The Backup Plan (5 page)

“Sugar, I'm going to take you inside now, okay?” Cord said, his tone surprisingly gentle. All traces of animosity and disdain had vanished. “We need to get you dried off and cleaned up, okay?”

Dinah shivered uncontrollably, but managed to nod. She prayed he couldn't distinguish between the rain and the tears spilling down her cheeks. Given that he'd seen her take a nosedive into the dirt at the sound of thunder,
it seemed absurd to worry about having him see her cry, but she still had a tiny shred of pride left.

Of all people, why had it been Cordell who witnessed her coming unglued? It was just going to give him one more thing to gloat about, one more reason to say she wasn't good enough for his brother. He'd probably tell Bobby that he'd have to be insane to take her on.

Inside the house, Cord started to set her down in an easy chair, but Dinah couldn't let go of him. When he realized she wasn't going to release him, he sat in the chair himself and held her cradled against his chest.

With surprisingly gentle fingers, he brushed damp curls away from her face. When she finally risked a glance at his expression, she saw not the contempt she'd expected but a combination of understanding and tenderness. It brought more salty tears to her eyes. Cordell Beaufort's compassion was the last thing she'd expected, the very last thing she wanted.

They sat like that for an eternity, neither of them speaking. Dinah slowly lost the sensation that she was spinning out of control. When she finally relaxed and sighed, she caught a glimpse of the satisfaction on Cord's face. Some of the tension in his body eased, as well.

In the back of her mind, she noted with more than a little surprise that he didn't seem interested in taking advantage of the situation. Based on his reputation, the Cord of old would have turned this into a seduction, or at least an attempt at one. He'd have considered it his duty.

“You've been through a rough time, huh?” he said, breaking the silence.

The note of sympathy in his voice made her eyes sting with more tears. “I can't talk about it,” she said. She didn't even want to think about the last year and she
certainly didn't want to discuss it with him. Of course, not talking about it hadn't worked all that well.

“Maybe you should. It usually helps with this sort of thing. Brings the demons out of the closet, so to speak.”

“You have no idea what you're talking about,” she said disdainfully.

“You think not? The Gulf War wasn't much of a picnic, Dinah. There were…” He hesitated, seeming to search for a word. “After-effects,” he said eventually. “There were after-effects for a lot of us.”

She blinked at that. “You were there? You had post-traumatic stress syndrome?”

He nodded, his face empty of expression. “Still do, I suppose.”

“And?”

“I survived.”

She gave him a wry look. “Apparently you don't think what's good for the goose is good for the gander. You could be a little more forthcoming than that.”

“It's been more than ten years, Dinah. I've done my talking. I've put most of it behind me, at least as well as anyone ever can.”

“How?” she asked, unable to keep the plaintive note out of her voice. She hated sounding vulnerable, especially in front of Cord, but she needed to know that the dreams, the panic attacks would eventually end.

“Time, mostly.”

Dinah sighed. “I'm not sure there's enough of that left in my lifetime.”

He gave her a faint grin. “You're not that far over the hill, Dinah. You've probably got at least one or two good years left.”

“Sometimes I feel ancient,” she responded wearily.

A whisper of a breeze stirred over them and Dinah shivered, then realized that they were both sitting under a ceiling fan soaking wet. Though she hated leaving the unexpected comfort of his embrace, she pushed away and stood.

“I should go.”

“Not when it's pouring like it is out there. The driveway will be a sea of mud. You'll just get stuck and then I'll have to tow you out of a ditch.”

As much as she wanted to go now that the panic had faded, she knew he was right. “Why don't you pave the stupid driveway?” she grumbled.

He chuckled. “Because keeping it like it is generally keeps away unwanted visitors.” He gave her an insolent once-over that heated her blood. “Lately it's not working half as well as it's meant to. Some people apparently can't take a hint.”

He stood up slowly and tucked a finger under her chin. “Stay put, okay? I'm going to get you one of my shirts and a towel, then you can take a warm shower and dry off while I throw your clothes in the washer.”

His sudden kindness was confusing her. She wasn't sure how to react to it. It was easier to deal with Cord when he was being exasperating. “Why are you being so damn nice to me?”

“Maybe I don't want you suing me for letting you catch pneumonia on my property.”

She gave him a disbelieving look. “I don't think you can file lawsuits for something like that.”

“You have no idea what people will sue over these days. The world's a crazy place. Now, are you going to stay put like I asked, or are you going to be stubborn and try to set out in this weather?”

