“She’s pathetic.”
Clearly offended, Dillon turned to stare at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She has no life of her own, no personality. She is exactly the way I was up until the divorce. I feel terrible for her.”
“Don’t. She’s happy.”
“Do you honestly believe that or have you never really talked to her?”
Dillon stopped for a red light and studied her curiously. “You’re really upset about this, aren’t you?”
She realized that he was genuinely worried. “I’m sorry. She just got to me because she sounded so much like I once did. It brought back a bad time in my life. I don’t want to begin falling into that old pattern again.”
“And you thought that’s what was happening tonight?”
“It felt uncomfortably familiar. The men sitting around talking business, while the womenfolk chatted about inconsequential things.”
“That’s just part of business entertaining.”
“I suppose so. Right now, though, it seems more like a dangerous trap.”
* * *
The whirlwind of activity never slowed long enough for Catherine to take stock of it again. By Sunday morning she was exhausted and more frightened than ever. While she’d been increasingly aware that she was falling into a trap she’d sworn to avoid, Dillon had been in his glory. Every bit of entertaining had a purpose. There was not a single dinner or a single party that was held for the sheer pleasure of being with close friends. They had almost no time alone, except for the hours they spent in bed. Even their lovemaking seemed to adapt to the New York pace—more hurried and less satisfying.
Reluctantly she got out of bed, pulled on her robe and went into the dining room, where she knew she’d find him already engrossed in the morning paper, even though it was not yet seven o’clock. He looked up and smiled.
“I thought maybe you’d sleep late. I’m afraid I’ve worn you out.”
“We need to talk,” she said determinedly, sitting down opposite him and pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot that always seemed to be at hand.
“You look so serious.”
“That’s the way I’m feeling. Dillon, don’t you ever slow down?”
“Sure I do. I’ve taken this whole weekend off to be with you.”
“Really? How many deals have you finalized since Friday night?”
He seemed bemused by the question. “Two, maybe three. I don’t know. Why?”
“Isn’t that work?”
“I suppose. What are you getting at?”
“That you haven’t done one single thing just for fun since I’ve been here.”
“Have you been bored? Is that it?”
“No, I haven’t been bored. Not exactly. I just expected that this weekend would be different.”
“How?”
“For one thing, I thought I’d get to meet your family.”
“The kids will be here about nine.”
“And your parents?”
He seemed uncomfortable. “I guess that’s not going to work out this trip after all, but you’ll be back. There will be plenty of opportunities for you to meet them.”
Catherine sighed and gave up. He just didn’t get it. Maybe he never would, even after losing Paula and the kids. He was happy filling his hours with nonstop work. Though he’d invited Catherine to be a part of that, he would probably have been just as content if she hadn’t been there. Was there really any place in his life for the sort of relationship she’d dreamed of them having?
She was feeling more depressed than she had in those first weeks after her divorce, when the front door burst open and two miniature versions of Dillon came racing in. The two boys skidded to a stop at the sight of her.
“Hello there,” she said, holding out her hand to the taller of the two. “I’m Catherine. You must be Jonathan.”
He took her hand and pumped it energetically. “Yes, ma’am. This here is Kevin. He’s only four. His hands are probably dirty, so you may not want to shake with him.”
Catherine grinned. “Oh, I don’t think a little dirt is going to hurt me.” She took Kevin’s grimy hand very solemnly. “I’m glad to meet you, too.”
Jonathan giggled at that. Tossing his coat on the floor, he went tearing straight toward the den, where Dillon was on the phone with Evan Farrell about a deal that had nearly been lost the previous day. “Hey, Dad, did you get the doughnuts like you promised? I want the jelly kind.”
Laughing, Catherine followed the children into the den. She could hardly wait to see Dillon’s response to all this unbridled exuberance. Kevin was already scrambling onto his father’s knee, while Jonathan waited impatiently for him to hang up the phone.
