The Backup Plan

by Sherryl Woods

  “Maybe you should listen,” he said, a quiet command in his voice that compelled her to turn back. “This is all about you, Dinah. I’d wager you haven’t spent more than a minute or two thinking about what might be best for Bobby. You probably sat over there in Afghanistan and got some bee in your bonnet about your own mortality and decided it was time to come home and play it safe. Bobby’s not the love of your life. He’s just convenient.”

  Because there was an undeniable element of truth to his stinging words, Dinah flinched. She searched for a ready comeback to put him in his place, but there wasn’t one.

  Just then the wind kicked up. Black clouds rolled in the sky above them. Dinah could all but feel the stir of electricity in the air.

  “Looks like we’re in for a storm,” Cord noted without moving a muscle. “Run along, Dinah, before you get drenched. There’s nothing for you here.”

  She hated the patronizing tone in his voice as much as she hated his dismissal. She would have said so, too, then taken off, if a bolt of lightning hadn’t split the sky just then, immediately followed by a crack of thunder.

  Her brain told her this was nothing more than a good old-fashioned summer storm, the kind that hit hard, turned the hard-dried ground into rivers of mud, then passed on, leaving the air steamier than ever.

  But her heart and her nerves took over her rational thought and she felt immediately transported back to Afghanistan where car bombs exploded and gunfire prevailed all around. She dropped to the ground, lay on her stomach, and heard her heart pounding so hard she thought it might explode, before the first drop of rain even fell from the sky. Humiliating whimpers escaped before she could stop them.

  Two seconds later Cord was beside her, gathering her into his arms, holding her tight against all his solid strength and bare skin, murmuring soothing nonsense words as the storm raged around them. Dinah clung to him, no longer caring that he was the bane of her existence. She could hear the steady beat of his heart and her own pulse finally slowed to match it. Her terror eased, but still she clung, his skin warm and slick beneath her fingers.

  “Sugar, I’m going to take you inside now, okay?” Cord said, his tone surprisingly gentle. All traces of animosity and disdain had vanished. “We need to get you dried off and cleaned up, okay?”

  Dinah shivered uncontrollably, but managed to nod. She prayed he couldn’t distinguish between the rain and the tears spilling down her cheeks. Given that he’d seen her take a nosedive into the dirt at the sound of thunder, it seemed absurd to worry about having him see her cry, but she still had a tiny shred of pride left.

  Of all people, why had it been Cordell who witnessed her coming unglued? It was just going to give him one more thing to gloat about, one more reason to say she wasn’t good enough for his brother. He’d probably tell Bobby that he’d have to be insane to take her on.

  Inside the house, Cord started to set her down in an easy chair, but Dinah couldn’t let go of him. When he realized she wasn’t going to release him, he sat in the chair himself and held her cradled against his chest.

  With surprisingly gentle fingers, he brushed damp curls away from her face. When she finally risked a glance at his expression, she saw not the contempt she’d expected but a combination of understanding and tenderness. It brought more salty tears to her eyes. Cordell Beaufort’s compassion was the last thing she’d expected, the very last thing she wanted.

  They sat like that for an eternity, neither of them speaking. Dinah slowly lost the sensation that she was spinning out of control. When she finally relaxed and sighed, she caught a glimpse of the satisfaction on Cord’s face. Some of the tension in his body eased, as well.

  In the back of her mind, she noted with more than a little surprise that he didn’t seem interested in taking advantage of the situation. Based on his reputation, the Cord of old would have turned this into a seduction, or at least an attempt at one. He’d have considered it his duty.

  “You’ve been through a rough time, huh?” he said, breaking the silence.

  The note of sympathy in his voice made her eyes sting with more tears. “I can’t talk about it,” she said. She didn’t even want to think about the last year and she certainly didn’t want to discuss it with him. Of course, not talking about it hadn’t worked all that well.

  “Maybe you should. It usually helps with this sort of thing. Brings the demons out of the closet, so to speak.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said disdainfully.

