Dynasties Collection

The morning was barely broken, the sun a sliver at the horizon. The air was chilly—or had been, before he started running.

Too late echoed in his head with every footfall. He pushed himself a little faster.

It was amazing what a fool he’d been, thinking he could just enjoy Dixie. Thinking love was a decision, or something he could avoid, like stepping out of the way of a speeding car. Nope, no thanks, don’t want to get hit today.

Too late.

Or that love could be made into play. That’s all he’d meant by that game with the scarf—some sexy game. With, maybe, a whiff of the need to keep her interested, make her want to continue the affair.

Somewhere along the line it had taken a serious turn. He’d wanted her tied and bound to him. Forever.

Too late.

This morning he’d woken up reaching for her. She hadn’t been there, of course. He’d taken her back to The Vines last night—a move born of panic, he admitted. She’d be sleeping now, sleeping in the room he’d moved out of years ago.

Too late, he thought, his feet dragging to a stop. He stood with his head down, his hands on his thighs, dragging in air. Maybe it had been too late from the moment she walked into his office again after an eleven-year absence.

He was in love with Dixie. Desperately in love. He was running because that’s what he wanted to do—run away from the feeling. From her. It was impossible, of course. He couldn’t escape what he felt. Not the love. Not the fear, either.

Or maybe he could—the fear, anyway. If he left her.

Cole had been terrified of going to the dentist as a child. When he was ten, he’d realized that the fear was as bad as the event, maybe worse. He hadn’t conquered it, but he had stopped putting it off. It would happen whether he delayed or not, so why wait, dragging out the fear?

But dental visits truly couldn’t be avoided. Was losing Dixie just as inevitable?

He’d been telling himself he knew she would leave. Maybe not for months, but eventually she would go. But now, faced with the prospect of living with the fear of losing her or walking away himself, he discovered a stubborn core of hope.

There were the gifts she’d given him, the orchid and chocolates, the cufflinks. Just yesterday she’d given him a goofy card, telling him sternly, “Take note. Women love to get cards. You get extra points for a blank card that you write in yourself.”

He’d told himself they were part of the game for her, but they’d gotten to him underneath, where words don’t reach.

There was the way they laughed together, too, and the sheer comfort he felt with her sometimes. And sometimes, when she was looking at him, her face seemed to glow—not with the blazing heat of desire, but a gentler warmth, like a welcoming candle. Was that just friendship? And when she’d reached for him last night as he entered her…that had felt very like love.

If only he could know, one way or the other!

Cole ran his forearm over his forehead, wiping off the sweat that was chilling him as it dried. He’d better keep moving. He’d stiffen up if he just stood here.

Slowly he started back to the cabin. He could ask her what she felt for him. That was as logical as it was terrifying. But what would it prove? Even if she said she was passionately in love, could he believe her? She’d spoken of love before. It hadn’t kept her from leaving.

He had to be sure of her. One way or the other, he had to know.

Moving faster now, he laid his plans.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Cole said, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. “This came up unexpectedly, and I can’t get out of it.”

Silence.

This wasn’t part of his plan. He’d put off seeing her for two days, citing work—he’d been spending a lot of time with her, he’d said, and had to catch up. It was halfway true, but the real reason was that he needed to see if she’d take off.

Having a genuine business emergency hadn’t been part of his plan. “I’ll make it up to you for canceling tonight. We’ll go out Friday. Maybe to that new club—”

“I’ll be at my aunt’s on Friday night.”

Right. “Okay, Thursday. We’ll do whatever you want.”

More silence, then: “Are you getting that déjà vu feeling? I used to hear that a lot. Or maybe you aren’t feeling anything at all. That would be safer, wouldn’t it?”

“Dammit, Dixie, I didn’t conjure this guy out of thin air. He’s the rep for a major distributor, and if he wants to talk about carrying our new chardonnay, I’m for damn sure going to talk to him. He’s only in town for this one day.”

“And no one else can handle this?”

“Lucas is down with a stomach bug. Mercedes and Jillian don’t know enough about the production end, or where else we’re committed. And Eli wouldn’t know what kind of volume discount to agree to. Besides, he’s lousy at this sort of thing.”

