The Second Time

by Janet Dailey

  When she reached for the dustpan, a car roared into the driveway. Instantly the dustpan was forgotten and the broom was hurriedly propped against a cabinet counter as Dawn rushed to the back door. Her face lit up when she saw the shiny black Corvette. She pushed the door open and stepped onto the back stoop. Randy was already running to greet Slater, so she waited there, taking the couple of extra minutes to smooth her watersilk blouse inside the waist-band of her tangerine slacks.

  There was a suggestion of impatience in the line of his long, muscled body as Slater paused to greet Randy. He smiled, but Dawn noticed the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Her expression sobered slightly, her gaze becoming more watchful.

  When he started toward the house, his strongly cut features seemed close to wearing a brooding scowl. He looked up to see her standing at the railing around the stoop, and just as quickly, his glance skipped away. Another bad sign. Dawn fought to hold the bitter disappointment and hurt away from her expression.

  “Good morning,” she greeted him with what she hoped was calmness.

  “Morning,” he returned, the omission of an adjective making it starkly apparent there was nothing “good” in it as far as he was concerned.

  A surge of stubbornness made Dawn confront him with his obviously sour mood. “You’re grumpy this morning,” she challenged to identify the reason.

  His eyes were like gray stones, hard and impenetrable when they finally met her searching gaze. The lack of any emotion in them seemed to confirm her suspicion that Slater was wishing last night hadn’t happened for them, regardless of what he’d said at the time. Her lips compressed into a taut line.

  “I guess I haven’t had my morning quota of caffeine,” Slater countered her challenge with an obvious lie.

  “We still have some coffee left over from breakfast. Why don’t you come in and have a cup?” Dawn invited, conscious that Randy was trailing along at Slater’s heels, making any open discussion impossible while he was there.

  “Fine.” It was a clipped answer of acceptance.

  Pivoting, Dawn led the way into the house, feeling the tension mount in her system. Both her parents were in the kitchen when they entered it. Slater had obviously been the subject of their conversation since both fell into a guilty silence.

  “Have a seat.” Dawn coolly waved a hand at the chairs around the kitchen table. “I’ll pour your coffee.”

  “Hello, Slater.” Her father wasn’t sure how to handle the situation, whether to greet him as a longtime family friend or a mere acquaintance. Dawn had been very circumspect about the information she’d given her mother last night, downplaying her meeting with Slater. Now she was glad she hadn’t sounded too optimistic. “I’d ask how business is—” her father continued “—but every time I turn around I hear ‘MacBride owns this’ or you sold that or you’re making a ton of money from something else.”

  “I can’t complain.” But Slater didn’t return the courtesy by inquiring how her father was doing, nor did he offer any encouragement for the conversation to continue.

  As Dawn took a cup from the cupboard and filled it with coffee, she heard the scrape of a chair leg. Randy had brought the basketball into the house and was absently bouncing it on the linoleum floor. It was nearly as irritating as drumming fingers.

  “Not in the house, Randy,” she reminded him as she carried Slater’s cup of coffee to the table.

  “Sorry, Mom. I forgot.” He hooked the ball under his arm and hovered next to Slater’s chair. “Do you wanta come out and watch me shoot a few baskets after you drink your coffee? I’m pretty good.” Randy seemed to be the only one who wasn’t conscious of the brittle atmosphere in the kitchen.

  “We’ll see.” Slater avoided a commitment.

  “I’m on my way to the grocery store,” her mother announced. “Is there anything you need, Dawn?”

  “No.” She walked back to the kitchen counter to pour herself a cup of the strong, black coffee.

  There was the rustle of the newspaper being folded and set aside as her father took a clue from his wife’s departure. “Got some work I need to get finished in the garage,” he said and followed his wife out the back door.

  “You should see the stuff Gramps makes in his workshop.” It didn’t occur to Randy that his presence might not be wanted. “He’s been letting me help him, and showing me how to do stuff. I found this piece of driftwood that we’re going to make into a lamp. It’s got a real weird shape. Do you want to come out and see it?”

