by Beth Andrews
The kid seemed worried, like whatever answer Dillon gave was really important.
Talk about pressure.
“I’d say anyone who picks on someone or tries to make them feel bad on purpose is a bully.” He studied the kid. “Why? Is someone at school bothering you?”
“No. Not at school.” Marcus fidgeted. “But…what if you’re too afraid to stand up to a bully? Even if they’re hurting someone else?”
How the hell did he know? When it came time for him to protect Kelsey, he had.
“I guess,” Dillon said slowly, “if there’s no adult around to help you, then you have to do what you feel is right.”
What the kid didn’t need to know was that sometimes doing the right thing ended up costing you everything.
“ARE THE KIDS asleep?” Nina asked when Dillon came into the kitchen. She’d resorted to ingesting copious amounts of caffeine.
So now she was jittery and running to the bathroom every thirty minutes.
“Hayley’s been out for about ten minutes,” he said as he crossed to the refrigerator. “Marcus is nodding off.”
“Did everything go okay?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You should know. You checked on us at least six times.”
“I didn’t want them to give you a hard time. They’re both tired and at each other’s throats tonight…”
“And you thought I’d beat them bloody and toss them out into the nearest snowbank.”
Hadn’t they been through this before? “If I didn’t trust you,” she said carefully, “I wouldn’t have agreed to your offer to watch my children in the first place.”
She’d left her kids in his care, hadn’t she? What more did the man want? A written declaration?
“Thanks for watching them,” she said when he remained silent. When she’d peeked in on them—and it had been three times, not six—they’d been smiling and happy. What more could a mother ask for?
He pulled out the pizza box, set it on the table and lifted the lid. “You haven’t eaten yet.”
“I’ve been—”
“What have you eaten since lunch?”
She pursed her lips. There was something about him tonight…he seemed edgy and restless.
“Nothing,” she admitted hesitantly.
He took the piping bag out of her hand. “You need to eat. Look at you, you’re shaking.”
“Too much caffeine,” she muttered, trying to get her bag back. He raised his arm and she gave up. She was too old for games like this. And too tired to fight.
“After you eat,” he told her, “you can have this…” He glanced at the frosting bag. “This thing back.”
“Fine,” she grumbled. She picked up a piece of pizza and took a huge bite. “You know,” she said around her second bite, “you’re the only person who encourages me to eat. Most people tell me to stop eating.”
“People like your husband?”
The pizza stuck in her throat. She took a long drink of water to help wash it down. “He…wasn’t happy when I didn’t lose the baby weight right after I had Hayley so he’d…encourage me to watch my calories.”
Dillon’s gaze slid over her with an intensity that upset her equilibrium. “Why’d you get involved with such a jerk in the first place?” he asked quietly.
Having lost what little appetite she’d had, she set the remainder of her pizza down. How could she explain to Dillon something she wasn’t sure of herself?
Or, to be more accurate, something she didn’t want to admit, even to herself.
“When we first met, Trey already had his practice up and running. He was smart and so handsome and charming, he swept me off my feet.” How many times since then had she wished she’d kept both feet planted firmly on the ground? “When Trey first asked me out, I couldn’t believe he wanted me. I’d never had anyone, any guy, give me that much attention.”
“I find it hard to believe you didn’t have guys chasing after you.”
“That’s sweet, but no, I never had guys chasing me. Not like my sister. I was so used to being Blaire and Luke’s sister, the middle child. The quiet one. The smart one.” She shrugged as if didn’t matter, but it had. It had mattered way too much to her. “Not as pretty as Blaire, not as popular as Luke.”
“You’re not competing with your brother and sister,” he pointed out.
“I know that now. But as a teen? Not so much.” She took the piping bag from him and went back to adding scroll designs to the top layer of the cake. “I fell into the role of good girl and just…never got out of it. The one time I did go against my parents’ wishes was when I married Trey.”
“They didn’t want you to marry him?”
“They wanted me to finish college first. But I was in love.” She rolled her eyes. “And they eventually supported the idea when Trey convinced me we should get married right away.”
And she’d been so enamored, so enthralled with his looks, his charisma and with the idea of him loving her, wanting her, that she’d chosen to ignore his faults.
What a mistake.
“I dropped out of college,” she continued, adding another scroll to the cake, “and Trey and I were married that September. Our wedding was so perfect, I thought it must be an omen, you know, that we were destined to have this fairy-tale life.” She cursed softly when too much frosting squirted out. She set the bag down and tried to pull herself together. “The fairy tale never came true. I dealt with it—am dealing with it.”
“Why did you stay with him so long? And…why are you afraid of him?” When she didn’t answer, he gently turned her to face him. “Nina?” He lifted her chin with one finger, held her gaze. “Did he hit you?”
Humiliation washed over her, made her nauseous. “Not all the time.” Dillon cursed, his fingers tightened on her momentarily. “The first time I had a hint of his true nature was at our engagement party. I’d been talking to one of Luke’s friends. I had no idea of the extent of Trey’s anger until he got me alone in my parents’ backyard. He pushed me against the wall, accused me of flirting with another man. When I started crying, he apologized. Blamed his outburst on the stress of starting his own practice, the wedding—and his fear of losing me. He promised it’d never happen again.”
