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“She didn’t mean it, Dillon,” Charlotte insisted, laying her hand on her brother’s arm. “She’s just upset, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry about it, sis.” He shrugged off the cruel comment as though it meant no more to him than an offhand remark from a stranger.
Dillon bid Roger good-night, kissed and hugged Charlotte and the kids, and, to Emily’s surprise, dutifully kissed Adele’s cheek. She turned her head away at the last instant, barely allowing his lips to graze her skin, and even though it was Dillon, Emily felt terrible for him.
When at last they were gone she closed the door and turned to him with a sympathetic look. “Charlotte is right, you know. She really didn’t mean it.”
“She meant it.”
“Oh, no. You mustn’t think that. That was just grief talking. Adele loves you.”
Dillon gave her an under-the-brow look. “C’mon, Emily. You’ve been in this family for seven years. You know better than that.”
He turned and headed back into the living room. Emily hurried after him.
“I know that Adele isn’t always nice to you—”
“Now there’s an understatement.”
“And I know that Keith was her favorite,” she continued. “I’m not condoning that, mind you. I don’t think it’s right for a parent to favor one child over another. But just because Adele did that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you, too. Mothers love their children, no matter what.”
Resuming his seat, Dillon stretched his legs out in front of him, rested his head against the sofa back and looked at her from beneath half-closed eyes. “Yeah, that’s what they say. But it doesn’t always work out that way. As far back as I can remember she’s never been able to stomach the sight of me.”
“But—”
“Look, it’s okay. That’s just the way it is. I accepted it a long time ago.”
She opened her mouth to argue more, then shut it again. What was she doing? This was Dillon. The man was self-sufficient, remote and tough as old shoe leather. He didn’t need anyone. Apparently not even his own mother. If Adele’s hateful comments didn’t bother him, why should she be concerned? She had enough pain of her own to deal with. She had neither the will nor the energy to worry about other people’s problems.
Wearily, Emily resumed her seat, this time on the sofa across from the one on which Dillon sat. She turned her head and fixed her gaze on the blaze crackling in the fireplace without really seeing it. She felt numb and empty inside, as though her body were just a hollow, aching shell.
How could she have been so blind? Seven years. For seven years she had believed that she had the perfect life—a storybook marriage to a handsome, charming doctor who adored her, a lovely home, an active social life, friends, financial security—all the things she’d dreamed of during her lonely childhood. Now she knew that it had all been an illusion.
Unconsciously, her hand splayed over her flat belly. The only thing that had been missing from hers and Keith’s perfect life had been a baby, and he had even managed to give her that in the end.
Was that the problem? Had she been so focused on getting pregnant these past few years that she had lost sight of her husband’s needs and desires? Had she neglected him? Had he been unhappy with her?
No. No, she didn’t believe that. She and Keith had gotten along beautifully. In seven years they’d rarely had a cross word, for heaven’s sake. And Keith had wanted this baby as much as she had. Like her, he had been jubilant when Dr. Conn had telephoned them with the news on Monday afternoon.
So why had he turned to another woman? When had it started?
“Are you all right?”
Emily jumped and her head whipped around. She experienced a little shock when her gaze met Dillon’s. She had forgotten he was there.
“I…yes, I’m all right.”
“Maybe you ought to turn in. You’ve had a rough couple of days, and tomorrow isn’t going to be a piece of cake either.”
“Tomorrow?”
“You meet with your attorney to settle the estate and see where you stand financially. Remember?”
“Oh, yes. That. I’d forgotten.”
Emily eyed Dillon’s relaxed posture. She had expected him to leave with the others, or at least soon after. Instead he looked as though he had settled in for a long stay.
“You’re probably right.”
She climbed to her feet, but when Dillon failed to do the same she paused. “Uh, thank you for your help, with the funeral arrangements and all. I really appreciate everything you’ve done these past couple of days.” She began edging toward the door, hoping he’d take the hint. Dillon just continued to watch her from beneath those hooded eyes.
“No thanks necessary.”
“Yes, well…thanks anyway.”
