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How could she have possibly predicted that they would run into Dylan?
Isabelle hadn’t stopped chattering about him since they’d left the ice-cream parlor an hour ago. What a nice man he was. How kind he had been to Adrienne and Isabelle when they’d been involved in a minor traffic accident a couple of months ago. How strong he had been to carry Adrienne all the way to his patrol car when she hurt her ankle. How funny he was when he teased Isabelle and called her princess.
Apparently, Deborah wasn’t the only McCloud woman to have succumbed to Dylan’s lazy charms. It had been all she could do to prevent herself from warning Isabelle not to give her heart to the man; he would only turn around and break it. Shatter it into so many pieces that she would never be able to find all the parts.
The relationship between Deborah and Dylan had been too passionate, too complex and too volatile for her, as young and as sheltered as she’d been. At times, she had felt smothered, at others overwhelmed by the intensity of their feelings. Because of those factors, it had ended devastatingly—and perhaps inevitably, considering the differences between them. What few parts of Deborah’s heart had been left intact after her breakup with Dylan had crumbled beneath the weight of her father’s betrayal such a short time later.
“Deborah?” Lenore appeared in the open bedroom door, her smile both weary and apologetic. “I’m home. I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long.”
Because Lenore looked so tired, Deborah didn’t have the heart to complain about being left in charge of Isabelle. “That’s okay. We managed.”
“Yes, Isabelle told me you took her to a movie. That was nice of you.”
Deborah shrugged and set the comb on the cherry dresser in her bedroom. “I didn’t know how else to entertain her. She seemed to enjoy the outing.”
“Yes, she was just telling me all about it. She had a lovely time. Um…she mentioned that you saw Dylan Smith at the ice-cream parlor.”
Deborah scowled. “Yes. We saw him. Why on earth has Nathan let her get so attached to that…to Dylan?”
“I believe it all began while Nathan and Caitlin were on their honeymoon, when Isabelle was staying with Gideon and Adrienne. Dylan helped Adrienne when she was injured in a car accident, and the friendship grew from there. Adrienne seems to have grown almost as fond of Dylan as Isabelle—in a purely platonic way, of course,” she added unnecessarily.
“I’m still surprised that Gideon doesn’t object to his wife being buddies with one of his oldest enemies.”
“Obviously, Adrienne is free to choose her own friends. And, actually, I think Gideon and Dylan are getting along a little better these days, which is a good thing, since they’ll probably be interacting on occasion because of Adrienne. I wouldn’t call Gideon and Dylan friends, exactly….”
“I would certainly hope not,” Deborah muttered, appalled by the very idea.
“…but Gideon has become mature enough to put the past behind him. Gideon has probably realized how silly it is to carry a grudge for so long just because he and Dylan had a few confrontations in their schooldays. And Nathan was simply being the overprotective big brother when he objected to you being so intensely involved with Dylan at such a young and vulnerable age. But that all happened so long ago. I don’t know why you can’t let it go, as well—unless, of course, you still have feelings for—”
“I don’t,” Deborah snapped to prevent her mother from even finishing that sentence. “As I have told you plenty of times, the only feeling I have for Dylan Smith is extreme dislike.”
“Well, I like him!” Deborah hadn’t seen Isabelle appear in the doorway behind Lenore, but the angry outburst certainly got her attention. Isabelle was glaring at her, her little fists on her hips. “Officer Smith is my friend, and you should be nice to him like Nate and Gideon are.”
“Isabelle.” Lenore spoke quite firmly, a tone Deborah remembered very well from her own childhood. “We don’t raise our voices like that. It isn’t polite.”
“And, besides,” Deborah added when Isabelle subsided into a pout, “I was perfectly civil to your friend at the ice-cream parlor.”
Almost nobly polite, in her own opinion. It hadn’t been easy to resist the impulse to snipe at him, but she hadn’t wanted to upset Isabelle. But she would be darned if she would answer to a four-year-old.
“Go wash your hands, Isabelle,” Lenore instructed. “We’ll be having dinner soon.”
“That child is in danger of becoming spoiled,” Deborah muttered when Isabelle shuffled away. “It seems that everyone in this family indulges her. Even Dylan.”
Princess Isabelle, indeed.
