Keeping Company (18 page)

“Last stop,” he announced as he turned the Bronco in at Lindquist Antiques. “If Addie doesn’t have it, it probably can’t be found on this planet. Of course, Addie might not be able to find it herself. She’s a little … eccentric.”

“Everyone you know is eccentric,” Alaina said. “Except me.” She frowned prettily. “I hope that doesn’t make me eccentric by association.”

“I wouldn’t worry. Alaina … Naomi.”

She rolled her eyes and opened the truck’s door. “No chance, Harrison.”

As they strolled up the sidewalk Alaina stared at the house. It looked like something out of a Vincent Price movie: an eerie, enormous, incongruous blend of turrets, gingerbread, and gables painted a putrid, peeling green. The house was perched on a cliff above the bay on the very northern edge of Anastasia, a lonely promontory where the wind seemed to howl incessantly.

“What a creepy place,” she muttered, momentarily forgetting she was too levelheaded to be spooked by such things. “I feel like someone’s watching us.”

“Someone
is
watching us.” Dylan nodded toward a narrow window on the first floor where a hand was drawing back the curtain and a pair of eyes peered at them from the interior gloom as they mounted the creaking steps to the porch. “It’s Addie.”

The woman cracked the door open in much the same manner as she had held the curtain back, peering out at them with a wary look.

“Hello, Addie,” Dylan said, sending her his most amicable smile.

“I don’t know you,” she said flatly. Glancing
over her shoulder, she said, “I don’t know this person, Wimsey.”

“Dylan Harrison, Addie,” Dylan said calmly. “You know me.”

“I do? Oh, well.” She swung the door open and stared up at him. She was a trim woman in her early sixties with graying blond hair and sharp blue eyes. She wore a printed cotton dress and green rubber garden boots. “Of course I know you,” she snapped impatiently.

“I brought a friend. She’s shopping for a desk.”

“Well, why on earth would you bring her here?”

“Because you sell antique furniture.”

Addie turned and shushed her companion. “Yes, Wimsey, I know that. What do think I am, senile?”

Alaina gave Dylan a look. He just shrugged. The door swung open and Addie Lindquist waved them in. She was completely alone.

“And I thought Marlene was weird,” Alaina muttered.

The entire first floor of the house was crammed
with old furniture and relics, odd bits of junk the equally odd Addie Lindquist had collected over the years. Room after room was crowded with dusty, moldy tables and chairs, dressers and bureaus. One parlor held nothing but church pews piled like cordwood. A sunroom was wall-to-wall with old birdcages.

Just when she was ready to give up and go home, Alaina stumbled across exactly the piece she had had in mind all along. It was a large walnut partner’s desk with brass ormolu handles on the drawers. What made it different from all the others she’d seen was that it was surprisingly feminine in style, with cabriole legs and graceful carved moldings. It was perfect. And the price tag read $91,763.48.

“It’s a tad out of my range,” she said dryly, showing Dylan the dusty yellow tag. He choked.

“Addie,” he said cautiously, “is this negotiable?”

The woman gave the price tag a glance, then shot Dylan and Alaina a shrewd look. “Maybe. What’ll you give me?”

“I was thinking more in the line of three hundred,” Alaina said, hoping to get it for five hundred, willing to go to six fifty.

“Hmm … well …” Addie rubbed her chin in thought. She scowled over her shoulder and snapped, “Oh, don’t be such a piker, Wimsey.” Turning back to Alaina, she said, “You can have it for two fifty.” A mischievous smile lifted her pale mouth. “Wimsey will help you load it.”

Cursing her conscience under her breath, Alaina wrote the check for five hundred and gave Dylan a look that dared him to comment. His smile warmed her like a shower of golden sunshine. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as Addie wandered off.

“Come on, you tough cookie, you,” he said. “I have a feeling Wimsey isn’t going to be a whole lot of help loading this thing.”

“Are you sure I won’t be imposing?” Alaina asked, unable to keep all the nervousness out of her voice as they pulled up in Dylan’s driveway. It welled
up like floodwaters inside her and seeped through the cracks in her shield of self-assurance.

“It’s kind of hard to be an imposition on pizza-and-Kool-Aid night. We call out for the pizza, and our Kool-Aid cellar is well stocked.”

