Lead Me On (32 page)

He had no answer for that.

"If you change your mind and decide you want to talk, I'll be at the inn." She turned and walked away.

"Allison!" he called just before he heard the front door close behind her. "Goddammit!"

He turned to the window, balled his fist, and punched the metal frame in a burst of fury. A shock of pain raced up his arm and he stared down in horror. He knew instantly he'd fractured a bone. Stumbling to the sofa, he cradled his hand to his chest, rocking back and forth to control the pain. He'd broken his goddamn hand. One of the stupidest things a writer could do!

Yet, part of him didn't even care. He was close enough to finishing the book he could do it one-handed. It meant nothing, though. Without Allison in his life, he simply didn't care about anything. Why couldn't she just accept him?

He didn't call. for days after her visit to the beach house, Allison felt a surge of hope every time the phone rang. Each time ended in crushing disappointment, followed by anger.

They'd come so close to working things out—she'd seen the look in his eyes, and believed he did love her— but then he'd pulled away. How could he expect blind faith from her yet offer so little in return? Was his love not strong enough for him to take some emotional risks? Or ... was he as frightened of getting hurt as she was?

She thought of calling him a dozen times a day, to try again, but each time she reached for the phone, fear stopped her. He knew how to contact her if he wanted to reconcile. If he didn't, then calling him would only stir up more agony for both of them.

So, she threw herself into planning Rory's wedding and picking out the decor for the new bungalows they were building. That, at least, helped for a while. Until October arrived, with its cooler weather, and she knew the time had come to accept that it really was over. The knowledge came with a fresh wave of pain. Scott had only been part of her life for a few brief weeks, but so much inside her had changed during that time that to have him gone left her feeling empty.

Empty, but not destroyed. He'd won her heart and then he'd vanished from her life as completely as if he'd died. That should have crushed her, and it did in some ways. She physically ached every time she thought of him, but she didn't want to curl up and die herself, the way she had after losing her parents and again after Peter's betrayal and the loss of the baby.

She had her family, friends, and a thriving business. She would survive and her heart would heal. In time.

In time ... but not today, she thought as she drove toward Houston Hobby Airport to pick up her aunt. The bright autumn day offered a relief from the scorching summer heat. As she neared Houston, the coastal plains and urban sprawl gave way to upscale shopping centers and triple-decker overpasses.

She reached the airport and pulled through the passenger pickup area. A smile broke over her when she spotted her aunt waiting by the curb. The Incomparable Vivian Young looked every inch the New York actor with her black pantsuit and regal stance. A dramatic streak of silver swirled through the flame-bright hair she wore in a neat twist up the back.

Pulling to a stop at the curb, Allison stepped out "Aunt Viv!"

The imperial head turned and the aloof expression vanished into a bright smile. "Allison!" They came together in a tight hug. "Oh heavens, it's good to see you."

Alli stepped back, laughing. "I didn't realize how much Rory has grown up to look like you. Except she's taller. A lot taller."

"Like your father," Vivian said.

"And not nearly so ... sophisticated."

"Now the artlessness is all Aurora. I'd say she was a disgrace to the family if she weren't such a delightful child."

"Not quite a child anymore." Allison grabbed the larger of the two bags and headed for the trunk of the luxury sedan. "She's married with a child of her own now."

"True. And I can't wait to see this grandniece of mine."

"Oh, Lauren's adorable. She already has all of us eating out of her hand." Allison stowed the luggage and closed the trunk. "Do you want to drive?" she asked, since the car belonged to her aunt.

"Heavens, no. I've been riding in cabs so long, I've probably forgotten how."

Allison slipped behind the wheel and headed back onto the crowded, multi-lane freeway. "Rory's so excited you were able to come down for the wedding," Alli said, moving with ease through the bumper-to-bumper traffic. "It feels like ages since we've seen you."

"It has been ages. And I would have come for the first wedding, if she'd given me more notice."

"It was rather rushed." Allison smiled. "The minute Chance found out she was pregnant, he hauled her before a judge to say 'I do.' "

"So Aurora married a Chancellor." Vivian shook her head. "Talk about a mismatched pair."

"Yes, but it works for them. They're very happy together."

"And what about you? Adrian mentioned a while back that you were seeing someone."

"That didn't work out." Alli tightened her grip on the steering wheel, determined to keep the mood light. "I can't wait for you to see the inn. We're vacant this weekend, because of the wedding, but business has been booming."

For the rest of the drive, Alli filled her aunt in on everything but her relationship with Scott. Through it all, she managed to keep her tone bright. Her life sounded so perfect, no one would ever guess how empty she felt. That would change, though. In time. She just needed time. And work. When she stayed busy, she could almost push Scott from her mind.

"Do you want to swing by the cottage and drop off your bags, or go straight to the inn?" she asked when they

reached the causeway that connected Galveston to the mainland.

"The cottage first," Vivian answered. Her expression turned melancholy as they ascended the high, long arch of pavement supported by tall pillars. A variety of ships, from pleasure boats and deep-sea fishers to large ocean-going vessels skimmed the sun-speckled water. "I've missed this. There's no place on earth quite like Galveston."

The causeway brought them down onto Galveston's main thoroughfare. Traffic slowed as they reached the Historic District, where palm trees and oaks shaded stately mansions from a bygone age. "I've always thought of this town as a charming old diva," Vivian said. "Full of stories from the past."

"Yes, she is." Allison smiled at the description.

