by Leigh Riker
Dylan tipped his Akubra to her and they left.
“What was that all about?” he said in the hall.
“Guess.”
“She thinks you should come to Australia, see how you like Rafferty Stud—”
“I like him very much.”
“The station, Matilda.” He stopped her to steal a kiss. “Eden thinks you should emigrate. See me every day. Think about babies…” He gave her another long, hot, melting kiss Darcie couldn’t resist. “I agree with her,” he whispered against her lips.
“Sandbagged,” Darcie said to herself.
The next morning she watched Dylan toss underwear into his bag, lying open on her bed.
He wasn’t as backward as she’d once imagined, but he still had a long way to go in his attitude toward men and women. Like Hank, with Janet. Darcie had to keep that in mind, or she’d be on her knees begging him to stay.
Dylan’s gaze fixed on his suitcase. “I can still get you a ticket.”
“This late? It would cost the earth. I couldn’t even pay my rent.” She couldn’t pay it all anyway.
“I’ll buy the ticket.” His mouth hardened. “If you’d come with me, you wouldn’t need to pay rent. I own the station free and clear.”
“So your mother and I can stay as long as we want?”
Dylan closed the suitcase with a snap.
“As long as you want?” Darcie added.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She could be stubborn, too. “It means I’m not ready to change my whole life. It means I’m not going to spend it in the Outback with a man who thinks I should walk three paces behind him.”
He faced her, his eyes even darker. “I never said that.”
“But Dylan, that’s how it would be. I’d turn into my own mother—and I’m not even sure what you’re offering.”
“A free trip to Australia,” he said, looking mulish. He did it well, and Darcie knew she was up against a brick wall. “After that, we’ll see.”
“And if things didn’t work out? I’d fly back to New York without a job waiting, or an apartment…” She hesitated. “I don’t know if I’ll ever want the traditional family you want, that my parents have had.”
“That bad?”
“No, but it’s not for me. Not now. I’ve made that clear from the start.”
“And nothing has changed since we met in that bar?”
She recalled Dylan’s words the other night. We’ll work it out. And her own conjecture that maybe they could compromise. But this was all Dylan’s show, his command request. Back to square one.
“I don’t think so.”
“Wrong. You’re not that naive.” Shaking his head, he avoided her gaze. “Well, since we’re having a blue here—a fight—” Dylan hauled the bag off the bed and sent her a long look. “Know what I think?”
She was afraid to ask. Her throat wouldn’t work. She was afraid for him to touch her. If he did, she’d give in.
“I think you’re scared to death of life—and love. Do you care that much about defying your parents? Turning your back on your upbringing, your mother’s way? Enough to risk your own happiness? With me,” he said, “or anyone else?”
“Dylan…”
He started for the door. “I don’t have a Buckley’s chance here.”
“What does that mean?” Even his slang pointed out their differences.
“No chance in hell, Matilda.”
The nickname nearly undid her. What if she never heard it again? She reached out a hand to him but missed. He was already halfway down the hall to the front door. Halfway out of her life. Was that what she wanted?
But Darcie felt no closer to defining life on her own, even if she lost Dylan now. Could two people even find happiness, together? she wondered.
“You’re not being fair,” she said, following him when she knew she shouldn’t. To her own ears, she sounded petulant. “Dylan, wait! You can’t expect—”
He threw the words at her over his shoulder.
“If you want to talk, you know where to find me.”
When she saw Darcie weaving her way through the lunchtime crowd at Phantasmagoria, Claire felt her mouth turn down. Uh-oh. This wasn’t good. Here she’d been feeling so pleased and positive, not obsessing at all. Now, she didn’t know what to say except the obvious. “You look destroyed.”
“Me?” Darcie’s expression perked up. “I’m fine. Never better.” Her smile turned dangerously bright. “This is the first day of the rest of my life, etcetera.” Claire fished in her bag for a tissue, just in case. “I think I’ll have a T-shirt printed with that message.”
