by Diana Fraser
“Dallas does want to hear,” Dallas said returning to the table and sitting down opposite James once more. Callum continued to prop himself against the wall, keeping half an eye on the expansive view as if ready to bolt outside at any moment. “What do you know?”
“I recognized her straight away. Lucia had taken some snaps at the party you attended with Cassandra. I’d know that face anywhere. Beautiful.” James paused and his eyes never left Dallas’s. “I briefly met her in Boston after we destroyed her father’s company.”
Dallas didn’t move. His mind raced over James’s words, sorting through the facts, the implications, even as his physical body stayed stock still. “Carstairs & Sons?”
“That’s right. Except there were no sons by the time it was inherited by Cassandra’s father. Only one daughter who had her own high-flying career as a business consultant.”
“Tell me everything.”
“I don’t know everything. Only a few facts, gleaned from my time trying to tidy up the mess that Dad had left with the takeover. She was a widow—her husband had died shortly before leaving her a solo parent.”
“She has a child?”
“Had. You know the father shot himself on his boat?”
Dallas clamped his hands to his head as a memory slapped him full force. “Christ. The boy who drowned, whose body was never found. It was her son?” He looked up into James’s eyes which were full of sympathy now. James nodded.
“Christ!” Dallas jumped up. “She blamed me. I was the face of the company. You were there as the company’s representative but it was me who took responsibility for it. She came all this way to ruin me. To try to—” He shook his head. “Christ!”
“Yep. Cassandra Lee, known in the States by her maiden name of Sandie Carstairs, wanted to devastate you in the only way she thought you’d feel. Your bank balance.”
Danny Lee was Cassandra's son.
He understood at last. The pattern pieces, so random before, instantly formed a picture—a huge picture—of pain, loss and deceit. He felt at that moment, perhaps one small sliver of the pain that she’d experienced and would continue to experience for the rest of her life.
His Cassandra.
And he’d rejected her without finding out why. Why hadn’t he trusted his instinct about her, that she was a good and true person? Why hadn’t he investigated her background, her motives, more deeply?
Because he’d almost been expecting to be hurt when he’d fallen for her and he’d taken the first excuse that had presented itself to get out of the relationship. He had slipped back into his old cold ways because he didn’t have the courage to make himself vulnerable.
What was she doing now? She obviously had nothing. He had to find her. He jumped up and paced first one way and then another, raking his fingers through his hair. He turned to see James and Callum exchange concerned looks.
“I had no idea.” And he’d no idea he could feel such pain.
“For Christ’s sake, Dallas. Get on the bloody phone and find her and then go to her and sort this out.” Callum’s authoritative tone cut through the chaos that raged through Dallas’s brain.
“Always the direct method, Callum,” James’s voice was laconic despite his obvious concern over Dallas’s reaction.
Callum drained his glass and placed it squarely on the table. “Anything else is a waste of—”
Dallas didn’t wait around to hear the end of the sentence.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He’d known where she was. Not what she was doing, not where she was living, but he’d known the name of the sleepy town in which she’d chosen to hide. Any more knowledge would have been too difficult to deal with—might have tempted him to act on it, like he was doing now.
The slam of his car door echoed around the wide street of the sleepy town and a lone truck roared up the street, a curious sheepdog somehow keeping its balance in the back, eyeing him through the dust as it sped by.
The bookshop wasn’t hard to find. He crossed the large grassy square, fringed with century-old plane trees, and stood in the shade of one as he watched Cassandra move around the shop. She was wrapping up a book for a mother and child.
She was so beautiful. Even clad in a simple shapeless dress, she was elegant and poised. Her curls were twisted up in a loose bun and tendrils framed her face. She turned suddenly and looked across to the child and he saw a softness in her expression that he’d not seen before. She smiled up at the mother, a smile full of warmth and compassion, and handed her the book and change. After they’d left the shop, she turned away and gazed into the mid-distance for a minute, her expression pensive.
What are you thinking about Cassandra? About your son? About what you’ve left behind? He dare not frame the question he really wanted the answer to—whether her thoughts ever strayed to him.
He watched as she stretched out and rubbed the small of her back. As she arched her back, easing some deep-seated ache, her dress tightened around her, revealing a very rounded, pregnant stomach.
He slammed back against the tree as if he’d been struck. Pregnant? How far gone? Was it his? Of course it was. And anyway what did he care whose it was so long as she was with him?
A cold sadness crept through his veins creating a physical ache in his body that he knew he could never relieve. His pig-headedness, his inability to trust his instincts about her had led to her having to experience all the trials and joys of pregnancy alone. No-one to support her as her body adjusted to its new inhabitant, no-one to share the experience of witnessing the baby’s heart-beat for the first time. She had been alone, serving behind a counter, when he should have been caring for her. He’d have had the best obstetricians, the best of everything, if only he’d known, if only he’d followed his instincts and tried harder to find out her secrets.
