Out of the Depths

“I’m still getting by. Not getting rich, but paying the bills.” Thanks to the savings she’d put away during the four

good years at True Tennessee. “A tourism magazine out of Paducah, huh?”

“Yep. Outdoor magazine about your beloved old Kentucky home.”

Her heart beat faster. Four years of Nashville had been exciting and fun, but city life wasn’t her thing, and it was way too expensive after the website went under. Dover was too far at the other end of the spectrum, though. Moving back to Paducah and Kentucky Lake…now that was a dream worth having.

“You still shootin’ brats at the five-and-dime?” His words came out slightly garbled by the cigar he inevitably kept in his mouth.

“Well, I’ve wanted to shoot a few, but so far, all I’ve done is photograph them. You still smoking those cheap-ass cigars?”

Mike’s laughed turned into a vicious cough. She waited for it to subside then launched her next tactic to get him on the subject.

“Tell me about the magazine quick before those things kill you.”

“Okay, darlin’, don’t go gittin’ your bowels in an uproar. Here’s the deal. You remember Charlie Short?”

Kyndal dredged up a memory of a squatty fellow with a bad toupee. “Yeah, I remember him.”

“The state’s contracted with him for a quarterly tourism deal showin’ the natural wonders of Kentucky. Now, while I think that means its women, the guys callin’ the shots are looking more for landscape. Seasonal photos and whatnot. I thought of you. On both accounts.”

“I’m sure you did, you old codger.” Sixty-eight years old with four divorces under his belt and a huge beer belly over it, Mike Sloan would forever be a player in his own mind. “Quit flirting and stick to business. What’s Charlie Short wanting? Anything particular I can impress him with?” She stirred the flavor powder into the noodles.

“Caves.”

She stopped stirring. Had she heard him right? “Caves?” She moved the pot away from the heat and turned off the burner.

“Yep. Apparently, Kentucky’s loaded with them. Not well-known ones like Mammoth Cave. Small caves. Ones that might have had historical significance or are just interesting in formation. Know of any you could shoot, like quick? He’s wantin’ to make a decision pretty soon. Maybe the next week or so.”

Kyndal’s chest tightened, and she took a deep breath, letting it out slow and controlled. “Yeah.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “I know of one. I can go shoot it tomorrow.”

“You’re not workin’ tomorrow?”

She responded to the sadness in his voice with enthusiasm in her own. “Five to nine, Tuesday. Nine to nine, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. A forty-hour week with time left for freelance work. Or days at other Shop-a-Lots if I can find some that want me.”

Mike sighed, which led into a loud cough followed by a wheeze that probably saved her from further comments. “Here’s his email address.”

She took down the information. “Does Charlie know about…”

“Yes, darlin’, he knows about the lawsuit and that you had nothing to do with any of the shenanigans…just got caught in the cross fire. Says he doesn’t give a damn as long as your shots are good. So this may be the chance to get your good name back.”

“Your lips to God’s ears, Mike.” Hope flickered at his words. “Thanks. I owe you one”

“No.” He gave another long, remorseful sigh. “I owe you one, and I hope this is it. See ya.”

“Bye.” He was already gone.

She poured the noodles into a colander to drain and checked the fridge for nonexistent butter.

So the cave was drawing her back. Chance’s special place. Their special place. The place he’d taken her after his brother Hank’s funeral. The place where they cried out all their anguish, clung to each other for hours and finally lost their virginity. Tears stung her eyes at the bittersweet memory.

Could she face the cave now?

It might be good for her. Give her closure. Let her put the Chance Brennan chapter of her life behind her for good.

Chance Brennan. She closed her eyes and gave in to a minute of nostalgia. Black, curly hair. Eyes like rich espresso. Full lips that made her lick her own just thinking about them.

Theirs was one of the great love legends of Paducah Tilghman High School those two years. Most-Likely-to-Succeed and the varsity quarterback. Poor girl, rich boy. Government-subsidized housing versus country club estates. An unlikely yet somehow compatible pairing—to everyone except Chance’s dad.

She could still see the relief in his dad’s eyes when Chance got his acceptance letter from Harvard and she didn’t. Bill Brennan never thought she was quite good enough for his son. If he’d known how serious things had gotten between them, he probably would have sent Chance to a military school his senior year.

An involuntary shudder shook her. How careless they’d been about unprotected sex that day in the cave. Jaci had her convinced she couldn’t get pregnant the first time. Some best friend. It was a miracle they didn’t end up like her mom and Mason. Or those kids in the store tonight. Where would they be but for a little bit of luck?

Probably back in Paducah, eating at Max’s Café instead of having ramen noodles. She scanned her spice rack for nothing particular.

Chance was back in Paducah, practicing law with his dad, according to Jaci. That news came as no surprise.

What would it be like to have a life like that? Being somebody from the day you were born? Having money for everything you needed? A ready-made career? Parents who were around?

There was the rub, of course. Repayment for Chance came in the form of having to put up with Bill Brennan’s constant presence.

Kyndal took a bite, but the noodles had lost their flavor. She gave the mixture a heavy dousing of pepper and took another bite.

Tomorrow will bring the perfect shot….

A warm tingle ran up her spine. She wasn’t sure if the cause was the pepper or the thought of going back to the cave. No way would she let it be because of Chance Brennan.

She would show him…and his dad…show them all.

She was going to be somebody.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHEREYOUHEADEDSOearly on a Saturday morning? The LBL?” Mrs. Crain set the large to-go cup on the counter.

Kyndal nodded as she counted out the exact change, feeling guilty she’d forgotten to include coffee on her grocery list. “I’m gonna take The Trace through the Land Between the Lakes and try to get some shots of the bison or elk. Then I’m going around to the Kentucky Lake side to a cave.”

Mrs. Crain’s eyebrows knitted in disapproval. “You taking anybody with you?”

“No, ma’am.” Kyndal shrugged sheepishly. She’d given up trying to make people understand that a photographer had to take chances sometimes. A male photographer was considered brave or adventuresome. A woman was just dumb.

“Caves can be dangerous, you know. Couple of boys disappeared in one around Carlisle a few years back. They was never seen again.” Mrs. Crain popped open a sack and slid a quiche-filled puff pastry inside. “A tiny thing like you hadn’t got any business traipsing alone around some cave.” She rolled the top down tightly and held it out. “Here. Take this.”

“Mrs. Crain, I don’t want you to—” Kyndal protested.

“Stick it in your knapsack. If you get lost in that cave, least you’ll have some sustenance.”

The hair on Kyndal’s neck prickled at the words. She hadn’t considered the cave would bring on anything more dangerous than a severe bout of oversentimentality. She gave a nervous laugh. “Don’t you be worrying about me. I’m not going exploring. Just getting some shots for my portfolio.”