by Dawn Atkins
The kiss seemed to touch off a bonfire that roared through her. Everything faded except Dylan’s mouth, his arms, his chest pressed against hers, his hips, too, his erection insistent against her belly. She ached for more.
She never wanted to stop. She didn’t dare stop. Reality would land like an avalanche, dousing the fire, making them see how foolish they were acting.
But what if it was great? What if it was healing?
Dylan broke off the kiss, leaving Tara rocking forward. “This is not a good idea. It’s late. We’ve been drinking.” Neither of them had touched the second high-test drinks she’d made. Dylan had spilled half of hers on her blouse.
“Right. Good.” Better to stop now, before it got heavy. Before they went too far and there would be consequences. And there would be consequences. Good or bad, she didn’t care to risk it, no matter what her body screamed.
She looked around, saw the dishes and picked up a plate. “I’ll clean up,” she forced out.
Dylan took the plate from her. “I’ve got it. You should go. Get some rest.”
She nodded. They practically ran inside, as if they both feared if she stayed one more second they’d tear off each other’s clothes in some wrongheaded grab for the best of their past.
She snatched her purse from the floor and patted Duster, who whined piteously for her to stay. Backing toward the door, she said, “The dinner was great. Beer-butt chicken...who knew?” she babbled.
Dylan gripped the edge of the door, as if to keep himself from going after her as she backed onto the terrace. “Glad you liked it.” His eyes glowed, the pupils huge.
“When the insurance adjuster calls me back about where the Tesla is, we can get your mechanic out there.”
“Sounds good.”
“As soon as I hear, I’ll call.”
“Do that,” he said hoarsely. “Night.” He shut the door.
She stood there, staring at the door, her heart pounding. What the hell was wrong with her?
She turned, grateful for the cool October breeze on her overheated face. She looked up at the sky, the stars white pinpricks in black velvet. They’d forgotten to look at the stars.
The door flew open. “The telescope,” Dylan blurted. “Venus will be bright tonight and the moon is so...” They both looked up. The moon was a huge orange ball overhead. “Big and...”
“Beautiful,” she finished. She saw the same yearning in his face that she knew was plastered over hers.
She did not need this. She had a plan for her life and it did not include this man or the town that had claimed him forever. She wouldn’t waste time wanting what could never be.
Even if they wanted to try, it wouldn’t work. They were too different. They’d hurt each other too deeply. She would never come first with him. And he would never rest easy with her. That was that.
“We don’t need a telescope to see that, do we?” she said softly.
“Guess not.” He was disappointed, but also relieved, she could tell. He knew it would be a mistake, too. That made her more certain than ever.
Until she sat in her car and noticed she could smell Dylan on her skin, that heady and arousing scent that made her crave him more than ever.
It took every ounce of willpower she had to drive away.
* * *
DYLAN STARED AT the door he’d just shut against the sight of Tara beneath a golden moon. Venus will be bright. What an idiot.
Duster whined, his eyes full of accusation.
“How do you think I feel?” he said. He’d wanted her with everything in him. Kissing her had been heaven...her sweet lips soft and giving and knowing. The electricity had been the same, the rush of heat and need.
And that was bad. He didn’t want that in his life. Couldn’t cope with it. Wanting her would take over his life. And he knew Tara could turn on him in a heartbeat. Even knowing she’d suffered without him, missed him, didn’t change the deeper truth—she disapproved of him, his choices, his life. Sooner or later, it would come up again. She would leave him in the emotional dust. He did not want to yearn again for an impossible love.
Love didn’t have to be crazy and all-consuming. In fact, it couldn’t be if you wanted it to last a lifetime.
He was still reeling from realizing that Candee had been right—he had kept Tara in his heart, burning candles to her memory, like a fool.
Candee had paid the price for his refusal to see the truth. He’d fought for their marriage. He’d watched his parents tear theirs up like so much paper. But he’d sabotaged his without knowing. He’d been in total denial.
