Wedding at Wildwood (8 page)

“Go home,” he said. “You don’t need to baby me, Isabel. And you certainly don’t need to be seen with me.”

“I’m not babying you,” she snapped at his neck. “And since when does it matter who I’m seen with around here? I don’t want to stay in there—they’re wrong about you, Dillon.”

That statement brought his head around. “What makes you think that, sugar?”

Looking up at him, then down at the dark concrete, she shook her head. “I don’t know. Or maybe I do know. I know you, Dillon. And until you tell me everything, I’m just going to have to go on my instincts and faith.”

“Faith?” His laugh sounded more like a snarl. “You know, I was beginning to have some faith, until tonight. Now I’m not so sure.”

“Just drive,” Isabel replied, her hands clutching his waist. “Just drive, Dillon.”

He did, fast and as far away from the bright gleam of the country club’s deceptively welcoming haze as he could get. Past the city limit sign out on the county line road, past the rolling farmland and the creekbeds and the rows of pecan trees, past the fields of Wildwood Plantation. Dillon didn’t stop the Harley until there was nothing but night and stars left in the world.

Night and stars and Isabel.

She’d come with him. She’d believed in him. Maybe God had heard some of his prayers after all.

Finally, he pulled the snarling machine off the side of the road and down a dirt lane that led past cotton and cornfields to a big pond on the far back side of Wildwood property. His father used to bring Eli and him fishing here. But he refused to think about that tonight.

Instead, he turned to Isabel and lifted her off the long seat, then stood her there in front of him, his hands never leaving the small of her back.

Isabel heaved a deep, calming breath. “That was some ride.”

His wild eyes roamed her face. “Did I scare you?”

“No, not really. I was more scared for your emotional state than any physical danger.”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. After all, I’m used to being the black sheep of the Murdock family.”

“You’re not a black sheep, Dillon.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

She tossed her heavy camera bag on the bike’s seat, then put a hand to his face. “Because, I know you. I’ve always known you. But, I have to be honest—you had me going there for a while. You played your part so well.”

“And what part is that? The bad son, the one who brought ruination to the entire clan?”

“Something like that. You’ve just let people believe what they wanted to believe, haven’t you? Why haven’t you ever defended yourself, Dillon?”

He stared down at her, wondering how she could see into his very soul. Wondering why her words hurt even while they brought a tremendous relief. Finally, he said, “I got tired of defending myself.”

“So, you just gave up?”

He wasn’t ready to tell her everything; to tell her that he’d witnessed such hatred and such venom in his brother’s heated words all those years ago, that he didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget it. And he wasn’t ready to tell her all the reasons he’d left like the coward he was. So instead, he told her, “Yes. I gave up. My brother will never…love me, Issy.”

The catch in his words tore through her. Wasn’t that what everyone wanted, deep down inside, to be loved, to be accepted?

She certainly knew how he felt. “Why can’t he love you, Dillon?”

Dillon shifted, brought her closer. “I don’t know for certain. But I think it has something to do with Eli’s paranoia about my father.” He hesitated a moment, then continued. “Eli always thought I was my father’s favorite.”

Isabel remembered Roy Murdock very well. Remembered his stern, no-nonsense countenance, his my-way or no-way attitude, the unrelenting grip he had held over his sons and the whole town. And she also remembered his soft spot—Dillon. In spite of his gruff exterior, Roy had always helped Dillon through the worst of escapades.

“Well, you were his favorite. Everybody thought that because of the way he protected you and spoiled you.”

Dillon laughed harshly. “That’s because my father played his part well, too. He got me out of jams and stood up for me to keep the family name intact. But he always let me know my shortcomings when we were alone. And my poor mother never went against his word, except to send me money here and there.”

Surprised, Isabel asked him, “You mean, your father wasn’t just spoiling you, the way everyone thought?”

“No, he was inflicting his authority, flexing his power. Eli tried to be the golden boy, the one who could do no wrong. Always there, working hard, trying to make our parents proud.”

“And you, you did everything you could to be a rebel?”