  “You think not? The Gulf War wasn’t much of a picnic, Dinah. There were…” He hesitated, seeming to search for a word. “After-effects,” he said eventually. “There were after-effects for a lot of us.”

  She blinked at that. “You were there? You had post-traumatic stress syndrome?”

  He nodded, his face empty of expression. “Still do, I suppose.”

  “And?”

  “I survived.”

  She gave him a wry look. “Apparently you don’t think what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. You could be a little more forthcoming than that.”

  “It’s been more than ten years, Dinah. I’ve done my talking. I’ve put most of it behind me, at least as well as anyone ever can.”

  “How?” she asked, unable to keep the plaintive note out of her voice. She hated sounding vulnerable, especially in front of Cord, but she needed to know that the dreams, the panic attacks would eventually end.

  “Time, mostly.”

  Dinah sighed. “I’m not sure there’s enough of that left in my lifetime.”

  He gave her a faint grin. “You’re not that far over the hill, Dinah. You’ve probably got at least one or two good years left.”

  “Sometimes I feel ancient,” she responded wearily.

  A whisper of a breeze stirred over them and Dinah shivered, then realized that they were both sitting under a ceiling fan soaking wet. Though she hated leaving the unexpected comfort of his embrace, she pushed away and stood.

  “I should go.”

  “Not when it’s pouring like it is out there. The driveway will be a sea of mud. You’ll just get stuck and then I’ll have to tow you out of a ditch.”

  As much as she wanted to go now that the panic had faded, she knew he was right. “Why don’t you pave the stupid driveway?” she grumbled.

  He chuckled. “Because keeping it like it is generally keeps away unwanted visitors.” He gave her an insolent once-over that heated her blood. “Lately it’s not working half as well as it’s meant to. Some people apparently can’t take a hint.”

  He stood up slowly and tucked a finger under her chin. “Stay put, okay? I’m going to get you one of my shirts and a towel, then you can take a warm shower and dry off while I throw your clothes in the washer.”

  His sudden kindness was confusing her. She wasn’t sure how to react to it. It was easier to deal with Cord when he was being exasperating. “Why are you being so damn nice to me?”

  “Maybe I don’t want you suing me for letting you catch pneumonia on my property.”

  She gave him a disbelieving look. “I don’t think you can file lawsuits for something like that.”

  “You have no idea what people will sue over these days. The world’s a crazy place. Now, are you going to stay put like I asked, or are you going to be stubborn and try to set out in this weather?”

  “I’m stubborn, not stupid. I’ll stay, at least till the storm’s over.”

  Something told Dinah there was a distinct possibility she was going to live to regret it.

  Cord listened to the shower running in his bathroom and thanked his lucky stars that he’d gotten Dinah out of that sexy, soaking wet sundress and sent her off to change before she’d noticed that he was completely and totally aroused by the sight and feel of her. She’d fit a little too snugly in his arms, smelled a little too provocative. Her dress, respectable enough when dry, had been way too revealing when wet.

  Sweet heaven, what was he thinking? Him and Di
nah Davis? No chance in hell. She might be grateful to him right this second, but she’d come to her senses before the night was out and remember that she hated him, that she had good reason to. Add in that he was just too low class for her and any relationship between the two of them was doomed.

  What grated was that he was certain now that she’d never dismissed Bobby as low class. Hell, she was all set to marry his brother, or thought she was. Cord figured it would be a cold day in hell before that happened.

  By the time he heard the shower cut off, Cord had poured a couple of beers into glasses, mostly to prove he could be civilized when it suited him. He’d put a couple of chicken breasts topped with mushroom gravy into the oven to bake. He was in the process of making a salad when Dinah came into the kitchen.

  She didn’t make a sound when she entered, but he knew she was there just the same.

  “What’s all this?” she asked.

  “Dinner. I figure even people who watch their waist-lines for the camera have to eat something. Besides, the adrenaline rush from one of those attacks always left me starved.”

