A Daring Vow (Vows) (11 page)

She nodded politely at half a dozen acquaintances. She couldn’t help noticing the wary looks some of the women cast first at her and then at their husbands. Wanda Sue Oglethorpe actually latched possessively onto her husband’s elbow and spun him around as if she feared that a simple nod in Zelda’s direction might turn the man into a pillar of salt. Given Denny Oglethorpe’s preference for bib overalls, flannel shirts and chewing tobacco, Zelda could have reassured Wanda Sue that she was welcome to him, if only the woman had asked.

Trying hard not to let the general lack of welcome bother her, Zelda made it as far as the door of the church before she heard her name called with anything resembling enthusiasm. She turned around just in time to see Caitlin running toward her, her face alight with pleasure.

“Well, good morning,” she said, forcing herself not to look beyond the child for the father she was sure couldn’t be far away. “Don’t you look pretty?”

“Thank you,” Caitlin said primly. “My grandmother bought this dress for me.”

That didn’t especially surprise Zelda. The gray wool dress with its simple white collar was precisely the choice she would have expected from Geraldine Matthews. Expensive and tasteful, it had about as much personality as oatmeal.

“I like yours better,” Caitlin confided. “I wish I had a dress that color. What’s it called?”

“Teal,” Zelda said. “That’s a shade of blue.”

“Like your eyes, sort of.” She spotted her father and ran to grab his hand and drag him over. “Look, Daddy, isn’t Zelda’s dress beautiful? It’s called teal. Do you think I could have one that color?”

To Zelda’s amusement, Taylor looked thoroughly bewildered. A typical male, she surmised.

“You have an entire closetful of clothes,” he said finally. “Surely you already have something blue.”

Caitlin regarded him impatiently. “Not blue, Daddy. Teal.”

“We could find some material and make you one,” Zelda offered. “If your father wouldn’t mind.”

“Please, Daddy,” Caitlin implored. “I could wear it to my birthday party.”

A sudden, indulgent twinkle lit his eyes. “Are you having a birthday party?” he teased.

“Next month. Remember? You promised. Grandmother said she’d bake a cake. And you said I could bring some of my friends from school home for the whole weekend.”

“Is that next month? I could have sworn your birthday wasn’t for ages yet.”

A grin broke across Caitlin’s too solemn face. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you? You remembered.”

Taylor smiled. “Yes, I remembered. How could I possibly forget such an important occasion? As for a new dress, I suppose I could take you shopping for one.” He looked as if he’d rather spend a month in jail.

“I’d really enjoy making one for her,” Zelda offered again, not entirely certain why she was so hell-bent on insinuating herself into Taylor’s life. Perhaps it was the forlorn, lost look she saw so often in Caitlin’s eyes. Perhaps it was merely her own need to experience what family life with Taylor might have been like, even if it was only for a few hours of pure make-believe.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble,” she insisted when she saw him wavering. “I could pick her up one afternoon to go look for material, then drive her back to school. My mother’s sewing machine still works. I used it just the other day to make some curtains for the bedroom.”

“Please,” Caitlin said again. Wide blue eyes regarded her father with wistfulness.

In the end, Taylor was clearly no match for his daughter’s appeal. He smiled. “I suppose it would be all right. I’ll speak to the headmistress when I take Caitlin back tomorrow. Then you’ll be able to make the arrangements with her whenever it’s convenient for you to drive over.”

Caitlin flung herself into her father’s arms. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” She grinned at Zelda. “It’ll be so much fun. Maybe we can even go for ice cream after.”

“Oh, I think ice cream would be an absolute necessity after a long afternoon of shopping.”

Just then Caitlin caught sight of her grandparents and went running to tell them her news. Zelda’s breath caught in her throat as she saw Geraldine Matthews shoot a questioning look in her direction. Beau Matthews looked thunderstruck. An instant later he was striding in their direction, his expression stormy.

Zelda stood her ground. Taylor didn’t budge from where he stood next to her. The air around them seemed to crackle with sudden tension.

“Good morning, Father,” he said.

“Damn it all,” Beau thundered, glowering at Zelda.

