The Ballerina's Stand (19 page)

“No.” He shook his head, his smile fading. “You're safer here.” He signed it with harsh movements that surprised her. “You can't hear someone breaking in, or see them coming. No,” he repeated the last.

Jason was still learning sign, and the hardest piece for hearing people to understand was the emotional piece. The emphasis that came with sign. But he'd nailed it this time.

She glared at him, angry and hurt.

“That's it, isn't it? You think
you
can keep me safer here. In your hearing world. But not my impaired one.”

“What does that mean?” His sign was solid and clear without his lips accompanying. She wasn't sure he knew he was doing it.

“You.” She stepped closer to poke his chest. “When Trey punched you, did he turn you into a macho Texas boy?” She knew she was insulting him, but he needed to understand she was strong. She could handle anything he, or the world, dished up. She'd done just fine without him before.

“You're not going anywhere.” The anger in his face, in the way his hands smacked each other in sign told her more than his words. “Not yet.” When she raised an eyebrow, some of his own macho stupidity must have gotten through to him. His jaw tightened, but he didn't sign anything else. Because he didn't have anything to say—or didn't know how to say it, she couldn't tell.

He signed slowly, less harshly now. “You don't trust me to keep you safe.” He stepped closer, and she had to force herself to stand her ground. The pain in his eyes called to her. She had to consciously make herself look up. He suddenly seemed so tall. So out of her reach. He wasn't going to understand.

“This is my life. I run it. I take care of me. I do fine. I don't need you to baby me.”

His eyes widened, then narrowed. “Really?” He stepped back, grabbed his cup and took a deep swallow. He was obviously gathering his thoughts and trying not to reply in anger. Her eyes suddenly stung. She knew him too well, and he wasn't even aware of it. Finally, the only part of him moving was his head as he looked over at her and shook it. She saw him holding back some retort.

He was a man who lived in a world of words. He knew exactly what and how he wanted to say it. It was part of what fascinated her about him. But he had problems being articulate in sign. And she knew that frustrated him.

Just one more thing to prove that she didn't have a place here with him. With one last glance at the homey chair, then up at the man, she headed toward the door. She had to pass him. And as she did, he reached out and snagged her arm, gentle, but firm.

Lauren stepped back, pulling her arm slowly from his grasp. His hand was like a caress down the length of her arm, her hand, her fingers. She backed up, stopping in the doorway. “Take me home.” She paused in the doorway, then turned to meet his gaze. “Or I'll take the bus.”

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

J
ASON
WATCHED
L
AUREN
walk out of the kitchen, her head held high. The silence suddenly seemed heavy. Why didn't it feel that way when she was here, when they were silently talking with their hands?

He froze. What the hell had just happened? He almost caught himself yelling after her. In the space of a minute, something had definitely changed. He stared at his hands. Shocked.

They'd had an entire conversation—amend that, an argument—without him speaking. He'd signed, read her sign, and they'd understood each other.

But instead of jumping for joy, Jason cursed. Why the hell did his brain suddenly learn sign
now
? In the middle of arguing with her, he figured it out?

His frustration multiplied at not being able to discuss it with her. Not because he couldn't, but because her anger and hurt stood in the way. He ignored the nagging pain at the realization she didn't really trust him. He'd done a damned good job of keeping her safe. She didn't seem to appreciate that, either.

He wished Trey would come back so he could pummel him a little more and release some of this frustration. Damn it.

Following Lauren, Jason proceeded to get ready for work while she dressed. Not signing. Not speaking. Not even facing her so she could read his lips if he chose to say something, which he didn't.

“Ready?” He finally faced her and spoke, the sign a single, simple gesture. Then, because he hoped she expected it, he leaned in, and none too gently, kissed her.

Lauren tasted of coffee and anger, and just a little bit of the passion he knew she was denying. It stirred him, and he felt her breath hitch as it stirred her, too.

He stepped back, staring at her for a long minute. She had the bandages in her hand but didn't ask for help. She gritted her teeth instead.

“Here.” He reached down and took the package from her hand. He made short work of the process and she stood there, stiff and accepting. Her sign of thanks was clipped as her eyes disappeared from view.

Resting her hand on his arm, she let him lead her to the car. They drove in silence—no music, or sign or touch. Once he'd opened the front door of her town house and let them in, she reached up and took the bandages off again.

The look on her face almost made him give up his promise to go to work. There was more pain in her eyes than there had been—even at the studio. It was a different pain, though. It was a hungry pain.

“Go.” She made the sign, aiming toward the door then tapped her chest. “I'll be okay.”