“Yeah, that was me. That’s the Dillon they all remember so well.”

Isabel was beginning to understand and see the pattern. Eli, so proud, so conscientious, so willing to please. And Dillon, not really caring, not really trying. And yet, the Murdocks kept forgiving him, kept giving him one more chance. Just as the Bible told them to do, or just to save face? Maybe Eli hated his brother because of that.

“He can’t forgive you, because your parents always did, or so it seemed,” she said, the words coming out in a whisper. “So much bitterness, such a long time to hold a grudge.”

Dillon moved away from her then, turning in the moonlight to stare out into the black waters of the rippling pond. “And I deserve every bit of it. I deserve everything Eli throws at me and more.”

She touched a hand to his arm, forced him around. “What makes you say that?”

Dillon held her by her shoulders. He had to make her understand why he kept fighting against her. “He’s right, Issy. I deserted him. I left them—all of them. I wasn’t even here when my father died. Didn’t even come home for the funeral.”

She believed there was good in him. She’d seen that good in the dark corners of his beautiful, sad eyes. “I’m sure you wanted to be here, Dillon.”

“You’re so sure about me, huh? So sure. My beautiful Isabel. You could almost make me believe in myself again, the way you cling to your honorable defense.”

“But you don’t believe in yourself, do you?” she asked. “Is that why you keep pushing me away?”

Dillon looked down at her trusting face and knew he could never let her go again. “I didn’t want to taint you—with my past, with my problems, and I didn’t want Eli to do the same.”

Frustrated, Isabel refused to back down. “Forget that. I won’t let you push me away any more, not when I can clearly see you need a friend, not a flirtation. I believe you wanted to come home a long time ago. I believe you wanted to be at your father’s funeral, but you were too afraid—”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Yes, you are. You’re so afraid, you’d rather run away than face up to the people you love the most. So you let Eli hurl insults at you and think the worst of you, because that’s what you believe about yourself. Am I right?”

He closed his eyes, lifted his face to the wind. “No.”

“Yes.” She brought her hands back to his face. “Yes.”

Dillon could only stand there, staring at her pretty face in the moonlight. The hum of mosquitoes, the sound of distant thunder, the moon’s light poking through the scattered clouds above him, everything intensified in her evergreen eyes. And it all reflected the truth she had discovered. Suddenly, he was so tired. So tired of fighting against himself, and against his need to be with her.

“Yes,” he said at last, pulling her tightly against him so she couldn’t see the shame in his eyes. “Yes, I’m afraid. I did things, Isabel. Horrible things. And now, I’ve changed, but I don’t know how to go about showing everyone I’ve changed.”

Isabel looked him in the eye. “You’ve already made the first step, Dillon. You came back to Wildwood.”

“Yes, I came back—to a brother who hates me, to a mother I’ve hurt so badly, to a dead father. And to an empty house.”

“It’s not too late.”

He wanted to believe that. He wanted to hold her here forever in his arms and tell her that she’d helped him find a little peace. But, he’d lived on speculation for so long, nothing seemed real any more. Yet, because she was willing to fight for him, he had found some hope. “Maybe it’s
not
too late, after all.”

“You’ve got to believe that,” Isabel said. Moving her hands over his face and shoulders, she nodded her head. “Because
I
believe in
you.
” She kissed the moisture away from his eyes. “I trust you.” She kissed the warm skin on his cheekbone. “I want to help you.” She kissed his forehead.

Dillon held back, stiff and unyielding, his eyes drawn tightly shut. He wanted to block her out, wanted to keep this distance between them, even though she could feel the coiled tension rolling inside him like the roaring thunder headed their way.

Her own heart pounding, Isabel drew in a deep breath. She hadn’t wanted to come back here. But then, she’d never expected to find him here, almost as if he’d been waiting for her. Closing her eyes in a silent prayer, she wished she had the strength to walk away. But she’d done that once before. Now, she used her last hope and her faith in God—the faith Grammy had always assured her she did indeed possess, to help this man she cared about so much. “Let me show you, Dillon.”

