by EC Sheedy
Dreams Don't Wait
by
EC Sheedy
writing as Carole Dean
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright 1996, 2011 by Carole Dean. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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Thank You.
Chapter 1
Evan North looked toward the restaurant entrance—again. Then she looked at her watch—again. Twelve-forty-five. She had to get back to work, and he wasn't here yet. Maybe he'd changed his mind. Maybe he wasn't coming. She wished it didn't matter either way, but, damn it, it did. Where was the man? Distractedly, she began a rhythmic tapping on the rim of her water glass.
"Evan, will you cut that out?"
"What?" Evan was mystified.
"That." Caressa Stewart nodded toward the tapping fingers. "You're starting to make me nervous."
"Sorry." Evan pulled back her hand and tucked it under the table, giving her blonde luncheon companion a quick smile as she did so.
When she started to chew on her lower lip, Caressa put her coffee down and gave an indulgent sigh. "What's the matter with you? He's my brother. I told you everything will work out, and it will," she said. "He may be stubborn, arrogant, and irritatingly unpredictable, not to mention that he has the temperament of a sick troll, but you don't have to worry about that."
"Thanks. I feel so much better now."
Caressa smiled and went back to sipping her coffee.
Evan twisted her napkin. "Anyway, how can I not be nervous? This is a genuine, gold-plated opportunity. There's no way I want to blow it. It's too important. Besides, it's not every day I sit in the poshest restaurant in Victoria waiting to meet the famous Lincoln Stewart."
Caressa made a gesture of dismissal with a well-manicured hand. "So he's designed a few buildings. I'd hardly call him famous."
"Caressa Stewart, you are the queen of understatement. A few buildings? Like in Paris, Brussels, Madrid, and Mexico City, not to mention he'll probably be selected to design that new office/theater complex on the Thames next year." Evan shook her head. " 'A few buildings,' the woman says."
Caressa paused before taking another drink of her lukewarm coffee. "How in hell do you know all that?"
"I Googled him," she admitted. "Plus, the architectural trades in the library are full of him."
"Still haunting libraries, I see. Wanted to make sure you weren't going to live with Jack the Ripper, huh?"
"Something like that. Besides, we're not sure yet that I am going to 'live with him,' as you so indelicately put it. He may not like me. You did say he's—"
"Hard to please, bad tempered, dominating, distrustful, and demanding? Yes, I did, and despite all that, you want the job."
"Remind me to tell your brother not to let you handle public relations for him."
Caressa shrugged her expensively suited shoulders before adding, "I calls 'em like I sees 'em. Besides, I want you to be prepared. Linc can be a... trial."
Evan was beginning to wonder if Caressa wasn't kidding about her brother's unruly temperament. Surely he couldn't be as hard to get along with as she made him out to be—not that it mattered. For all she cared, Lincoln Stewart could be first cousin to Attila the Hun. If she got what she wanted, she'd cope. Coping was something she was very, very good at.
"I need that cabin, Caressa," Evan said after a short pause. "Free rent for a year will go a long way towards Cal's tuition."
Evan knew she wouldn't understand. Neither she nor her famous brother had known a moment's want in their lives. They were born to money, then went on to forge highly successful careers that brought more of the same. Evan couldn't conceive of their world any more than they could hers.
"And for a little free rent, you're willing to take on Linc—and Jenny." Caressa cocked her head and gave her a direct gaze. "She could be a challenge, you know. She's a darling, but Linc does tend to indulge her. I don't know much about kids, but from what I see, Jen can be a handful."
"She's only four. She's probably just a normal, active little girl. And besides, I'm not going to be a full-time baby-sitter. Just back up. I'll handle it. No problem." I'll handle anything for free rent and a chance for Cal to have his own room. A man and his daughter? Piece of cake.
"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you. About Jenny—or Linc. I love them both madly, but—" Caressa's eyes shifted to a point behind Evan, and she lifted a hand to wave. "Get ready, honey. The man of the hour has arrived." Her gaze swung back to Evan. "And don't worry. That cabin is as good as yours. He's going to love you, you'll see."
As Caressa again waved to catch her brother's attention, Evan crossed her fingers under the table and closed her eyes. She wasn't averse to some silent begging now and then, when the cause was important. And nothing in the world was more important to her than Cal.
When the begging was done, she opened her eyes on Lincoln Tremayne Stewart.
She blinked. Talk about pictures not doing someone justice!
"I don't have a whole lot of time, Caressa, so let's get this over with. Is this her?" He took the chair beside his sister's and glanced across the table at Evan—into her would be more accurate. The look was sharp but careless, the eyes were deeply—intensely—blue. She blinked again.
Caressa rolled her eyes, then planted a light kiss on her brother's cheek.
A tanned, beautiful, clean-shaven cheek. This time she swallowed.
The Internet pic hadn't shown his dark gold hair and a face drawn from a woman's dream. His features were clear, bold, and except for the tenseness around his mouth, nearly perfect. He wore jeans and a soft navy blue sweater, and he sat in his chair as if he owned the restaurant. No. The entire city block.
