by West, Cara
Nate started to say he didn't date dewy-eyed women. When he realized he'd be lying, he sent Sam a baleful glare.
"You know Dad thinks you should wear a warning label, Nate. He used to think the same thing about me. He's a gentleman of the old school when it comes to women."
A gentleman who wouldn't want the likes of Nate fooling with his daughter? Nate hoped it wasn't true, but he couldn't be sure. A bleak look must have settled on his features because Sam smiled apologetically.
"Hey, forget what I said. I was just popping off." Only Nate wouldn't be able to forget, he realized, after Sam had left. Nate wasn't sure of all the reasons why he hadn't told Sam the truth immediately. Then, somehow, it had already been too late. Maybe he'd wanted to guard Megan's and his privacy a little longer. Maybe he didn't want everyone speculating the way Sam just had. Maybe he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that there might be opposition in the Grant family. They might see him as a son but not as a suitor.
He pushed his unease to one side refusing to buy trouble and made a reservation at a restaurant that specialized in a romantic atmosphere. After that, he took off early from work for the first time in weeks.
WHEN MEGAN OPENED the door to Nate that evening, she wore the dress he'd requested and the smile he'd hoped for. Every other woman he'd ever dated vanished from his mind.
The shimmering blue material matched the electric blue of her eyes and deepened them mysteriously. The abbreviated bodice showed off her cream complexion and slender throat. She'd left her hair to cascade over her shoulders. Nate had to resist the temptation to run his fingers through the satiny waves.
"Shall I come in and say hello to Molly and Andrew?" Nate asked.
"They're over at Sam and Jenny's."
"Caroline's birthday party. We could go there if you want."
"No. I'd rather be with you." She said the last with a frankness that reduced Nate to silence.
"I have to tell someone what I've done," she continued blithely. "And the family's not ready to hear."
"Oh. I see. I'm just a handy ear to fill."
"Don't pout because I consider you handy," she said.
"I never pout," he protested.
"That's what you were doing at Lake Travis that day. Because things weren't going the way you wanted."
"Oh, is that what it was? And how do I feel now?"
She inspected him leisurely. "Cocky. Very cocky."
He laughed. "And why shouldn't I? I have on my arm, ladies and gentlemen, the most beautiful woman in the world."
"I bet you say that to all the women."
"No." He turned to her intently. "I've never said that to anyone else."
She looked taken aback.
Heel, boy, heel.
On the way to the restaurant, he kept the conversation breezy. Once they were ushered to their table, he still refrained from personal remarks, even though his eyes couldn't help lingering on her face. The rose of her cheeks had turned golden in the flickering candlelight. Her sable hair seemed to capture every flutter of the flame.
"I can't read the menu," Megan complained mildly. "It's too dark. You decide what to order."
"Shall it be hummingbird tongues? Ambrosia? Nectar of the gods?"
"I doubt those are listed." Megan reopened her menu. "Would hummingbird tongues be anything like popcorn shrimp?"
Nate groaned. "Have you no romance in your soul?"
"Apparently not." She studied him reflectively for a moment, then she took in the elegant appointments of the room and the single rose that decorated their table, its petals trembling with the slightest current of air.
"You, on the other hand—" she waved an accusatory finger "—are turning out to be quite a romantic. Candlelight's obvious, but effective. No wonder women fall at your feet."
Although he had no right, Nate felt inordinately wounded by her words. But how could he argue with the one woman who'd counted the females who'd paraded through his life? Would he ever be able to escape his past with her?
"Megan..."
"Uh-huh?"
"There are no other women."
"What—!"
"Not when I'm with you. Please believe me."
He couldn't help the intensity. He felt as awkward as a schoolboy. Yet somehow he had to make her understand.
After a long moment she said, "I believe you."
"If I've forgotten them, can you?"
"I... think so. I can try."
"Please do. I don't want ghosts to haunt us. I want to start out fresh, without preconceptions. Without expectations. With only honesty as a guide."
*'Nate—" she touched his hand "—do you think that's possible?*'
"It has to be." The softly spoken words held vehemence.
She drew her hand away. "You scare me."
"I scare myself." Did she have any idea how easily she could hurt him?
"I—I've never seen you vulnerable," she said.
"No one else has, either."
"You mean those other women?"
"What other women? There's never been anyone who made me feel this way."
He laughed, albeit weakly, to defuse the situation. "This seems to be a night for firsts. Our first candlelight dinner. Our first celebration. Will you tell me now what we're celebrating?"
Just then the waiter arrived to take their order. By the time he'd left, Nate had regained his equilibrium. He sat back waiting to take his cue from Megan.
She leaned forward confidentially. "Nate, I've found the house. I've bought it."
"House—?"
"My gallery. The one I plan to open.''
"Oh, the gallery. I wasn't sure you'd gone on with your plans. Not with your father making such slow progress."
"I hadn't exactly. But Sandra—your mother—found it for me, and I had to bid on the property or risk losing it. Nate... it's perfect."
