A protective anger, already simmering just below the surface, boiled over. “Don’t you dare criticize the way I’ve chosen to raise my daughter,” he snapped, wondering if she realized she was starting an argument he’d already had a dozen times with his parents and himself. “You don’t know anything about it.”
“I know that she’s lost and lonely. I know that she adores you and that she doesn’t understand why you don’t love her.”
He simply stared at her, shocked and angered by the unfair accusation. “How can you say I don’t love her?” he retorted in a low, amazingly even voice. A deadly calm stole over him, the calm that preceded a storm, he knew from experience.
Zelda laid a hand on his arm. “I’m not saying it. I’m saying it’s what Caitlin thinks.”
The explanation did nothing to soothe his desire to lash out. “You’ve seen her twice. What makes you think you know anything at all about what she thinks?”
“Because when I look into her eyes, I see myself at that age,” she said, her voice suddenly flat and emotionless, her eyes haunted. “I see the same questions, the same longing, the same hurt. I know what it’s like to have one parent you want more than anything to please, a parent who’ll never think you’re good enough. I know what it’s like to have another parent who loves you, but who is distant and withdrawn, a laughingstock.”
She lifted her gaze to his. A lone tear spilled down her cheek and something inside him wrenched at the sight.
“It hurts, Taylor,” she whispered. “Even now, years later, just thinking about the loneliness in that house makes my heart ache. Caitlin deserves better than that.”
His anger disintegrated at once. With fingers that trembled, he brushed away the tear. “Oh, sugar, that was a long time ago. You survived. You turned out just fine.”
“Did I? Then why did I run away? Why did I spend ten years hiding out in Los Angeles, where I wouldn’t have to deal with any of the pain? Why couldn’t I even come back for my own mother’s funeral?”
“You’re here now. I think she knew you’d come.”
“Eventually,” she replied bitterly. “She saw to that.”
“Maybe because she always knew how badly you needed to come home and find peace.”
Zelda’s gaze shot to his and the hopeful glint in her eyes nearly staggered him.
“Do you think that was why she wrote the will the way she did?” she demanded. “Do you think she understood me better than I realized?”
“You’re here, aren’t you? Are you at peace with the memories?”
Zelda seemed to consider the question thoughtfully, before slowly nodding. “Yes,” she said finally, a smile breaking through. “You know, I really am. Sometime in the past weeks I’ve accepted the fact that my father was who he was. My mother and I could have turned cartwheels and it wouldn’t have changed anything. I’m sad for her, sad that he destroyed her life, but I don’t hate him for it anymore. And I won’t allow him to continue affecting my choices from beyond the grave.”
“So coming back hasn’t been all bad, has it?” he said.
An impish gleam suddenly sparked in her eyes, putting Taylor immediately on alert.
“Definitely not all bad. Of course,” she said slyly, “I think she had another motive in mind all along, too.”
Taylor responded to that spark of mischief. “Oh, and what was that?”
She opened her mouth to reply, then shook her head. “Nope. I think I’ll keep that one to myself, at least until I see how it turns out.” Her gaze narrowed. “You’ve managed to get me off track, Taylor Matthews, but now it’s your turn. Just what is it about having Caitlin at home that worries you so?”
“I can’t spend enough time with her,” he evaded.
“She’s in school all day. Your office is part of the house, so it won’t be like she’s coming home to an empty place. If that’s really a problem, you could afford to hire a housekeeper.”
“She needs discipline.”
The statement was greeted with obvious puzzlement. “She’s the most well-behaved child I know.”
Taylor lost patience. “Look, it’s just not a good idea, okay. Drop it.”
His sharp tone silenced her for the rest of the ride back to Port William. But Taylor knew Zelda well enough by now to realize that the discussion was far from over.
* * *
The following Saturday Zelda was halfway out on a branch of an oak tree, with Caitlin scrambling along just ahead of her, when she heard Taylor’s cry of panic. Or was it outrage? She couldn’t quite tell from her perch high above the ground. A glance down into stormy gray eyes solved it. He was furious.
“What’s wrong?” she called down.
“Have you lost your mind?” he muttered indignantly, hovering beneath them as if he were just waiting for one of them to drop into his arms.
Zelda had a feeling if she were the one crashing down, he just might let her go. “Come on up,” she suggested. “You used to be able to beat me to the top.”
“I was younger then and didn’t have a lick of sense.” He groaned. “Caitlin, honey, come on down.”
Caitlin’s chin rose mutinously. “No. You can see everywhere from up here. Zelda says you did this all the time when you were my age.”
“I was a boy. Boys climbed trees. Little girls…”
“Zelda climbed, too.”
“That doesn’t make it right,” he snapped.
Zelda could see that the adventure she’d promised Caitlin wasn’t working out quite the way they’d planned it. If she didn’t get her safely out of this tree this instant, Taylor was going to ruin her birthday by confining her to her room.
“We’ll be right down,” she promised. “Just let me show her where you carved our initials in the trunk.”
“Carved our initials?” Taylor repeated weakly. “Zelda, how do you even know this is the same tree?”
