Back Where She Belongs

chapter THIRTEEN



TARA HUNG HER DAMP, paint-spattered clothes on the drying rack in the laundry room so they wouldn’t mildew before Judith did laundry, her heart in turmoil.

Dylan. He’d said his feelings for her were serious, that they’d killed his marriage to Candee. When he’d said they were better as friends, Tara’s first reaction was hurt that he could set her aside as he had done years ago for what he found more important. But that was the old Tara, the girl eaten alive by her insecurities, the one who demanded all-consuming love because she didn’t love herself.

The more mature Tara understood him and agreed...except that she’d wanted him so much. When he’d touched her cheek, looking at her with such tenderness and pride, she’d felt lifted up, floating on air.

There was attraction, sure, but so much more.

Was she still in love with him?

The possibility hit her like a paintball bullet in the sternum, sharp, hard and bruising. It scared her. How could she still be lost in that teenage fantasy of perfect love? What if she never got past it? What if she was locked forever dreaming of the impossible?

She flipped off the light with a snap and headed down the hall.

“Tara?” her mother called to her from the sunroom, where she stood with a list in her hand, her eyes red-rimmed, her face swollen. She’d been crying. “Good Lord, you look even more homeless than when you left,” she snapped. “Is that mud in your hair?”

Tara bristled, then realized this was how her mother told her she cared. On impulse, Tara put her arms around her mother and hugged her. “I love you, too, Mom.”

Her mother backed out of the hug. “Have you been drinking?”

Swept up in new affection, Tara said, “Of course not. You don’t have to hide how you feel, Mom, or put on a face for me.”

“What is with you?” Her mother sounded vicious. “Why are you so extreme? On or off, black or white, thrilled or enraged. You’re so difficult. You’ve always been difficult. That’s your trouble.”

Hurt coiled around Tara’s heart. Just when she’d thought they were making some headway. She could hardly breathe for the pain. She’d tried, but her mother always rebuffed her.

“No, Mom,” she snapped back. “My trouble is that you wish I’d never been born. I was a mistake. We both know that.”

Her mother stared at her. “No child is a mistake,” she said in a low voice. “You’ll see when you have your own.”

“What makes you think I want any?” She did, though. In her heart of hearts, once she proved to herself that she was capable of that level of love.

“You’ll do what you’re called upon to do. One step and then the next.” She thrust the folder at Tara. “These calls won’t make themselves. Call Raven’s Dry Cleaning right away. They close early. It’s the Jewish Sabbath.” She turned on her heels and walked away.

Tara stood there, reeling. She should probably be angry, but she realized she wasn’t. No child is a mistake. Somehow that soothed her—balm to the sting—and eased the lonely hollow she’d always felt inside knowing that she was not wanted.

For the first time, it occurred to her that her mother might have doubted herself, worried she wasn’t up to motherhood, that she’d done the best she could with what she had, who she was.

Her mother had assumed Tara would have children. She had more faith in Tara than Tara did in herself. That touched Tara.

Something bloomed in her, a new sturdiness, a new confidence. All from the smallest hint of honesty from her mother. Coming from her mother, she realized, that was big. Very big.

Buoyed by the feeling, she decided her first call would be to the insurance adjuster. She was determined to reach him this time. When she told the secretary she needed to touch base with the adjuster before she took any legal action, he was suddenly on the phone.

“I understand you have some concerns, Ms. Wharton,” he said, cutting her off before she could say more than hello, his voice icy, “but I have been in contact with your family’s attorney, and I assumed he would answer your questions. Since that seems not to be the case, I’ll repeat what I told him. I’ve examined and rated the car and taken statements from the law enforcement officer who first responded to the scene, a Mr. Bill Fallon, chief of the Wharton P.D. There were no witnesses. As the case proceeds we’ll work with your attorney regarding the settlement of the bodily injury claims. That’s all I can tell you at this time.”

“Did you take photos at the accident site? Did you examine the engine?”

“I determined the level of damage and coverage pertinence. This is a run-of-the-mill, single-car loss. There was no need for more.”

“Run-of-the-mill? My father is dead, my sister in a coma.”

There was a pause while he inhaled. “I simply meant that the circumstances are clear. We’re not disputing coverage, as there are no SLIs—Suspicious Loss Indicators—signs that the driver, policyholder or car owner committed fraud related to the policy.”

