by Tami Hoag
“It’s kind of hard to be an imposition on pizza-and-Kool-Aid night. We call out for the pizza, and our Kool-Aid cellar is well stocked.”
“Well … if you’re sure.”
Dylan noted with no small amount of annoyance that Alaina was staring at his house as if she feared there would be a horde of evil demons lurking inside it. “Alaina, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
But I’ll hate you forever if you don’t. He didn’t say the words, but Alaina could hear the disappointment simmering in his tone. She swallowed a lump of apprehension, and it hit the bottom of her stomach like lead ballast.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to spend the evening with Dylan and his children. That wasn’t it at all. It was just that the day had turned out so perfect, she was afraid to push her luck.
Spending the afternoon with Dylan had been wonderful in a way she hadn’t even imagined. She liked simply being with him. He was fun and irreverent and sexy and romantic. And when it was just the two of them, she could at least pretend they were meant to be together. Bringing his children into the picture and putting the lot of them together in a domestic setting was only going to shine a glaring spotlight on the fact that she was not the kind of woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
The prospect was disheartening. The fear of failing cut straight through her considerable arsenal of defense mechanisms and pierced her heart like a needle.
Dylan waited for a comment, watching her with a fierce frown. Obviously, she thought spending the day with him was fine, going to bed with him was fine, but a seven- and a nine-year-old would put a damper on the fun. Well, they came as a package, and that was all there was to it. Love her or not, he was prepared to call it quits with Alaina if she didn’t accept the fact that he was a very devoted father. His children came first; they had to, especially after what he and Veronica had put them through.
Dammit, why did he seem to be magnetically attracted to career women? Alaina had stated time and again she had no interest in marriage or a family. What made him think he could change her mind? Why couldn’t he have fallen in love with Betty Crocker?
“I want to.” Alaina blurted the words out. She turned toward Dylan, not at all aware that her eyes were round and wide with uncertainty, with the vulnerability that caught so at his heart. “I just don’t want to impose.”
His heart melting instantly, Dylan leaned across the seat and kissed her softly parted lips, his hand cupping her cheek. “I want you here, Princess.” Forever, if possible, he added silently as he ran a forefinger over the vee shape of the Crystal she wore pinned above her left breast.
But would Cori and Sam want her here? Alaina wondered, her own finger absently following the path Dylan’s had over the pin she wore. That was the question that had her nerves jangling as she climbed down out of the Bronco and started toward the house the Harrisons called home.
It was a nice place. Certainly not the dreary little abode of a man who shunned life’s material luxuries. The house was built on the side of a hill, just a block from the marina. It was no more than ten years old, sided—like the bar—in weathered gray cedar, with lots of angles and glass. A wide deck had been built on three sides and was crowded with overflowing planters and outdoor furniture. A large, expensive-looking telescope took up one corner, pointing toward the sky, just waiting for night to fall. Alaina made a mental note of the pricey toy, but made no comment. Her boundless capacity for argument seemed to have deserted her for the time being.
“You’ll have to excuse the mess,” Dylan said as he let them in. “It’s Mrs. Pepoon’s day off. Actually,” he admitted, making a face, “it looks this way most of the time. She’s so nearsighted, she can’t see well enough to really clean the place up.”
“Why do you keep a housekeeper who doesn’t keep house?” Alaina asked, glancing at the hall mirror that was dim with dust and the table that was buried beneath an assortment of junk and mail and newspapers.
“The kids like her.”
It was a simple but very telling answer. Alaina swallowed and tried not to hyperventilate. She had no real experience with kids. Until recently, she’d spent no time with small children at all. When she’d moved to Anastasia, she’d lived with Faith and her little daughter, Lindy, for a few months while helping Faith set up the inn. That had gone well enough, she reminded herself. She and Lindy were buddies. In fact, it had been during that time that she had begun to feel some very real maternal pangs of her own.
Maybe she would get through this evening just fine. Maybe she was worried about nothing. Maybe all she had to do was relax and let her natural instincts take over.