He had to leave. Had to let her do this. Respecting her wishes at this moment went against every protective cell in his body. But he did it. And headed out the door and to his car without looking back.

As the day dragged on, Jason tried to put Lauren out of his mind, tried to focus on his job. It wasn't as if he didn't have piles of work to do. But nothing worked. She haunted him, her anger and pain nagging at him. Twice, he had to stop himself from walking out of the office and heading back to get her.

Finally, the anger Trey had ignited yesterday, that Lauren had stirred up this morning, exploded. “You did what?” he yelled at Susan. The woman had done stupid things before, but this topped the list.

“I... I...” She stammered and stepped back. The distance seemed to give her a smidgen of strength. “I gave him your address.” She backed away a bit more.

At least that explained how Trey had found his apartment. “Why would you even think that was okay?” He tried not to yell. Really, he did.

“He said he was your friend.” She wrung her hands. “He's from Texas, after all.”

“Do you know how big Texas is?” The fact that Trey had been a friend once upon a time didn't have any bearing at the moment. “I don't know everyone from there.”

“But you know him.”

“Oh, yeah. I know him.” Jason curled his hands into fists. “He's why I have this.” He pointed to his busted lip and right eye, the one that had turned a pale shade of purple overnight. “Tell me, do you like everyone you know?”

“Well...uh...no.”

“Point made. Do not
ever
give my home address to anyone. Do you understand?” He leaned toward her, needing her to understand how important this was.

“Should I, uh, not have taken the file?”

“What file?”

“The one he brought with him.”

“What file?” he repeated. “Where is it?”

“On...on your credenza.”

Jason took a deep calming breath, as if that would help, forcing himself to turn away. A thick blue file folder with a huge rubber band around it sat next to his dad's belt buckle.

Dad had never known Pal, but Jason knew he wouldn't have liked him. Even at eleven, Jason had understood and emulated his father's strong sense of right and wrong. It still echoed in Jason's memory.

Something he didn't want to analyze settled in his gut as he stared at the file. Dread? Fear?
Hell.

“I'm sure you have work to do,” he told Susan with a pointed glare. The woman scurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.

The silence this time was heavy with anticipation. Pal had told him a courier would deliver the file. Why had it taken so long to get here, and why had Trey brought it? He was a bit surprised Trey had even bothered. Granted, it was part of the legal file, but Haymakers weren't above ignoring the law. Was there something here Trey wanted him to see?

Dismissing all those concerns, Jason picked up the file and settled in his leather chair. He stared at the blue cover. He waited. On himself? On what? This was stupid. He could, at least, finish
something
to end this wasted day.

Jason flipped open the file, and was surprised to find Lauren's publicity photo. He stared at her beauty for several long minutes, missing her.

Then he flipped the photo over, hiding it from view. What the—

The only thing legal about this file was the motion on top. Pal Jr. and Trey were contesting the will. Filed in Austin two days ago, the same day the studio had burned, it threatened to take everything away from her.

Jason envisioned himself flinging the file across the room, papers flying through the air. Though it would be mildly therapeutic, he resisted the urge.

There were no other forms to finish or read. This was Lauren's life recreated on paper. Not a court document. The image of Pal's face, that night at the ballet, with tears on his cheeks, came to mind.

This was all Pal'd had of his daughter. What had he said about his life ending with Lauren's mother's death? Jason turned the page and started reading about the beautiful, injured woman he'd left on her own just a few short hours ago.

* * *

L
AUREN
HAD
SPENT
the day reacquainting herself with her world. She'd taken the bandages off on schedule, and managed to put them back on fairly successfully. The medicine was still difficult alone, especially one-handed—well one and a half since she could use her fingers, sort of, even with the cast.

She'd emailed Maxine, and the kids were going to stay with her until Lauren was completely done with the bandages. The caseworker had come to the mansion this morning, and was supportive of the decision. Lauren wasn't sure if that was because of Maxine's persuasion or the woman's relief at having less on her plate.

I'm here to help.
Maxine wrote,
I know there's a lot of work ahead.

Lauren appreciated the offer, and Maxine's caring. But she knew there was more behind the offer than just simple need.
I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet.
And that was true. She needed to talk to her insurance agent, and see what the adjusters had come back with. It could be weeks before she knew the total damages.
My insurance will determine a lot.

Such a nice man, that Ryan Davies. He'll be a big help. He said you can start work, just let your contractors know the claim number. I'm more than happy to help finance this, dear.