She edged another few inches closer to the door, but still he didn’t move. Emily shifted from one foot to the other and clasped and unclasped her hands. Finally she decided that the best way to deal with Dillon was head-on.
“Uh, I don’t mean to be rude, but as you said, I probably ought to try to get some sleep.”
“Good idea.”
Relief poured through her. With a nod, she turned and started for the foyer again, but his next words brought her up short.
“If you need anything, I’ll be in the guest room across the hall from you.”
She whirled around. “What?”
“You shouldn’t be alone right now. So I’ll be staying here for a few days. I put my bag in the guest room earlier.”
“No, really, that’s not necessary. If I’d wanted company I would’ve let Ila Mae spend the night. I really do prefer to be alone.”
“That may be, but I’m staying.”
Emily’s nerves began to jump. As her anxiety grew she forgot all about caution. “Look, Dillon, you don’t understand. I don’t want you here. In case it hasn’t occurred to you, at the moment I’m not feeling all that well-disposed toward any male with the name Maguire.”
Unfolding himself from his slouched position, he slowly rose to his feet. He towered over her, his face carved in granite. “I’m not Keith, Emily,” he said in a voice that cut like honed steel.
Belatedly, she realized that butting heads with Dillon perhaps wasn’t the wisest course of action. He was the strong, silent type, but when aroused he had a formidable temper.
In the best of times he intimidated her, and at the moment she was feeling too shaky and beaten down to even attempt to do battle. “Look, I appreciate the offer. Really, I do. But it’s unnecessary. I’m fine.”
“How about the baby? Is he fine?”
She sucked in a sharp breath and gaped at him, and once again her hand went automatically to her stomach. “How did you—?”
“Keith called me from his car a couple of hours before he died.”
Emily’s shoulders slumped. She sank down onto the arm of a nearby chair and cupped her hand over her forehead. She should have known. Though they had been as opposite in personality as any two men could be, Keith and Dillon had always been close.
“I see,” she said finally. “Well, if it will put your mind at ease, the baby is fine. So you see, there’s really no reason for anyone to stay.”
“Give it up, Emily. I’m not leaving.”
“Why are you doing this?” she snapped in frustration. “You don’t even like me.”
For an interminable time he simply stared at her. Then he tipped his head toward the stairway in the foyer. “Go to bed, Emily. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again. With a sigh, she turned and headed for the stairs. She simply didn’t have the strength to do battle with him right now.
Dillon remained where he was and watched her go. When she was out of sight he walked over to the drinks cart and poured himself two fingers of Jack Daniels from the crystal decanter. He tossed back half the drink in one gulp, then refilled the glass and wandered over to the window.
He gazed past his reflection into the gloomy night. Sometime since they’d left the cemetery a Texas “blue norther” had blown in, turning the weather nasty. Wind whipped the bare trees into a frenzy and sleet clicked against the window panes. Dillon sipped his drink, his face somber, Emily’s last words ringing in his head.
You don’t even like me.
He snorted. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that she believed that. In a way, by his actions these past seven years—avoiding her whenever he could, keeping his distance during family gatherings—he had made it appear that way.
Dillon turned away from the window and ambled over to the arched doorway. He leaned a shoulder against the jamb and looked up the stairway in the direction of Emily’s bedroom. How would she react, he wondered, if she knew the truth—that all these years, since before his brother had swept her off her feet, he had been in love with her.
And that the baby she carried was not Keith’s, as she believed. It was his.
Chapter Two
Emily had barely slept since Keith’s death, and that night was no different. Merely knowing that Dillon was across the hall made her uncomfortable, but mostly it was grief and anger that kept sleep at bay.
She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, tormenting herself, imagining her husband with his mistress, laughing with her, kissing her. Making love to her.
Why, Keith? she asked over and over. Why? How could you do this to me when you claimed to love me?
Had she missed something? Had there been signs all along? Subtle indications that her marriage was in trouble? Emily scoured her memory and spent hours soul-searching, but over and over she came up empty.
Keith had seemed perfectly happy with their life together. They never fought, rarely ever exchanged so much as a cross word. They enjoyed each other’s company, and their sex life was good.
