Back Where She Belongs

chapter NINE



THIS FEELS SO GOOD. Tara all but melted under Dylan’s skilled hands. She’d forgotten how good he was at this. Revealing her guilt over Faye, then this amazing massage, was making her distress slip away.

Such a relief. Her stomach let go of its clinch, her shoulders loosened, her headache faded. She noticed how silky and cool the night air felt on her skin. The lights tucked into the landscaping began to wink and glow, turning his yard into a wonderland.

This was way better than getting drunk. Good call, Dylan. He’d always been sensible.

She found herself doing what she used to do when he rubbed her shoulders. She turned into his arms for more comfort, rested her cheek against his collarbone, felt the steady bump of his heartbeat, breathed in the sweet, sweet smell of his skin. Mmm.

Dylan’s breathing hitched in surprise at her move, then he shifted his upper body so their curves fit just right. His massage slowed, as if he, too, were remembering this experience.

The best massages were in bed in his room, when they lay skin to skin, free to take the touching further. She would feel relaxed and aroused at the same time, anticipating the moment when Dylan’s hands would slide from her back to her butt and pull her tight against him, and they’d be lost in each other’s bodies for hours.

It was happening again, she noticed—the neural pathways lighting up as if they’d never gone dark. It would be so natural to go to bed together, so easy. Why was it a bad idea again?

Dylan froze, as if he’d had the same thought, and answered her question by patting her back. “Hope that helps.” He pushed his chair back hard, the scrape loud against the tile.

“It did,” she said, turning to look at him, to see if it had been tough to stop. Embers glowed beneath the smoky color of his eyes and he was breathing hard. Good. She wasn’t alone in the struggle.

If he could resist, so could she. She was bigger than her urges, bigger than her past. She had to focus on now. Now, they were friends. They were investigating the accident together. The past was the past. They’d even apologized to each other. Done and done.

Sex would only complicate things.

Right. Good. Check.

There was another reason...simmering below the surface.

What if the sex was amazing? What if it felt too good? What if it made her want more?

That would be bad. Wanting more meant wanting Dylan and Dylan was all about Wharton, now and forever. His dream was to fix the town the way he’d fixed his father’s company. He belonged in Wharton. He fit here.

She didn’t. She’d worked too hard to break free of the town and who she’d been here. If she stayed, she’d lose all the gains she’d fought for—her independence, her confidence, her pride. She’d fall back into her old ways, turn into the same lost, sad failure she’d been.

The problem that was eating at her now, the reason she was so tempted was that she was lonely. She had to correct that—make friends she trusted enough to confide in. Get a boyfriend for the physical part. Talking about it with Dylan she realized she was not only a guest in her condo, she was a guest in her life.

So that was the lesson of seeing Dylan again.

“I missed you,” he said. “A lot.”

Zing. His words flipped a switch inside, lighting her up all over again, reversing every sensible thought she’d just had. “I missed you, too. I was miserable that first year. It was all I could do to make it to class. I had had all these plans for us, how we’d study together, go on hikes, learn to snowboard and, hell, look at stars. I felt like I’d lost a limb.”

Dylan looked surprised. “I had no idea. You cut me off cold. I figured that was that for you.”

“I cut you off because it hurt too much to hope.” Her entire body felt electrified by the words they were sharing. Truths she’d never spoken aloud, not even to Faye. “Even then, I hoped you’d come sophomore year like you said. Instead you got married.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Yeah. I did. And it was a mistake. And, the truth is, seeing you again, I realize Candee was right. I wasn’t over you.”

“That’s what happened?” she asked, shocked, but also reassured that she hadn’t been alone in her own misery.

“I thought I was over you. I wanted to be and I fought like hell to prove it to her, but once she got that idea in her head, she wouldn’t let go.” His eyes burned at her, his voice rough.

“I’m sorry, Dylan.”

“Me, too. More than I can say. I hurt Candee. I should have figured it out. I should have known.” He looked so troubled she wanted to cup his cheek, but she held back.

“Maybe if we’d talked back then...”

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t have worked. We needed perspective. We needed for what happened not to matter so much. We needed to be friends.”

He was right, though she got that panicked feeling again. She wanted to say. Wait. Don’t write us off. Maybe we’re not done.

