“Tough as nails, as always. What the hell have you been doing?”
“I, uh…” She glanced at Hunter, who had squatted on the floor and was inspecting their work. He’d obviously forgotten about her. Relieved, she turned her concentration back to the telephone. “Just the usual, Uncle Victor.”
“You mean you’re still selling that nasty crap to people who have nothing better to do with their time?”
Like the man didn’t have a stack of adult magazines dating back twenty years in the woodshed behind the garage. “Selling nasty crap. That about sums it up,” she said cheerfully while her stomach clenched. She shot another surreptitious glance over her shoulder.
Hunter didn’t even glance up, which relaxed her somewhat. She didn’t want him to be an audience to what she knew was coming.
“Good God, girl, your aunt Hilda’s probably rolling in her grave,” Uncle Victor said roughly, his voice heavy with disapproval. “I’m not sure where we went wrong that you feel you have to do this.”
“You didn’t go wrong. And it pays the bills.” Sometimes.
“What’s the point, if you can’t be proud of what you do?”
“Who said I wasn’t proud of what I do?” Dammit, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t let him bait her, and here she was, hooked again. From the corner of her eye, she could see that Hunter’s stance had stiffened. With all her might, Trisha wished she’d answered the phone in the other room, away from his curious ears.
“Well, you might as well be standing on the street corner, flaunting your wares.” Uncle Victor berated her so loudly that Trisha had to pull the phone away from her ear.
Hunter went unnaturally still.
“Standing on the street corner would constitute a different occupation entirely,” Trisha observed lightly as the last of her nerves frayed. Hunter shifted suddenly, drawing her attention to his concentrated frown, and she closed her eyes in embarrassment. Oh, well, it wasn’t as if she were trying to make a good impression. It was far too late for that.
Besides, she didn’t care what he thought of her.
Yeah, and pigs could fly.
“Sassing me!” her uncle said with disgust. “You would never have dared when -”
“Aunt Hilda was alive.” She quietly completed Uncle Victor’s oft-spoken line.
“I’m just trying to make sure I do what’s right by you.” Uncle Victor spoke louder than before, a sure sign his temper had been stirred. “I have a duty.”
“Your duty has been completed. The fact that I’m rotten to the core -”
Uncle Victor swore colorfully. “Don’t you put words in my mouth. I just don’t approve of what you do for a living.”
“So I’ve thrown my life away; it isn’t your fault,” she said dryly.
Hunter rose lithely from the floor. He stepped closer to her, his expression carefully blank. Horrified at what he was hearing, Trisha turned away and struggled to watch her words. She moved as far from him as the phone cord would allow.
The leather of Hunter’s tool belt creaked, warning her of his movements as he came close enough for her to feel his body heat seep into her back. “Was there something you wanted, Uncle Victor?” she asked quickly. “I’m really quite busy.”
“Just wanted to talk to my niece,” he grumbled. “Not like you ever call me.”
Guilt lanced through her, which was exactly what he’d intended. Still, she felt like a jerk. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, dropping her forehead to the wall. “I should call you more often.”
“It’d be nice. Instead, you’re too busy selling unmentionables to strangers. I can’t even tell anyone what you do for a living, girl. Good Lord, if I did, they’d all be beating down your door, thinking you were easy.”
A career in the army hadn’t softened his manners any. Gruff as they came, and stubborn as a mule once he got a thought into his head. “I’m not easy,” she said through clenched teeth.
From behind her, Hunter’s big, warm, callused hand settled on her shoulder, making her bite her tongue. Gently but firmly, he turned her to face him, ducking his head to see her face. She stared at his shoulders, fascinated with how the width of them seemed to surround her.
He lifted her chin, the sparks of anger in his eyes startling her. “Hang up,” he mouthed.
“Just remember your upbringing, girl,” Uncle Victor said in her ear. “Your aunt Hilda and I worked hard to teach you straight.”
“Yes, Uncle,” she said dully, her heart thumping in response to Hunter’s touch, to his nearness. To the empathy he showed. “You did your best.”
Hunter reached for the phone, looking determined.
“You can say that again,” Uncle Victor said with a snort. “When I think of all we gave up to raise you after your parents died -”
“I know. I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” But she stood there, locked in miserable memories until she felt a gentle tug on the phone.
Hunter took it from her and set it quietly in its cradle. His expression could no longer be read, but she had no trouble sensing the sudden tension and anger. For some reason, that made her want to cry. “Well, that was fun,” she said, striving for humor and falling flat.
He seemed to understand her need to keep things light. “Isn’t family something?” he asked quietly, still standing close.
“Oh, my family is something, all right,” she said, turning away. It didn’t matter what he thought, she told herself. It just didn’t matter.
The hand he had left on her shoulder tightened as he gently turned her back to face him. “He was rude to you.”
“Isn’t that the definition of family?”
“Why do you put up with it?” he asked, his tone suddenly curt, very controlled.
So this was what the space scientist looked like angry. Shakily, she released her breath. He was full of this rage, for her. The burst of emotion that realization caused made her legs rubbery. “I guess your family does things different.”
“Not much,” he muttered. “But I don’t let mine get to me.”
What he didn’t say spoke volumes, and she knew without being told that his family hurt him as much as hers hurt her. “Well, what’s family for if not to constantly remind you of every fault and failing?” she quipped.
“It’s wrong.”
“Doesn’t your family ever get the best of you?”
“We’re not talking about me.” His voice softened. “But family shouldn’t hurt.”
“No, they shouldn’t.” Before her eyes, his temper drained. Something flickered in his gaze then. Sympathy? Compassion? Whatever it was, she couldn’t handle it, not when the urge to weep still had her eyes stinging. “Let’s finish the floor.” Again she turned away.
But Hunter just pulled her back. “What do your parents think of good old Uncle Victor?”
“They’re gone.”
He winced. “Hell. I’m sorry.”
“It was a very long time ago. My aunt and uncle raised me, and my aunt died not too long ago, which is why… why he calls,” she finished lamely.
“Does he call often?”
“Weekly. I usually manage to avoid him, which makes me feel even guiltier.”
“Sounds like that’s part of his purpose.”
“Guilt is his specialty.” Why was she telling him this? It would only reinforce what he thought of her. She clamped her jaws shut.
His gaze searched her face deeply, as if he could see past her facade and into her very soul. Uncomfortable, Trisha squirmed away, unwilling to allow this man more insights than she’d already given him.
“I’d probably avoid him too,” Hunter observed, setting his hands on his hips. “He didn’t have much of value to say about you or your life.”
He never did. With a meaningful glance toward the tools, Trisha said, “The floor. I think we should -”
“Is he your only family?”