“We are going to have to be careful,” Lenore agreed. “She’s had a rough time in her short life, being orphaned so young and moved around so many times. I suppose we try to overcompensate for that. I’m sure she’s a bit unsettled today because Nathan and Caitlin have been called away, changing her routine again. Routines are important to four-year-olds, you know. And she really is very fond of Dylan.”
“Fine. That’s between her and Nathan, I suppose. But don’t expect me to start cozying up to him just because the rest of the family doesn’t want to hurt the kid’s feelings.”
Lenore took a step nearer to lay a hand against her daughter’s cheek in a gesture that was as familiar as the no-nonsense tone she had used with Isabelle earlier. “You’ve never told me the details of your breakup with Dylan, but I know how badly it hurt you. And then your father broke your heart when he left us for Kimberly. He broke mine, too, you know.”
Deborah swallowed a hard knot in her throat. “I don’t—”
“You don’t want to talk about it. I know. You never do. But I need to say one more thing. Better than anyone else in the family, I understand how hard it is for you to accept Isabelle into this household. Into our lives. I know what you see when you look at her. Don’t you think I sometimes see it, too? I only agreed to accept her into our family when I realized that refusing to do so would place an insurmountable wall between Nathan and myself, something I simply couldn’t allow. His kind heart wouldn’t allow him to abandon his orphaned little sister when she had no one else to turn to, even if it cost him the rest of his family.”
“Okay, Nathan’s a saint….”
“Hardly,” Lenore murmured with a smile. “But he’s my son, and I love him. So I accepted the child he will raise as his own. And, in doing so, I found my life immeasurably enriched. As hard as it may be for you—or for others—to understand, I’ve grown to love Isabelle very much. The joy and laughter and affection she brought with her replaced the anger and bitterness and hurt that I had lived with for so long. And it isn’t just me. Nathan and Caitlin adore her, and even Gideon has learned to express his feelings more easily. It’s impossible not to smile when Isabelle is around. We haven’t forgotten how she was conceived, but we’ve put it behind us. And, in doing so, I think we’ve learned to forgive Stuart—to different degrees, of course.”
Blind instinct had Deborah moving back, away from her mother’s tender touch. Away from the unexpressed request she simply couldn’t fulfill. She would certainly never be cruel to Isabelle—to any child, for that matter—but she couldn’t promise to accept the little girl the way the rest of the family had. Not if it meant forgiving what Deborah still considered to be unforgivable.
“I think I’d like to take a quick shower before dinner,” she said. “I still have sticky cola all over my leg from the movie theater.”
Lenore sighed, but didn’t push, since she knew it would serve no purpose except to make Deborah more defensive. “All right. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.”
Half an hour wasn’t very long to repair a major crack in an emotional wall, Deborah mused as her mother left the room. But she could do it.
She’d done so plenty of times before.
Chapter Three
Lenore called Deborah to the telephone later that evening. Before Deborah could ask, Lenore added, “It’s Lindsey Newman.”
Deborah lifted her eyebrows in surprise. She couldn’t imagine why a woman she hadn’t seen in years would be calling her at her mother’s house. “Did she say what she wants?”
“No, she just asked if you were available to speak to her. You can take it in the den, if you like. I’ll be in the kitchen, making a cake for tomorrow’s church potluck.”
Deborah had been sitting in the den since dinner with her face buried in a thick book, leaving Lenore to help Isabelle with her bath, then read her stories and tuck her into bed. They’d all been perfectly courteous during dinner, Isabelle having returned to her sunny mood. Everyone had been very careful not to mention Dylan’s name, but Deborah had been ready for time to herself by the end of the meal.
She picked up the phone to find out why her peaceful solitude had been interrupted. “Hello?”
“Deborah, hi. It’s Lindsey Newman.”
“Lindsey. It’s been a long time.” There was a question implied in the statement, a polite prompting for the reason for the call.
“I know. Except for seeing each other at the weddings, we’ve hardly had a chance to speak in the past few years. Seems like when you’re in town, I’m always gone. Anyway, I know you’re wondering why I called.”
“Well, as a matter of fact…”
“I wanted to ask if you’re free for lunch tomorrow. Or if not lunch, maybe dinner?”
