“No, please, let me,” Dylan insisted quickly, retrieving the packages and meekly handing them to her. “I’m really sorry.”
“Forget it, Dylan,” she said, slipping the wrapped meats and cheeses into a string bag hanging from her arm. “Oh, I suppose I should call you Sheriff now.”
Dylan stared down at Marissa’s twin, and saw the anger in her eyes. “I have a feeling there are a few other names you would prefer.”
Mallory had to smile. “Sheriff James, I see you’ve become a mind reader since high school. Interesting.”
“Among other things,” Dylan muttered, studying her carefully. He was fascinated. She was so much like Marissa—the color of her hair, the slant of her nose, the shape of her mouth. He couldn’t find any one feature that was dissimilar. So why, then, was it they looked so different? What was it about them, that gave them each such a distinctive look?
And was there really a time when he’d actually mistaken one for the other?
“Hey, Sheriff,” Dom called from across the meat counter. “What can I get for you today? I’ve got some fresh turkey sliced.”
“Nothing today, Dom, thanks.” While Dom turned to wait on another customer, Dylan’s gaze returned to Mallory. He felt awkward, ill at ease, and the anger in her eyes didn’t help. “Are you here for a visit?”
“I’m here, Sheriff, because my sister needed me.” Mallory’s blue gaze narrowed. “She could have died in that fire.”
“I know,” he said tersely. “I was there.”
Mallory faltered just a little. “I know. And I’m grateful for what you did, for getting her out.”
“Then tell me where she is.”
“Leave her alone, Dylan,” Mallory said quietly. “She’s been hurt enough already.”
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
“No?” Mallory said skeptically, pushing past him. “Then how come every time she gets near you she ends up hurt?”
Dylan stopped her with a hand on her arm, telling himself what he felt wasn’t desperation. “What do you want? You want me to beg—I’ll do it. I’ll do anything you want, just please tell me where she is. I have to see her. I have to.”
“Is there a problem here?”
Dylan glared up at the tall Native American who appeared out of nowhere and stood behind Mallory. But Dylan knew who he was. Only Mallory’s husband didn’t look at all like he had in the formal wedding photo. He was big and tall, with massive shoulders and long black hair, and he stared at Dylan with cold, menacing eyes.
Not that he blamed him, Dylan thought as he slowly released his hold on Mallory’s arm. The man was merely being protective of his wife and unborn child.
“There’s no problem,” Mallory said, slipping an affectionate arm through her husband’s and pulling him close. “Sweetheart, this is Dylan James. Sheriff, this is my husband, Benjamin Graywolf.”
“Sheriff James,” Graywolf said, extending his hand. His faced had softened, but his eyes remained wary and suspicious. “I’ve heard Mallory and Marissa speak of you.”
“Yes,” Dylan mumbled, taking Graywolf’s hand and shaking it. “I imagine you have.”
“Dylan is interested in talking with Marissa,” Mallory said. “I was explaining to him why I thought that wasn’t such a good idea.”
“I see.” Graywolf nodded, his arm moving from his wife’s arm to around her waist.
Dylan turned back to Mallory, seeing her stubborn determination, and knew he would never be able to change her mind. “At least tell her for me…tell her I…” But his words drifted off, and he shook his head. “Never mind,” he murmured, feeling awkward and stupid. Giving them both a slight nod, he turned and walked out the door.
He was at his Jeep before he turned around to see Benjamin Graywolf walking up the sidewalk after him.
“We’re all staying up at the Wakefield place,” he said without preamble. “And I would bet if you wandered up there sometime around two this afternoon, you just might find her alone.”
Dylan stared at this man who was a stranger to him, feeling an immediate kinship, and offered him his hand. “Thanks.”
Chapter 17
It was déjà vu. Only this time he knew what he’d had and lost, and what he wanted again—and he wasn’t going to leave until he had it.
Dylan glanced at the small doorbell button, his hand perched to press it and call her to the door, but he dropped his hand in hesitation. He drew in a deep breath, feeling his heart pulse thick in his neck and rehearsing again what it was he wanted to say. He realized his work was cut out for him. Just getting her to listen was going to be rough, assuming she would even open the door at all. But he couldn’t let that stop him. Taking another deep breath, he reached for the bell again.
Only he never had a chance to make contact with the button. The door suddenly flew open, and he found himself face-to-face with Marissa.
She gasped loudly, the purse in her hand falling to the floor, scattering its contents along the imposing black-andwhite tiles of the foyer. “W-what are you doing here?”
His moment had come. She’d given him his cue, and it was time for him to plead his case, to launch into his wellthought-out, well-rehearsed speech…except he choked.
“Marissa, I…” he stammered in a hoarse voice. “Marissa, please…”
Suddenly his mind had gone blank. All those well-planned arguments, all those points he wanted to make and explanations he’d wanted to offer, were gone. All he could think about was that he loved her, and that nothing in his life would mean anything until he got her back.