She kissed his lips, closing her eyes to the pain of his indifference. But she felt the quickening of his pulse when her lips met his. Then she lifted her head and said, “We’ll find a way, together, with God’s help.”

Dillon didn’t stop to think about the implication of her honesty. Instead, he kissed her, pouring his soul into being able to touch her at last. He wouldn’t tell her how he felt, not now. Not yet. He couldn’t take that chance. Because he still had some secrets to guard.

Finally, he pulled back, then moved a few feet away, his words lifting out over the night like a soft wind. “You don’t know how much that means to me, Issy.”

“You can do this,” she said, tears choking her words. “That’s what faith is all about, Dillon.”

He glanced over at her then. “I’ve been wrestling with my faith and my feelings for you. It just didn’t seem possible with all these problems with Eli. I didn’t want to drag you into it again.”

“I’ll be all right,” she said, rushing to him, wishing she could hold him close until he learned to trust again. “Let me help you, Dillon.”

Dillon lifted her arms away, then walked to the water’s edge. Looking down, he asked, “Do you think God has enough love for someone like me? Do you think He’s willing to forgive just one more time?”

“I know He is. I believe that with all my heart.”

Dillon’s chuckle was low and grating. “Then He’s sure got his work cut out for Him.”

“Grammy always says God can handle anything.”

He turned back to her then, reaching out to tug at a wayward blond curl. “And how about you, Isabel? Can you handle anything?”

She swallowed hard, prayed harder. “I can handle you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So, you think you can save me, huh?”

The awe in his words fueled her ridiculous hopes. “No, I think you can save yourself.”

He lifted his head, then tilted it sideways, eyeing her. “Oh, really. How?”

“You can start by learning to trust again,” she suggested. “I’m willing to stay here at Wildwood with you, until you can talk to Eli.”

She braced herself, thinking now would be the time to suggest that Eli was in trouble, without actually revealing what she knew. She honestly believed it would be better to let Dillon and his brother work things through without her interference.

“From what Susan tells me, Eli could really use a brother right about now. Maybe if you settle things with him, you can both face your past and get on with your future.”

Dillon buried his hands in the pockets of his khakis, then rocked back on his heels. “You’d do that for me—stay here with me?”

“I will. You and your brother need to get to know each other again. And if that’s too hard for you, I’ll be here to help you.”

“Simply because you care about me?”

“Simply because I told you I wanted to help you.”

“We’d be risking everything—Eli won’t take too kindly to being waylaid or ambushed. You realize that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I realize that. And I think you’re wrong. I think Eli needs your help, just as you need mine.”

“And yet, you’d still be willing to risk his wrath?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t tell him that she hoped Dillon and his brother could work this land together. That would be the best solution for everyone right now. But she didn’t think Dillon was ready for that step just yet. Maybe with a little nudge, she could ease him into it. Only because tonight, she’d seen how much he needed this land in his life.

And she needed him in her life—she’d realized that tonight, too.

“I can’t make you any promises, Isabel,” he told her as he pulled her back into his arms.

“You don’t have to. I believe in you, remember?”

“It’s nice to have someone saying that for a change.”

He kissed her, and Isabel savored the gentleness of that kiss. And realized she had fallen back in love with Dillon.

Only this time, it was much more than a schoolgirl crush.

“W
hy don’t you come home with me?” Isabel said later as Dillon wheeled the Harley into the dilapidated shed behind the mansion.

It was well past midnight, and while the rain had held off, the sky was now dark with roaming clouds. The night air felt heavy with moisture, humid and waiting—the quiet before the storm.

“On our first date?” he quipped as he helped her off the bike. “Do you think that’s wise?”

Isabel smiled at his humor. At least he was in a better mood now. “Silly, that’s not what I meant. I want you to talk to my grandmother.”

“What?”

“Grammy Martha has a way of making you feel so…good about things,” she said, hope in her words. “She’ll listen, then she’ll hug you so tight, you’ll never feel alone again.”

