by BETH KERY
She dressed for a lazy day in a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. Afterward, she curled in front of the gas fireplace with a book in her lap, losing herself in the story.
A car door slammed in the distance. Deidre looked up, holding her breath. She heard the stomp of boots on the front steps, then a brisk knock at her door. The book she’d been reading slid heedlessly onto the couch cushion.
Somehow, she just knew it was Nick.
She hesitated for only a second before standing decisively.
“Hello. How are you?” he asked quietly, his gaze running over her face when she opened the door. He wore a pair of well-worn jeans and a hip-length black insulated jacket. He hadn’t shaved today. Dark whiskers shadowed his jaw.
“Fine,” Deidre replied warily.
He nodded, and she found herself shifting on her feet in the awkward silence that followed. Realizing she couldn’t stand there forever with the door wide open, she reluctantly waved her hand into the kitchen. Nick entered. She shut the door and faced him.
“I drove around Harbor Town a little. It’s nice. You must have loved coming here as a kid.”
She attempted a smile. “Winter isn’t the best time to be here. Harbor Town is a beach town, pure and simple.”
He nodded. “It’s still charming, decked out for the holidays like it is. I remember once when we were both with Linc you told him Christmas was your favorite holiday.”
She blinked in surprise. She didn’t remember ever having said such a thing in his presence. It made her feel exposed that he’d recalled the trivial detail.
“It was a favorite holiday when I was a child,” she admitted. Longing ripped through her unexpectedly when she thought of Christmases when she was a kid—back in the days when she never doubted she was a true Kavanaugh. It was stupid, of course. She could return to her mother’s house anytime—this very second if she chose. Her refusal to go there was a self-imposed sanction.
She looked up reluctantly when he placed a gloved finger beneath her chin and lifted it. She couldn’t avoid his eyes now.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
She merely nodded, her throat convulsing uncomfortably when she swallowed.
His gaze moved over her face. “Why don’t we go into the living room? It might be a little warmer?” he suggested, nodding toward the interior of the cottage.
“All right,” she conceded.
She studied him while he removed his gloves and coat and draped his coat on the back of a kitchen chair. When he wasn’t dressed in a suit, he favored jeans and shirts that weren’t the classic cowboy variety, perhaps, but still possessed a Western flavor. They usually had snaps instead of buttons and fitted his lean, muscular torso to perfection.
When he glanced at her, she just raised her eyebrows in polite expectation, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way she’d been detailing his form. She led him into the living room. The sitting area before the flickering fire looked much more cozy and intimate than it had when she’d been there alone.
“Did Lincoln ever speak to you about whether or not you were interested in running DuBois Enterprises?” he asked after he’d stood before the fire for a moment.
“Yes.”
He turned and speared her with his stare. “He did? When?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. A month or so before he passed? He asked me if I’d ever consider taking up business. Then he asked me if I’d like to run his company. I thought he was kidding.”
“And what did you say?” Nick asked intently.
“I told him ‘no way.’ I have no interest in working in an office. Medicine is my career. I love being a nurse. Did Lincoln really ask you to get to know me better in that letter?” she blurted out, unable to contain her curiosity anymore. She’d been obsessing about Lincoln’s reasoning and state of mind all day.
“Yes. Why would I lie about something like that?”
She gave him a small, cautious grin. “Your reasoning escapes me, as usual.”
He laughed and turned toward her, one hand on the mantel. His silvery-gray eyes looked a little softer than usual. “My reasons are hardly Machiavellian.”
“I just can’t comprehend why he’d ask you to do it.”
“Maybe he trusted me. Maybe you should, too.”
She looked up into his face. He hadn’t moved, but he somehow seemed closer. “Why should I trust you when you clearly don’t trust me?”
“I haven’t decided yet whether I trust you or not,” he said.
A thought occurred to her. “Wait...don’t tell me that Lincoln actually asked you to investigate me in this infamous letter.”
“I’m not investigating you, Deidre. Don’t be so melodramatic,” he mumbled, exasperated.
“What else should I call it? You’ve admitted you’re here to determine if I’m the type of person who would coerce a sick, vulnerable man into giving me all his money.”
He sighed. “I’m here to understand you—and this whole situation—better. Linc’s impulsive actions don’t make much sense to me, given what I know of his character. He was an astute, methodical businessman. In order for me to get comfortable with the change, I need to get the lay of the land, so to speak. Linc’s request for me to get to know you has nothing to do with my concerns about the will. It’s a completely separate issue.” He turned toward the fire, clutching at the edge of the mantel with both hands.
“I still think it’s strange for you to stay in Harbor Town.”
“Just as strange as Lincoln giving half the control of his entire company to a woman who probably can’t even interpret a basic financial statement?” he wondered, giving her a steely sidelong glance.
Her spine stiffened. “Do you know what I think? I think it bothers you that Lincoln liked me so much.”
“Why should it bother me that he was so taken by you? I suspect many men are,” he said, holding her stare.