He had often talked about their future, how, someday he would take a leave from his practice and they would spend a whole summer traveling through Europe, and how when he retired they’d buy a boat and sail around the world.
Emily frowned. Was that it? Could he have been worried that having a child would tie them down?
That didn’t seem likely. Keith had been as eager to start a family as she. Well…almost as eager. She had been thinking of little else for the last couple of years. But certainly he’d been overjoyed when Dr. Conn had telephoned them on Monday with the good news.
“So why did you turn to someone else,” she whispered to the shadows on the ceiling. Was it her? Something she’d done? Or hadn’t done? Wasn’t she pretty enough? Smart enough? Interesting enough? Oh, Lord, wasn’t she woman enough?
Like bees buzzing in her brain, Emily’s thoughts bedeviled her into the wee hours of the morning, until finally exhaustion overtook her. She slept fitfully, and woke a little before eight feeling sluggish and headachy. She was vaguely aware that something was different this morning—something besides Keith’s absence—but she was too muzzy-headed to work it out.
She staggered into the adjoining bathroom, downed two Tylenol and stepped into the shower.
Emerging a short while later wrapped in a long, terrycloth robe, her wet auburn hair combed back from her face, she headed downstairs for a wake-up cup of coffee. The instant she stepped into the hallway and her gaze touched on the guest room, she remembered Dillon.
She stopped and caught her lower lip between her teeth. The door was open, and after a moment she crept across the hall and peeked inside. The bed was made and the room was neat as a pin. There was no sign of Dillon.
Of course, she thought with a sigh of relief as she glanced at the clock on the night stand. This was Friday. He had left for work hours ago.
Tightening the tie belt on her robe, she headed for the stairs.
The aroma of coffee and sausage drifted from the kitchen as she approached the door. Evidently Dillon had made himself breakfast before he left. Emily hoped he’d brewed a full pot of coffee and left some for her.
Pushing open the swinging door, she stepped inside the kitchen and came to a halt. “Dillon. What are you doing here?”
He turned from the stove and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Good morning to you, too.” He looked absurdly masculine with a mixing bowl in one hand, a wire whisk in the other and one of Ila Mae’s ruffled aprons tied around his lean middle.
He went back to whipping the contents of the bowl with brisk efficiency. “Why are you surprised? I told you last night that I was going to stay here.”
“Yes, but…I thought you would be at work by now.”
“I’m not going in for a few days.”
“Oh, please. You don’t have to do that on my account. Haven’t you just started an important job? An office complex or something?”
“An indoor shopping mall.”
“I see. Well, I wouldn’t want to take you away from that.”
“No problem. I have an excellent crew. My foreman can handle things for a few days. If something comes up, he has my cell phone number.”
He turned back to the stove. “You’re just in time for breakfast. I was about to cook pancakes.”
Only then did Emily notice that the table was set for two.
Dillon set the bowl and whisk aside, then filled a mug with coffee and plunked it down on the opposite side of the island counter and motioned for her to join him. “The coffee is decaf, so you don’t have to worry about hurting the baby. Come on over. You can keep me company.”
Keeping company with Dillon was the last thing Emily wanted, but she was still too muzzy-headed to think of an excuse to leave. Giving the belt on her robe another tug, she reluctantly crossed the room and hitched up onto one of the high barstools on the opposite side of the kitchen island from where he was working.
“I, uh…I had no idea you cooked,” she said, watching him pour batter onto a hot griddle.
Dillon darted her a look, his blue eyes glinting beneath ebony eyebrows. “There are a lot of things about me that you don’t know.”
“Yes. I suppose there are,” she murmured. Oddly, she felt as though she’d just been chastised, though she couldn’t imagine why. Falling silent, she cradled the mug in both hands and sipped her coffee while she watched him deftly flip perfect, golden pancakes.
Despite his success and wealth, she had always thought of Dillon as tough and brawny, slightly rough around the edges, but yesterday at the funeral he had looked astonishingly smart in his custom-made suit. However, this morning, dressed in jeans and an old gray sweatshirt, he looked more like the Dillon she was accustomed to seeing—that is, if you overlooked the apron around his waist. That bit of ruffled material might have made some men look effeminate, but not Dillon. If anything, by stark contrast, it emphasized his compelling maleness.