Of course they were done. Weren’t they?

“It’s imprinting. That’s the trouble.”

“Excuse me?”

“Like with ducklings. They imprint on whatever creature they see when they hatch. A dog, a person, a goat. We were each other’s first love. We got imprinted.”

“Okay...”

“Plus we were young...drenched in hormones.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Tingly and shaky and floating on air,” she continued. “It felt like we’d invented sex.” Even as she was explaining it away, the feeling grew, fueled by the familiar look in Dylan’s eyes—the way he drank her in, every nuance—deciding the right moment to take her, kiss her, make her his own.

They were breathing slowly and noisily now, like the air scraped their lungs on the way out.

“Yeah. All that.” Dylan’s hands slid toward her across the table, moved in. Was he going to kiss her? Did she want that?

With every beat of her unchanged heart.

What if they had stayed together? What if they were soul mates? What kind of life might they have built together?

That poem about the two roads in a yellow wood and the one not taken came into her head, and she heard herself say, “Do you ever wonder what might have happened with us?”

“All the time,” he said hoarsely.

And that was that. Like someone had shot a starting gun, they lunged for each other and kissed. Dylan’s lips tasted smoky from the chicken, sweet from the drink, and like Dylan, the way he used to taste. He rose and so did she. Their chairs hit the tile with twin bangs and they slammed their bodies together, arms wrapped tight.

The kiss seemed to touch off a bonfire that roared through her. Everything faded except Dylan’s mouth, his arms, his chest pressed against hers, his hips, too, his erection insistent against her belly. She ached for more.

She never wanted to stop. She didn’t dare stop. Reality would land like an avalanche, dousing the fire, making them see how foolish they were acting.

But what if it was great? What if it was healing?

Dylan broke off the kiss, leaving Tara rocking forward. “This is not a good idea. It’s late. We’ve been drinking.” Neither of them had touched the second high-test drinks she’d made. Dylan had spilled half of hers on her blouse.

“Right. Good.” Better to stop now, before it got heavy. Before they went too far and there would be consequences. And there would be consequences. Good or bad, she didn’t care to risk it, no matter what her body screamed.

She looked around, saw the dishes and picked up a plate. “I’ll clean up,” she forced out.

Dylan took the plate from her. “I’ve got it. You should go. Get some rest.”

She nodded. They practically ran inside, as if they both feared if she stayed one more second they’d tear off each other’s clothes in some wrongheaded grab for the best of their past.

She snatched her purse from the floor and patted Duster, who whined piteously for her to stay. Backing toward the door, she said, “The dinner was great. Beer-butt chicken...who knew?” she babbled.

Dylan gripped the edge of the door, as if to keep himself from going after her as she backed onto the terrace. “Glad you liked it.” His eyes glowed, the pupils huge.

“When the insurance adjuster calls me back about where the Tesla is, we can get your mechanic out there.”

“Sounds good.”

“As soon as I hear, I’ll call.”

“Do that,” he said hoarsely. “Night.” He shut the door.

She stood there, staring at the door, her heart pounding. What the hell was wrong with her?

She turned, grateful for the cool October breeze on her overheated face. She looked up at the sky, the stars white pinpricks in black velvet. They’d forgotten to look at the stars.

The door flew open. “The telescope,” Dylan blurted. “Venus will be bright tonight and the moon is so...” They both looked up. The moon was a huge orange ball overhead. “Big and...”

“Beautiful,” she finished. She saw the same yearning in his face that she knew was plastered over hers.

She did not need this. She had a plan for her life and it did not include this man or the town that had claimed him forever. She wouldn’t waste time wanting what could never be.

Even if they wanted to try, it wouldn’t work. They were too different. They’d hurt each other too deeply. She would never come first with him. And he would never rest easy with her. That was that.

“We don’t need a telescope to see that, do we?” she said softly.

“Guess not.” He was disappointed, but also relieved, she could tell. He knew it would be a mistake, too. That made her more certain than ever.

Until she sat in her car and noticed she could smell Dylan on her skin, that heady and arousing scent that made her crave him more than ever.

It took every ounce of willpower she had to drive away.

* * *

DYLAN STARED AT the door he’d just shut against the sight of Tara beneath a golden moon. Venus will be bright. What an idiot.