He was ashamed, angry at himself.
He realized he could go right back to how he’d been with Tara.
For all they’d matured, too much remained the same. Tara was still mercurial and complicated. He still felt the need to protect her, to rescue her, whether she needed it or not.
That’s what helping her “investigate her case” was all about, for God’s sake. He was done managing people. He’d managed his father for ten years. It was enough. The complications with the Wharton contract were giving him fits, delaying his release from the company and his father.
Dylan had no time to relive old loves. That imprint thing made sense. He needed to get past that, and quick, if he ever expected to make a life with a woman—a solid, steady life, not the crazy, white-water raft trip he’d have with Tara. And he intended to do that. It was all part of his plan.
He carried the dishes in from the patio, pausing to stare at the sky. It was a good night for stargazing. He remembered trading places at the eyepiece—fingers tangling, faces inches apart, her hair falling against his face, the smell of her...
Not worth it. Not even close.
He cleaned up and headed to bed. Duster leaped up like a dog half his age. “She made you feel young again, didn’t she?” he said. She’d done the same to him and that wasn’t good for either of them. Like the huge orange moon overhead, he didn’t need a telescope to see that.
* * *
“IT’S A HOSPITAL ROOM, not a beauty parlor,” Judith groused, bracing the vase of flowers against the canvas bag on the passenger-seat floor. Tara had filled the bag with cosmetics, nail polish, hair gear and a portable iPod player.
“It can’t hurt and it could help wake her up.”
“I think you’re crazy, but it’ll probably cheer up your mother. She likes things to look good. I’ll bring her out when she wakes up.”
“Good.”
“Take it easy on the face goop. Faye wasn’t much for makeup.”
“I promise.” She drove off, pleased when she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Judith give a small wave.
Once in Faye’s room, Tara brightened the lights, set the flowers on the counter near the mirror and got the nineties playlist she’d put together going on the iPod with speakers.
Happy with how much more cheerful the room felt, she leaned in to kiss Faye’s forehead. “I’m thinking Stormy Skies eye shadow to go with your eyes. You agree?” She studied her sister’s face. “Blink once for no.”
Tara held her breath, hoping against hope for any sign of life. Nothing. “Stormy Skies it is.” Tara sighed. “Are you slipping away or fighting your way back, Faye?” she whispered.
Forcing herself to cheer up, she put the Sunset Crater photo into the silver frame, set it where Faye could see it, then misted Faye’s sheets and pillow with the peppermint and citrus spray the store clerk said would be energizing. After that, she plugged in the flatiron and set out the cosmetics and nail polish on Faye’s tray. “Makeover time,” she said, and got to work, singing along with MC Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This.” Rita was right. Some of that nineties music was pretty bad.
When she finished with Faye’s face, Tara studied the effect. “Much better. You can’t even see the shadow of the bruises.” It was Wednesday, nine days since the accident, eight days since Tara had arrived, and the bruises had faded substantially.
Next she worked on Fay
e’s hair. “You won’t believe what happened last night,” she said, deciding to think out loud with her sister. “I had dinner at Dylan’s and we almost went to bed together.” She paused mid brushstroke to see if Faye had responded to that.
Nothing.
“I know. Bad idea. In the end, I was the one who stopped us. I knew it would be pointless...probably sad, really.” If it wasn’t life changing. She straightened a strand of Faye’s hair. “I need to start dating. I’ve been lonely, but I didn’t notice. That should fix it.”
She finished Faye’s hair, admiring the smoothness, the slight under-curl she’d achieved. “Perfect.” She stared at her sister’s closed eyes. She seemed so far away. “Come on, Faye,” she said. “Wake up. Live. You’ve got music and flowers and people who love you.” Her gaze snagged on the Sunset Crater picture. “Look at how happy you were, how in love. I’m sorry I didn’t see that at the time.”
Her sister didn’t respond.
“But you weren’t happy before the wreck, were you? You were worried. What was wrong? The questions are piling up and you’re the only one who can answer them.”