Before he could launch into an embarrassing tirade, Taylor interceded. “You’re standing on the church steps, Father, with all the neighbors listening to every word. Don’t you think a little discretion is called for?” he said mildly.

A dull red flush crept up Beau’s neck as he bit back whatever he’d been about to say. “We don’t need the likes of you back in this town,” he said in a low growl meant only for Zelda’s ears.

“Dad! That kind of talk is uncalled for,” Taylor said, his own tone furious. In a deliberate gesture of defiance, he put his hand protectively on Zelda’s waist. He glanced down at her, his gaze filled with compassion. “I think we should be going inside now.”

Zelda fought to blink back the sudden onset of tears. Damn it, the last thing she wanted was this man’s pity. “Taylor, you don’t need to do this.”

“Yes,” he said flatly, squaring his shoulders defiantly. “I do.” He looked toward his mother, who’d remained a discreet distance away to prevent his daughter from overhearing whatever his father was likely to blurt out. “Caitlin, let’s go inside now.”

She scampered immediately to his side and tucked one hand into his, the other into Zelda’s. Zelda felt her heart lurch at the unexpected display of solidarity. Together, ignoring Beau’s furious oath and his wife’s attempt to placate him, they walked inside and made their way to a pew at the front of the church.

It wasn’t much of a triumph. Zelda knew that sooner or later she’d pay a price for it. An angered Beau Matthews was always a formidable enemy. Worse, she knew that by the end of the day word that Taylor had chosen her over his family would be all over Port William. The news would be dissected with almost the same surgical precision as the chicken at most Sunday dinners. Sides would be chosen. Bets would be placed. And once again, the romance of Zelda Lane and Taylor Matthews would be the hottest topic in town.

* * *

It was late Monday afternoon before Zelda had a chance to discuss with Taylor privately what had happened at church and its likely aftermath. Even then she hesitated to bring it up. She didn’t want him denying as meaningless something that had meant so much to her. That stance made up in some small way for his failure to stick by her years ago.

She stood in the doorway to his office, watching as he bent over his law books, exhaustion evident in the weary set of his shoulders. She longed to have the right to massage away the tension, just to have the right to touch him at all in a way that wasn’t sexual. Sometimes, if she allowed herself to think about it, it cut right through to her soul that he would tolerate an intimate caress, but refused any pretense of real caring. It reminded her all too clearly that he still thought of her as a woman whose morals were no better than they had to be.

And yet he had stood up to his father in public the day before, she thought with a faint stirring of hope. She had to know why he had been willing to risk all the speculation and potential embarrassment.

“Taylor?” she said finally.

He glanced up at her, his expression wary. “Yes?”

“Do you have a minute?”

“I’m right in the middle of researching the precedent on this case.”

“I’ll help you do that,” she volunteered. “It won’t take long.”

“That’s not your job,” he protested.

“Maybe it’s not exactly what you hired me to do, but I’m qualified as a paralegal. You might as well take advantage of all of my skills.”

An unexpected spark of mischief danced in his eyes and made her heart flip over.

“All of them?” he taunted.

“You know what I meant.” She drew in a deep breath. “Taylor, there’s something I need to ask you.”

As if he sensed that she was about to bring up a subject he didn’t want to hear, he nodded with obvious reluctance. “Go ahead. Ask.”

“Why did you do what you did yesterday? Why did you defend me to your father?”

“It was nothing.”

“It was, and you know it. So did everyone else on the church lawn. I need to know why.”

“Because I refuse to allow him to humiliate you like that. You’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

“I hadn’t done anything to deserve it ten years ago, either,” she reminded him.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I know that. But ten years ago, I wasn’t very wise or very brave. I was single-minded and ambitious, and I thought my family knew what was best.” He leveled his gaze on her. “I regret that more than I can ever tell you.”

There was no mistaking the genuine anguish in his voice, the regret in his eyes, the absolute sincerity in his voice. It might have been the first genuinely honest thing he’d said to her in years.

“Maybe it’s time to put the past behind us,” she told him, her voice little more than a whisper. Now, just maybe they could move on. She realized that as hard as she’d been fighting it, that was what she wanted more than anything else in the world.

He nodded at her suggestion. “It’s probably way past time to do that,” he agreed.