“You’re doing it again. Hiding behind work, finding excuses to pull back.”

“Don’t be childish,” he snapped. “I can’t dance attendance on you every minute.”

The sudden dial tone in his ear made him wince. Way to go, Ashton. But it was the thickness he’d heard in her voice that haunted him as he got ready for his meeting. It had sounded a lot like tears.

“Dixie?” Mercedes paused in the doorway. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Furious at being caught crying, she wiped away the evidence.

“Right,” Merry said dryly, coming into Dixie’s room—the one that used to be Cole’s. “I know. You’re feeling sentimental because it’s National Oatmeal Month.”

“Always gets to me.” Dixie sniffed. “National Opposites Day is coming up, too.”

“And Ben Franklin’s birthday. Another big occasion.”

This was a game they’d played back in college, when any excuse to shop, eat chocolate or sleep in late was a good excuse. Congress was always making special days that no one paid any attention to, Dixie had told Merry. It was their solemn duty to see that no occasion went unobserved.

“Is it National Hugging Day yet?” Dixie’s smile was a tad watery, but she did feel better.

“Close enough.” Merry honored the almost-occasion by giving Dixie a hug. “So what’s up? Your work going okay?”

Dixie flopped her hand in a so-so gesture. In fact, work was going fine—so well that she was dragging out the last sketches so she’d have an excuse to stay at The Vines a little longer.

Merry sat on the bed beside her. “Your aunt?”

“Not this time. Your brother.”

“Uh-oh. I thought things were going great with you two. Tell me what’s wrong. As long as it doesn’t involve sex,” she added hastily. “I do not want to hear about your sex life when it’s my brother you’re having sex with.”

“Oh, no. The sexual part of our relationship makes me scream with joy, not cry.”

Merry looked pained.

Dixie’s grin hardly wobbled at all. “Okay, okay. No sex talk. The thing is…oh, I don’t know what the thing is.”

She shoved to her feet and started pacing. “He’s giving me these mixed signals. I’m trying not to mention sex, but that is part of it. When we’re together that way, it feels important. Like I truly matter to him. But if I so much as mention the future, he turns vague. Casual.”

I’m up for a longer run if you are. She sniffed again, but more in scorn than sorrow this time. Even if they’d been having a purely casual affair, that comment lacked grace.

“Lots of men have trouble committing,” Merry offered. “It takes them longer to admit what they’re feeling. You two haven’t been back together very long, Dixie.”

“I know, but…oh, everything I could mention sounds trivial. I haven’t seen him for two days, and he just canceled our dinner tonight. That shouldn’t be a big deal, and yet…it’s not what he does, but the way he does it. I feel like it’s happening all over again,” she finished sadly. “Just like eleven years ago. I can feel his walls going up.”

And she wasn’t sure she could handle it. All the pep talks in the world didn’t stop the hurt. Or the doubts. How could she make herself believe she could count on Cole when, for no reason she could see, he suddenly started tacking up Keep Out signs?

Merry didn’t say anything for several moments. “Cole’s got walls,” she admitted. “Big, high, scary ones. Half the time you seem to slip in under them easier than anyone. The other half, you trigger them.”

“Yeah.” Dixie plopped down on the bed again. “I’m scared.”

“Goes with the territory, unless you’re sensible enough to be like me and just date losers. No gain, no pain, I always say.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Craig,” Dixie began.

“Uh-uh. No. Not today. You can give me advice after you get your love life straightened out.”

“When I’m seventy, you mean?”

“If you’re lucky.”

Dixie sighed. Cole had promised they’d get together tomorrow night. Maybe she should press him for some frank talk. Or would that be pushing for too much, too soon?

Never mind. She’d think of something. “How about a girls’ night out tonight?”

“Sorry.” Merry carefully removed a piece of fuzz from her slacks. “Wednesdays I have supper with Jared. Used to be the three of us, but…” She shrugged. “We’ve kept it up since Chloe died. It seemed to help him, especially at first, to have someone to talk with about her. We’ve become good friends.”

