Shouldn’t she know? If she’d been so deeply in love, why hadn’t she thought about marriage?
Dixie couldn’t find answers for those questions. Maybe it was impossible to see the past clearly through the lens of the present. After all, the woman who’d loved Cole for that short, mad summer was gone.
But the woman who remembered that summer was sitting beside a man who tempted her in ways the younger Cole hadn’t. Hope and humor were beguilements she didn’t know how to defend against.
Maybe she didn’t want to.
By the time they reached The Vines, the sky was grumbling to itself through stacked-up clouds dark with rain. Dixie was congratulating herself on arriving ahead of the storm when she noticed the two unfamiliar cars in front of the big house.
She groaned. “I forgot about the dinner tonight. Should I change? Cancel that,” she said with a glance at her watch. “There isn’t time.” She started digging in her purse, hoping she’d remembered her lipstick.
Cole grinned. “If I say you look fine, am I being supportive or insensitive?”
“Honest, I hope.” No lipstick. She grimaced and took out the little brush. At least she could get rid of the tangles.
He got out, came around to her side and opened her door. She finished with her hair, stashed the brush, stepped out—and he took her hands, both of them, carried them to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of each, in turn. “Fine doesn’t begin to cover it,” he said softly. “I’m not sure how to tell you how good you look.”
Her cheeks warmed with pleasure. “Try.”
He cocked one wicked eyebrow. “I could say you look like a wet dream.”
She laughed and pulled her hands back. “Not when I’m going to dinner with your folks, you can’t.” She slanted him a mischievous look. “But it’s okay if you think it.”
“I’m thinking,” he assured her as they headed for the door.
The living room lay past the foyer and the gallery with its curving staircase, and opened onto the covered lanai where Dixie had sketched Caroline. It was a cheerful blend of antiques and French country accents, with fabrics ranging from the drapes striped in poppy, grass and sunflower to the chairs covered in poppy-and-black toiles.
At the moment, it was full of tense people. One of them was the man Dixie had seen twice now. The Western Man.
She stopped three paces in, astonished and wary. Whatever he was doing here, no one looked very happy about it.
Mercedes stood near the sofa with her boyfriend du jour, Craig Bradford—who must have some virtues Dixie had failed to discover, since he’d lasted longer than most. Good looks alone weren’t enough to account for that, given her friend’s theories about relationships.
Merry looked stunned. Her sister, Jillian, sat on the couch, staring at the stranger and shaking her head slowly, as if she were denying some monstrous question. Across from them, standing nearest their visitor, was Eli.
Eli was furious.
It wasn’t obvious, but Dixie had studied that face. She saw the rigid control in the muscles along his jaw and the emotion seething in eyes that burned like green fire.
They all had green eyes, all of Spencer Ashton’s children, didn’t they?
Dixie’s mouth fell open at a sudden, impossible thought. Her gaze swung to the stranger.
“What’s going on?” Cole asked, his voice sharp.
Eli’s gaze swung to him. “Let me introduce you. This is Grant Ashton. Your oldest brother.”
“So he says.” Merry’s voice was flat.
Oh, yes, Dixie thought. Yes, the head shape was the same. The eyes. She’d seen the resemblance the morning she ran into him, but it hadn’t occurred to her…
“What the hell—?” Cole’s words were more question than curse. He looked from one to the other of them.
“I know this must be a shock. I’m sorry for that.” That was the stranger, Western Man…Grant Ashton.
Cole took a step forward, his face hard. “You’d better have some sort of proof.”
“He does.” Caroline Ashton stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her face pale but composed. “He showed me his parents’ marriage license.”
“You spoke to him?” Eli asked, scowling.
She nodded. “I’m sorry. I should have been here when he told you. I…he arrived half an hour ago. After I spoke with him, I went to call Lucas. He’s on his way back from the city and would have been here soon anyway, but I…I just wanted to talk to him. I should have been here,” she repeated. “I’m sorry.”
“Never mind that.” Jillian hurried to her mother’s side. “Are you all right?”
Caroline smiled. “Of course.”
“I wasn’t going to tell them until you returned,” Grant said. “But your daughter found me waiting for you in the lanai and insisted I join the family in here. She was trying to be hospitable to a guest, I suppose,” he said wryly. “Then your son asked my name. I wasn’t going to make one up.”
“No, of course not. And once you told them you were an Ashton, you had to tell them the rest.”
“What’s the rest?” Cole demanded.
Grant met his eyes levelly. “My parents married young—a shotgun wedding, you might say. People still do that where I come from, or did, back when my mother found out she was pregnant. Until a couple weeks ago, I thought my father died when I was a year old. Turns out he just took off, leaving my mother to raise me and my sister.” He paused. “My father’s name is Spencer Ashton.”
No one moved. No one spoke. Then Cole’s sharp bark of laughter broke the silence. “The bastard started young, didn’t he?”
Caroline insisted that Grant join them for dinner. It was an awkward meal.
Merry was withdrawn, mostly silent. Jillian was tense. Dixie had noticed that she was sensitive to others’ moods, and the overall mood at the table that night was not jolly. Eli barely spoke—and Cole spoke too much, considering that he substituted grilling their guest for polite conversation.
They learned that Grant was from Crawley, Nebraska; that he had a farm there, which his nephew was running while he was gone; that he’d never married, but had raised his niece and nephew; and that he’d tried repeatedly to speak to Spencer, but the man brushed him off.
“I saw you at Charley’s,” Cole said. “You were trying to talk to him then?”
Grant nodded and buttered a roll.
“I can see why you’d think he owes you something, and he has plenty of money. Are you hoping to—”
“Cole!” Caroline said sharply. “That is quite enough.”
“For the record,” Grant said levelly, “I do fine, financially. I don’t want anything from him. Or you.”
Dixie gave him an approving smile. “For the record, Cole isn’t always such an ass. It sneaks up on him occasionally.”
Mercedes stifled a giggle. Cole turned to Dixie. “Thank you,” he said, dry enough to suck the juice from a mummy, “for your unquestioning support.”
“Friends don’t let friends talk junk. Especially at their mother’s table. Why don’t we discuss something innocuous