Don’t Call Me Sweetheart (2 page)

“It’s not your fault, Stephan,” Christian ground out
hoarsely, trying to console the guilt-ridden counselor with what little
compassion he could dredge up. “We both read the will. The way the account was
set up originally anyone whose name appeared on it was an owner. And evidently
Cole’s name was never removed.”

A short laugh escaped him but the sound was devoid of all
traces of humor.

“Amazing how one little oversight can change so much, isn’t
it?”

“Will it really change so much?” Stephan asked. “You’ve been
pretty successful at the bank up to this point. Surely you have a little set
aside?”

Christian had already done the mental calculations. He knew
just how far his personal assets would stretch and the results looked dismal to
say the least.

But he’d be damned if he’d let his father’s name be
tarnished, or the business he had worked so many years to establish go on the
auction block because of his worthless brother.

“You know what?” Christian asked, his voice flat and once
more tinged with bone-crushing weariness. “I thought the day of the funeral was
the worst I had ever endured but after the bombs you’ve just dropped in my lap,
I’ve changed my mind. There aren’t any more little surprises you haven’t told
me about yet, are there?”

“No, that’s the last of it,” Stephan answered, gathering the
papers up into a neat pile. “But you didn’t answer my question. Can you handle
this financially?”

“I’ve had a little luck here and there but I’m nowhere close
to financially independent,” Christian admitted, absently rubbing the back of his
neck where it had started to ache shortly after his arrival. “There’s a helluva
lot at stake here and I want to study my options from every angle before I make
any irreversible decisions. Right now, I’ve got to have some time to think. I’ll
be in touch.”

Christian rose from the comfortably padded leather chair in
which he had just spent some of the most uncomfortable moments of his life and
strode from the lawyer’s office. He had no clear destination in mind, he only
knew that in the space of a few short minutes his entire world had been turned
upside down and he had a harsh deadline to meet if he was going to succeed in
setting things right.

The early November morning was picture perfect, but for the
first time in his life Christian failed to fully appreciate the natural beauty
surrounding him. In the east Mt. Rainier’s glacier-capped dome automatically
drew his eye. It soared majestically over the small, tranquil town of
Reflection Ridge where Christian had spent a quiet childhood. The familiar
sight triggered memories and sent them flashing through his mind like a badly
spliced movie, leaving his heart raw with aching.

Dragging Christmas trees home through the snow with his
father, the sweetness of his mother’s smile as she hurried to greet him each
day after school, sneaking girls up to an unused guest room Saturday nights.

Along with the images came a newfound sense of isolation
that enveloped him in solitude. As far as he was concerned he had no family
left since Cole was as dead to him as his parents now were.

Numb, Christian climbed into his black and silver pickup and
turned southeast onto the winding highway leading out of town. The miles
slipped behind him one after the other as he tried to distance himself from the
anger and pain gnawing at him. He passed the turnoff for home and kept driving
and he was surprised to find the sun riding low in the west when he finally
turned back toward his mountain home. He knew he had to make some sense out of
the mess he found himself in and the quiet solitude he could find on the
sloping shoulders of the majestic landmark beckoned him back. The shock over
losing his parents would fade slowly but time wouldn’t stand still for the
decisions he knew he had to make.

“Ah, hell, Dade,” Christian muttered to himself as he looked
down at the dashboard and realized he was pushing eighty. A quick check in the
rearview mirror assured him that he had dodged Sheriff Blackwell and a
well-deserved ticket. This time.

Heavy shadows carpeted the lawn beneath the towering Douglas
fir trees surrounding the inn when he finally pulled into the circle drive of
the beautiful Victorian mansion that would be his home once more. But this time
would be drastically different. The house he remembered from his youth was
gone. Now it was his property, his responsibility.

Christian glanced around the well-kept grounds and thought
back to all the times he had contemplated retiring to Mountain Meadow Inn. The
idea had always been in the back of his mind with the rest of his long-range
goals, somewhere between switching to bran cereal for breakfast instead of
pizza and trading in his truck for a minivan. It would happen. Someday.