“There is plenty that’s suspicious about this accident. We believe there’s evidence the car was struck from behind and possibly that the engine was tampered with. The emergency brake was engaged, but there were no skid marks. Something malfunctioned.”

“There was a collision? Chief Fallon did not mention this.”

“No, because he’s actively covering up some aspects of the accident.”

“We haven’t yet received his report.”

“Which won’t tell you a thing. What we need is for you to release the car to us so we can have the engine fully examined.”

“Hmm,” he said. “With a settlement of this size, we, of course, are interested in correctly assessing responsibility...”

“So you’ll release the car to our mechanic?”

“No, but I will submit the case to our SIU—Special Investigation Unit. You’ll need to email me a narrative description of the evidence, along with any photographs. If there was malfeasance, we’ll want to subrogate the perpetrator.”

“What does that mean?”

“Seek to recover our settlement costs from the person who committed the fraud. If the SIU deems it worthy, an investigator will do in-person interviews, compare statements, take pictures, contract with a collision reconstructionist and anything else we need to resolve the case.”

This was exactly what she was after. Excited, she said, “How soon before we see the investigator?”

“That depends on backlog, the significance of the settlement, the cost of the investigation compared with the likelihood that we’ll prove our case.”

Tara did her best to convince him that urgent action was needed and when she hung up, she sent him the narrative and photos. Just in case, Tara Google-searched collision reconstructionist, then called a company in L.A. she found online. The Wharton name, famous in engineering circles, snagged the expert’s interest, and once he’d charged $500 to her credit card, he promised he’d get back to her in a day or two with his Level I analysis, which wouldn’t hold up in court, but might impress the insurance company’s investigators.

After that, adrenalized from the conversations, she did more online research, finding no reports of acceleration errors or brake failures for the Tesla, which also had great safety ratings. Finished, she shut the lid of her laptop. As far as the car went, all she could do now was wait.

She called Dylan to fill him in, trying to ignore the way her heart lifted when he answered, how his voice in her ear sent goose bumps of pleasure down her arms, how they both seemed to scramble for any topic to prolong the conversation, the intimacy of their laughter, the pauses when they just breathed at each other, how good it felt to be connected to him, how smart he was, how kind, how supportive, and how delighted he seemed by every word she spoke.

They were friends. They’d decided. They’d been certain. But they were talking to each other like a couple just falling in love. And she couldn’t wait to see him Monday night when she would talk to Candee.

After that, Tara got busy with her mother’s calls. She would double the donations from the previous year easily. It was almost laughable, the fact that CEOs trusted Tara to help them with decisions controlling the lives of thousands of employees, yet her mother didn’t believe her capable of asking for a few measly donations from small-town businesses. It boggled the mind. She refused to let it get to her. She was bigger than that.

Tara sighed. It wore her out how much she had to be bigger than since she’d returned to her family, Dylan and this town.

No child is a mistake. There had been a flash of fire in her mother’s eyes, a set of her jaw that still moved Tara.

One step and then the next.

Absolutely right.

* * *

“SHE’S NOT HERE yet, is she?” Candee said when Dylan opened the door to her Monday evening.

“Not yet. You look nice.” She’d dressed for a date in a short, sexy dress and heels, with her hair up. She’d fussed for Tara, which gave him a pang.

She beamed. “When I ran into her at Wharton I looked like crap. I don’t want her to think you married some loser.”

“You’re not a loser, Candee, and you never look like crap.” Maybe when she got to know Tara, Candee would stop seeing her as this impossible ideal. Or maybe she’d sense his growing feelings for her and it would be so much worse. Dread tightened his muscles.

Duster came over to greet her and she patted him absently. “Now, what are you serving?” She looked toward the kitchen. “Wait. No food?”

“This is a meeting, not a party. There’s beer.” He intended to stay stone-cold sober to keep the conversation on track and away from awkward topics.

“That’s no way to host.” She looked him over. “Not a T-shirt. Please put on something more respectful.”

He rolled his eyes, but he went to change if it made Candee more comfortable. The doorbell rang as he was buttoning a blue oxford shirt and when he came out, Candee had let Tara in. She wore jeans and a short-sleeved yellow shirt that shimmered in the light. Silk or satin. Something that looked liquid.

