by Brenda Novak
“Strawberries?” Brittney stood at the end of the hall. “That sounds good.”
“On bran cereal,” Sydney muttered.
“Oh, I get it now.”
This time Dillon gave them a warning look. “Hey, when you’re a guest at someone’s house—”
“—you eat whatever they put in front of you,” Brittney finished.
“With a smile,” Dillon added.
“They don’t have to act like guests around me,” Chantel said, throwing off the blanket and getting up. “Here, you guys sit down. You, too, Dillon, and I’ll get something for your headache and see what I can come up with for breakfast.”
“Just a little cold cereal will be fine,” Dillon insisted. “We don’t want to put you out. Or we can call a cab and eat back at our own place.”
“You won’t be talking about eating at your place when you smell my pancakes,” Chantel said.
Dillon admired the long lines of her legs as she moved about the kitchen. He wanted to repeat everything they’d done that night in the storm—wanted to make love to her again and again. Only, she wouldn’t let him close, and he knew he’d break the fragile person sheltering inside her if he pushed.
Noticing the clean plate and cup she was clearing from the table, he guessed she’d been planning to feed him dinner last night. But that didn’t make sense. “What movie did you guys go see?” he asked, pulling Sydney onto his lap. Even though she was getting a little too big to sit there comfortably, he knew it was still her favorite spot.
“We didn’t go to a movie,” Brittney said. “Chantel helped us finish our homework and read Charlotte’s Web to us. Then we had our baths, and she dried our hair while we sang to the radio. It was fun.”
“And we ate meatballs,” Sydney said.
“With sausage,” Brittney added.
He kissed Sydney’s cheek, picturing the domesticity of the scene and wishing he’d been with them, instead of guzzling scotch and wine at Stacy’s. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
“No one makes spaghetti like Chantel.”
“I’m not much of a cook,” Chantel admitted, “but I can make a good pot of spaghetti.”
“If I’d known you weren’t at the movies, I would’ve been here. Why didn’t you answer the phone?”
“Because it didn’t ring,” Sydney said.
Dillon’s gaze clashed with Chantel’s. “Wait a second. It was a set-up, wasn’t it?”
Chantel didn’t answer.
“Just tell me one thing,” he persisted, the anger he’d felt last night returning. “Was it your idea? Were you in on it?”
She paused, spatula in hand. “Would you believe me if I said no?”
He considered the sincerity in her voice and his anger eased, replaced by a glimmer of hope. “If things had gone the way Stacy planned, would you have been happy about it?”
“Please,” she murmured. “Don’t ask me that.”
But the look on her face was all the answer he needed.
CHAPTER TEN
DILLON UNLOCKED the Taurus, which he’d parked near Stacy’s house, and got his girls strapped in, then thanked Chantel for the ride—and for the huge breakfast she’d made. Pancakes, eggs and orange juice. A big improvement on cereal, as far as his daughters were concerned. But now they needed to hurry or Chantel would be late for work and the girls would be late for school. Dillon had already called his receptionist to say he’d be taking the morning off.
“Any chance you’d let me thank you for helping with the girls by making you dinner this weekend?” he asked Chantel, bending to see inside the window of her Jag. “Just as friends?”
She started to shake her head, then seemed to think better of it. “Just as friends?” she repeated.
Dillon smiled. “You can’t have too many friends.”
“Especially when you’re new in town.” She glanced quickly toward Brittney and Sydney and waved. “I really like your girls, Dillon.”
“They like you, too. They want to see you again.”
She sighed. “Okay. When?”
“Friday at six-thirty work for you?”
“As long as you invite Stacy, too.”
Dillon scowled. “Are you sure you want all three of us to be together?”
“That’s the only way I can see you. I won’t go behind her back.”
He thought for a moment. It would be awkward, but there was certainly merit to doing things as a threesome. Stacy would probably be less aggressive. Chantel might relax enough that he could get to know her better. And neither of them would have to deal with any guilt.
“Okay, you win. I’ll ask her today. You’d better get going.”
She flashed him a grin, waved to the girls again and drove off.
He watched until the taillights of her car disappeared around the corner, then blew out a long sigh. What was he going to do? He had a missing ex-wife, a friend who wanted to be his lover and a lover who wanted to be his friend. Would there ever be a time when life became less complicated?
Sliding behind the wheel of the Taurus, he started the engine, then remembered that he’d meant to stop by Stacy’s. He’d forgotten his pager at her place last night, and Sydney had left something she’d made at school.
He glanced down at his wrinkled shirt. Would Stacy assume he hadn’t been home if she saw him? He had yet to shave, and his hair was uncombed, but it would be so much easier to stop there now, instead of driving all the way back later in the day.
“What’s wrong, Daddy? Why are we sitting here?”
Dillon looked over at Brittney. “I was just thinking, honey. Sydney wanted me to pick up the puppet she made in school yesterday, which she left at Stacy’s. But I think I’d better get you girls off to school first.”
She frowned. “I have band today and my clarinet’s at Mom’s. What am I going to tell the teacher?”
“What time do you need it?”
“At noon.”