“Evan, I have to go,” Dillon said, hugging Kevin to him. “I’ve been invaded by small Martians demanding food. Yes, I know doughnuts are not good for them. That’s why they’re a special treat.” He glanced up at Catherine when he said it, his expression as guilty as if he’d admitted to income tax evasion.
When he’d hung up the phone, she teased, “Don’t look at me. I’m not going to reveal your awful secret. Assuming, of course, that I get my share.”
“Yeah! Come on, Dad. We’re starving.”
“I’m sure,” Dillon said dryly. “How long has it been since breakfast?”
“Hours and hours. Besides, all we had was yucky oatmeal.”
“Yucky,” Kevin confirmed.
“I agree, guys. But it is good for you. Promise to keep eating it or no doughnuts.”
The two boys exchanged serious glances, then nodded. “We promise.”
“Good. Now who wants jelly and who wants cream-filled?”
Apparently this was a familiar game, because Dillon had just the right number of each. To her amazement, he even insisted on orange juice and milk to go with them.
“Hey, Catherine,” Jonathan said, obviously accepting her presence without questions.
“You gonna go skating with us?”
“I’m going to try,” she said, her delight in Dillon’s boys overriding for now her concerns about the future. The expression on his face as he watched them was almost painful to see. There was a yearning there she would never have suspected. Maybe he did realize how much he’d sacrificed, after all.
“She’s never skated before, guys,” he said. “We’re going to have to teach her.”
“It’ll be okay,” Jonathan reassured her. “Girls can learn how pretty easy. Mom did, huh, Dad?” His expression sobered slightly. “She doesn’t like to come into the city anymore, though.”
“But you do?” Catherine asked.
“You bet. We do neat stuff when we come to see Dad. He takes us to museums and movies and we even went to a play once. I liked it, but Kevin fell asleep.”
“Did not.”
“You did, too, you little dweeb.”
Dillon scowled at him. “What did I tell you about calling your brother names?”
“Sorry, Dad. Can we go now? They have this really neat place right next to the ice rink. Dad always gets us hot chocolate there.”
“One thing for certain,” Catherine teased, her amused gaze meeting Dillon’s. “These children will never starve to death.”
“They’re bottomless pits,” he confirmed. “Now you see why I have to work so hard. I have to keep them supplied with doughnuts and hot chocolate.”
“And pizza,” Jonathan said.
“Hot dogs,” Kevin countered. “We had pizza before.”
“Guys, you’ve just finished breakfast. How about we take this one meal at a time? Now go bundle up.”
They obediently scooted out of the kitchen, but not before dumping their dishes into the sink.
“They’re good kids,” Catherine said as Dillon stared after them. “I really like them.”
He turned back to her and smiled. “They’re what keeps me going. I was a little worried right after the divorce. Kevin cried a lot and Jonathan was angry, but I think they’re f
inally adjusting. I think they’re going to be okay.”
“Because they can tell you still love them.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her quickly. “Thank you for saying that. Sometimes I worry that I’m bungling things.”
“Not that I can tell.”
“Hey, Dad, aren’t you two ever gonna get ready?” Jonathan demanded.
“They were kissing,” Kevin observed, bringing a blush to Catherine’s cheeks.
“Can’t put anything past you two,” Dillon said easily, taking her hand. “Let’s go, everybody. I can’t wait to get this lady on the ice.”
After the first half hour, Catherine decided that only a masochist would ever go ice-skating. Her ankles bent in unnatural directions. Her bottom was sore and cold. Dillon patiently picked her up again and again. Even the boys tried to help by offering suggestions.
“Let us show her,” Jonathan finally said, clasping one hand. “Kevin, you get on her other side.”
