Don’t Call Me Sweetheart

by Jeanette Ward

  Dragging Christmas trees home through the snow with his father, the sweetness of his mother’s smile as she hurried to greet him each day after school, sneaking girls up to an unused guest room Saturday nights.

  Along with the images came a newfound sense of isolation that enveloped him in solitude. As far as he was concerned he had no family left since Cole was as dead to him as his parents now were.

  Numb, Christian climbed into his black and silver pickup and turned southeast onto the winding highway leading out of town. The miles slipped behind him one after the other as he tried to distance himself from the anger and pain gnawing at him. He passed the turnoff for home and kept driving and he was surprised to find the sun riding low in the west when he finally turned back toward his mountain home. He knew he had to make some sense out of the mess he found himself in and the quiet solitude he could find on the sloping shoulders of the majestic landmark beckoned him back. The shock over losing his parents would fade slowly but time wouldn’t stand still for the decisions he knew he had to make.

  “Ah, hell, Dade,” Christian muttered to himself as he looked down at the dashboard and realized he was pushing eighty. A quick check in the rearview mirror assured him that he had dodged Sheriff Blackwell and a well-deserved ticket. This time.

  Heavy shadows carpeted the lawn beneath the towering Douglas fir trees surrounding the inn when he finally pulled into the circle drive of the beautiful Victorian mansion that would be his home once more. But this time would be drastically different. The house he remembered from his youth was gone. Now it was his property, his responsibility.

  Christian glanced around the well-kept grounds and thought back to all the times he had contemplated retiring to Mountain Meadow Inn. The idea had always been in the back of his mind with the rest of his long-range goals, somewhere between switching to bran cereal for breakfast instead of pizza and trading in his truck for a minivan. It would happen. Someday.

  He wished someday hadn’t arrived so damn soon.

  Stepping wearily from the truck Christian climbed the wide steps of the front porch that in the past had seemed so welcoming. Today they led to… Where? To empty halls and bedrooms waiting for strangers to fill them? Without someone to share the vast, rambling country inn he loved so much, the stark reality was that he might own this house but he had no home.

  No one to soften the burdens thrust upon him. No one to comfort him in the dark hours before dawn as he mourned his losses. For the first time in his life Christian felt the cruel embrace of loneliness.

  He wandered from room to room, the emptiness echoing his footsteps as they fell upon the rich, honey-colored wood floors. With the inn closed until further notice there were no guests to intrude on his thoughts. He almost regretted the decision. Talking to someone, anyone, would have been preferable to being alone with the demons hounding him.

  Evening shadows crept steadily across the rooms, draping them in soft shades of gray and black. The surreal visual effect matched Christian’s mood. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights as he slowly made his way upstairs to his parents’ apartment. He guessed it was his now.

  He hesitated at the doorway, afraid to enter. Memories assailed him from every direction as his gaze swept the spacious living quarters.

  A roll-top desk that had belonged to his grandfather, Joseph’s hunting rifles carefully locked away in their case in the corner, the elegant clawfooted bathtub visible through the bathroom door. Had it really been almost a year since he had surprised his mother with it as a gift? He took them all in, silent sentinels to the lives of the two vibrantly alive people who had laughed and fought, lived and loved, in the now hushed rooms.

  The reality of the past week closed in around him, suffocating in its intensity. It had all happened too damn fast.

  Moving slowly he made his way through the bath that served to connect the living room and bedroom. His eyes traced the familiar setting before coming to rest on a beautifully etched gold frame sitting on the bedside table. Inside was a picture of Joseph and Helen taken on their thirty-fifth anniversary. Joseph’s arm was wrapped protectively around Helen’s slim shoulders, seemingly keeping her safe just as he had throughout their marriage. Love, pure and genuine, burned brightly in the eyes of the happy couple as they gazed adoringly at each other.