  “Not now!” His voice was harsh with impatience.

  Dawn saw the hurt frown cloud Randy’s features. She was instantly angry. “Slater,” she spoke his name in sharp rebuke.

  This time the angry impatience on his features was directed at himself. He sliced a grimly apologetic glance at Randy. “I’m sorry. I had no cause to snap at you.” Slater sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I’m not feeling in the best of moods this morning.”

  “That’s okay.” Randy was quick to dismiss his rudeness as he worked to acquire a pseudo-adult air for a man-to-man comment. “What cha got? A hangover?”

  Slater’s gaze flicked briefly to Dawn. “You could say that,” he murmured with a wry, biting twist of humor to his mouth.

  The look immediately reminded her of the analogy he’d made between himself and an alcoholic. An auburn brow shot up. “From too much vintage wine?” she taunted coolly and sat across the table from him.

  “Yes.” There was considerably less humor in the curve of his mouth, his eyes darkening in withdrawal from this word-game. He continued to study her as he spoke to his son. “Why don’t you run outside, Randy, so I can talk privately with your mother. I’ll be out after I finish my coffee.”

  Randy didn’t like being excluded again, but his relationship with his father was too new for him to risk testing it by refusing to leave. Glumly he walked to the door.

  “Don’t be too long,” was the closest he came to a protest.

  Keeping her eyes downcast, Dawn looked into the mirror-black surface of her coffee and waited for the sound of the door latching securely behind Randy. Her nerves felt raw from this constant exposure to Slater’s ever-reoccurring resentment toward her.

  “We never did get around to having our talk last night,” he said, breaking the heavy silence that had descended on the room with Randy’s departure.

  “I guess we didn’t.” She continued to stare at her cup. For a while last night, she hadn’t thought there was anything left to discuss. Obviously she was wrong.

  “Just what is it you want from me?” Slater demanded.

  Her head came up sharply, her gaze flying to the chilling set of his hard features. “If you have to ask—” Dawn checked the angry words.

  Nothing would be gained by losing her temper and lashing out at him. It was apparent that he was shutting out those moments when love had blazed so brilliantly. She struggled to do the same and respond to his questions as if it hadn’t happened.

  “I want you to be a father to Randy—to be there when he needs you.” That had been her original desire when she had returned to Key West. She hadn’t dared hope for more than that. Foolishly she had begun to believe there could be.

  “Are you planning to stay here?” He sounded like an interrogator who had no stake in her answer.

  “Yes—providing, of course, that we come to some kind of truce where Randy is concerned.” Too agitated to remain seated, Dawn stood up and carried her full cup of coffee back to the counter by the pot, setting it down. “Naturally, I don’t intend to live with my parents. That’s why I was interested in purchasing the Van de Veere house—providing the price was reasonable.” She kept her back to the table, unable to look at him while she endured this farcical conversation. “How much is it?”

  When she turned, she was startled to discover Slater was standing only a few feet from her. He had moved so quietly she hadn’t been aware he’d followed her.

  After he had quoted a price well w
ithin range of what she could afford to pay, he added, “So we won’t have to waste time haggling over the price, I’ll drop it another two thousand.”

  “Sold.” It was totally a reflex movement that prompted Dawn to extend a hand to shake on the deal.

  Slater just looked at it, then slowly raised his glance to her face. White and trembling from this deliberate affront, Dawn held her head high, falling back on pride now that all else had failed her. But moisture gathered in her eyes to blur her vision and there was a traitorous quiver of her chin.

  “Damn you,” she cursed hoarsely, and swung away to grip the edge of the counter. “And damn you for being a man. You’re schooled from the cradle not to show your feelings. And girls are encouraged to cry when they’re hurt. It isn’t fair,” Dawn protested in a choked voice, and brushed impatiently at a tear that slipped off her lashes. “What happened? Last night I thought—”

  “Do you think one night with you can make up for the thousands I spent alone?” He bitterly hurled the angry words to cut off her sentence.

