“Lacey lives here?”
“She does now. Her husband has been out of work for the past year. According to your father, he’s been drinking ever since he lost his job. Lacey works at the Wave and Curl, trying to bring in enough money to keep food on the table. Her parents–her mother in particular–are so appalled by her circumstances that they all but pretend she doesn’t exist.”
Unexpected tears welled in Ashley’s eyes as Dillon added gently, “In your worst nightmare can you imagine your father ever turning his back on you?”
She shook her head. “Never.”
“Do you know the real irony? Lacey is happy. I spoke to her a few months ago. Her husband has some skills I could use in my business. I offered him a job, if they’d move to Los Angeles, but she said they like it here. They want to make a go of it in the town where they both grew up. They have family here, roots, and that’s important to her.”
“Something I of all people should understand,” Ashley said. “Yet I couldn’t wait to turn my back on mine.”
“There was nothing wrong with going off to figure out your own identity,” Dillon pointed out.
“But I didn’t. I’m back here more confused than ever.” She waved off the subject. “Tell me more about Lacey.”
“She enjoys styling hair, making people feel glamorous and better about themselves. She’s a big fan of yours,” he added, making Ashley feel about two inches tall. “Your magazine covers are on her walls, and half the women in town have hairstyles copied from your latest pictures.”
Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as Dillon filled her in on the rest of Lacey’s story.
“The only thing that really makes her sad,” he said, “is the fact that her mother can’t see that she has everything she really needs…the love of her husband and her two children.”
Ashley swallowed hard when she saw two towheaded girls run out of the house, laughing as they jumped on their bikes and rode off up the street.
“I suppose you think my problems are terribly shallow,” she said eventually. “Heck, even I think they’re nothing compared to this.”
“It’s not a matter of being shallow,” Dillon said. “It’s just a matter of perspective. Lacey knows who she is and what she wants. She knows what really matters to her.”
He reached over and wiped away a tear that was tracking down her cheek, then said softly, “Maybe in that way, she’s richer than both of us.”
Chapter Twelve
Eventually Dillon turned the car toward town. Ashley was silent as they drove, thinking of the lesson she could learn from her old nemesis. She was so lost in her own thoughts, it took a long time for one part of Dillon’s story to register.
When it did, when she recalled his job offer to Lacey’s husband, another puzzle piece fell into place. But, unfortunately, the picture was nowhere near complete. She had figured out by now, though, that Dillon would fill in the rest in his own good time. She also recognized that when he did, it would probably be mind-boggling and miles from anything she could possibly imagine.
“Okay, we’ve confronted my past,” she said. “What about yours? Who do you need to see?”
“Sheriff Pratt,” he said immediately.
Ashley simply stared. “You want to pay a call on the sheriff?”
He chuckled. “You say that as if you’re worried there might be outstanding warrants for my arrest.”
For once he said it without rancor. Maybe he was finally realizing she wasn’t judging him, just filled with curiosity at the unexpected twists she was discovering.
“It just seems like an odd choice, that’s all,” she told him.
“Are you coming with me or not?”
“You aren’t planning to get his attention by robbing the bank, are you?”
Dillon shot her a dark look. She grinned at him. “Just a little joke.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“I can see that.”
“No apology?” he taunted.
“Ask me again after we’ve seen the sheriff.”
When they reached the small brick jailhouse, Dillon circled the block.
“There were plenty of parking spaces right out front,” she pointed out. “Or were you just checking for the quickest escape route?”
“Have I mentioned that you have a very tart tongue?” he asked as he circled one last time, then pulled into a slot in front.
“Not recently.”
“Well, you do. One of these days it’s going to get you in a mess of trouble.”
“I hope not while we’re in the police station. We are going inside, aren’t we?”
“In a minute,” he said, regarding the building coldly. “I swore I’d never set foot in this place again,” he added, almost to himself.
Ashley watched him closely. “Dillon, we don’t have to do this. It was just a game.”
“Not to me.”
She sat back and waited for him to set the pace. He looked as if he was wrestling with the devil, but eventually he drew in a deep breath and turned to her. Evidently he’d made up his mind about something.
“Okay, sweetheart, let’s go to jail.”
“I hope you don’t mean that literally,” she said as she climbed out of the car and went with him up the walk. At the entrance, she tucked her hand in his and squeezed. He grinned at her.
“I wish I’d had you beside me for moral support years ago,” he said quietly. “Maybe this place wouldn’t have terrified me so.”
“Me, too,” she said and meant it with all her heart.
Inside, the uniformed receptionist at the front desk gaped at the sight of them. Her eyebrows hiked halfway up to her hairline. The reaction was becoming so familiar by now that Ashley barely noticed it.
“We’re here to see Sheriff Pratt, Officer,” Dillon said. Even as he uttered the words, sweat broke out on his brow.
“It’s sergeant,” the woman said with surprising antagonism.
Dillon acknowledged the correction with a nod. “Tell him Dillon Ford is here, Sergeant.”