“Then I’ll rent one and bring it to the school, okay? No worries.” He squeezed her hand, hoping to coax a smile out of her, but her brows drew together.
“Does that mean Mom isn’t coming home?”
With a click from behind, Sydney released her seat belt and leaned through the crack in the bucket seats. “She’s probably coming back today, right, Dad?”
What did he say? Either their mother was too badly hurt to call or find her way home, or she’d abandoned them.
He didn’t want his girls to hear either explanation. He didn’t want his girls to live with either possibility. “We don’t know yet,” he said. “I haven’t heard from her. But I’m sure I will.”
“Why can’t we go look for her?” Sydney asked, and it was while he was gazing into her troubled eyes that he realized he couldn’t let the mystery last forever, regardless of the ugly truth that might be uncovered.
“Because we don’t know where to look,” he told her. “But I know of someone who might be able to help us.”
“Who?”
“He’s called a private investigator.”
BY THE TIME he’d gotten the girls off to school, then showered and shaved, Dillon felt like a new man. He had a long list of errands, but his secretary had managed to clear his schedule, and he was determined to use the morning as productively as possible.
First on his list was retrieving his pager from Stacy’s, so his office could get hold of him even if his cell-phone battery gave out. As he turned down the same street where he’d parked his car the night before, he thought of the barbecue he’d mentioned to Chantel and made a mental note to invite Stacy. Repaying her for the dinner she’d made him might even the score a little and make him feel less like a traitor.
An old brown Cadillac sat in the middle of Stacy’s driveway. He wondered briefly who could be visiting so early, but Stacy had a lot of friends. He assumed it meant she was up and headed to the front door.
But it wasn’t Stacy who answered his knock. Wade stood there staring out at him, wearing nothi
ng but a pair of pants that weren’t buttoned all the way up. They blinked at each other, then Wade started to laugh.
“Stacy, you’ve got a visitor,” he said. “Let’s hope you don’t have him throw me out like Chantel did. This is starting to get pretty repetitive.”
“What?” Stacy appeared at Wade’s side, wearing a silky robe and carrying a cup of coffee. When she saw him on the stoop, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Dillon! What are you doing here?”
Dillon wished he’d decided to do without his pager or had simply bought a new one. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
Stacy’s blush climbed from her neck to the roots of her sleep-tousled hair. “Um, it…it’s not what you think,” she said. “Wade and I used to be engaged, but…actually, he and Chantel are, um, involved now. Not us.”
“He knows who I am,” Wade volunteered. “We met at Chantel’s, didn’t we, buddy?”
Stacy’s cheeks retained their flush, but the expression in her eyes altered. “You what?”
“This is the guy I was telling you about last night. The one who showed up at Chantel’s while I was there,” Wade explained.
Stacy looked dazed. “Is that true?”
Dillon didn’t know how to answer. He just knew it was imperative she not find Chantel at fault. “I stopped by, but your sister basically told me to get lost.”
Wade splayed his hands on his hips. “Oh, yeah? I guess that was after I left, because I specifically remember her inviting you in.”
Dillon’s hand itched to smash Wade in the face. This pretty boy had carelessly cost Chantel her family ten years ago, and he obviously wasn’t about to stop causing trouble now. “As I remember, you were making quite a nuisance of yourself, and we had to handle first things first,” he said.
“What were you doing at my sister’s?” Stacy asked him. The color had drained from her face, and Dillon could only imagine what she was going to say to Chantel.
“I asked her if she’d be willing to go out with me,” he admitted.
“And?” Stacy’s voice was barely a whisper.
“She said no.”
“Because she’s still in love with me,” Wade interjected.
Dillon looked him in the eye, then turned back to Stacy. “No. Because she loves you,” he told her. Then he walked away, leaving behind his pager, his daughter’s puppet and the damage he’d wreaked. But not the memory of the pain in Stacy’s eyes or the sickening knowledge that Chantel would pay the price.
And it was his fault.
STACY THOUGHT she might throw up. Waking to find Wade in her bed had been bad enough. She’d hoped, until she actually opened her eyes, that last night had been nothing but a bad dream and simply wanted to forget the whole thing. She’d made a mistake. That was all. A big mistake that left her feeling worthless and dirty and used.
But it was nothing compared to the humiliation of Dillon’s catching her with Wade. What must he think? Wade had answered the door only half-dressed! And she was sure that her weak attempt to cover for what had happened between them had done nothing to convince Dillon. The truth had been staring him right in the face.
Except that it didn’t matter. Dillon didn’t care about her, anyway. He wanted Chantel, just as she’d feared from the beginning. It was all happening again. She’d talked herself out of believing Dillon had any interest in Chantel; she’d told herself to have some self-confidence. But he had been interested in her sister. Was probably still interested in her.
Wade was looking at her oddly. “Are you going to pass out or something? What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong? she wanted to shout. What’s always wrong—Chantel, of course. And you. And my own stupidity.
Without another word she fled to her room. She needed to be alone. She needed to shower and wash every trace of Wade from her body, and wished she could wash away the memories just as easily. The thought of his touch sickened her.