Frowning in genuine bewilderment now, Deborah answered slowly. “Actually, I am free for lunch. My mother’s got some sort of potluck thing at her church that I wasn’t planning to attend.”
“Great!” Lindsey’s voice practically bubbled with satisfaction. “So can you meet me? How about pizza? It’s been ages since I’ve had pizza.”
“I suppose I can. Is there any particular reason we’re meeting for lunch tomorrow or is it just for the pleasure of my company?”
Lindsey laughed. “Actually, there is a reason. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to wait until tomorrow to discuss it with you.”
“Okay, sure.” Though still confused, Deborah was perfectly willing to meet Lindsey for lunch. They didn’t know each other very well, Lindsey having been a couple of years ahead of Deborah in school, but Deborah had always liked the bubbly redhead. She was sure their lunch would be much more entertaining than the church potluck her mother had been trying to talk her into attending.
She was still curious when she entered the designated pizzeria at one o’clock the next afternoon. They had chosen the time in hopes of avoiding the noon rush, but the place was still crowded. She was glad Lindsey had arrived early enough to have a table waiting when Deborah walked in.
Wearing a hot-pink jersey T-shirt with a hot-pink-and-orange flippy chiffon skirt, Lindsey stood to greet her. The colors should have been awful with her mop of red curls, but somehow it all worked, making Lindsey look bright and fresh and cheerful. In contrast, Deborah felt almost subdued in the red polo shirt she had paired with a short, straight khaki skirt.
“It’s really good to see you,” Lindsey said with a warm smile, her eyes sparkling with characteristic enthusiasm. “You look great, by the way. Love the hair.”
“Thanks. You look good, too.”
They took their seats at opposite sides of the booth, then chatted about inconsequential topics until they’d placed their orders and received their food. Lindsey was a close friend of Caitlin’s and had been the maid of honor in her wedding, so she and Deborah had no trouble making conversation, though they had spent little time together in the past.
“I always thought Caitlin and Nathan would make a good couple,” Lindsey said as she lifted a slice of Canadian-bacon-and-mushroom pizza. “Ever since he hired her as his partner in the law firm, there was always something special between them. Of course, when he took in your little sister, I wondered if Caitlin was prepared for a ready-made family, but it seems to be working out just fine.”
“Yes, the three of them seem very close.”
“I don’t know if I would have the nerve to start out a new marriage with a three-year-old to raise. I’ve sort of made it a policy not to date guys with kids. Too many complications.”
“Exactly the way I feel about it,” Deborah agreed, reaching for her soda.
Lindsey sighed. “Not that I ever have time to date, as much as I travel for my job. Which, by the way, brings me to what I wanted to discuss with you.”
Deborah lifted an eyebrow. She knew that Lindsey was a sales rep for a local company; she believed they manufactured fishing lures or some such sports-related merchandise. She couldn’t imagine what that had to do with her. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Rumor has it you’re between jobs right now.”
“In a way. I recently completed a contract in Tampa, and now I’m considering some other offers. But I really wouldn’t be interested in selling fishing lures.”
Lindsey laughed and shook her head. “I’m not suggesting you should. Actually, I’m considering opening a business here in Honesty, and I wondered if you would be interested in becoming a partner.”
Deborah set her plastic tumbler down to study the other woman in surprise. “Really? What sort of business?”
“It would be a franchise store. A company based in Chicago is manufacturing a line of modular office furnishings—some of the coolest stuff I’ve seen on the market. I’m not sure if you’re aware that my degree was in interior design. A long way from fishing lures, I know, but it’s something I’ve always been interested in. I sort of stumbled into the sales job when I needed to pay off college loans. It’s been so profitable, I’ve been slow to give it up, but now I’m ready to be self-employed and cut out some of the travel. Selling this furniture intrigues me, and since I know office design is your area…”
Deborah was technically considered an efficiency design consultant, her specialty being the maximization of office work space and effective traffic-pattern management. She didn’t select colors or fabrics or furnishings as much as she arranged for the best use of limited space, and her services had been in increasing demand among growing businesses that weren’t yet ready to expand into larger spaces.
She liked her job. Never too long in one place, no getting attached to people and then having to say goodbye. She much preferred dealing with blueprints and cutouts than trying to understand the complex workings of other peoples’ minds.