Tara crouched down for Duster to put his paws on her shoulder and do the kiss trick.

“That’s cool,” Candee said, but she looked a little startled. Duster never did tricks for Candee, as much as he loved her.

“I taught him that in high school,” Tara said with a shrug, catching Candee’s tone and clearly trying to minimize the damage. “Old dog, old trick.”

“I put out snacks,” Candee said. She motioned at the cocktail table, which held the German chocolate cupcakes on a plate, the vinegar chips in a bowl. Great.

Tara gave a surprised laugh.

“It’s all he had,” Candee said, puzzled by the reaction. “To drink there’s beer...”

“No, no. The snacks are fine.” She shot a look at Dylan, who smiled sheepishly.

“What’s the joke?” Candee demanded, clearly feeling left out.

“It’s not a joke,” Tara said. “It’s—”

“Leftovers from a picnic,” he finally said, knowing their delay in explaining made it sound more significant than it should.

“A picnic. How fun,” Candee said flatly. Had Dylan and Candee ever picnicked? Not that he could recall.

“I needed a break, so we had a paintball battle. It was a thing from high school,” Tara added, trying to make it sound light, but it sounded intimate and exclusive. “Anyway, I really appreciate you talking to me about Wharton’s finances. I know it’s an imposition.”

After a pause, Candee said, “I came as a favor to Dylan.” She shot him a look, definitely pissed. “I’ll get us beers,” she said, walking away, her hips twitching angrily. Uh-oh. Bad start.

When she left the room, Tara mouthed I’m sorry at the same time he did.

Candee came back with three bottles. She held out one to him, twisted the lids on the other two and handed one to Tara.

She lifted her bottle for a toast. “To old friends,” she said, a twinkle of mischief in her eye. Hmm. He twisted the lid from his beer. Foam squirted everywhere, dousing his shirt and the floor.

Both women burst out laughing.

“Dammit, Candee.”

“Good one,” Tara said.

“Couldn’t resist. You go change. I’ll wipe up.”

He would put on a new shirt quick. Leaving them alone together was dangerous.

* * *

CANDEE WIPED UP the spill, then dropped onto the sofa and grabbed a potato chip, shooting Tara a challenging look as she ate it.

Tara sat at the other end of the couch, eating a chip, too. The stunt had been aimed at Tara, as well, she knew. They’d made Candee feel left out talking about the picnic, referencing high school, even Duster’s trick.

She decided to be direct. “I want to apologize to you for the other day. I sounded rude, I know. I was caught off guard.”

Candee shrugged, then sipped her beer, but Tara saw by the shift in her posture that Candee had needed the apology.

“Dylan talks about you a lot,” she added. “It’s obvious how much he cares about you and—”

“Don’t butter me up,” Candee said, setting down her beer with a click. “If you want him, you can have him. It’s not my concern. We’ve been divorced for years.” Her tone told a different story.

“That’s just it. I don’t want him.” Candee huffed a skeptical breath. “Well, there’s attraction, yes, but we agreed not to act on it.”

“Whatever you say.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Come on. I saw how you looked at each other. All that intimate smirking, that guilty-thrill look. I’m not an idiot.”

Tara’s face heated. “Well, we shouldn’t be doing that. There’s no point to it.”

Candee watched her for a few seconds, then finally gave a snorting laugh. “I don’t know why I’m picking on you. I’m over Dylan. I finally am.” She shook her head. “It’s just habit. Knee-jerk stuff.”

Relieved to hear her say that, Tara said, “I know what you mean. I’ve been doing that since I came back to town.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Being a brat...hypersensitive to every slight...thinking the worst of people...”

“Making googly eyes at Dylan?”

She laughed. “That, too.”

A sad look crossed Candee’s face. “He never looked at me like that. If I’d realized that before the wedding, I wouldn’t have wanted to marry him.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Tara said. “I don’t know if this makes you feel better or not, but I was jealous of you when I heard you two were married. He committed his life to you, which was far more than he did with me.”

“Yeah?” Candee looked her over, sharp assessment in her gaze. Tara liked her. She was a straight shooter. She dropped her gaze to the floor, took a drink of her beer. “He wanted it to work. I know that,” she said finally, softly. “He fought like hell to hang on to me, but I wanted the real thing, not leftovers, you know?” She looked at Tara, this time her eyes were soft and open.

