“It’s lovely.” She stood motionless and smiling, glossed by sunshine. The breeze teased her hair and pressed her thin blue dress against a shape that was pure female.

Longing hit, a sweep of emotion that made him feel larger, lighter, full of air and dreams…then receded, leaving him mute and unsteady.

“Cole?” She tilted her head. “Is something wrong?”

“Probably.” He’d been wrong. Terribly wrong. He didn’t want a few days of friendly, keep-it-light sex from her. He wanted more. Much more.

He walked slowly up to her.

Nerves flickered in her eyes. She knew what was on his mind, oh yes. She didn’t back up—but she wanted to, he could see that. Instead she tilted her head back, frowning. “What flipped your switch?”

“You.” He put his hands on her arms and ran them up to her shoulders, letting the warmth of her seep into his palms. “You always have.”

“I don’t think this—”

“Good. Don’t think.” He crushed his mouth down on hers.

She jolted. He knew that, but only dimly—the ripe taste of her flooded him, a wine more heady than sweet. He pulled her tight against him, running his hands over her, feeding on the feel of her, the scent and taste and heat that was Dixie.

It wasn’t enough. He needed more—needed enough of her that she wouldn’t leave, couldn’t leave him again. His arms tightened around her.

And, dammit to hell, as soon as he did that, she started struggling. Pushing him away.

Cole had to drop his arms and let her go. Again. And it hurt, again.

Her mouth was wet, her hair wildly mussed and her eyes snapping with anger. “I won’t be forced.”

It was guilt that made him snap back. “Forced? It was a kiss!”

“You were going too fast. Pushing too hard.”

His mouth twisted. So did something inside, something that spilled out ugliness. “You’ve given me every reason to think you’d like to be kissed. Or was that all part of the game? Do you get a charge out of teasing men?”

“Where did that come from?” she snapped.

“You like men, don’t you? Eli, Russ, me—you flirt with us all. Am I just one of your men, Dixie?”

She spun around and started back toward the path.

“That’s right. Walk away. That’s your answer to everything.”

She paused. Slowly she turned. “People who leave aren’t exactly high on your list, are they, Cole? Or maybe they make the wrong list. Eleven years ago, I was the one to leave. We haven’t talked about that.”

“That’s right, I forgot. Talking is your other answer.”

She scowled. “I like yelling, too, sometimes.”

“I remember.” God, he did remember. Not the exact words of that last fight, but the feelings. She’d been furious, hurt—and the more angry she’d gotten, the colder he’d turned, until he’d thought he might never be warm again. “You yelled plenty when I forgot your birthday. Then you left me.”

She stared. “Tell me that isn’t the way you remember it.”

“It’s what happened! I messed up with the dates—”

“You refused to change a dinner with a client to another day!” She advanced, fists clenched at her sides. “We had a date, you and I, but you forgot and booked a dinner with a client for that night. I was hurt, yes, because you’d forgotten, but that wasn’t why I left!”

“Then why?” he demanded. “Tell me why, because I remember you screaming at me that if I wouldn’t take you out instead of my client, you were leaving—and you did!”

“You could have switched your client to another night instead of putting me off! I came last, like usual. Over and over you showed me where I stood—business came first, your family second, and I finished a poor third. Yet in spite of that, you couldn’t stand it if I so much as smiled at another man!”

His lip curled. “Half the time, you smiled at everyone but me. Is it any wonder I wasn’t sure of you?”

“You weren’t there for me to smile at! God, I’d be waiting for a phone call, then when it came you’d tell me you had to cancel lunch. Or dinner. By the last month we were together,” she finished bitterly, “you’d canceled pretty much everything except sex. That, you had time for.”

Her words struck him mute, inside and out. In the flash of mental silence that followed he heard his own words, past and present, echoing in his mind. After a moment he asked quietly, “Did you really think that? That all I wanted from you was sex?”

She gave her head a little shake, as if she were emerging from the fog, too. When she spoke there was a thread of humor in her voice. “Surely I must have screamed something along those lines.”

“By then we were accusing each other of everything short of abetting the Holocaust. I didn’t think you meant it.”