“Are you sure?” she said.
She said it with such a conspicuous display of genuine dislike that Ashley couldn’t help wondering what the past history between the two might be. She appeared a little old to have been one of Dillon’s spurned wanna-be lovers.
The hard line of Dillon’s mouth softened ever so slightly at her stunned reaction. “That I’m Dillon Ford or that I want to see the sheriff?”
“Oh, I recognize you, all right,” she said, that note of antagonism back again. “But you’re the last person I expected to see here.” She glanced at Ashley and promptly became more deferential. “Except maybe for you, Miss Wilde.”
She looked worriedly from one to the other. “Is there a problem? Maybe I should tell the sheriff what this is about. Miss Wilde, if this man has done something–”
Ashley cut her off. “Maybe you should just tell him we’re here,” she said cheerfully. “That will be quite enough, I’m sure.”
The sergeant shrugged. “If you say so,” she said in a dire way that suggested they were signing their own death warrants.
Rather than using the phone to advise the sheriff of their presence, the woman practically ran down the corridor.
“Obviously you impressed the daylights out of her at some point in the past,” Ashley noted when she was gone.
Dillon shrugged. “You could say that.”
“Care to explain?”
“Actually we had a little tussle over my failure to stop for a red light a number of years ago. She took exception to my decision to flee before she could ticket me.”
Ashley groaned. “Dillon, why on earth did you run?”
He winced. “Well, the truth was I was only fourteen. I didn’t exactly have a driver’s license.”
“And you thought if she couldn’t ticket you, you wouldn’t be in trouble?”
“My thought processes weren’t exactly crystal clear back then,” he admitted, his expression chagrin
ed. “I was also just the teensiest bit drunk.”
Ashley moaned. “Good God. It’s a wonder they ever let you out of jail.”
“Actually, the sheriff couldn’t wait to kick me out. I sang all night long.” He grinned. “Have you ever heard me sing?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“Oh, you’d know if you had. I can’t exactly carry a tune, but I am very enthusiastic. More than one person has pleaded for mercy after listening to me.”
Ashley tried to picture a young Dillon, singing to chase away the demons or, more likely, simply to drive the sheriff completely bonkers. She found the image came quite easily, as did an impression of the uptight sheriff’s likely reaction. Sheriff Pratt wasn’t known for his sense of humor.
“I’m surprised he didn’t just lock you away in a soundproof room.”
“Believe me, he wanted to, but by then my father and his lawyer had persuaded him to let me go with a stern warning and the promise of parental discipline.”
“And did your father discipline you?”
“He beat the tar out of me, actually,” he said with startling amusement. “I’d never felt so loved in all my life.”
Ashley wanted to weep for the young man who’d had to get into mischief before his father even noticed him. “Oh, Dillon.”
“Hey, I didn’t bring you here so you’d feel sorry for me,” he said. “We’re here so I can put all that kind of stuff behind me once and for all.”
“I know that, but I can’t help it. I wish you’d had a father like mine.”
“I do,” he reminded her. “Your father all but adopted me a few years later after my own father threw up his hands in defeat. If it weren’t for Trent, I’d probably still be trying to prove something by causing trouble.”
“Will you tell me how that happened?” she asked as the spit-and-polish sheriff emerged from his office, his anxious sergeant right on his heels.
The ex-Marine strolled toward them with a hard, judgmental expression on his face for Dillon. It softened somewhat when his glance fell on Ashley.
“Miss Wilde,” he said courteously. “How’s your father?”
“Maybe you ought to be asking Dillon that,” she said deliberately. “He’s seen him more recently than I have.”
“Is that so?” he said, scowling at Dillon. “Why would that be? You rob him blind?”
“No, actually I stopped by to give him a check,” he said. “A return on his investment, so to speak.”
Ashley stared at him and tried to hide her amazement. Fortunately, the sheriff had plenty of questions of his own. She hoped at least one of them would get her the answers she craved.
“You’re telling me that Trent Wilde gave you money?” he asked. “What sort of con were you running?”
Ashley watched as Dillon visibly fought to control his temper. When she gave his hand a supportive squeeze, he shot her a grateful look.
“He didn’t give me anything,” he corrected in a reasonably calm tone. “He invested in my company.” He plucked a business card out of his pocket and handed it over. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”
The tough, no-nonsense sheriff stared at the tiny card as if he’d been confronted with a rattler. “You work for Security-Wise?”
Ashley gaped at the mention of the security company’s name. She was very familiar with it. Discovering that Dillon was somehow affiliated with it was a real shocker.
Dillon’s expression, however, revealed nothing as he said blandly, “I see you’ve heard of it.”
“They handled security when that big movie was being shot outside of town last year. Those guys knew what they were doing, no doubt about that.” He regarded Dillon with skepticism. “And you work for them.”
“Look again,” Dillon suggested.
The sheriff’s gaze returned to the business card. This time his mouth dropped open, much as the receptionist’s had earlier. “Says here you’re the president.”