“I wouldn’t forget something like that,” she retorted indignantly. She reached up and felt along the bark until she came to the ragged heart. She grinned triumphantly. “See, they’re right here.”
“I want to see,” Caitlin insisted, inching past Zelda. She pulled herself upright and lovingly traced the initials inside the heart. “How old were you when you did this, Daddy?”
“Older than you. Now get down from there. And be careful.”
“Oh, Daddy,” Caitlin muttered with obvious disgust. With an obviously inherited agility and intrepid spirit, she scampered down.
“Into the house,” Taylor ordered. “We’ll discuss this in a minute.”
Undaunted, Caitlin grinned up at Zelda. “See you.”
“See you,” Zelda echoed.
“Come on down,” Taylor said when his daughter was out of sight. “Face the music.”
Zelda shook her head and leaned back against the tree trunk. “I don’t think so. The view from up here is terrific.”
A smile tugged at Taylor’s lips, ruining his scowl. “It’s not bad from down here,” he taunted, gazing up toward her bottom. “Zelda, you just scared ten years off of my life.”
“Why?” she asked, genuinely confused.
“I don’t think Caitlin’s ever been up in a tree before.”
“Then it was past time she tried it.”
“She could have fallen and broken her neck.”
“And she could break a leg going down the stairs at school,” Zelda replied reasonably.
“Not if she’s careful.”
“Have you ever seen an eight-year-old be careful on the stairs or anywhere else? Taylor, you can’t protect her from everything.”
“But I can keep the odds in her favor.”
“By keeping her out of trees?”
“Yes, damn it. I won’t have her taking risks. Now will you please get down from there? I’m getting a crick in my neck trying to talk to you.”
“Then come on up.”
“Zelda!”
“You want to talk, I’m available, but I’m not budging.”
“You are the most stubborn—” he grumbled as he grabbed onto the tree’s lowest branch and hauled himself up “—most impossible woman it has ever been my misfortune to know.”
“But who else could get you to climb a tree?” she countered.
“Not many would even want me to.”
“Boring, the whole lot of them.”
“There’s a lot to be said for boring,” he told her, his tone far more serious than the teasing conversation warranted.
“Not much that I can think of,” she retorted, watching his face closely in an attempt to judge his reaction.
“Zelda, people get killed taking risks,” he said, his tone angry.
“Some of them do,” she said slowly, beginning to get an idea of what was behind all the changes she’d seen in him since her return. Her voice dropped a level. “Was Maribeth one of them?”
His expression bleak, he avoided her gaze. “Yes,” he admitted eventually. “She drove like a maniac, all the time, even when she was drunk. Which,” he added, “was more often than not.”
“So she died taking a stupid, unnecessary risk,” Zelda whispered, reaching for Taylor’s hand. “You can’t blame yourself for that. And you can’t assume that the rest of us will be so careless.”
“But you are. You always have been. And Caitlin is showing all the signs of being the same way.”
Zelda felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “That’s why you sent her away, isn’t it? That’s why you’re so worried about her being disciplined?”
He nodded. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her.”
Zelda raised his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles, knuckles scarred by a dozen childish misadventures, most of them involving her. She understood him now, understood the anguish that guided him. What she didn’t know, couldn’t even begin to fathom, was how to prove to him that life never, ever, came with guarantees, no matter how careful a person was to follow all the rules.
* * *
Zelda had had no idea that ten eight-year-old girls could make so much noise. Otherwise she might not have encouraged Taylor to give them the run of the house.
“How much mischief can they possibly get into?” she’d said only minutes before every single door upstairs had slammed shut in succession. The crashes had been interspersed with the thundering of little patent-leather-shoed feet.
“What are they doing?” Taylor inquired, regarding her as if any disasters were all her fault.
“Playing, most likely.”
“Playing what? War?”
That would have been Zelda’s guess, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “Wine?” she suggested. “It’ll relax you.”
Taylor shook his head. “Something tells me I need to be fully alert for whatever’s about to come our way.”
“Think of it this way. Caitlin is having a birthday party she’ll never forget.”
“That makes two of us,” he muttered with heartfelt conviction.
“There, there,” she consoled. “Let’s get the cake and ice cream ready. At least that will get them down here where we can keep an eye on them.”
“Good idea. I’ll scoop. You carry. When it’s on the table, yell upstairs and then stand back out of the way.”
Not twenty minutes later, ten girls were sitting demurely at the dining-room table. Zelda tried not to notice that the sleeve of one child’s dress was ripped, or that another’s hair bow was slipping dangerously. She even managed to ignore the fact that half of them were no longer wearing shoes or socks. It was more difficult to pretend not to see that all of them had on more eye makeup than a Hollywood Boulevard hooker. Taylor stared at them, clearly dazed.
He latched onto her arm and dragged her into the kitchen. “What am I supposed to tell their parents?”
“Some of them are staying here. We’ll have time to clean them up. As for the rest, leave any telling to them. They’ll be so busy talking about what a wonderful time they had, maybe their parents won’t even notice the rest.”