“What’s she doing here?” Sam blurted out as he burst into the kitchen with Cori at his heels and Scottie bounding around them, a hairy cloud of canine enthusiasm, his doggie toenails clattering on the tile floor.
Alaina winced. She imagined she could hear her heart hurtling toward her feet like a fighter plane that had been hit by enemy fire, the ominous whine howling in her ears. Bracing for the crash, she leaned a little harder into the stained pine cabinets behind her and crossed her arms a little tighter in front of her.
Dylan frowned at his son, reminding himself that tact was not a nine-year-old’s strong suit. “Alaina’s staying for supper.”
“But Dad,” the boy said in a loud, urgent whisper, “what if she’s allergic to pizza and blows up like a hot-air balloon again?”
Both children turned to regard Alaina with owl eyes, as if they half-expected her to inflate at the mere suggestion. She smiled weakly.
“Are you aware of having any systemic sensitivity to the ingredients of the common pizza?” Sam asked.
Alaina shook her head. “No.”
The boy looked distinctly disappointed. Cori glanced up at her brother and mimicked his expression.
“Hey!” Dylan barked the word so that everyone in the room, including the dog, jumped. He dropped to his knees and scooped Cori up in one arm. “Doesn’t your old man rate a hug after a long, hard day off?”
The little girl giggled and wound her arms around his neck. He grabbed Sam around the middle, tickling him as he pulled his son close.
“AAAHHH! Look out!” Dylan shouted. “It’s the attack of the wild tickle monster, scourge of the planet Trillermitheron! Run for your lives!”
The children shrieked in delight, wriggling in his arms, but not really trying to get away. Scottie bounced around the knot of Harrisons, barking with deafening exuberance.
Alaina watched with a lump in her throat. What a wonderful father Dylan was. He was the kind of parent every child deserved. He was perfectly natural and at ease with his children, loving them openly and unreservedly.
And she was standing off to the side, as usual, separate, apart. She had never been included in a loving family unit like this one, and she had never felt it hurt quite so badly as it did right now. It was the ache of longing, the ache of wanting something so badly, she was almost afraid to reach out for it, because if she did, and she failed, the pain of returning to loneliness would be unbearable.
“I’m imposing,” she said, barely recognizing her own voice, it was so hoarse and thick with tears she refused to shed.
Dylan’s heart slammed into his ribs when he looked up at her. He’d never seen anyone look so alone. Letting go of Cori and Sam, he went to her, reaching out to take her hand in his. “No, you’re not.” Glancing back at his kids, he said, “You guys go get changed and meet us in the workshop. We can show Alaina our collection while we’re waiting for the pizza man.”
Sam and Cori shuffled in the direction of the hall, their solemn gazes riveted to the intertwined hands of the adults. When the children were out of sight, Dylan pulled Alaina toward him. She held back, leaning into the cupboards, afraid that if she went to him and accepted the strength he was offering, her own strength would crumble and dissolve, and she’d be left with nothing but pain in the end.
“Come here, counselor,”
he murmured.
“Dylan, I don’t—”
He silenced her with a finger to her lips. “Typical lawyer,” he muttered, dipping his head down toward hers. “You talk too much.”
It was the sweetest of kisses. Alaina couldn’t help but drink it in. She had so little control where this man was concerned—and none at the moment. In the deepest, most secret part of her soul all she wanted was to have him hold her as he was holding her now, as if he cherished her, as if he wanted her in his life. There was no way she could even try to resist. So she leaned into him, kissing him back with all the fear and longing in her heart. She let herself melt against him and squeezed her eyes so tightly closed, the tears that gathered at the corners could barely escape.
When he lifted his head, he couldn’t help but see them, the crystalline drops that sparkled at the outer edges of her exotic ice-blue eyes. But Dylan wisely made no comment on the tears. “The bathroom is down the hall on the right,” he said. “The workshop is in the basement. I’ll meet you down there.”
