Because a Husband Is Forever

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Sounds like a sharp man.”

  There was nothing she liked better than to talk about her family. A warm smile curved her mouth. “He is. He does the evening news on Channel Seven.”

  Most people she met already knew that, since Daniel Delany had been in the business for over thirty years and had been coming into people’s living rooms, delivering the news in one form or another. But she had a feeling that Ian Russell was not “most people.” More than likely, whatever didn’t touch his immediate sphere didn’t merit his interest.

  “His name is Daniel Delany,” she added. As she watched, she thought she saw a vague spark of recognition filter through his eyes.

  He did follow the news, although he paid little attention to the perfectly groomed parade of newscasters who delivered it. After taking a long drink from the glass of beer, he finally acknowledged, “Name’s familiar.”

  She’d never met a living man without a pulse before, she thought. Still, there was an undercurrent of magnetism that transcended his less-than-lively delivery. Maybe it was the soft lighting, but he seemed to smolder.

  As if the proximity suddenly struck him as too close, Ian abruptly moved his place setting to the other side of the table so that they would face each other.

  About to protest his sudden rise to his feet, she realized that he was only seeking the shelter of distance and not leaving. Did she make him that uncomfortable? “I’ll tell him you said that the next time I talk to him,” she said.

  He nodded, hunting for some kind of response. He didn’t want her thinking he was a stone statue, although he’d already warned her about that, and besides, it should have made no difference what she thought.

  Still, because the atmosphere threatened to fill up with dead air, he asked what he thought was the obvious. “Stay in touch much? With your father?” he asked.

  “As much as I can.” She broke a bread stick, nibbling on one end. She hadn’t realized that she was as hungry as she was. The urge for an unscheduled pilgrimage to the land of used, overpriced possessions had come before she’d had anything for breakfast. She counted herself lucky that her stomach hadn’t rumbled. “My parents live on the West Coast. California,” she added.

  West Coast and California were synonymous to her, but that was only because she’d grown up there. Everyone always felt that their home was the epicenter of everyone’s focus, she mused just as the food server returned with their orders.

  “Fast,” Ian commented in a low voice.

  “They like to keep things moving here,” she said as she dug into her food with unabashed relish. “Dimitri’s thinking of buying out the store next door and expanding.” He made no comment on the information. Big surprise. Dakota retreated to the previous topic. Her family. “My mother’s Joanna Montgomery.” Watching his expression, she saw no sign that the name might have meant something to him. Sorry, Mom, not everyone’s a movie buff. “She’s an actress.”

  He raised one eyebrow at the information. His late mother had been a homemaker, struggling to create harmony between two men who had nothing in common aside from their surname and choice of profession. She was the rock of the earth. Actresses, he felt, were the complete opposite. “Your whole family is in show business?”

  “My older brother, Paul, is an accountant.” She didn’t bother adding that he worked for a major studio.

  Ian nodded. “Good for him.”

  There was something about the tone that rubbed her against the grain. She silently took offense for both her mother and her father. “But my grandfather’s in the business,” she informed him. “Waylon Montgomery.”

  Her almost-silent eating companion’s head jerked up. By the surprised look on his face, Dakota knew she’d hit pay dirt. So the man did watch television. A sliver of triumph worked its way forward.

  Ian’s fork was suspended in midair. “You’re kidding.”

  “It’s in my official bio,” she deadpanned.

  “Savage Ben’s owner is your grandfather?” Ian asked. Savage Ben had been a cult favorite TV program in the early eighties and was still living happily in reruns around the world.

  He couldn’t believe it. Waylon Montgomery had a face that had been lived in years before his hair had turned white. Not that he’d ever given the matter any thought, but if he had, he would have imagined that the man would have fathered rather homely children, not someone who took men’s breath away in a wheelbarrow.

  “One and the same.” Impulse put the words in her mouth. “He’s coming out at the end of the month to do an interview. I could arrange for you to meet him if you like.”

  “I—my son and I used to watch that on Saturday mornings together.” The last thing he wanted was for her to think of him as one of those people without a life, who faithfully attached themselves to celebrities and went out of their way to see them.

  The piece of personal information took her by surprise. So did the strange pang she felt.

  The man was married.

  That didn’t matter, she silently insisted.

  Dakota forced herself to focus on what he’d just said. Maybe Ian Russell was warming up to her. Or maybe finding out who her grandfather was had momentarily shaken up his world.

  “And then what?” she coaxed, trying to get him to continue. “He outgrew it?” Kids were rebelling and trying to act cool sooner these days. She’d never gone through a rebellion herself, but all her friends had. She’d been in the minority.

  Ian looked back at his plate as he resumed eating. “I wouldn’t know.”

  There was something about the set of his shoulders that got to her. She paused a moment, wondering if she should hold her tongue. But then, that had never stopped her before. “You’re divorced, aren’t you?”

  Ian looked at her. He wanted to tell her that she had no right to probe, but curiosity got the better of him. “Does it show?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” she allowed. “You don’t strike me as the type to suddenly ignore your son. Something else had to have happened. Divorce was my first guess.” Mostly because so many people she knew found themselves in that position at one time or another. That she hadn’t had one marriage to her name made her unusual. “They say fifty percent of the couples wind up that way.”