“I do. I really do.” She felt a snap as they connected with each other. “I admire you both for staying friends. That can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t. Not at first. It’s easier when I stay away from the wedding album.” She gave a sheepish smile.

“For me, it’s the German chocolate cupcakes.” She picked one up and bit off the frosting.

Candee picked up one herself and began to eat it, a thoughtful expression on her face. When she turned to Tara, her expression held mischief. “Well, all I can say is lucky for you, I no longer want to scratch your eyes out.”

Tara stopped chewing and lowered the cupcake from her mouth, startled to realize how pissed Candee must have been at her.

“I’m kidding,” she said, grinning. “I’m more of a hair puller.”

Tara burst out laughing. “I like how you think.”

Candee smiled. “The truth is...I’m seeing a guy. His name’s Adam. Dylan doesn’t know yet. He’s perfect for me. At first I got scared because I kept comparing him to Dylan. That horrified me because of Dylan doing that to me with you.”

“I can imagine.”

“But after a little while, my Adam memories pushed the Dylan ones out the window. Now when I’m with him, I’m totally with him.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. Now I have to tell Dylan.”

“He’ll be happy for you, I’m sure.”

“I hope so.” She took another bite of cupcake. After she’d swallowed, she said, “You have a boyfriend?”

“Not at the moment.” She peeled away the cupcake paper. “I need to get on that. I didn’t realize I was so lonely. I have this great condo, but I treat it like a hotel. I’m living like a guest in my own life.” She stopped abruptly. “I don’t know why I said that. I hardly know you.”

“You know enough.”

“I guess so.”

Suddenly Duster jumped between them, dropping his head on Tara’s lap, flapping his tail on Candee’s.

“Duster just declared us friends,” Candee said.

“Smart dog.”

“Yeah,” she said, “though he never did any tricks for me.”

As if in response, Duster got up and reversed his position so his head was on Candee’s lap, his backside on Tara’s.

“It’s okay,” Candee said. “I forgive you, Duster.”

They smiled at each other over the dog. Finally Candee said, “So...do you hate those preppy shirts he wears as much as I do?”

They talked easily then, filling the distance between them with new camaraderie.

When Dylan came back, they were laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Dylan asked warily.

“You,” Candee said. “We were talking about you and The Wire.”

“Candee says you do the dialogue with voices. I told her about the time you sang the theme song on karaoke.”

“Great. Need a Sharpie to draw a target on my chest?”

Candee seemed to consider the idea. “Nah. I like that shirt. What do you think?” she asked Tara.

It was a light blue silk and Dylan looked gorgeous in it. “Not bad. You know they do have markers that are washable.”

“Oooh, good one.” Candee clicked her beer against Tara’s.

Dylan dropped into the love seat, his face red, though he seemed relieved. Maybe because Candee hadn’t gouged out Tara’s eyes. “Did you two go over the Wharton situation yet?”

“Not yet, no.” Tara looked at Candee. “You up for this?”

“If I can help, I will. Tell me what’s going on.”

“What we discuss can’t go beyond this room,” Tara said. “I don’t want to add to any rumors at Wharton. Today was my first day working there and I don’t want to get Joseph’s guard up.”

“I’ll keep it quiet. Don’t worry about that.”

“What I hope you can help me with is any irregularities in the financial pictures. My sister, my father and Joseph Banes were heard to be arguing in the days before the accident. I’m guessing it was related to cash-flow or taxes. Joseph’s behavior has been odd. He locked down my sister’s computer unexpectedly and might have taken files from my father’s home office. I need to know if he’s doing something questionable or illegal.

Candee nodded, thinking. “I know they asked for an extension on the quarterly tax payment. I heard my boss talking to Mr. Banes about it. That means penalties and interest. No one’s happy about that. Maybe that’s what the dispute was about. We had to put off the auditors, too.”

“Could be. But I’d like to know for sure.”

“I can look through my boss’s emails when he’s at lunch, if you want. See what’s come to him from Mr. Banes or Ms. Banes.”

“That would be great. As long as you don’t jeopardize your job. I’ve hit a lot of stone walls.”