Lauren cringed, her head throbbing. She'd forgotten that her insurance agent was also Maxine's. Of course, she'd called him. Ryan was a good man, but he made a lot of money from Maxine each month. Lauren wondered where his first loyalties were.

I'll decide. I'll let you know if I need anything.
Not that she'd ever do that.
Thanks for helping with the kids.
She signed off the email and spent the next hour waiting for the agent to return her email.

She didn't feel like going to his office and hope he was available,
and
could get an interpreter. Ryan Davies was one of the business people she dealt with who hadn't bothered to learn even a smidgen of sign. Maybe she should look for another agent. One
she
picked.

Tomorrow, she had to replace her phone. Email was not the best way to contact anyone. She could call a service to translate through the phone, but she only used them as a last resort. It was way too slow.

Going out—into the sunlight—alone—scared her, but Lauren refused to give in to fear. Ever.

Her frustration high, and her head throbbing, Lauren sank down to the couch with a cool washcloth. She needed to relax and put the bandages back on. But not yet. The coolness soothed her painful eyes.

Her thoughts spun with her internal turmoil. Behind her closed lids, Lauren once again saw the images of the blackened shell of her studio. She swore she could still smell the acrid scent of burned wood.

Maxine's offer, while well intentioned, threatened Lauren's independence nearly as much as the fire itself.

And then there was Jason.

She couldn't think about him right now. Maxine, and the money it would take to repair the studio, sent her stress back through the roof. But thinking about Jason?

That was a whole different kind of stress.

* * *

J
ASON
'
S
PATIENCE
RAN
OUT
.
All the nights he'd driven to the studio, all the times he'd taken Lauren home, he'd gone well below the speed limit, wanting to extend his time with her. Now, he forced himself to slow down, and not floor the gas pedal, or take corners on two tires. He was anxious to make sure she was fine.

He'd been too angry with Lauren this morning, and she'd been too distant, for him to remember she didn't have a phone. Not that he'd have called her, but he could have texted to make sure she was okay.

Finally, her town house came into view. The sun was already at the horizon, stretching shadows around the neighborhood. The lights in the living room were on, but otherwise, the place was dark. Made sense if she was there alone. The kids were probably still at Maxine's.

He jerked to a halt outside, not bothering to pay attention to the meters or the hydrant out front. Sitting there for a minute, he took a deep breath. He was being ridiculous worrying about her. But without a phone how would she call for help? He should have thought of it earlier.

Jason took the front steps two at a time, nearly skidding into the front door. He ached to pound on it, but she'd never hear him. He hoped she had put on her bracelet and would see the lights flash when he hit the doorbell. All dozen times.

Lauren yanked open the door, alarm on her face. She stared up at him, her eyes wide. “What is wrong?” she signed. “Everyone okay?”

Relief washed over him. She stood there, staring at him like he was crazy—looking better than anything or anyone he'd seen all day.

Comfortable that she was okay, Jason held up a finger signing, “One minute.” He went back out to his car and pulled out the file. She stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. She looked totally confused.

Inside, Jason locked the door and ushered her back into the living room. She curled her legs up and settled in the overstuffed chair. Her hair fell around her shoulders where the light glowed against the copper. She picked up a cup of something warm she'd left on the side table, staring at him expectantly.

Carefully, he lifted the file, looked at it and gently set it on the coffee table. He didn't sign or say anything. He simply sat down in the chair opposite the couch. And waited.

“What's that?” Palms up, she frowned. She couldn't miss her name written on the tab in Pal's cowboy chicken scratch.

The file Pal had created, that Trey had given to Susan. That Trey, and most certainly Pal Jr., had read. While Lauren couldn't avoid it any longer, that didn't mean she'd embrace it.

“It was Pal's.” He paused. “They are
c
-
o
-
n
-
t
-
e
-
s
-
t
-
i
-
n
-
g
the will.”

She took another sip from her cup, staring at the blue file, drinking slowly for a dozen or so long minutes. All the while, Jason sat watching her. Waiting.

* * *

L
AUREN
STARED
AT
the file on the coffee table. The dull ache behind her eyes told her she needed to rest them more. Soon.

But now Jason sat in the chair facing her. “Tell me what's inside,” she said, trying to avoid looking at it. Not sure what was in it. Knowing it was more than just legal papers.

He simply shook his head. He didn't speak. Didn't sign. Just waited.

Was it so horrible? She shivered, despite the warm mug in her hands and the heat of the tea sliding down her throat.

Her father had held it. Had looked at those same pages. Had he created it?

Jason seemed as nervous as she was. She could see it in the lines around his mouth and the way he kept bouncing his foot. Had he looked inside? Surely, he had.