He tugged her gently forward. Kevin hung on tightly with his tiny, mitten-covered hand. Taking smaller steps, she began to get her balance. Finally she tried to glide. She made it halfway around the rink before she realized that they’d let her go. She caught sight of Dillon. “I’m skating,” she shouted. He lifted his hands and applauded. Jonathan’s face was split by a broad, dimpled smile. She was almost back to them before her feet shot out from under her again. This time Dillon caught her before she hit the ice. She fell against his chest.
“Enough,” she said breathlessly. “I demand hot chocolate and warmth. You all can stay out here and freeze to death, if you want to, but I’m taking a break.”
“Me, too,” Jonathan said loyally.
“I don’t want to spoil your fun. You three can stay out here. I’ll watch from inside.”
“We’ll all go in,” Dillon decided. “Then we’ll take another few turns around the rink before we go to lunch.”
After hot chocolate, more skating and a pizza with everything on it, even the two pint-size bundles of energy admitted exhaustion.
“By the time we get back home, it’ll be time for your mom to come by and get you anyway,” Dillon said.
“Maybe we could stay over tonight,” Jonathan said hopefully.
“I’m afraid not. You guys have school tomorrow and I have work.”
“Mom says that’s all you ever do.”
Dillon watched Catherine as he admitted, “She may be right, Jonathan.”
When they’d left amid hugs and promises from Catherine to come back again, Dillon led her into the living room, turned on the stereo and poured them each a glass of wine. She was stretched out on the sofa, when he came and sat beside her, pulling her across his lap. “Tired?”
She nodded. “But it’s a nice tired. You’re like a different person when you’re with them, Dillon. The way you were today, that’s the Dillon I first met in Savannah. That’s the man I fell in love with.”
When she looked up, his eyes were closed. His fingers idly smoothed her hair. He opened his eyes finally and met her gaze. “I want to be that man all the time, sweetheart. I really do. I’m just not sure it’s possible.”
She sat up and took his face in her hands. “Anything is possible Dillon. All you have to do is want it enough.”
When her lips met his, the kiss began as a gentle reassurance. Dillon turned it into a tender promise. There was so much desire, so much longing in that kiss that it shattered her fears and left her filled with hope again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Christmas
It was barely eight o’clock on Christmas Eve, Dillon had been at her parents’ house for less than an hour, her sisters and their families had yet to arrive and Catherine was already a nervous wreck. At this rate by the end of the holiday weekend, they’d have to commit her to one of those discreet sanitariums for a lengthy rest cure.
Wincing as her mother launched yet another enthusiastic anecdote about Matthew, Catherine took a deep breath and interrupted. “Mother, I’m sure Dillon isn’t interested in how skillfully my ex-husband carved the turkey. He’s a surgeon, for heaven sakes. What did you expect?”
“Catherine, don’t speak to your mother in that tone,” her father said, then resumed puffing on his pipe. His mild words didn’t fool her. His quiet commands were always deadly serious. She cast a pleading look in his direction, then sighed in resignation and sat back.
“I was just trying to make a point,” her mother said. “More canap;aaes, Mr. Ryan?”
“Thank you. What point was that, Mrs. Devereaux?” Dillon said with apparent interest. Catherine felt like smacking him for encouraging the recitation. This was not going at all the way she’d hoped. She’d wanted Dillon to experience what a real family holiday was all about. Instead, he seemed to be undergoing one of her mother’s finest trials by fire.
“That Matthew will be missed on holidays,” her mother concluded with a triumphant gleam in her eyes. She was observing Dillon’s reaction and missed Catherine’s moan entirely.
“Not by me,” Catherine muttered under her breath, then said aloud, “Dillon, wouldn’t you like to take a walk? I’ll show you the garden.” She couldn’t keep an edge of desperation out of her voice. Her mother ignored it.
“You’ll catch your death of cold out there,” her mother objected.
“Let them go, Lucinda. Can’t you tell they’d like their privacy?” her father said indulgently.
“But the rest of the girls will be here any minute now.”
“We aren’t going clear to Macon, Mother. When everyone else arrives, have Maisie call us.” She grabbed Dillon’s hand and tugged him from the room.
