The Taming of the Bachelor (18 page)

He couldn’t help wincing a little at the question. How to answer this without hurting her more? But at the same time, he owed her honesty. It was all they had. “I never wanted to be a dad, no. And it’s not personal. It’s my thing. My hang-up from growing up a Sheenan. My dad did his best, but as I alluded to earlier, it was rough a lot of the time. I’m actually amazed that we boys all made it out in one piece, which is why I don’t want to marry and have kids. Paige, I don’t know what a normal family is, and I have no role model for what would make a good dad, and just thinking about it makes me heartsick. It’s just better if I don’t go there. You know?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He lifted her chin, and stared down into her eyes. “I swear to God, this has nothing to do with you—”

“I believe you.”

“Good. Because you and your happiness do mean a great deal to me.” His head dipped and he gave her a final quick kiss and then walked out the door.

H
e was gone.

It’d been three weeks since Dillon left, and there had been no word from him, nothing to say that he’d arrived in Austin, and that things were going well. No call or text or email. No question about Tyler. Just...nothing.

Now it was the first week of March and it was finally sinking in that Dillon was really, truly gone, and not coming back.

It was almost easier the first week or two when she’d lived in a state of denial, half expecting to see him walk into the diner at any moment, his big shoulders filling the doorway, or spot him driving down Main Street in his vintage green truck. But the weeks had passed without a glimpse of him and she’d begun to miss him.

The first few weeks after Dillon left, Tyler didn’t say much about him one way or another, but lately he was bringing him up, asking if Dillon would know this or that, suddenly wanting Dillon’s opinion on everything.

Paige tried hard to explain in the nicest way possible to her son that they couldn’t bother Dillon now that he was in Texas, that Mr. Sheenan had important things he needed to focus on, and needed to be left alone so that he could focus, but she offered to help Tyler get the information he needed.

Tyler would stare at her blankly at that, making her feel as if she was either stupid or difficult, or maybe both.

“He told me I could contact him,” he’d say stubbornly.

“But do you need to contact him? Is there someone else who could give you the same information? I can call the high school, reach out to one of their science teachers. I know Taylor has become friends with the librarian at the university in Bozeman. She could help—”

“Dillon knows this better than anyone.”

“Dillon is really busy.”

“Not too busy to help me.”

Paige had to bite her tongue, hard. He was just a little boy, a boy growing up without a father. She couldn’t bear to disappoint him. Life would disappoint him. Dillon would disappoint him. That’s how the world worked. And Dillon had made it clear in that final conversation that he wasn’t dad material, that he wasn’t going to ever be dad material, and the last thing she wanted was for Tyler to get attached to someone who wouldn’t be there for him when he did truly need him.

T
he weeks continued to pass and Paige was planning a special menu at the diner for St. Patrick’s Day. She’d just returned from work on Monday afternoon, the day before her big Irish stew, corned beef and cabbage, shepherd’s pie feast, and was in front of her house, waiting for her kids to arrive home from school, when she spotted Mrs. Bingley on the front steps of her house watching Mr. Bingley shovel their walkway. From the sound of it, Mrs. Bingley was also giving him endless pointers on how to the job.

When Paige had first moved into the neighborhood, she’d felt sorry for Mr. Bingley because Mrs. Bingley was always nagging at him, ‘helping him’, but over the years Paige had discovered that Mr. Bingley had a secret for coping with his wife’s constant input. He turned down his hearing aid. Sometimes he even secretly removed it. Paige suspected Mr. Bingley had done that today, as he was shoveling away, whistling, too, oblivious to Mrs. Bingley’s stream of criticism and advice.

Paige smiled to herself, and was also happy to note that her kids were coming down the block now.

She bundled her arms across her chest, trying to stay warm, and headed down the sidewalk to meet them. Ever since Tyler and Sam’s altercation, she’d been extra vigilant about making sure Tyler was home on time after school. Dillon might think it was natural for boys to fight, but it didn’t sit well with her. Despite Tyler’s brave talk, he wasn’t a boy who enjoyed a fight.

Paige waved at her two, and Addison waved back and broke into a run.

The kids had just reached her side when Mrs. Bingley hurried down the steps, careful not to take a nosedive on any patches of ice. “Paige,” she shouted, waving at them. “Just a moment, please.”

Addison groaned, and Tyler glanced up at his mom. “What does she want?” he muttered.

Paige smiled tightly. “We will soon find out.”

Addison shook her head. “Can I just go in the house?”

“Sure,” Paige said. “Just make sure you leave your boots and coat in the laundry room.”