He scowled. “Meaning no disrespect to your grandmother, I’d rather be hugging you.”

Isabel knew the feeling. But before they could even begin a relationship they needed some guidance and some advice. And her grandmother was an expert on both.

“I’m serious, Dillon,” she said, taking his hand to tug him toward the dirt lane. “Grammy can help us through this.”

“So, we’re just gonna go in and wake your poor old grandmother in the middle of the night, then pour all our troubles at her feet?”

Isabel smiled and bobbed her head. “Something like that, but she won’t mind. She’s good about things like this. And I, for one, really need to talk to her.”

He held back, his words coming low and lifting softly out on the thick air. “About me and how you’re willing to stay here and help me? Are you already having doubts about that?”

He still didn’t trust her enough to believe her, Isabel realized. He couldn’t say the words. He couldn’t say “I need you” and he couldn’t even say “I trust you.” As close as she felt to him right now, Isabel also felt hurt that Dillon could still hold a part of himself back from her. Especially after she’d just realized she was in love with him.

All the more reason to talk to Grammy. She’d bring some perspective to this turmoil. Grammy would know what to do.

“Please, Dillon,” Isabel said as they strolled through the sleeping wildflowers. “You need this. You’ve been out there alone for so long, you don’t even know what it’s like to have someone to lean on.”

“I’m beginning to see what it can be like, though,” he said, his fingers squeezing hers tightly. “And I’m starting to appreciate it.”

“Then come inside with me. We’ll raid the cookie jar and talk to Grammy.”

“You lead an exciting life, Isabel.”

She saw his grin and laughed. “Yeah, always on the edge. That’s me.”

He tugged her around as they reached the back door, his expression changing from cynical to serious. “We were both on the edge, weren’t we? Until we came back here and found each other again.”

“I think you’re right,” Isabel said, loving him all the more for being just a little honest at least. “I don’t know…lately I’ve been so restless. My work is still important and fulfilling, but I seem to be drifting…not quite sure which way I need to go next.” She shrugged, then looked out over the distant cotton fields. “I think that’s why I agreed to come here and be a part of this wedding. I didn’t realize it, but I needed to see Wildwood again, just to make peace with myself. And as much as I always wanted to get away from here, I have to admit it feels good to know I have a place to call home.”

Dillon looked out into the night, out toward the looming shadow of the house he’d lived in as a child. “But I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” she said, careful that he didn’t bolt on her. “You can rebuild Wildwood, Dillon. Have you ever thought about that?”

“Every waking minute of my life,” he said on a rush of breath. “I’ve been thinking of doing a little touch-up work while I’m here. But—”

“You won’t fail,” she replied, guessing his doubts. “I know you won’t.”

“What makes you so sure? You don’t know where I’ve been all these years, the things I’ve done—”

“I know everything I need to know. And I don’t believe you’ve done anything terrible. Sure, you’ve made mistakes, but you’ve obviously accomplished a lot. You’re a self-made man, Dillon. Whatever brought you to this point, I believe you’re a better man for it.”

“You amaze me,” he said, tugging her close for a quick kiss. “And I do believe I’d like to wake up your grandmother and have some milk and cookies, just so I can tell her what her granddaughter has done for me.”

“What have I done?” she had to ask.

“You’ve made me face my greatest hopes and my worst fears. Not bad for a night’s work.”

Isabel turned to open the door, afraid he’d see the truth in her eyes. What would he do if he knew she was deliberately setting him up to help his brother? What would he do if he found out that Eli was close to losing everything Dillon had ever held dear? She should just tell him, but then he’d lash out at Eli and they’d be right back where they’d started. No, better to let him ease into things. Better to let him make the decisions, call the shots. Yet she couldn’t help but feel small and deceitful.

I’m doing it for him, Lord,
she said silently.
He needs his home again.
Selfishly, she reminded herself that she needed Dillon. Was that why she was willing to pull him—and herself—back into Wildwood’s uncertain arms? Just so she could keep him near?