Dixie slid her a curious glance. Chloe had been a friend of theirs in college. She and Merry had stayed close afterward, since they lived nearby. But a standing dinner date with Chloe’s widower six years after Chloe’s death? That sounded like more than friendship…but then, who was she to say?

Merry was right. Dixie needed to get her own life figured out before she tried to straighten out anyone else’s.

“I need to paint,” she said suddenly. “Or go mess with paint, anyway.”

An art therapy session might tell her what she needed to know—even if she wasn’t sure she wanted to learn it.

Thursday afternoon Cole stared at the faxed report in his hand. His brain felt numb. Fuzzy. Rain beat against the office window. The only light came from his desk lamp. All else had faded into gloom with the arrival of the storm.

He shook his head. This couldn’t be right. There had to be some mistake. He reached for the phone and punched in the number of the detective who’d investigated Grant Ashton.

Fifteen minutes later the numbness was gone. Rage gathered in its place, questions ping-ponged around in his head—and beneath all lay a vast bewilderment.

The detective would bill him. How was he supposed to sign the check? Cole Ashton…that’s who he was, who he had been all his life.

He could have become Cole Sheppard when he was ten. Lucas had wanted to adopt them, but Spencer had refused to relinquish his rights. He hadn’t wanted his children, but he hadn’t wanted anyone else to claim them, either.

And now he’d made Cole’s entire life into a lie.

Cole slammed his fist down on the desk. “Damn him!” He jerked to his feet, grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. And didn’t notice that his jacket had brushed against the delicate orchid sitting on one corner of his desk, sending it crashing to the floor.

Chapter Twelve

Cole drove for hours. Drove through the rage and into bitterness. Passed from that to bewilderment and questions, many of which couldn’t be answered from behind the wheel of his Suburban. But they could be listed mentally, ordered, given consideration and assigned priorities. He drove until, finally, he had to pull over at a motel and sleep before he killed himself and maybe others.

Hours later, he woke to the sound of traffic. Light streamed through the cracks between the wall and the fiberglass drapes. He was fully dressed, the bed beneath him was hard, and there was a water stain on the ceiling.

For a moment he had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten there. Slowly memory seeped back. With it came another fact.

Today was Friday. The day that regularly arrived right after Thursday—which was when he’d promised to take Dixie out.

He groaned. Could his timing have possibly been worse?

She’d understand, he told himself as he rushed through a shower. There wasn’t much hot water, but he didn’t see anything with too many legs crawling around, which was a relief, given the condition of his accommodations.

Which were where, exactly? He wasn’t even sure what part of the state he was in. No, wait—he dimly remembered crossing the state line shortly before he decided to pull over. He was in Nevada. Somewhere in Nevada. They’d know at the front desk.

As he scrambled into yesterday’s clothes, he assured himself that once he told Dixie what he’d learned, she’d understand why everything else had been blasted clean out of his mind.

Dressed, somewhat damp and more than a little desperate, he tried to call her. But the phone by the bed didn’t work, and he’d forgotten his cell phone. He’d rushed out the door without anything but his jacket and what he’d had in his pockets.

He’d run off without calling Dixie.

She was going to ask why. She probably would understand that he’d been badly shaken. She was a compassionate person. But she’d wonder why it had never once occurred to him to turn to her.

So did he.

Cole gassed up, grabbed a breakfast burrito and a large coffee, and left the tiny town of Basalt, Nevada, behind. He didn’t stop again until he pulled up in front of his parents’ house five endless hours later.

He’d driven longer last night, but last night he’d lacked any kind of destination. Time hadn’t mattered. It did now.

Tilly rushed up to greet him as soon as he stepped out, and he was smitten by guilt. Someone would have fed her when it was obvious he’d taken off, but he must have worried everyone. Including his dog.

He took a moment to pet and reassure Tilly, then headed into the house. It was two in the afternoon, so Dixie would be working—which meant she might be anywhere. But she’d set her easel up in the lanai, so he checked there first.

