By the time he pulled down his street, it was getting dark, and John’s eyes widened. Fiona had woken, too. Even though she said not a word, he could feel her interest and sense her unease.
“Wow, these are impressive houses. Do you live down here?” John asked, and Fiona’s head turned as the large houses turned into estates.
“See those stone gates on the right?” Vic said.
“Yeah.”
“That’s mine.” He turned down the driveway and listened to the leather rustle behind him.
“Wow, this is huge. Are you rich?”
He wanted to laugh at his son as he parked in front of the stone steps and took in the massive double doors.
“John.” Fiona spoke up for the first time in hours, and he took in her expression, which seemed a little unsettled. “That’s not polite.”
“It’s fine, Fiona. I am rich,” Vic said as he stepped out, and John and Fiona both followed. He opened the trunk and lifted out one of the suitcases. Fiona went to take one, but he said, “No, I’ve got it. John, grab your bag and carry it in.”
“Sure.”
John was eager, he got that, but Fiona still appeared unsettled as she pulled at the strap of her purse. Vic opened the door into the house and rested a suitcase in the huge entry. There were footsteps, and Nora appeared.
“Mr. McCabe, you’re home,” she said.
“Nora, this is Fiona and John. They’ll be staying for a while. Could you ready two guest rooms?”
“Of course, sir. I’ll take the bags up. Did you eat, sir? I could put dinner together for you and your guests.”
They had to be hungry, considering they’d only stopped once for coffee. John had grabbed a sandwich and coke, but Fiona’d had nothing. “Dinner sounds good.” He looked over to Fiona and John, who were both quiet, taking in the features of his house. There was awe and discomfort from Fiona, but John seemed beyond excited. Nora went to take a suitcase.
“Leave the bags,” Vic said. “I’ll carry them up later. Fiona, John, come in.”
John was already in the living room. “Wow, Mom, look at this place.”
“This is big,” Fiona said, still wearing her coat, her arms crossed. “So what exactly do you do?” She was frowning, and for a moment he was sure she was hinting at something illegal.
“General contractor. Started out in California, expanded my business into Oregon last year, and have a contract up in Tacoma for some commercial buildings. I’ve done well,” he finally added, because Fiona was the first woman he knew who hadn’t been impressed with all this grandeur and the fact that he had money. She firmed her lips and looked around.
“Why don’t you take off your coat?” He slipped off his own leather jacket, opened a large front closet, and hung it up, then held out his hand to Fiona. She seemed to hesitate a moment before slipping off her coat and holding it out to Vic.
“Mom, come on. You should see the size of this room.”
Vic followed Fiona into the living room and went over to the bar. John was perched on one of the bar stools and spun around.
“This is cool. How big is this house? Are there secret rooms?”
“Huge,” Vic said. “Too many rooms for me to count. You can have a look around if you want.”
“Yeah?” He was off the stool, his eyes wide. Vic remembered that age, and he wanted to share in some of his son’s excitement.
“Vic, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Fiona said as she stood there stiffly, still seeming uncomfortable.
“It’s fine. Go, John. Explore and look around, but don’t get lost.”
John didn’t wait for his mom to stop him or say no one more time, and Fiona ended up watching her son take off out of the room, his footsteps on the stairs.
“You’re looking a little uncomfortable,” Vic said. “How about a drink, scotch, anything?” He poured himself a scotch, and she rested her hands on the bar.
“I shouldn’t. How about a glass of water?”
“You’ve had a stressful day. How about a glass of wine, red, white?” he asked and noted she was considering.
“White, please…” She scooted up on the stool.
“White it is.” He pulled a bottle of sauvignon blanc from the wine fridge behind the bar and opened it, then poured some in a glass and slid it across the smooth, polished bar.
“Thank you,” she said as she lifted it, then closed her eyes. She breathed it in and took a swallow. “Hmm, this is good,” she added, and her distance and politeness weren’t lost on him. “So who’s the woman?”