“I know you’ve been freelancing, and I’m sure you like it that way,” Lindsey rushed on when Deborah didn’t immediately speak. “But, think about it. Wouldn’t it be nice to expand the services you can offer? To provide modern furnishings that work well with your space-usage expertise? A partner to share the workload? To bounce ideas off?”
Deborah had certainly considered similar projects before. She had interned with several interior-design firms during college and had received offers during the past couple of years while she’d worked as a freelancer, primarily on word-of-mouth referrals. She hadn’t been getting rich, but she’d been living comfortably. Mostly, she’d been completely self-sufficient, dependent on no one, answerable only to herself, all of which had seemed very important to her since she’d left college.
“Surely you’ve noticed that this area is doing quite well business-wise?” Lindsey added, her pitch obviously well-rehearsed. “It’s one of the fastest-growing areas in the state. Minority-owned businesses alone have increased by almost forty percent since nineteen—”
“Lindsey.” Deborah decided it was time to interrupt before the other woman pulled out a PowerPoint presentation. “Why me?”
“Because you fit so well into the business plan I envision,” Lindsey replied promptly. “I’ve followed reports of your career with both interest and envy. When Caitlin mentioned that you just finished a job and were considering new offers, it seemed the perfect time to approach you with mine.”
“This has really caught me out of the blue.”
“I realize that. And I hope you understand that I’m certainly not expecting an immediate answer. Take all the time you like to think about it; I’ve got to make a short sales trip early this week, anyway.”
“To be honest, I hadn’t planned to move back to this area. There’s an advantage to quiet anonymity, you know.”
Lindsey smiled in commiseration. “Don’t I know it. Nearly everyone around here has known me all my life, and they feel that gives them the right to comment on my personal business whenever they like.”
“Exactly. And it isn’t as if my family hasn’t had its share of public problems,” Deborah added in a mutter.
“I know. There will always be gossip, I suppose, but Nathan and Gideon seem to have risen above it very well. Nathan and Caitlin’s law firm is thriving, and Gideon’s really starting to hit it big with his writing. And your mother is certainly a highly respected member of the community.”
That understatement made Deborah grimace. “Yes, well, I’m not sure I want to take a place here among them. I rather like being completely on my own.”
“I’ve been on my own for a while, too—even though I still live in the town where I grew up. Sometimes it gets sort of…I don’t know…lonely.” Lindsey’s somber expression lasted only a moment, and then she replaced it with her usual cheery smile. “But there are certainly advantages to it, as well. So take all the time you need to think about my offer. But promise me you will think about it.”
“I’ll think about it,” Deborah replied. Why not? Thinking certainly didn’t involve obligation.
The brightness of Lindsey’s smile increased by several watts. “Thanks. I’ve brought along a file full of catalogues and figures and projections—you’ll find I’ve been doing my homework.”
“Apparently so.”
A tall, broad-shouldered man with fussily styled, thinning light-brown hair, sun-narrowed blue eyes and a shark’s smile paused beside their table. “Well, hey, Deborah. Looking good. Haven’t seen you around in a while.”
Deborah gave him a sidelong glance. “Let’s keep it that way a while longer, shall we?”
Lindsey giggled.
Kirk Sawyer, former pro football player turned pitchman for his father’s automobile dealership, scowled. “You always were a snotty bitch.”
“And I’ve gotten even better at it since you used to annoy the hell out of me in school. Don’t hang around and make me demonstrate it.”
He snorted and turned to stalk away. His arrogant footsteps weren’t quite steady; Kirk was rapidly becoming the town drunk, even though he still thought of himself as the local hero.
It hadn’t been ruined knees alone that had destroyed Kirk’s athletic career, though he would never admit that his problems had run much deeper. His daddy took good care of him, Deborah thought with a shake of her head. It was because of Bill Sawyer’s pleas that Nathan had reluctantly defended Kirk in several DUI cases, until he’d finally had enough and refused to serve as Kirk’s lawyer.
“Way to go, Deborah,” Lindsey murmured. “That guy gives me the creeps. He made a heavy pass at me at a club one night. Thought I was going to have to pull out the pepper spray, but Dylan Smith was there to help me out.”
“Of course he was.” Former bad boy Dylan had somehow become the new local hero, Deborah thought, bemused by the reversals of fortune.