“Dylan went home.” Claire said it for her and Darcie sank onto a chair. Until that instant, Claire had thought she had life ironed out again. “You are in bad shape.”
Darcie picked up her menu. “No, really. I’m okay.” She studied the blank front page. “I mean, we had a great time. No denying that. But that’s where it ends so he took a cab to JFK. Better for both of us.”
“You told him that?”
“Many times.”
“Darcie Baxter, you are an idiot. When does his flight leave?”
She didn’t even have to check her watch. “Twenty minutes ago. He’s probably right over our heads as we speak.” She listened for a moment. “Nope. No 747s roaring above the clouds. Must be headed toward Cincinnati by now.”
“Does he stop over there? You could get a Comair hop and meet him. Introduce him to your parents at the same time.”
Darcie’s gaze fell again. “They’re coming here to take Annie home. This isn’t some movie like An Officer and a Gentleman with one of those dopey endings.”
“Richard Gere went after Debra Winger in that one.”
“You’ve been renting movies.”
“Every night. That is, when I’m not with Peter…”
Claire couldn’t help it. The Cheshire grin broke across her face, in part as a diversion. Darcie shrieked, shattering the low conversations around them.
“You did it? You did Peter?”
The whole room turned to gape at them. Claire put her hand over Darcie’s mouth. “Hush. You’ll get us kicked out of here—and I’m starving. Let’s order first. I’ll give you the lurid details while your mouth’s stuffed with shrimp salad and avocado.”
“I can’t believe you screwed Peter the Great.”
“You should see his grin. Then you’d know.”
Darcie clutched her hand across the table. “Claire, I’m so happy for you. I was afraid you and Peter wouldn’t make it.”
“Well. We did. Four times the first night.”
Darcie snickered. At least her face had lost that forlorn look.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes, I can walk, thank you very much. Just a little limp now,” she added. “Nothing serious. But permanent.”
Darcie laughed and everyone turned toward them again.
“We talked,” Claire said. Respecting Darcie’s obvious heartbreak, she’d kept her news to herself as long as she could. “I’m going back to work.”
“To Heritage? What about Samantha?”
“She and Peter are at the lake in Central Park right now, sailing a remote-control boat. Well, he’s sailing, she’s watching from her stroller. After we lunch, I’ll do some shopping then meet them for dinner and the ferry home. It’s Peter’s day to parent. We’ve decided it’s not fair for him to pursue his career while I abandon mine. I liked staying home, don’t get me wrong.” She hesitated. “And it’s not fair to Samantha to be stuck in daycare. But there’s more, Darcie. You were right. I need my job.”
“What did Peter say?”
Claire leaned back in her chair, more satisfied than she’d felt in months—since she’d delivered the baby—except, of course, for those hours with Peter the other night. “He said it was his turn. Until Sam starts nursery school, we’ll juggle our hours. He said we could work it out.”
Darcie winced. “That’s what Dylan
says—said.”
“He did?” But Claire needed to finish her story first. “Peter agreed quickly after I finally laid my issues on the table—or, rather, our bed.”
“What did you say?”
“That I have to be me, not just his wife or Sam’s mom.”
“Now you sound like Annie. She’s given up playing second best to her big sister—that’s me, good grief what a role model—and she’s going home to find her true place. Being Annie.”
“She’s right. Doing what’s best for me will help Sam grow into an independent, capable person, too. Peter will watch her when I work and vice versa. And I know I’ll thrive with my new schedule. Three days each week at Heritage, my old title, same office. Which I’ll be sharing from now on.”
“With whom?”
“Another woman who just had a baby. Between us, we’ll fill a full-time slot.” Claire hailed their waitress to place two orders for the day’s special. “And two glasses of your Chardonnay, please.”
“The California—or the Australian?”