The sleeves of his sweatshirt were pushed up to his elbows, and Emily’s gaze zeroed in on his muscled forearms and broad wrists, sprinkled with short black hair. His big, workman’s hands wielded the spatula with amazing grace and dexterity that spoke of long practice.
As always, just being in the same room with Dillon made Emily uneasy. His great size and that staggering masculinity alone were intimidating. Added to that, he was too intense, too remote and brooding.
It was funny how siblings could be so different, she mused, sipping her coffee. In looks, Dillon was a rough-cut version of Keith, bigger, brawnier, more intense, but with the same black hair and clear blue eyes, the same strong facial bone structure. In Keith’s case the combination had added up to debonair and handsome, whereas in Dillon’s the same features had produced a rugged, harshly masculine face.
In personality, however, Dillon was nothing at all like either his vivacious older sister or his glib, charming younger brother.
He had never been anything but polite to her, yet she’d always sensed that he didn’t want her as a sister-in-law.
“There. All done.” He came around the end of the island carrying a platter piled high with pancakes and sausage and put it on the table. “C’mon, let’s dig in while it’s hot.”
“I’m really not much of a breakfast person,” Emily began, but he silenced her with a look, and when he held out a chair for her she sighed and slid off the barstool. She just didn’t have the energy or the will to fight him.
Dillon settled into the chair across from hers. He picked up the platter and filled first her plate, then his own.
“Oh, no, please. I couldn’t possibly eat all this.”
“Eat,” he commanded, giving her a stern look. “You need to keep your strength up. These past three days you’ve barely touched your food. That’s not good for you or the baby.”
She wanted to argue, but of course he was correct. Trust Dillon to hit upon just the right argument. With a sigh, Emily poured syrup over the pancakes and picked up her fork.
Though the food was delicious, she had no appetite, and she had to force herself to take small, nibbling bites. It was as though the grief and depression weighing her down had numbed all her senses. She seemed to be functioning in a haze, oddly disconnected from the world around her—even from her own body. Except for her heart. It was an aching knot in her chest.
They ate in silence for several minutes. Concentrating on finishing her meal and getting out of there, Emily jumped when Dillon spoke.
“Would you answer a question for me?”
Her head came up and she shot him a sharp look. “That depends on the question.”
“I know that for years you’ve been wanting to start a family, and that you were overjoyed to finally get pregnant, but how do you feel about the baby now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you still want it?”
Emily’s fork clattered to the plate. She stared at him, stunned. Reflexively, her hand splayed over her flat tummy. “Of course I do. How could I not? I don’t know how you can even ask such a—” The look on his face stopped her. “Oh. I see. You mean, now that I know Keith’s true colors, do I want his baby?”
“Something like that,” Dillon admitted, watching her in that intent way he had.
“Just because Keith fathered this child, that doesn’t necessarily mean he or she will inherit his character flaws. This will be my child, too.”
“If that’s how you feel, then why didn’t you tell anyone you were pregnant?”
Emily looked down and fixed her gaze on her fingers, plucking at the napkin in her lap. “I don’t know, exactly,” she mumbled. “I just didn’t want to.”
Lord, she didn’t want to talk about this. She didn’t want to talk, period. Or be around anyone. All she wanted was to be left alone. Then she could crawl back into bed and curl up under the covers and give in to the terrible pain and lethargy that threatened to smother her.
“Why not?” Dillon persisted.
“For one thing, I didn’t want to give the wagging tongues anything else to gossip about.” She kept her gaze lowered, avoiding his, and plucked at the napkin.
“You could’ve told the family. The news may have mitigated Mother’s grief a bit and maybe even gotten her off your back.”
Emily shook her head. “Actually, if I had a choice, I’d never tell Adele. You know how she was about Keith. I’m afraid she’ll see this baby as a substitute for him and try to take over. Once I tell her, I’m sure I’ll have a battle on my hands. I’m just not up to that right now.”