"Linc, you're being rude—as usual," Caressa said. "But, yes, this is Evan North. The woman I told you about."
He nodded in Evan's general direction and turned back to his sister. "And you checked her out? Carefully."
Caressa gave a long-suffering sigh and poked his arm.
His well-muscled arm, Evan judged, still a bit dazed by his extraordinary appearance. A muscle tightened along his jaw, and her eye was caught by the indentation it made near his mouth. It was either a dimple or smile crease, or maybe—
Get a grip, woman!
Giving herself a mental shake, she willed herself to focus on Caressa, feeling as though she were fighting her way back from anesthesia.
"For heaven's sake, what's to check?" Caressa said. "I've known Evan for years. I told you she's exactly who you need. Perfect."
&nb
sp; "Perfect, huh?" Lincoln eyed his sister suspiciously.
Brother and sister stared at each other as if they were rivals in a chess game. Evan let Caressa's wild exaggeration about how long they'd known each other pass and coughed lightly, half to clear her throat and half to get their attention. Past time they included her in this conversation.
"If you have any questions, Mr. Stewart, I'll be happy to answer them," she said, in a voice just a shade off normal.
His blue gaze fixed on her, and he paused before saying, "Linc."
"Pardon?"
"Call me Linc."
Evan nodded. God, his eyes were blue. Her mouth went dry.
"Why do you want this job, anyway?" he went on. "You're aware there's no salary involved?"
"I'm good with children, Mr. Stew—Linc, and I already have a full-time job. I assumed Caressa told you that."
"Maybe. I can't remember. My sister told me damned little. Other than she has this—what was it, Caress?—'dynamite friend" who needs free rent. Hardly a sterling reference for someone who'll assume at least partial responsibility for my daughter."
Evan's eyes shot to Caressa, angry and questioning.
"I told him everything he needed to know. Believe me. Adding to his many deficits, he obviously has a bad case of selective hearing." Caressa gave her brother an irritated look. "And I told her that you were a rude, misanthropic, dominating troll. Thank you so much for not proving me wrong, dear brother." With a careless flourish, she picked up her bag, tossed the lunch tab in Lincoln's general direction, and stood. "I'm leaving. You two work it out. Or not." She gave her brother another quick kiss before adding. "She's perfect, Linc. Don't be an ass."
"I don't intend to be. Not this time, sister mine. So if you're trying to pawn off another one of your—"
"Oh, for God's sake!" Caressa's sigh was long and dramatic. "Good luck, Evan. You're going to need it. I only hope the cabin's worth putting up with the ugly brute. Catch you later."
When the "ugly brute" turned his attention back to her, Evan was struggling to control her temper. Pawn off! The words blistered her brain.
"So. Do you think I'm a troll?" His voice was low, rich with challenge. He shoved aside the water glass standing between them and leaned back in his chair, giving her a long, thoughtful look. If he liked what he saw, he didn't show it.
"I think—" Evan clamped her mouth shut. There was no way she could tell this guy that he was one toss short of the nastiest human being she'd ever met.
"Go on," he urged.
She took a breath. "I think we have a limited time to decide if this arrangement will be beneficial for both of us, and we shouldn't waste it," she said. "I have to be back at work in fifteen minutes. If you don't approve of me, simply say so. Please don't feel any obligation because Caressa spoke on my behalf."
"I don't." He paused for a moment, and his gaze turned boldly appraising. "You don't look like one of her usual friends. No designer wardrobe, no plastic fingernails and"—his eyes swept over her long dark hair, tied loosely at the back of her neck—"no mousse or whatever that goo is women use to make hair sculptures."
"I don't see that how I look is—"
"And no overload in the makeup department either. At least you'd be easy on a man's pillowcases."
Pillowcases! Okay, that had her steaming...not to mention oddly tingly. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Stewart. But you definitely have the wrong—"
"I said call me Linc." He stopped, gave her a speculative look. "Caress says you have a boy. I assume he's part of the bargain."
Evan gritted her teeth and nodded. Cal was most definitely part of the bargain.
"Is he well behaved? I detest brats."
She took in a breath. "He's very grown up for his age. I did not raise a 'brat.' "
"Good. Do you like dogs?"
"Adore them."
"Can you make cookies? Big, gooey ones with chocolate chips?"
She stared at him in amazement before nodding. He'd come dangerously close to smiling. It was a crease! And it curved close to his mouth like a one-sided bracket.
"That last was Jenny's question." He studied her for a moment, then added, "I'll send a truck for your things on Saturday. The place isn't much, but then neither is the job. If you're lucky, you'll only have to look after Jenny one night a week, tops. Can you handle that?"
Evan's heart pounded. The cabin was hers. It was truly hers. She smiled for the first time since this awkward meeting began. "I can handle it."
"Good. It's settled then." He stood, picked up the check, then tossed it back on the table along with some bills before looking down at her. "Your name—Evan—it's unusual for a woman."