Fighting frustration, she placed Faye’s hand on the tray and shook the nail polish. “Neon orange,” she said. “Not your style, but it’s lively, right? And you need lively stuff.” She’d chosen candy-apple red lipstick for the same reason. She opened the polish, loaded the brush and reached down for Faye’s hand. Faye’s index finger twitched.
Tara gasped, dripping polish on Faye’s knuckle. Her heart leaped. “Faye? Did you do that on purpose? Do it again.” She stared at Faye’s hand. There. Another twitch. Wait. Maybe not. Maybe Tara had imagined that.
Someone entered the room. “We can hear that nasty music all the way from—”
“Rita! Her finger twitched! She’s waking up.”
Rita moved swiftly to Faye’s bedside. She hesitated, probably at the change in Faye’s appearance, then picked up Faye’s hand. Tara clicked off the music. “You coming back, sugar?” Rita asked softly. “Can you squeeze my hand for me?”
Nothing. Rita took her flashlight out and tested Faye’s pupils. No change.
Rita did the rest of the tests, then sighed. “Sorry, hon. Transient spasms. It happens.”
“So it’s nothing?” Tara’s heart sank. “It doesn’t mean she’s improving?”
Rita sat on the chair next to Tara, her eyes full of sympathy. “It’s nice, you fixing her face and hair. I’m gonna need sunglasses to tolerate that nail polish, though.”
Tara couldn’t even manage a smile.
“How you doing?” Rita asked.
“Okay, I guess.”
“It’s hard, this limbo you’re in. You gotta prepare yourself either way.”
“I wish I’d been there for her more...before.”
“We’re all just human beings doing what we can.”
“She was on antidepressants, Rita, and something for anxiety. I had no idea how bad off she was. I’m scared that if she was drinking that night, the alcohol mixed with the pills might have caused her to lose control of the car.”
Rita blew out a breath and gave Tara an irritated look. “I don’t know what it is about you that does this to me.”
“What do you mean?”
Rita pushed to her feet. “I checked the labs, okay? Your sister had no alcohol in her system when she was admitted. And don’t say one more word about it.”
Faye hadn’t been drunk. Thank God. Tara’s heart lifted as she took the deepest breath she’d taken since she arrived. Her whole body felt lighter. She wanted to burst out laughing. She wanted to dance to MC Hammer.
“You have no idea what a relief that is.” She jumped up and kissed Rita right on the mouth. “Thank you, thank you, a million times, thank you.”
“Calm yourself down now.” But Rita was smiling. “They got chocolates on sale in the gift shop, you want to thank me better than a big wet kiss. No nuts, no caramels, no coconut.” With that, she was gone, leaving Tara smiling in gratitude, almost collapsing with relief.
The rumor was wrong. But what about her father? Fallon had hinted he’d been the one driving. He claimed he’d smelled alcohol. The only way to find out if her father had been drunk would be to get her mother to ask the hospital about it.
And what if he had been? That would be terrible, too. Judith would have Tara’s head for suggesting the possibility to her mother.
She looked back at her sister. “I never doubted you. Not really. I’m going to find out who’s lying about you and why. Don’t you worry.” She was more determined than ever. She couldn’t wait to tell Dylan. She started to call him, then realized she needed to hustle if she wanted her timing at Wharton to work. She needed to sit in on some of the meeting after she looked through Faye’s office.
Besides, she’d rather tell Dylan in person, see the expression on his face...see him again.
It was true, she thought with dismay. She couldn’t wait to see him again...maybe touch him...definitely smell him.
She glanced at Faye, who looked almost like herself with her hair done and makeup on. What would Faye tell her? For God’s sake, grow up.
The Faye in the Sunset Crater photo would say, Go with your heart.
And that, she knew, she didn’t dare do.
* * *
“I’M GOING TO TELL Victor we’ve authorized overtime to catch up on production,” Dylan told his father early Wednesday morning.
