Back Where She Belongs(20)

Talk to me before you come out swinging. She’d promised Dylan she would. Instead she’d confronted Jim Crowley at a birthday party.

She was dying to leave. Her appetite had fled, but she refused to give the gawkers the satisfaction of seeing her run. When the waiter arrived, she calmly ordered a glass of merlot and pasta marinara, her head high, her face serene.

Jim Crowley was wrong about one thing. Her father would want the truth. And she was going to get it. As long as she had Dylan on her side. She had to make sure he stayed there.





CHAPTER EIGHT



THE NEXT NIGHT, Tara parked in front of Dylan’s adobe-style ranch house situated on a huge expanse of manicured cactus and desert plants, and climbed the steps to his porch. Tile mosaics of hummingbirds decorated the twin posts at the top. Was it just coincidence or had he had the mosaics made in honor of the hours they’d spent on Tara’s terrace?

Surely he wasn’t that sentimental.

If he was, it was sweet. Or sad.

Maybe both, which was how she felt about their past.

She shifted the tequila bottle to the other hand, since her palm was so sweaty. She’d taken forever to decide what to wear. Since when had she dithered about clothes? She’d tried a silk top with spaghetti straps and a white denim skirt, but decided the shirt was too clingy, the skirt too short. She didn’t want Dylan to think she was trying to look sexy.

She’d settled on purple silk slacks and a modest white linen blouse—business casual after she’d removed the gold hoop earrings, throwing on an amethyst pendant that didn’t look datelike.

Sheesh. Get a grip. It’s a chicken dinner, for God’s sake. A chicken with beer up its butt, no less. To talk about the investigation.

She’d gathered all the clues to share with him, including the conversation she’d had with Joseph that morning at the hospital when she’d asked for the insurance agent’s number, so she had a serious reason to get together with Dylan. Right? Ignoring the pounding of her heart and the squeak of the tequila bottle against her clammy hands, she rang the bell.

In a few seconds, Dylan opened the door. The sight of his face lifted her heart. His eyes held hers, sexual interest flaring, warming her everywhere, despite her determination to keep the meeting focused on business.

“Come in please.”

She stepped into the entry area, taking in his home—roomy, friendly, neat and full of personal touches. Nails clicked on the sand-colored tile floor and she looked down the hall to see a dog lumbering toward her.

“Oh, my God, is that...Duster?”

“It is.”

Tara had adored the golden retriever. She thought they’d had a special rapport. “He has to be so old now...”

“Fourteen. Yeah.”

“Damn.” Tara dropped to eye level with the dog. He’d put on weight, his muzzle was gray and his eyes cloudy, but it was unmistakably Duster. He rose on his back legs, put his front paws on her shoulder and dipped his nose to touch one of her cheeks, then the other, as she’d taught him. “He remembered European greeting.” She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“He’s deaf and almost blind, but he’d never forget you,” Dylan said softly, his expression full of tenderness.

“Good dog, Duster,” she said, scrubbing his ears the way he used to like, giving herself time to recover, breathing in the familiar doggy smell, while his tail thumped heavily against the floor.

She got to her feet. Being here with Dylan and his dog stirred up old feelings, like dust, making it hard to breathe or even see. It was ridiculous. They’d been teenagers, for God’s sake. You didn’t find your soul mate at seventeen, though she’d been so sure at the time. She’d been so sure about everything back then.

“I’m afraid to ask what you’re thinking,” Dylan said.

“You should be. The upshot is I thought I was smarter at seventeen than I think I am now.”

“Ah, but now you’re wiser. Wise beats smart every time.”

“I hope you’re right.” She didn’t feel very wise at the moment. She felt happy to be near him. She’d been back in Wharton for a week and, if anything, her reactions to him had grown stronger.

“You look sexy as hell. Damn.” He ran his gaze down her figure, making her feel nearly naked, business casual be damned. His compliments had always been sincere, never knee-jerk. He’d made her feel so attractive.

