering beneath the surface...

Only for a moment, though. He blinked and the distance he prided himself on returned. He was once again the observer, and Abby’s face merely another photograph. An intriguing, but ultimately meaningless, two-dimensional moment in time.

CHAPTER TWO

TO MOST NEW YORK residents, McKenzie House was nothing more than an inconspicuous brick row house with a faded green door. To the women inside, however, the house represented far more than an address. The run-down rooms meant a fresh start without abuse or domination. Abby was well aware that her story was mild in comparison to her roommates’, but she was no less grateful. The gratitude rose in her chest once more as she fell back on the living area sofa. She was soon joined by Carmella, one of her fellow residents. “You look dead. Long day?”

“The longest. Warren showed up.”

“What?” Carmella sat up like a shot. “He tracked you down? How?”

“I don’t...”

Wait. Yes, she did. Oh, all the stupid...

“What?” Carmella asked.

“My mother. I called and gave her the diner’s phone number in case of an emergency.”

Abby grabbed her phone from her bag and punched the speed dial. Two rings and a harried female voice answered.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Abby, um, hi! What a surprise.” Joanne Gray sounded like she always did, as though looking over her shoulder. Which she probably was. “I can’t really talk right now. I’m getting ready to put dinner on the table.”

Abby checked her watch. By her calculations there was still ten minutes before the assigned dinnertime. “I’ll only take a second, I promise. I was wondering if anyone’s called the house looking for me.”

“No one except your boyfriend, that is. He lost your new work number, and figured I knew it.”

Mystery solved. “Mom, I told you Warren and I broke up.”

Same way she had when Abby told her about the breakup, her mother disregarded the comment. “Warren explained how that was all a big misunderstanding.”

“No. It was a breakup. I moved out of the apartment. Remember, I explained to you?” Along with the rest of the sordid story.

“I know what you said, honey, but I figured you’d changed your mind. Warren was so polite on the phone. And he’s doing so well. You’re lucky to have a man like that interested in taking you back.”

Because that’s what mattered. In Joanne Gray’s eyes, a lousy man was better than no man at all. Didn’t matter how miserable or mistreating—

“Joanne!” Abby’s stepfather’s bellow came through so loud she had to jerk the receiver from her ear. “What are you doing, talking on the phone?”

“I’m sorry,” she heard her mother reply. “It’s Abby. She had a question.”

“She should know better than to call when it’s dinnertime. Hang up. I’m hungry!”

There was some shuffling and her mother’s voice came back online, a little more ragged than before. “I have to go, honey.”

“Sure, Mom. I’ll call soon.”

Whether her mother heard the promise or not, Abby didn’t know. She’d hung up, leaving her daughter on the line, with a headache and a sense of defeat. Some things weren’t ever going to change. Not her mother. Not the way her mom viewed life.

“I was right,” Abby said, letting the phone drop in her lap. “Warren called her.”

Talk about ironic. When they lived together, Warren had no use for her parents. Called them useless white trash. He’d spoken to her parents no more than three times at most.

But of course, her mother would cave with the phone number. Warren, salesman that he was, would hardly break a sweat sweet-talking her.

Abby rubbed her suddenly aching head. “I honestly thought that, after six weeks, he’d move on.”

“Well, some guys just don’t like to give up what they think is theirs.”

Carmella should know. Her ex had torched their apartment during a fight. Thankfully, Warren never did more than twist Abby’s arm or deliver a swift backhand.

The silver bracelets lining Carmella’s arm shimmered against her dark skin as she pulled back the curtain covering the window. “Any chance he followed you?”

“No. He, um...left.” Aided by a field jacket and aviator sunglasses. “Hopefully, he got the message and won’t be back.”

“Yeah, right. And I’m gonna be on the cover of Vogue next week. You’re kidding yourself if you think he’s giving up now that he’s tracked you down.”

That’s what she was afraid of, Abby thought, rubbing her wrist. The marks had blossomed to full-blown bruises. Annoyance and shame rose in her throat. She was mad. Mad at Warren. Mad at her mother.

Most of all she was mad with herself for believing that living with him was the best she could ever do in life. For letting him take over her entire world, until she’d lost control and herself.

Well, no more. She’d rather be alone for the rest of her life than lose herself in a relationship again.

Why her mind drifted to Hunter at that moment, she didn’t know. Correction. Hunter Smith. She’d read the name off his credit card. Now that she thought about it, she was mad with him, too.

A new emotion joined the others already warring inside her: embarrassment. She’d worked long and hard to escape Warren’s clutches and start her new life. Last thing she needed was her action-hero customer thinking he knew her secrets. Or worse, sending her pitying looks with those steel-colored eyes of his.

It’d be too much to ask that he leave town by morning, wouldn’t it?