Duster whined, his eyes full of accusation.

“How do you think I feel?” he said. He’d wanted her with everything in him. Kissing her had been heaven...her sweet lips soft and giving and knowing. The electricity had been the same, the rush of heat and need.

And that was bad. He didn’t want that in his life. Couldn’t cope with it. Wanting her would take over his life. And he knew Tara could turn on him in a heartbeat. Even knowing she’d suffered without him, missed him, didn’t change the deeper truth—she disapproved of him, his choices, his life. Sooner or later, it would come up again. She would leave him in the emotional dust. He did not want to yearn again for an impossible love.

Love didn’t have to be crazy and all-consuming. In fact, it couldn’t be if you wanted it to last a lifetime.

He was still reeling from realizing that Candee had been right—he had kept Tara in his heart, burning candles to her memory, like a fool.

Candee had paid the price for his refusal to see the truth. He’d fought for their marriage. He’d watched his parents tear theirs up like so much paper. But he’d sabotaged his without knowing. He’d been in total denial.

He was ashamed, angry at himself.

He realized he could go right back to how he’d been with Tara.

For all they’d matured, too much remained the same. Tara was still mercurial and complicated. He still felt the need to protect her, to rescue her, whether she needed it or not.

That’s what helping her “investigate her case” was all about, for God’s sake. He was done managing people. He’d managed his father for ten years. It was enough. The complications with the Wharton contract were giving him fits, delaying his release from the company and his father.

Dylan had no time to relive old loves. That imprint thing made sense. He needed to get past that, and quick, if he ever expected to make a life with a woman—a solid, steady life, not the crazy, white-water raft trip he’d have with Tara. And he intended to do that. It was all part of his plan.

He carried the dishes in from the patio, pausing to stare at the sky. It was a good night for stargazing. He remembered trading places at the eyepiece—fingers tangling, faces inches apart, her hair falling against his face, the smell of her...

Not worth it. Not even close.

He cleaned up and headed to bed. Duster leaped up like a dog half his age. “She made you feel young again, didn’t she?” he said. She’d done the same to him and that wasn’t good for either of them. Like the huge orange moon overhead, he didn’t need a telescope to see that.

* * *

“IT’S A HOSPITAL ROOM, not a beauty parlor,” Judith groused, bracing the vase of flowers against the canvas bag on the passenger-seat floor. Tara had filled the bag with cosmetics, nail polish, hair gear and a portable iPod player.

“It can’t hurt and it could help wake her up.”

“I think you’re crazy, but it’ll probably cheer up your mother. She likes things to look good. I’ll bring her out when she wakes up.”

“Good.”

“Take it easy on the face goop. Faye wasn’t much for makeup.”

“I promise.” She drove off, pleased when she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Judith give a small wave.

Once in Faye’s room, Tara brightened the lights, set the flowers on the counter near the mirror and got the nineties playlist she’d put together going on the iPod with speakers.

Happy with how much more cheerful the room felt, she leaned in to kiss Faye’s forehead. “I’m thinking Stormy Skies eye shadow to go with your eyes. You agree?” She studied her sister’s face. “Blink once for no.”

Tara held her breath, hoping against hope for any sign of life. Nothing. “Stormy Skies it is.” Tara sighed. “Are you slipping away or fighting your way back, Faye?” she whispered.

Forcing herself to cheer up, she put the Sunset Crater photo into the silver frame, set it where Faye could see it, then misted Faye’s sheets and pillow with the peppermint and citrus spray the store clerk said would be energizing. After that, she plugged in the flatiron and set out the cosmetics and nail polish on Faye’s tray. “Makeover time,” she said, and got to work, singing along with MC Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This.” Rita was right. Some of that nineties music was pretty bad.

When she finished with Faye’s face, Tara studied the effect. “Much better. You can’t even see the shadow of the bruises.” It was Wednesday, nine days since the accident, eight days since Tara had arrived, and the bruises had faded substantially.

Next she worked on Faye’s hair. “You won’t believe what happened last night,” she said, deciding to think out loud with her sister. “I had dinner at Dylan’s and we almost went to bed together.” She paused mid brushstroke to see if Faye had responded to that.

Nothing.