  “What’s in the oven?”

  “Chicken.”

  “It smells…good,” she said hesitantly, with yet another note of surprise in her voice.

  Cord grinned, though he was glad she couldn’t see his face. He doubted she would appreciate knowing how much she amused him with her faltering attempts to be polite. “You keep dishing out those lavish compliments, sugar, you’re going to turn my head.”

  “I was trying to be polite,” she said crossly.

  “I get that, but there’s no need to try so hard. Us lowlifes don’t expect much. A simple please and thank-you now and then will do.”

  He turned to set the salad on the table and got his first good look at her in one of his old light-blue dress shirts. He damn near swallowed his tongue. He should have remembered how those long, bare legs of hers affected him. If he had, he would have come up with something else for her to put on…maybe baggy sweatpants, even if it was still eighty-eight degrees, despite the storm passing overhead.

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” he suggested when he could speak without stammering. He needed to get those legs of hers out of sight before he started to imagine them wrapped around his waist while he buried himself inside her.

  He yanked open the freezer door and stuck his head in, wishing it could be another part of his overheated anatomy.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked, sounding puzzled.

  “Ice,” he said.

  “Isn’t that an ice dispenser on the door?” she inquired, amusement in her voice.

  Cord cursed the oversize, stainless steel refrigerator Bobby had insisted they buy. “Broken,” he lied tersely. He turned back to the table with a handful of ice, almost regretting that he couldn’t shove it down the front of his jeans.

  “I see,” Dinah said, though she still looked skeptical. “And what was it you needed the ice for?”

  “Water,” he said at once, dumping the handful of cubes into a glass, then running tap water over them and drinking every drop of the cold water straight down. It slaked his thirst, but did nothing for the hunger that had been gnawing at him since he’d gotten a good look at Dinah in his shirt.

  He busied himself with getting the rest of their dinner on the table, grateful that Dinah had finally gone silent. Maybe she’d realized just how close he was to hauling her into his arms and kissing her senseless.

  When he finally sat down at the table, she studied him quizzically. It was the kind of curious, penetrating look that he imagined her using on some reluctant interview subject. No wonder she’d won so many awards. All but squirming under that gaze, he’d have told her just about anything she wanted to know.

  “What have you been doing with yourself all these years?” she asked eventually.

  Cord was a little surprised her mother hadn’t told her, maybe not about the company, but at least about his role in the restoration of Covington Plantation. Then, again, maybe he wasn’t a hot topic for the Davis women.

  “This ’n that,” he said, not sure why he didn’t want to tell her the truth and disprove once and for all the apparently low impression she had of him. In the end he figured he wasn’t the bragging type.

  She frowned at his response. “Don’t you think you should have found steady work by now?”

  “Oh, I do well enough,” he said.

  “You can’t rely on Bobby to support you,” she said.

  Her assumption that he was dependent on Bobby’s largess stuck in his craw. “Oh? How do you know it’s not the other way around? Maybe I’ve been carrying Bobby all these years.”

  She gave him a look filled with undisguised skepticism. “Please, Cordell. We both know that Bobby would never depend on you. He got an excellent college education, which I’m sure he’s put to good use.”

  Cord could barely suppress a grin at her uppity tone. “Is that so? And just how much do you know about what Bobby’s been doing since you took off? Maybe he’s gotten friendly with Jack Daniels and hasn’t done a lick of work. Wouldn’t be the first time one of the Beaufort men couldn’t hold his liquor.”

  She looked a bit flustered by the question. “Are you telling me that your brother is an alcoholic?”

  “Nope. Just saying you can’t possibly know one way or the other. You’ve made a lot of assumptions in the last couple of weeks, or am I wrong? Have folks been filling your head with tales, Dinah?”

  “No, I haven’t heard anything specific,” she admitted. “But I do know you.”