He looked into her startled blue eyes, seeing the fear, seeing the tears springing up within them, and he died just a little inside. He stepped up into the foyer, causing her to stumble back another step, and said the only thing he could think of, the only thing he knew to be true. “I love you.”
“Damn you. How can you say that to me?” Marissa demanded, shaking her head.
“I say it because it’s true.” He moved across the foyer toward her. “I love you. I always have. I always will.”
“Dylan, please,” Marissa pleaded, backing away. “Please, just go. Just go.”
“Don’t send me away. Marissa, please,” he said, backing her against the carved newel post at the end of the ornate stairwell. “Don’t send me away.”
“Dylan,” she said, sighing, tears splashing down from her lashes and onto her cheeks. “Just go.”
“I love you,” he said again, his hands settling at her waist. “Marissa, I love you, and you love me, too.”
“No,” she said, furiously shaking her head. She pushed his hands away, pushing past him. “I—I don’t want to.”
“I know, I don’t deserve it,” he agreed with a whisper, catching her by the arm and pulling her back to him. “I’ve been a jerk. I’ve made so many mistakes and I’ve hurt you so badly. God, I’m so sorry.” He pulled her struggling into his arms. “But I love you, and that’s never going to change.”
“No, Dylan,” she said as she struggled. “No, no, please.”
But he already had his arms around her, already had pulled her close, and already was pressing his mouth to hers. “I love you,” he murmured against her lips. “Don’t send me away. I love you.”
Marissa grappled, and she tried with everything she had to fight and resist. She couldn’t think when he touched her, couldn’t make her mind remember all the reasons she wanted him out of her life. She’d spent the last ten days trying desperately to leave it all behind her, trying desperately not to think of all she’d had, and all she’d lost.
And now he was here, holding her, kissing her and saying the words she longed to hear. But she had to be strong; she had to resist.
With one final burst of force, she pulled free of his hold, backing away. “It’s not going to work, Dylan. It’s too late, it’s over.”
“No,” Dylan insisted, his voice booming loud in the huge entry. “Don’t say that, don’t even think it.”
�
�But it’s true,” she said sadly. “We’ve had chances—two of them—and threw them both away.” She took a step toward him. “I don’t blame you, I really don’t. I know it was me. I never should have kept the truth from you. You deserved to know you had a son. What I did was wrong, and now we all have to pay the price.”
“No,” Dylan said quietly, walking across the tiles to where she stood. “I’m not going to let you do this again.”
“Do what again?”
“Play the martyr.”
Anger flashed hot, and she felt it spread through her entire system. “Martyr? You’re accusing me of being a martyr?”
“Well, aren’t you blaming yourself for everything that’s happened, taking all the responsibility, all the guilt?” He grabbed her by the upper arms. “Like it or not, you’re not the only one involved here. I’m not going to let you throw all our lives away just because you feel like wearing a hair shirt.”
Marissa yanked her arms free, glaring up at him. “How dare you say something like that to me?”
“How dare I? I’ll tell you—because I love you, because we have something between us, something special, something you only find once in a lifetime if you’re lucky, and sometimes not even then. And I’m not going to let you walk away from that—not again.” He leaned toward her. “I did and said a lot of stupid things sixteen years ago. I was hurt and embarrassed, and I covered it up by acting like I didn’t care, by lashing out and being a jerk. Okay, I was young, and not very smart—maybe that was an excuse. But this time…” He paused, breathing out a sad little laugh. “This time I don’t have that excuse, but obviously I’m still not very smart—I still lashed out, still covered up because I was hurt, because I was upset.” He reached out, slipping his arms around her. “Marissa, we’re not kids anymore. Isn’t it time we both got smart? I love you. I love Josh. I want us to be together, to be a family. I want a house and a mortgage, and so many kids we’ll need one of those silly-looking minivans like Dom and Jill.” He pulled her close, and she offered no resistance. “Forgive me. Love me. Marry me.” He bent close, kissing her long and deep. “Please.”
Marissa stared up into his dark eyes, her heart was ready to burst. “Dylan, I’m…I’m scared. What about next time, what happens then, what happens if it all goes wrong again?”
“It never will,” he murmured, reaching down and lifting her arms around his neck. “We’re too smart, we’ll never let that happen.” He kissed her with an aching tenderness that left them both trembling. “I love you. Marry me.”
Marissa surrendered to what she’d wanted her whole life. “Yes, yes, I will.”
Mallory burst through the door, her eyes wide and excited. She rushed up to Dylan and Marissa, throwing her arms around them both.
“Graywolf says ours are twins,” she said excitedly, tears streaming down her face. “And yours will be, too.”
* * * * *
eISBN 978-14592-7922-3
FATHER FIGURE
Copyright © 1996 by Ann Marie Fattarsi
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 U.S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of Harlequin Books S.A., used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
Printed in U.S.A.
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Books by Rebecca Danleis
About the Author
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Copyright
Father Figure Page 23