Taylor regarded her skeptically. “I think you’re being overly optimistic.”
As if to provide backup for his claim, the front door opened and Geraldine and Beau Matthews swept in. Zelda’s heart sank. There was no chance they wouldn’t notice that things had gotten just ever-so-slightly out of control.
Ignoring Zelda, they headed straight for the dining room and practically skidded to a horrified stop.
“Grandma,” Caitlin squealed, bouncing down from her chair and running to throw her arms around her grandmother’s waist. To Geraldine Matthews’s credit, she managed to cover her dismay at the prospect of having pink blusher and peach lipstick smeared down the front of her dress.
“Hi, darling. Happy birthday! Are you having a good time?”
Caitlin looked up, displaying mascaraed lashes and a significant amount of Zelda’s blue eye shadow. “The best time I’ve ever had. Thanks for the cake. I ate three roses. We’ve got ice cream, too.”
“Strawberry and chocolate, I’ll bet,” her grandmother said.
It was an easy guess, given the streaks down the front of Caitlin’s beautiful velvet dress.
“Do you and Granddaddy want some?” Caitlin asked.
“Maybe later. You can save us a piece. We just wanted to stop by with your present.”
Caitlin looked from one to the other with obvious puzzlement. Zelda shared her confusion. Neither grandparent was carrying a thing.
“Outside,” Beau said, as if he’d just then recovered the power of speech and was afraid to waste words.
Caitlin’s eyes widened. “You got me a pony, didn’t you?” she said, bouncing excitedly. “I thought you forgot.”
“We’d never forget our promises to you, pumpkin,” Beau said, shooting a warning look in Taylor’s direction. “The filly’s a beauty, if I do say so myself.”
As Caitlin ran outside with her grandparents, her friends raced after them, leaving cake and melting ice cream behind. Zelda kept her eyes on Taylor. There was no mistaking the anguish written on his face, or the barely controlled fury.
“You didn’t want her to have a pony, did you?”
“No, and they knew that. We discussed it again just last week.”
“But she’s so happy,” Zelda pointed out.
“Well, of course, she is,” he retorted impatiently. “What little girl wouldn’t be ecstatic to have her own horse? That’s not the issue.”
“What is?”
“She’s not old enough to ride. She could get hurt. And they knew exactly how strongly I felt about that,” he said, striding toward the door.
His intentions were all too clear. Zelda stepped into his path. “Please,” she said. “Don’t spoil this for her. Or for them, for that matter. They just did it to please her, not to defy you.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said dryly. “What am I supposed to do? Go against everything I feel as a concerned parent just to keep the peace?”
“For this one day,” she said. “Let Caitlin be thrilled. There will be time enough tomorrow to set all the rules and regulations you want to about when she can ride and how much supervision she has to have.”
“What about just taking the damned horse back?”
“Is that really what you want to do? Or do you just want to make sure that she acts responsibly?”
He finally sighed heavily. “I just want to keep my child safe.”
Zelda wound her arms around his waist and kissed the deep furrow in his brow. “There’s more than one way to do that, Taylor. Caution is not the same as denial.”
He went absolutely still as he pondered what she’d said. Zelda could feel his heartbeat, steady and sure.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a very wise woman?” he said finally.
“Not in this town.”
A hint of amusement sparked in his eyes, along with something else. “I can think of some other activities to which that caution-denial adage might apply.”
<
br /> Zelda’s pulse skipped a beat. “And what might those be?”
“Stick around after we get rid of these little hellions and I just might show you.”
Chapter Twelve
An entire night with four little girls in the house and Zelda down the hall in the guest room tested Taylor’s willpower, to say nothing of his hearing and his patience.
“They never slept,” he grumbled to Zelda over coffee at 7:00 a.m. “Not for one single minute.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, yawning herself, but trying to hide it from him.
Suddenly he realized this was the first time he and Zelda had spent an entire night under the same roof. That set off a whole new round of fascinating speculation.
He decided he liked sitting across a breakfast table from her when she was still a little mussed, her face free of makeup, her clothes tugged on haphazardly—jeans and a T-shirt and not much else as near as he could tell. Her feet, propped on another chair, were bare, her toenails painted a shocking red.
With a sense of resignation, he realized that all he could think about anymore was stripping away the clothes, taking her back to bed and making love to her all morning long. Slow, leisurely love-making. His body responded just thinking about it.
“Taylor!”
He blinked. “Sorry. What?”
“I asked how you knew the girls were up all night.”
“Because they kept me awake.”
She sipped her coffee and regarded him skeptically over the rim of the cup. “They kept you awake,” she repeated, casting a knowing look at him.
“Well, of course,” he grumbled, refusing to admit that it was Zelda’s presence—so near, yet so unattainable—that had kept him tossing and turning. His vehement comment didn’t seem to fool her, though. Amusement was dancing in her eyes.
“Don’t mess with me,” he warned.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said innocently. “Not while there are children in the house.”
“That is not what I meant.”
A Daring Vow (Vows) Page 12