The best she could manage was a nod. She made a beeline for the bathroom, cursing herself under her breath. What the hell was the matter with her? She didn’t ever come apart like this—never ever. It had been years since she’d let her emotions run away with her this way. Maybe her hormones were out of balance, she thought as she repaired her eye makeup. Maybe she wasn’t eating enough protein. Maybe she didn’t belong here.
The tears sprang up again, ruining the eyeliner she had just reapplied. She swore a blue streak, dabbing at the mess with a tissue. With the iron will she had built up over the years, she wrestled her suddenly capricious emotions back into their little compartment inside her, slammed the door, and locked it. Leaning back against the cluttered vanity, she lit up a cigarette and puffed on it furiously, waiting impatiently for the nicotine to soothe her ragged nerves.
She would get through this. She’d survived four stepfathers, life with her mother, law school, and pelvic exams. She’d damn well survive an evening with the Harrisons.
* * *
“… and this is a scale model of Dr. Who’s Tardis,” Sam explained.
Alaina looked the piece over. It was a foot tall, painted royal blue and white with the words POLICE BOX in black above what appeared to be a door. She scratched her head and stared a little harder.
“It looks like a phone booth,” she commented at last, feeling like an idiot when Dylan’s son looked up at her impatiently.
“It is a phone booth.”
“Alaina isn’t very familiar with the Doctor,” Dylan said, steering Sam away from the shelves displaying the Dr. Who memorabilia.
The boy gave Alaina an incredulous look, then turned to his sister and rolled his eyes. Cori shrugged and turned her dark eyes up to Alaina with a look of mingled fading hope and disappointment.
“She’ll probably know more about the Star Trek stuff,” Dylan said hopefully.
They moved to yet another cubicle crammed with books and models. Gold, blue, and red uniform tunics hung on a display rack. The centerpiece of the display was the Enterprise herself, a plastic spaceship that hung from the ceiling on fine threads of fishing line. The collection was impressive to say the least, and the least was about all Alaina could say since she knew absolutely nothing about science fiction.
Sam lifted a small black-and-gold rectangle that looked to Alaina like a TV remote control. “This is an authentic Federation phaser used in the first thirteen episodes of the show.”
“Really? What does it do?”
The boy stared at her in utter disbelief. “It’s a weapon used to kill or stun an enemy.”
Keeping her composure wrapped tightly around her like a cloak, Alaina arched a dark brow. “Fascinating.”
Dylan choked back a laugh, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as Cori and Sam wandered dejectedly away. “You sound just like Mr. Spock,” he said with a chuckle.
“Who’s Mr. Spock?”
“First officer and science officer of the Enterprise. A Vulcan. A very practical, logical, analytical sort of fellow. You’d love him.”
“Is he single? He sounds like my kind of guy.”
“Naw.” Dylan pulled her unyielding form against him and stole a kiss. Rubbing his nose against hers, he said, “Vulcans have sex only once every seven years. Somehow I can’t picture the lady I made love with this morning holding out that long.”
“No? Well”—she sniffed—“get on my bad side and see what happens.”
Dylan’s big hands wandered down over her bottom, squeezing her appreciatively. “Princess,” he murmured with a heartfelt groan, “you don’t have a bad side.”
Above them the doorbell sounded, followed by the thunder of little sneakers and shouts of “The pizza man’s here!”
Pizza, Alaina decided, was a great common denominator. Just about everyone liked pizza and held their own opinions as to what toppings and crusts were best. Being from Chicago, she had a natural preference for thick crust, which turned out to be Dylan’s favorite as well. Cori and Sam preferred thin crust, but they all agreed on pepperoni as the best topping.
The four of them crowded around the kitchen table eating the pizza directly out of the delivery box and drinking cherry Kool-Aid out of glasses with Peanuts characters on them. Cori had insisted Alaina take the glass with Lucy on it. Alaina had accepted, wondering whether it was a compliment or an insult. Dylan was given the glass with Pig-Pen on it, which seemed rather apropos considering the state of his house.
