KENDRA PULLED HER Lexus into the parking lot north of the Point Vicente Interpretive Center and chose a spot overlooking the ocean. Red-earth cliffs lined this part of the coast, dropping dramatically to a series of coves and beaches for about a dozen miles between Rat Beach to the north and the Port of Los Angeles to the south, where the landscape flattened again.
Jameson sat in the passenger seat; she’d brought him out here for a walk to the whale-watching station. A familiar area, familiar experience, but one that got him out of the house, in ocean air, back with nature. So simple and therapeutic to sit and watch the sea’s restless motion, smell the salty fresh air, watch pelicans and seagulls go about the business of living. Most of her clients responded immediately, some with joy, some with hitherto-suppressed tears, some with a release of crippling tension, but very few came away unchanged. She wouldn’t risk climbing down to the beach with Jameson today—too many opportunities for knee twisting on the steep, uneven paths—but he’d get plenty from the experience.
“Ready?”
“Sure.” He flicked her a glance. Something was different about him today. She hadn’t yet figured out what, only that the change made her uneasy.
“Okay.” She climbed down from the car—really, she needed to buy something smaller—and waited for him to come around before they headed toward the path that wound along the sea to the Interpretive Center, which she’d always called “the whale watch place.” The Center consisted of a building with a small museum, friendly, helpful staff and a whale-watching station on the outside terrace. December through mid-May during daylight hours, seven days a week, volunteers with binoculars scanned the sea and recorded numbers and types of migrating whales. Farther south, white and proud at the tip of the point, rose the Point Vicente lighthouse.
“So beautiful.” Kendra spread her hands to encompass the view and gave a long, blissful sigh. “I couldn’t live anywhere else. How about you?”
“For the next twenty years, where I live won’t be up to me.”
“Twenty.” She started walking toward the path that led to the Center, feeling oddly dismayed. “You’re staying in that long?”
“That’s what Cartwrights have always done.”
“After that?”
“Yeah, I’ll probably come back here.”
She hung back to let a jogger pass, and nearly bumped into Jameson, who’d done the same thing. “What do think you’ll want to do then?”
“Oh, probably...circus clown.”
“Ah, really.”
“Or linebacker for the Packers.”
Kendra rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh.”
“Then astronaut, most likely.”
She snorted. “Okay, smartass.”
“All true.” Jameson put his hand to his heart. “At least I wanted to be all those things when I was seven.”
She glanced at him in surprise. “You weren’t born wanting to be a soldier?”
“Airman. Army has soldiers. And no, not me.”
“When did that start?”
“Can’t really say. Middle school, maybe. When I started clueing into the family history.”
Kendra let the silence hang for a few steps, seemingly enjoying the breeze, while she wondered how to phrase her next question. “I guess it would be hard to break a tradition that long.”
“Mattingly took care of that.”
“Oh, right. She— Mattingly?” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s her full name?”
“Uh-huh.” He shot her a sideways glance. “We were all named for whiskey. Jameson’s Irish, Maker’s Mark, Basil Hayden’s and Mattingly and Moore.”
Kendra laughed, surprised at how comfortable she felt around him today. Sure made a difference when he wasn’t snarking at her. “That’s hilarious. I never put it together.”
“Some do, some don’t.” He shrugged. “It’s Dad’s idea of a joke. Where does Kendra come from?”
“Dad’s name was Ken. Mom’s name was Sandra. They saw Kendra in a baby name book and went ‘ooh, perfect!’” She tossed hair from her face, blown there by the stiff breeze, and dug in her pocket for an elastic to control it. “It means knowledgeable.”
“Ah, know-it-all, that figures.”
“Not what I said.” Her hands went through their practiced motions, taming her hair into a ponytail. “What does Jameson mean?”
“Supplanter. When I was little I thought it was something you grew flowers in. I refused to tell anyone.”
Kendra giggled, feeling slightly giddy. “What would supplanter mean? Taking someone’s place?”
“Yup.” He quirked an eyebrow and made quotation marks with his fingers. “Wrongfully or by force.”
“Bet you cut in line a lot.”
“Nah.” His shoulder bumped hers before she could step away. “I think bigger. Maybe a government coup someday.”
“Live large, General Cartwright.”
“I’m aiming for Colonel by the time I retire.”
“Colonel Cartwright has an excellent sound to it.”
“Yeah?” He turned his head slowly toward her, grin mischievous, blue eyes warm and alive, utterly transformed from the shut-down guy she’d seen so far into someone boyish and irrepressible. “You grew up fun.”
Kendra sucked in a breath. They needed to go on talking. Now. Because she was gazing at him, taking him in, smiling. She hoped she wasn’t drooling.
Talk, Kendra.