“Well … if you’re sure.”

Dylan noted with no small amount of annoyance that Alaina was staring at his house as if she feared there would be a horde of evil demons lurking inside it. “Alaina, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

But I’ll hate you forever if you don’t.
He didn’t say the words, but Alaina could hear the disappointment simmering in his tone. She swallowed a lump of apprehension, and it hit the bottom of her stomach like lead ballast.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to spend the evening with Dylan and his children. That wasn’t it at all. It was just that the day had turned out so perfect, she was afraid to push her luck.

Spending the afternoon with Dylan had been wonderful in a way she hadn’t even imagined. She liked simply being with him. He was fun and irreverent and sexy and romantic. And when it was
just the two of them, she could at least pretend they were meant to be together. Bringing his children into the picture and putting the lot of them together in a domestic setting was only going to shine a glaring spotlight on the fact that she was not the kind of woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

The prospect was disheartening. The fear of failing cut straight through her considerable arsenal of defense mechanisms and pierced her heart like a needle.

Dylan waited for a comment, watching her with a fierce frown. Obviously, she thought spending the day with him was fine, going to bed with him was fine, but a seven- and a nine-year-old would put a damper on the fun. Well, they came as a package, and that was all there was to it. Love her or not, he was prepared to call it quits with Alaina if she didn’t accept the fact that he was a very devoted father. His children came first; they had to, especially after what he and Veronica had put them through.

Dammit, why did he seem to be magnetically attracted to career women? Alaina had stated
time and again she had no interest in marriage or a family. What made him think he could change her mind? Why couldn’t he have fallen in love with Betty Crocker?

“I want to.” Alaina blurted the words out. She turned toward Dylan, not at all aware that her eyes were round and wide with uncertainty, with the vulnerability that caught so at his heart. “I just don’t want to impose.”

His heart melting instantly, Dylan leaned across the seat and kissed her softly parted lips, his hand cupping her cheek. “I want you here, Princess.”
Forever, if possible
, he added silently as he ran a forefinger over the vee shape of the Crystal she wore pinned above her left breast.

But would Cori and Sam want her here? Alaina wondered, her own finger absently following the path Dylan’s had over the pin she wore. That was the question that had her nerves jangling as she climbed down out of the Bronco and started toward the house the Harrisons called home.

It was a nice place. Certainly not the dreary little abode of a man who shunned life’s material
luxuries. The house was built on the side of a hill, just a block from the marina. It was no more than ten years old, sided—like the bar—in weathered gray cedar, with lots of angles and glass. A wide deck had been built on three sides and was crowded with overflowing planters and outdoor furniture. A large, expensive-looking telescope took up one corner, pointing toward the sky, just waiting for night to fall. Alaina made a mental note of the pricey toy, but made no comment. Her boundless capacity for argument seemed to have deserted her for the time being.

“You’ll have to excuse the mess,” Dylan said as he let them in. “It’s Mrs. Pepoon’s day off. Actually,” he admitted, making a face, “it looks this way most of the time. She’s so nearsighted, she can’t see well enough to really clean the place up.”

“Why do you keep a housekeeper who doesn’t keep house?” Alaina asked, glancing at the hall mirror that was dim with dust and the table that was buried beneath an assortment of junk and mail and newspapers.

“The kids like her.”

It was a simple but very telling answer. Alaina
swallowed and tried not to hyperventilate. She had no real experience with kids. Until recently, she’d spent no time with small children at all. When she’d moved to Anastasia, she’d lived with Faith and her little daughter, Lindy, for a few months while helping Faith set up the inn. That had gone well enough, she reminded herself. She and Lindy were buddies. In fact, it had been during that time that she had begun to feel some very real maternal pangs of her own.

Maybe she would get through this evening just fine. Maybe she was worried about nothing. Maybe all she had to do was relax and let her natural instincts take over.

“What’s
she
doing here?” Sam blurted out as he burst into the kitchen with Cori at his heels and Scottie bounding around them, a hairy cloud of canine enthusiasm, his doggie toenails clattering on the tile floor.

Alaina winced. She imagined she could hear her heart hurtling toward her feet like a fighter plane that had been hit by enemy fire, the ominous
whine howling in her ears. Bracing for the crash, she leaned a little harder into the stained pine cabinets behind her and crossed her arms a little tighter in front of her.

