The Taming of the Bachelor

by Jane Porter

  Her eyes burned and her throat ached and she wrapped his big hand with both of hers and held tight. “I’m glad we talked,” she said huskily, closer to tears than she’d been in years. “It makes sense.”

  She walked him to the door. They didn’t say much on the way there. Everything had been said in the kitchen.

  She felt as if she finally understood him, and yet with the understanding, came a new distance. He would always have this wall up...at least as long as he was focused on his company, and doing what he needed to do for Tutro.

  She was going to have to let him go. She didn’t want to let him go. She’d already lost so much in life that it didn’t seem fair—

  No, she couldn’t go there. She couldn’t make this about her.

  “I guess this is goodbye,” she said unsteadily, reaching for the door, but unable to twist the knob open. Her hand fell off and she turned around to face him. “But I don’t want to say goodbye.”

  His jaw worked and his mouth pressed flat. “I know,” he said after a moment. “I feel the same way.”

  That helped, but didn’t.

  He was going on to a big city with lots to divert his attention. She was staying here in a small town that had Sheenan stamped all over it.

  She held her breath for a moment, fighting tears. “You’ll come back this summer...for Troy and Taylor’s wedding?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Good.” She held her breath again, counting to five, and then ten. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. There was no reason to cry. He wasn’t dead or dying. He wasn’t sick. He didn’t hate her. He was just leaving Montana, moving away...

  “Travel safe, okay?” she whispered, reaching up to swipe tears before they could fall.

  To see her fighting tears was killing him. Dillon battled to keep his own emotions in check.

  All he could think about was pulling her into his arms so he put his coat on to keep from reaching for her and jammed his hat on his head. “Please don’t be sad,” he said gruffly, chest tight. “I don’t want to remember you like this.”

  She smiled then, too brightly. “I’m fine.”

  Bullshit. He didn’t believe it for a minute. But he appreciated her effort. She was a gamer, this one. And a keeper. Someday the right man would steal her heart and he’d be damn lucky.

  “I told Tyler he can come to me if he needs anything. I said you had my number.” He gave her a look. “You do have my number, don’t you?”

  “I don’t.”

  He reached for his phone, typed in a number and hit send. “You do now.”

  Her blue eyes widened. “You had my number?”

  “Of course. I’ve had it for years.”

  “Seriously?”

  He smiled faintly. “Babe, it was the first thing I tracked down when you moved to Marietta.”

  “And in all those years you never used it.”

  “Trying to respect you.”

  She grinned, her dimple flashing. “It must be hard to be a saint.”

  He laughed then, and reached for her, unable to stop himself. “I think we both know from the local gossip that I’m far from that.” He drew her close, bringing her tight against him, where she fit best.

  For a moment he just looked into her dark blue eyes, taking in the softness and shine, and then his gaze dropped to the curve of her lips, which was sweet, and innocent.

  She was the saint. She was tender and fragile, and far more innocent then he.

  He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable, his Wranglers too tight, and the pressure in his chest returning.

  Beautiful woman.

  He was crazy about this woman.

  He couldn’t help stroking the corner of her lips, and up, his knuckles brushing across the sweep of her cheekbone and watched light and heat flare in her eyes.

  He stroked again, this time just outside the curve of her mouth, following the shape without touching her lips. More sparks in her eyes, sparks that he felt all the way through him. His body was hard. He bottled the desire, keeping it wrapped tightly, bound by control.

  “Don’t forget me too quickly,” she said softly.

  The tension rippled through him. His heart beat a steady tattoo. “Will never forget you.”

  “You’ve always said the nicest things.”

  “I’ve always told you the truth.” It was also time to say goodbye.

  He looked down at her for a long moment, everything inside of him going hard and tight. The tenderness in him was turning to anger. He wasn’t sure why he felt angry. Maybe it wasn’t anger. Just frustration. And regret. He supposed it didn’t matter. He needed to go.

  Dropping his head, Dillon kissed her, lightly, and then more firmly, savoring the feel of her lips for the last time.

  She reached up, her hands pressing to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt, holding him tighter.

  It was almost impossible to break off the kiss. He lifted his head, gazed into her eyes which were cloudy with passion and emotion.

  Beautiful woman.

  “Wish you could do your work here,” she said with a crooked smile.

  “Things are changing, but for the most part, Montana is still relatively low-tech.”

  He tried to smile, but he wasn’t sure if he pulled it off. Hard to smile when your chest was tight, heavy. “Lots of open spaces and mountains, though.”

  And then, he silently added, there is you.

  Montana had Paige.

  Her hands pressed against his chest. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it, clearly struggling to find the right words.

  He smoothed her golden hair back from her face, giving her all the time she needed. But then, he always would. He’d do whatever he could to protect her from more loss and heartache. It was time she was happy. Time she had the life she deserved. “Tell me, babe.”

  She looked up into his face and then away, her lower lip quivering. “If you weren’t going to Texas, would we have had a chance...you and me? Or, would the fact that I have kids be a total deal breaker, because I know you said you didn’t want kids. Not now. Nor in the future.”