Emily raked her spread fingers through her hair. It was almost dry now, and curling around her face and shoulders. “Anyway…I…I wanted to hold on to this one thing, the one bright point in this whole mess. My little secret.” She looked at him pleadingly. “Can you understand that?”
“Yeah, I think so. Actually, you’re probably doing the smart thing keeping the news from Mother for as long as you can.”
“So…you won’t tell her?”
One corner of his mouth quirked. “We don’t communicate all that often. Trust me, she won’t hear it from me.”
Emily’s shoulders drooped with relief. Despite his less-than-perfect relationship with his mother, she had half expected him to take Adele’s side.
“You do realize that you’re going to have to tell her eventually, don’t you?” he prodded gently. “Pregnancy isn’t something you can hide forever.”
“I know. But I’d like to put it off for as long as I can.” Secretly, she harbored the fantasy that she’d never have to tell her mother-in-law.
Adele had never cared for her. It wasn’t personal—at least, Emily didn’t think so. Keith’s mother simply had not believed any woman was good enough for her precious younger son. Emily didn’t expect to hear much from Adele in the future, if she heard from her at all, which suited her just fine.
Listlessly, Emily picked up the fork again. Nibbling a bite of pancake, she let her mind drift. She didn’t want to think about that right now. She didn’t want to think about anything.
Covertly, Dillon watched the way she picked at her food. She was so withdrawn she was barely conscious of him or anything else. Surely that depth of depression couldn’t be endured for long, he thought.
He was trying to think of a way to distract her when the telephone rang, shattering the quiet of the kitchen.
Emily jumped. “Oh, Lord, who can that be? I…I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“Take it easy. You don’t have to. I’ll get it,” Dillon said, rising.
Snatching up the receiver of the wall telephone, he growled, “Maguire residence.”
“Dillon. I was hoping I’d find you there,” his sister said. “I tried calling your place but I got no answer.”
“I’m helping Emily with the legal red tape.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good. I suppose someone from the family should, but to tell you the truth, it just never occurred to me. I guess I was too focused on getting Mother home before she made another scene.”
“Yeah, I appreciate that. So, why’d you call, Charlotte?”
“Well, it’s Mother. She, uh…she says she needs to get away for a while. So she’s decided to go home with Roger and me.”
“What about her job?”
“She’d already talked to the head of the university about taking an emergency sabbatical, and they’re being very understanding. Midterm starts soon, so it’s a fairly good time. It’ll be difficult, but President Toomy is sure he can find a substitute professor to fill in for Mother.”
“How long does she plan on being away?”
“Until the fall semester starts.”
“I see.” Typical, he thought. His mother was going to be gone for nine months or so, but she couldn’t bring herself to call and tell him herself. She had to get Charlotte to do it for her.
“I’m sorry, Dillon,” Charlotte said softly. He didn’t have to ask for what. Both of his siblings had always been aware of their mother’s animosity toward him.
“Yeah, well, par for the course. Tell her I hope she enjoys her visit.”
“Uh…actually, there is one other thing.”
“Shoot.”
“She wants to know if you’ll keep an eye on her house while she’s away, maybe stop by every few days and water her plants and make sure everything’s all right?”
Dillon gave a snort of mirthless laughter. “Sure. Why not.”
“Oh, good. She’ll be relieved. She said to tell you she’d leave the key under the mat.”
She’d have to, Dillon thought. She refused to give him a key of his own to her elegant little town house.
“So, when are you leaving?” he asked.
“Actually…we’re heading for the airport in a few minutes. We’re booked on an early afternoon flight to Sarasota.”
Silence stretched out as Dillon absorbed that. He supposed he should consider himself lucky that she’d bothered to let him know at all. If she hadn’t needed him to look after her precious plants, she probably wouldn’t have. “I see. Well, have a good flight.”
When he turned from hanging up the receiver, Emily held her coffee cup cradled between her palms and gazed out the window at nothing.
“Looks like you got a reprieve,” he said, taking his seat again. “Mother is going home with Charlotte and Roger. They’re flying out this afternoon.”
Emily blinked and looked at him. “Really? Just like that? Without even saying goodbye?”