Dillon nodded. “That’s right. President and owner. I’m delighted you were impressed with the men I had working here. They were some of my best.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” the sheriff said softly, echoing Ashley’s amazement, if not her rapidly escalating temper. “If you’d asked me years ago how you’d turn out, I wouldn’t have given two cents for the chances of you being out of prison by now.”
“Your high regard was excellent motivation,” Dillon said sarcastically. “But actually I owe the turnaround to Trent. He believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. All it took was a shove in the right direction.”
“I’m glad for you, boy. I truly am.” To his credit, the sheriff sounded genuinely sincere.
“Then you won’t mind if I decide to move back here and set up shop,” Dillon said. “I’ve been thinking of relocating my headquarters.”
Ashley stared, astonished. Why hadn’t he mentioned any of this to her? she wondered. Or was this an impulsive statement designed purely to jerk the sheriff’s chain?
“I’ve never had a problem with legitimate business,” Sheriff Pratt assured him. “Just monkey business.”
Dillon nodded. “Glad to hear it.”
He clasped Ashley’s hand a little more tightly in a gesture she guessed was meant entirely for the sheriff’s benefit. Given the cool reception he’d received, Ashley couldn’t entirely blame him for it, though she had a few things she personally planned to get straight with him the minute they were away from here.
“Let’s go, sweetheart,” he said.
They were almost at the front door when he turned back, halting Ashley in her tracks.
“No hard feelings,” he said quietly to the sheriff.
For the first time the sheriff’s tight expression eased. “No hard feelings.”
“If you ever get tired of your job, I can always use a man with your understanding of the law,” Dillon said. A devilish glint lit his eyes as he added, “There are a lot of women in Hollywood who would just love having a man like you as a bodyguard.”
The sheriff blushed all the way to the roots of his close-cropped white hair. “I doubt if my wife would go along with that,” he said, chuckling. The genuine amusement transformed his face. “But thanks for offering just the same. I suppose I’ll go to my grave fantasizing about it.”
Outside, Ashley stopped, planted her hands on her hips and glared at the man beside her. “Dillon Ford, you have one heck of a lot of explaining to do.”
* * *
Making peace with Sheriff Pratt had taken every bit of nerve he possessed, Dillon concluded. Even so, he wasn’t sure that was half of what he’d need to make peace with Ashley. She looked mad enough to spit nails. He supposed she had a right.
No, he corrected, gauging the fury in her eyes. There was no supposing about it.
“You seem upset,” he said mildly.
“Oh, that’s not the half of it, Mr. President of Security-Wise,” she said. “Do you know I actually hired one of your people for a shoot last year after there were some threats from an obsessed fan?”
“I know,” he admitted blandly. “He really liked you. Said you were a doll.”
“He was old enough to be my grandfather.”
“He was fifty,” Dillon corrected. “And very, very skilled. Had you been hoping for a young stud?”
“Of course not.”
“Then I don’t see the problem.”
“It wasn’t a problem,” she muttered. “It’s just that if I’d known…”
“That I owned the company,” he supplied. “What? Would you have gone to somebody else for protection?”
“No. Everyone I asked, including my sneaky, traitorous father, said Security-Wise was the best. I feel as if you lied to me somehow.”
“That’s absurd. You and I never even talked.”
“Which is precisely my point. When the job came across your desk, you knew about it, right?”
He’d expected her to figure that out eventually, but that didn’t make admitting it any e
asier. “Of course,” he said reluctantly.
“Then you should have called.”
Pleased that she sounded so miffed, he grinned. “Oh? Why is that? To pamper you? Did you expect special attention given our past history?”
“Of course not.”
“What, then?”
“Didn’t you even care that I needed protection?”
“Of course, I did. That’s why I sent Milt. He’s the best in the business. Nobody gets past Milt.”
“And what about you? Does anybody get past you?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Then why would you assign someone else to a case you should have taken yourself? Or are you too important to go into the field anymore? Do you just sit back in your fancy office…” She glowered at him. “You do have a fancy office, I assume.”
“Very,” he agreed. “Plush carpet and leather. The penthouse suite of a very impressive skyscraper, in fact.”
“How lovely. So, do you just sit there staring out at the skyline and let other men do the dangerous stuff?”
“Not usually. I take my share of assignments.”
“Just not me,” she said, looking surprisingly hurt.
“If you’d listen for half a minute, I’d explain.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“Would you please shut up?”
She scowled, but complied.
“Okay, the truth is, you needed somebody to be on the alert every second. I wasn’t so sure I could be objective around you. I probably would have had a very hard time keeping my mind on business,” he admitted. “The past few days ought to be proof enough that I was right.”
That silenced her for a minute.
“I suppose you have a point,” she finally conceded.
“I usually do.”
She frowned. “You are a very smug man.”
“Irritating, isn’t it?”
“Damned irritating.”
“Do you swear a lot?” he asked. “It’s not ladylike.”
The Bridal Path: Ashley Page 14