“Oh, God.” Darcie’s gaze dropped to the tablecloth and she blinked. Furiously. Claire could have kicked herself. The Look was back, dammit. “The Australian,” Claire said for her. Hoping it was potent, like Dylan. Strong and full-bodied. Hoping it knocked Darcie to her knees, and to her senses. If that happened, she would be on the next plane, with Claire’s help, to… “Where did you say he was flying?”
“To L.A. Then Sydney. I knew he was leaving,” Darcie rushed on. “That was part of the deal from the start. I mean, he must be nuts to think I could walk away from everything here—”
Wait a minute. What am I not hearing? “Dylan proposed to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Darcie, either he said ‘marry me’ or he didn’t.”
She gnawed her lip, waiting for the waitress to set down their entrees. As soon as she disappeared, Darcie grabbed her wine and chugged down half the glass. “He didn’t. He said come visit the station. He said meet my namesake, the sheep. He said his mother would love me. He said, in effect, ‘let’s make babies.’”
Claire stared. “Well, it’s an unusual proposal. But what else could it mean?”
“Dylan’s not the most articulate guy,” she admitted. “He has this laid-back, laconic style…”
“He’s to die for. And you know it.” Claire leaned closer. “I know I’ve been the last person in New York to give advice since Samantha was born. But I’m better now. Honest,” she said when Darcie only shook her head. “So here’s the thing. You’re crazy about each other. Don’t let thousands of miles or his views on being barefoot and pregnant or your climb up the ladder at Wunderthings destroy your possible happiness. It’s time, Darcie.”
“What if he’s just been leading me on—like so many others? And I fly all the way to Australia, planning some An Officer and a Gentleman thing in reverse—sweep him off his feet right in the shearing shed—and Dylan says, ‘Didn’t you know I was using you?’”
“I think you’ve grown beyond Merrick Lowell. I think Dylan’s good for you. When you do get married, can I be matron of honor?”
Darcie groaned and speared a shrimp. “He’s good all right.”
“He helped you with Eden. Didn’t he? He stuck around and smoothed everything for you. He charmed her. She told me so. Julio likes him, too. I bet Hank and Janet would, and I know Annie thinks he could hang the moon—if you weren’t involved with him instead.”
“She’s going back to Cliff. I’m no longer involved.”
“Darcie Elizabeth Baxter, who are you trying to kid?”
Subsiding against her seat, Darcie rearranged her shrimp salad in its avocado shell. Finally, she threw down her fork with a sigh of defeat, and if it weren’t for the lunch patrons all around them, Claire could have shouted “hurrah.”
“You can have it all,” Claire said, “just not the way you—we—expected it to be.” With renewed satisfaction, she watched Darcie’s lower lip tremble again just before her whole face crumpled.
“I am such a mess. I am a complete, utter, total, absolute wreck.”
“So, now we’re getting somewhere. What are you going to do about it?”
That evening, still thinking of Dylan, Darcie sat alone in the suite she’d shared with Merrick at the Grand Hyatt for more nights than she cared to admit. This time, it seemed appropriate. Even Gran couldn’t object. The hotel had been Darcie’s choice for this meeting, and channel surfing with the remote control, she waited for Merrick Lowell. On her terms now. She had to do this first.
When she heard his key card in the lock, she jumped anyway.
Dropping the remote, Darcie shot to her feet. She’d improved a lot in the last few months, become less naive and gullible and certainly less trusting, but she still dreaded confrontation.
“You got here first,” he said. He walked across the room to kiss her cheek, his gaze disconnected, and Darcie took a long look at him. He seemed different tonight. His smooth blond hair, his blue eyes were the same. Even his suit didn’t have a wrinkle. His mood, however, was another matter. She couldn’t read it. Or could she?
“You can relax, Merrick. I didn’t come here to screw.”
Flushing, he finally lifted his gaze to hers. And smiled. Relieved, she could tell.
“I had a few bad moments with Geoff before I left the apartment.”
“He’s jealous?”
She retrieved the remote and clicked off the TV. She sat back down. Life could become more bizarre than a sitcom.
“Not jealous, really. Insecure.”