Her heart leapt, then crashed as she saw the expression in his eyes. Suddenly she recognized the
but
she should have heard in his voice. He struggled with it, then clearly lost the internal debate.

“But, Zelda…” He hesitated again.

“What?” she demanded impatiently. Whatever his reservations were, she wanted him to spell them out. She couldn’t fight something that remained unspoken.

“I need to be honest with you.”

A sense of dread welled up inside her. Those were the kind of words always spoken before bad news, before rejection. He’d said the exact same words ten years before, though his voice had been shaking then, had lacked the conviction she’d just heard. Unable to encourage him to continue, after all, she simply waited, wishing there was more of a hint of turmoil in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t want you thinking that meant we have a future,” he said finally. “Or even a present.”

An icy knot formed in the middle of Zelda’s chest at his flat, unequivocal tone. In the end, the apology had been his way of closing a door, not opening one.

“No, of course not,” she said around the lump in her throat.

And then, because she didn’t think she could bear it another minute, she fled.

An hour later she was cursing herself for not telling him that she wasn’t looking for anything from him, for not salvaging some tiny shred of pride by laughing in his face.

“Who needs you, Taylor Matthews?” That was what she should have said. “Who wants you?”

The problem, unfortunately, was that the answer to both questions seemed to be that she did. Ten years of separation and festering anger had not done a damn thing to dim the needing or the wanting. If she were very wise, if she had an ounce of pride left, she would walk in tomorrow morning and hand in her notice. The month’s trial was ending, anyway. She could claim she missed Los Angeles more than she’d expected, that the estate meant nothing to her, and that a writer’s scholarship in her mother’s memory would be for the best. She could do that. She should.

But she knew in her heart that she wouldn’t. She was going to stay in Port William and play this damnable charade out to the end. No matter how it turned out. No matter how much it hurt. Because this time she would not take the coward’s way out and run. She would stay and fight for the man she loved as she should have ten years before.

Chapter Nine

Z
elda was slapping a fresh coat of paint on the outside of the house when she heard the muffled laughter behind her. Whirling around, she saw Sarah Lynn, her face alight with barely concealed mirth.

“Interesting color,” she observed. “You trying to make a statement or what?”

Zelda regarded her indignantly. “There is nothing wrong with raspberry.”

“For fruit, maybe even kitchen curtains, but a whole house? Can’t say I’ve ever seen one that exact shade.”

Zelda stepped back and studied the house intently. It was bright, somewhere between the color of cotton candy and actual ripe berries. With white trim, it ought to look downright cheerful. “I like it,” she said staunchly.

“I take it, then, that you aren’t planning to sell it, after all.”

Zelda’s gaze narrowed. Going or staying wasn’t something she was prepared to commit to aloud. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you’d be painting it a nice subdued white if you hoped to find a buyer.”

Zelda grimaced at Sarah Lynn’s perceptiveness. “Okay, I’m painting it raspberry because I like raspberry,” she conceded cautiously. “It’s a happy color.”

“And it’ll drive Beau Matthews crazy every time he has to ride past this place.”

Zelda grinned unrepentantly. “That, too.”

“Has Taylor seen it?”

“No. I don’t expect him to be dropping by anytime soon, not after what happened the last time he was here. In fact, I doubt he’d come into the office if he could help it.”

Sarah Lynn settled into a rocking chair with an expectant look on her face. “Sounds fascinating.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Zelda chided. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Sarah Lynn nodded as if she’d revealed every detail of a torrid love scene. “That would explain his behavior on the church lawn Sunday morning.”

“You weren’t even there.”

“Didn’t need to be. I had three phone calls by noon. The accounts were generally the same. Beau expressed his disapproval of your presence in Port William and Taylor told him off. Then, with his daddy about ready to explode, Taylor and Caitlin defied him and went inside with you. Accurate?”

“Close enough.”

Sarah Lynn nodded in satisfaction. “I knew that boy’d wake up one of these days. Has he asked you to stay here permanently, yet?”

“Hardly. Offhand, I’d say this little display was nothing more than a belated rebellion on Taylor’s part. I don’t think it had much to do with me.”