“I'm stubborn, not stupid. I'll stay, at least till the storm's over.”

Something told Dinah there was a distinct possibility she was going to live to regret it.

 

Cord listened to the shower running in his bathroom and thanked his lucky stars that he'd gotten Dinah out of that sexy, soaking wet sundress and sent her off to change before she'd noticed that he was completely and totally aroused by the sight and feel of her. She'd fit a little too snugly in his arms, smelled a little too provocative. Her dress, respectable enough when dry, had been way too revealing when wet.

Sweet heaven, what was he thinking? Him and Dinah Davis? No chance in hell. She might be grateful to him right this second, but she'd come to her senses before the night was out and remember that she hated him, that she had good reason to. Add in that he was just too low class for her and any relationship between the two of them was doomed.

What grated was that he was certain now that she'd never dismissed Bobby as low class. Hell, she was all set to marry his brother, or thought she was. Cord figured it would be a cold day in hell before that happened.

By the time he heard the shower cut off, Cord had poured a couple of beers into glasses, mostly to prove he could be civilized when it suited him. He'd put a couple of chicken breasts topped with mushroom gravy into the oven to bake. He was in the process of making a salad when Dinah came into the kitchen.

She didn't make a sound when she entered, but he knew she was there just the same.

“What's all this?” she asked.

“Dinner. I figure even people who watch their waist-
lines for the camera have to eat something. Besides, the adrenaline rush from one of those attacks always left me starved.”

“What's in the oven?”

“Chicken.”

“It smells…good,” she said hesitantly, with yet another note of surprise in her voice.

Cord grinned, though he was glad she couldn't see his face. He doubted she would appreciate knowing how much she amused him with her faltering attempts to be polite. “You keep dishing out those lavish compliments, sugar, you're going to turn my head.”

“I was trying to be polite,” she said crossly.

“I get that, but there's no need to try so hard. Us lowlifes don't expect much. A simple please and thank-you now and then will do.”

He turned to set the salad on the table and got his first good look at her in one of his old light-blue dress shirts. He damn near swallowed his tongue. He should have remembered how those long, bare legs of hers affected him. If he had, he would have come up with something else for her to put on…maybe baggy sweatpants, even if it was still eighty-eight degrees, despite the storm passing overhead.

“Why don't you have a seat?” he suggested when he could speak without stammering. He needed to get those legs of hers out of sight before he started to imagine them wrapped around his waist while he buried himself inside her.

He yanked open the freezer door and stuck his head in, wishing it could be another part of his overheated anatomy.

“What are you looking for?” she asked, sounding puzzled.

“Ice,” he said.

“Isn't that an ice dispenser on the door?” she inquired, amusement in her voice.

Cord cursed the oversize, stainless steel refrigerator Bobby had insisted they buy. “Broken,” he lied tersely. He turned back to the table with a handful of ice, almost regretting that he couldn't shove it down the front of his jeans.

“I see,” Dinah said, though she still looked skeptical. “And what was it you needed the ice for?”

“Water,” he said at once, dumping the handful of cubes into a glass, then running tap water over them and drinking every drop of the cold water straight down. It slaked his thirst, but did nothing for the hunger that had been gnawing at him since he'd gotten a good look at Dinah in his shirt.

He busied himself with getting the rest of their dinner on the table, grateful that Dinah had finally gone silent. Maybe she'd realized just how close he was to hauling her into his arms and kissing her senseless.

When he finally sat down at the table, she studied him quizzically. It was the kind of curious, penetrating look that he imagined her using on some reluctant interview subject. No wonder she'd won so many awards. All but squirming under that gaze, he'd have told her just about anything she wanted to know.

“What have you been doing with yourself all these years?” she asked eventually.

Cord was a little surprised her mother hadn't told her, maybe not about the company, but at least about his role in the restoration of Covington Plantation. Then, again, maybe he wasn't a hot topic for the Davis women.

“This 'n that,” he said, not sure why he didn't want to tell her the truth and disprove once and for all the
apparently low impression she had of him. In the end he figured he wasn't the bragging type.

She frowned at his response. “Don't you think you should have found steady work by now?”

“Oh, I do well enough,” he said.

“You can't rely on Bobby to support you,” she said.

Her assumption that he was dependent on Bobby's largess stuck in his craw. “Oh? How do you know it's not the other way around? Maybe I've been carrying Bobby all these years.”