It took Vic a minute to realize she was talking about Nora. “My housekeeper, Nora Anderson. She runs everything here, cooks. Just let her know if you need anything and she’ll get it for you.”
Fiona ran her fingers through her hair and feathered it back, pulling her lip between her teeth and pressing down.
“Fiona, I want you to relax here and make yourself at home, you and John.”
“Well, that’s the thing, Vic. We’re not at home.” She rested her glass on the bar and lifted her hand, gesturing to the room. “This isn’t me or John, and we’re only here for a few days. You made your point, and in a moment of weakness I agreed to come here, but now I’m thinking this wasn’t such a good idea.” She slipped off the stool, and Vic walked around the bar, taking in her plain gray scoop-neck shirt, her casual jeans that couldn’t hide her amazing figure.
“Let’s not rehash this, Fiona. It was necessary for you two to come here and stay until I can get this story sorted out and handled. In case of blowback of any kind, this time my resources will protect you and John. John is my son. We have a lot of things to work through, to discuss, about his welfare and where we go from here.”
He was holding his glass, and he didn’t miss how Fiona went from uncomfortable in his home to simmering with a fire he knew made up part of the girl he’d loved. She had personality, and she wouldn’t just roll over and let him have his way on everything.
“There’s nothing to discuss. John is my son. I’ve decided everything. We have a life in Bellevue, and we’re going back there. Vic, you can go on with whatever it is you do here, but hear me: John and I will go home, and there’s nothing you can do to stop that.”
He just watched her and said nothing, taking in how hard she tried to hide her feelings.
“Let’s get something clear right now. John is my son, and it doesn’t matter what happened, but you will not stop me from having my son in my life. You’ve made your feelings clear, but you hid my son from me. Don’t try to stop me, because you won’t like my response. I’ll make damn sure my son is part of my life whether you choose to be or not, Fiona. I can be reasonable unless you fight me. Don’t fight me. You won’t win.”
She stepped back as if he’d slapped her, and he regretted what he’d said the moment it was out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to do this now. He’d wanted a few days to ease her into a life here, a few days for her to get to know him and build a connection with him, to reacquaint himself with a woman he’d loved so deeply that it had left him unable to give anything to anyone else.
“Mr. McCabe,” Nora said, standing in the entryway, her hands in front of her. “I’ve readied two of the guest rooms on the east side, and dinner is heating up and will be ready in about twenty minutes.”
He wondered whether she’d heard. Possibly, but she never let on. “Thank you, Nora. I’ll take the bags up and find John. He’s exploring the house. We’ll eat in the kitchen tonight.”
“Very good, sir,” Nora said before she left.
“Fiona, let’s just take tonight to relax, and we’ll talk more about this tomorrow. I’ll carry the suitcases up and show you your room.”
She followed quietly, but it wasn’t lost on him that there was nothing meek or quiet about her. She’d never been one to sit back and relax before, and from the drive and determination he’d seen in her over the past few days, he knew she was just biding her time—for what? He didn’t know, but Vic knew
she was thinking, considering, and holding on to everything he’d said. There was a lot of anger and hurt there, he supposed. She was hard to read, and it unsettled him not to know what she was thinking.
She followed him up to the second floor, which looked down onto the large main floor, so much like a three-story atrium, with rooms on each side. He took in Fiona’s wide eyes as she looked up to the third floor and then down. “It’s just you who lives here?” she said.
“Yes. Nora has a suite in back, but yes, this is all mine.” He stopped at the second door, knowing the rooms Nora had picked because they were the only two fully furnished with beds. “This will be John’s room.” He set John’s bag on the floor. He’d been in this room only once or twice, but it had a large queen bed with a light headboard, a large dresser, a corner mirror, and an easy chair with a stool.
“Hmm, big,” she said.
He watched as she pushed open the en suite, knowing it had a shower and bath, but then, this house had every luxury and then some.
