by Cara Summers
Dallas leaned closer and spoke more softly. “I mean, maybe I want him to find out but I’m too chicken to actually tell him myself. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, in a creepy Freudian sort of way.” Wendy took a thoughtful sip of her club soda. She saved her calories for peanuts or any other snacks the bar offered.
Dallas did the opposite. Her calories generally went toward alcohol when she was out. Trudie, on the other hand, had no boundaries. She simply indulged in everything.
Trudie licked the salted rim of her glass and then put it down near the peanuts. “Well, kiddo, if you want him to find out, this will be one hell of a good way.”
“Except I really don’t want him to find out.” Dallas sighed. “I don’t think.”
The other two exchanged sympathetic looks.
Wendy spoke first. “Okay, I hate to point out the obvious, but once you take him to meet the parents, it’s gonna be out of your hands.”
“First, this isn’t about meeting my parents. Second, they rarely talk about anything but themselves and what ever research they’re currently involved in, and when they don’t have the floor, my brother does. Since they dismiss my job out of hand, they never ask about it. In fact, I think they like to pretend it doesn’t exist.”
Wendy reached for another handful of peanuts. “Yeah, but you don’t think they’ll be a little more chatty about you with a new face at the table?”
“Not if I warn my mother ahead of time.”
They both chuckled, and then Trudie said, “Like she’s going to listen to you.”
“She will. Otherwise she knows I won’t be showing up for any more—” Dallas hooked two sets of fingers in the air “—quote ‘family dinners.’”
“Ah, blackmail,” Wendy said, nodding. “Good move.”
Trudie frowned, clearly not buying the plan. “What about your father or brother? Or even Dakota, for that matter?”
“Dakota will be totally cool. Mother will take care of Cody and my father.”
“I still think it’s risky.” Wendy signaled the waitress for another club soda. “But, of course, I vote you just tell him. If he doesn’t like it, screw him. You don’t need that. You guys want another one?”
They both nodded, and Wendy took care of it with a few hand signals to the waitress.
“I don’t know,” Trudie said. “I just don’t think she should be hasty. Once he knows her better, he may be more forgiving.”
“Oh, jeez,” Wendy said loudly enough to earn her a couple of glares. “Like Dallas needs forgiveness. How would you like it if some guy told you he didn’t want you working at a department store?”
“That’s not what I meant. You always choose to take everything I say wrong.” Trudie got that huffy look on her face that meant the silent treatment wasn’t far be hind. Which also meant it was time to call it a night.
Dallas sighed. “I think Trudie was talking about me playing a mind game with him. The whole mystery thing.”
“Exactly.” Trudie sat back, her arms folded across her chest.
“Whatever.” Wendy fished the lime out of her drink and popped it into her mouth.
Dallas winced. She liked the flavor of lime, but the actual fruit? Eew. “So, what’s happening with you, Trudie? Your boss has to love that display window. It re ally is something.”
Trudie’s entire expression changed. “They think I’m a genius.”
“You are. Wendy, you should go by and see the window. Totally awesome.”
The conversation went in a neutral direction and everyone seemed to relax. Pretty typical girls’ night out for them, actually. Dallas didn’t know why she insisted on throwing Wendy and Trudie together. They were so different. But both dear friends, and maybe she was more like Dakota than she cared to admit.
Dallas liked harmony, the scales perfectly balanced. It was the Libra in her. That’s why she couldn’t grasp why she’d set herself up as she had. Saturday could be disastrous. And totally avoidable. It wasn’t too late to back out. She had to really think about this. As if she hadn’t wrung herself out worrying already.
She took a deep breath, trying to stay focused on the conversation. But something kept niggling at her, something too horrible to admit. There was possibly another reason she wanted to take Eric to dinner at her parents’.
His meeting them, seeing the beautiful white Victorian in which she’d grown up, would legitimize her. Prove she was more than a construction worker. That she was his kind of woman. And no matter how much she rejected the possibility, it sat heavily in her stomach, eating at her, making her sick. Because if it were true, that would make her a snob just like them.
ERIC OPENED THE DOOR TO HIS apartment, his eyes lighting with appreciation. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She hadn’t even made it over the threshold before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She sighed. “Maybe we should stay here.”
“Tempting.” He smiled and leaned back to look at her. “But I don’t want to disappoint your parents. That wouldn’t put us off to a very good start.”
She stifled a nervous laugh. Start? Tonight could be the finish. “You really don’t have to wear a tie, you know.”
He stepped back and studied the obscenely expensive red silk blouse she’d received as a Christmas present from her parents but would never have spent the money on herself. With it she wore casual cream-colored slacks and taupe flats.
“Okay.” He loosened the conservative gray tie and then pulled it off. “Better?”
“You don’t even have to wear a sports jacket.”
He looked doubtful. “What will your father and brother be wearing?”
She laughed. “You sound like a twelve-year-old girl.”
“What?” One eyebrow went up. “A twelve-year-old girl, huh?”
She backed up. “Yep.”
“Better take it back.”
“Or else?”