“My parents used to bring me here a lot when I was a kid.” She gestured toward the still-distant lighthouse, aware her voice was too high and silly-chattery. “I used to pretend I knew the names of the whales and their personalities and would tell everyone in earshot all about them, their families, favorite toys, etc. I’m sure the volunteers trying to count them thought it was adorable. And really annoying.”
Jameson’s smile faded. He put a hand briefly on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry about your parents, Kendra.”
Kendra’s heart gave an irregular jab. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t know, when you were talking about your mom, that you lost both of them so suddenly.” His voice was deep, sympathetic and absolutely genuine. “Matty told me.”
“Ah.” Her throat was tight; she stubbed her toe on a rock and nearly stumbled. “Well, thanks.”
“It must have been hell.”
She could only nod. From the height of giddiness she’d crashed back into grief. Incredible how fast it could happen.
“You have a brother?”
“Mmm.” Kendra cleared her throat. “Duncan. He’s ten years older. Lives in Wales and herds sheep. We’re...different, to put it mildly.”
“Did he help out at all?”
She let out a brittle laugh. “Aren’t we supposed to be talking about you?”
“Did I sign something saying that?”
“No, but—”
“Did he come home to help you?” There was an odd note in his voice. She struggled to identify it. Not anger, not quite, but almost.
“He came for the service.” And left almost immediately after. “He had to get back.”
“To his sheep.” The disdain was clear enough now.
“No, you don’t understand.” She tipped her head, eyebrows raised. “He re-e-eally likes those sheep.”
Jameson cracked up. Kendra’s chest loosened. She pointed out toward the spectacular view of Catalina Island. “Look how clear it is today.”
He stopped with her, hands on his hips. “How did you manage? Who helped you through all that?”
“Jameson.” She laughed awkwardly. “I’m not here to talk about—”
“Did you have uncles? Aunts? Cousins?”
“No. Look, can we—”
“Neighbors?” He swung around to face her, eyes deep with sympathy and something else. “Friends of your parents?”
Kendra turned to keep walking. She could not stand still and stare into those eyes or she’d come apart. “Yes, I had lots of help. Lots of support.”
“Uh-huh.” He clearly didn’t believe her. “Lots. And it was all a piece of cake.”
“Chocolate with chocolate frosting.”
“So that hell you went through. Alone. That’s why you’re doing this now for other people. Like me.”
“It’s definitely part of it, yes.” Kendra took a deep breath, trying to regroup. One of the differences between the way she worked with clients and standard talk therapy was that a therapist never—or rarely—brought him or herself into the equation. Whereas Kendra had found that in certain situations, sharing part of her life and experiences could help form stronger bonds of emotional trust. So it should be fine to talk with Jameson about her parents’ deaths and her reaction.
It just didn’t feel that way.
Immediately her brain started searching for reasons. Because she didn’t trust him? Because it felt too vulnerable exposing herself to him? Why?
An answer came surprisingly quickly.
Because Jameson had known her parents, or at least had seen them multiple times, at baseball games and dances and spaghetti dinners and fun fairs. Because in whatever twisted way, he’d been part of her life and her mom and dad’s for a long time, and he’d known the three of them as a unit. He was closer to their loss than her clients who were strangers.
Hmm. Not a complete answer, but it was a start.
The path took an abrupt turn to the right after skirting a ravine, and led back close to the sea again. The breeze strengthened as they approached the edge of the cliff, protected by a railing and stern signs warning people not to climb over it. A small flock of brown pelicans rose into view from below the cliff, necks tucked back in flight.
“I guess it must seem strange to you that I’m avoiding my family while you’re missing yours.”
Kendra shrugged. “Our situations are different, our families are different. I don’t judge you.”
“You’ve always judged me.”
“Ha! Since when?”
“Since I put worms in your sandwich.”
“Um...” She gave him a look, suppressing a giggle. “You thought that wouldn’t lead to an opinion?”
“Gosh, no. At least not a negative one.”
“Boy logic!” Kendra gave in to laughter. “Hey, I know, I’ll ruin her lunch, have people call her ‘worm eater’ for months and she’ll think I’m great!”
“Well?” He sent her a crooked grin. “What’s not to love?”
They stopped by the railing to watch the sea heaving in and out, over one hundred feet straight down, wind stiffening now to a good chilly blow. Watching the sea cleared Kendra’s mind, the breeze blowing away any lingering sadness.
“Why me?”
“Why you what?”
“Why did you pick on me?”
“Aw, Kendra, why does any kid do stuff like that?”
“Honestly? I can’t imagine.”
He frowned, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “Yeah, good point. For one, you never reacted. It was like nothing bothered you. You were unique.”
