Wedding at Wildwood (6 page)

“But Eli doesn’t trust her with any of it,” Susan said. “Besides, he doesn’t want his mother working.” Giving Isabel another measured look, she said in a shaky voice, “If Dillon would offer a hand—”

“Dillon?” Isabel couldn’t help but laugh. “You expect Eli to let Dillon help out on this place, after the way they feel about each other?”

Recovering remarkably, Susan nodded, then sniffed. “Well, I could talk to Eli and you could work on Dillon. I’m sure between the two of us, we could make them see eye to eye on this.”

“No,” Isabel said, shaking her head as she whirled away. “Dillon doesn’t want to get involved in his brother’s problems.”

“This land isn’t a problem,” Susan retorted. “This land has been in this family for generations, and the money from this place has helped Dillon through the years. He owes it to his mother and to Eli. He deserted this family. He should be thankful he’s even welcome back here at all.”

Angry now that Susan had just blurted out all her own problems regarding Wildwood and had just as quickly turned the blame toward Dillon, Isabel said, “I don’t know what Eli’s told you, Susan. But from what my grandmother’s told me, whatever happened between Dillon and Eli all those years ago wasn’t all Dillon’s fault. Eli, as you’re beginning to discover, can be as hardheaded as anyone. And he was always the hardest on Dillon. I just don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to handle this the best I can, and hope my groom doesn’t call off the wedding.” Giving Isabel another pleading look, she said, “At least think about it. If Dillon could stay on a while, that would give Miss Cynthia some time with him, distract her from pestering Eli so much, maybe. And you and Dillon could have some time alone—it’s obvious you two are growing close again.”

Hating the logic in Susan’s words, and ignoring that last remark, Isabel decided she hadn’t given her friend nearly enough credit. Beneath that ditzy persona grew a regular steel magnolia.

“Why, Susan Webster, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were deliberately trying to manipulate me.”

Grabbing her arm, Susan said, “Of course not. I just know that Dillon needs some time here, to reconcile with his mother. And he’d listen to you—you did get him to agree to the tuxedo.” Lowering her voice, she added, “And the talk around town is that you two are getting reacquainted in a very big way, if you know what I mean.”

Isabel knew exactly what her friend meant. “We’re friends, good friends. That’s all.”

“But Dillon confides in you,” Susan said on a low whine. “He’s never been civil to anyone around here. He must have some feelings for you.”

“Not really, and that’s why I don’t want to go another round with him,” Isabel said, remembering how hard fought the tuxedo victory had been, and how much it had cost her. Many more of Dillon’s kisses, and she’d be forever lost here at Wildwood. “I can’t do it, Susan. I won’t act as a go-between with Dillon and Eli. Eli’s already suspicious enough of my relationship with his brother.”

“Well, you care about Dillon, don’t you?”

“Yes, but it’s not what you think.”

Her expression hopeful, Susan plowed on. “Wouldn’t you like to give Dillon an opportunity to prove himself? This is the perfect chance for him to get back in Eli’s good graces.”

“I’m not so sure he needs to prove himself where Eli is concerned. And I won’t trick him into doing something he might regret.”

“But if you don’t at least suggest this to Dillon, you might wind up regretting it yourself,” Susan argued. “I just want some time with my new husband, Isabel. I really want to start this marriage off on the right path. Eli needs help, and Dillon’s the perfect replacement.”

“Dillon hasn’t worked this farm in years.”

“He’s smart. He can figure it all out. Him and his books—he’ll get with the program real soon.”

“Books? What on earth are you talking about?”

Smiling now, Susan playfully slapped Isabel’s arm. “You really are in another world. Dillon owns a chain of bookstores up in Atlanta. That’s how he made his money. So he might not be a cotton farmer, but he can sure figure out how to become one. Dillon will just read up on it until he gets it right. That’s how he always does things.” Clearly recovered now, Susan turned. “I’m going back in. I feel better already. I’ll explain to everyone that Eli and I had a little spat and I was feeling sorry for myself.”

Pivoting, she said, “Think about this, Isabel. And talk to Dillon, please. He’ll listen to you.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it.” Right now, however, she was more surprised about Dillon’s new life, than Eli’s bad attitude.

Watching in amazement as Susan pranced back inside, Isabel let out a low sigh. So Dillon’s business venture happened to be a bookstore or two?