Her heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t sure whether to interpret his comment as an insult or a compliment. “Maybe it bothers you because you’re used to being the only one who had Lincoln’s complete affection and trust.”
He made a scoffing sound. “Linc gave his trust to many people, Deidre. Some of the officers of DuBois Enterprises thought he gave it a little too freely for their liking.”
“As in my case, I suppose.”
“Yes...and one other notable case,” he said quietly. She frowned, confused by his reference. He dropped one hand and stepped toward her, so that only a half a foot separated them. She held her ground and hoped he didn’t notice her pulse throbbing at her throat.
“It’s not an inevitability that we have to be enemies,” he said.
“It’s not inevitable that we have to be friends, either,” she said, staring at his chest.
“We might be friends, Deidre. Lincoln thought we could be, anyway.”
“You haven’t decided yet if I’m worthy of the title though yet, have you?”
Despite her cool sarcasm, his nearness made her blood race. Something about his voice affected her for some reason, especially when he said her name. When she’d first heard him speak, she would have taken his accent for typical Midwestern—blunt, clipped, no-nonsense. Every once in a while though, a slight twang would slide into the syllables, a glimmer of something that reminded her of horses grazing in the high desert of the American West, the stark, rugged mountains and clean alpine air that surrounded The Pines.
“Deidre?”
“Yes?” she asked uneasily, meeting his stare.
“I never got a chance to tell you I was sorry about Linc’s passing. Whether or not you’re his daughter, I don’t know, but no one could spend night and day with a person for months like you did and not be affected by the loss. Lincoln was certainly affected by you.”
“Did he
tell you that?” She longed to hear his answer, to know every tiny morsel of information about the man who had been in her life for such a fleeting time.
Nick hesitated for a moment. “Yes,” he finally admitted. “But he didn’t have to. He couldn’t take his eyes off you when you were in the room with him.”
She smiled shakily, both warmed and saddened by his words.
“We hardly ever spoke privately while we were at Tahoe, so I also never got a chance to thank you for insisting Linc be taken back to the hospital for diagnostic testing. You were right in thinking something didn’t match up with his presentation and the diagnosis of multiple strokes. Because of your recommendation, we found out Linc’s dysfunction wasn’t just from his strokes. He had a brain tumor. You were right about that all along.”
The surge of grief that went through her gave her the strength she needed to face the fire, breaking his magnetic stare. She lifted her chin. “I guess you were always too busy being suspicious that I’m a conniving opportunist to thank me at The Pines.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe you’re right,” he conceded slowly. She glanced over at him in surprise. “Having Lincoln inform me that he had a daughter shook me up a bit. I’ve been trying to make sense of things, and I can see why you take me for a rude, single-minded jerk. Why don’t you turn the tables on me? Ask me anything you like.”
For a second, she just stared at him silently before she directed her gaze to the flames.
“How did you meet Lincoln?” she asked.
“I was paired up with him in a Big Brother program when I was eight years old. Who knows where I would have ended up if that hadn’t happened? Prison, most likely. Let’s see,” he paused, his gaze focused elsewhere as he delved into his memories. “I would have been in my sixth foster home placement in two years when I first met Linc. That summer, he hired me as his stable boy. I worked for him, in one capacity or another, for the next thirty years of my life, the only exception being when I was on active duty with the air force.”
Her gaze lingered on his lips for two heartbeats. It was a firm mouth. She could imagine him giving brisk orders with it...easily picture every instruction being followed to a T.
It was also a sensual mouth. She could just as easily imagine women following his every demand in the bedroom. A flicker of annoyance went through her at the thought, but so did a flash of heat.
“Where did you serve while you were in the military?”
“I moved around. Turkey, Iraq—Operation Southern Watch. I did a stint in Sierra Leone.”
“Were you involved in Operation Silver Anvil?” she asked, referring to the European Joint Operations Task Force that evacuated hundreds of people out of Sierra Leone by plane after a bloody military coup d’état.
“Yeah.”
She gave him a swift, assessing glance. “Are you a pilot?”
He nodded once. “Still am, for private purposes. I own a Cessna that I use to get around the country for business. I flew it here, actually. I’m renting hangar space over at Tulip City Airport.”
She smiled. She should have known. He matched the profile of an air force pilot perfectly: handsome, cocky, amazingly sure of himself. His raised brows told her he’d noticed her smug expression. She hurried to change the subject.
“What happened to your parents?”
“They were killed in a car accident when I was six.”
Her head swung around. “That’s horrible. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “Unlike most people, I know you really do understand just how terrible it was.”
She swallowed and stepped away from the heat. She’d never spoken with him about the circumstances of Derry Kavanaugh’s death, or the fact that Derry had caused an accident killing three other people, altering the paths of a dozen or more lives forever.
“Did Lincoln tell you about Derry dying in a car crash?”
“No.”
Something in his tone made suspicion flicker in her. “Oh...I see. The infamous private investigator told you.” She shook her head, feeling more exhausted than angry when his level gaze confirmed the truth of her words.