He grabbed her, and she came up against his chest, laughing, struggling for a breath. She tilted her head back, anticipating his kiss, but he only touched the corner of her mouth lightly with the tip of his tongue.
“Hey.” She raised herself on her tiptoes.
A cocky grin curved his lips. “Hey, what?”
“You don’t want to play this game with me,” she said sweetly. “You’ll lose.”
“What game?” He grunted when she rubbed against his fly and then quickly retreated. “You’re a cruel woman.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Not even going to deny it, huh?”
“Nope.” She smiled and rubbed up against him again. He was hard already.
His eyes closed briefly and he moaned. “You’re damn lucky the car is going to be here in ten minutes.”
“I don’t know why you hired one. We could have taken the train.”
“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t let me pick you up at your apartment.”
She stiffened and stepped around him to smooth her hair. Her blouse had come loose in the back, and she took her time tucking it in.
“Dallas, I’m not trying to give you a hard time. I figured that going to your parents’ meant the mystery stuff was over.”
“I was already in the neighborhood.” She shrugged, finding it difficult to meet his eyes while she was lying. “It just seemed easier to meet you here. You still have time to change if you want to wear something more comfortable.”
He hesitated, staring at her as if deciding whether to push the issue. Finally he said, “Such as?”
“Jeans, if you want.”
“Jeans?”
“Sure.”
He cast a skeptical glance at her slacks. “I’ll pass on the jeans, but I will lose the jacket.”
“That works. Here.” She slipped around him to help take off his jacket, and he caught her wrist.
“Anxious to undress me?”
“Always.” She smiled, freeing herself so she could stow the jacket on the couch without wrinkling it.
/> Eric followed her. “The hell with the driver. He can wait.”
She put up a restraining hand. “Down boy. Seriously. We need to get through this dinner first.”
His gaze narrowed. “That doesn’t sound encouraging. Is there something I should know about tonight?”
“Nothing, really.” Dallas sighed, wondering how much to say without spooking him. She’d already had a talk with her mother, warning her that playing old tapes would not be welcome. If the conversation went in the direction of her job or personal life, Dallas would promptly leave. “My parents can be a bit trying, though.”
“Trying,” he repeated warily.
“A couple of pains in the ass, actually.” She smiled. “But don’t worry. They’ll be on their best behavior with you.”
He frowned, looking worried, and she was sorry she’d said anything. “Define pains,” he said.
She took his hand and squeezed it. “You’ll probably find them quite charming. It’s me. We haven’t always seen eye to eye on things. And I haven’t been what you call a dutiful daughter.”
“Ah, I get it.” He seemed to relax. “Will I like your brother and sister?”
“Dakota will charm your socks off. Cody will talk business and about the stock market until your eyes glaze over. They’re both lawyers.”
“What about your parents?”
“Dad’s a judge and Mother is a biology professor.”
“Whoa.” Eric looked more than a little surprised. “Well-educated family.”
“Yep.” And then there was her, the black sheep of the family. The thorn in the otherwise perfect rose.
“You should be proud of them.”
“I am.”
He smiled, disbelief flickering in his eyes, but he wisely kept his own counsel.
The thing was she really was proud of them. They’d all made enormous contributions to society. Well, her father and Dakota particularly. Her sister tirelessly worked pro bono cases on behalf of battered women, and her father had been responsible for groundbreaking legislation protecting abused children.
Her mother and Cody were more mercenary and strived to make the society columns. Social status was important, and they didn’t stray from their ivory towers. But they were basically good people and did their jobs well. Dallas had no problem with their choices in life. None of her business, really. She just wished they stayed out of hers.
She sighed. “I know I’ve given you the wrong impression. I love my family.” She shrugged. “We’re just different. It’s hard to explain.”
A thoughtful frown drew his eyebrows together, and he looked at her as if he weren’t really seeing her. “I get it.” He blinked. “It’s the same with me and my family.”
She smiled, doubtful he truly understood, but that was okay.
The buzzer rang from the lobby, signaling that their driver had arrived. This was it. No turning back now. Within forty minutes they’d be in Tarrytown.
Dallas took a deep breath. “Okay. Showtime.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ERIC LAUGHED HUMORLESSLY TO HIMSELF as they passed through the double white iron gates that allowed them onto the Shea property. Not considered an estate—at least not by Tarrytown standards—but damn close. About an acre of sloping green lawn, large old pine and oak trees and a curving driveway that led to a stately white Victorian that had to be a hundred years old. Nope, this wasn’t the same at all.
If Dallas were to see the place where he grew up, her jaw would hit the ground. His parents still lived there. In a small three-bedroom row house where if you sat on the porch, all you could see was thick black smoke rising from the steel mill where nearly everyone in town worked, including his father and brothers. God, was he glad to be away from there.
When his pop had retired last year, Eric had tried to get them to move, offered to subsidize the cost after they sold the house, but they wouldn’t hear of it. That was home. They were happy. Eric couldn’t understand that mentality. But he did respect it and had backed off.
He looked over at Dallas. She’d lain her head back against the leather seat, and idly stared out the window. “You grew up here?”