“So you could get your anger out and not suffer consequences?”
“I wasn’t angry with you.”
“With your dad. With your brothers.” A pair of joggers ran behind them.
“Geez, don’t you talk about the weather like a normal person?”
“Nope.” Kendra smiled at him, thinking he was like a piggy bank—except for the pink and fat part. If you wanted to get at what was inside him, you’d have to either shake him violently or smash him open. “I talk about you.”
“Huh.”
“Let’s keep walking. Your knee okay?”
“Knee’s fine.”
Not that he’d admit to pain. She watched him surreptitiously for signs—increased limping, a larger twist to his step, tension in his face. Nothing. Good. She hoped one day he’d tell her if he was overdoing it.
“One time...I don’t even remember what I did to you, but I remember your reaction. You looked me straight in the eyes and said, ‘People like you feel bad about yourselves, and that’s why you need to make other people feel worse.’”
Kendra snorted. “Straight from my parents’ mouths.”
“It stunned me. I’m serious.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “I was supposed to be on the attack, you were supposed to cry. And here you’d flattened me.”
“Wait, really?” She turned to see his face, half surprised, half fascinated. “I hurt you?”
His eyes were grave, catching the setting sun, glowing blue. “I have never been with a woman since.”
Kendra started to gasp, then, duh, realized he was kidding and burst out laughing. “Stop that.”
He grinned. “Maybe one or two.”
They approached the Interpretive Center, unstaffed by volunteers at the moment since the whale-watching season hadn’t yet started. The light was dimming, sun preparing to sink below the sea. They shouldn’t stay long. The park closed at dusk, and she didn’t want Jameson walking in darkness in case he stumbled.
Kendra had brought many clients here. With Jameson the view was the same, the lighthouse, the sea, Catalina Island in the distance—all the same, but the place felt different. More as if she was here with a friend, not a client. Odd, since she and Jameson hadn’t exactly been buddies. Again, maybe it was their shared history and experiences growing up here.
“Did your parents ever bring you to the Center?”
“Nope.” He stared out at the sea, wind making his eyes squint, sexy lines radiating in the corners, the spiky front of his hair ruffling slightly. His jaw was strong, mouth full and serious. Her heart gave a thump.
Yes, Kendra, he is übermasculine and handsome. Get over it.
“Where did they take you?”
“Disney Land. The observatory at Griffith Park. Natural history museum. Baseball games. Basketball games. Los Angeles Air Force Base. March Air Reserve Base. Edwards Air Force Base...”
“No ballet? No symphony? No art or opera?”
“Ha! Uh, no.”
“So it was a manly man’s upbringing. Where was your sister in all this?”
“Rebelling.” He grinned affectionately. “She and Dad were polar opposites.”
“Or very similar.”
“Maybe that was it. Hey, look.” He stepped closer, and pointed out to sea.
“Oh, wow!” Two dolphins, breaking the surface of the water, bounding northward together. The animals gave Kendra a huge charge, no matter how often she saw them. “They always look like they’re having so much fun.”
“They’re free, why wouldn’t they be having fun?”
“Free how?” She was so curious about his comment she turned from watching the dolphins to watching him.
“Oh, the questions, Kendra. As Freud is my witness, you do love your questions.”
“Don’t I?” She blinked sweetly at him. “Free how?”
“Free to be dolphins and do dolphin-y things all day.”
“What are Jameson-y things?” She laughed when he started groaning. “How would you fill a day if you could do anything you wanted?”
“Keg of beer and six or seven hot blondes.”
“Okay, okay, no more questions. We’re done. Let’s go home.” She turned them back toward the car.
“You hungry?”
His question startled her into hedging. “Not too bad.”
“I can make a mean omelet.”
“Yeah?” She smiled at him, not that omelets were all that thrilling, but she was still in a smiling mood. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”
“You busy tonight?”
The wind diminished as the path headed back inland. A beam of sunlight caught him, painting his hair in yellow and rose, throwing shadows and light along his cheekbones, jaw and that sensual mouth. Her heart gave another flip.
Come on, Kendra. Clients had asked to spend extra time with her before if they were lonely. A few had asked her to dinner, and she’d always accepted if she was free. This was completely in the normal range of her treatment.
“I’m not busy.” No. She was just confused.
“Good. We can stop at Trader Joe’s on the way back and pick up supplies.”
“Okay.” She walked next to him, feeling rather ludicrously as if she was putting into motion an evening she’d regret. Or as if there was something very wrong with the way she’d accepted his invitation.
It only took her ten more steps and another heart-jumping glance at Jameson’s handsome profile to figure it out.
She didn’t want to eat dinner with him the way a counselor eats with a client. She wanted to eat dinner with him the way a woman eats with a man.