Tyler ended up waiting with her while Carol charged across the street, reminding Paige of a battleship at sea.

“I’m not sure if you are aware, Paige,” Carol said dramatically, if not breathlessly, “that the city approached Dillon Sheenan a week ago about being one of the judges for this year’s Crawford County Science Fair, being held in May.”

Paige stiffened, not sure why Mrs. Bingley was sharing this with her. “I didn’t know, no.”

“Well, then you also wouldn’t know, but he declined.” Carol gave Paige a significant look. “The committee is
most
disappointed.”

Paige could tell Tyler was listening with avid interest. She lightly patted his shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that. Hopefully the committee will find someone else—”

“We were initially baffled as to why he’d say no,” Carol interrupted. “He was, after all, such a good fit for the final round of judging, being a local who has achieved great things in the field of science and engineering.”

This time Paige said nothing, aware that her neighbor wasn’t finished, and probably wouldn’t be finished for quite some time.

“Unable to accept his refusal, we went back to him, pleading our case, offering to cover his airfare if that was the issue.” Carol drew herself tall, a hand going to her ample breast. “It wasn’t.”

Paige suppressed a sigh. “No?”

“No. Apparently the problem was conflict of interest.” Carol let the words hang in the air, her penciled eyebrows winging high. Lately Carol had begun using a reddish brown pencil in her sparse gray eyebrows and the color didn’t exactly suit. “Your son, Tyler, is the conflict of interest. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see how he could be.”

“I do.” Carol wagged her finger at Paige. “I knew that young Sheenan was spending time here just before he left, but I didn’t realize things had become so serious.”

“They are not serious, Carol. There is nothing between us.”

“Then why wouldn’t Dillon judge the contest? Why did he claim this conflict of interest?”

“Because Mr. Sheenan gave me advice on my project,” Tyler said fiercely, shoulders bunching up, face red. “That’s why. He’s my friend, not my mom’s.”

Carol smirked. “Even on the nights he was there very late, Tyler? Hmmm....I don’t think so.”

Paige had had enough. She nodded goodbye to Carol and steered Tyler up the walk, thinking that there were advantages to be found in living in small towns. Like...affordable cost of living, and lack of traffic.

The commute was easy, perhaps even non-existent.

And most folks tended to be friendly.

Then, there were the disadvantages. Those
friendly
folks often knew waaaay more about your life than you wanted.

And here in Marietta, you couldn’t escape your neighbors, or the gossip, especially when your neighbor was the town’s chief gossip.

I
t was taking Dillon time to settle back into life in Texas. After a week in a hotel, he’d gotten a lead on a stunning contemporary house overlooking Lake Austin, just twenty minutes’ drive from the office, available for a year lease. It was exactly what he wanted—new, modern, stylish—with a breathtaking view of the lake (which was really a river) and the Texas Hill Country. Dillon snapped it up, and then the very same day, stumbled across an ad for a dark blue 1968 Intermeccanica Italia Spyder convertible with original leather interior.

Dillon couldn’t resist. He’d loved Italian cars since he was a kid; the sleek lines had always appealed to him, as well as the exotic glamour. Within a week of returning to Texas, he had a home and wheels, and he was ready to turn his full attention to work.

While the Tutro office on Congress in downtown Austin was familiar, the company was not.

There had been considerable staff turnover in the past three years, and the management team that was in place when Dillon left, had been replaced a year ago, and then replaced yet again in the past two months.

Dillon had his old office back, a big corner office, with huge plate glass windows and a view of the state Capitol, but everything else was different. He was different, too.

He still struggled inwardly with Greg’s betrayal in the first place, as well as the board’s vote of no confidence. And then returning to a company he didn’t even recognize made him doubt himself more than once.

Was this really the life he wanted? Was this the right future for him?

He knew the only way to answer those questions was by staying the course. Doing the work that had to be done.

When Tutro went public three years ago, it was on the basis of its reputation as a leader in biomedicine, but since then, the company had shifted its focus from biomedicine to biomedical engineering, and instead of being aggressive and innovative in terms of research, it was simply copycatting what others were doing.

Dillon was putting a stop to that, determined that Tutro again be a leader in the industry, but he wasn’t going to be able to turn the company around quickly. It would be a slow, painful transformation.

Dillon told himself he could do it.

He told himself he had to do it. It was his company after all.

But there was this little voice in the back of his head saying that it would be easier to start something new, and build from the ground up, then to reshape a company that had lost its vision and mission.

But on the other hand, Dillon had nowhere else he needed to go. He had no other commitments, either. There was no reason he couldn’t dig in hard, and pour himself into work, and bring his company back to life.