“I know. Bad idea. In the end, I was the one who stopped us. I knew it would be pointless...probably sad, really.” If it wasn’t life changing. She straightened a strand of Faye’s hair. “I need to start dating. I’ve been lonely, but I didn’t notice. That should fix it.”

She finished Faye’s hair, admiring the smoothness, the slight under-curl she’d achieved. “Perfect.” She stared at her sister’s closed eyes. She seemed so far away. “Come on, Faye,” she said. “Wake up. Live. You’ve got music and flowers and people who love you.” Her gaze snagged on the Sunset Crater picture. “Look at how happy you were, how in love. I’m sorry I didn’t see that at the time.”

Her sister didn’t respond.

“But you weren’t happy before the wreck, were you? You were worried. What was wrong? The questions are piling up and you’re the only one who can answer them.”

Fighting frustration, she placed Faye’s hand on the tray and shook the nail polish. “Neon orange,” she said. “Not your style, but it’s lively, right? And you need lively stuff.” She’d chosen candy-apple red lipstick for the same reason. She opened the polish, loaded the brush and reached down for Faye’s hand. Faye’s index finger twitched.

Tara gasped, dripping polish on Faye’s knuckle. Her heart leaped. “Faye? Did you do that on purpose? Do it again.” She stared at Faye’s hand. There. Another twitch. Wait. Maybe not. Maybe Tara had imagined that.

Someone entered the room. “We can hear that nasty music all the way from—”

“Rita! Her finger twitched! She’s waking up.”

Rita moved swiftly to Faye’s bedside. She hesitated, probably at the change in Faye’s appearance, then picked up Faye’s hand. Tara clicked off the music. “You coming back, sugar?” Rita asked softly. “Can you squeeze my hand for me?”

Nothing. Rita took her flashlight out and tested Faye’s pupils. No change.

Rita did the rest of the tests, then sighed. “Sorry, hon. Transient spasms. It happens.”

“So it’s nothing?” Tara’s heart sank. “It doesn’t mean she’s improving?”

Rita sat on the chair next to Tara, her eyes full of sympathy. “It’s nice, you fixing her face and hair. I’m gonna need sunglasses to tolerate that nail polish, though.”

Tara couldn’t even manage a smile.

“How you doing?” Rita asked.

“Okay, I guess.”

“It’s hard, this limbo you’re in. You gotta prepare yourself either way.”

“I wish I’d been there for her more...before.”

“We’re all just human beings doing what we can.”

“She was on antidepressants, Rita, and something for anxiety. I had no idea how bad off she was. I’m scared that if she was drinking that night, the alcohol mixed with the pills might have caused her to lose control of the car.”

Rita blew out a breath and gave Tara an irritated look. “I don’t know what it is about you that does this to me.”

“What do you mean?”

Rita pushed to her feet. “I checked the labs, okay? Your sister had no alcohol in her system when she was admitted. And don’t say one more word about it.”

Faye hadn’t been drunk. Thank God. Tara’s heart lifted as she took the deepest breath she’d taken since she arrived. Her whole body felt lighter. She wanted to burst out laughing. She wanted to dance to MC Hammer.

“You have no idea what a relief that is.” She jumped up and kissed Rita right on the mouth. “Thank you, thank you, a million times, thank you.”

“Calm yourself down now.” But Rita was smiling. “They got chocolates on sale in the gift shop, you want to thank me better than a big wet kiss. No nuts, no caramels, no coconut.” With that, she was gone, leaving Tara smiling in gratitude, almost collapsing with relief.

The rumor was wrong. But what about her father? Fallon had hinted he’d been the one driving. He claimed he’d smelled alcohol. The only way to find out if her father had been drunk would be to get her mother to ask the hospital about it.

And what if he had been? That would be terrible, too. Judith would have Tara’s head for suggesting the possibility to her mother.

She looked back at her sister. “I never doubted you. Not really. I’m going to find out who’s lying about you and why. Don’t you worry.” She was more determined than ever. She couldn’t wait to tell Dylan. She started to call him, then realized she needed to hustle if she wanted her timing at Wharton to work. She needed to sit in on some of the meeting after she looked through Faye’s office.

Besides, she’d rather tell Dylan in person, see the expression on his face...see him again.

It was true, she thought with dismay. She couldn’t wait to see him again...maybe touch him...definitely smell him.