“And you believed him?”
Instead of the derisiveness she deserved, Dillon sounded both understanding and exasperated. “I chose to believe him, yes. I wanted to believe him. And I kept right on believing him until the first time he hit me.”
She tugged herself away from him and faced the sink, curled her fingers around the edge of the counter. “We’d gone out to dinner with some of Trey’s colleagues. Marcus was an infant and I was so anxious about leaving him for the first time, I kept excusing myself to call and check on him. Everyone seemed to take it in stride—even Trey. But when we got home and sent the babysitter on her way, he…he slapped me.” She shut her eyes. She could still remember the sting, the surprise—both that he’d raised a hand to her and at how much it had hurt. “He said I embarrassed him in front of his influential friends. I was so shocked, so angry, I packed up Marcus and left Trey.”
“But you went back.”
She turned and leaned back against the counter, hugging herself. “I went to my parents’ house but they wanted me to think things through. Told me how all new marriages went through rough spots and that having a baby changed things. That Trey and I needed to work together to make our marriage succeed.”
Dillon stepped in front of her. “How could they encourage you to go back to an abusive man?”
“They thought I’d left because I was under stress, not enough sleep due to the baby. Trey had charmed them—continued to charm them until he left me for Rachel. And I never let on that he was anything other than what they wanted to see.”
“You didn’t tell them he hit you.”
“I couldn’t. I was too ashamed. I believed it was…”
“It was your fault?” he asked softly.
She nodded and
swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Plus, I…God, this is humiliating to admit but…I didn’t want to be seen as a failure.” She hadn’t wanted anyone to know the mistake she’d begun to think she’d made. “So when Trey came over in the middle of the night carrying a dozen roses and begging my forgiveness, I took him back. I told myself that if I didn’t make him angry, if I’d just be the wife he wanted—the wife he deserved—he’d change.”
“My mother used to say the same things.” Dillon’s eyes were hooded, his body—so close to hers she could feel his warmth—tense. “Every time Glenn hit her she’d blame herself. If I tried to intervene, she accused me of making it worse. Of getting in the way of her marriage. And if Glenn took his temper out on me or Kelsey, it was because we deserved it.”
She winced at his bitterness. The accusation. “I would never let Trey hurt my kids.”
“He already has. Or do you think they didn’t see what he did to you? How he treated you? Do you really think he’ll treat them any differently?”
And there, right there, was her greatest fear. That she hadn’t done enough to protect her children. That she still wasn’t doing enough.
She pulled her shoulders back. “I know I’ve made mistakes—”
“Mistakes your kids are paying for.”
She felt chilled. “No. That’s not true. Even if I wasn’t proactive in my marriage, even if I hadn’t left Trey when I should have, I’m free of him now. And I’ll do whatever it takes to stay free of him. To keep my kids safe.”
“I hope so,” he said slowly. “Because from what I can see, your kids are pretty great. They don’t deserve to spend their life in fear.”
“I don’t need you to remind me how great my kids are,” she grumbled, crossing her arms again. “Just as I don’t need you to question my devotion to them.”
He frowned. “I wasn’t—”
“Weren’t you?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Look, I’m not trying to put down your mothering skills. I just…hate the thought of them being treated badly.” His eyes flashed. “Almost as much as I hate the idea of that bastard hurting you. Or you being so paralyzed by fear that you didn’t get away from him earlier.”
She sighed. “Okay, fine. Let’s just…drop it for now. I have a lot of work to do still. Thanks for watching—”
“Need any help?”
What was it with him? Two weeks ago, if someone would’ve asked her what Dillon Ward was like, she wouldn’t have hesitated. Cold. Hard. Frightening.
Now she had no idea. All she knew was that he still scared her.
But for very different reasons.
“What do you know about making pastry dough?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Well,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him away from the counter, “I’d say it’s past time you learned.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IF ANYONE ASKED, he’d deny it, but as Dillon stepped inside the cool, dim foyer of St. Francis Church Saturday afternoon, he held his breath. When lightning didn’t strike him dead, he figured he’d make it through the wedding ceremony.
He slipped into the last pew—which was thankfully empty—and sat. He’d arrived in time to hear the organ music start and to see the backs of Jack Martin’s parents as they walked down the aisle.
Dillon adjusted his tie. It was just his imagination that it was choking the life out of him, right? He tugged at his collar. Damn thing felt like a noose.
He winced and glanced up. Nothing. He relaxed his shoulders, forcing himself to stop messing with his neckwear before he got into even more trouble with the guy upstairs.
Seemed like he’d already used up his quota of trouble for one lifetime.
As Jack’s parents took their seats, Dillon scanned the rows of people but didn’t see Nina’s familiar honey-colored curls anywhere.
He drummed his fingers on his knee. He didn’t care if he saw her or not. He just wanted to make sure she’d made it to the ceremony after working so late last night.
Not that he cared if she made it or not.