"How so?" he asked, appreciating the way excitement lit her face.
"It's a Spanish hacienda just west of downtown. It'll be perfect to display the type of art I have in mind."
He couldn't help saying, "Central Austin has a high crime rate. Do you still plan to live above the first-floor gallery?''
"Oh, Nate, that's what's so perfect about the house. It has three stories, with an upstairs bedroom suite and roof garden. I'll be living in my very own hidden bower. I can see half of Austin, but Austin can't see me.
"You'll also install a security system." When she didn't agree immediately, he grew suspicious. "How much down payment did you have to come up with?"
Her look swung away from his. "I... I had to pay for it outright."
"What?"
"I don't have the income or credit to support a mortgage."
"But Megan, Sam or I could have cosigned the note. You shouldn't have depleted your principal."
"I didn't want to have to buy it with the help of someone else. Besides, no one but you knows I've even bought it."
"How much?" he pressed, alarmed at the risk she was taking.
When she named a figure, he cursed fluently.
"It just about wiped me out," she confessed.
"I thought you said you had a head for business."
She bristled. "I do. And I've made the right choice." Her voice softened and held a plea for understanding. "Nate, location and setting are of paramount importance. Pedestrian surroundings detract from the artwork you're showing. If I can't make a go of it, the property's salable. I should be able to get my money back."
He sighed but bit back a further retort, remembering he'd promised no more lectures.
"When did all this happen?" he asked instead.
"Yesterday."
"Why haven't you told your family?"
"I don't think they're ready to deal with my news. Oh, Nate, I'm not sure what to do. It's been hard to hold back. I feel guilty keeping secrets. But every time I start to talk about the future, something holds me back."
"Tell me what's worrying you. It'll help to talk things out. P
retend for a moment I'm still a shoulder to lean on."
"If only I could!" she wailed, revealing more than she knew.
He fought the fierce pleasure her revelation brought him. "Just start talking," he said quietly. "You'll be surprised how easy it'll get."
After a moment she began haltingly, "Well... I'm scared. Mom and Dad..." She seemed to have trouble articulating the next.
Nate understood and finished for her. "They love each other more than life itself."
"Yes." She shook her head. "But that hasn't helped them in this crisis." The words began to tumble out. "Both are worrying themselves sick about the other. Mom's too attentive. She does everything for Dad. And he's not gaining the confidence the doctors said he needs. If he doesn't become more self-sufficient, he'll never regain his strength. Sometimes... sometimes I think her anxiety is killing him." The starkness of that statement stopped her momentarily.
"I'm not sure Molly can help what she's doing."
"And Dad can't help worrying about what will become of her if he dies. When he dies is more like it. He promised to fight when I first saw him in the hospital. But now I think his fight's all gone."
"He's afraid, Megan. Of the uncertainty ahead."
"All our futures are uncertain. I learned that lesson three years ago.''
"Some of us, Megan, still have to learn. Men..." He thought for a moment of how to say what he suspected. "Some men—particularly Andrew's generation—aren't sure how to cope when their health fails them. Somehow they feel as though they have failed. As if they're not..."
"Manly? Is this some sort of macho thing?"
Nate smiled crookedly. "In a way."
Megan's eyes widened in disbelief. "My father's never needed to be macho in his life. He's a college professor, for heaven's sake."
"Esteemed and respected by his peers," Nate added. "Andrew's always been secure within himself. Sure of his intellect, his discipline and his ability to support his family. His capacity to love, cherish and satisfy Molly. Don't you see? They're all wrapped up together."
"How do you know this?" She stared at Nate hard.
"Well, to state the obvious, I'm a man."
"Is there something wrong with you? Something you haven't told me?"
He laughed. "Not that I know of. But when you reach a certain age, you begin circling your own mortality."
"You're not old."
He sighed. They'd just changed the subject. "Sometimes—when I look at you—I feel old and jaded."
"Too old and jaded for me," she guessed. Crossing her arms, she sat back and stared at him.
"Probably."
"Why hasn't that stopped you?"
"I think it did for years."
"Luke was forty-four," she taunted lightly. "And a superb lover."
Nate's flare of anger must have shown on his face because she immediately said, "I'm sorry. That was a horrid thing to say."
"Then why did you say it?"
Her chin tilted upward. "I didn't want you to think my youth meant inexperience. Sometimes I believe you still see me as a child."
"It felt to me like you were making a comparison. If you're worried about my performance, I can provide references."
"I—I think," she said, blinking rapidly, "that evens the score."
He closed his eyes in pain before facing her once more.
"So—" her face had paled in the candlelight "—even though things have changed, we still can tear at each other."
"We can inflict wounds, if that's what you mean."
Both of them looked away in relief as their meals were served, and for the next several minutes they ate silently.
This was not how Nate had meant the evening to go. He'd hoped this would be a magical interlude, a time to explore each other's tastes and habits. He should have realized their relationship was too charged for small talk. He should have seen that the stakes were already too high.
For Megan, too, the evening was turning out unexpectedly.
