Page 7

In the far corner sat the white lattice gazebo, straight out of a fairy tale.

Campbell glanced back, unable to check the impulse.

Moonlight cascaded over Fontana, rivulets of ivory pooling in her hair, a liquid slide past her shoulders and arms, the swell of her breasts beneath the thin knit.

Watching her glide her hand across a leaf, as maternal a touch as any he’d ever seen, her magnificence hit him full force.

Often called single-minded and intense—and agreeing—he didn’t usually pause long enough to hear his own heartbeat or the whistle of air from his lips.

This time, he couldn’t stop himself. Vapor, sum and substance, seeped from the dark brown soil and surged through his body.

The soul of his family’s land dwelled in this replicated Eden, nestled in the middle of his grandfather’s long-lost cotton field.

And he had come home, in part, to force the creator to vacate the premises.

“I’d thought to do a pool planting of cattails and water lilies over there.

” A bare arm extended, brushing his elbow.

“To soften the presentation. Give it the charm of a cottage garden. Landscaping doesn’t have to be elaborate to be effective, although I’ve obviously taken some artistic liberties here. ”

Considering the feasibility of finding a way to let this enigmatic woman keep the oasis she’d created, Campbell surrendered to the beauty of the setting, pawing at his chest as he reached for a camera sitting in his bedroom.

Turning in a full circle, he drank in her secluded paradise, almost tasting it.

Intense tonal contrast. Rich explosions of shadow layered against ghostly streaks of mist. Silhouette and contour bursting from every nook.

Had he witnessed a place more deserving of a photograph ?

A hundred photographs. A thousand.

“Mr. True?”

“Black and white.” He made another half turn. “Tangible print. Also, the grain’s more in harmony with natural textures—rock, grass, water, the like. I’d probably underexpose. Darkens the tone, enriches the hues. Dodge and burn like a madman.”

“ Atlanta .”

He lifted his glasses to rub his eyes, a man emerging from a trance. “Ignore me.”

She gazed at him, moonlight glistening on the tips of her hair, turning it a glorious shade of mahogany.

Fontana Quinn look wonderfully surreal surrounded by mist in her replicated oasis.

“I should take Kit home. Clouds are moving in. Rain’s coming.” His gaze flickered briefly to her mouth, then shifted to the sky, as if the inky-black expanse held more fascination than the woman.

“Rain, my ass,” she muttered, skirting past him, anger radiating off her. “You should let him sleep. Come back in the morning.”

“You can’t keep him, Quinn.”

“You don’t want him, True. His mother tossed him out like day-old garbage and you never came to clean up the mess.”

Campbell closed the distance between them, careful not to touch her.

No need for that. “I’ll say this once and never again, so listen closely.

I begged his mother to let him live with me.

The only time in my life I’ve been turned down by a woman, to be blunt.

I had everything set up—a spot at a private school, a tutor, a housekeeper, and a nurse for John Nelson.

But none of that fit Celia’s plans. She wanted him here. Miserable, but here.”

He wished he didn’t feel the need to release this secret in the lush darkness, but he did. It should have terrified him that he wanted her , of all people, to understand. “She wanted me here. And Kit was the only way to accomplish that.”

Fontana’s hand rose to her mouth to hide her gasp, but her shocked expression was unmistakable.

“ Ah , the situation begins to make sense. You had an affair. Men couldn’t seem to stay away from Celia, despite her being the most worthless human being I’ve ever known.

” She gave a derisive snort. “The power of a DD cup simply amazes me.”

Campbell leaned in, his shadow looming over her. Fury tightened his chest, and his teeth clenched so hard a muscle popped in his jaw. “I never slept with her. There was no affair, there was nothing. Ever .”

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve tried to cover for you with Kit?

” Fontana’s voice softened, though there was still an edge to it.

“Trust me, he had no one else to turn to. John Nelson spends most of his days thinking he’s a young man, waiting for his wife to come home and cook dinner.

And you’re—” She yanked the bill of her cap, exhaling a small, frustrated sigh. “What’s the use? You’re blind.”

“Don’t assume your galling temerity allows you to know shit about what I see.”

“I know enough about the legendary Campbell True. The photographs on the diner wall, at your cousin’s gallery, in the newspaper. Kit even showed me one of your books. Landscapes. Your specialty, right?”

Campbell studied her, hoping his expression came across as vacant, because his stomach quivered. “I can make arrangements, if my specialty is of interest.”

He saw her roll her eyes before she tilted her head, the protective bill of her hat shading her face. “The master of roadside seduction returns.”

“He never left,” Campbell murmured as thunder echoed in the distance. “In fact, he’s all there is.”

Her gaze glittered in the moonlight, her expression unreadable.

“There are several sealed boxes in Celia’s closet that need going through, especially with the house sale coming up.

You might want to handle those yourself.

Say, if there are any compromising photos taken by a celebrated photographer, he’d probably prefer to be the one to reclaim them. ”

For a moment, time seemed to suspend. The air around them thickened, charged with more than an impending storm.

Blinking hard, his throat tight, Campbell did a rare thing: he walked away from a battle.

Turning on his heel, he stalked toward the gazebo, the mist swirling around his feet. When he reached it, he dropped to one knee beside his brother, gently brushing a tangled lock of hair from Kit’s brow.

“Mr. True, I—” Fontana caught up to them, jerked her hat off, and whipped it against her thigh.

“ Away ,” Campbell growled, dismissing her with a sharp glance. He slipped his arms beneath Kit, lifting him, tucking the boy against his chest.

Kit blinked sleepily, mumbled “ Camp ” in a dreamy voice, and dropped his cheek to his brother’s shoulder.

Complete trust in repose.

“He loves you,” she whispered, a lone raindrop, the first of the storm, sliding down her jaw like a tear.

Campbell’s gaze briefly swept over her before settling on the boy in his arms. “I think he does. Disappointed?”

“Surprised,” she replied, lifting her arm before letting it fall with a soft sigh. “I’m always amazed by a child’s ability to forgive.”

“You sound like you speak from experience. Believe it or not, I also speak from experience.” His gaze flicked to the ankle she favored, the slight limp she couldn’t quite mask.

He was curious, but fuck if he was going to ask.

“Care to give me an accounting of your past? I’d be more than happy to point out your mistakes, the places you veered off course at those proverbial forks in the road.

A complete character overhaul, no charge.

I’m an expert in corruptible behavior and the consequences of indecision.

Excellent qualifications for advising others on how to run their lives. ”

“I said I was sorry,” she whispered, the patter of raindrops against the gazebo’s roof nearly drowning out her words. “I care about Kit, and my conscience spoke for me. Maybe it doesn’t know the whole story.”

“To hell with your conscience, Quinn.” Campbell studied her garden, lingering for one pulsing moment on the bounty she’d created before he started up the rocky path to the house. “And to hell with mine.”