He wished someday hadn’t arrived so damn soon.

Stepping wearily from the truck Christian climbed the wide
steps of the front porch that in the past had seemed so welcoming. Today they
led to… Where? To empty halls and bedrooms waiting for strangers to fill them? Without
someone to share the vast, rambling country inn he loved so much, the stark
reality was that he might own this house but he had no home.

No one to soften the burdens thrust upon him. No one to
comfort him in the dark hours before dawn as he mourned his losses. For the
first time in his life Christian felt the cruel embrace of loneliness.

He wandered from room to room, the emptiness echoing his
footsteps as they fell upon the rich, honey-colored wood floors. With the inn
closed until further notice there were no guests to intrude on his thoughts. He
almost regretted the decision. Talking to someone, anyone, would have been
preferable to being alone with the demons hounding him.

Evening shadows crept steadily across the rooms, draping
them in soft shades of gray and black. The surreal visual effect matched
Christian’s mood. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights as he slowly made his
way upstairs to his parents’ apartment. He guessed it was his now.

He hesitated at the doorway, afraid to enter. Memories
assailed him from every direction as his gaze swept the spacious living
quarters.

A roll-top desk that had belonged to his grandfather, Joseph’s
hunting rifles carefully locked away in their case in the corner, the elegant clawfooted
bathtub visible through the bathroom door. Had it really been almost a year
since he had surprised his mother with it as a gift? He took them all in,
silent sentinels to the lives of the two vibrantly alive people who had laughed
and fought, lived and loved, in the now hushed rooms.

The reality of the past week closed in around him,
suffocating in its intensity. It had all happened too damn fast.

Moving slowly he made his way through the bath that served
to connect the living room and bedroom. His eyes traced the familiar setting
before coming to rest on a beautifully etched gold frame sitting on the bedside
table. Inside was a picture of Joseph and Helen taken on their thirty-fifth
anniversary. Joseph’s arm was wrapped protectively around Helen’s slim
shoulders, seemingly keeping her safe just as he had throughout their marriage.
Love, pure and genuine, burned brightly in the eyes of the happy couple as they
gazed adoringly at each other.

Christian picked up the picture and sagged onto the bed,
resting his arms on his thighs as he stared bleakly at the frozen image in his
hands. He’d never told his parents how much he longed for the kind of marriage
they had. How he’d looked for but couldn’t find, a woman who could light up his
life with the kind of happiness he watched them share for so many years. He’d
never told them how he planned to fill the old house with grandchildren for
them to spoil someday. So many secrets that would never be shared now. Christian
made a silent vow that secrets would never again come between him and those
that he loved. Nothing was worth this much regret.

In the enveloping silence he at last allowed himself to
experience the pain he had kept so carefully caged within him. It became a
living thing, lapping furiously at his soul, steadily consuming him as it fed
upon itself with relentless intensity. Anguish seared and scarred his heart as
he thought of all the things that had been and those that would never be again.

In that last quiet moment before daylight slipped completely
away, silently embracing the dusky evening sky, Christian Warrington Dade,
confident craftsman, trusted friend, but more than anything else,
broken-hearted son, surrendered to the heartache that had pursued him so
relentlessly for the last seven days.

Knowing he would never fully understand the reason behind
his loss, Christian allowed his burden-laden shoulders to bow as he slumped
forward and cradled his head in his hands. And for the first time in his adult
life, he wept.

It promised to be another typical day for Whitney Lane. Squinting
her eyes against the early morning sunlight escaping into her bedroom Whitney
supposed she would spend it as she had countless others, busily pretending she
was the trusted personal assistant to one of the most popular romance writers
currently publishing, Lane McLaughlin. What no one realized, except Whitney’s
best friend and publicist and her faithful housekeeper of course, was that she
and Lane McLaughlin were actually the same person. Neither would exist without
the other.