"It comes from Evangeline."
"Interesting."
She had no idea what to say to that, and apparently he expected no response.
"Saturday morning, then. Ten. Ten-thirty. And for God's sake, be ready. It's moving day for all of us, and it's going to be hell." With that he headed for the door. He might as well have been a marching band; not a female eye in the place missed his passage. With his dark golden hair, lean hips, and lazy, confident grace, Lincoln Stewart was six full feet of spectacular male.
He probably went through a lot of pillowcases.
* * *
Evan carefully removed a large blowup of a Harley-Davidson from over her bed. Ugly thing, she thought, rolling it into a tight wand. It was in here because Cal treasured the dumb thing, and he didn't have a room of his own to hang it in. Since coming to Victoria six months ago, he'd been sleeping on the sofa. Libby, her soon to be ex-roommate, wouldn't allow the poster in any areas they shared—a living room the size of a tabletop, a bathroom with every second tile missing, and a stamp-sized kitchen.
Her smile broke through. Sharing, accommodating, compromising—all that was behind her now. Tonight Cal would be in his own room and so would the motorcycle poster. She tucked it carefully down the side of a box.
She hoped the troll would tolerate Cal's taste in decorating. If they were lucky, Cal and her, Linc wouldn't even see it. Caressa said he was a very busy guy, and the cabin was a good distance from the main house. Once he'd satisfied himself she was taking care of the place, he would probably keep his distance. Linc Stewart struck her as a man who valued his privacy.
A look at her watch told her it was almost ten-thirty. The truck would be here any minute. Excitement flowered in her chest and she started to hum. A house. A real house for her and Cal. She corrected herself. Not a house, a home. A real home at last.
"Mom, I forgot my Harley—" Cal made a hurried entrance. He stopped when he saw the poster in the box and grinned at her.
"Did you finish packing the books?" she asked.
"They're at the front door. Libby says she hasn't finished the one you lent her, so I left it with her. Oh, and she wants to keep the toaster until she can buy a new one. Is that okay?"
Evan sighed, knowing full well she'd probably never see either the book or the toaster again. Roommates. She'd had enough of them to last a lifetime. It was a wonder Libby hadn't asked Evan to leave Cal. The way she'd been eyeing him lately had been starting to make her nervous. The thought made her frown.
"So, what? It's not okay?" Cal asked.
"No, it's fine. I was thinking about something else. Here, take this." She handed him a battered suitcase.
At the sound of the door buzzer, they looked at each other then did a high-five. Evan took a last look around the tiny room before pushing Cal toward the door. "Answer it, my man. Our new horizons beckon."
The truck driver's name was Gary, and with Cal's help, he made short work of stowing Evan's meager belongings in the back of the truck.
* * *
As the truck pulled up to the Stewart estate, Evan felt a rush of nerves. Cal strained forward as they passed through the open gate, but still they couldn't see the house. The long driveway curved sharply before opening up to expose the old English Tudor mansion. It was large. No, hu
ge. At least three stories, Evan guessed, staring out the window of the truck. Dense green ivy twisted up one side, trailing off at the base of the stone chimney. On the left was a rose garden, somewhat in need of pruning but colorfully beautiful all the same. Although the house had an air of neglect, its nineteenth-century charm was proudly intact. The warm, inviting house was not at all where she'd expect Lincoln Stewart to live. When the driver reached the front entrance, he stopped the truck.
"We're not going in here, Gary," she hurriedly told him.
"I know, but Mr. Stewart told me to stop here and get the key. Your place is around back. Closer to the waterfront, I think. I'll be right back."
"Are we going to be near the ocean?" Cal asked.
"I guess so, hon." Evan's answer was distracted. She was still a little overwhelmed by the size of the estate.
Cal was excited. Evan was confused. Caressa hadn't mentioned Linc's place was on the water. She'd only said it wasn't far from the university, and there was an old cabin on the acreage not being used. Apparently, Lincoln didn't want anyone else in the main house, so he'd decided to use it for the extra help. That being her as it turned out. Evan hadn't asked too many questions; the cabin was free, had two bedrooms and no roommate. There was nothing else she needed to know.
"Got it." The driver jumped back into the cab waving a key and started the truck.
* * *
"All right!" Cal leaped out of the truck and headed for the beach. Evan took three deep breaths and followed him. She couldn't believe her eyes; the setting was beautiful. The tiny cabin was mere yards from the shoreline. It was made of logs, with a generous front porch facing southeast. A great place for coffee and sunrises. A rocky outcropping forged out from the shore some sixty feet to form a natural breakwater. Twisted pines and red arbutus bunched randomly across its surface in competition for its sparse, moss-covered soil. Before Evan turned back to the house, Cal was halfway down the beach.
Gary was inside piling up their small store of possessions. She stepped in, looked around, then up, her eyes following a beam of sunlight to its source in the ceiling, a hole the size of a tennis ball.