She glanced at Faye, who looked almost like herself with her hair done and makeup on. What would Faye tell her? For God’s sake, grow up.

The Faye in the Sunset Crater photo would say, Go with your heart.

And that, she knew, she didn’t dare do.

* * *

“I’M GOING TO TELL Victor we’ve authorized overtime to catch up on production,” Dylan told his father early Wednesday morning.

“We can’t afford that and you know it. You set the price too low as it is. Let ’em wait. God knows, we waited long enough for that contract.” His father braced his head in his hands, clearly exhausted. He hadn’t been sleeping. Dylan had gotten emails from him at two and three in the morning, always about a new idea to pursue. Since the funeral, his father had been more miserable than ever. He’d retreated more and more to the research lab, AWOL from his CEO duties.

Dylan had a sinking feeling he’d have to stay longer at Ryland than he’d intended to make sure his father was back on track again.

“We have to do what we can. Once we get the specs adjusted, we’ll catch up quickly. If we don’t meet our deadlines, Wharton can’t meet theirs and the dominos tumble.”

“Maybe you should have me speak at that damn meeting. You can be nice and accommodating and I’ll tell them exactly where they went wrong.”

“I’ll be fine, Dad.” No way would he let his father add fuel to the conflict after the exchange with Joseph at the funeral. Dylan hadn’t realized Joseph had questioned the Ryland contract. With the high fail rate their testers were reporting now, he was certain all the managers would be concerned.

The delay of the Wharton management meeting where he was to speak had given Victor more time to gather data from his shift managers for Dylan to share during his presentation.

“I say no on the overtime,” his father declared.

“I talked it over with Victor and we agree it’s the best solution. Once the Wharton batteries get out in quantity, we’ll make up for any money we lost.”

“Are you forgetting whose company this is?” his father demanded.

“You signed off on the bid. My job is to supervise the operation.”

His father grabbed his ring of keys from the desk and held them out. “Then you might as well hand these over to Joe Banes. Tell him to turn off the light once he’s cleaned us out.”

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” Dylan said, leaving before he blew up, which would only make it worse. His jaw ached from being clenched. Tara’s words played in his head: Does your father realize you saved him? Does he appreciate what you gave up for him?

Not enough, no. But Dylan had made the right choice. He’d helped build a remarkable company. He’d pushed hard to get here. It had been a risk, letting income drop for the next quarter, but the payoff would be huge. When he faced a tough decision, Dylan found himself thinking, What would Abbott Wharton do?

Out in the factory, Dylan went straight to Victor’s glassed-in office. “It’s a go on overtime.”

“Good,” Victor said, holding out stapled pages. “Dale put together the figures.” Dale was the Quality Assurance manager. “We doubled our tests on this lot. If Wharton fails them, maybe Sean’s right. Maybe they are sabotaging us for a price break.” He offered a grim smile. Victor and Dylan had shaken their heads more than once over his father’s suspicion of all things Wharton. Dylan had advised Victor on the best approach to working with his father. He hoped to hell it would be enough.

“I’ll give them the data and explain our system. If they adjust the specs like we’ve suggested, we should be fine.”

“If Jeb Harris would let us over there to see what equipment they’re using and how they’re using it, we could clear this up quick.”

“He says it’s proprietary,” Dylan reminded him. Victor thought the Wharton testing manager was a bit high and mighty. “The test results should be enough.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Victor said, fire in his eyes. “I stand by my people and my people stand by their work.”

“I appreciate how you’ve handled it, top to bottom, Victor.” For all his flaws, his father’s scrappy, underdog tenacity and grit had inspired fierce loyalty in the employees all the way down to the warehouse guys. Ryland Engineering was a good company with heart and spirit and Dylan was proud of what they’d built. He would see this through if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

AT 10:00 A.M., TARA STEPPED into the lobby of Wharton Electronics for the first time since she was a kid, awed by the machinery and lights on the factory floor. Her father had been so proud of the place. He came alive within these walls. His voice went lighter and his eyes sparkled. That gave her a stab of grief.

The lobby was impressive, with a high ceiling, huge windows and tons of light. Her steps on the granite floor echoed as if she were in a luxury-car showroom. Photos of Wharton batteries jutted from the wall on 3-D rectangles, so bright and pretty they looked like edible jewels.