Pregnant though? A cold sweat prickled his brow as he calculated how long ago they’d made love without protection. It must have been six months ago. Six months. His child was growing and nearly ready to enter the world.
But a child? He realized with amazement that his determination never to have children had dissolved, his fears had paled into insignificance when confronted with the stark reality of the existence of his and Cassandra’s baby.
He pushed himself away from the tree and felt a curious light energy ignite somewhere deep inside of him and radiate out through his body. As he crossed the road he recognized the feeling as happiness. Was this the Dallas Mackenzie who had vowed never to marry and never to have children? No. He wasn’t the same man and he was looking at the woman who made him realize that he had been living in fear.
Even if a friend or relation had been perceptive enough, or brave enough, to tell him he was afraid he wouldn’t have listened. The difference was in his feelings for Cassandra: they forced him to look at himself and acknowledge the truth of her words.
He knew now that he was a stronger man than his father. It’s true he would never test himself with alcohol, but he could control his temper and he could look after and cherish a wife and family. But only one wife in particular. He ran the last few steps across the street, each stride strengthening his purpose and determination. He would not let Cassandra and his baby get away from him this time.
He stepped into the small shop, the old-fashioned bell jangling to herald his entrance and, as Cassandra turned to him, her smile froze on her face and she dropped a book.
He closed the door behind him and flicked the “open” sign to “closed”. He didn’t approach her immediately. He needed to give her time.
“What do you want?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
“I’m looking for something.”
He stepped towards her and she gasped as he reached down and picked up the book she’d dropped. He handed her the book and walked away abruptly to a wall lined with books. She obviously needed time. And he’d give it to her because he had no intention of leaving here without her.
She cleared her throat. “If it’s a book, you’v
e come to the right place. Anything else and I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”
“Is that so?” She was wrong. Because today was his lucky day: he was in the right place at the right time. He turned to the row of brightly-colored book spines and ran his finger across them, stopping on a random book. “So what would you recommend? Something like this?” He picked it up without looking at its cover.
She shrugged. It was her only movement. Her face was flushed and her eyes wide as she stared at him, obviously wondering what the hell he was doing there. Well he didn’t intend to tell her straight away. Some things couldn’t be rushed.
“Possibly,” she said glancing at the cover, “if you’re interested in greyhound breeding. Are you?” She looked back into his eyes. He saw the spark of humor there.
He smiled in response. “Not recently. Although you never know.” He pushed the book back on the shelf.
She plucked another book from the shelf. “Perhaps something more like this?”
He walked up to her and took the book from her hands and turned its cover to him. “Growing Old-fashioned Roses.” He looked up at her and smiled. “That’s more like it.”
“Do you think you have anything to learn? Your garden is spectacular already.”
He inclined his head. “I’m glad you think so. But,” he cocked his head to one side and held her gaze, “there’s always something new to learn.”
“You said once that you kept the rose garden because it pleased your girlfriends. Admit it, you like flowers.”
He shook his head slightly, scarcely aware of what they were saying, only aware of her gradual relaxation, the glint of humor in her eyes, the slight, sweet curve of her lips. “I would never admit that.”
“Because?”
“I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Perhaps your reputation attracts the wrong sort of girlfriend.”
“Perhaps. But I can win them round.”
She shifted away. “So confident. Seriously, Dallas, why are you here?”
“I want to talk with you.”
“Not shout at me, not call me names, not do any of those things I deserve?”
He shook his head. “Nothing like that. Just talk.”
She must have detected in his tone something of the calm certainty he felt because she suddenly nodded, as if convinced. “OK. Would you like a coffee?”
He smiled, relieved. “Thank you.”
She put her hands in the pockets of her dress and pushed them forward, making sure that the dress didn’t flatten against her stomach. She was trying to hide it from him. He sat down on one of the brightly-colored easy chairs, arranged for the casual browsing of books, and looked around. “Nice place you’ve found here.”
“Yes,” she called from out the back. “I was lucky.”
He winced at her choice of word. “You deserve some luck.”
He fingered a lone orchid—incongruously placed in a plain glass vase—just like the one Cassandra had picked on her first morning in Parata Bay.
She came through with two cups and placed them on the small table between them. She folded her hands in her lap and sat tall, again to hide her stomach, he supposed.
“I’m surprised you’d say that. I imagined the only thing you think I deserve is to be charged with fraud.” She took a sip of her herbal tea. For all her composure, Dallas noticed her hands were shaking slightly.
“You didn’t carry out any fraud. Only prepared to do so.”
“And you’re not furious?”
“I was. But not now. Not now I know why.”
She jumped in her seat and hot tea spilled onto her hand. Dallas shot forward and took the cup from her trembling hands. “You OK?”
“Fine. I’m fine.” Absently, she rubbed her hands together. “What is it that you know?”
“Everything. About who you really are, your family’s company, your father. And about Danny.”
