Facing It by Linda Winfree Page A

her feeling small and cold even this close to him. “But it seems like every time I turn around, I realize how very little I do know you.”
    “That’s crazy, Jen.” He shifted, a tight, uncomfortable gesture. Like he felt trapped. She swallowed a sigh. “You’re my partner. Of course you know me.”
    “As an agent.” She took a final swallow of her coffee, hoping the warmth of the strong brew would alleviate some of the ice around her heart. She’d failed with him and there was nothing about this conversation to give her hope, either. “Give me any situation with you as my partner, and except for yesterday in that conference room, I’d know exactly what you were going to do or say.”
    “See?”
    “But I don’t know you as a man.” She cringed from the hint of pain that made it into her quiet voice. “You won’t let me.”
    He closed his eyes. “Jen—”
    “You know what I don’t get, Beech?” She waited for him to raise his lashes. “How you can have so much faith and belief in them.” She indicated the vinyl seat Falconetti and Calvert had shared. “And so little in what we could have.”
    “What exactly is it you think we could have, Jen?” Beneath the rough exasperation lay a hint of entreaty. She grabbed on to that whispered emotion.
    “A future.” She held his gaze. “A partnership like the one we have professionally, on a personal level. Don’t you feel that too?”
    He looked away without answering.
    “You could give me a chance, Beech. Talk to me.” She traced a pattern on the back of his hand. He drew it into a fist but didn’t pull away. “Why don’t you believe in me?”
    “That’s the problem.” He did tug free then and rose to draw his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket. His withdrawal, emotional and physical, hurt. He laid a bill on their ticket, and when he finally met her gaze, the cold bleakness had taken root in his eyes again. “I believe in you, babe. It’s me I don’t have any faith in.”

    Ruthie set small bowls of bananas mixed with strawberry yogurt and sprinkled with graham teddy bears before the children. John Robert and Camille chattered excitedly to one another and Ainsley about their time at the beach the day before and what might lie before them today, but she only half-listened. Her being seemed focused on Chris Parker, her ears attuned to the muffled movements in the small bathroom as he showered.
    She needed him on her side. Keenly aware that something had happened back in Chandler County, she needed him to trust her enough to tell her with a desperation that frightened her. Being in the proverbial dark was almost as bad as being at the mercy of Stephen’s whims.
    She really wanted to know what lay behind that bizarre overreaction of his last night as well. But that answer surely would not be forthcoming any time soon, if ever.
    The water stopped in the bathroom, going from full blast to a few loud pattering drops. The metal rings jingled and clattered against the curtain rod. Ruthie, pouring a cup of freshly brewed coffee, faltered as an image flickered in her brain, of Chris’s tall broad-shouldered form stepping onto the threadbare rug before the shower, droplets of water trailing down a muscular chest to his narrow waist, sluicing from roped thighs and firm calves as he reached for a towel.
    Her face burned and her spoon clinked too hard against the cheap pottery mug. Where had that come from? She hadn’t even looked at a man with anything remotely like sexual desire in…well, longer than she wanted to think about, let alone fantasized about one naked. That was the last thing she needed in her life right now.
    Even if it wasn’t, she could surely find better candidates than her brother’s rumored-to-be-gay, edgy-around-women colleague. She sucked in a deep, calming breath, centering her thoughts away from the bathroom and its occupant.
    The door to that small room scraped open and quiet footsteps creaked on the floorboards in the