  He shook his head at her confident tone. “Oh, sugar, I wouldn’t be too sure of that. The truth is you don’t have a clue about either one of us. Never have. Never will.”

  She regarded him with a huffy expression. “I’ve known you since grade school, Cordell. Bobby was always thoughtful, generous and hardworking. You were an arrogant, smart-alecky kid without a lick of ambition and I don’t see any evidence that you’ve changed a bit.”

  He laughed at that. “Then you must not be half the journalist you’re cracked up to be.”

  “Meaning what?” she asked, her cheeks pink with indignation.

  “That you must have missed all those lessons on objectivity and fact-gathering. You’re making assumptions right and left here.”

  “Then set me straight,” she retorted at once.

  “Why should I?” he asked. “I think it’s going to be a whole lot more entertaining to let you make a few discoveries all on your own.”

  5

  Twenty-four hours after humiliating herself in front of Cord and with his indictment of her fact-finding skills still ringing in her ears, Dinah went in search of Maggie for information. If Cord wasn’t going to tell her anything about Bobby or himself, then she was just going to have to drag it out of her best friend. Besides, it had already been a couple of weeks since she’d promised to go by the gallery and set up a date for dinner. Surely once she was there she could lull Maggie into revealing something helpful about Bobby’s whereabouts.

  She found Images on a narrow alley in downtown Charleston, only a few blocks from the Battery. It had a lovely wrought-iron fence, climbing rosebushes in full and fragrant bloom in the tiny courtyard, and old brick that had faded to a lovely shade of pink. Every thing about it spoke of charm and class. Knowing her friend as she did, Dinah hadn’t expected anything less than the classiest of businesses. Maggie had always had excellent taste, even though she’d occasionally rebelled against it.

  A bell rang when Dinah opened the door and Maggie emerged from the back, a smile spreading across her face when she saw her friend.

  “It’s about time you came by,” she declared.

  “I know,” Dinah said readily. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long.”

  “I’m sure you’ve been busy. Knowing your folks, they’re probably still showing you off every evening.”

  “Not really. I called a halt to that after the first few days. The last thin
g I want is to be trotted out like some visiting celebrity. It’ll just make it that much harder to explain to everyone when I don’t go back overseas on another assignment.”

  Maggie’s gaze immediately narrowed. “What’s up, then? Is everything okay? Come on in the back and I’ll pour us both some tea and we can talk.”

  “Not till I’ve had a look around,” Dinah said, mostly out of genuine interest, but also to put off Maggie’s inevitable questions.

  She made a slow turn in the main room, admiring the watercolors that hung on the walls and the sculptures and art glass displayed on an assortment of antiques that Maggie had obviously brought from her family’s home. It was an eclectic mix set against a backdrop of warm wood furniture, gleaming oak floors and creamy walls. The effect was inviting, not intimidating, though the price tags certainly put the inventory several steps above most people’s pocketbooks. She imagined that Images had a very wealthy clientele, mostly from Charleston’s oldest families and the recently rich who needed to add the look of family heirlooms to their homes.

  “Very, very elegant,” she said at last. “You have a good eye, not just for the art, but for how to showcase it. I’m impressed.” She gestured toward a familiar desk that had once been in the Forsythes’ living room. “You’re not selling off the family treasures, are you?”

  “Hardly. My mother’s horrified enough that I insisted on bringing some of Great-grandmother’s prized pieces to a shop. If she thought they might wind up in someone else’s home, she’d probably disown me. As it is, I’ve convinced her to think of this as an unofficial museum.” She grinned. “It helped that it gave her an excuse to go shopping for some new furniture for the house.”

  “You have a great talent for display, though,” Dinah said, truly impressed. “I imagine everyone who comes in wants to take the entire package—art and presentation.”

  Maggie beamed at the compliment. “Does that mean I can sell you something before you leave? It’s been a slow morning.”

  “You could if I had someplace to put it. Unfortunately our house is packed to the rafters, as you well know.”