She gave him a look filled with undisguised skepticism. “Please, Cordell. We both know that Bobby would never depend on you. He got an excellent college education, which I'm sure he's put to good use.”

Cord could barely suppress a grin at her uppity tone. “Is that so? And just how much do you know about what Bobby's been doing since you took off? Maybe he's gotten friendly with Jack Daniels and hasn't done a lick of work. Wouldn't be the first time one of the Beaufort men couldn't hold his liquor.”

She looked a bit flustered by the question. “Are you telling me that your brother is an alcoholic?”

“Nope. Just saying you can't possibly know one way or the other. You've made a lot of assumptions in the last couple of weeks, or am I wrong? Have folks been filling your head with tales, Dinah?”

“No, I haven't heard anything specific,” she admitted. “But I do know you.”

He shook his head at her confident tone. “Oh, sugar, I wouldn't be too sure of that. The truth is you don't have a clue about either one of us. Never have. Never will.”

She regarded him with a huffy expression. “I've known you since grade school, Cordell. Bobby was always thoughtful, generous and hardworking. You were
an arrogant, smart-alecky kid without a lick of ambition and I don't see any evidence that you've changed a bit.”

He laughed at that. “Then you must not be half the journalist you're cracked up to be.”

“Meaning what?” she asked, her cheeks pink with indignation.

“That you must have missed all those lessons on objectivity and fact-gathering. You're making assumptions right and left here.”

“Then set me straight,” she retorted at once.

“Why should I?” he asked. “I think it's going to be a whole lot more entertaining to let you make a few discoveries all on your own.”

T
wenty-four hours after humiliating herself in front of Cord and with his indictment of her fact-finding skills still ringing in her ears, Dinah went in search of Maggie for information. If Cord wasn't going to tell her anything about Bobby or himself, then she was just going to have to drag it out of her best friend. Besides, it had already been a couple of weeks since she'd promised to go by the gallery and set up a date for dinner. Surely once she was there she could lull Maggie into revealing something helpful about Bobby's whereabouts.

She found Images on a narrow alley in downtown Charleston, only a few blocks from the Battery. It had a lovely wrought-iron fence, climbing rosebushes in full and fragrant bloom in the tiny courtyard, and old brick that had faded to a lovely shade of pink. Every thing about it spoke of charm and class. Knowing her friend as she did, Dinah hadn't expected anything less than the classiest of businesses. Maggie had always had excellent taste, even though she'd occasionally rebelled against it.

A bell rang when Dinah opened the door and Maggie emerged from the back, a smile spreading across her face when she saw her friend.

“It's about time you came by,” she declared.

“I know,” Dinah said readily. “I'm sorry it's taken me so long.”

“I'm sure you've been busy. Knowing your folks, they're probably still showing you off every evening.”

“Not really. I called a halt to that after the first few days. The last thing I want is to be trotted out like some visiting celebrity. It'll just make it that much harder to explain to everyone when I don't go back overseas on another assignment.”

Maggie's gaze immediately narrowed. “What's up, then? Is everything okay? Come on in the back and I'll pour us both some tea and we can talk.”

“Not till I've had a look around,” Dinah said, mostly out of genuine interest, but also to put off Maggie's inevitable questions.

She made a slow turn in the main room, admiring the watercolors that hung on the walls and the sculptures and art glass displayed on an assortment of antiques that Maggie had obviously brought from her family's home. It was an eclectic mix set against a backdrop of warm wood furniture, gleaming oak floors and creamy walls. The effect was inviting, not intimidating, though the price tags certainly put the inventory several steps above most people's pocketbooks. She imagined that Images had a very wealthy clientele, mostly from Charleston's oldest families and the recently rich who needed to add the look of family heirlooms to their homes.

“Very, very elegant,” she said at last. “You have a good eye, not just for the art, but for how to showcase it. I'm impressed.” She gestured toward a familiar desk that had once been in the Forsythes' living room. “You're not selling off the family treasures, are you?”

“Hardly. My mother's horrified enough that I insisted
on bringing some of Great-grandmother's prized pieces to a shop. If she thought they might wind up in someone else's home, she'd probably disown me. As it is, I've convinced her to think of this as an unofficial museum.” She grinned. “It helped that it gave her an excuse to go shopping for some new furniture for the house.”

“You have a great talent for display, though,” Dinah said, truly impressed. “I imagine everyone who comes in wants to take the entire package—art and presentation.”