“I, on the other hand, believed you meant every word. You weren’t screaming, like me. You were deep in your chill zone, still speaking in complete, grammatically correct sentences…everything you said came out cold and deliberate.”

“I have no idea what I said. I was terrified.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You?”

“Oh, yeah. I was losing you and I knew it.” He’d never really believed he’d be able to hold on to her, so he’d held on too tightly, letting jealousy twist its knife in him. “I’d bought a ring.”

The words just slipped out. Dammit, he’d never wanted her to know that, never wanted anyone to realize how deep and complete a fool he’d been.

Her eyes went huge. “A ring?” she whispered.

“I was going to ask you to wear it on your birthday. Or,” he added wryly, “on whatever night I managed to make time to celebrate your birthday.”

Her eyes closed. She rubbed her chest as if it hurt. “Give me a minute. You…That’s a real leveler.” She paced away a few steps, then just stood there, her hand on her chest, looking away…pretty far away, he suspected. About eleven years. “If I’d known…”

“You might not have left. And that,” he added with painful honesty, “would probably have been a mistake. I wanted to keep you, but I had no intention of changing. I didn’t know how, back then. We’d have made each other miserable.”

She looked back at him. “I was sure you’d call. I waited for weeks for you to call and say you’d been wrong and wanted me back.”

“I was waiting for you to call and apologize. I gave you a month, being big on tests back then. You mentioned that.” He remembered only too well what she’d said. “Or shouted it. You were sick of the way I kept testing you, but as usual I didn’t listen. At the end of the month I decided you’d failed the test. I pitched the ring into the deepest canyon I could find. It was all very dramatic.”

She shook her head, a sad smile touching her mouth. “God have mercy on the young.”

“Young and stupid,” he agreed. “Both of us.”

Suddenly she laughed. “Pigheaded fits, too. Both of us waiting for the other one to call—”

“Confess their sins—”

“And come crawling back.” She grinned. “Admit it. The crawling part figured in your fantasies, too.”

“Absolutely.” Right up until he threw away the ring that had meant so much…and so little. After that, he’d made up his mind to forget her.

He’d failed.

For a moment they just looked at each other, letting the past settle back into place. Cole found that the shapes it fell into weren’t quite the ones it had held before. “I was out of line earlier,” he admitted. “Way out. I shouldn’t have accused you of being a tease, or…” He swallowed. “Or forced a kiss you didn’t want.”

“I wanted it,” she said, low voiced. “Then I got scared.”

“God, I never meant—”

“Of course not,” she said quickly. “If I’d let you know…but I don’t like to admit it when I’m frightened.”

But he knew of another time she’d been frightened, one she’d told him about. That knowledge hung between them.

She’d been eight when her father died, fifteen when her mother became engaged again. Helen McCord had believed she’d found the man who would take care of her and her daughter forever. Dixie hadn’t liked him, but she’d kept quiet about it for her mother’s sake. They’d just moved in together when Helen’s heart condition had grown suddenly worse. She’d gone in for surgery, comforted by the knowledge that the man she loved would be there to take care of her daughter.

The day after her surgery, that man had cornered Dixie in her bedroom. She’d gotten away. She’d even left her mark—the bastard probably bore a scar on his forehead to this day. And she hadn’t told her mother about it until Helen was home from rehab.

It was typical of Dixie. Admirable. And it provided a stark exclamation point to all the reasons he’d had for doubting she could ever commit completely to one man. Life had taught her not to trust men. To rely only on herself.

“It wasn’t you I was afraid of,” Dixie said at last. “Not you. That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for your comments,” she added with attempted lightness. “Some women may find jealousy attractive. I don’t.”

“Noted.” He nodded, grimly accepting that he’d given her a flashback moment. One more in a long series of mistakes he’d made with her. “You’ve seen my temper, my favorite spot and my least favorite side of myself. Can I show you my cabin now?”

She shook her head. “I do want to see it, but not today. Things are pretty charged between us right now. I don’t want to fall into your bed by accident.”

His pulse leaped. Down, boy, he told his most optimistic body part, and held out a hand. “Walk back with me?”

She smiled, came to him and took his hand. The connection felt good. After a moment he said, “I guess this means I’ll have to postpone my plans for an afternoon of hot sex.”