Nate hadn't been the only one on her doorstep impressed with appearances. When she'd first gotten a look at him, her mouth had gone dry. She'd forgotten how flat-out gorgeous he could be in a tailored suit and tie. And she couldn't have imaged how feminine and desirable she would feel being squired by him for a candlelight evening. How the appraising looks from female diners would bring out her possessive streak.
She had supposed the usual sexual banter would enliven their dinner conversation. Nate must be a master of the sophisticated proposition, and she'd anticipated the moment when he made an overture to her. Although heaven forbid that she appear too eager, she would favorably entertain a late night invitation to his bed.
Instead, Nate seemed to be beckoning her into his psyche, as if he wanted to cast off the emotional reticence of a lifetime. He might as well be handing her his soul on a platter. She wasn't sure she wanted that much responsibility.
Finally Nate said, taking a sip of his wine, "Tell me more about the house."
Putting down her fork, Megan dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. She suddenly felt the weight of an added responsibility. And she couldn't in good conscience let this opportunity pass. There were things of a delicate nature they needed to discuss.
"I'd rather tell you about an artist I've found."
Megan wasn't surprised when he stared at her blankly.
"A wonderful, exciting, exceptional artist,'' she continued. "Have you... have you talked to your mother lately?"
The question obviously baffled him. "I saw her briefly at a party. Why?"
"There's a woman—Betty—staying at her house. Did Sandra mention her to you?"
"We don't usually exchange the names of our houseguests."
"Betty's the artist I'm talking about."
He stared at her hard. "You've got to be kidding."
"Actually Betty's separated from an abusive husband. Sandra's taken her in, so to speak."
Nate shook his head in disbelief. "Who is this Betty?"
"A true artist," Megan said. "That's what's important."
"Was she already a friend of Mother's? I mean, before the separation?"
"I have no idea. You'll have to ask Sandra."
He snorted. "We don't tend to ask each other personal questions."
"I don't think that's how your mother wants it."
Nate sent Megan an odd look. "What do you mean?"
"I've gotten to know her over the past three weeks. Nate, she's changed since I've been gone."
"I hadn't noticed."
"Sometimes the children don't. Sometimes they're the last to know."
"You make it sound like she's got some deep dark secret."
When a blush colored Megan's face, Nate gazed at her suspiciously. "What? Are you hiding something?''
"I'm trying to tell you about Betty," Megan said, holding on to her aplomb. "I'm planning to represent her. In fact, I'm thinking about initially devoting the gallery to her work. My grand opening will be a premiere for both of us."
"Premiere? Isn't someone handling her already?"
"No. She's never sold a painting. She has no idea how good she is. I want you to meet her. She's a gentle timid soul."
"And she's staying with my mother?" He still couldn't seem to comprehend it.
"I think Sandra feels protective of her. She... nurtures her and has even created a studio for Betty to work."
"Sandra has never protected or nurtured anyone but herself her whole life," Nate said flatly. "No, wait," he went on when Megan would have interrupted. "That wasn't bitterness talking. I'm not accusing my mother of being mean or uncaring. I know for a fact she contributes generously to charities. But I can't see her taking in a battered wife. She wouldn't let anyone invade her personal space that way."
"I told you," Megan said, "your mother's changed. I'm trying to persuade Betty I'd make the perfect agent. Please, come with me one day to meet her."
"God knows I want your company..." he responded slowly.
"And I
may need you—for moral support. And to be a friendly audience. Betty's very reluctant to let anyone see her work."
"I have to admit—" Nate grinned whimsically "—when I imagined us together, I hadn't envisioned our discussing art at my mother's house. But such is my devotion, I will follow where you lead."
He immediately contradicted his extravagant promise. "Which reminds me, when we leave here, I'm taking you straight to Sam and Jenny's." He glanced at his watch. "If I know your family, they'll still be visiting. You can announce your latest purchase."
This was not where she'd wanted the evening to go.
But when she started to protest, he held up a hand. "Better to tackle the tough jobs when I'm with you. That way I can lend you the moral support you say you need."
She acknowledged his point with a bow of her head.
They eyed each other, not sure what the other was thinking, but having a good idea where their own thoughts were heading.
Finally she leaned forward, and he did likewise, until their faces were only inches apart.
"Are you sure you're ready to be seen with me?" she asked softly. "Up to now you've seemed reluctant to go public."
His look flared before he curbed its intensity. "Might as well get it over with," he said lightly.
"Don't you think discretion is the better part of valor?"
He shook his head, frowning. "I'm getting too old for subterfuge."
"There you go with the age thing again."
"Okay, how about this?" he said with a challenge. "I don't want us to hide in corners. I'm not ashamed of how I feel."
"Neither am I," she echoed staunchly.
"So it's decided."
There was a moment of silence as they took in the implications of the new arrangement.
Taking her palm in his, he toyed with each of her fingers. "I love to watch your hands. Have I ever told you that?"
"No. You've never mentioned what it is you like about me."
"And I have so much to tell you.''