  Christian picked up the picture and sagged onto the bed, resting his arms on his thighs as he stared bleakly at the frozen image in his hands. He’d never told his parents how much he longed for the kind of marriage they had. How he’d looked for but couldn’t find, a woman who could light up his life with the kind of happiness he watched them share for so many years. He’d never told them how he planned to fill the old house with grandchildren for them to spoil someday. So many secrets that would never be shared now. Christian made a silent vow that secrets would never again come between him and those that he loved. Nothing was worth this much regret.

  In the enveloping silence he at last allowed himself to experience the pain he had kept so carefully caged within him. It became a living thing, lapping furiously at his soul, steadily consuming him as it fed upon itself with relentless intensity. Anguish seared and scarred his heart as he thought of all the things that had been and those that would never be again.

  In that last quiet moment before daylight slipped completely away, silently embracing the dusky evening sky, Christian Warrington Dade, confident craftsman, trusted friend, but more than anything else, broken-hearted son, surrendered to the heartache that had pursued him so relentlessly for the last seven days.

  Knowing he would never fully understand the reason behind his loss, Christian allowed his burden-laden shoulders to bow as he slumped forward and cradled his head in his hands. And for the first time in his adult life, he wept.

  Chapter Two

  It promised to be another typical day for Whitney Lane. Squinting her eyes against the early morning sunlight escaping into her bedroom Whitney supposed she would spend it as she had countless others, busily pretending she was the trusted personal assistant to one of the most popular romance writers currently publishing, Lane McLaughlin. What no one realized, except Whitney’s best friend and publicist and her faithful housekeeper of course, was that she and Lane McLaughlin were actually the same person. Neither would exist without the other.

  Throwing a slim arm across her eyes Whitney reflected on the dual existence she had never planned to lead. The pseudonym had only become necessary when her novels catapulted her into the realm of the most highly acclaimed contemporary romance divas. After her first novel, Tame the Wandering Heart, was published the public clamored for more, loving her unique method of whisking them away from their predictable, structured lives, even if it was only for a little while. What wasn’t familiar in a McLaughlin, easily turned to fantasy.

  For the moment though, Whitney didn’t want to think about the career that kept her so busy. Lying in bed so late felt sooo sinfully wonderful. She couldn’t remember the last time she had indulged herself like this. The bothersome slivers of light slipping uninvited through the narrow crack in the curtains prompted her to squeeze her eyes shut and roll onto her stomach, grumbling about the intrusion. And then, as if on cue, the telephone rang, successfully intruding on her self-indulgence.

  Whitney’s first instinct was to throw a pillow at the offensive thing. She missed, so with a muffled groan she rolled to her side to reach for the receiver, wrestling with the cord for several moments before she managed to get the right end of it to her ear.

  “Mmm. Hello?”

  “Whitney, honey, did I wake you?” Through the hazy remnants of sleep Whitney recognized Tess Randall’s muuuch too perky voice.

  “That’s okay, Tess,” Whitney lied, groping for the alarm clock. “I needed to get up at least twenty minutes ago anyway.”

  “You sound funny, Whitney,” Tess remarked, amusement lacing her words. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

  “You, of all people, should know better than that,�
�� Whitney laughed. “Actually I stayed up half the night to add a few finishing touches to my manuscript.”

  “Oh. Well, you know I will always live in hope.” Tess sighed dramatically before changing the subject.

  “Right now though you need to get out of that bed and get dressed. I’ve made reservations today for lunch with someone so incredible I don’t even think I’ll tell you his name until we get to the club.” Tess sounded almost, well, giddy. Totally out of character for someone of her sophistication and poise.

  “Tess,” Whitney replied patiently as she sat up and swung long, slender legs over the side of the bed, “first of all, I have no desire to meet anyone ‘incredible’ today, or any other day as you well know and secondly, whoever this guy is, he probably has even less of a desire to meet me. Why don’t you go to lunch with him alone so you can work that ‘Tessy’ kind of charm you have on him?” Whitney grinned before adding, “You’d probably have the poor man proposing before dessert.”