Throwing a slim arm across her eyes Whitney reflected on the
dual existence she had never planned to lead. The pseudonym had only become
necessary when her novels catapulted her into the realm of the most highly
acclaimed contemporary romance divas. After her first novel,
Tame the
Wandering Heart
, was published the public clamored for more, loving her
unique method of whisking them away from their predictable, structured lives,
even if it was only for a little while. What wasn’t familiar in a McLaughlin,
easily turned to fantasy.

For the moment though, Whitney didn’t want to think about
the career that kept her so busy. Lying in bed so late felt sooo sinfully
wonderful. She couldn’t remember the last time she had indulged herself like
this. The bothersome slivers of light slipping uninvited through the narrow
crack in the curtains prompted her to squeeze her eyes shut and roll onto her
stomach, grumbling about the intrusion. And then, as if on cue, the telephone
rang, successfully intruding on her self-indulgence.

Whitney’s first instinct was to throw a pillow at the
offensive thing. She missed, so with a muffled groan she rolled to her side to
reach for the receiver, wrestling with the cord for several moments before she
managed to get the right end of it to her ear.

“Mmm. Hello?”

“Whitney, honey, did I wake you?” Through the hazy remnants
of sleep Whitney recognized Tess Randall’s muuuch too perky voice.

“That’s okay, Tess,” Whitney lied, groping for the alarm
clock. “I needed to get up at least twenty minutes ago anyway.”

“You sound funny, Whitney,” Tess remarked, amusement lacing
her words. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

“You, of all people, should know better than that,” Whitney
laughed. “Actually I stayed up half the night to add a few finishing touches to
my manuscript.”

“Oh. Well, you know I will always live in hope.” Tess sighed
dramatically before changing the subject.

“Right now though you need to get out of that bed and get dressed.
I’ve made reservations today for lunch with someone
so
incredible I don’t
even think I’ll tell you his name until we get to the club.” Tess sounded
almost, well, giddy. Totally out of character for someone of her sophistication
and poise.

“Tess,” Whitney replied patiently as she sat up and swung
long, slender legs over the side of the bed, “first of all, I have no desire to
meet anyone ‘incredible’ today, or any other day as you well know and secondly,
whoever this guy is, he probably has even less of a desire to meet me. Why don’t
you go to lunch with him alone so you can work that ‘Tessy’ kind of charm you
have on him?” Whitney grinned before adding, “You’d probably have the poor man
proposing before dessert.”

Tess was ready for the customary lack of enthusiasm from her
friend where men were concerned. “You’re not getting out of it that easily this
time. You’d never forgive yourself, or me either for that matter, if I don’t
twist your arm on this one. Trust me.”

“The last time I trusted you we ended up going out with that
kinky photographer and his friend.” Whitney couldn’t resist tossing out a
reminder, “Remember those pictures he showed us? I don’t need to say any more,
do I?”

“Well, everybody should have a hobby.”

Whitney burst out laughing. “Tess, he was a joke! We both
know you’re never going to find a decent man in New York City.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to stop looking for both of us.”

“It should. Tess, I really don’t want to meet anyone new
today,” Whitney declared meaningfully, hoping they could just drop the entire
subject.

“Uh-huh. You never do, so try again.”

“I wouldn’t have anything to wear,” Whitney argued, her
anxiety increasing as it became apparent that Tess was going to refuse to let
her back out the arrangement.

“Wear that sexy little black dress. With all that gorgeous
red hair of yours, you’ll really stand out,” Tess countered readily. She had
laid out her strategy well ahead of time.

“Standing out is precisely what I try to avoid.”

“Come on, Whitney, this time I’m serious.” The blatantly
amused tone in Tess’ voice didn’t lend much credence to her sincerity. “You’ll
hate yourself tomorrow if you don’t come. Besides,” she was ready to play her
trump card, “you’re supposed to deliver Miss Lane McLaughlin’s latest
bestseller by noon today in case you’ve forgotten. You wouldn’t want to keep
your publicist waiting, now would you?”