No, it was more than that. Dillon wanted to be back here at his home. And she was determined to make his dream come true. Only, she had to wonder if the end justified the means.

They didn’t have to wake Martha Landry. She was sitting in the small den, reading her Bible.

“Hi, Grammy,” Isabel said as she poked her head around the door frame. “Feel like some company?”

Not missing a beat, Martha finished the verse she’d been studying, then placed her hand-crocheted bookmark across the page to keep her place. “Of course. Who’d you bring home?”

Isabel yanked a reluctant Dillon into the room, beaming with pride. “It’s Dillon, Grammy.”

“Well, well.” Getting up out of her padded recliner, Martha automatically opened her arms. “Dillon Murdock, come here and give me a hug. It’s so good to see you again.”

Shocked and clearly uncomfortable, Dillon strolled across the rickety wooden floor to place tentative hands around Martha’s rounded shoulders. “Hello, Mrs. Landry.”

Martha gave him a good hug, her eyes smiling over at her granddaughter while she held Dillon’s hand tightly in hers. “And what have you two been up to this late at night?”

Dillon stood back, unsure how to begin. He had a lump in his throat the size of a watermelon just from hugging the woman. If he actually unburdened himself on her, he’d probably cry like a baby and make a complete idiot of himself. Glancing over at Isabel for help, he could only stand there and wonder what had come over him. He didn’t understand why being hugged should have such an effect on him but he wasn’t so sure he wanted to open himself up to it completely. So he just stood there, his head down, his lips pressed together, his eyes centered on Isabel.

“Uh, we went to the rehearsal dinner, of course,” Isabel began, motioning for Dillon to take a seat next to her on the couch.

“How did that go?” Martha asked, her expression pricelessly bland, her hands folded primly in front of her.

“Not too good,” Dillon blurted out. Then, frustrated with himself, he sliced fingers through the spikes of his dark hair. “I…I made a scene.”

“Did you now?”

“Yes, ma’am. I guess I really messed things up—again.”

“Eli messed things up,” Isabel retorted. “He could have been more civil and forgiving.”

“Well,” Martha said, her eyes widening, “we can’t mess up things so bad that The Lord can’t help fix them. How ’bout I get us some lemonade—it’s too humid and hot for coffee, isn’t it?” Already padding toward the kitchen, she called, “And Isabel, you can bring out those ladyfingers we had left from the shower.”

“Okay,” Isabel said, glancing over at Dillon to make sure he wasn’t about to head out the door. Sitting there on her grandmother’s couch, his stormy eyes wide and searching, he looked so much like the young boy she remembered. “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” he said, gratitude in the words. “I’ll come help with the cookies.”

She smiled at him, then reached over to pat his hand. “It’s going to be okay, Dillon.”

“Is it, really?”

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow night’s my brother’s wedding.”

“Yes, and you’ll be the best usher there.”

“If I show up. It seems pretty clear that Eli doesn’t want me there,” he said, following Isabel into the kitchen.

“Dillon, come and eat some cookies,” she told him.

“You’re not going to let me get out of this, are you?”

“No,” Isabel said after settling him at the small dining table. “If I have to be there, so do you.”

“Hey, Mrs. Landry,” he said, his smile wry, “did you know your granddaughter has decided to be my champion, my defender, my lady of the realm?”

Martha poured him a tall glass of fresh squeezed lemonade. Looking down at him with wise eyes and her own wry smile, she nodded. “Hey, Dillon, did you know that my granddaughter has always been on your side?”

He looked across the table at Isabel, his heart skipping a beat at her beauty. “No, I didn’t know that. But I sure wish I had.”

And he had to wonder—could Isabel possibly feel something beyond friendship for him? Could she possibly love him in the same way he loved her? Was that why she was so willing to fight for him, to help him mend his torn family? And did she know that he had always loved her? How could he tell her that he’d fallen for her way back in their high school days, or maybe even beyond. If he told her that, then he’d have to tell her the ugly truth about his leaving Wildwood.

