Because a Husband Is Forever (4 page)

“You always view everything so darkly?” Dakota asked.

He shrugged absently. “Just seems surprising that with all these people in here and that line at the door, that this booth would go empty and unnoticed.”

“It doesn't, exactly.” She paused to order a bottle of
wine for the table, then looked back at Ian. “Dimitri keeps it reserved for me.”

That didn't seem like a sound business move, unless there was something going on between her and the silver-haired man. The embrace had seemed particularly warm and friendly.

“What else does he keep reserved for you?”

“The best wine in the house,” she answered glibly, nodding at the departing waiter. She deliberately took no offense, sensing he didn't mean it as an insult but more of a probe.

Ian's gray eyes held hers. He had no idea what prompted him to ask, “What do you do in exchange for all this service?”

Randy leaned in, an apologetic expression on his lean face. “You'll have to excuse my partner. He left his brain in his other skull.”

Dakota took it all in stride. “Along with his manners, I guess. Glad they lasted the length of the show.”

She should have left it there, she told herself. After all, the man had no right to infer anything. But she wanted to set the record straight.

“And to answer your question, this is Dimitri's way of showing his gratitude. This place is his first restaurant in this country. I had him on my very first show and sent a little business his way as he was starting out. His excellent menu and fantastic culinary skill—until recently, he was the head chef, as well—did the rest. But he still chooses to be grateful, and I do like the food
here.” Finished, she gave him an inquiring look. “Any other questions?”

Ian laughed shortly. He supposed he had that coming. He had no idea why he'd pushed the issue, only that an uncustomary flare of temper had surfaced when he saw the way the older man had held on to Dakota for a beat too long. There was no reason why he should have cared, even if the two were lovers.

“I guess that puts me in my place. Sorry.”

Randy almost choked on the water he'd just sipped. Regaining control, he stared at Ian. “Oh God, this is a monumental moment. Russell never apologizes.”

Ian opened the menu, hoping to return to business as usual. The selections ran down two long columns. “Because I'm usually not wrong.”

Randy grinned. “He's also been known to walk on water on occasion.”

MacKenzie's eyes shifted to the other man. “Now
that
I'd like to book for the show.”

Ian didn't even glance up. “Sorry, only private showings.”

Dakota laughed. Her eyes fairly gleamed with delight as she looked at him. “Hey, you do have a sense of humor.”

“Sometimes,” he muttered, wishing his partner would start to use his gift of gab and bail him out of this.

As if sensing Ian's thoughts and taking pity on him, Randy picked up the menu and looked down the long columns. “So, what's good here?”

“I can honestly say everything,” Dakota told him. MacKenzie nodded her assent. “I've sampled every item at one time or another and couldn't tell you which was his best.”

Ian glanced over the top of his menu. His eyes slowly slid down as much of her trim torso as was visible to him. Women didn't generally admit to having a healthy appetite, so he believed her. “How do you keep the weight off?”

Dakota thought for a moment. Weight had never been a problem for her. “Regular exercise, I suppose.” Or as regular as she could get it, given her hectic schedule.

“Having the metabolism of a hummingbird doesn't hurt, either,” MacKenzie chimed in.

Dakota laughed. “You should talk.” If she were into envying people, MacKenzie would be at the top of her list. The smaller woman could eat from morning until night and never show any of it. “She eats ice cream as if it was going out of style and never gains so much as a lousy ounce.”

Ian smiled politely at both women. He was here to have a drink and a late lunch, nothing more. He'd managed to keep a distance between himself and the people he worked for. Doing the same with Dakota Delany shouldn't be difficult.

Shouldn't be
, a small voice in his mind echoed for reinforcement.

The small voice somehow rang false.

Ian closed his menu as the food server came their
way to take their order. He glanced at the glass of wine standing by his plate. He'd never really cared for wine. “They have beer here?”

Dakota grinned. “More kinds than you could possibly imagine.”

Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all, he thought. He raised his eyes to Dakota's.

Then again…

T
he buzzing pulsed insistently as it wedged its way into a low-grade din in the restaurant.

MacKenzie sighed, retiring her menu to the table. She looked up at their slim-hipped food server who stood with an electronic pad and stylus poised in his hand.

“I'm probably going to have to pass,” she said. Tilting the pager that had become a permanent accessory, she nodded. “Yup, I'm going to have to pass.” She exchanged looks with Randy. “The studio's paging me.”

“Why don't you just call them back?” Randy asked.

Both Dakota and she knew that it was never that simple. “A—” she held up one finger “—the reception here's usually not the best. Like as not, I'll prob
ably pick up Angela Redding's conversation.” Underscoring her point, MacKenzie nodded at a mature-looking woman sitting at the next table. The woman's autographed photo graced the wall and she was known as the grande dame of one of the longest-running soap operas on the air. “And B—” a second finger joined the first “—they'll just tell me to get back there, anyway.”

Randy rose to his feet to let her slide out of the booth. MacKenzie flashed a smile at Ian and Randy. “It's been fun,” she told the two men.

Randy stopped her before she could leave. “Why don't I walk you back?”

The suggestion freshened her smile, but etiquette had her protesting. “You don't have to do that.”