She pursed her lips, as if for control. “I see.” She hesitated, looking down at her hands that wrung lightly in her lap. “I believed you to be responsible for the decision to take over the company, for my father’s death and for Danny’s…”
“No. My father made a bad decision. I tried to make the best of a bad job. I’m sorry for what happened.”
“And I’m sorry, Dallas.” She looked up at him, with tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I was just so mad. So grieving. I wanted to hit out and you were the target.”
He reached over for the first time and took her hands in his. “Grief twists reality. How do you feel now?”
Her eyes were fixed on their joint hands: hers encased in both of his. “I’m not angry any more.” She half-laughed and flicked him a look. “Just feel guilty.”
“No. How do you feel now about your loss. About losing Danny?”
He could have wept at the strange combination of sheer sadness and solid strength in her eyes. Only Cassandra had the character to come through such heartache without rejecting it completely. It was easy to not feel anything if you cut yourself off from it. But Cassandra hadn’t done that. He could see it in her eyes. Her eyes and heart still held her son and her sadness, but he could see a strength and determination to move forward.
“I feel closer to Danny than I’ve felt since he went missing.” She flicked a look at her stomach and then away. “It’s hard to describe.”
“Perhaps it’s something to do with your pregnancy.”
She looked up suddenly, her large eyes full of shock.
“You know?”
“Only since I watched you from outside. When’s the baby due?”
“Wondering who the father is?”
The sudden bitterness of her tone cut him. “No. It’s me, of course. Even if it wasn’t, I don’t care. I want to be a father to the child.”
“Yes, right.” Again the bitter, sarcastic tone.
“I do. Will you let me be the child’s father?”
“Why would you want to do that Dallas? I’ve acted unforgivably to you.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He pulled her hands to his lips and kissed her tight fists. “It’s me and my family who need your forgiveness for setting in train the events that led to your father’s suicide and the death of your child.” She looked up at his face then, as a tear tracked its hot course down her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Cassandra. For everything.” He reached down and kissed away the tear from her cheek, before kissing each eyelid. He tilted her chin and brought his lips close to hers, his eyes searching hers for an answer. “Forgive me?”
She paused only a moment before jerkily, imperceptibly nodding her head once. “It wasn’t your fault, Dallas. If anyone’s, it was my father’s, it was mine. He’d been depressed for some time. I just hadn’t realized how much. I shouldn’t have let Danny go with him.”
“No ‘should haves’ or ‘shouldn’t haves’. It’s too late for that. There’s only now and we have the future before us. Marry me, Cassandra.”
His eyes flickered over her lips that tried to form a word, but hesitated. Then he looked back into her eyes where he saw her answer. She shook her head to confirm it. “No.”
He pulled away. “Why not?”
“Not like this. Not out of a feeling of responsibility. I know you want to do the right thing. And I know that you’ve never wanted marriage or children. Why do you want me now?”
Dallas’s heart pumped deeply, pounding, trying to push the words that refused to budge into his mouth.
“I want you. I want our child.”
“We’re not another business acquisition. You need to do more than ‘want’.”
“I want to marry you, be a father to your child. Isn’t that enough?”
She slumped her forehead against his and he felt it roll from side to side as she shook her head. “No, it’s not.” Slowly she pulled away. “Not enough to build a life on. Guilt, responsibility, they’re not enough to build a life on. I tried once, with my first husband, to build a marriage without love. It di
dn’t work.”
A shot of jealousy filled Dallas. “Don’t compare me to anyone else.”
“I’m not. You are,” she raised an eyebrow, “incomparable, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“But it’s still not enough.”
It was like a hot knot working up from his gut, through his chest. He hadn’t known anything like this pain, this feeling he would explode with emotion. “It is enough.” He tried to keep his voice from shaking. “Come back with me to Wellington.”
“No, Dallas. I have a life here. I don’t want to be wanted out of a sense of duty.”
“You’re not.”
“Then why do you want me?”
“Because… I can’t easily explain.”
“It’s not hard if you know the words.” Her voice was gentle. She stood up, pulling her hands away. “I understand, probably more than you know. I told you once that I thought you were scared. I think you still are. Until you know the words, I think you’d better go. Leave me here, where I’ve found a place I can be happy…” She bit her lip as if to try to retract the last word.
He stepped back as if dealt a blow. “You’re happy here then…”
His fingers moved from hers. He held his hand in mid air for a split second as he watched her hand fall back to her side. He thrust his hands back in his pockets and turned away. It hurt too much. But it was hard. Too hard. For the first time in his life he felt lost, unable to frame the words that could lead the way for him.
She was right. He couldn’t come to her like this, disrupting a life with which she was so obviously content. Not when his heart and mind raged with a fury which scared him.
He’d done his best to control the temper he’d inherited from his father. And, in so doing, he’d contained everything else too—all feeling. He couldn’t open up to her now. Because God knew what he’d be unleashing. She was right. He was still scared. And until he wasn’t, he had no right to ask her to be with him.