Books. The man had never once mentioned anything about being bookish. He’d said he owned his own business, but she’d never dreamed it was a bookstore. Oh, it was just like Dillon to let her jump to conclusions and assume that he was still as wild and unsettled as he’d been as a youth. He never was any good at defending himself or talking about himself.

Maybe because he knew everyone would automatically think the worst, just as she had. What if Susan had a point? What if Dillon could use this opportunity to end this bitterness with his brother. Eli could certainly use the help and support, and his mother would be thrilled to have her family back together.

“No, I won’t talk to him.” But even as she denied it, Isabel looked toward the dark mansion. “No, I can’t get involved in this.” She was about to turn away, when a light flickered on in the back of the house, in the kitchen.

A single candle burning in the darkness like a beacon. A beckoning glow, reaching out to her in the night.

Telling herself she was crazy, she followed that light.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt just to see how he felt about helping out around here—just for a couple of weeks.

After all, all he could say was no.

“N
o.”

Dillon said the one word into the cellular phone nestled at his ear, his eyes scanning the screen of the laptop computer blinking in front of him. “I don’t care if we will lose money or momentum. I don’t intend to compromise on quality, Sanford. If the quality isn’t there, then we don’t expand right now. All five stores are holding steady, especially the original on Peachtree. We’ll survive until next year without expanding into the Carolinas just yet.”

Clicking the small phone shut, Dillon sat staring out into the summer night. The lullaby of singing crickets mingled with the strands of a warm, soft wind flowing through the open windows in front of him. His business manager and lawyer, Sanford Reynolds, wasn’t too happy with him right now. Sanford had advised more expansion, but Dillon wasn’t quite ready to tackle everything that went into building and opening another store.

Not now. Not when he was back here at Wildwood and he had a million scattered emotions blinking through his mind like fireflies. Rhyme and Reason, as his chain of eclectic bookstore-coffeehouses, was aptly called, would just have to wait.

He needed a little rhyme and reason of his own right now. He needed to stop thinking about Isabel Landry.

Remembering yesterday, remembering kissing her there in that field, Dillon let the darkness shroud his doubts while he remembered the feel of her in his arms.

But the ugly vision of his brother staring down on them with condemning wrath quickly broke through the sweetness of that particular daydream. Eli would cause trouble for them, just as he always had. Dillon could handle it; he’d learned to let his brother’s taunts and disapproval roll right off his back—or at least he’d learned to avoid Eli by staying away. But he wouldn’t allow Eli to inflict any more pain on Isabel. Yesterday’s encounter in the cotton patch had only reinforced the uneasy feeling Dillon always had around his older brother. Things had gone from bad to worse after Isabel had left them.

“I can’t believe you’re taking up with her again,” Eli had said, contempt clear in each word.

“That’s none of your concern, brother,” Dillon had retorted. “Anyway, why do you care? You’re engaged, remember? You’re about to be married. I don’t think your lovely bride would appreciate the way you stare at Isabel Landry.”

And Dillon certainly didn’t appreciate it. It made him sick—just as it always had. Eli might be attracted to Isabel, but she would never, ever be good enough in Eli’s eyes to take the attraction any further.

But Eli was obviously still in denial where Isabel was concerned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dillon inched closer to his brother. “Oh, yes, you do. We both know what I’m talking about. I walked away from you once, Eli, to protect Isabel and her family. And I’ve regretted it ever since. You might not get so lucky this time.”

“Are you threatening me, little brother?”

“No, I’m telling you that I want you to stay away from Isabel. She’s done nothing to you. She never did. You just can’t seem to tolerate anyone who doesn’t have blood as blue as yours. So stop playing your cruel games and concentrate on your marriage.”

“While you concentrate on that low-class woman who’s sponged off us all her life?”

Dillon’s whole body had tensed; he came close to hitting his brother. And the dare in Eli’s eyes only fueled that need. But, sanity and practiced self-control kicked in as Dillon remembered all the other times his brother had set him off, then had blamed him for the whole thing. This time, it would be different. This time, he’d stay in control. Instead of doing what Eli expected him to do, he’d pushed past Eli, determined to keep a civil tongue for his mother’s sake.

Then he’d turned, pointing a finger at his brother. “Isabel Landry has more class in her pinkie than you’ll ever have your whole life, brother. And you know as well as I do that Isabel never took advantage of living here. Good grief, Eli, they lived in a shack. They barely made ends meet.”

