The Bridal Path: Ashley (17 page)

“Did any of those people really know you?”

“Well, no, of course not, but–”

“Then why the hell do they matter to you?”

“It’s not just them. It’s everyone. Right here in Riverton, I was always expected to succeed, and I did it, too. You saw how Stella reacted just now. It’s as if she followed my life and took pride in everything I accomplished.”

Dillon looked incredulous. “And you think that because you’re no longer a model, people here won’t think as much of you, that they won’t care about you?”

“Something like that.” She shook her head. “No, it’s more than that. It has to do with the way I think of myself. The photo on the magazine covers, that was me. If all that’s over, who am I now?”

“Forget that crackpot agent of yours. You’re still beautiful. You’re incredibly smart. You have the sexiest little tush in fifty states. You can drive a man wild with one touch of those gorgeous lips. I’d say those are decent attributes to start with.”

“You’re prejudiced.”

“So what if I am? That doesn’t make what I say any less true. Maybe it’s time to redefine yourself, to think about a new kind of future. Maybe you should look on this not as a failure, which is ridiculous, by the way, but as an opportunity to do something new and exciting and challenging.”

“Such as?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you want to do.”

“I never wanted to do anything else.”

“What about wife and mother?”

Though he said the words nonchalantly, there was an intense gleam in his eyes as he awaited her reaction. Though she loved him for saying those possibilities were open to her, she couldn’t envision that path for herself.

She shook her head. “I don’t think I’m the type. Dani’s the domestic one. Sara’s become a real homebody, too. Not me. Settling down never appealed to me. I couldn’t wait to get away from Riverton and be somebody.”

Dillon’s expression was knowing. “And I was practically chased out.” His gaze caught hers. “Maybe it’s time we paid a visit home again.”

“We are home,” she reminded him, gesturing to the once-familiar diner where they’d both hung out as teens, albeit with very different crowds.

“No,” Dillon corrected. “We’ve been hiding out in your father’s cabin up until today. Maybe it’s time we stuck around town and faced the past. It’s just possible that instead of letting it control our lives, we can overcome it and set a new course for ourselves.”

She regarded him curiously. “You, too? I thought you were comfortable with who you are.”

His wry expression said otherwise. “I thought so, too, until I came back here this time. As you’ve pointed out on more than one occasion, I still seem to be carrying a rather large chip on my shoulder. All it takes is a look–especially from you–and I’m ready to rumble, all those old feelings of inadequacy rampaging around inside me.”

“Maybe what Thomas Wolfe said is true,” Ashley said thoughtfully. “Maybe you can’t go home again.”

A spark of pure defiance lit Dillon’s eyes. “I say we prove him wrong.”

Despite that worrisome gleam, Ashley felt a sudden rush of anticipation. At last a chance to take some action, positive action to get control over her life. “I’m game, if you are. How do we start?”

Dillon’s expression sobered. Ashley could practically see the wheels turning in his brain as he considered exactly what they should do first.

“Okay,” he said eventually. “Who was the one person in town you felt you had to prove something to? The person whose expectations for you were so high or so outrageous or so misguided that you always felt no matter what you did, you’d come up short?”

“Grace Winston,” she said without hesitation, clearly shocking him. Apparently he’d expected her to mention someone in her family, or perhaps a teacher.

“The minister’s wife?” he said incredulously.

“Lacey Winston’s mother,” she corrected. “She always thought Lacey was better than I was and she made sure everyone in the congregation knew that just because I was Trent Wilde’s daughter, I was nothing special compared to Lacey. I think she instilled my competitive spirit into me by the time I turned eight. I soared to some of my greatest achievements in Sunday School. Isn’t that pitiful?”

“Amazing,” Dillon said. His expression turned serious. “Have you actually heard anything about Lacey lately?”

“Not a word. Sara and Dani know better than to mention her name.”

“Perhaps we should pay her a visit,” he said.

Ashley was startled by the suggestion. “She’s still here in town? I thought she’d be a senator or maybe even president by now.”

“She’s not,” he said tersely. He tossed some bills onto the table and held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

They drove to the edge of town, an area of small, run-down houses with patchy lawns and sagging porches. Ashley’s eyes widened as Dillon pulled to a stop in front of a house that was only marginally tidier than the others. Some spark of hope had motivated the owner to paint the shutters a bright red, which were in startling contrast to the faded white of the rest of the house.

“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

E
ventually 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 chagrined. “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.”