But he followed her down the hall and held her door open so she couldn’t shut him out. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked. “Who was that guy?”
“I thought he was my boyfriend,” she muttered, glaring up at him.
“And Chantel’s been seeing him?”
Stacy didn’t know how to answer that. Dillon had said Chantel turned him down, but how was she to know whether or not that was true?
“Stacy?” She felt Wade touch her arm, remembered his hands elsewhere on her body, and swallowed against a rising bout of nausea. She’d wanted to seduce Dillon last night. She’d served him a candlelight dinner and hinted that she’d serve him more. And instead, she’d taken her one-time fiancé into her bed.
Ugh! It was too awful to bear thinking about!
“So what are you going to do?” Wade asked, his brows knitting as he watched her.
“I’m going to talk to my sister, like I should have when I first noticed you panting around her skirts,” she said. “Now let go of me and get out. And don’t ever come back.”
“WHERE DID I PUT that?” Chantel murmured to herself, searching her desk for the form letter she was supposed to send to any of the senator’s constituents who were concerned about attaining a “wild and scenic” designation for the South Fork of the Yuba River.
“Did you say something?” Maureen called from her own desk.
“No, nothing.” Chantel ducked behind the divider that separated her from Maureen and dug her nails into her palms. Her mind wasn’t on her work today. It was on a pair of strong arms holding her through the night, and the thought of seeing that same man again this weekend. But she couldn’t afford to daydream about Dillon. She had to focus; she’d made too many mistakes this morning. Chantel knew she still had to prove herself—especially since the senator had hired her despite the fact that his top aide had recommended someone else.
Slowly releasing her breath, she tried to calm down and remember. Then she laughed when her eyes lighted on the letter she needed. It was sitting, plain as day, on the tray where she kept the employees’ messages.
The telephone rang and she picked it up.
“Senator Johnson’s office.”
“Hi, Chantel. This is Tim.”
The senator. Tim Johnson. She’d only seen him once since he’d interviewed her. Chantel felt a nervous flutter in her chest. “Good morning, Senator,” she said.
“How are you?”
“Fine, thank you.”
“Good. Listen, we’re going to be having a staff meeting tomorrow morning, so I want you to remind everyone to come in an hour early. Afterward, I’ll be seeing a couple of people in my office. Will you make sure we’ve got doughnuts or something I can offer them? And some decent coffee?”
“Of course.”
“Also, tell all the aides I’ll be expecting their reports for last month. No excuses.”
“Of course.” She jotted it down.
“Thanks.”
The other line rang, but Chantel waved for Maureen to answer it.
“I’m doing a fund-raiser with the governor, a barbecue,” the senator continued. “Will you check with the campaign-committee chair and make sure the invitations went out? I have a new man running things, and I don’t want any screwups on this.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Great. You’re welcome to come to the fund-raiser, too, you know. And feel free to bring a friend.”
Chantel thought of Stacy and wondered if her sister would like to meet the governor.
“Line two is for you,” Maureen called to her. Chantel nodded, her attention still on the senator, who was thanking her and saying goodbye.
“Could you put me through to Layne?” he asked when he’d finished.
“Of course.”
Chantel punched the “hold” button, then panicked when she couldn’t remember how to transfer the call.
“Star 89,” Maureen reminded her, and Chantel breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Layne’s voice boom out from behind his door, “Hello, Senator.”
&
nbsp; Seeing the flashing light on line two, Chantel picked up, expecting to hear Stacy’s voice. Her sister was the only one who’d ever phoned her at the office.
“Stace?”
“It’s Dillon.”
“Oh, hi. Did you get the girls off to school okay?”
“I did. Then I rented a clarinet for Brittney and brought it by the school so she wouldn’t miss band and I ran some other errands.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, Chantel, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“Did you find your wife?”
“Not yet. It’s not that kind of bad news, but I wish it was. Then it would be my bad news and not yours.”
Chantel felt a chill climb up her spine. “What is it?”
“I went to Stacy’s this morning to get my pager. I accidentally left it there last night.”
“And you wanted to get Sydney’s puppet. I remember you said something about it at breakfast.”
“Well, you’ll never guess who answered the door.”
Chantel couldn’t even imagine. Stacy didn’t have a roommate. Another man? But why would that be bad news? “You got me. I don’t have a clue.”
“Wade.”
She chewed on the end of her pencil, trying to imagine Wade at her sister’s house. “What was he doing there?”
There was a slight hesitation. “I’m not sure. He wasn’t wearing much. I think he might have stayed the night.”
Chantel expected the thought of that to bother her. But it didn’t. Although she was concerned about Stacy. “I hope she’s not stupid enough to get involved with him again, Dillon. He’ll chew her up and spit her out without a second thought.”
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“He recognized me. And he told Stacy I’d been to your house.”
Chantel squeezed her eyes shut. Please, God, not when she was trying so hard to do the right thing. Poor Stacy!
“Chantel?”
“I’m here.”
“I just wanted to warn you, in case…”
In case Stacy’s upset. And of course she will be.
“Thanks for letting me know,” she said at last.