No sign of her. Or anyone else, for that matter. No one seemed to be home at all.

He’d check her room anyway, just to make sure. He took the stairs two at a time.

She wasn’t there, but Mercedes was. She was packing Dixie’s things.

Cole stood in the doorway, frozen. Faint and faraway, he heard the echo that had haunted him on his morning run three days ago: too late, too late, too late…

Mercedes finished folding a pair of slacks, laid them carefully in Dixie’s suitcase and straightened, scowling at him. “It’s about time you showed up! Where in the world have you been?”

“I’ll tell you later.” He would have to. They’d all have to know. But right now his lips were numb and there wasn’t enough air. He could barely get the next words out. “Where is she?”

“Gone, obviously,” Mercedes snapped.

“Mercy.” The childhood nickname slipped out as he crossed to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I have to find her. I have to. Where did she go?”

Mercedes searched his face. Her expression softened into worry. “She didn’t leave because you’re a jerk. You are, but that isn’t why she left.”

The quick stab of anxiety made him tense. “Then why?”

“Her mother had a heart attack yesterday.”

“Oh, no.” Cole closed his eyes for a second. “Is she—?”

“It was a mild one, apparently. She’s in the hospital now, but they say she’ll be okay. But that isn’t all. She called the ambulance herself when she realized what was happening. Only…” She swallowed. “She was taking care of Jody at the time. And in all the confusion, Jody wandered off.”

“Oh, God.” Cole thought about the storm last night. “Tell me she isn’t still missing.”

“I can’t. She’s been gone almost a full day now.”

Dixie sat at the table in her aunt’s kitchen with her head in her hands. The table was covered by maps—a large topographic map, a city map, a county map. She couldn’t think of anything else to do, anywhere to look that they hadn’t already checked. How far could a confused sixty-year-old woman go?

The phone rang. She’d been carrying it from room to room with her, so she grabbed it immediately. “Yes?”

It was Jillian, checking in. Everyone had been so good. They’d practically shut Louret down for the day in order to look for Jody. The authorities were looking, too, of course. It just wasn’t doing much good.

Everyone was looking…except Cole. Who had vanished as completely as her aunt.

His mother had told her not to worry too much about him. “He does this sometimes,” she’d said gently. “When Cole has a personal snarl he needs to work through, he drives.”

Dixie knew what snarl he was working on. Her. Apparently she was a huge snarl, too, since he’d not only stood her up, but had stayed gone all night. Somewhere around midnight, up at the hospital, she’d decided she’d take care of that tangle for him. If it was that hard to decide whether he even wanted to go out to dinner with her…

When the back door opened she looked up dully, expecting one of the searchers.

It was Cole.

She went hot, then cold, the fluctuation hitting as abruptly as if a switch had been thrown. For a second she wondered if she might faint, which would be too mortifying to bear. She looked away.

“No word?” he asked softly.

She shook her head and looked at the table. She’d had too little sleep, that was all. A couple hours snatched on a hard couch in the waiting room at the hospital. She didn’t need Cole, not after he’d shown her how true all her doubts had been.

But her aunt might. There were colored buttons on the topo map, each representing a searcher or group of searchers. She cleared her throat. “If you’re here to help look for Aunt Jody, fine. I’ll assign you an area. If you’re here for anything else, go away.”

“I’ll search. But I want to know how you’re holding up.”

“I’m fine.” Her stupid, traitorous eyes chose that moment to water. “I’ll be fine. This area, here, by Waters Street.” She tapped the city map. “It’s been searched already, but they might have missed her. Or she could have wandered back after they looked. There’s a coffee shop there. It’s…it was…one of her favorite…” Her voice broke as her eyes filled, and she finished in a whisper. “She might find her way there.”

“Ah, hell, sweetheart.” He crossed to her quickly, pulled her out of the chair and folded his arms around her.

She hit him in the chest with both fists. “Don’t you call me sweetheart! Damn you, where did you—where—” But the tears were winning, her words broken apart by sobs. “I wanted you last night! I needed you, and you pulled a vanishing act!”