“Is this a problem for you? Being here?”
“Not any longer.” His quiet tone held the rest of his smile.
That’s what it was, Darcie realized. She hadn’t seen him since the night she met Geoff, but oddly, he looked at peace with himself. Merrick’s whole face had ironed out since his separation from Jacqueline. From the sofa Darcie watched him walk to the minibar where he pulled out a small bottle of scotch for himself, a white wine for her. That was amazing in itself, that he’d thought of her.
“Then why are we here?” he asked. “I thought you were still angry with me.” Merrick clunked ice into his glass, splashed in some mineral water, poured in the scotch. Making his own drink first. Some things didn’t change, which almost made Darcie smile. She wasn’t ready to answer.
Merrick opened her wine and filled a stemmed glass. He carried both their drinks to the sitting area and handed hers to Darcie. Before he spoke again, he took a healthy swig of his scotch.
“I’ve been thinking. A lot, lately. Having flashbacks, too,” he said, dropping down onto the sofa next to her.
Darcie inhaled his scent, a subtly spicy soap and the very expensive-smelling aftershave she’d never been able to identify. Blue Blood, she’d call it, add a little color to the mix. Darcie preferred clean skin and a sometime hint of male perspiration—like Dylan. She burrowed into the cushions and sipped her wine, hoping to anesthetize herself. She didn’t want to talk about her problems yet. As if he’d listen.
“And what have your thoughts proved?”
“How wrong I was,” he said after a moment. Merrick stretched out his legs, straightened the perfect creases in his cuffed pants. He ran a hand through his well-styled hair. “I spent most of my life trying to fit in…the right schools, the right clubs, the right job…even the ‘right’ wife. I’ve told you Jackie and I never had a passionate relationship.” He flicked a glance at her, looking guilty. “Maybe that’s why I turned to you. As if to prove the problem was with her. Jackie and I stayed together for the kids—a novel concept in the new millennium, I realize, but like our families we’re both pretty conservative. God, I hated those stilted Sunday dinners in Greenwich with my in-laws.”
Darcie swallowed more wine, trying not to choke. A mistress had fit right into his life, too. She’d come here to give herself closure, but of course Merrick was working things out for himself.
“I think I knew,
” he said, “a long time ago. Even when I was a kid in boarding school. I felt torn about me, who I really was, but couldn’t recognize it then. So I kept on doing what my parents expected of me, and then Jackie. And I kept getting more confused.” He looked at her again. “I need to tell you how sorry I am, Darce. I used you—”
“Well, I used you, too.” Pragmatic sex.
“No, I mean emotionally. I thought if I could see you, here on Monday nights or whenever, I’d be okay. Okay according to the traditions of society…the class to which I’d been born.” He shook his head, then finished the scotch. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Happiness.”
Merrick stared into his empty glass. “Remember right after you came back from Sydney? When you were still pissed at me about Jackie, after that day in FAO? Didn’t want to see me again?”
Darcie nodded. She’d been so hurt, which seemed long ago and less important now. “You were persistent.”
“Because I saw you in the Wunderthings lobby—twice—then kissed you at Zoe’s,” he said, “and here was this beautiful woman who knew me. I hoped we’d…heal each other, build on what we already had and everything would fall into place. I was right, partly. At the time you were trying to forget the Australian guy—”
“Get back to my ‘real life.’” Whatever that meant.
“Yes, but don’t you see? We were just each other’s comfort zones,” he said.
“Guess that didn’t work for long.” Darcie straightened to study his expression. He looked…regretful, when she’d never seen him truly sorry before, but still okay with himself now. “That’s why you didn’t want to get ‘close’ again the night I moved. Well, neither did I, really, but you seemed…lost, Merrick.”
“I was. Desperate.”
“Then at my housewarming party, you left early and I thought I’d somehow hurt your feelings.”
He half smiled. “I’d met Geoff the week before. I couldn’t understand why he affected me the way he did, at first sight. When I saw you with your friend—”
