And the little gold heart Noah had given her for her eighteenth birthday.
She hadn’t worn it since the day he’d walked out of her life, and still she’d kept it.
Testing herself, she put it on, studied herself in the mirror, tracing the heart with her finger as she had so many times before.
A little pang for what had been, but no longing, and more important, no regret. It was only a memory, after all, a symbol of a sweet time. She had loved him, she thought as she took it off again, put it back in the box. As much as she’d known how at eighteen.
“But not forever, not for either of us.”
What would she do for love? Maybe it was time to find out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Work always helped. Closing herself in her studio, focusing, becoming took her out of herself. She knew something in the back of her brain would and could work on the problem—both problems—while she produced.
The external problem wanted to terrify her, and she couldn’t let it. But the idea that someone—Sparks, if Red’s instincts proved accurate—arranged killings, with her kidnapping at the center, rated some terror.
Revenge? It seemed like such a useless motive. He’d never get the years back. At the same time, he risked spending the rest of his life behind bars.
How could it be worth it?
She pushed herself through three hours in the booth, then deleted the last twenty minutes in edit.
Not her best work there, and the client always deserved her best.
By the time she’d finished, sent the file to the producer, she wanted a break like she wanted to breathe. A long shower did the trick, especially since she kept her mind as empty as possible.
A walk through the orchard over ground strewn with fallen blossoms polished it off.
In the kitchen, she followed Consuela’s recipe for marinade—one with some zip—covered chicken breasts with it, put it aside. She made tortillas Consuela’s way. They didn’t look as perfect as Consuela’s, but she hoped they’d pass the taste test.
She’d never asked if Dillon liked Mexican food, she realized as she chopped tomatoes for salsa. Well, she hoped he liked Mexican food, because that’s what he was getting.
Chicken fajitas, frijoles, rice, salsa and chips, and flan to finish it off.
Considering the weather—pretty damn perfect—she set the small table outside, added candles. Why not?
She left the door open to the air as she sliced onions, peppers, took the chicken out, sliced it into diagonal strips.
Consuela had been very specific there, and—thank God—had been generous enough to make the guacamole for her.
She wasn’t sure she was up for that.
By the time Dillon walked in, she had everything prepped for the cast-iron skillet (borrowed from Consuela).
And when he walked in with a handful of wildflowers, she realized the back of her brain, or some part of her, had worked on that internal problem.
He walked straight to her, wrapped around her, kissed her like a man who seriously meant it.
“You smell great.”
“Is it me, or the salsa?”
He leaned down to sniff her neck. “Pretty sure it’s you. From the field.” He offered the flowers.
Everything inside her went to mush. “You picked them?”
“I didn’t have time to buy any. One of the Angus cows decided it was a good day to calve. She needed a little help.”
“First, wildflowers from the field are the best of the best.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Second, you helped deliver a baby cow?”
“Yeah. Usually they do just fine on their own, but now and then they need a little help. Good-looking bull calf. We may keep him that way.”
She hunted up a vase. “What way?”
“A bull.”
“What else would . . . oh.” It genuinely made her shudder. “Ow! You do that?”
“You can’t have a herd with a bunch of bulls, trust me.”
“I bet the little baby cows trust you, too, right before you—” She mimed snapping scissors.
“If they were cows I wouldn’t have to—” He mimed back. “Is this salsa up for grabs?”
“It is. I hope you like Mexican food.”
With a tortilla chip, he scooped up salsa. “What’s not to like? Pow,” he said when he tasted. “I also like pow.”
“Then you’re in luck. I still don’t like beer, so I’m having margaritas, but . . .” She got a Negra Modelo out of the fridge, poured it into a pilsner, added a wedge of lime.
After he studied it, he studied her. “You’re the perfect woman.”
“That’ll get you all the fajitas you can eat.”
“I can mow down some fajitas.”
“Before I start on those, let’s sit outside, with your beer, my margarita, and this salsa.”
“Sounds good. Did Darlie and the baby get off all right?”
“Bright and early. She texted me awhile ago to let me know she’d stopped at a friend of her mom’s. They’ll stay there until morning rather than drive straight back to L.A.”
“Better. That’s a long drive with a toddler.”
“And speaking of babies. Eight pounds even?”
Grinning, he hefted his beer. “On the nose, and from all accounts, Hailey had an easier time of it than my Angus. Four hours and there’s Grace the amazing. The baby’s a beauty, Hailey looked like a Madonna, I swear. Leo looked like a wreck. A really happy wreck. They’re already home.”
“Birthing center, midwife, easy delivery.” Now Cate lifted her margarita. “Here’s to all that.”
“It’s hard to believe, even when things go that smooth, they send you on your way that quick. My ladies are going to see them for a bit tomorrow, and the two new grandmothers are right there to help out.”
“Here’s to babies, each and every one.” She tapped her glass to his. “I’d love to go see them, maybe in a couple days, once they’re more settled.”
“You can go with me.”
“Let me know when, Uncle Dil.”
He grinned again at that; she settled back.
