Legacy Reclaimed

by Robin Patchen

  “I am exceptionally ordinary,” Dylan said.

  “I disagree. You’re…”

  She trailed off when their server returned. The young woman spouted off the specials. “What can I get you?”

  Chelsea had hardly looked at the menu. “What do you recommend?”

  She said, “The veal saltimbocca is my favorite.”

  “You’ve talked me into it.”

  Dylan placed his order, they handed over their menus, and then Dylan leveled his gaze at her. “You were saying how ordinary I am?”

  She laughed. “I was saying just the opposite, actually. Ordinary people treat me differently after they know who I am. You don’t. Ordinary people act out of their own self-interests. All I’ve seen you do is work to protect me. We’ve never even discussed your fee for all the work—”

  “And we’re not going to now.” The amused expression on Dylan’s face faded. “We’re not talking about any of that, remember?”

  “I’m just saying, you seem quite Captain America-ish to me.”

  He pressed his lips together. Said nothing.

  “I’ve offended you?”

  “No. You just… I’m no superhero, Chelsea. I wish I were that powerful. I wish I could ensure that nothing bad—”

  “You just said we’re not talking about that.” She pulled a warm roll from the basket and broke off a bite. Before she popped it in her mouth, she asked, “Who’s your favorite Marvel character?

  “Spider-Man.” Dylan took a roll himself, cut it in half, and buttered both sides. “He’s powerful, but also insecure and humble. And awkward with the ladies. I identify with that. I haven’t seen all the Marvel movies, but I started watching Spider-Man back when Toby Maguire played him.”

  Dylan set down his roll and reached across the table. She settled her hand in his, and he rubbed his thumb across her skin. The touch brought tingles, and warmth rose to her cheeks.

  His expression was serious. “You said I treat you like a regular person? I don’t know how that can be true when you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You are far from regular. You are… extraordinary.”

  “I’m not.” Although, the way he was looking at her now made her feel special in a way she hadn’t felt since her father died. Cherished and adored. “The only difference between me and most other people is my bank account. And I—”

  “Don’t say that.” He dropped her hand and sat back. “Why do you do that? Why do you think that the only thing that defines you is your money?”

  She pulled her arm from the table and folded her hands on her lap. The very thought of Dylan angry with her sent her heart pounding and her stomach to her knees. “That’s all anyone ever sees.”

  “Is that what you think I see?”

  “No. That’s what makes you—”

  “Then why would you…?” He blew out a breath, shook his head. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

  She worked to keep her voice steady. “I can tell you’re angry, but I don’t know why.”

  “I’m not angry. I’m… Frustrated. Because you act like all you have to offer is money. As if there’s nothing else to you.” He leaned toward her, gaze holding hers. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of you. What matters is what you think of you.” He shook his head. “That’s not right either. It matters what God thinks of you. What do you think He sees when he looks at you?”

  “I’m His daughter, of course. I’m saved and beloved and—”

  “Beautiful and precious and kind and created in His image. You have so much more to offer than your bank account.”

  “I’m aware.” She could hear her infuriating English accent stronger than normal. Always was when she was upset. “That’s why I’ve worked hard to be capable of more than just writing checks. That’s why I double-majored in fashion design and business and earned my MBA and—”

  “You’re talking about credentials and education. I’m talking about who you are. As a person. As a child of God.”

  “I’m just like every other child of God. Which makes me… ordinary.”

  His lips paled and turned down at the corners. He gazed past her. While the party atmosphere raged around them, they seemed to be trapped in a bubble of tension. She wanted to get back where they’d been five minutes before.

  “What do you want me to say?” she asked.

  “What you want to say. Not what anybody expects. Not what I…” He licked his lips, tried a smile. “I’m sorry. It’s just…” Another deep breath. “You don’t see what I see. You minimize the things about you that are so special and magnify the irrelevant. Or perhaps you think the irrelevant, like your bank account, is more important than your values, your personality.”

  “That’s not it a’tall.” Curse her stupid accent. She worked to control it, to sound local. “I have always worked hard not to see myself as special just because I happened to be born to rich parents.” There, that sounded American, right?

  “Don’t do that,” he said. “Just be yourself.”

  She sat back. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

  They stared at each other over the table. The moment was broken when their meals were delivered. Dylan offered a quick prayer, and then they tucked into their food.

  She hardly tasted it.

  Five minutes had passed in silence when he set down his fork. “I’m sorry. I get cranky when I’m hungry.”

  She did, too. That was the second tiff they’d gotten into when they needed food. “We’ll have to start carrying snacks when we’re together.”

  He chuckled. “How’s your meal?”

  “Delicious.” And now that they were nearing solid ground, she could taste it. Sweet and salty and melt-in-her-mouth tender. She speared a bite of veal and pasta and held it across the table.

  He took the bite, closed his eyes. “Mmm…” When he opened them, he said, “I think I’ll get that next time.” He gathered a bite for her. “Want to try this?”

