Snowkissed. Jessica Gilmore
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mixed with a yen to get close to him—to make him see that his achievements deserved kudos just as much as hers. Yet already she could see the shutters had been pulled down to hood his eyes as he picked up the tape again.
‘We’d better get a move on,’ he said. It’s a big day tomorrow.’
‘Wait.’
Something—she had to do something. Loathing touched her soul at the idea that Ethan had such a deep-rooted, downright skewed vision of himself. Without allowing herself time to think she moved round the table and took his hand, tugged at it to indicate she wanted him to stand. He rose to his feet and she kept her fingers wrapped around his, tried to ignore the frisson that vibrated through her at the feel of his skin against hers.
‘Come here.’
The small frown deepened on his forehead as she led him to the ornate gold Victorian mirror—an oval of gilt curls and swirls.
‘Look at yourself,’ she said firmly, ‘and you will see you. Ethan Caversham. You are you. You may look like your dad, but you are not like him. This I know.’
His reluctance palpable, he shrugged. But he complied, and as he glanced at his reflection she hoped against all hope that he would see what she could. It was an optimism that proved foolhardy as his jaw hardened and a haunting mockery speckled his blue-grey eyes.
She stepped forward and turned so that she faced him, stood on tiptoe and cupped his jaw in her palms. The six o’clock shadow was rough against her skin as she angled his face and met his gaze.
‘You are a good man,’ she whispered, and reached up to kiss him.
Heaven knew she’d had every intention of pressing her lips to his cheek, but instinct overcame common sense and the burning of need to imprint her sincerity onto his consciousness prevailed. Her lips brushed his and she gave a small sigh as desire shimmered and sizzled, and then his broad hands spanned her waist and pulled her against him.
For a second she thought he’d kiss her properly, deepen the connection that fizzed, but as if he’d suddenly caught sight of his reflection he gently moved her away and stepped backwards instead. He lifted a hand and ran a finger against her cheek in a gesture so gentle she felt tears threaten.
‘Thank you, Ruby. I appreciate the endorsement.’
A smile redolent with strain touched his lips and then he turned and headed back to the table, sat down and picked up the scissors.
This was a good thing, right? Of course it was. Kissing Ethan was a bad, bad idea—that was an already established fact. So she needed to crush the absurd sense of disappointment and follow suit.
* * *
Two days later Ethan watched the busload of teenagers depart round the curve of the driveway. A sideways glance showed Ruby still waving, a smile on her face, though he knew she must be exhausted.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll make you a cheese toastie and a cup of tea.’
‘We’ve just had lunch.’
‘No. You just made everybody else lunch. You didn’t actually eat. No protests.’
‘Okay. I am hungry. Thank you.’
Twenty minutes later he made his way to the lounge, to find her curled up on an overstuffed armchair, dark head bent over her phone as she texted.
‘Hey...’ she said, looking up as he deposited the tray on a small table next to her. ‘I’m texting Tara. To tell her I meant it when I said I’d keep in touch.’
Her expression was serious, her brow creased, as she picked up the sandwich.
He eased onto the sofa opposite and stretched his legs out. ‘You bonded with her, didn’t you?’
‘Hard not to bond with someone who scares the bejesus out of you!’
Ethan shook his head; he could still feel the cold glug of panic that had hit his gut two days earlier.
Everything had been going so well. Nearly all the kids had wanted to have a go at the bake off, and had gathered in the kitchen with no more than some minor banter. Ruby had set up each person with a station with all the ingredients set out. There were recipes and she was at the front to demonstrate the technique. There had been a few flour-bomb incidents but after a couple of interventions by the social worker they settled down and soon everyone had been absorbed in the tasks at hand. The scent of cinnamon and ginger pervaded the kitchen and Ethan had relaxed enough to start a conversation about the following day’s surf trip.
It had all happened so fast.
A dark-haired boy had been in discussion with his neighbour a blonde petite teenager. Ethan clocked the violent shake of her head and just as his antennae alerted him that there was trouble, the youth stepped too close. Uttered a profanity so crude Ruby’s head whipped round from where she’d been helping someone else. As Ethan headed over, the girl whipped out a flick knife.
Ethan’s lips straightened to grim as he strode forward but before he could get there Ruby had put herself directly in the girl’s path and Ethan’s gut froze. The girl looked feral, her pupils wide and he could only hope that she wasn’t doped up on anything.
The knife glinted in her hand. Behind Ruby, the dark-haired boy had tensed and Ethan knew any second now the situation would blow. No way would that boy be able to keep face if he backed down to a girl—the only reason he hadn’t launched yet was the fact that Ruby was in the middle.
She held her hand out to the girl. ‘Tara, give me the knife. No one is going to hurt you. Not now and not later. Not Max, not anyone.’ Ruby’s voice betrayed not a flicker of fear. She swept a glance at Ethan and gave a small shake of head and he slowed his stride. Ruby clearly didn’t want him to spook the girl. Instead Ethan ducked round so that he could manoeuvre Max out of the equation, saw the boy open his mouth and moved straight in.
‘Quiet.’ Max took one look and kept his mouth shut.
‘Come on, Tara,’ Ruby said. ‘It’s OK. Look round. You’re safe. Look at me. You have my word. Now give me the knife and it will all be fine.’
Tara had shaken her head. ‘It’ll never be fine,’ she stated with a flat despair that chilled Ethan’s blood. Then the knife fell to the floor, the clatter as it hit the tiles released some of the tension in the room. Ruby put her foot over the weapon, then stooped to pick it up.
‘You want to keep going?’ she asked Tara. ‘It’s OK. No repercussions.’ She turned to Max and there was something in her stance that meant business. ‘No repercussions,’ she repeated.
Next to him Ethan saw the social worker open his mouth as if to intervene and he stepped into action. ‘I second that. No repercussions from anyone. This is not what this all about. You guys want to make a difference to your lives. It starts here. And this incident ends here.’
‘Now back to baking,’ Ruby said.
Looking back now, it occurred to Ethan how seamlessly he and Ruby had acted together, so attuned to the nuances of the scene, the risks, the threat, the best way to defuse the tension.
Ruby picked up her mug and cradled it. ‘You know what she told me?’
Ethan shook his head. His chest panged at the pain sketched on Ruby’s features.
‘She told me she wished there had been repercussions. That if she’d ended up inside it would have been better for her than her life now.’
Ruby’s voice was sad and heavy with knowledge.
‘I don’t blame her for having that knife. Her home life makes mine look like a picnic in the park. Her dad is a violent loser and she is so damaged no carer