“No sweat. He hits wrong keys a lot and asks me to restore his defaults. So I’m covered. Here’s another thing...I can get our IT guy to unlock your sister’s computer.”

“Would he tell Joseph?”

“Not if I ask him not to. We dated for a while.”

“I didn’t know that,” Dylan said.

“I don’t tell you everything,” she said. “You’re not my dad.”

“I don’t expect you to. I was surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised anyone would date me? Is that it?”

“No. That’s not it.” Dylan was totally puzzled by Candee’s reaction, but Tara knew it was her nervousness about Adam. “Why are you getting so sensitive all of a sudden?”

“Why are you getting so nosy?”

Tara figured she could help out a little. “Hey, you two, you’re making me think you’re not friends anymore.”

“Of course we are,” Dylan said.

“So you’re glad Candee’s dating, right? You want her to find someone who will make her happy?”

“Absolutely.” He looked at Candee. “More than anything.”

“So you can get me off your back, right?” But she was smiling.

“Hell, no,” Tara threw in. “Where would he get great recipes like that beer-butt chicken? It was delicious.”

“He cooked for you? Wow.” Candee’s eyebrows lifted. “Now that’s interesting.”

“We had to talk through the case, so he cooked supper,” Tara said, but she was blushing and so was Dylan. “The point is, that you wish each other well, and Dylan would be happy to hear you’d found someone special, Candee.” She leveled her gaze at Candee.

“Okay,” she said. “Now that you mention it, there is a guy I met. Adam Baylor. I met him at a Home Parties Association meeting. He’s the regional director. We’ve been dating for a month and I like him a lot.”

“Oh.” Dylan blinked, not speaking, clearly surprised.

Tara kicked his foot. “And...?”

He got it. “And that’s great. I’m happy for you, Candee.”

“You are?” She looked doubtful.

“I am.” Dylan had adjusted to the news and his answer was clearly true. “Very much so.”

“Told you,” Tara said.

“You did.” Candee gave Tara a high-five and blew out a breath. “I’m glad that’s over.”

“So...you two discussed this?” Dylan asked, totally puzzled by the conversation. “While I was...”

“Changing your shirt, right,” Candee said. “That’s how we roll, right, Tara?” She snapped her fingers quickly.

Tara laughed. She really did like Candee. “Anyway, I appreciate your help at Wharton. Anything you find out, give me a call.” She gave Candee her cell number. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Oh, I think you can. Come to my candle party next week.”

“A candle party?” Dylan had been right about this.

“They’re a blast. We have all kinds—tea, pillars, tapers, scented, unscented. Something for everyone. You’ll like my friends. Plus, you can meet Adam. He’ll be there. So will Dylan, right?”

“Me? Uh—” He looked like he’d rather eat glass shards.

“You have to come. Melissa Sutherland’s cousin will be there—Jessica, one of your shipping clerks? You know her?”

“No, I don’t.”

“She’s cute and she just broke up with her boyfriend.”

Dylan held up a hand. “I’ll buy candles, but no setups. I’m not interested.”

“No?” She looked from Dylan to Tara and back, drawing conclusions that Tara could guess at and hoped Candee wouldn’t voice. “Fine by me,” she finally said. “You’re tied up at the moment.”

“I’m not—” Dylan started to object, but his face glowed red.

“Whatever,” Candee said. “I leave you to it then.” She jumped up and they walked her to the door. “Adam wants to try out some samples he got for this new home sales opportunity. Sex toys! Bye.” Then she was gone.

Dylan shut the door and they looked at each other.

“I’m glad she’s got a guy, but that last bit was too much information.”

“Are you glad?” Tara asked. “You hesitated.”

“I was surprised she hadn’t mentioned it earlier. It’s a relief. Sometimes I got the feeling she was still holding out hope for us.”

“You’re pretty tough to get over,” Tara said. “Speaking from experience.”

“So are you,” he said, and their eyes locked. Here they were again, alone at his house, and the attraction hummed like a wire between them.

“Candee thinks we’re still hung up on each other,” Tara said.

“She wouldn’t be wrong.”

“No, she wouldn’t. I should go,” Tara said. They’d accomplished their purpose.

“You could. Or you could finish your beer and your cupcake.” He nodded at the table.