“Enough business. Let’s rehash your brother’s wedding.”
Smiling at the abrupt change of subject, Deborah asked, “Which brother? They’ve both had weddings this year.”
“The latest. Gideon. Everyone was so surprised when he suddenly up and married his New York agent. Word is they’re going to split their time between Honesty and New York—mostly Honesty, since everyone knows how much Gideon hates having lots of people around.”
“Yes, that’s their plan.”
“Adrienne seems confident she can handle her clients’ business from here, for the most part. She told Caitlin she’s going to cut back to just a select few. Gideon, of course, and a couple of other long-time clients. And now Dylan. That was certainly a shock.”
A half-eaten slice of pizza fell from Deborah’s suddenly nerveless fingers, landing with a splat on her plate. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Dylan Smith. You haven’t heard yet? Dylan hasn’t said much about it, but you know how word gets around. Yolanda Krump found out that Adrienne has agreed to represent Dylan for a novel he has written. Yolanda’s sister works at the post office, you know. She’s the one who let the news slip. Yolanda is irate, of course, because Adrienne declined to represent that rambling so-called work of autobiographical fiction Yolanda’s been babbling about for ages.”
“Dylan’s written a book.” It was the only part of Lindsey’s explanation Deborah could focus on just then. “And Adrienne’s representing him.”
“Kicker, isn’t it? Especially since everyone knows he and Gideon have never exactly gotten along. And now Gideon’s wife is his agent and Dylan’s. One of those small-world things.” Lindsey took a sip of her cola, then suddenly tilted her head. “You and Dylan were once an item, weren’t you?”
“A long time ago,” Deborah muttered, well aware that Lindsey already knew. “Back when we were just kids.”
“So did you know then that he had aspirations of being a writer?”
“No.”
“Ironic, isn’t it, that he and Gideon have so much in common, really? Both good-looking guys, close to the same age, both writers.”
“Lindsey.”
“Mm?”
“If you want me even to consider a business partnership with you, you have to promise one thing.”
“Which is?”
“We don’t talk about Dylan Smith.”
“Oh.” Lindsey’s expression turned speculative. “Sore subject?”
“You could say that.”
“So, um, Dylan who?”
Deborah nodded in satisfaction. “Exactly.”
Deborah was fuming when she stormed into her mother’s house. During the drive back, she had tried very hard to concentrate on Lindsey’s business offer, but her thoughts kept circling back to the same infuriating point.
“Mother!”
Lenore appeared in the living-room doorway with an expression that conveyed both curiosity and displeasure. “Honestly, Deborah, there’s no need to shout. How was your lunch with Lindsey?”
“Did you know Dylan Smith has written a book? And that Adrienne is going to represent him?”
Lenore frowned. “I suppose Lindsey told you that. I wonder where she heard it.”
“You didn’t answer me. Did you know?”
After only a momentary pause, Lenore nodded. “I knew. I thought it was still a secret in town. I should have known better. I wonder how Lindsey found out.”
“What I would rather know is how—and when—you found out.”
“I bet it came from the post office. Dylan had to mail several things to Adrienne’s New York office, and you know what a bunch of gossips those folks are who’ve been working in our post office for the past thirty years. Especially Yolanda Krump’s sister Twyla. She probably told Yolanda, who spread it all over town.”
Deborah’s hands drew into fists at her hips. “Would you please answer my question? How long have you known about Dylan’s writing?”
“Not very long. Gideon told me. Adrienne seems confident that she’s going to be able to sell Dylan’s work, so it will become common knowledge eventually. Gideon figured he might as well tell me about it before the gossip broke—though it seems he barely beat it.”
“How could Adrienne do this to us? And why did Gideon let her? Surely he told her our family hasn’t exactly been friendly with Dylan.”
“Honestly, Deborah, I can’t believe what I’m hearing from you.” Lenore shook her head in disapproval. “To think that you, of all people, would suggest that a husband has a right to interfere in his wife’s business decisions or to forbid her from making a decision. Just as Adrienne has a right to have Dylan for a friend, she certainly has every right to represent him if she considers him a potentially valuable client.”
With a wince, Deborah cleared her throat. “That wasn’t what I was saying…exactly.”