  Her head jerked as if she had been slapped. But the demand served to check her tears. “No, I don’t.” Her voice lost its husky waver although it remained tight. “It happened too soon. I should have known it did. You’ve hated me for so long. Not even you can reverse directions overnight.” The corners of her mouth curled into a sad, laughing smile. “There’s something in that old saying about ‘the cold light of day,’ isn’t there?”

  “Maybe it’s myself I’m not liking very much this morning,” Slater offered grimly. Dawn turned slowly to look at him and discover what he meant by that statement. He moved closer, stopping when his legs brushed against hers, in effect pinning her between himself and the counter. “I had sworn if you ever came back, I wouldn’t have anything to do with you. I wasn’t even going to give you the time of day. It lowers a man’s opinion of himself when he learns he hasn’t the strength to resist the temptation of a woman’s body.” Self-derision deepened the corners of his mouth. “And I’m too old and too experienced to claim that you seduced me. I was more than willing—I was eager.”

  “Now you’re sorry.” That’s what hurt.

  “I don’t know what I am,” he declared with a grim shake of his head. “One minute I want to hurt you before you can hurt me, and in the next, I just want to love you.”

  Dawn wished he wasn’t standing so near. She didn’t want to feel the muscled columns of his thighs or the slight thrust of his hips. It was all too evocative and intimate.

  “I’ll tell you what,” she began. “Until you decide which way you want it to be, why don’t you go back on the wagon?” She stepped sideways to end the contact with him although her senses continued to clamor from it. “In the meantime, we’ll keep everything on a strictly business level.”

  “That’s roughly what I was going to suggest,” Slater said, and didn’t sound too happy that she had proposed it first.

  “About the house—how long will it take to have the papers drawn so we can close the sale?” Now that she had changed the subject, Dawn stayed with it. “There’s no need to discuss terms. I’ll pay cash.”

  “Of course,” he murmured dryly. “I can write up the contract today, but you’ll need the abstract examined and brought up to date.”

  “How long before I can take possession?” she asked.

  “As far as I’m concerned, you can move into the house this afternoon if you want. All the paper work and deeds should be ready within a week.” Slater paused, studying her a second. “You don’t have to buy the house. It’s just sitting empty. You and Randy are welcome to live in it—for as long as you want.”

  “For nothing?” Dawn was certain there had to be some kind of strings attached.

  “For nothing,” he assured her.

  “No thanks,” she refused his apparently generous offer. “I’d rather not be under any obligation to you. I prefer to buy it rather than have people talking about me as Slater MacBride’s kept woman.”

  “Randy is my son,” Slater reminded her. “I offered the house so I could contribute something toward his support. I was not trying to put you in my debt.”

  “Perhaps you weren’t,” she conceded. “But just the same, I’d rather purchase the house outright. We’ll probably move into it as soon as possible.”

  “I can arrange to have a crew go over there and clean the place up for you,” he said.

  “There’s no need. I’ll handle it myself,” Dawn insisted. “I’ll stop by your office early this afternoon to sign the necessary papers and make a down payment. You can leave them with your secretary—along with the doorkey.”

  “I’ll do that.” It was all very curt and professional. “I’ll go out and see Randy before I leave.”

  Dawn watched him walk out the door. On the surface, it seemed to be a sound and workable proposal, but she knew it was doomed to failure. They shared too many intimate memories to ever sustain a business relationship without personalities interfering. They were just kidding themselves.

  Dawn had put most of her household and personal possessions in storage before she left Texas. After she had signed the papers for the house, she arranged to have them shipped to Key West. While she waited for them to arrive, there was a great deal of work to be done on the property, both outside and in. Viewing it as a kind of therapy to take her mind off Slater, Dawn threw herself into it with all her energies.