“You left me little choice but to have him gather all the details of your history,” Nick admitted. “You refused to talk to me about your past or tell me anything about you.”
She bit her lower lip, repressing her typical urge to tell him her life was none of his business. The words sounded thin and hollow tonight. “I’m a little tired. It’s been a long day,” she said.
“You should eat. Why don’t you let me take you out to dinner? Or we could order in.”
“No,” she said too abruptly. She blushed and hurried to cover her rudeness. “I...I mean, I really couldn’t eat much more. I’m stuffed from a big brunch at Jake’s Place.”
“Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night, then?”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “You just don’t quit, do you?”
“I told you I was determined.”
“Determined to investigate my character and motives, or to fulfill Lincoln’s wishes?” she murmured quietly.
“There’s no reason I can’t do both at once,” Nick said before he strode toward the kitchen. Deidre followed. While he was putting on his coat, he added, “I’ll bring you a copy of the will when we have dinner tomorrow.”
“Is it possible to get two copies? I want my brother Marc to look it over. He’s an attorney. You could drop his copy off at the Starling Hotel front desk, if it’ll make things easier for you. Marc and his family are staying there, too.”
He nodded. She struggled to interpret his expression when he didn’t move.
“I probably should admit something.”
“What?” she asked.
“I’m here at Lincoln’s request and because I need to understand better why Lincoln changed his will. But aside from that...I’m glad to have the opportunity to get to know you better.”
She just stared at him with her mouth partially open, too amazed to speak. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Unless he was testing her again—
“Get a good night’s sleep,” he said, interrupting her confused thoughts.
“I’ll do my best,” she replied automatically. He gave her one last glance before he turned away. He checked the lock on the door before he closed it quietly behind him.
It wasn’t until later that she realized she hadn’t objected to him assuming she’d have dinner with him tomorrow.
She lay in bed that night, wondering why she’d grown so discombobulated when Nick mentioned the death of his parents. The reason finally came to her; it was the knowledge of how much they had in common. They’d both served in the military. Both of them had lost parents in car wrecks. Both of them had loved Lincoln DuBois. Circumstances had made them both highly independent and self-sufficient people.
They were both loners. And while Deidre wasn’t an orphan in the classic sense, she thought she might have more of an idea of the loneliness of the condition than the average person. She knew the feeling of being different, of never perfectly fitting in anywhere.
She squeezed her eyes shut and rolled on her side. After recognizing that shared bond with Nick, sleep was a long time coming.
* * *
A light snow was starting to fall when she left the house at eleven the next morning. She had plans to visit Marc, Mari and her adorable little niece and godchild, Riley, at the Starling Hotel.
She recalled how Nick had casually slipped into their conversation last night that they’d have dinner together that evening. Was she going to let him get away with his subtle manipulation to spend time with her, or would she avoid Cedar Cottage during the dinner hour? She honestly wasn’t sure about her answer as she headed over to the Starling Hotel, hoping all the while she had no unexpected run-ins with Nick.
During lunch she spilled the news about the will to a stunned Marc and Mari.
After the meal, Mari, Riley and she wandered out into the festively decorated hotel lobby while Marc went to check for a fax from Chicago at the front desk.
“Will you come back to Harbor Town for Christmas?” Deidre asked Mari. Each of them was holding on to one of Riley’s pudgy hands to protect the china vases and glittering Christmas tree ornaments from the curious toddler’s grasp.
Mari shook her head regretfully. “Marc is far too busy with his campaign. Plus, I have a concert Christmas Eve,” Mari said, referring to Marc’s bid for a U.S. Senate seat and her own job as a cellist for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. “Besides, I think I have finally convinced Ryan to come to Chicago for Christmas. He’s officially a civilian now, like you.” Mari asked, referring to her older brother, who had been an air force pilot.
“He is? That’s wonderful. I always thought I’d run into him while we were both on active duty, but I never did. Are Marc and Ryan getting along now?” Deidre asked.
Mari made a face and glanced down at Riley. Marc and Ryan used to be best friends when they were teenagers. The car wreck Derry had caused while he’d been intoxicated had cruelly taken Ryan and Mari’s parents from them. Grief and anger had severed Marc and Ryan’s friendship long ago. “I wouldn’t say getting along, precisely,” Mari whispered, as if she thought Riley shouldn’t hear. “They behave politely enough, for my sake and for Riley’s.”
The two women shared a glance of compassion. It hurt to know that the old wound between the once close families still festered.
“Would you like to stay with us in Chicago for the holiday?” Mari asked, looking glad to change the painful topic.
“No. I’ll just lie low here for a while, look over that job proposal you gave me.”
“Are you really considering taking the job at the Family Center?” Mari wondered enthusiastically as they sat on a deep-cushioned velvet couch and Riley started to crawl all over them. The Family Center was an innovative program for community education and treatment of substance abuse. Mari had started the center because of the heavy toll drunk driving had taken on her life.