“That so-called shack was rent-free,” Eli had reminded him with self-righteous disdain. “And they lived off this land, had plenty of fresh meat and vegetables. And still Isabel walked around like she ought to be a queen or something. Now, she’s even worse. I didn’t want her here for the wedding, but Mama and Susan insisted. That girl thinks she can flaunt it over us now that she’s been away from here for a while if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Dillon replied, disgusted that his own brother could have such an attitude about someone who’d never done a thing to him. But that didn’t matter to Eli. His narrow-minded snobbery was very intact, and buried so deep Dillon doubted his brother would ever change.

Because Isabel was a distraction, because Eli was as attracted to her as Dillon had always been, his older brother had taken out his frustrations on her. He didn’t want to like Isabel, didn’t want to feel anything for her, so he turned his feelings into intolerance, lashing out at the very source of his woes.

And he’d lash out again, if Dillon didn’t stop him. Torn between wanting to get reacquainted with Isabel, and the need to protect her from Eli’s rash behavior, Dillon wondered if he’d be able to control his own yearnings. It wasn’t fair to Isabel, when he knew he couldn’t stay here much longer.

His thoughts coming back to the blinking cursor of his latest sales report, Dillon reminded himself he only had a few more days here. He took a long, heaving breath, focusing on something serene—the green of Isabel’s eyes maybe, but the thought of looking into her wild, forest-rich eyes only agitated him more. Then he stretched back in the rickety old desk chair he’d dragged to the table by the window. He could do this. He could attend his brother’s wedding, be civil, then get away from here all in one piece.

That is, if he could just stop thinking about Isabel.

Thinking about her conversation with Susan, Isabel walked the worn clay path through the iridescent wildflowers, moonlight guiding her to the back steps of the old plantation house. She shouldn’t be here. She should stick to her plan of doing her job and nothing else. Despite Susan’s pleas, Isabel had not wanted to get involved with the Murdock brothers again.

But here she stood—yet again.

When she heard the sad, beautiful sound of Spanish guitar music coming from a radio, she closed her eyes and listened to the soothing melody. Maybe now would be a good time to lift up a prayer for guidance. She could sure use some. So she stood there for a moment, silent and waiting, while the music and the night soothed her worries to a slow simmering.

Through the long kitchen windows she saw Dillon sitting at a desk, a lamp burning brightly at his side, the window nearest him thrown open to the night. Well, he must have ordered the electricity to be turned on, at least. Curious, she inched up on the porch to get a better look. And was surprised to find him hard at work with a laptop in front of him there on the table.

Dillon, working at a computer! Another myth shattered. She wouldn’t have believed he even knew how to turn one on. No, cars and motorcycles were more his mode of operation. Fast cars. Fast motorcycles. Like the one parked out in the tractor shed, sleek and black and loaded with chrome. And classical guitar? She had Dillon pegged for loud rock and roll.

Bookish? Did a man who drove such a machine really read books and listen to classical music?

Apparently, in the ten years that he’d been away, Dillon had made some sort of peace with himself. He’d obviously gained a certain strength from what he knew to be true in his heart. She wondered, though, if being back here might shatter that peace and test that strength. Shaking her head, she supposed it was possible she had misjudged Dillon. After all, there had always been a side to him that he’d kept hidden from the world. Even her.

High time she found out about that side.

She stepped up on a creaky plank, then stopped. This could be dangerous. She was already infatuated with Dillon, always had been. Maybe it would be best if she just left things the way they were. She didn’t want him to endear himself to her any more, and seeing this side of him—this gentle side of the boy she’d always remembered—might make her long for things she could never have.

She turned to leave.

The back door swung open. “Spying on me, Issy?”

Too late to run away now.

She did a hesitant twirl, smiled up at him, then sucked in the breath that rushed out of her body at the sight of him in jeans and a loose, half-buttoned shirt, his dark hair spiked across his forehead. “Yeah, you caught me. But I guess that’s the only way I’m ever gonna find out about what makes you tick, Dillon.”

His dark eyes reflected the pale gray of the moon’s light. “That curious, huh?”

“I…I heard your music,” she hedged. “I was intrigued.”

“Intrigued?” He chuckled, then reached a hand out to her. “There’s nothing intriguing about me, honey. Just trying to get through another day.”

Easing up onto the porch, she stared at him, the touch of his fingers on her hand a reminder of how he made her feel inside. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His chin lifted a notch. “Tell you what?”

“That you like to read? That you’re…how did Susan put it…bookish?”