  The overgrown yard was chosen as the first task. Randy teased her that she intended to wage war with it when he saw the tools she had raided from her father’s equipment shed. There was the usual assemblage of garden tools, such as rakes, hoes, and spades, plus more lethal items—hatchets, machetes, and a double-bladed axe. She loaded them into a wheelbarrow and, together, she and Randy wheeled it over to their new house in the cool of early morning.

  Dressed in combat gear consisting of long-sleeved shirts, sturdy denims, boots, and gloves to protect their bodies from the sharp and sometimes thorny underbrush, they attacked the front yard in earnest, using the sidewalk as their route of entry. By late morning, they had made a sizable and hard-fought dent in it. But the heat and the humidity were beginning to wear them down.

  Randy had stripped down to the waist, sweat streaming down his shoulders and wetting the thick hair on his forehead. A kerchief was tied around it, creating a sweatband to keep the stinging perspiration out of his eyes. Another wheelbarrow load of palm fronds and tangled vines had to be pushed to the growing pile of debris in the driveway. The muscles in his young arms bulged as he lifted the handles and began driving it forward.

  Hot and frazzled, Dawn leaned on her rake. A scarf was tied around her hair. She tipped her head back and squinted at the sun high overhead, trying to judge the time. She hadn’t risked wearing her watch for fear she’d catch it on some brush and lose it. The plan had been to work until noon, then quit before the full heat of the day hit them. It had to be close to that now, she decided.

  She shifted her grip on the rake and winced in pain. Gingerly she pulled off the glove on her right hand and examined the blister on her palm. It looked raw and angry. She heard the rattle of the wheelbarrow as its load was dumped and turned to call to Randy.

  “Bring a bandage from the first aid kit when you come.” Her voice croaked on a weary note.

  Stopping, Randy turned and jogged the short distance to the veranda where the first aid kit and water jug sat side by side in the shade. Dawn marveled at the resiliency of youth that Randy still had the energy to move out of a dragging walk.

  Enough of the yard had been cleared to enable her to have only a partially obscured view of the street. A flash of black caught her eye, attracted by the sound of a passing car. Only it wasn’t passing. Dawn recognized the black Corvette as it swung into the driveway, just managing to stop short of the brush pile.

  Even though Dawn was too tired to care about her appearance, she was conscious of it. Her face was streaked with dust and pollen. Stickers and broken twigs were
hooked onto her clothes. In this old shirt of her father’s, she knew she looked shapeless. Even the crowning glory of her hair was hidden under the dirty scarf. For some strange reason, it was her chipped nails and blistered palms that bothered her the most. There wasn’t time to slip her glove back on, and it would have been too painful anyway, so she simply let her hand hang by her side, hoping he wouldn’t notice it.

  His brows were drawn together in a frown as his gaze swept the yard, his long, free-swinging strides carrying him to where she was standing. “Where are your workmen? Have they broken for lunch already?”

  “We are the workmen,” she said, including Randy with a gesture of her gloved hand as he joined them.

  “You aren’t planning to clean up this yard by yourselves?” He looked at her as if she’d lost her senses.

  Dawn was hot and tired enough to wonder if she had. “We’re both young and able-bodied. All it takes is a little muscle.”

  “A weak mind and a strong back, that’s what it takes,” Slater corrected with a trace of exasperation.

  “A little physical labor doesn’t hurt anybody,” she insisted, and smiled briefly at her son. “Besides, this is going to be our new home. We have to put some effort into making it that.” She felt it would be a good lesson for Randy; instill in him a sense of ownership because he had helped with it.

  “Here’s your bandage, Mom.” He offered it to her.

  “Physical labor doesn’t hurt anybody, huh?” Slater mocked and took the bandage from Randy. His seeking glance noticed the gloveless hand at her side. “A blister?” he guessed.

  “Yes. It’s just a little sore.” She wouldn’t admit that it was throbbing painfully since it had been exposed to the air.

  Turning her hand palm-upward, she showed him the fiery red sore. His gaze flicked sharply to her face. “You crazy little fool,” he muttered angrily under his breath. “You’ll be lucky if you don’t get infection in it.”