“One day, I like to imagine we can sit out here like this—or sit anywhere for that matter—enjoying an adult beverage and some excellent salsa, and only talk about happy things.”
“But not tonight. Sparks.”
“Yeah, Sparks. Red told Grandpa and me what he thought, and what you seem to think.”
“The guy gets stabbed in prison and only needs a few stitches? That doesn’t work for me. It seems to me if somebody’s going to stab somebody, they’d do a better job of it.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but if you were nervous, or in a hurry—”
While butterflies fluttered behind him, Dillon tapped a finger on the table.
“First, you take the time to make the shank—and if you’re caught with it, that’s solitary. Second, you’re so nervous and rushed you just happen to jab it into the perfect place? The place that causes little damage. Bleeds good, but that’s about it.
“Bullshit.”
Bullshit, horseshit. Either way, Cate saw he and Red had the same confidence.
“Wouldn’t they fingerprint it?”
“Why do you figure he said he grabbed it, kept his hand on it? Smeared his hand and blood all over it? He’s not stupid, Cate. He’s no genius, but he’s not stupid. He’s calculating. I’ve thought about him a lot over the years.”
“Have you?”
He met her eyes. “It was a turn for me, that night, Caitlyn. What you’d call a seminal moment for me, I guess. Up till then . . . I knew the world wasn’t all rainbows, not with what happened to my father. But I’d never been close to violence, or fear. Watching you, watching my mom and Gram do what they did, your dad, Hugh. It all left a pretty big impression on me, so yeah, I’ve thought about Sparks over the years. And Denby, your mother. I feel like I know them on some level.”
“Maybe you’r
e right, you and Red. Maybe he’s behind all this somehow, and for some reason. If he is, wouldn’t my mother be his prime target?”
“She’d be harder to get to with a billion or so in security.” He shrugged, drank. “But yeah.”
“I don’t feel anything for her, or about her. I haven’t been able to work up a good rage in that area for a long time. But I wouldn’t want her murdered.”
“I’m a lot more concerned about you.”
“I left my grandfather and Red this morning discussing tightening security here, adding to it. And since I can see you have other ideas, tell me what they are before I start dinner. Then we can close this door for a while.”
“You could come stay on the ranch.”
“I can’t leave Grandpa, that’s number one. Then there’s my work.”
“Figured that. So I spend my nights here. I need to be on the ranch early every morning, but Red’s going to stay. He more than halfway does anyway, so he’ll just put in the other half while I stay here.”
Cate shifted, crossed her legs, then sipped at her margarita. “Do you think your ladies need a man to look after them? And I need one to look after me?”
A man could navigate a minefield if he knew where to step. And where not to.
“I figure my ladies can handle just about anything that comes. And you’d do a good job with that yourself. And yeah, everybody needs somebody, or ought to, who’ll look after them.”
“That’s a damn good answer to a tricky question. And I won’t lie. I’ll probably sleep better at night with you here. Not just for me, but for Grandpa, Consuela.”
“Then it’s done. I’ve got one more thought before we close the door.”
“All right.”
“I don’t see Hugh or Lily or your dad in this. They were set to pay the ransom. Nothing they did affected the outcome. If we’re wrong, and it’s Dupont behind all this, that changes. But it’s not, because she’d have gone after your family first. And your nanny from back then.”
Her heart jumped. “Oh God. Nina. I never thought of her.”
“Red did. She’s fine. You and the nanny are the ones who turned things on your mother. She’d have made moves there, and she’d have the means to do it.”
“You do know her.”
“As well as I can. It’s a lot harder for Sparks to get to someone in Ireland, even to find her at this point. And for what? She cared enough about you, was afraid enough of your mother to keep her mouth shut about the affair. They set her up as a dupe, but you screwed that up for them, then Dupont finished it off.”
“I’ll feel better when I talk to her myself. I’ll call her tomorrow. You don’t mention yourself, your family?”
“I think we’re low on possibilities, but that’s why I want Red there, why we’re hiring a couple of retired cops he knows to work on the ranch for the season.”
“You cover your bases, Dillon.”
“I take care of what’s mine.” He looked into her eyes in that way that always hit her heart. Right into them, right into her. “You have to know you’re what’s mine.”
Nerves, sudden, intense, pushed her to her feet. “I need to cook.”
She hurried inside, added oil to the skillet. As she gathered ingredients, she mumbled curses—self-directed—in Italian.
And felt the nerves ease off a little with movement, purpose. “You’re going to let me get away with that.”
He topped off her margarita from the pitcher she’d set on the island. “I know how and where to push when something or someone’s being stubborn. You’re not being stubborn, so I can wait.”
“I’m trying to think what I did in this life to deserve you.”
“Now, that’s being stupid. I’m getting another beer.”
“It’s not.” Rubbing her hematite bracelet, she turned to him while the oil heated. “It’s not. And I’m not being stubborn. I need you to . . .” She pushed a hand in the air in his direction. “Keep your distance while I get through this next part.”
Fascinated, he watched her, then poured the beer. “Seriously?”