“Tess…”

“Nooo, now wait a minute, I’m busy thinking.” Tess was
enjoying herself far too much. “Oh, now I remember, I’m your publicist, aren’t
I? And it would
never
do to have me irritated over a missed deadline.” Quickly,
before Whitney could formulate an argument she added playfully, “I’ll be out of
the office all morning but I suppose I could meet you for lunch and… Well, what
do you know. Crestfield would probably be as good a place as any. See you
there!” The dial tone was buzzing in Whitney’s ear before she could collect her
thoughts enough to realize she had just been out-manipulated by one of the
best.

Whitney peered ruefully at the clock in her hand. In order
to comply with Tess’ ridiculous request she knew she needed to get moving, no
matter how much she wanted to ignore the grand summons just issued.

Normally she would have made up an excuse to avoid meeting
one of Tess’ many finds but there was no hope of backing out today. Tess was
right. Lunch guest or no she had a deadline to meet and Whitney had never been
one to take her responsibilities lightly. And to her credit, Tess was
intimately familiar with Whitney’s strong distrust of strangers. She wouldn’t
knowingly lead her reluctant friend into an uncomfortable situation. If she
valued her hide at any rate.

The cool linoleum beneath her bare feet caused Whitney to
hurry but by the time she washed her hair and performed all the necessary
toiletries, which wouldn’t be necessary at all if she didn’t have to meet a “Mr.
Incredible”, it was approaching midmorning and there was little doubt she was
purposefully dragging her feet.

“You know,” she told herself for the hundredth time as she
tugged the requested garment over her head and smoothed it across her hips, “one
of these days you’re going to have to start being more assertive. Stop being
scared that everyone you meet is out to take advantage of you. Especially men. They’re
not all after your bank account like Jon was, you know.” A bitter smile touched
her lips but she forced the unpleasant memories away. She hadn’t thought about
her former fiancé for weeks and she certainly wasn’t of a mind to do so today.

She was struggling with the zipper of the troublesome little
black dress she had been ordered to wear when a friendly voice called to her
from the doorway. “I don’t suppose you’d like a hand with that now would you,
Miss Whitney?”

Whitney twirled around awkwardly, one arm stretched behind
her back and the other twisted over her shoulder. She flashed a thankful grin
in the housekeeper’s direction. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you,
Elizabeth.”

The heavyset woman ambled into the room and laid the stack
of fresh towels she had been carrying aside so she could finish the task that
had kept Whitney tied in knots for the last several minutes. As she retrieved
her load she couldn’t help but ask, “You don’t usually get this dressed up to
see Tess. She wasn’t replaced by a handsome new publicist, was she?”

Whitney grimaced, replying, “No, she wasn’t. And if she had
been why would I care one way or the other if her replacement was handsome?”

“Someday you’ll care again, sweetheart,” the older woman
laughed. “A man will come along and steal your very heart away, then you’ll
know firsthand all about this romance stuff you’re so good at writing about. You
won’t need to make it up anymore.”

“I don’t need a man to teach me about romance, Elizabeth,”
Whitney protested adamantly as she plopped down in front of the antique vanity
dresser that had been in her family for generations.

Distracted, she began to pull a brush through her long,
russet hair. “Jon taught me all I’ll ever need to know about how men really
behave. I’d rather give my readers the type of men we all wish we could find.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times, honey. They aren’t all like
that money-grubbing social climber, Jon Renolette.” Elizabeth stepped behind
Whitney and their eyes met in the large mirror. “There’s a man out there for
you and when you find him you’ll realize that love, true love, is a treasure
worth any fight, any sacrifice, any heartache. You’ll see.”

Oh, Elizabeth, I wish I could believe you,
Whitney
thought sadly. Experience had taught her otherwise though. Men wanted one of
two things from women. Money or sex and if they were lucky they could get both
at once. The emotional side of a relationship held little or no attraction to a
man intent on fulfilling his own agenda. A little over a year ago she had
discovered that true love existed only in fairy tales, or in bestsellers like
hers when her fiancé had revealed his true colors. Her money had been far more
attractive to him than she would ever be.