  His expression was dour. “Nice to know I didn’t mess up any statistics.”

  She forgot about being hungry. Dakota leaned her head against her hand. “What happened?”

  The look in his eyes warned her off. There was a DO NOT TRESPASS sign right there in big, bold letters. She ignored it.

  “A little personal, don’t you think?” He all but growled the words.

  “Yes,” she answered with unabashed honesty and enthusiasm. “But if we’re going to be friends—”

  The knife fell from his fingers, clattering to the plate. Ian looked at her sharply. “Who said we’re going to be friends?”

  “I did.” And then she smiled at him. Ian found the smile completely unreadable. And annoying. As were her next words. “And, in a way, you did.”

  The woman was clearly suffering from some kind of delusions. “What?”

  “Your partner left with my production assistant. You’re still here.”

  He blew out a breath. Why was she making more out of this than there was? He’d remained because, after giving it some thought, it was logical to stay, nothing else.

  “Like you pointed out, we’d already ordered. And I was hungry. No sense in letting good food go to waste.”

  He watched as a completely unfathomable smile played along her lips. “Whatever you say.”

  He shook his head. “Anyone ever tell you you can be irritating?”

  “Yes,” she freely admitted, then added, “but my pure heart usually gets them to cut me some slack.” Her expression softened a little, becoming just a shade serious. “You don’t have to tell me why you got divorced if you don’t want to.”

  “Thanks,” he said. He’d thought that was the end of it, but looking back, he shou
ld have known better. Gorgeous though she was, Dakota Delany still had something in common with an unrelenting freight train.

  “But my guess would be that she got tired of being a cop’s wife, tired of waiting to see if you’d come walking through that door each night.”

  She’d hit the nail right on the head on her first try. He supposed that made his life predictable. “Not very original, is it?”

  “Doesn’t have to be original to hurt.”

  If that was pity, he wanted no part of it. “You always probe people like this over a meal?”

  “No. Sometimes I do it over drinks.”

  She got the smile she was after. Granted, it was just the barest hint of a smile, but given the kind of person she was working with, she figured it was a major triumph. Dakota saw his eyes shift to just beneath her chin. He was either contemplating clipping her one, or her necklace had caught his eye.

  “It’s a cameo,” she said, watching his eyes as he admired her necklace.

  “Family heirloom?”

  She’d made short work of her meal, she realized. Taking the last bite, she placed her fork down on the plate and crossed her knife over it.

  “Somebody’s family,” she allowed, “but not mine. I just bought it this morning at one of those quaint little stores along the coast.” She thought about it for a moment. Funny how that had fallen into place for her. Her mother was the one who adored antiques. As a child, she’d always thought of haunting the various dusty little stores as punishment. Maybe something inside of her had wanted to retreat to those childhood days, where there had been parents to buffer her and keep hurt from her door. “Don’t even know why I went. I don’t usually go to those kinds of stores.” There were a number of antique stores in the city and she only frequented those when her mother came to visit and to shop. “Certainly not if it requires getting behind a wheel and driving to them.” Fingering the cameo again, she felt that same sort of restlessness taking hold that she’d felt this morning. She looked at Ian. “If I was the kind who believed in fate and destiny, I’d say it was almost as if I was supposed to find this cameo.”

  He snorted. “Sounds like a good credit card commercial.”

  “No, I’m serious.” For some reason his dismissive expression made her defensive. “There’s a legend that goes with this cameo.”

  A legend probably woven by some enterprising shop owner, he thought. “Oh?”

  “The cameo belonged to an Amanda Deveaux during the Civil War. Her fiancé gave it to her just before he went off to fight. He told her not to take it off until he came back to marry her.”

  And she bought it, lock, stock, and barrel. He would have taken her for someone more savvy than that. “Let me guess, they buried her in it.” He took a final sip of his beer. “Not a very cheery legend. Aren’t you afraid that thing might carry a curse?”

  It was obvious by his tone that he didn’t believe in destiny, fate or curses. But then, neither did she. Normally. There’d just been something about this cameo when she’d looked at it…

  She bit her lower lip, realizing that she’d never gotten the woman in the shop to tell her if Amanda’s fiancé had ever returned. “I don’t know if they buried her in it.”

  “You didn’t ask? I thought you dissected everyone you came in contact with.”

  She took no offense at the clinical description. “I asked, but then she had this old grandfather clock there and it chimed. I realized I was going to be late for the program if I didn’t get started back.” She fingered the small oval as she rolled a thought over in her head. “I’m going to have to get back up there and ask her what happened.” And have her on the show, she added silently. She looked at him. “There is more to the legend that she did tell me.”

  “And now you’re going to tell me.” Resignation echoed in his voice. “All right, what is it? If you kiss a frog while you’re wearing it, he turns into a prince?”

  She thought of saying something about trying that theory out by kissing him, but let the moment pass. She prided herself on not being the antagonistic type. “No, the wearer has true love enter her life.”