  He couldn’t help wincing a little at the question. How to answer this without hurting her more? But at the same time, he owed her honesty. It was all they had. “I never wanted to be a dad, no. And it’s not personal. It’s my thing. My hang-up from growing up a Sheenan. My dad did his best, but as I alluded to earlier, it was rough a lot of the time. I’m actually amazed that we boys all made it out in one piece, which is why I don’t want to marry and have kids. Paige, I don’t know what a normal family is, and I have no role model for what would make a good dad, and just thinking about it makes me heartsick. It’s just better if I don’t go there. You know?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He lifted her chin, and stared down into her eyes. “I swear to God, this has nothing to do with you—”

  “I believe you.”

  “Good. Because you and your happiness do mean a great deal to me.” His head dipped and he gave her a final quick kiss and then walked out the door.

  Chapter 11

  He was gone.

  It’d been three weeks since Dillon left, and there had been no word from him, nothing to say that he’d arrived in Austin, and that things were going well. No call or text or email. No question about Tyler. Just...nothing.

  Now it was the first week of March and it was finally sinking in that Dillon was really, truly gone, and not coming back.

  It was almost easier the first week or two when she’d lived in a state of denial, half expecting to see him walk into the diner at any moment, his big shoulders filling the doorway, or spot him driving down Main Street in his vintage green truck. But the weeks had passed without a glimpse of him and she’d begun to miss him.

  The first few weeks after Dillon left, Tyler didn’t say much about him one way or another, but lately he was bringing him up, asking if Dillon w
ould know this or that, suddenly wanting Dillon’s opinion on everything.

  Paige tried hard to explain in the nicest way possible to her son that they couldn’t bother Dillon now that he was in Texas, that Mr. Sheenan had important things he needed to focus on, and needed to be left alone so that he could focus, but she offered to help Tyler get the information he needed.

  Tyler would stare at her blankly at that, making her feel as if she was either stupid or difficult, or maybe both.

  “He told me I could contact him,” he’d say stubbornly.

  “But do you need to contact him? Is there someone else who could give you the same information? I can call the high school, reach out to one of their science teachers. I know Taylor has become friends with the librarian at the university in Bozeman. She could help—”

  “Dillon knows this better than anyone.”

  “Dillon is really busy.”

  “Not too busy to help me.”

  Paige had to bite her tongue, hard. He was just a little boy, a boy growing up without a father. She couldn’t bear to disappoint him. Life would disappoint him. Dillon would disappoint him. That’s how the world worked. And Dillon had made it clear in that final conversation that he wasn’t dad material, that he wasn’t going to ever be dad material, and the last thing she wanted was for Tyler to get attached to someone who wouldn’t be there for him when he did truly need him.

  The weeks continued to pass and Paige was planning a special menu at the diner for St. Patrick’s Day. She’d just returned from work on Monday afternoon, the day before her big Irish stew, corned beef and cabbage, shepherd’s pie feast, and was in front of her house, waiting for her kids to arrive home from school, when she spotted Mrs. Bingley on the front steps of her house watching Mr. Bingley shovel their walkway. From the sound of it, Mrs. Bingley was also giving him endless pointers on how to the job.

  When Paige had first moved into the neighborhood, she’d felt sorry for Mr. Bingley because Mrs. Bingley was always nagging at him, ‘helping him’, but over the years Paige had discovered that Mr. Bingley had a secret for coping with his wife’s constant input. He turned down his hearing aid. Sometimes he even secretly removed it. Paige suspected Mr. Bingley had done that today, as he was shoveling away, whistling, too, oblivious to Mrs. Bingley’s stream of criticism and advice.

  Paige smiled to herself, and was also happy to note that her kids were coming down the block now.

  She bundled her arms across her chest, trying to stay warm, and headed down the sidewalk to meet them. Ever since Tyler and Sam’s altercation, she’d been extra vigilant about making sure Tyler was home on time after school. Dillon might think it was natural for boys to fight, but it didn’t sit well with her. Despite Tyler’s brave talk, he wasn’t a boy who enjoyed a fight.

  Paige waved at her two, and Addison waved back and broke into a run.

  The kids had just reached her side when Mrs. Bingley hurried down the steps, careful not to take a nosedive on any patches of ice. “Paige,” she shouted, waving at them. “Just a moment, please.”

  Addison groaned, and Tyler glanced up at his mom. “What does she want?” he muttered.

  Paige smiled tightly. “We will soon find out.”

  Addison shook her head. “Can I just go in the house?”

  “Sure,” Paige said. “Just make sure you leave your boots and coat in the laundry room.”

  Tyler ended up waiting with her while Carol charged across the street, reminding Paige of a battleship at sea.

  “I’m not sure if you are aware, Paige,” Carol said dramatically, if not breathlessly, “that the city approached Dillon Sheenan a week ago about being one of the judges for this year’s Crawford County Science Fair, being held in May.”

  Paige stiffened, not sure why Mrs. Bingley was sharing this with her. “I didn’t know, no.”

  “Well, then you also wouldn’t know, but he declined.” Carol gave Paige a significant look. “The committee is most disappointed.”