Dylan frowned at his son, reminding himself that tact was not a nine-year-old’s strong suit. “Alaina’s staying for supper.”

“But Dad,” the boy said in a loud, urgent whisper, “what if she’s allergic to pizza and blows up like a hot-air balloon again?”

Both children turned to regard Alaina with owl eyes, as if they half-expected her to inflate at the mere suggestion. She smiled weakly.

“Are you aware of having any systemic sensitivity to the ingredients of the common pizza?” Sam asked.

Alaina shook her head. “No.”

The boy looked distinctly disappointed. Cori glanced up at her brother and mimicked his expression.

“Hey!” Dylan barked the word so that everyone in the room, including the dog, jumped. He dropped to his knees and scooped Cori up in one
arm. “Doesn’t your old man rate a hug after a long, hard day off?”

The little girl giggled and wound her arms around his neck. He grabbed Sam around the middle, tickling him as he pulled his son close.

“AAAHHH! Look out!” Dylan shouted. “It’s the attack of the wild tickle monster, scourge of the planet Trillermitheron! Run for your lives!”

The children shrieked in delight, wriggling in his arms, but not really trying to get away. Scottie bounced around the knot of Harrisons, barking with deafening exuberance.

Alaina watched with a lump in her throat. What a wonderful father Dylan was. He was the kind of parent every child deserved. He was perfectly natural and at ease with his children, loving them openly and unreservedly.

And she was standing off to the side, as usual, separate, apart. She had never been included in a loving family unit like this one, and she had never felt it hurt quite so badly as it did right now. It was the ache of longing, the ache of wanting something so badly, she was almost afraid to reach out
for it, because if she did, and she failed, the pain of returning to loneliness would be unbearable.

“I’m imposing,” she said, barely recognizing her own voice, it was so hoarse and thick with tears she refused to shed.

Dylan’s heart slammed into his ribs when he looked up at her. He’d never seen anyone look so alone. Letting go of Cori and Sam, he went to her, reaching out to take her hand in his. “No, you’re not.” Glancing back at his kids, he said, “You guys go get changed and meet us in the workshop. We can show Alaina our collection while we’re waiting for the pizza man.”

Sam and Cori shuffled in the direction of the hall, their solemn gazes riveted to the intertwined hands of the adults. When the children were out of sight, Dylan pulled Alaina toward him. She held back, leaning into the cupboards, afraid that if she went to him and accepted the strength he was offering, her own strength would crumble and dissolve, and she’d be left with nothing but pain in the end.

“Come here, counselor,” he murmured.

“Dylan, I don’t—”

He silenced her with a finger to her lips. “Typical lawyer,” he muttered, dipping his head down toward hers. “You talk too much.”

It was the sweetest of kisses. Alaina couldn’t help but drink it in. She had so little control where this man was concerned—and none at the moment. In the deepest, most secret part of her soul all she wanted was to have him hold her as he was holding her now, as if he cherished her, as if he wanted her in his life. There was no way she could even try to resist. So she leaned into him, kissing him back with all the fear and longing in her heart. She let herself melt against him and squeezed her eyes so tightly closed, the tears that gathered at the corners could barely escape.

When he lifted his head, he couldn’t help but see them, the crystalline drops that sparkled at the outer edges of her exotic ice-blue eyes. But Dylan wisely made no comment on the tears. “The bathroom is down the hall on the right,” he said. “The workshop is in the basement. I’ll meet you down there.”

The best she could manage was a nod. She made a beeline for the bathroom, cursing herself
under her breath. What the hell was the matter with her? She didn’t ever come apart like this
—never ever
. It had been years since she’d let her emotions run away with her this way. Maybe her hormones were out of balance, she thought as she repaired her eye makeup. Maybe she wasn’t eating enough protein. Maybe she didn’t belong here.

The tears sprang up again, ruining the eyeliner she had just reapplied. She swore a blue streak, dabbing at the mess with a tissue. With the iron will she had built up over the years, she wrestled her suddenly capricious emotions back into their little compartment inside her, slammed the door, and locked it. Leaning back against the cluttered vanity, she lit up a cigarette and puffed on it furiously, waiting impatiently for the nicotine to soothe her ragged nerves.