Page 44 of The Image of You

“No.”

“Were you careful?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Were you?”

“Yes, Ms. Bossy. I was careful.”

“Good.”

I smiled at her protectiveness. “I have extra reason to be careful now.”

She nodded, her eyes serious. “Yes.”

“I liked your texts.”

“I didn’t like not being able to talk to you,” she admitted in a quiet tone. “Why don’t you have a satellite phone?”

“Tommy had it—my track record with one isn’t good. They have a habit of going over cliffs or getting forgotten on the top of the truck and I drive over them.” I stared at the ceiling, thinking. “To be honest, I never thought about it. I’m not used to having someone worry about me. Or think about calling someone while I’m gone. I’ll get better at staying in touch.”

“I don’t expect daily calls, just let me know you’re okay. A fast text. Something. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I will. I missed you, and I thought about you a lot.”

“I thought about you all the time.”

She yawned, and I pulled the blankets tighter around her. “Sleep now.”

Like a kitten, she curled up, tucking her hand under her cheek.

“Ally—”

“Hmm?”

“This benefit, what’s it for?”

“To raise money for more equipment for the pediatric ward at the hospital. Why?”

“Just asking.”

She nestled closer, her head on my chest. I ran my hand up and down her back, long, slow strokes meant to relax her. She sighed, the hand clutching my shirt loosened, and her breathing leveled out. My mind was too full to sleep yet.

An idea was forming.

I was well-known. My photographs drew a lot of attention and commanded a tidy sum. It was a worthwhile cause. A very worthwhile one.

Perhaps I should get in touch with the organizing committee. Offer something as an auction piece. Be there at the event to autograph it—personally.

I could meet a few people. Introduce myself.

I thought of Ally’s parents and their bored, cynical expressions earlier this evening. I knew they wouldn’t approve of me, despite the fact that I was well-off and successful. How I earned my money, and my lifestyle, were not up to their standards. Not to mention the ink that covered my skin—Ally had told me how much they disapproved of body art or anyone who didn’t conform to their narrow-minded world.

I was also blunt, outspoken, disliked them for the way they treated my girl, and I didn’t care about their opinion.

Wait until they got an eyeful of me.

We were going to hate each other, but they were going to have to get used to me.