“What?” She brought her head up. “Oh, yeah.”
“Nice. Very nice.”
“The house has been in the family for four generations. My father inherited it from my grandparents when I was about three. Before that we lived in the city.” She smiled. “Obviously I don’t remember. This has always been home to me.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen this much grass in two years. You must miss living out here.”
She smiled. “How quickly you’ve forgotten our ride in Central Park.”
“Oh, no.” He squeezed her hand and their gazes met and held. “I haven’t forgotten.”
The car came to a stop. The driver had pulled into the circular drive that put them close to the front door. He got out, dressed in a white dress shirt, black slacks, his graying wavy hair slicked back, and opened Dallas’s door.
Totally juvenile, he knew, but Eric hoped her family was watching. First impressions were important. He didn’t want them to think their daughter had come with some bum from Pittsburgh.
After they both got out, the driver, in accented English, asked what time they wanted to be picked up. Eric looked at Dallas.
She shrugged. “Ten minutes?”
The driver frowned.
Eric laughed. “She’s joking.” He glanced at his watch. Stupid, since he knew what time it was. Maybe he was a little nervous. “How about nine-thirty? Does that sound about right?”
Dallas nodded. “Fine.”
The driver got back in the car, and they started up the front steps. Before they got to the door, it opened. A short dark-haired woman of indeterminate age, dressed all in black, stood at the threshold smiling.
“Tilly.” Dallas took the last two steps at once and hugged the slight woman. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”
“That’s because you don’t come to visit your parents often enough,” the woman scolded with gruff affection. She stepped back, holding Dallas by the shoulders to look at her. “You’ve gained some weight.”
“Uh, thanks for pointing that out.” Dallas glanced over at him, a touch of pink in her cheeks.
“It’s good. You were too thin.” The woman squeezed Dallas’s upper arm. “Give me another hug.”
Dallas obliged her and then turned to Eric. “This is Tilly. She’s been with us forever.”
Tilly extended her hand. Her palm was slightly rough. “I’m the Sheas’ housekeeper.”
“I’m Eric,” he said when it seemed Dallas had for gotten to finish the introduction.
“Sorry.” Dallas briefly covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a giggle. She sounded like a little girl.
Tilly apparently noticed, too, and snorted. “I used to be the children’s nanny, as well. Sometimes I think they haven’t grown up yet.”
“I haven’t.” Dallas tossed her hair back and shooed Tilly inside. “Where is everyone?”
“On the back patio having drinks and watching the sunset.”
Eric sighed. So much for the grand entrance complete with car and driver. He followed the two women through the large foyer, catching glimpses of the dining room on the right and the living room on the left. Lots of polished hardwood floors and Persian rugs, large vases of fresh flowers, an eclectic array of art pieces, no doubt expensive, in unexpected places.
They came to a sunroom, and beyond the French doors he saw them—three women and two men sitting around a glass table, looking casually chic with drinks in hand—and he suddenly wished like hell he hadn’t let Dallas talk him out of bringing a bottle of wine.
Dallas abruptly stopped. “Who is that?”
“Clair Sumner.” Tilly winked. “Your brother seems serious about this one.”
Dallas crossed her arms and briefly hugged herself. She seemed unduly annoyed. Almost panicked, which made no sense. “Mother didn’t tell me the
re would be someone else here besides family.”
Tilly’s brows came down in a perplexed frown. “Is that a problem?”
Dallas blinked at her and then darted a look at Eric. She turned back to Tilly with a forced smile. “No, of course not. It’s just— Oh, God, please tell me she’s not dull as dishwater.”
“Shush.” Tilly pinched her wrist. “Behave yourself, young lady.”
“Ouch.” She rubbed the assaulted area. “I’m not going to say anything.” She leaned close to Eric and rolled her eyes. “He’s had the most boring girlfriends you could possibly imagine.”
Something had clearly spooked her. She’d tried to cover up her alarm, but he knew the woman’s presence had somehow unnerved Dallas. Tilly seemed to know, as well.
An older woman with a remarkable resemblance to Dallas spotted them. She said something that made everyone turn around and watch him and Dallas go out the French doors. The two men stood.
“Before you start getting all chatty, tell me what you’d like to drink,” Tilly said.
Eric glanced at the drinks on the table.
“We have just about everything,” she said softly, her kind dark eyes putting him at ease.
“Scotch?”
She nodded.
“Thanks.”
“He likes it neat,” Dallas said. “And I’ll have—”
“I know what you want.” Laughing, Tilly shook her head and closed the doors.
Dallas cleared her throat and moved toward the others. “Hi, everyone, I’d like you to meet Eric Harmon.”
Lean and tall and looking remarkably fit, the older man, who had to be Dallas’s father, gave him a warm smile and a firm handshake. His hair was almost entirely white, yet he didn’t even look sixty. “Harrison Shea,” he said. Dallas’s father, of course.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Eric said, and was mildly amused that the man didn’t object to the sir part.
“That’s my mother, Andrea.” Dallas gestured with her hand, and the woman nodded, her smile not as warm as her husband’s, her gaze definitely speculative.