“Your room is next door,” Vic said as he started out of the bedroom, taking Fiona’s suitcase into a room twice the size of John’s, with a king bed, a sitting area, and a fireplace. He rested the suitcase on the bed so she wouldn’t have to lift it. “You have your own bathroom.” He opened the door and noticed fresh towels hung there. It had a soaker bathtub and a separate shower.
She just stood there, looking around.
“You can unpack and get cleaned up before dinner,” he said, taking her in as she wandered over to the window, pulled back the sheers, and looked out.
“Thank you. This is nice.”
They were back to polite again. She may have turned her head to him, but she wasn’t looking at him.
“Fiona, I don’t want this to come between us. No matter what happens, for John’s sake we need to have peace between us.”
“Peace? How does that work, Vic, after you basically stated a few moments ago that I need to just roll over and let you have your way and not dare to fight you, or what, you’ll make things difficult for me?”
Before he could say something to clear the air, he heard John on the stairs, calling out, sounding so happy.
“Up here, John,” he said, looking out to see him halfway up to the third floor. When he turned back, the bathroom door was closed and he heard the water turn on, letting him know how pissed off she was and that she was done talking.
Okay, he’d give her some space and a few days, and maybe then she’d come around to his way of thinking. If she didn’t…well, then he’d have to consider other options, but there was one thing Vic knew: His son was home, and he had no intention of allowing him to set one foot out this door or go back to Bellevue—and Fiona, he’d just have to figure out some way of reaching her.
Chapter 24
Fiona awoke with a start, and it took her a moment to realize she wasn’t at home in her apartment. No, she was sleeping on a luxurious pillowtop that seemed to wrap her up in comfort. The guestroom in the light of day was half the size of her entire apartment in a house that had to be at least ten thousand square feet, three stories, with rooms and wings she was convinced she’d be forever lost in. It was a turn-of-the-century home that was absolutely stunning. What in the world was Vic McCabe doing living in something so extravagant?
She was definitely out of her element.
She slid out of bed and wandered into the spacious en suite, then turned on the shower and climbed in, the steam filling the bathroom as she shampooed and conditioned her hair and scrubbed herself clean. She stood under the warm spray a few minutes longer before climbing out and reaching for a plush gray towel, then drying off and wrapping it around her hair. She pulled on the white robe hanging on the back of the door and stepped out of the bathroom, into the light-filled bedroom. Her gaze fell on her suitcase, which was lying on the floor beside the dresser exactly where she’d put it the night before. Instead of unpacking, she’d opted to leave her clothes inside, though she’d taken time to see that the drawers were empty.
She was being stubborn. She could admit that much to herself. “No use getting too comfortable, Fiona,” she reminded herself again. She did consider how much easier it would be if she unpacked instead of having to rummage through her suitcase to find every piece of clothing, though. She found clean underwear, socks, jeans, and a cream sweater, and she dressed and ran a brush through her hair, then quickly brushed her teeth, suddenly feeling so much out of her depth and needing to check on John.
Fiona was sock footed as she stepped out of her room and stopped at John’s, taking in his open door and his bed, which was a mess. “John?” she said. She didn’t see his suitcase, and she realized his bathroom door was open. He must already have been up. She walked over to his dresser, unable to resist opening a drawer, and was hit with disappointment when she saw his clothes stuffed inside. She tapped the dark wood of the dresser before stepping out of his room, and she took in the hallway and the quiet of the house, then started down the stairs, running her hand down the bannister, taking in the fine wood grain.
“Oh, Miss Fiona, did you sleep well?”
She took in Nora, in dark pants with a black vest over a white shirt. Her hair was pinned up with threads of gray here and there. “Yes, thank you. Have you seen John?” And Vic.
“He’s in the library on Mr. McCabe’s computer. Can I fix you some breakfast, coffee?” She was so friendly and professional.