  She tasted his spaghetti. It was spicy and hearty.

  Tension broken, they ate a few more bites before he said, “Your mother’s funeral was last weekend. Why are you still in New Hampshire?”

  She froze, food halfway to her mouth. “You know why.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “I have a business to run.”

  “You don’t have to run it. You have managers for that.”

  She thought of Uncle Frank. “I don’t think they’re entirely competent.”

  “Okay. Assuming you could hire entirely competent ones”—he mimicked her accent, adding a smile to show he was teasing—“why not just go back to Paris, live your life there?”

  “This is my home.”

  “Not really.” He circled his fork in his pasta and took a bite.

  She set her fork down. “Yes, really. Just because I haven’t lived here in a few years—”

  “Okay. Just settle somewhere in New Hampshire then. Why go to HCI and stir up trouble? Why not just let the board do what it does and stay out of it?”

  “I have responsibilities. You know this.”

  “I do. You’re an heiress with more money than you’ll ever need, yet you intend to work. Not just to work, but to take on a huge company that’s in trouble. You’re determined to turn the company around and keep it in Coventry, not because you’re concerned with your own income but because you’re concerned about your employees and a town you haven’t lived in for twelve years.” He forked another bite of pasta then pointed it her way. “I rest my case. You’re extraordinary.” He ate the bite.

  She didn’t think she was, but she wasn’t going to argue and ruin the mood again. “Fine, then. As long as you can agree you’re extraordinary, too.”

  “I can agree this meal is extraordinary,” he said. “And that maybe we’re overusing the word extraordinary.”

  She giggled, then forked another bite of her dinner.

  It was after eleven when they finished coffee and dessert and left the restaurant.
Clouds had moved in during their meal, and a cool wind blew across Chelsea’s shoulders.

  Dylan wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. “I finally got you warmed up, and you’re chilled again.”

  Except, with his arm around her, she felt plenty warm. At his truck, he opened her door, then turned to help her in. He was so close, looking down at her with those intense green eyes. Green eyes that held her in place.

  Not that she wanted to move.

  They gazed at each other while a crowd of young people wandered past, laughing and joking and paying them no mind.

  Dylan curled his other arm around her and lowered his face toward hers.

  She met his lips with her own and tasted coffee and tiramisu. He deepened the kiss, and she let go of all the worries that had hovered at the back of her mind all evening. She let go of her fears and insecurities and allowed herself to be enveloped by Dylan, to be swept up in his powerful embrace. In his arms, all the crazy things he believed about her being special—they all felt true. When he kissed her, he made her feel worthy of love and tenderness, worthy in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

  He made her feel cherished.

  When the tender kiss morphed to something more primal, her body responded with need. She slid her hands over his muscled chest, over his broad and safe shoulders, and pulled him closer.

  His fingers slid up her back and into her hair, and the feeling brought a fresh wave of desire.

  Suddenly, he pulled away, leaving her breathless and wanting more.

  He lowered his forehead to hers. “You’re killing me.”

  “You started it.”

  He didn’t smile, just held her gaze. “How can we just have met two days ago?”

  It didn’t feel possible. “They’ve been very long days.”

  “I feel like I’ve known you all my life.”

  She felt the same, as if he were an old friend. An old friend who’d just lit a very new and lingering flame deep in her heart.

  It couldn’t be that she was falling for this redheaded warrior, could it? She’d never been in love, but if she were to define how she felt right now…

  Perhaps she’d be better off not defining it. Because maybe this was all just temporary. Maybe when the case was over, this would be, too. Maybe…

  He leaned back, eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” Had she spoken aloud? She didn’t think so.

  “I can see it in your eyes. You’re analyzing this, deciding whether to trust it.”

  Was she so easy to read? “Shouldn’t I, though?” She willed herself to stop talking. Let him fill in the blanks. Let him declare himself before she risked anything. But the words filled her mouth, begged to be spoken. “My heart can’t take any more loss. After Mum… I’m already wounded. I should stop—”

  “I love you.”

  She blinked, tried to back away, to think. But his arms didn’t loosen their hold. His gaze didn’t falter from hers.

  “Don’t be afraid of me, Chelsea.” His voice was warm and deep and husky. “I’m not going to hurt you. My heart is all-in.”

  How could that be? They hardly knew each other. She was too vulnerable to even consider falling in love. She couldn’t trust herself, her feelings. She couldn’t trust anything. “You shouldn’t say—”

  “This week, you’ve experienced the most frightening events of your life.” He took a lock of her hair and pulled it through his fingers. The feeling made it hard to concentrate. “And last week, you lost your mother. I understand that. I understand that you’re in no position emotionally to fall in love.”

  “The timing is terrible,” she said. “It’s not that—”

  “I know.” He slid a fingertip down her cheek. His gaze was intense, taking her in. “You don’t trust your feelings. I just want you to know that, wherever you land on this, I’m with you. I’ll be by your side. I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. And not because you hired me. I no longer work for you.”