He dropped her hand. “Susan chatters too much.”

“What do you do for a living, Dillon?”

“Didn’t Susan tell you all about that, too?”

“She said you own a chain of bookstores. I thought I’d heard her wrong.”

Her doubt, so honest, so straightforward, stung Dillon like a wasp. He was so very tired of trying to prove himself. “I get by.”

“Then it’s true?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” he said, mimicking her very words when he’d told her she was pretty.

Realizing he was on the defensive, Isabel changed her tactic. “I’m not shocked. I’m impressed. Very. If I recall correctly, you had a certain disdain for any and all books in high school. Never studied, never even opened a textbook.”

“I passed, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” She’d forgotten that his grades were always just about as good as her own. And she’d had to study for hours on end. But Dillon—he’d never seemed too worried.

Then, she’d chalked it up to irresponsibility.

Now, she wasn’t so sure. About anything. Except the dark light in his eyes and the way his fingers stroked her skin as he stood there daring her to doubt him.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I guess I didn’t really know you after all.” Pulling away, she added, “And I guess you don’t really
want
me to know you, after all.”

He tugged her back. “Yes, I do. More than you can possibly imagine.”

She was imagining lots of things right now. “Then talk to me, Dillon.”

“I told you—I don’t want to talk.”

With that, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her without self-defense or self-doubt. Then he let her go, his breath like a warm wind moving over her hair. “I could hurt you, Isabel. And I won’t risk that.”

“I’m a big girl,” she managed to whisper. “And…I’ve survived being hurt before.”

“I won’t hurt you again,” he said, each word a declaration.

Something in his tone told her that he knew her deepest, darkest secret. Dillon knew that she’d always cared about him. And now, he was deliberately trying to warn her away, because he couldn’t return her feelings.

“I’d better go,” she said, needing to distance herself from his touch, and from the truth.

Susan would just have to find some other way to help Eli. Isabel wasn’t about to ask Dillon for anything. Not when she felt so raw and in pain that even the humid summer wind on her back felt like bramble moving across her skin.

“Yes,” Dillon said, the one word heavy with regret. “You’d better go. And you’d better stay away. I’m no good for you, Isabel. No good.”

Dazed, she said, “Maybe it’s still the other way around. Maybe I’m no good for you.”

She’d walked down the steps, when she heard him call out to her. “Isabel, do you think…do you think God listens to Spanish guitar music when He’s feeling lonely?”

Isabel stopped, her back to him, her gaze lifting up to the stars. Oh, how she wanted to be immune to that sweet pain she heard in his words. “I’m sure He does, Dillon.” Then she turned to face him. “And, He listens to lonely people, too. If you won’t talk to me, then I know in my heart you can talk to God.”

She turned, and though she couldn’t see his face, Isabel knew Dillon’s eyes were on her.

“I don’t think God will want to listen to a loser like me,” he said.

“God doesn’t see us as losers, Dillon. You know that. God sees us as His children. And He’s always willing to listen.”

“I’ve tried to talk to Him, really I have. I’ve tried to pray about things—about coming home. We just never know when it’s really right, do we?”

“We have to trust in Him, or so Grammy tells me.”

“So you have doubts, too?”

“I do, sometimes.” She glanced around at the beautiful night, then back at the silhouette of the man in front of her. “But when I look up at the stars or see these beautiful flowers that keep coming back here year after year, I know that God is watching over us. It’s up to us to let Him take control, Dillon.”

Dillon was silent for a minute, then he said, “Do you think God’s watching over Wildwood?”

“Always,” she said without hesitation. “Can’t you see Him here, Dillon? Can’t you feel Him in the wildflowers, in the oak trees, out in the wind in the fields? He’s here.”

“I wonder why He brought me back here,” Dillon said.”

“Because it’s home,” Isabel answered, more to herself than to Dillon. “We’re both home for a reason.”

“And it has nothing to do with Eli’s fancy wedding, does it?”

“I can’t answer that,” she replied softly, her hands wrapped against her chest, her head down as she stared at the dirt and the soft, ethereal glow of flowers all around her.

“I know,” he said into the night. “Now, go home and get some rest. The rehearsal supper is in a few days.”

“Will you be there?”

Dillon hesitated, thought about his need to be near her, thought about his brother’s need to be cruel. Maybe he should be there, just to watch over Isabel. Telling himself he shouldn’t do this, he asked her, “Will you sit by me when you’re not snapping pictures?”