Randy gave a half shrug. “Well, since I'm on my feet anyway,” he pointed out, “I might as well just keep moving.” He took her arm. “Besides, this gives me a chance to ask a few questions.”

Dakota noted that her friend gave up any attempt at protest. “Is charm part of being a bodyguard?”

“It helps.” He looked over his shoulder at Ian. “I'll catch up with you later.” Ian merely nodded. Randy inclined his head toward the other occupant of the booth. “Dakota, a pleasure.”

“Likewise.”

She watched Randy and MacKenzie leave. Was it her imagination, or did their bodies appear to be closer than the space around them necessitated? Maybe this was the
start of something good for MacKenzie. The woman had no social life outside of the show.

Neither do you anymore.

And it was going to stay that way, she decided firmly. Getting burned once was enough for her, at least until the next century. Clearing her throat, she looked back at the man beside her in the booth. “So, is stoicism the other part of being a bodyguard?”

He ignored her question. Without Randy as a buffer, it was going to get painfully quiet at the table. Taking the initiative, he slid to the edge of the booth. “Look, we don't have to stay.”

But Dakota made no move to follow him out. Instead, she placed her hand on his wrist. “Sure we do. We're the only ones who've placed their orders.”

That stopped him for a moment. “I'm not much on conversation.”

“That's okay. I am.” Mildly certain that she'd snuffed out his inclination to go, she took her hand from his wrist. “My father used to say I talked more than any three people he knew.”

“Sounds like a sharp man.”

There was nothing she liked better than to talk about her family. A warm smile curved her mouth. “He is. He does the evening news on Channel Seven.”

Most people she met already knew that, since Daniel Delany had been in the business for over thirty years and had been coming into people's living rooms, delivering the news in one form or another. But she had a
feeling that Ian Russell was not “most people.” More than likely, whatever didn't touch his immediate sphere didn't merit his interest.

“His name is Daniel Delany,” she added. As she watched, she thought she saw a vague spark of recognition filter through his eyes.

He did follow the news, although he paid little attention to the perfectly groomed parade of newscasters who delivered it. After taking a long drink from the glass of beer, he finally acknowledged, “Name's familiar.”

She'd never met a living man without a pulse before, she thought. Still, there was an undercurrent of magnetism that transcended his less-than-lively delivery. Maybe it was the soft lighting, but he seemed to smolder.

As if the proximity suddenly struck him as too close, Ian abruptly moved his place setting to the other side of the table so that they would face each other.

About to protest his sudden rise to his feet, she realized that he was only seeking the shelter of distance and not leaving. Did she make him that uncomfortable? “I'll tell him you said that the next time I talk to him,” she said.

He nodded, hunting for some kind of response. He didn't want her thinking he was a stone statue, although he'd already warned her about that, and besides, it should have made no difference what she thought.

Still, because the atmosphere threatened to fill up with dead air, he asked what he thought was the obvious. “Stay in touch much? With your father?” he asked.

“As much as I can.” She broke a bread stick, nibbling
on one end. She hadn't realized that she was as hungry as she was. The urge for an unscheduled pilgrimage to the land of used, overpriced possessions had come before she'd had anything for breakfast. She counted herself lucky that her stomach hadn't rumbled. “My parents live on the West Coast. California,” she added.

West Coast and California were synonymous to her, but that was only because she'd grown up there. Everyone always felt that their home was the epicenter of everyone's focus, she mused just as the food server returned with their orders.

“Fast,” Ian commented in a low voice.

“They like to keep things moving here,” she said as she dug into her food with unabashed relish. “Dimitri's thinking of buying out the store next door and expanding.” He made no comment on the information. Big surprise. Dakota retreated to the previous topic. Her family. “My mother's Joanna Montgomery.” Watching his expression, she saw no sign that the name might have meant something to him.
Sorry, Mom, not everyone's a movie buff.
“She's an actress.”

He raised one eyebrow at the information. His late mother had been a homemaker, struggling to create harmony between two men who had nothing in common aside from their surname and choice of profession. She was the rock of the earth. Actresses, he felt, were the complete opposite. “Your whole family is in show business?”

“My older brother, Paul, is an accountant.” She didn't bother adding that he worked for a major studio.

Ian nodded. “Good for him.”

There was something about the tone that rubbed her against the grain. She silently took offense for both her mother and her father. “But my grandfather's in the business,” she informed him. “Waylon Montgomery.”

Her almost-silent eating companion's head jerked up. By the surprised look on his face, Dakota knew she'd hit pay dirt. So the man did watch television. A sliver of triumph worked its way forward.

Ian's fork was suspended in midair. “You're kidding.”

“It's in my official bio,” she deadpanned.

“Savage Ben's owner is your grandfather?” Ian asked. Savage Ben had been a cult favorite TV program in the early eighties and was still living happily in reruns around the world.

He couldn't believe it. Waylon Montgomery had a face that had been lived in years before his hair had turned white. Not that he'd ever given the matter any thought, but if he had, he would have imagined that the man would have fathered rather homely children, not someone who took men's breath away in a wheelbarrow.