  This time, he did hoot. He hated seeing seemingly intelligent people taken. His mother had been like that. An eternal optimist who bought into every sob story that came her way. She was the softest touch in the neighborhood. His father had been the hardest.

  “And you bought that?”

  This time she did take offense. Dakota squared her shoulders. “No, I bought the necklace,” she said deliberately, “because it was pretty. The last thing I am looking for is so-called true love.”

  He heard what she wasn’t saying and studied her for a moment. Maybe things weren’t quite so perfect in her world, either. “Sounds a little bitter.”

  A swell of hurt threatened to blanket her. She packed it away before it could get the better of her. John wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worth a single tear. Now that she looked back, she realized she really didn’t love him, she loved the idea of him, the idea of love and having someone to love.

  “Not bitter, realistic,” she told Ian, then shrugged as she broke apart a bread stick she had no intention of eating, reducing it to minuscule crumbs. “People don’t stay together the way they did in my parents’ generation.” Her voice became a little wistful, as well as sad. “Maybe it’s because they don’t love that way anymore.”

  There was something about her expression, about the look in her eyes that drew him in despite himself. “What way?”

  “Undyingly. From the bottom of their toes.” She dusted off her hands, then wiped her fingertips in her napkin. “Now it’s a matter of boundaries and space and constantly looking out for yourself—”

  If you didn’t look out for yourself, he thought, you got cut down. “What’s wrong with that?”

  She didn’t expect him to understand. But rather than retreat, passion swelled in her voice.

  “It shouldn’t be about maintaining your own space, it’s supposed to be about melding, about looking out for your loved one, not yourself. Marriage takes work, it takes selflessness.”

  He leaned back and studied her. His ex would have called Dakota an embarrassment to her gender. Maybe the woman was deeper than he first thought. “That’s definitely not women’s lib.”

  Dakota frowned, waving a hand at his words. “I hate labels.” She raised her chin like someone ready for a fight. “But if you want one, then fine, that’s people lib.” To her surprise, he laughed. She felt anger flaring. “Did I say something funny?”

  “No, just unexpected.” He supposed that was part of her appeal. She said the unexpected. If asked, he would have said that he had her pegged as a modern woman to the nth degree, interested in putting all men in their place. In his experience, women of privilege usually were.

  The lighting played along her face, making him aware of her flawless complexion and incredible bone structure. Ian felt a vague, distant stirring and recognized it for what it was. Desire. He would have had to be a dead man not to notice that the woman was damn sexy. He would have had to have been a fool to act on it or think that any action might have led somewhere.

  He turned his attention back to his meal. And to getting out of there in one piece.

  The restlessness that had placed her behind the wheel of her BMW this morning refused to abate. Instead, as the minutes slipped by, it grew. Especially when Ian would look at her. She couldn’t begin to guess what was going on in his mind, only that his eyes were making her warm.

  The moment he finished, she signaled for the tab. When the food server arrived, she signed her name to the charge receipt that was already waiting for her.

  “How much was that?” Ian asked, digging into his pocket for his wallet.

  “Put that away,” she told him. “You’re not paying for this.”

  He did as she said, but he didn’t like it. Maybe he was old-fashioned, but it went against his grain to allow a woman to pay for him. Even a woman he barely knew. “I’m not used to not pa
ying.”

  “If we go out, you can pay,” she told him flippantly as she slid out of the booth. “This, however, is on the show.”

  Damn, what the hell had made her say something like that? They weren’t about to go out. Even though Ian had looked at her in a way that made her squirm inside, he certainly hadn’t said or indicated that he was interested in making this personal. She doubted he knew how to make anything personal.

  Shrugging, Ian placed a hand to the small of her back, escorting her out of the dining area and to the front of the restaurant. She looked back at Ian. The man did have his good points, she mused.

  Once outside, Dakota noticed fallen leaves playing tag with the wind. She raised the collar of her jacket, thinking she should have brought a coat along.

  Stepping toward the curb, Ian raised his hand at a passing cab. Its Off Duty sign not lit, the vehicle still flew right by him.

  “I should have brought the car,” he muttered. As she watched, Ian edged his way to the corner, waiting for the next cab.

  One came less than a minute later. It pulled up right in front of them. Hand on the door, Ian turned to the woman who was standing at his side. She hadn’t said anything for at least a minute. He wondered if he’d insulted her somehow.

  “Well, thanks for lunch.”

  A smile played along her lips. “You’re welcome. You did well.”

  “I’ve been eating on my own since before I was two.”

  She laughed, unaware that the sound filtered right into his system, increasing his discomfort. “I meant the show.”

  He was still unconvinced that his presence had been necessary. “Yeah, well, that would have gone better if Taylor had been your only guest.”

  She looked up into his face, her smile burrowing a small hole right into his gut. “Not from where I was sitting.”

  For a moment, as their eyes met, Dakota found herself holding her breath. She thought that he was going to kiss her. She realized that she wanted him to, even though they didn’t know each other. There’d been an attraction building from the moment she’d taken the makeup brush and applied it to his cheekbones.