“We can’t afford that and you know it. You set the price too low as it is. Let ’em wait. God knows, we waited long enough for that contract.” His father braced his head in his hands, clearly exhausted. He hadn’t been sleeping. Dylan had gotten emails from him at two and three in the morning, always about a new idea to pursue. Since the funeral, his father had been more miserable than ever. He’d retreated more and more to the research lab, AWOL from his CEO duties.
Dylan had a sinking feeling he’d have to stay longer at Ryland than he’d intended to make sure his father was back on track again.
“We have to do what we can. Once we get the specs adjusted, we’ll catch up quickly. If we don’t meet our deadlines, Wharton can’t meet theirs and the dominos tumble.”
“Maybe you should have me speak at that damn meeting. You can be nice and accommodating and I’ll tell them exactly where they went wrong.”
“I’ll be fine, Dad.” No way would he let his father add fuel to the conflict after the exchange with Joseph at the funeral. Dylan hadn’t realized Joseph had questioned the Ryland contract. With the high fail rate their testers were reporting now, he was certain all the managers would be concerned.
The delay of the Wharton management meeting where he was to speak had given Victor more time to gather data from his shift managers for Dylan to share during his presentation.
“I say no on the overtime,” his father declared.
“I talked it over with Victor and we agree it’s the best solution. Once the Wharton batteries get out in quantity, we’ll make up for any money we lost.”
“Are you forgetting whose company this is?” his father demanded.
“You signed off on the bid. My job is to supervise the operation.”
His father grabbed his ring of keys from the desk and held them out. “Then you might as well hand these over to Joe Banes. Tell him to turn off the light once he’s cleaned us out.”
“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” Dylan said, leaving before he blew up, which would only make it worse. His jaw ached from being clenched. Tara’s words played in his head: Does your father realize you saved him? Does he appreciate what you gave up for him?
Not enough, no. But Dylan had made the right choice. He’d helped build a remarkable company. He’d pushed hard to get here. It had been a risk, letting income drop for the next quarter, but the payoff would be huge. When he faced a tough decision, Dylan found himself thinking, What would Abbott Wharton do?
Out in the factory, Dylan went straight to Victor’s glassed-in offi
ce. “It’s a go on overtime.”
“Good,” Victor said, holding out stapled pages. “Dale put together the figures.” Dale was the Quality Assurance manager. “We doubled our tests on this lot. If Wharton fails them, maybe Sean’s right. Maybe they are sabotaging us for a price break.” He offered a grim smile. Victor and Dylan had shaken their heads more than once over his father’s suspicion of all things Wharton. Dylan had advised Victor on the best approach to working with his father. He hoped to hell it would be enough.
“I’ll give them the data and explain our system. If they adjust the specs like we’ve suggested, we should be fine.”
“If Jeb Harris would let us over there to see what equipment they’re using and how they’re using it, we could clear this up quick.”
“He says it’s proprietary,” Dylan reminded him. Victor thought the Wharton testing manager was a bit high and mighty. “The test results should be enough.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Victor said, fire in his eyes. “I stand by my people and my people stand by their work.”
“I appreciate how you’ve handled it, top to bottom, Victor.” For all his flaws, his father’s scrappy, underdog tenacity and grit had inspired fierce loyalty in the employees all the way down to the warehouse guys. Ryland Engineering was a good company with heart and spirit and Dylan was proud of what they’d built. He would see this through if it was the last thing he did.
* * *
AT 10:00 A.M., TARA STEPPED into the lobby of Wharton Electronics for the first time since she was a kid, awed by the machinery and lights on the factory floor. Her father had been so proud of the place. He came alive within these walls. His voice went lighter and his eyes sparkled. That gave her a stab of grief.
The lobby was impressive, with a high ceiling, huge windows and tons of light. Her steps on the granite floor echoed as if she were in a luxury-car showroom. Photos of Wharton batteries jutted from the wall on 3-D rectangles, so bright and pretty they looked like edible jewels.