“Coffee, I would love a cup. I can get it, though, in the kitchen?” She gestured straight ahead and then couldn’t remember where it was as she looked around at the rooms, the wood paneling and the artwork on the walls.
“Was just heading there myself,” Nora said. “Coffee is always on. Mr. McCabe likes to help himself when he’s home, so I keep a fresh pot brewing.”
Nora walked with purpose as Fiona followed her down a hallway with a deep green carpet and more artwork on the walls, oil paintings that were dark and masculine, something she’d never pictured Vic would have any taste for. He was a mystery, not the same young man she remembered. Time had changed them both.
She followed Nora into the large kitchen, the same one in which she’d sat with Vic and John the night before at one of four counter stools, where she’d eaten a delicious stew. The kitchen now was spotless, neat and tidy, as if everything had a place.
“There is cream or milk, and sugar?” Nora gestured to a carafe with mugs resting beside it as she opened the fridge.
“Black is fine for me.” Fiona lifted a deep red mug and poured.
“Can I fix you some eggs, toast?” Nora was lifting eggs from the fridge.
“No thank you. The coffee is all I need right now. Listen, is Vic here?” She wasn’t sure where he’d be in this house, or maybe he’d left, and she worried for a second that he’d have done so without telling her.
“He’s in the gym,” Nora said.
“Gym?” She wasn’t sure she’d heard right, and she stopped mid-pour.
“Yes, he likes to work out before he goes to the site, before he starts his day. Come, I’ll show you where it is. It’s at the back of the house.”
Fiona grabbed her coffee and followed Nora down another hallway. She could hear what sounded like a squeak and fists hitting a punching bag. Then she saw him in a large room with a high ceiling, pounding a heavy bag that dangled from a chain. He was wearing black shorts, cross trainers, and no shirt. Good Lord was all she could think as she took in his body. Then she realized that Nora was gone, and Vic had stopped punching the bag and was staring straight at her, his lids heavy.
The darkness that she sensed was so much a part of him seemed to settle in the room, and he said nothing as she took in all of him. His chest was even more ripped than she’d thought. It was a man’s chest with dark hair, and she felt her face warm as her gaze lowered over his shorts and to his legs, which were long and strong. She remembered how they’d felt between hers.
“How did you sleep?” He unfastened his gloves and
tossed them on a bench behind him.
It wasn’t lost on her, the polite question. Why was it that was the first thing everyone thought they should ask? She didn’t answer as she stepped into the room, and he reached for a towel and wiped his face as he turned away from her. She took in the marks on his back, scars that hadn’t been there before.
“Fine, you?” She had to clear her throat, wondering what he’d experienced all these years without her. Then he was facing her again, and this time his dark eyes lit with a teasing she hadn’t seen before. He didn’t answer. “John’s on your computer, I was told.” She clasped her mug of coffee, squeezing and feeling the heat.
“He’s doing some homework. I set him up there. Did you eat, ask Nora to make you some breakfast?”
Fiona felt the distance between them. There was something about this house and the power she realized he now had that unsettled her. This was his place, his domain, and he was now talking homework with her son. She didn’t like it.
“What happened to your back?” she said. She hadn’t planned on asking, but he was so different now, changed from the young man she’d given herself to.
He tossed the towel in a basket and leaned down, and she caught the glimpse of a tattoo, a flame or something, low on his hip. He pulled a shirt over his head and turned around. Was he going to ignore her?
“You don’t like to answer questions, I noticed,” she said. “You seem to pick and choose what you’ll say, and you say nothing at all when you don’t want to. You’ve changed. You still haven’t answered me.” She stepped further into the gym, taking in a treadmill, weights, and other equipment, and one entire wall with floor-to-ceiling windows and open French doors. The yard outside was large, with green grass, gardens, and trees. A breeze fluttered in.
“Accident. Went through a window,” he said and turned away.
Don't Stop Me Page 9