“Yes. God, this is a lot of talk.” She pushed at her hair, wished she’d tied it back out of the way. “I thought we’d get all that other business out of the way, eat, then have a lot of sex.”
He lifted the beer, drank. “I said it before. The perfect woman.”
“I’m not. So many parts of me are still a mess, and probably always will be. I used to have panic attacks, nightmares. I rarely do now, or in years now, but I know what they feel like, and I just came close to the panic attack.”
“Because I’m telling you I’m in love with you? If you didn’t already know that, I go back to stupid.”
“Not stupid,” she muttered, and added the chicken to the hot oil to sear it. “I didn’t want you to.”
“Love you or tell you?”
“Either, right now. Foutre. Merde.”
“That’s French this time, right? I think I get the picture.”
She pulled air in her nose, let it out of her mouth slowly. “I’m not cursing at you. I worried if things ever got close to that, I’d screw it up, or you would, we would. God, I don’t want to screw it up. I just can’t screw it up. I need you, Dillon.”
Wasn’t that, just that, enormous enough? That need for someone else.
“From where I’m standing, nothing’s screwed up.”
Not yet, she thought, and carefully turned the chicken.
“It may be self-defeating to jump to the what-if, but for me . . . I need you and your family. Since I was a child, since that night. Those emails with Julia helped me through the rough years, just that contact, constant, caring. A touchstone for me.”
“We already made a promise we wouldn’t mess with the family connection.”
“I know. I know we’ll try to keep the promise. I . . . My father took care of what was his, Dillon, and that was me. He gave up so much to take care of me, give me what I needed. I knew we’d both turned a corner when he felt able to travel for work again. I knew he’d stopped worrying, every minute, and that I was okay again. And even through all that, I had Julia. If I could wish for a mother, it would be Julia.”
He laid a hand on her shoulder. “You’re never going to lose her, or any of us.”
“No?” She whirled around. “And what if I said I didn’t love you? That I couldn’t? That I wouldn’t?”
“Then you’d break my heart. And the pieces of it would still love you.”
Because her eyes filled, she pressed her fingers to them.
“Don’t do that and expect me to keep my distance.”
She pulled one hand away, firmly tapped a finger in the air three times to make sure he did.
“I need to cook,” she said again.
Digging for calm, she took the chicken out to rest, covered it. After adding more oil to the pan, she sautéed the peppers and onions she’d already sliced.
Calmer, because she cooked and had to pay attention, she continued. “I told you about the three men I’ve been with.”
“You did.”
“With Noah, I felt some panic at first, but I recognized that as the normal nerves and excitement a girl, with very little experience, feels when a boy she’s already noticed notices her enough to ask her out on her first actual date. I didn’t feel anything like that with the others. Just attraction, interest. Normal, I’d say, if somewhat limited. I’d really hoped to keep it at that with you—with the addition of solid affection and friendship.”
“That’s not going to work out.”
Without looking at him, she scraped up the brown bits from the chicken to coat the peppers and onions.
She let them cook while she sliced the chicken. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”
“I won’t settle for it. I don’t know why you would.”
“Because it’s easy. Keep things on your own terms, within your own limitations, it’s always easy. But you’re right, it’s not working out, not when you look
at me and say I’m yours. Not when you say that, I see that, and hit the panic button.”
Time for another shaky breath. “I didn’t think I would, and I have been thinking about it, about you, about all of it. But I did panic, and not because I’m stubborn or stupid, but because while part of me wants it to be easy, the rest of me wants to be yours. Wants you to be mine.”
He said nothing while she started one of her fancy arrangements of the food on a platter.
When he did speak, it was quiet, easy.
“It might’ve been that night when I wanted a drumstick, looked over, and saw you. But I really think it was when you drove up, got out of the car with an armload of red lilies. You had eyes like bluebonnets, like spring in the dead of winter, and a smile that slammed straight into me, blew right through me. And those boots.”
He paused, sipped his beer.
“Those really tall black boots. Man, I hope you still have those boots, because I like to imagine you wearing them and not much else. Anyway.” He drank again while she uncovered bowls of grated cheddar, of sour cream.
“I’m pretty sure it was that moment when the rest of you got what it wants. I never got over it.”
“You didn’t even know me.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Now she blinked at him. He so rarely sounded impatient.
“You hadn’t even seen me in years.”
“I damn well knew you. Through the emails with my mom, through Hugh and Lily, through Aidan and Consuela. I knew when you fell for the dancer, how you studied at NYU, then otherwise, learning all those languages. You’ve been part of my life since I was twelve years old, so deal with it.”
Carefully now, she pulled the tortillas out of the warming oven. “I think that’s the first time I’ve seriously pissed you off.”
“No, it’s not. It won’t be the last either. That doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”
“What if I hadn’t come back?”
“You were always going to come back, but waiting for it was starting to wear some.”
One more breath, and no more panic. “I was always going to come back,” she agreed. “Even when I didn’t know it.” She laid a hand on his cheek. “I’ve got pictures of you, too, Dillon. I’m sorting them out.”
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