Maggie beamed at the compliment. “Does that mean I can sell you something before you leave? It's been a slow morning.”

“You could if I had someplace to put it. Unfortunately our house is packed to the rafters, as you well know.”

“I remember,” Maggie said. “Isn't it time you started to look for a place of your own, if you're going to stick around? Just think how beautifully you'll be able to furnish it with all those antiques your folks have hidden away in the attic. I could help you sort through them.” Her expression brightened. “And I know the perfect place for you. There's a wonderful carriage house on the market just a few blocks from here. The owner's anxious to sell because she's relocating to California, so I imagine you can get a good deal if you act quickly.”

Dinah automatically shook her head. “No, thanks. I'm not ready for that.”

“But you just said…” Maggie regarded her with confusion. “Surely you don't want to go on living at home.”

“It's not forever,” Dinah said. “Just till I get my bearings.”

“Get your bearings? Are you sure you're not afraid that you'll change your mind about staying?”

“That's one reason,” Dinah admitted. Not even to herself had she contemplated what she would do if Bobby didn't fall right in with her plans for the two of them.

“And the other? I hope you're not counting on moving into someplace with Bobby,” Maggie said, frowning.

“You say that as if it's a totally ridiculous notion,” Dinah said, grateful that her friend had given her the perfect opening for her interrogation. She used her very real annoyance to lay out the questions she wanted answered. “Why is that, Maggie? What do you know about Bobby that you're not telling me?”

Maggie didn't look the slightest bit intimidated by her accusatory tone. She held up her hands. “Not my place to say another word.”

“You and Cord,” Dinah muttered in disgust. “You're both tossing out all these maddening hints and innuendoes, but neither one of you has the guts to just say what's on your mind. I never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd be lumping you in with Cordell Beaufort. You're supposed to be my friend.”

“I am your friend, which is why I have no intention of getting caught in the middle of this. I've already told you my opinion and you've rejected it, so I'm staying out of it from now on,” Maggie replied. “And when did you see Cord again, by the way?”

“What makes you think I've seen him again?”

“Because it's obvious you're still exasperated. Since you rarely hold a grudge for long, I figure he must have done something recent to get you all stirred up again. Am I right? Have you seen him?”

Dinah saw no real point in hiding it beyond depriving Maggie of a chance to gloat. “Last night, if you must know.”

Maggie's eyes brightened. “Oh, really? How utterly fascinating.”

“It wasn't fascinating. It was exasperating.” And maybe just a little surprising, when she thought about how gently he'd held her when she'd suffered another one of those disconcerting panic attacks. “Stop trying to make something out of me running into Cordell.”

If anything, Maggie only looked more amused. “Where did the two of you cross paths? The grocery store, perhaps? On the street?”

“Back out at his place,” Dinah admitted defensively. “And don't even go there. I can see that you want to make something out of that, but I went back to look for Bobby. Period.”

“I was merely going to comment that you seem to be making yourself at home out there,” Maggie teased.

“I've been there twice,” Dinah replied impatiently. Then, since Maggie didn't seem to be buying it, she added emphatically, “Both times looking for Bobby.”

“Has it occurred to you yet that you're looking for him in the wrong place?”

Dinah stared at her in sudden confusion. “What do you mean? He lives there, doesn't he?”

“Usually,” Maggie said.

Dinah bit back a groan. “What does that mean? Please don't tell me he's living right here in town.”

“Actually you might have better luck finding him in Atlanta,” Maggie admitted with apparent reluctance.

“Atlanta? What on earth is he doing in Atlanta?” She frowned at Maggie. “And don't tell me you don't know because I can tell that you do. It's time to start spilling some information, Maggie, or I'm going to have to wonder if you're not as anxious as Cord is to keep the two of us apart. He has a history of it. You don't.”

Maggie sighed. “You're really not going to drop this whole ridiculous notion you have about getting together with Bobby, are you?”

“No. At least not till I've spoken to him and he tells me that he wants no part of what we used to have.”

“That's what I was afraid of. Okay, he's over in Atlanta working.”

“Permanently?”

“No. He's been handling a project over there for a while now, a few months at least.”

“Why the hell didn't Cord just tell me that?” Dinah grumbled, the scowled at Maggie. “Why didn't you?”

“I just did.”

“You could have mentioned it the other day. I could have seen him in Atlanta by now.”