  Paige could tell Tyler was listening with avid interest. She lightly patted his shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that. Hopefully the committee will find someone else—”

  “We were initially baffled as to why he’d say no,” Carol interrupted. “He was, after all, such a good fit for the final round of judging, being a local who has achieved great things in the field of science and engineering.”

  This time Paige said nothing, aware that her neighbor wasn’t finished, and probably wouldn’t be finished for quite some time.

  “Unable to accept his refusal, we went back to him, pleading our case, offering to cover his airfare if that was the issue.” Carol drew herself tall, a hand going to her ample breast. “It wasn’t.”

  Paige suppressed a sigh. “No?”

  “No. Apparently the problem was conflict of interest.” Carol let the words hang in the air, her penciled eyebrows winging high. Lately Carol had begun using a reddish brown pencil in her sparse gray eyebrows and the color didn’t exactly suit. “Your son, Tyler, is the conflict of interest. Isn’t that fascinating?”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t see how he could be.”

  “I do.” Carol wagged her finger at Paige. “I knew that young Sheenan was spending time here just before he left, but I didn’t realize things had become so serious.”

  “They are not serious, Carol. There is nothing between us.”

  “Then why wouldn’t Dillon judge the contest? Why did he claim this conflict of interest?”

  “Because Mr. Sheenan gave me advice on my project,” Tyler said fiercely, shoulders bunching up, face red. “That’s why. He’s my friend, not my mom’s.”

  Carol smirked. “Even on the nights he was there very late, Tyler? Hmmm....I don’t think so.”

  Paige had had enough. She nodded goodbye to Carol and steered Tyler up the walk, thinking that there were advantages to be found in living in small towns. Like...affordable cost of living, and lack of traffic.

  The commute was easy, perhaps even non-existent.

  And most folks tended to be friendly.

  Then, there were the disadvantages. Those friendly folks often knew waaaay more about your life than you wanted.

  And here in Marietta, you couldn’t escape your neighbors, or the gossip, especially when your neighbor was the town’s chief gossip.

  Chapter 12

  It was taking Dillon time to settle back into life in Texas. After a week in a hotel, he’d gotten a lead on a stunning contemporary house overlooking Lake Austin, just twenty minutes’ drive from the office, available for a year lease. It was exactly what he wanted—new, modern, stylish—with a breathtaking view of the lake (which was really a river) and the Texas Hill Country. Dillon snapped it up, and then the very same day, stumbled across an ad for a dark blue 1968 Intermeccanica Italia Spyder convertible with original leather interior.

  Dillon couldn’t resist. He’d loved Italian cars since he was a kid; the sleek lines had always appealed to him, as well as the exotic glamour. Within a week of returning to Texas, he had a home and wheels, and he was ready to turn his full attention to work.

  While the Tutro office on Congress in downtown Austin was familiar, the company was not.

  There had been considerable staff turnover in the past three years, and the management team that was in place when Dillon left, had been replaced a year ago, and then replaced yet again in the past two months.

  Dillon had his old office back, a big corner office, with huge plate glass windows and a view of the state Capitol, but everything else was different. He was different, too.

  He still struggled inwardly with Greg’s betrayal in the first place, as well as the board’s vote of no confidence. And then returning to a company he didn’t even recognize made him doubt himself more than once.

  Was this really the life he wanted? Was this the right future for him?

  He knew the only way to answer those questions was by staying the course. Doing the work
that had to be done.

  When Tutro went public three years ago, it was on the basis of its reputation as a leader in biomedicine, but since then, the company had shifted its focus from biomedicine to biomedical engineering, and instead of being aggressive and innovative in terms of research, it was simply copycatting what others were doing.

  Dillon was putting a stop to that, determined that Tutro again be a leader in the industry, but he wasn’t going to be able to turn the company around quickly. It would be a slow, painful transformation.

  Dillon told himself he could do it.

  He told himself he had to do it. It was his company after all.

  But there was this little voice in the back of his head saying that it would be easier to start something new, and build from the ground up, then to reshape a company that had lost its vision and mission.

  But on the other hand, Dillon had nowhere else he needed to go. He had no other commitments, either. There was no reason he couldn’t dig in hard, and pour himself into work, and bring his company back to life.

  Easter was the first Sunday of April this year, and this year in Marietta, Paige decided to close the diner all together on Easter Sunday. Java Café would be open and people could go get breakfast or a coffee there. She wanted her staff to have the day off, and for once, she didn’t want to worry about work on her own holiday with the kids.

  Trey and McKenna had invited Paige and the children over for Easter dinner, but Paige just wanted to be home with Tyler and Addison and declined.

  McKenna was quiet for a moment after Paige’s refusal.

  “Things seem different between us,” McKenna said carefully. “Has something happened, Paige, that I don’t know about?”

  Paige had been folding laundry at the kitchen table and abruptly stopped folding the mountain of small t-shirts, cord skirts, and jeans. “No. Not at all. Why do you say that?”

  “Because we don’t do as much together as we used to. You used to like coming over with the kids for dinner, and it’s been months since you joined us. Did Trey say something...do something? Be honest, Paige, because I miss you.”