Martha patted his hand, surprising him so much he almost spilled his lemonade. Then she settled down in her favorite chair and reached for a crescent shaped, sugar-dusted cookie. “Now, children, tell me why you’re keeping an old lady up so late.”

Isabel told her grandmother what had happened at the rehearsal dinner. “Eli was downright rude, Grammy. I felt really bad for Miss Cynthia.”

“She is trying to bring her family back together,” Martha said, dusting the powdered sugar off her fingers. Turning to gaze at Dillon, she asked, “How do you feel about all of this?”

With a shrug, he said, “I think I should have stayed in Atlanta.”

Martha nodded. “You think that would make things easier for everyone?”

“I do believe so, yes.”

“And what about your mother? You know, she’s talked about this wedding—and you being a part of it—for months now.”

Dillon lifted his head then, his eyes slamming both Martha and Isabel with pain and denial. “They don’t want me here, not really.”

Martha leaned forward a bit, adjusting herself on her chair. “Your mother certainly does. And, your brother could use your help right now.”

Surprised, Dillon snorted. “That’s exactly what Isabel has been telling me. But I don’t believe it. Eli has always been able to land on his feet. I used to think he really needed me, but I finally figured out he’s never needed anyone’s help, especially mine. And after all this time, I’m the last person he’d want around.”

“Now how do you know that?”

Dillon looked around the worn old kitchen. This was where Isabel had spent her childhood. Right here, on Wildwood, just like him. Yet he only had to glance around at the faded curtains and the cracked kitchen sink to know that they’d lived completely different lives. The guilt of that realization ate away at him, causing him to remember things he’d tried so hard to forget.

Instead of answering Martha’s question, he looked over at Isabel. “You had it all, Issy. Did you know that?”

Isabel’s head shot up. “What do you mean?”

Dillon lifted his hands, then let them fall across the table. “Look at us, sitting here in the kitchen in the middle of the night. This could never have happened in my house, in my family. No, there everything was so formal, so stilted, everything in its place—Murdocks don’t show great displays of emotion. Murdocks
don’t
sit around the kitchen, munching on cookies.”

“Are you uncomfortable?” she asked defensively, wondering if he found it distasteful to be here in this shack of a house.

“Yes. No. What I’m trying to tell you is that while I grew up in the mansion, you had the real home. Do you know how lucky you are?”

Isabel felt as if she’d just been pinned to the wall. “I’ve never thought about it. I’ve certainly never considered myself lucky.”

“No, because all you could think about was how poor you were, how you wanted to get away from here, to have a better life? Is your life better now, Isabel?”

Confused by his questions, and more than a little angry that he was giving her the third degree, she asked, “Why are you turning the tables, Dillon? Grammy asked
you
a question.”

“And I’m trying to answer her.”

“By telling me how lucky I am?”

“Yes!” He shoved a hand through his hair, then sat back to look at her. “Do you know how many times I wished my father would just hug me, or tell me he was proud of me? Oh, he bragged to his friends, of course. But he never really showed either of us much real affection. Not like this, not the way your grandmother shows you affection.”

Bitterness coloring his words, he said, “And he passed his misguided traits on to Eli, too. Do you know what it’s like when your only brother won’t even speak to you, that if you try to call just to hear a voice from home, he’ll only hang up on you?”

Isabel saw the torment in his eyes, but couldn’t believe a brother could treat another brother that way. “Eli did that?”

“The few times I called and he answered, yes.”

Bringing a hand to her mouth, Isabel sank back on her chair. “I never knew it was
that
bad between you two.”

“Well, it was, and it still is,” he said on a low, calm breath. “Your parents loved you, Isabel. Sure, they were old-fashioned and strict, but they loved you. And they showed you that every day. Me, I had to search for any traces of real love in my dad’s eyes. His love always came with certain conditions. I don’t think he was ever really proud of me—he just tolerated me because of my mother, and he presented a solid front for everyone else, for the Murdock name. We couldn’t have anyone thinking things weren’t perfect in the Murdock household.” Dropping his shoulders, he added, “So, I guess you both know how I feel about things now, huh?”