  Tess was ready for the customary lack of enthusiasm from her friend where men were concerned. “You’re not getting out of it that easily this time. You’d never forgive yourself, or me either for that matter, if I don’t twist your arm on this one. Trust me.”

  “The last time I trusted you we ended up going out with that kinky photographer and his friend.” Whitney couldn’t resist tossing out a reminder, “Remember those pictures he showed us? I don’t need to say any more, do I?”

  “Well, everybody should have a hobby.”

  Whitney burst out laughing. “Tess, he was a joke! We both know you’re never going to find a decent man in New York City.”

  “That doesn’t mean I have to stop looking for both of us.”

  “It should. Tess, I really don’t want to meet anyone new today,” Whitney declared meaningfully, hoping they could just drop the entire subject.

  “Uh-huh. You never do, so try again.”

  “I wouldn’t have anything to wear,” Whitney argued, her anxiety increasing as it became apparent that Tess was going to refuse to let her back out the arrangement.

  “Wear that sexy little black dress. With all that gorgeous red hair of yours, you’ll really stand out,” Tess countered readily. She had laid out her strategy well ahead of time.

  “Standing out is precisely what I try to avoid.”

  “Come on, Whitney, this time I’m serious.” The blatantly amused tone in Tess’ voice didn’t lend much credence to her sincerity. “You’ll hate yourself tomorrow if you don’t come. Besides,” she was ready to play her trump card, “you’re supposed to deliver Miss Lane McLaughlin’s latest bestseller by noon today in case you’ve forgotten. You wouldn’t want to keep your publicist waiting, now would you?”

  “Tess…”

  “Nooo, now wait a minute, I’m busy thinking.” Tess was enjoying herself far too much. “Oh, now I remember, I’m your publicist, aren’t I? And it would never do to have me irritated over a missed deadline.” Quickly, before Whitney could formulate an argument she added playfully, “I’ll be out of the office all morning but I suppose I could meet you for lunch and… Well, what do you know. Crestfield would probably be as good a place as any. See you there!” The dial tone was buzzing in Whitney’s ear before she could collect her thoughts enough to realize she had just been out-manipulated by one of the best.

  Whitney peered ruefully at the clock in her hand. In order to comply with Tess’ ridiculous request she knew she needed to get moving, no matter how much she wanted to ignore the grand summons just issued.

  Normally she would have made up an excuse to avoid meeting one of Tess’ many finds but there was no hope of backing out today. Tess was right. Lunch guest or no she had a deadline to meet and Whitney had never been one to take her responsibilities lightly. And to her credit, Tess was intimately familiar with Whitney’s strong distrust of strangers. She wouldn’t knowingly lead her reluctant friend into an uncomfortable situation. If she valued her hide at any rate.

  The cool linoleum beneath her bare feet caused Whitney to hurry but by the time she washed her hair and performed all the necessary toiletries, which wouldn’t be necessary at all if she didn’t have to meet a “Mr. Incredible”, it was approaching midmorning and there was little doubt she was purposefully dragging her feet.

  “You know,” she told herself for the hundredth time as she tugged the requested garment over her head and smoothed it across her hips, “one of these days you’re going to have to start being more assertive. Stop being scared that everyone you meet is out to take advantage of you. Especially men. They’re not all after your bank account like Jon was, you know.” A bitter smile touched her lips but she forced the unpleasant memories away. She hadn’t thought about her former fiancé for weeks and she certainly wasn’t of a mind to do so today.

  She was struggling with the zipper of the troublesome little black dress she had been ordered to wear when a friendly voice called to her from the doorway. “I don’t suppose you’d like a hand with that now would you, Miss Whitney?”

  Whitney twirled around awkwardly, one arm stretched behind her back and the other twisted over her shoulder. She flashed a thankful grin in the housekeeper’s direction. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you, Elizabeth.”