"I've been missing it a lot lately."

"Oh?"

"I'm thinking about moving back, retiring from Broadway."

"You are?" Alli nearly ran a red light in her surprise.

"Now that
Hello, Dolly!
has closed, it's become blatantly clear I've joined the ranks of 'character actors.' " The blasé tone didn't hide the twinge of hurt ego beneath. "The good starring roles are going to younger women."

"That's absurd. You're still young, and as beautiful as ever."

"Well, I don't feel young. I gave up a lot for the stage and I've had a good career, but lately I've started wondering if I'd be happier with more in my life than that. You know what they say, 'Life is that thing that happens while you're busy doing something else.' I mean, look at you, all grown up into a beautiful woman. And Aurora married and a mother. I've let too many things pass me by. I can't help but wonder how different things would have been if I'd had a little less ambition ... and a little less pride. Mark my word, work makes a cold bedfellow when you get to be my age."

Work. The word struck home as Alli turned off the main road toward the cottage. As she grew older, work would be all she had left, since she was right back to wanting nothing to do with relationships, marriage, or falling in love. Yet here was Aunt Viv telling her not to make that mistake.
Coincidence or intended lecture?
"How much did Adrian tell you?"

"What?" Vivian asked.

"How much did Adrian tell you about Scott?"

Her aunt stared at her blankly. "I have not a clue what you're talking about."

"Oh." Allison felt her cheeks heat. "Never mind. It's just ... from what you said, it sounded like you knew."

She felt her aunt studying her. "For what it's worth, I was talking about choices I made when I was your age. I chose career and pride over a man I was absolutely mad about."

Reaching the cottage, Alli pulled around back, under the covered carport, and set the brake. The tiny backyard where she'd played as a child lay before her, tangled and neglected. Tucked in the corner stood the old oak with the swing hanging from a stout branch. A grass-lined path led to the back door into the kitchen that had known generations of laughter, voices, and occasional tears. An ache rose in her heart, so sweet she wanted to cry. Even though she'd lost her parents, her life had held such joy. Scott's life—or what little she knew about it—seemed so empty in comparison. He had his writing, but nothing else. Everything in her longed to help him fill the void with happiness. If only he would let her.

Unfortunately, he'd pushed her away by closing himself off.
It's over
, she told herself for the thousandth time. You have to move on.

But move on to what?

"Do you regret it?" she asked her aunt. "Not having a family of your own?"

"No." Her aunt turned to her as if sensing her need to talk. "I made the right choice for me. The theater has always been my first love, and what I had with my young man was mostly lust and a whole lot of really great sex."

"Aunt Viv!" Alli blushed.

"Don't be too shocked, dear. Your generation didn't invent the concept, you know. As for your situation, whatever it is, only you know what's right. I will say this, though, if pride is the only thing standing in the way, I'd toss that out in a heartbeat."

"It's not pride."
It's fear.
"I'd do whatever it took, if I thought it would do any good."

"Have you tried?"

"Actually, I did." Her heart ached at the memory. "The ball's in his court now, and the game appears to be over."

"In other words, you tried but not hard enough." Vivian shook her head in disapproval. "Do you have any idea where I'd be today if I'd tucked my tail and run home the first time a director yelled 'next'? The things in this world that are worth having come with a price tag. Only you can decide what you want and what you're willing to sacrifice to get it."

Anything
, she wanted to say. "But what if I fail?"

"What if you succeed?" Her aunt raised a brow. "Life doesn't come with any guarantee but this: the surest way to fail is to stop trying."

"It's just ..." She swallowed the knot in her throat. "It takes courage to keep on trying."

"That it does, my dear. That it does."

~ ~ ~

Scott tried to find a comfortable sitting position on the sofa. He shifted again, tugging on the collar of his shirt.

"You'll need to be careful with the wire, sir." The cameraman—or kid, rather—pointed to the tiny microphone clipped to the shirt placard.

Scott nodded as the kid moved behind the camera they'd set up in the den of the beach house. He hated interviews, hated them with a passion. Why had he agreed to this? Because last spring, sitting around the breakfast table at the Pearl Island Inn, October had seemed like a lifetime away. Now that it was here, he wanted to bolt right out of his skin.

"Jorge, how are your light readings?" Keshia Prescott asked the kid as she took her seat.

"They suck. I can't work with solid black clothes against all that white."

Scott watched Keshia's face as she tried to figure out a tactful way to ask him one more time if he'd consider changing into a different shirt. He looked right back and raised one brow. Sighing, Keshia gave Jorge a helpless shrug of apology.

While the kid muttered curses and adjusted the lights, Scott rolled his head in a vain attempt to relax his shoulders. Any minute, the questions would begin and he'd have to answer off the top of his head. He wouldn't be able to write his answers out, think about them, and rewrite any he didn't like. They'd just go straight into the camera to be aired the following Saturday. The queasiness in his stomach brought back everything he'd felt that day when Allison had asked him to talk about himself. He'd frozen up inside rather than having the guts to do what she asked.

Weeks had passed before he'd realized the full extent of the mistake he'd made. He'd had the gall to criticize Jack Kingsley for lacking the courage to bare his soul to Marguerite, yet he was ten times worse.

Okay, so he'd been a juvenile delinquent from a dysfunctional family. Big deal. If Allison could forgive him for lying to her about being related to John LeRoche—and she had seemed willing—surely she could forgive the rest.