  “But you must—”

  “I won’t take your money. Knowing how I feel about you… And maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but I could see that worry in your eyes. You have enough uncertainty. So you need to know… I’m on your side. I’m not going anywhere. Because I love you.”

  The words spun in her mind like cool cream in hot coffee, mixing into a rich swirl of warmth and color. He loved her.

  He loved her.

  And maybe, when she could dig through all the emotions that had filled her these last two weeks, she’d find she loved him, too.

  Right now, it was enough to know he was by her side. Not because she was wealthy. Not because she could further his career or enhance his reputation. He wasn’t going to break her heart. He wasn’t going to hurt her or harm her or use her. He was with her because he cared for her.

  She settled her cheek on his broad chest. She hadn’t felt this safe, this secure, in a long, long time.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Outside his truck, the state highway was all but deserted. It was nearing midnight, and Nutfield tourists had settled in.

  The ride from Manchester had been quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Dylan had lifted the armrest when he’d climbed in, and Chelsea had slid into the center seat. Now, she was nestled at his side. His arm was draped over her shoulder. Her head rested on his chest.

  Perfect.

  Dylan hadn’t planned to say what he had back at the restaurant. In a parking lot, no less. He had only moments before realized the truth of them. She’d looked so weary and wary, the words had just tumbled out. But they were true.

  He might have chosen a more romantic place to tell her, but it was done now. And he wouldn’t regret it.

  Chelsea was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, everything he’d never known he’d always needed.

  Maybe that explained his irrational frustration with her at the restaurant when she’d minimized her qualities, when she’d passed off as irrelevant her love for Coventry, the selflessness she was exhibiting in her fight for her company. Because to hear somebody, even Chelsea herself, degrade the woman he loved was infuriating.

  She was going to have to learn to value herself, or they’d be having that argument a lot in their lives.

  Wait. In their lives?

  As if they’d be together… forever?

  Was he really planning a life with a woman he’d known for roughly… he did the math… sixty hours?

  He glanced to his right, caught her looking at him. She snapped her eyes forward, dipped her chin. It was too dark in the cab to know for sure, but he’d guess her cheeks had turned pink.

  Amazing how well she fit beside him. She filled a place in his heart he hadn’t known was empty. With her here, he felt invincible. God had brought them together. Chelsea had said it when they’d first met, and Dylan had accepted it. Yes, God had brought Chelsea into Dylan’s life so he could protect her.

  But also because they were meant to be together.

  Nothing would tear them apart now.

  As the words floated across his mind, the gravity of what he and Chelsea were facing chased them out. Someone was trying to kill her. And though he thought he was sure of the who, sure that Zeke Granger was the muscle, Dylan was no closer to understanding the why. And until he knew that, until he uncovered the scheme that underlay the attempts on her life, Chelsea was no safer today than she had been on Monday when she’d been pushed off that cliff.

  The memory of that sent a shudder down his back.

  “Are you cold?” Her voice was sleepy. “Shall I turn down the air conditioner?”

  “Whatever you want,” he said.

  She turned the fan down, then settled back into place beside him.

  He scolded himself for his fear. He wasn’t one to let fear drive him, and he wouldn’t now. God was in this. God had brought them together. Surely, He would see them through it.

  Dylan pushed away the worries and allowed himself to enjoy the warmth of h
er beside him.

  It was going to be all right. God was on their side. No enemy formed against them would prevail.

  He prayed the Scripture back to the Lord, settled once again in confidence, and made a right onto the narrow road that rimmed Clearwater Lake.

  He neared the two restaurants that overlooked the lake on this side. Both were closed. A couple of cars dotted the parking lots. Maybe belonging to tourists who’d indulged too much to drive home. Maybe managers just finishing up for the day. Another half mile, and they’d make the turn that would take them back to Donovan and Angel’s. There, he’d have to bid Chelsea good-night.

  He wondered if he’d get any sleep at all. Would he lie awake and think of her, or fall asleep and dream of her? Either option sounded fine to him.

  As he passed the second restaurant, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. A reflection.

  A car, headlights off, barreling across the parking lot, right at them.

  No!

  He hit the brakes, but it was too late.

  The car slammed into them.

  The truck spun. Careened into the drainage ditch. Smashed into the hill on the other side and jolted to a stop. His head bounced off the door window.

  At the same time, something hit his chest, covered his face.

  Airbags.

  Chelsea. He felt for her, grabbed her hand.

  The bags deflated, left the truck dark.

  “What just happened?” Her voice was high, panicked.

  He was disoriented, still spinning. Head pounding. “Chelsea. Are you—?”

  His door was yanked open. A hand gripped his arm. Something glinted in the dim light of the dashboard. A knife? Scissors.

  It all happened too fast. His seatbelt fell away.

  He was pulled out. He tried to hold onto Chelsea’s hand. He couldn’t let her go. It felt as if the only way to keep her safe was to stay connected to her.