“One and the same.” Impulse put the words in her mouth. “He's coming out at the end of the month to do an interview. I could arrange for you to meet him if you like.”

“I—my son and I used to watch that on Saturday mornings together.” The last thing he wanted was for her to think of him as one of those people without a life, who
faithfully attached themselves to celebrities and went out of their way to see them.

The piece of personal information took her by surprise. So did the strange pang she felt.

The man was married.

That didn't matter, she silently insisted.

Dakota forced herself to focus on what he'd just said. Maybe Ian Russell was warming up to her. Or maybe finding out who her grandfather was had momentarily shaken up his world.

“And then what?” she coaxed, trying to get him to continue. “He outgrew it?” Kids were rebelling and trying to act cool sooner these days. She'd never gone through a rebellion herself, but all her friends had. She'd been in the minority.

Ian looked back at his plate as he resumed eating. “I wouldn't know.”

There was something about the set of his shoulders that got to her. She paused a moment, wondering if she should hold her tongue. But then, that had never stopped her before. “You're divorced, aren't you?”

Ian looked at her. He wanted to tell her that she had no right to probe, but curiosity got the better of him. “Does it show?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she allowed. “You don't strike me as the type to suddenly ignore your son. Something else had to have happened. Divorce was my first guess.” Mostly because so many people she knew found themselves in that position at one time or another. That
she hadn't had one marriage to her name made her unusual. “They say fifty percent of the couples wind up that way.”

His expression was dour. “Nice to know I didn't mess up any statistics.”

She forgot about being hungry. Dakota leaned her head against her hand. “What happened?”

The look in his eyes warned her off. There was a DO NOT TRESPASS sign right there in big, bold letters. She ignored it.

“A little personal, don't you think?” He all but growled the words.

“Yes,” she answered with unabashed honesty and enthusiasm. “But if we're going to be friends—”

The knife fell from his fingers, clattering to the plate. Ian looked at her sharply. “Who said we're going to be friends?”

“I did.” And then she smiled at him. Ian found the smile completely unreadable. And annoying. As were her next words. “And, in a way, you did.”

The woman was clearly suffering from some kind of delusions. “What?”

“Your partner left with my production assistant. You're still here.”

He blew out a breath. Why was she making more out of this than there was? He'd remained because, after giving it some thought, it was logical to stay, nothing else.

“Like you pointed out, we'd already ordered. And I was hungry. No sense in letting good food go to waste.”

He watched as a completely unfathomable smile played along her lips. “Whatever you say.”

He shook his head. “Anyone ever tell you you can be irritating?”

“Yes,” she freely admitted, then added, “but my pure heart usually gets them to cut me some slack.” Her expression softened a little, becoming just a shade serious. “You don't have to tell me why you got divorced if you don't want to.”

“Thanks,” he said. He'd thought that was the end of it, but looking back, he should have known better. Gorgeous though she was, Dakota Delany still had something in common with an unrelenting freight train.

“But my guess would be that she got tired of being a cop's wife, tired of waiting to see if you'd come walking through that door each night.”

She'd hit the nail right on the head on her first try. He supposed that made his life predictable. “Not very original, is it?”

“Doesn't have to be original to hurt.”

If that was pity, he wanted no part of it. “You always probe people like this over a meal?”

“No. Sometimes I do it over drinks.”

She got the smile she was after. Granted, it was just the barest hint of a smile, but given the kind of person she was working with, she figured it was a major triumph. Dakota saw his eyes shift to just beneath her chin. He was either contemplating clipping her one, or her necklace had caught his eye.

“It's a cameo,” she said, watching his eyes as he admired her necklace.

“Family heirloom?”

She'd made short work of her meal, she realized. Taking the last bite, she placed her fork down on the plate and crossed her knife over it.

“Somebody's family,” she allowed, “but not mine. I just bought it this morning at one of those quaint little stores along the coast.” She thought about it for a moment. Funny how that had fallen into place for her. Her mother was the one who adored antiques. As a child, she'd always thought of haunting the various dusty little stores as punishment. Maybe something inside of her had wanted to retreat to those childhood days, where there had been parents to buffer her and keep hurt from her door. “Don't even know why I went. I don't usually go to those kinds of stores.” There were a number of antique stores in the city and she only frequented those when her mother came to visit and to shop. “Certainly not if it requires getting behind a wheel and driving to them.” Fingering the cameo again, she felt that same sort of restlessness taking hold that she'd felt this morning. She looked at Ian. “If I was the kind who believed in fate and destiny, I'd say it was almost as if I was supposed to find this cameo.”

He snorted. “Sounds like a good credit card commercial.”

“No, I'm serious.” For some reason his dismissive expression made her defensive. “There's a legend that goes with this cameo.”

A legend probably woven by some enterprising shop owner, he thought. “Oh?”

“The cameo belonged to an Amanda Deveaux during the Civil War. Her fiancé gave it to her just before he went off to fight. He told her not to take it off until he came back to marry her.”

And she bought it, lock, stock, and barrel. He would have taken her for someone more savvy than that. “Let me guess, they buried her in it.” He took a final sip of his beer. “Not a very cheery legend. Aren't you afraid that thing might carry a curse?”