“You, too.” He wore dark jeans and a black-and-gray silk bowling shirt, and looked meltingly hot. This wasn’t a date, but she felt the same thrill—the delicious chance to be alone with him, anticipating brushes and touches and intense looks and maybe more. She held out the bottle of tequila. “For old times’ sake.”

He laughed. “Actually, I bought Mountain Dew and Grey Goose.”

“God. Dew-V-Dews! I forgot about them.”

“Remember Halloween when we had the water balloon fight on Hangman’s Hill?”

“Yeah. I wanted to sneak up on the couples hooking up in cars and you wouldn’t let me.”

“We would have scared the crap out of them. It was Halloween. They’d think they were being attacked by real zombies.”

“I know. That was the point at the time. It was mean of me.” She’d been too angry at everyone. Dylan’s love had softened her. She’d be forever grateful for that.

“So what’s your pleasure?” he asked.

You. Being here with you. “Let’s do the Dew-Vs.”

“You got it. Make yourself at home.” He left for the kitchen. Tara put the tequila bottle on the table and looked around. The great room was done in contemporary Southwest style, one wall painted coffee-brown, another mustard-yellow. The art on the wall included two stylized desert landscapes in vivid earth tones and a large whimsical abstract painting.

Dylan returned with ice-filled crystal tumblers, the yellow drink glowing golden in the warmly lit room. They took sips, watching each other, the ice tinkling merrily. She couldn’t stop grinning. The vodka warmed her stomach, Dylan’s gaze the rest of her.

“Your home is lovely,” she finally said, turning to survey the room again. Are those paintings originals?”

“Yes. Done by local artists.”

“Supporting the community, huh? Being town manager and all?”

“Wherever I can, sure.” He glanced at her, hesitated, then spoke. “Actually I have my eye on a state grant to establish a co-op gallery, complete with studios. We’ve got quite a few talented artists in town.”

“You’re taking the job seriously, that’s obvious,” she said. “So did you decorate the house or did, uh, your ex-wife?” She felt a nasty twinge. Jealousy, of all things.

She’d felt it back then, too, and it had been horrible. Secretly she’d hoped he would come to NAU sophomore year as he’d promised. Instead he’d gotten engaged. Within a year he’d replaced her with someone he wanted to spend his life with, not just college.

“Me. I bought this place three years ago. Candee and I divorced way back. Eight years.” He glanced away.

“Sore subject?” She shouldn’t be prying, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Not really. We managed to stay friends.”

“Looked that way at the funeral.” In fact, she thought she’d caught a flash of longing in Candee’s eyes when they’d mouthed their goodbyes. “Friends with benefits?” she teased. What is wrong with you?

Dylan colored.

“Look how red you are. You do sleep with her.” She did not want to know that. Thinking of him making love to Candee, looking at her the way he’d looked at Tara, as if she were the most important thing in his life.

“Not in a while. It’s not a good idea.” He shook his head, clearly embarrassed.

“Maybe not.” Why not? Did one of them want to get back together? Probably Candee. None of her business. If she asked more questions she’d sound as gossipy as the worst Whartonite.

“Anyway, what about you?” he asked, clearly wanting to change the subject. “I would have heard if you’d gotten married. Did you ever come close?”

“Not yet, no. Building a business is tough on the social life. I travel a lot, so there’s that...” That sounded lame. “I’ve dated, had boyfriends. Nothing too heavy. When the time is right...” And when would that be?

“That makes sense.” He looked down at his feet. Did he feel sorry for her? God, no. “I bought a condo,” she blurted, as if that were a substitute for true love and marriage.

“Yeah?”

“In Scottsdale. Great view. It’s the top floor.”

“A penthouse...wow.”

“It was a killer deal from a client. I put in an extra month after they ran through their budget for my services. We were so close to this amazing employee-management agreement that I had to see it through. They were selling the condo they used for visiting execs, so they gave it to me for a great price.”