Her laugh was shaky. “Good guess.”

Postponed, he thought. What a wonderful word. For a few minutes it had looked as if he was going to lose her all over again. They walked back in a silence every bit as complete as when they’d walked out to the meadow…and wholly different.

Chapter Seven

It was surprisingly easy to keep the conversation light on the way back to The Vines. Maybe, Dixie thought, because of that stubborn rascal, hope. It was back, messing with her mind, making her think dangerous thoughts.

She reminded herself that they hadn’t really settled anything. Certainly nothing inside her felt settled. Cole had toppled several of her fixed ideas about the past, turning the present into unfamiliar territory.

He’d bought her a ring. He’d been planning to ask her to wear it.

Never, not once, had she dreamed that Cole had given any thought to marriage. He’d wanted more than one summer, yes. He’d urged her to take a job in San Francisco so they could continue their affair. She probably would have, too, even though the New York job she’d been offered was better for her professionally. If not for their last big fight she probably would have stayed in California to be close to him.

What if Cole had taken her out, as planned, on her birthday? What if he’d presented her with that ring? Would she have said yes?

She didn’t know. That unsettled Dixie more deeply than anything else she’d learned today. For years she’d thought of herself as the one deeply in love, the one most hurt when they couldn’t make their relationship work…now she learned that Cole had been ready to commit to her for life. And she wasn’t sure if she would have said yes.

Shouldn’t she know? If she’d been so deeply in love, why hadn’t she thought about marriage?

Dixie couldn’t find answers for those questions. Maybe it was impossible to see the past clearly through the lens of the present. After all, the woman who’d loved Cole for that short, mad summer was gone.

But the woman who remembered that summer was sitting beside a man who tempted her in ways the younger Cole hadn’t. Hope and humor were beguilements she didn’t know how to defend against.

Maybe she didn’t want to.

By the time they reached The Vines, the sky was grumbling to itself through stacked-up clouds dark with rain. Dixie was congratulating herself on arriving ahead of the storm when she noticed the two unfamiliar cars in front of the big house.

She groaned. “I forgot about the dinner tonight. Should I change? Cancel that,” she said with a glance at her watch. “There isn’t time.” She started digging in her purse, hoping she’d remembered her lipstick.

Cole grinned. “If I say you look fine, am I being supportive or insensitive?”

“Honest, I hope.” No lipstick. She grimaced and took out the little brush. At least she could get rid of the tangles.

He got out, came around to her side and opened her door. She finished with her hair, stashed the brush, stepped out—and he took her hands, both of them, carried them to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of each, in turn. “Fine doesn’t begin to cover it,” he said softly. “I’m not sure how to tell you how good you look.”

Her cheeks warmed with pleasure. “Try.”

He cocked one wicked eyebrow. “I could say you look like a wet dream.”

She laughed and pulled her hands back. “Not when I’m going to dinner with your folks, you can’t.” She slanted him a mischievous look. “But it’s okay if you think it.”

“I’m thinking,” he assured her as they headed for the door.

The living room lay past the foyer and the gallery with its curving staircase, and opened onto the covered lanai where Dixie had sketched Caroline. It was a cheerful blend of antiques and French country accents, with fabrics ranging from the drapes striped in poppy, grass and sunflower to the chairs covered in poppy-and-black toiles.

At the moment, it was full of tense people. One of them was the man Dixie had seen twice now. The Western Man.

She stopped three paces in, astonished and wary. Whatever he was doing here, no one looked very happy about it.

Mercedes stood near the sofa with her boyfriend du jour, Craig Bradford—who must have some virtues Dixie had failed to discover, since he’d lasted longer than most. Good looks alone weren’t enough to account for that, given her friend’s theories about relationships.

Merry looked stunned. Her sister, Jillian, sat on the couch, staring at the stranger and shaking her head slowly, as if she were denying some monstrous question. Across from them, standing nearest their visitor, was Eli.

Eli was furious.

It wasn’t obvious, but Dixie had studied that face. She saw the rigid control in the muscles along his jaw and the emotion seething in eyes that burned like green fire.

They all had green eyes, all of Spencer Ashton’s children, didn’t they?

Dixie’s mouth fell open at a sudden, impossible thought. Her gaze swung to the stranger.