He couldn’t help but compare Nina to his own mother, but unlike Leigh, Nina wasn’t an alcoholic. And she loved her children and put them first.
But, even though she’d deny it, Nina was someone who needed to be taken care of.
He shifted in his seat. A stoic Jack, dressed in a dark suit, stood at the head of the church between the priest and the best man, blond New York detective Seth Valentine, in a matching dark suit.
The music switched and as one, the congregation turned to the back of the church. Allie stepped into view, the small bouquet of white flowers she held stark against her black strapless dress. He’d never understand what held a dress like that up. It gathered at her waist and swept the floor as she walked. Her dark hair had been pulled into a pile of curls on top of her head, showing off her toned shoulders and all that golden skin. She gave Dillon a wink and began her measured walk to the front.
Emma skipped into view looking adorable in her froufrou white dress, her smile wide, her face flushed with happiness. The kid was so excited, he’d be surprised if she didn’t bust one of those fancy pearl buttons off the back of her dress. She carefully sprinkled red rose petals from her basket over the white runner as she made her way toward her dad.
The familiar opening chords of “The Wedding March” filled the building. Everyone got to their feet and looked back expectantly.
Dillon didn’t stand. Couldn’t breathe. This, his coming here, was a mistake. For the past twelve years he’d tried to distance himself from Kelsey—for both their sakes. And since she’d moved to Serenity Springs, he’d tried even harder. He should leave now. As soon as he could catch his breath—in, out—he’d slip through the heavy wooden doors to freedom.
Just then, his sister came into view. She was so…beautiful. Dillon slowly got to his feet, all thought of leaving gone. Kelsey’s dress was low-cut and hugged her hips before falling to the floor. She’d somehow managed to get some curl into her supershort hair and had added a few sparkling clips.
She looked…beautiful.
And so scared, Dillon wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d picked up the hem of her dress, turned around and bolted out of the church. Just as he’d wanted to a moment ago. What a pair they were.
Their eyes met and something shifted inside him. Made him remember all the times he’d protected Kelsey growing up. All the responsibility he’d felt for her.
How much he’d loved her.
And for the first time in a long time, that love didn’t feel suffocating.
It felt right.
Dillon walked over to her as Kelsey took her first, hesitant step forward. She stopped, her eyes filled with tears even as she smiled.
Then she took his offered arm so he could escort her down the aisle to her future.
“YOU NEED to go for it.”
Nina glanced at her sister in the large mirror over the sinks in the ski lodge’s ladies’ room. The reception was well under way in the main dining room but inside the bathroom, the music and voices were reduced to a low hum. “Go for what?”
Blaire smoothed a hand over her hair. “Dillon Ward, of course.”
Heat climbed Nina’s neck and filled her cheeks. She was surprised she didn’t pass out.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered, taking her lipstick out of her evening bag. She leaned forward and slicked the color over her lips.
She should’ve known Blaire had wanted more than a joint trip to the bathroom when she’d accosted her on the dance floor.
“Mom’s worried you have a crush on him.”
Nina tossed her lipstick back into her bag. “A crush? What am I, ten years old?”
“No need to get defensive.” Blaire twisted in an effort to see the back of her understated—sexy—little black dress in the mirror. “I’m just repeating what I heard.”
Nina pulled the bodice of her dark blue dress up in an
effort to hide some more cleavage—no such luck. “Well, I don’t have a…crush…on Dillon.”
“Really?” Blaire crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. “Then what would you call it?”
“It’s…complicated.”
Yes, that was it. Her feelings for Dillon—and she wasn’t saying she actually had feelings for him—were complicated. And confusing.
And so very, very scary.
“Hey, complicated isn’t such a bad thing,” Blaire said. “I noticed all those glances you keep sending him. And Mom’s usually right on track with these things—she knew I was in love with Will before I could admit it to myself. Trust me on this, she has some sort of sixth sense about her kids’ love lives.”
“Then I have nothing to worry about. I don’t have a love life.” Some days she wondered if she had a life period. “And I’m certainly not in love with Dillon.”
The door opened, letting in noise from the reception along with Seth Valentine’s mother.
Great. Just what she needed. One of the biggest gossips in town hearing her protest her feelings for the local ex-convict. But if Mrs. Valentine had overheard, she gave no indication. Just gave them a sloppy grin before disappearing into one of the stalls.
No sooner had the stall door shut when Blaire said, “Of course you’re not in love with him. You’re much too sensible for that. But that doesn’t mean you don’t want him.”
“Shh…” Nina grabbed Blaire and pulled her into the corner by the entrance. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why?” She followed Nina’s pointed look toward the occupied stall. “Oh, please,” Blaire said, but at least she lowered her voice, “the way she’s been hitting the open bar, I doubt she’ll remember her own name tomorrow, let alone what she overheard in the bathroom.”
“Still,” Nina persisted, “I don’t want everyone to think I’m…lusting after Dillon.”
“Why not?”
Because he was dangerous and exciting and sexy. Because people counted on her to do the right thing, to make the right decisions.
“I…I’m afraid,” she admitted softly.