“I know, honey. I’m sorry. So sorry. Cry it out. You can hit me later. Hate me later.”

At first she tried to break loose, but he held her too closely. Or maybe she just gave up. It felt too good to have his arms around her, his strength to lean on. So she cried.

It didn’t last long. Dixie didn’t understand how some people could cry for hours—when tears hit her, they hit hard and fast. And left just as fast, like a storm in the desert.

Once she was through crying, she pulled away. She didn’t want to, which infuriated her. She wiped her face, sniffed, and looked around for the tissues. Crying always made her nose run.

Cole handed her the box.

“Thanks,” she said, making it as cold as she could. She blew her nose.

“Have you had any sleep?”

“A little. And before you ask, I’m not going to go lie down. Later I’ll have to. I don’t have to yet.”

He studied her face a moment. “All right. I’ll tell you what happened last night, but later. How’s your mom? I could take over here for a bit so you could go see her.”

“She’d just send me back here. Or tell me to sleep—as if I could.” Dixie sniffed one last time and tossed the tissue in the trash. “It’s ridiculous! She blames herself, as if she could have timed her heart attack better!”

He nodded. “I should’ve known you came by that tendency honestly.”

She scowled. “What are you talking about?”

“Tell me you aren’t convinced you should have somehow kept this from happening. Maybe you think you should have stayed with Jody last night. You had no idea you would be needed, but you ought to have guessed. Or maybe you should have intuitively known that your mother’s heart was going to act up. Or—”

“I get the point.” She even felt the ghost of a smile touch her lips. “It’s not my fault. I know that, and yet…” She rubbed her forehead wearily. “It’s just so awful to think of Jody out there somewhere. She must be so frightened. Maybe she’s hurt, or…”

“And hard to stop thinking about it. Come on,” he said, taking her arm. “Sit down. Have you eaten?”

She let him steer her to a chair. “Your mother force-fed me a sandwich a couple hours ago.” There. That was a real smile this time. “I don’t know how she can speak so softly, be so gentle and polite and be utterly immovable at the same time.”

“That’s my mom.” He was rummaging in the cabinets. “How about some coffee? It won’t make you feel better, but you can worry more alertly.”

Coffee actually sounded good. “Okay.” She wasn’t forgiving him. She just didn’t have the energy to hate him right now. “It’s in the cabinet by the sink. Make plenty,” she added. “People come and go a lot.”

Neither of them spoke as he prepared the pot. When it was ready, he sat down with her and his own cup and had her tell him who was searching, where they all were, what areas had already been searched. It steadied her, reminding her that they were doing all they could.

Over the next hour one of the police officers stopped by and had a cup of coffee. He briefed them on what the official searchers were doing. The phone rang a couple of times—Mercedes called to say she was on her way back, then a telemarketer gave Dixie a chance to snarl at someone.

Cole didn’t seem to be going anywhere. He seemed to have an instinct for when to speak and distract her, when to remain silent. She was pacing again when she decided she couldn’t let him hang around and coddle her. “The cops took another look on Waters Street, but you could check out that gully by the supermarket.”

“I’ll do that.” He took another sip of coffee. “Just as soon as Mercedes gets here.”

She wanted him to stay. The longing was as stupid as it was selfish, when she ought to be pushing him out the door—for her own sake as well as Aunt Jody’s. “I don’t need to be baby-sat.”

“You don’t need to be alone right now, either.”

She was mustering up the anger to snap at him when the phone rang again. She glanced at it and grimaced. “If that’s another telemarketer—”

“I’ll get it.” He snaked out an arm and snagged it before she could. “Hello?”

His face told the story before he spoke. “That’s wonderful. Yes…of course. We’ll be right there.” He put the phone down and stood, his smile wide. “She’s at the newspaper office in Napa. God only knows how she got there, but she’s okay. They’re feeding her doughnuts. She’s tired and grouchy and she doesn’t want to leave,” he added wryly. “She thinks she works there.”

Dixie’s eyes closed. Her knees all but buckled beneath the wave of relief. “She did,” she managed to say. “Thirty years ago.”

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