“What’s going on?” Cole asked, his voice sharp.

Eli’s gaze swung to him. “Let me introduce you. This is Grant Ashton. Your oldest brother.”

“So he says.” Merry’s voice was flat.

Oh, yes, Dixie thought. Yes, the head shape was the same. The eyes. She’d seen the resemblance the morning she ran into him, but it hadn’t occurred to her…

“What the hell—?” Cole’s words were more question than curse. He looked from one to the other of them.

“I know this must be a shock. I’m sorry for that.” That was the stranger, Western Man…Grant Ashton.

Cole took a step forward, his face hard. “You’d better have some sort of proof.”

“He does.” Caroline Ashton stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her face pale but composed. “He showed me his parents’ marriage license.”

“You spoke to him?” Eli asked, scowling.

She nodded. “I’m sorry. I should have been here when he told you. I…he arrived half an hour ago. After I spoke with him, I went to call Lucas. He’s on his way back from the city and would have been here soon anyway, but I…I just wanted to talk to him. I should have been here,” she repeated. “I’m sorry.”

“Never mind that.” Jillian hurried to her mother’s side. “Are you all right?”

Caroline smiled. “Of course.”

“I wasn’t going to tell them until you returned,” Grant said. “But your daughter found me waiting for you in the lanai and insisted I join the family in here. She was trying to be hospitable to a guest, I suppose,” he said wryly. “Then your son asked my name. I wasn’t going to make one up.”

“No, of course not. And once you told them you were an Ashton, you had to tell them the rest.”

“What’s the rest?” Cole demanded.

Grant met his eyes levelly. “My parents married young—a shotgun wedding, you might say. People still do that where I come from, or did, back when my mother found out she was pregnant. Until a couple weeks ago, I thought my father died when I was a year old. Turns out he just took off, leaving my mother to raise me and my sister.” He paused. “My father’s name is Spencer Ashton.”

No one moved. No one spoke. Then Cole’s sharp bark of laughter broke the silence. “The bastard started young, didn’t he?”

Caroline insisted that Grant join them for dinner. It was an awkward meal.

Merry was withdrawn, mostly silent. Jillian was tense. Dixie had noticed that she was sensitive to others’ moods, and the overall mood at the table that night was not jolly. Eli barely spoke—and Cole spoke too much, considering that he substituted grilling their guest for polite conversation.

They learned that Grant was from Crawley, Nebraska; that he had a farm there, which his nephew was running while he was gone; that he’d never married, but had raised his niece and nephew; and that he’d tried repeatedly to speak to Spencer, but the man brushed him off.

“I saw you at Charley’s,” Cole said. “You were trying to talk to him then?”

Grant nodded and buttered a roll.

“I can see why you’d think he owes you something, and he has plenty of money. Are you hoping to—”

“Cole!” Caroline said sharply. “That is quite enough.”

“For the record,” Grant said levelly, “I do fine, financially. I don’t want anything from him. Or you.”

Dixie gave him an approving smile. “For the record, Cole isn’t always such an ass. It sneaks up on him occasionally.”

Mercedes stifled a giggle. Cole turned to Dixie. “Thank you,” he said, dry enough to suck the juice from a mummy, “for your unquestioning support.”

“Friends don’t let friends talk junk. Especially at their mother’s table. Why don’t we discuss something innocuous for a while, like religion or politics?”

Surprisingly, it was Craig who came to her rescue. “How about sports? I missed the game last Monday and have been hearing about the Patriots’ fumble all week.”

Lucas picked up that ball and ran with it, and they managed to stagger on through dessert. Dixie saw that Craig had at least one undeniable virtue—he was socially adroit. He helped her keep the conversation going more than once during the interminable meal. So that was why Merry kept him around—he made the perfect fashion accessory. Pretty to look at, great at small talk, no obvious vices.

Dixie promised herself to find time soon to have a little talk with Merry. But not tonight. They still had to navigate the postdinner shoals.

She was worried about Cole. He’d made an effort to be civil for the rest of the meal, but the anger simmering in him demanded some kind of outlet. There wasn’t much she could do about it right now, though.