Once the ice was broken, conversation seemed to flow more easily with the children. Alaina felt herself relax by slow degrees. She listened attentively as Sam related the events of his day, going into a lengthy and complex explanation of his project for the science fair. Dylan had told her Sam was in a special program for gifted students, and she didn’t wonder why. It was clear even to someone unfamiliar with children that the boy was extremely bright and sophisticated for his age—so bright, in fact, that he decided Alaina probably wouldn’t understand the mathematical applications of his idea and changed the subject.
“That’s a genuine Crystal of Kalamari pin you have.” He started to point, then remembered his manners and pulled his finger back into his fist in a gesture that reminded Alaina of Dylan’s reaction on first seeing her pin.
She sent the larger Harrison male a lazy smile. “So your dad tells me. It was a gift from a friend I went to school with.”
“Was he anything like the wizard Danathamien?” Sam asked.
“He’s probably more like the absentminded professor,” Alaina said, thinking of Bryan. She glanced at Cori, who stared up at the prism full of rainbows with wonder in her dark eyes.
“It’s pretty,” the little girl murmured, nibbling on her lower lip.
Alaina’s heart thumped. These were the first words Cori Harrison had spoken directly to her, and they were accompanied by a tiny shy smile. “You can touch it if you want to.”
Cori’s face lit up. She scrambled up from the seat of her chair, reaching toward Alaina, her eyes glued to her target so that she didn’t see the glass of Kool-Aid until it was too late. Everyone watched in horror as the glass seemed to tip in slow motion, cherry-red liquid gushing out of it in a waterfall that splash-landed all over the lap of Alaina’s immaculate white slacks.
There was a long second of ominous silence, then a collective gasp from the people seated around the table. Little Cori, a horrified look on her pale face, burst into tears and bolted from the room. Sam sat back and watched Alaina warily. Dylan tipped his chair over as he jumped out of it to grab a dish towel off the kitchen counter.
Words of apology spilled out of his mouth at the same rate the Kool-Aid had spilled out of the glass as he bent over Alaina, dabbing ineffectually at the spreading red stain. “I’m really sorry. She’s at that age where she just walks into a room and things tip over. I’ll buy you a new pair of pants. Really, Alaina, I’m so sorry.”
Alaina was momentarily stunned to silence
by the flurry of activity and the range of reactions going on around her. Her main focus, however, was on Cori, who had run off sobbing as if she’d just committed the crime of the century.
“It’s all right,” she mumbled at Dylan, pushing his hands away. “It’s just a pair of slacks. It’s no big deal.”
“No big deal? Alaina, boric acid can’t take out cherry Kool-Aid stains. Nothing on this planet can.”
“I don’t care,” she said, pushing her chair back.
It was Dylan’s turn to be stunned to silence. Fussy, meticulous Alaina didn’t care that his daughter had just ruined her flawless, undoubtedly expensive white pants? Veronica would have been furious. Veronica would have been shouting down the house. Veronica would have been giving Cori a tongue-lashing.
Alaina was disappearing down the hall without a word.
She tried one door and discovered Sam’s room, tried another and found Fibber McGee’s closet. She just managed to push the door shut before the avalanche could start. The third door revealed a room of violet and lavender, cloaked in shadows. The furniture was white and gold, the frilly French-provincial style she had favored as a girl. There was a row of shelves filled with storybooks and stuffed toys. A group of dolls occupied the bed. Kneeling beside it, with her face pressed into the flowered spread, was Cori Harrison, sobbing her little heart out.
“Cori?” Alaina questioned softly as she stepped inside the room.
“I’m s-sorry.” The apology came muffled and accented with hiccups and sniffles. “I’m s-sorry.”
“I know you are, sweetheart,” Alaina said, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed.
The nervousness that had made her feel awkward and uncomfortable with Dylan’s children melted away to be replaced by empathy and sympathy and a dozen emotions that had been simmering just under the surface. Seeing Cori now was like looking into her own past, her own lonely childhood, and all the times she’d felt as if she had to walk on eggshells around her mother’s latest beau. She could remember incidents painfully similar to this one—some accidents, some purposely staged to test the false affections of a prospective stepfather, all of them ending in tears and disappointment. No one had ever come to her room to comfort or console her.