Then she thought of a legitimate reason to stay. “Actually there’s something else we could discuss.”

“Great.” They moved to the sofa and sat, close, bodies leaning in. “What’s up?”

“It looks like you and I will be working together.”

“Yeah?”

“Our operations VP asked me to mediate the conflict between our testing department and your engineers.”

Dylan tensed. “How did that get decided?”

“It was after I mediated an ongoing dispute between our assembly-line manager and the shipping manager.”

“That’s great, I’m sure, but our disagreement is based on technical issues.”

“Partly, for sure. You all have the answers between you. My job will be to manage the meeting in a way that allows the real issues to surface, get discussed, then options offered and selected.”

“Sounds good in theory. And I’m sure you’re good at what you do, but the issue is that we’ve done all we can by boosting our testing and increasing production. Our process is different than Wharton’s. It’s apples to oranges. We’re at loggerheads. Jeb says their procedures and equipment are proprietary, so we’re shut out.”

“I see what you mean.” She thought about that. “How about this? What if we brought the Wharton engineers out to Ryland and you could show them your processes. After the tour, we’d meet and discuss the situation.”

Dylan considered that. “It’s worth a try. I’m at my wit’s end.”

“Let’s do that. I’ll talk to Jeb, you fill in your guys, then we’ll set up the visit.”

“It’s a plan.” He smiled. “So you got shipping talking to assembly? I gotta say that’s impressive. I hope you can do the same for us.”

“That’s my hope,” she said.

“It’s crucial to the company that we get this sorted out. A lot hangs in the balance.”

“I realize that. I do.” That put lots of pressure on her. Joseph would be evaluating her based on how this came out, she knew, and Dylan’s company’s future hung in the balance. She knew she was good. She knew her processes worked. She would trust them and herself.

Time to go. There was no reason to stay except to torture themselves. Just as she leaned forward to stand, Dylan put his arm across the back of the sofa, nonverbally urging her to stay. She leaned back.

“You two sure covered a lot of ground while I put on a clean shirt,” he said.

“When you tell the truth, things move fast. I like Candee. She gives you hell.”

“You would like that.” He squeezed her shoulder, setting off a charge along her nerves, pops and flashes going every which way. She noticed the crinkles outside his eyes, the square line of his jaw, the way a lock of hair hung over his forehead, the crisp line of his lips. He seemed to be taking her in, too.

“Here we are again,” she said softly. The minute they were alone together, their connection kicked in.

“Here we are.” Embers flared beneath the smoky gray of his eyes. Her own body seemed to be liquefying.

“I should go home.”

“Do you want to?” he asked in that low, sexy voice.

“No. I don’t.” Why lie?

“I don’t want you to leave.” He touched a strand of her hair.

“We’re playing with fire.” She started to tremble.

“I realize that.”

Tara knew that look, recognized the tilt of his head, the parting of his lips. The next move was obvious: his lips hot on hers, his hands searing her through her clothes. All she had to do was shift slightly forward, offer herself, and they would surrender to each other, to the yearning they’d felt since they had seen each other again.

Her cell phone buzzed. Just like the day of the funeral on the hummingbird terrace, she took out her phone and saw Rita’s cell number on the display. She almost laughed. “You won’t believe this, but it’s Rita again. She’s got a sixth sense for keeping me out of trouble with you.”

Dylan fell back, away from her. Smiling, she said, “Hi, Rita! What’s up?”

“You’ll want to get here as quick as you can,” Rita said flatly. “Faye went into cardiac arrest. They revived her, but she’s not stable. Her husband and your mother are on their way.”

Tara’s entire body went electric. “Is she dying?” Her voice cracked.

“Just get here. Are you safe to drive?”

“Am I safe to drive...?” She caught Dylan’s gaze.

“I’ll take you,” he said.

Ice cold, her head buzzing, she told Rita she’d be there and hung up. “Faye’s heart stopped,” she said, her tongue thick in her mouth. “They brought her back, but they don’t know if she’ll live.”

“Let’s go,” he said, standing, giving her a hand to help her up. He gave her her purse, then guided her into his garage and held the door for her to climb up into his SUV. She was glad he was with her. Faye and Dylan had been heart and home to her. Tonight she might lose one of them forever.