“I wish I thought you were as anxious to be alone with me as your father thought,” he said when they were shivering outdoors.
“I am.” She circled his waist with her arms and rested her head on his chest. She felt better at once. “Why does coming here reduce me to adolescence all over again? I was a lousy teenager. I’m no better at it now. Thank you for agreeing to put up with this. I couldn’t think of any way around spending Christmas here without causing World War III.”
“You survived the tortures of New York with me. It’s the least I can do. Besides, it gives me a chance to see how you managed to turn out to be such a sexy, dynamic woman,” he murmured, brushing his lips across hers.
“Oh, I wish… I’m afraid you won’t see much evidence of those qualities around here, if all I do for the next forty-eight hours is apologize.”
“Then stop apologizing,” he said, gently stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers.
“Your mother’s behavior is not your responsibility. Are you afraid I’m going to be put off because your mother keeps dragging Matthew out as an example of the highest masculine virtues?”
Catherine rolled her eyes. “What man wants to hear that his predecessor was the Rolls-Royce of husbands?”
He tilted her chin up. When she dared to meet his gaze, she caught the sparks of laughter. “Do you believe that Matthew Devlin was exemplary?” he asked.
“Hardly.”
“Then it doesn’t really matter what your mother thinks. Let her have her illusions.”
“Believe me, she had no illusions where Matthew is concerned. She was just as rotten to him as she’s being to you,” she admitted ruefully. “You seem to be taking it better than he did, though. Matthew wanted very badly to impress her. He thought it would help him up the Atlanta social ladder. She saw straight through him. You probably impressed her by not running for your life.”
His arms tightened around her. “Catherine, do you suppose we could stop talking about Matthew and your mother?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I thought maybe we could do something to generate a little heat. It’s cold out here.”
“Good thinking.”
“No thinking, Catherine. Just feel.” With his mouth slanted across hers, with his hips hard and decidedly masculine against hers, and his han
ds splayed over her buttocks, it was all too easy to comply. The temperature rose by several degrees in no time at all. The prospect of facing her mother again seemed far less important than the solid strength of the man holding her tightly to him. And the memory of the very real problems they’d had in New York seemed very far behind. Maybe the magic of Christmas would make everything all right, after all.
* * *
The gleaming cherry wood table stretched a good eight feet down the length of a dining room that was larger than many New York apartments Dillon had visited. A centerpiece of pine and berry-laden holly added a festive note of color to the stark white damask placemats and napkins. Heavy crystal goblets and wineglasses sparkled in the candlelight from a huge old-fashioned chandelier. Unless he missed his guess, the gold-edged china and ornate sterling were family heirlooms, probably from some ancestor who’d crossed on the Mayflower.
Old money and staid ideas. Mrs. Devereaux had let him know practically in her first breath that she was a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution and proud of it. Catherine had already warned him that she was also staunchly Southern and had little tolerance for “damn Yankees.” Not counting her insistence on bringing up Matthew Devlin every ten seconds, she’d been polite to Dillon despite his Northern roots. He had no illusions. It wasn’t that he’d charmed her. Catherine and a sense of duty probably demanded she treat him reasonably well, at least in front of the rest of the family.
Besides he and Catherine, there were fourteen other adults seated around the table; the children had been banished to an equally lavish spread in the parlor. As far as he could tell, the grown-ups had little in common besides family ties, and it seemed to him that most of them weren’t any more fond of each other than a sense of obligation required. All things considered, it was the oddest Christmas gathering Dillon had ever been part of, a Gothic ritual with undercurrents of hostility that fit every stereotypical idea he’d held of the starched Devereaux clan. It was so far from his own humble beginnings, he had absolutely no basis for comparison. His parents hadn’t even been able to put a turkey on the table most years, but they’d managed to create a holiday atmosphere of warmth and laughter.
Next Time...Forever Page 11