“What would have been the fun in that?” Maggie asked. “I've already told you that I think you're wasting your time on Bobby. Personally, I like the idea of you and Cord butting up against each other and setting off sparks for a while. I think it's just what you need.”

“I don't,” Dinah replied emphatically. “So just tell me what you know. How can I reach Bobby in Atlanta? Do you suppose he's renting someplace? Or is he staying in a hotel?”

Maggie shrugged. “I have no idea. You could ask Cord.”

Dinah frowned at the suggestion. “I am done asking Cordell anything at all.”

Maggie's lips twitched. “Is that because you don't like the answers he's giving you or because you're starting to like the fireworks a little too much?”

Dinah regarded her friend impatiently. “You really need to get a life.”

“Probably so,” Maggie agreed readily. “But until I do, I'm happy to meddle in yours.”

“Stop it,” Dinah pleaded. “Especially if you have some insane notion that Cord and I are the perfect match.”

“Maybe not perfect,” Maggie said thoughtfully. “But darn close, and definitely hot.”

Dinah gave her a helpless look. “You've never even seen us together. What makes you think there is anything hot between us?”

“Oh, sweetie,” Maggie said, laughter in her eyes, “even if a woman would have to be dead not to react to Cord, it's written all over your face every time you mention his name. The man ties you up in knots.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Dinah scoffed, then hesitated. Much as she hated to admit it, Maggie did know her well. “What do you think you see when I mention Bobby?”

“Comfortable,” Maggie said at once.

“Perfect,” Dinah said happily. “Comfortable is exactly what I'm after.”

“Maybe so, but it's not what's best for you and it is definitely not what will make you happy, not for the long haul.”

“And you know that because?”

“Because I've known you all your life and I know your deepest, darkest secrets. Cordell Beaufort was always the one who made your heart pound.”

“Only because he infuriated me,” Dinah snapped. “Which you are starting to do, as well.”

Maggie merely laughed. “Because you know I'm right. Now that we've established that, let's talk about dinner. Are you free tonight?”

So she could listen to more of Maggie's absurd the
ories? Not a chance, Dinah thought. “I'm busy tonight,” she said.

“Doing what? Trying to track down Bobby?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. If he doesn't have a number listed with information, I will call every hotel in Atlanta till I find him,” she said with grim determination. Maggie and Cord might be totally opposed to this, but she knew what she needed and it was Bobby Beaufort. “If there's one thing I know how to do, it's how to work the phones to find someone who doesn't want to be found.”

“Wouldn't it be easier just to ask Cord?” Maggie repeated.

“Been there, done that,” Dinah reminded her. “Whatever his reasons, Cord doesn't seem inclined to share what he knows.”

Besides, if there was any chance at all that Maggie might have it exactly right about her attraction to Cordell, Dinah needed to keep the contact between them to a minimum. She couldn't afford to be distracted by something that didn't have a chance of turning into any thing more than a wild, no doubt self-destructive fling.

 

The minute Dinah got home she headed straight for her father's den. He kept all sorts of phone books around. There was bound to be one for Atlanta. The bank probably did a lot of business there.

She was sitting on the antique Aubusson carpet, pulling phone books out of a credenza and piling them haphazardly on the floor, when Maybelle came in.

“What on earth are you doing in here?” the housekeeper demanded, looking dismayed. “Besides making a mess of your daddy's stuff, that is. You know how he
likes everything in order. Never known a man to be so set in his ways.”

Dinah grimaced. Maybelle was right about that. When he noticed them at all, Marshall Davis liked his life and his surroundings to be orderly.

“I'll put it all back,” Dinah promised, then grinned. “How many times do you suppose you came in here and had to set things to rights before Daddy came home and pitched a fit?”

“Once a day from the time you could walk,” Maybelle responded at once, a tolerant smile on her face at the memory.

“And how many times did he find me out, anyway?”

“Most every one,” Maybelle said, grinning. “That daddy of yours surely did dote on you, though. If your mother or me got so much as a paper clip out of place in here, he'd raise the roof. If it was Tommy Lee, he'd paddle his behind. But if it was you who turned things upside down, he'd just smile and say one day that curiosity of yours was going to pay off big-time. Turned out he was right about that.”

Even so, Maybelle frowned at the chaos Dinah had created. “You're too big for me to be following around after you and cleaning up your messes, young lady. You put those things back before your daddy gets home, you hear. He might not be so tolerant these days. You're a grown-up woman who ought to know better than to mess with someone else's things.”