He took a shaky breath and grinned back at her, grateful that her question had broken the intimacy of the moment. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the dusty area in front of the cottage, headed back toward town.
“Does this one have ‘Take Her Out of Pity’ on it?”
“Yeah, umm…track six, I think.” He glanced over as she leaned forward and pressed the fast-forward button on the CD player.
The banjo and guitar started, and Jane sang along, softly but faithfully, as she looked down, playing with the buttons and switches on her camera:
I had a sister Sally; she was younger than I am. Had so many sweethearts, she had to deny them. But as for sister Sara, you know she hasn't many. And if you knew her heart, she’d be grateful for any… don’t let her die an old maid but take her out of pity…Sara’s almost twenty-nine, never had an offer…
He looked over at her. At the end of the verse, she shrugged her shoulders in delight and resumed the chorus with gusto, still staring down at her camera. It was as if there was a hidden message in the song that only Jane Mays could hear and enjoy. He was glad she was looking down; he was glad he could keep stealing glances of her unobserved.
“What’s up with this song, Minx?”
She turned to him, surprised at first, then smiling mischievously. “Minx?”
Man, that voice. “The way you’re smiling. Like the cat that got the cream.”
She shifted her body toward him. “This song is about an old maid who can’t get a man.”
“Yeah.”
“And her name is Sara.”
He nodded, not entirely sure where she was going with this train of thought. “Yeah.”
“Sara is my cousin’s name.”
“Huh. Okay. You’re not a fan of your cousin, eh?” He stopped at a stop sign and looked over at her, amused.
“Wait ’til you meet her.”
“Does she work for Miss Amaya too?”
Jane’s eyes widened in surprise and that sweet twinkle died as surely as a fire doused with a bucket of water.
“I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
“She is Miss Amaya.” she muttered.
“Samara Amaya is your cousin? No. Wait. You said your cousin’s name is Sara.”
She nodded, reaching over to turn off the CD player.
Lars pulled into a parking space on Main Street and faced her. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to understand. You’re Samara Amaya’s assistant.”
“And her cousin,” she said. “Samara’s cousin. Actually, Sara Mays’s cousin. Sara Mays. That’s her real name. Our fathers are brothers. Were brothers.”
“Whoa,” he murmured, putting pieces of this family puzzle together.
She turned to look at him, facing him squarely. Her shoulders were rigid, and her eyes were guarded…almost worried, like she was waiting for—for what? What had she said? Were. Were.
“Who lost her father?” he asked gently.
“Wh-what?”
“You said were brothers. You can’t undo brothers. I assume one brother, um, one father passed away?”
“M-mine. I was raised by my uncle. My father’s twin.”
He couldn’t get a read on what was going on in her head, but her face was softening as she gazed at him. Her olive-green eyes searched his face intently and she looked like someone had just shocked the hell out of her…maybe even like she wanted to cry.
Talking about losing someone you loved can do that, Lars thought. He knew from experience.
“I’m really sorry,” he said.
Those vulnerable green eyes searched his, her face softening all the way to tenderness as she stared at him.
For me? whispered his heart.
No, Stupid, his mind answered swiftly. She’s thinking about her father, not you.
“I’m sorry, Jane,” he offered again.
“It was a long time ago.”
Her shoulders relaxed as she said this, and her lips tilted up in a small smile. He reached out and bumped his knuckles tentatively against the side of her thigh on the seat beside him.
“Doesn’t matter how long…it fades a little, but it doesn’t ever stop hurting.”
“Who did you lose?” she asked softly. She glanced down at his hand, but didn’t say anything, so he kept it where it was, lightly grazing her jeans.
“My mom. Cancer.”
She nodded.
“What about your dad?” he asked.
“Both my parents,” she murmured. “Car crash. When I was ten.”
He winced. “Oh, no. Both of your parents? Aw, Jane, that’s…I’m so sorry.”
She placed her hand beside his on the seat and he gently hooked his thumb under hers. He watched as her fingers curled softly around his.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her husky voice even deeper with the emotion.
When he looked back up at her, her green eyes were slightly glassy. He leaned closer to her, mesmerized, vaguely aware that if he kept staring into them, he might do something stupid.
Suddenly, she looked away, squeezing then releasing his hand and smiling up at him—that wonderful minxy smile he was starting to like so much—as she lowered her sunglasses. It sure wouldn’t be hard to get used to that smile.
“Hey! You said sightseeing, right?”
“I did, indeed.”
He smiled back at her before opening his door and rounding the truck to open hers.
His heart beat faster than usual between the long strides of his steps.
Something unspoken had passed between them—something bigger and more important than he’d ever expected. He felt it keenly, and sensed she felt it too.
***
Jane was surprised by how appealingly quaint she found Gardiner’s Main Street, probably owing to its connection with and proximity to Yellowstone. She tried to stay focused on the various stores and businesses Lars was pointing out as they strolled along, but she was having trouble composing her thoughts. She was all turned around. What had just happened to her in Lars’s truck had never, ever happened to her.
When she’d realized he wasn’t aware of the close familial connection between her and Samara Amaya, she’d braced herself for what always came next. She always found it awkward, and sometimes downright painful, to settle into a friendly relationship with someone, only to have them realize she was Sara’s first cousin. They’d look her up and down, wondering why Samara got daintily brushed with pixie dust and Jane got whacked with the average stick.
Sometimes they registered total and complete shock before narrowing their eyes and inspecting her face and body for similarities. Finding none, their reactions would vary.
Once or twice, people in the modeling business had actually cringed looking at her, mentally comparing her looks to those of her stunning cousin, but in fairness, most people were decent enough to just look a little uncomfortable—sorry for her, maybe, shrugging good-naturedly as if to say You can’t win ’em all.
The most tactful people—who were few and far between in the beautiful world of modeling—just smiled and nodded, probably assuming Jane had been adopted, because there was no way the two women could possibly share such similar DNA and look as different as they did.