When they adjourned to the living room, the atmosphere wasn’t as tense as it had been immediately following the big revelation. Caroline and Lucas had cornered Cole and were forcing him to discuss some business involving the new chardonnay. Eli was talking to Grant about farming with Mercedes listening in, and Jillian had stepped out of the room for the moment.

That left Dixie with Craig. Unfortunately, he chose that time to demonstrate why he was Mr. Right Now instead of Mr. Right.

They chatted lightly for a few minutes about generalities. Feeling the need to give credit where credit was due, she thanked him for helping out during dinner.

“Glad I could do it.” He moved closer and spoke low, as if confiding in her. “Mercedes has some issues about her father. I admired the way you smoothed things over.”

“Mmm.” The jerk was trying to look down her dress. She frowned and shifted away slightly. “All of them have issues about Spencer, and with reason.”

He nodded solemnly. “Learning that he had yet another family that he abandoned was bound to upset them.”

“It wasn’t Grant’s fault, of course, but it’s hard not to associate the messenger with the message.”

“I’m fortunate,” he said. “My father and I get along great. Are you planning to stay in California, Dixie? I hope so.”

Uh-oh. “Probably. Is your family from around here?”

“They’re in Frisco. But enough about families. I’ve been wanting to tell you how much I like your work.” His voice turned caressing. “Being an unimaginative business grunt, I admire artists. They’re so…unconventional. I’d like to get to know you better.”

Hints weren’t going to work. “Don’t you think it’s tacky to come on to me with Mercedes in the room?”

He just smiled and reached up to toy with her hair. “Mercedes and I have an understanding. She likes you. I like you. Where’s the harm?”

Dixie sighed. “Coming at you from three o’-clock.”

He blinked, confused. “What?”

Cole plucked Craig’s wineglass from his hand. “Sorry you have to leave so early, Bradford.” The glitter in his eyes did not resemble regret.

“I don’t have to—”

“Yes, you do.” Cole gripped Craig’s elbow with one hand and passed the glass to Dixie. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

March him to the door was more like it. Craig might not have been the brightest bulb on the tree, but he wasn’t stupid enough to protest or try to shrug off the hand propelling him to the front door.

Dixie caught Mercedes’ eye across the room. Merry shrugged apologetically, which annoyed Dixie no end. Her friend shouldn’t be apologizing for the jerk. She should be dumping him.

Definitely they needed to talk.

Cole came back alone. He didn’t look satisfied—more like a volcano ready to erupt. His eyes were hot when he snapped at her, “You ought to know better than to flirt with that idiot.”

“Hold on,” Eli said. “Dixie didn’t do anything.”

Cole swung around. “You stay out of this.”

“Okay,” Dixie said, taking Cole’s arm. “That’s enough. You tried. You made a valiant effort, but it isn’t working.” She sent a smile around the room. “Sorry to eat and run, but Cole and I need to go jog or chop wood or something.”

“It’s pouring down rain!” Lucas protested.

“So we’ll swim laps. Come on,” she said, pulling on Cole’s arm. “Your mother does not want you punching your brother in her living room. Either of your brothers. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Cole stared at her a moment, eyes narrowed. Then he nodded curtly, shook off her hand and headed for the door.

He opened it and looked over his shoulder. “Are you coming or not?”

“Coats,” she said, delving into the closet. She didn’t have one with her, so she borrowed a raincoat of Merry’s. She tossed Cole his windbreaker.

He shrugged into it impatiently. Then they stepped out into the rain.

Chapter Eight

Somewhere to the west, unseen in the murk, the sun was setting. There was no wind; the rain fell straight and cold. Dixie buttoned her borrowed raincoat and resigned herself to wet hair and ruined shoes. Cole was headed for the vineyards.

They tramped along the strip of barley planted between the vines, not touching. Halfway to the grove of olive trees he spoke abruptly. “I’m sorry. You weren’t flirting.”

“No, I wasn’t. It isn’t me you’re mad at.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He stopped, jammed his hands in his pockets and tilted his face up, letting the rain wash it. Then he shook his head like a dog, scattering more drops, and started walking again. “I’ve been flying off the handle all day, and for no good reason.”

<1...4 5 6 7 >

На страницу:

Перейти

6 из 7