Whitney cocked her head to the side, smiling wistfully at
the woman who had been more mother to her than servant since her parents’
deaths. “You know, Elizabeth, there was a time when I believed in love. I used
to sit in front of this mirror at my grandparents’ when I was little and dream
about what my husband would be like.”

Elizabeth nodded, then as Whitney seemed content to let the
subject drop she prompted, “Well, dear, aren’t you going to tell me about this
man of yours?”

A faraway look clouding her emerald eyes, Whitney wondered
what had happened to the man created by her youthful imagination, the man who
had come to her in the dark hours of the night. She recalled his towering form
perfectly and the dark features that had always been capable of melting her
resolve in mere minutes, leaving her powerless to resist surrender yet again. And
how many times had she envisioned herself running her hands through midnight
black hair while staring up into smoldering obsidian eyes? Her phantom said all
the right things, whispering through her dreams the loving words she had yet to
hear in the conscious world. He touched her as only a lover could and made her
want to…

For heaven’s sake girl,
Whitney scolded herself
sternly as she shook off the provocative visions surfacing in her mind and
flashed a sheepish smile at the housekeeper.
You’re acting like you’re still
sixteen. Imagining that someone like that would be interested in you for
anything other than what Daddy left. What are you thinking?
She didn’t have
time for daydreams, let alone fantasies. Besides, there was no sense retracing
that dead-end path at this late date. She was twenty-six and the prospects of
finding the kind of lasting love she wrote about were looking grimmer with each
passing day. She wasn’t even convinced she still wanted to.

“No, Elizabeth,” Whitney answered at last, a mischievous grin
taking the sting out of her words, “I don’t think I will just now.”

Elizabeth returned the smile with a knowing one of her own.
“That’s all right, dear. You don’t have to. I already know plenty about the man
you’ll be marrying.”

Just as the housekeeper knew would happen Whitney’s
curiosity got the better of her and she raised one eyebrow, silently inviting
her friend to explain what she had meant. “We all do, since each new book you
write gives us a few more clues what he’ll be like.”

“Oh, you!” Whitney laughed. “You know I quit looking a long
time ago.”

“Maybe so,” the large, matronly woman replied with a wink as
she turned to leave. “But it’s when you’re not looking that love reaches out
and catches you like a rabbit in a snare. You’ll have to run very fast to stay
ahead of it.”

“Oh my lord, look at the time,” Whitney gasped. She glanced
at her watch in panic, knowing she had wasted more time than she should have
reminiscing. With a sigh of relief she noted there was just enough time to make
the drive from the restored Victorian home she supposedly shared with Lane
McLaughlin in the suburbs to the country club where Tess and Lane belonged. But
first she needed her newest novel. She pulled the door closed behind her and
crossed the hall to the comfortable room she had converted into a writer’s
sanctuary, her private haven from the outside world.

There on the desk, next to the computer just as she had left
it, was her finished manuscript. Well, it wasn’t exactly as she had left it,
Whitney observed with a wry half-smile. Her ever present companion lay curled
comfortably on the neatly stacked pages, completely oblivious to the fact that
great care had been taken to leave them that way.

“Move it, Gabbycat. That’s our grocery money for the next
year you’re sitting on,” Whitney admonished as she shooed the reluctant feline
out of the way and carefully rebound the manuscript. Reaching beneath the desk
she retrieved her briefcase and tucked the pages safely inside while the cat
watched through the slits of her nearly closed eyes.

As accustomed as she was to donning the persona of Lane
McLaughlin’s aide, Whitney felt as ready as she ever would to meet Tess and
their guest. She paused to rub the big tom’s velvety ears, then hurried outside
and stepped into her elegant bronze luxury sedan, tossing the leather briefcase
onto the seat next to her along with her purse. As she maneuvered the car down
the tree-lined drive and into traffic she thought it seemed odd that for all
her earlier trepidation at meeting a strange man for lunch, she now felt a
certain uncharacteristic anticipation. Common sense told her that whoever he
was, he certainly wasn’t in New York to meet her, or Lane McLaughlin for that
matter.