  The heavyset woman ambled into the room and laid the stack of fresh towels she had been carrying aside so she could finish the task that had kept Whitney tied in knots for the last several minutes. As she retrieved her load she couldn’t help but ask, “You don’t usually get this dressed up to see Tess. She wasn’t replaced by a handsome new publicist, was she?”

  Whitney grimaced, replying, “No, she wasn’t. And if she had been why would I care one way or the other if her replacement was handsome?”

  “Someday you’ll care again, sweetheart,” the older woman laughed. “A man will come along and steal your very heart away, then you’ll know firsthand all about this romance stuff you’re so good at writing about. You won’t need to make it up anymore.”

  “I don’t need a man to teach me about romance, Elizabeth,” Whitney protested adamantly as she plopped down in front of the antique vanity dresser that had been in her family for generations.

  Distracted, she began to pull a brush through her long, russet hair. “Jon taught me all I’ll ever need to know about how men really behave. I’d rather give my readers the type of men we all wish we could find.”

  “I’ve told you a hundred times, honey. They aren’t all like that money-grubbing social climber, Jon Renolette.” Elizabeth stepped behind Whitney and their eyes met in the large mirror. “There’s a man out there for you and when you find him you’ll realize that love, true love, is a treasure worth any fight, any sacrifice, any heartache. You’ll see.”

  Oh, Elizabeth, I wish I could believe you, Whitney thought sadly. Experience had taught her otherwise though. Men wanted one of two things from women. Money or sex and if they were lucky they could get both at once. The emotional side of a relationship held little or no attraction to a man intent on fulfilling his own agenda. A little over a year ago she had discovered that true love existed only in fairy tales, or in bestsellers like hers when her fiancé had revealed his true colors. Her money had been far more attractive to him than she would ever be.

  Whitney cocked her head to the side, smiling wistfully at the woman who had been more mother to her than servant since her parents’ deaths. “You know, Elizabeth, there was a time when I believed in love. I used to sit in front of this mirror at my grandparents’ when I was little and dream about what my husband would be like.”

  Elizabeth nodded, then as Whitney seemed content to let the subject drop she prompted, “Well, dear, aren’t you going to tell me about this man of yours?”

  A faraway look clouding her emerald eyes, Whitney wondered what had happened to the man created by her youthful imagination, the man who had come to her in the dark hours of the night. She recalled his towering form perfectly and the dark features that had always been capabl
e of melting her resolve in mere minutes, leaving her powerless to resist surrender yet again. And how many times had she envisioned herself running her hands through midnight black hair while staring up into smoldering obsidian eyes? Her phantom said all the right things, whispering through her dreams the loving words she had yet to hear in the conscious world. He touched her as only a lover could and made her want to…

  For heaven’s sake girl, Whitney scolded herself sternly as she shook off the provocative visions surfacing in her mind and flashed a sheepish smile at the housekeeper. You’re acting like you’re still sixteen. Imagining that someone like that would be interested in you for anything other than what Daddy left. What are you thinking? She didn’t have time for daydreams, let alone fantasies. Besides, there was no sense retracing that dead-end path at this late date. She was twenty-six and the prospects of finding the kind of lasting love she wrote about were looking grimmer with each passing day. She wasn’t even convinced she still wanted to.

  “No, Elizabeth,” Whitney answered at last, a mischievous grin taking the sting out of her words, “I don’t think I will just now.”

  Elizabeth returned the smile with a knowing one of her own. “That’s all right, dear. You don’t have to. I already know plenty about the man you’ll be marrying.”

  Just as the housekeeper knew would happen Whitney’s curiosity got the better of her and she raised one eyebrow, silently inviting her friend to explain what she had meant. “We all do, since each new book you write gives us a few more clues what he’ll be like.”

  “Oh, you!” Whitney laughed. “You know I quit looking a long time ago.”