The waiting area held low, modern furniture in neon green and yellow, a sleek table and a spiky palm in a tall vase. From the table she picked up a copy of the annual report to read over, then watched a few seconds of the promotional video running on a huge flat-screen TV.

She headed for the front desk. The receptionist was on the phone. Waiting for her to finish, Tara took in the two huge oil portraits on the wall behind her. The first was of Tara’s grandfather. The brass nameplate at the bottom identified him as the company’s first CEO and gave his birth and death dates. Next to him was her father, who’d taken over the plant in 1985 at age forty-five, having worked his way up from the factory floor—Whartons earn their place in this world, he’d always said.

His father’s nameplate was missing. With a jolt, she realized they’d sent it to be engraved with his death date.

Tara leaned against the counter to steady herself. She was never ready for these jolts when they hit.

She sighed. Whose painting would appear beside her father’s? Who would take over as CEO? Faye, if she recovered. Please recover. Please. Certainly not Joseph. He didn’t strike her as a leader. One of the other VPs, she guessed. Offering recommendations on the new CEO might well be one of her tasks as a consultant. The idea was hard to consider, with Faye’s life hanging in the balance.

Her plan was to look around in Faye’s office and her father’s if possible, then drop in on the meeting an hour before lunch to ask about her tour. Sitting through some of the meeting she’d get a feel for the power players. If a tour wasn’t possible today, she’d talk to employees in the cafeteria and stop by managers’ offices for informal chats and generally take the temperature of the place.

The receptionist ended her call and smiled up at Tara. “Can I help you?” She hesitated. “Oh! You’re Mr. Wharton’s other daughter.... You’re...um...”

“Tara.”

“That’s right. Tara. Nice to finally meet you. How is Ms. Banes? Everyone is so worried about her.”

“She’s stable. We’re hoping for the best.”

“We are, too. We really are.” She paused, biting her lip. Tara assumed lots of employees were worried. She accepted the visitor badge the receptionist gave her, then took the winding wood stairs instead of the elevator, to enjoy the sun on her arms and the view of the river through the huge windows.

From the second-floor landing she surveyed the row of offices—empty and dark, since the managers were in the third-floor meeting room. Carol looked up from her desk behind a low fabric wall in front of what must be Faye’s office. She smiled and waved Tara over. “I snitched the key to your father’s office, too,” she whispered. “His secretary takes notes in the meeting.”

“Good work,” Tara said.

Carol opened the door to Faye’s office and they entered. Tara was transfixed by the art on the walls—whimsical collages of words and drawings incorporated into blueprint grids. “Faye’s work, huh?” Tara said.

“She’s very talented.”

“She is.” Tara realized her mother hadn’t put a single one of Faye’s paintings in the house. It didn’t fit with the decor, of course, but the real problem was that neither of their parents had respected Faye’s talent. That had always irked Tara, whose first act whenever she moved was to hang the piece Faye had made for her. She wanted another painting in her condo. If Faye recovered... When she recovered, Tara would ask about that.

While they waited for Faye’s computer to boot, Tara flipped through Faye’s paper files, the notebooks on her desk with quarterly reports, audits, the budget, cost and quality analyses, and a strategic plan—all standard for someone in Faye’s position.

When they turned back to the computer, Carol frowned. “There’s a password now.”

“That’s new?”

“Yes. Faye didn’t want the hassle.”

“Who would have put it on?”

“Probably Mr. Banes asked our IT guy to do it to keep me from snooping.” She sighed.

Or to hide something he wanted no one to know.

“The IT guy can override it for you, but I don’t know if he’d do it without Mr. Banes’s okay.”

“We’ll leave that for now,” she said, frustrated as hell and dying to know what Joseph wanted kept secret.

Her father’s office was neat as a pin, his computer password-protected like the one at home. She looked through the folders in his desk drawers, thinking she might find the missing ones from home, but they were all business-related, as far as she could tell. The file cabinet was locked. “That’s Lisa’s doing,” Carol said. “She gets very officious because he’s the CEO.”

That was that, Tara realized. She’d learned nothing useful, except that Joseph had likely locked down Faye’s computer. On to the next part of her plan...where she hoped for more luck.