Dynasties: The Ashtons. Maureen Child

always saw me as a lazy flake,” she said philosophically.

      “No, I didn’t.” When she looked at him, all skepticism, he conceded, “An artistic flake, maybe. Not the same thing. You saw me as a dull business grunt.”

      “Never dull,” she murmured. “Driven.”

      “A word that conjures the echoes of a few of our better arguments.”

      “Your definition for better being…?” She shook her head. “Never mind. You never wanted to move away, try a new place, did you?”

      “My goals, my family, my life—they were all here. They still are. Why did you leave?” As soon as the words were out, Cole wanted to call them back. They’d come out too abruptly, sounding too much like why did you leave me?

      He knew why. Eventually he’d understood and even agreed with her. Understanding wasn’t the same as forgiving.

      Either she didn’t hear the unspoken question or she didn’t want to go there, either. “Itchy feet,” she said lightly. “You know what they say about New York—‘if you can make it there, you’ll make it anywhere.’ I wanted to see if I could make it.”

      “You succeeded.” They’d reached the carriage house. He opened the door and held it.

      “Women and monsters first.”

      “Just the monster. I’ve got to get back to work. What?” she demanded. “What’s so funny?”

      “You’re in a hurry to get back to work and I’m not.”

      “Okay, that is weird. Be ready to close the door fast.” She dumped Hulk onto the floor, stepped back and Cole closed the door—fast, as ordered, with Hulk on the other side and complaining about it. “The deadline for the first painting is pretty tight, and I haven’t got it settled yet in my mind. Eli’s the subject, but I don’t have the right angle on him.”

      “You pay attention to deadlines?” he asked politely.

      “Very funny. I’m not that bad.”

      “If you tell me you’re always on time now, I’ll have to ask for ID. Or maybe consult an exorcist.”

      She grinned. “At least you admit it’s demonic to be compulsively punctual.”

      Her grin was too familiar. It tugged at places inside him that he preferred to keep private. Cole put a hand on the door, keeping her where she was, and leaned in closer. “These are new,” he observed, touching his thumb to the corner of one eye, where a faint smile line showed.

      She jerked her head away. “You used to be better with compliments. Back off, Cole.”

      “I’m not going to kiss you. Not right this minute, anyway.” He’d forgotten the flecks of gold in her eyes, and how they turned plain brown to a rich caramel.

      Her eyebrows lifted in haughty offense over those caramel eyes—but her tongue darted out to moisten her lip. “I see. You suddenly felt weak and couldn’t stand up on your own.”

      “You’re nervous. I like that.”

      “You’re obnoxious. I don’t like that.” He chuckled and straightened. “How long will you be here at The Vines, Dixie?”

      She regarded him suspiciously. “Why?”

      “I need to know what my deadline is.”

      “If I ask why again, and you tell me, am I going to be mad?”

      “Probably. No, almost certainly.” “Then we’ll skip the questions and go straight to the answers. I’ll be here for about two weeks, and I’m not going to bed with you. And now I really need to get back to work.” She started back toward the winery.

      She was moving faster than usual, he noted. “You’re passing up the chance to throw a great temper fit.”

      “I don’t throw fits. Or anything else.” “Lost that artistic temperament, have you? I seem to recall a plate that came sailing my way once. I could have sworn you were mad.”

      Her lips thinned—but it looked more like an effort to hold back a smile than real temper. “Tell me, Cole. Is this your version of dipping my pigtails in the ink to get my attention? Or are you really spoiling for a fight?”

      “Want to watch me turn somersaults? Or I could do chin-ups. They’re more macho.”

      The smile won. She paused. “Push-ups. There’s something so manly about push-ups.”

      He promptly dropped to the ground and began doing push-ups.

      She laughed in delight and sat smack-dab on the cold ground to watch, propping her chin on her hand. “Ooh, look at those muscles. You’re so strong.”

      “Don’t forget—” he managed one more “—manly. Strong and manly.” He stopped before he could embarrass himself, rolling onto his back and sitting up. Maybe he needed to add more upperbody training to his routine. His arms felt rubbery. “That was harder than it looked,” he assured her.

      “I can’t believe you did it—and in dress slacks, yet.”

      He was surprised, too. “It worked. You quit running away.”

      “I wasn’t running.” She drew up her legs and hugged her knees.

      “Okay, walking away.” He wished she’d stretch her legs out again. Dixie had great legs—firm calves, narrow ankles. He wanted to run a hand up one of them.

      “Quit staring at my legs.”

      “I’m checking for goose bumps. What did you do—get up and say, ‘I’m in California, therefore I must wear shorts?’”

      Her mouth twitched reluctantly. “Something like that. It’s almost warm enough for them.”

      He leaned back on one hand. “Why the evasive tactics, Dixie? Do you really want me to go away?”

      She shrugged, not looking at him. “When I decided to take this job, I wasn’t expecting you to put on a full-court press. I tried not to have any expectations at all, but in the back of my mind I guess I thought you’d be in your chill zone with me.”

      Cole didn’t want to hear about how cold she thought he was. “I keep telling you I’m not twentyfour anymore.”

      “It’s damned disconcerting, too.” She plucked a blade of grass and ran it up her bare leg. “Like going home after years away and seeing old buildings gone, new ones put up. You turn a corner expecting to see the Wilson’s frame house, but they’re long gone and the new people have stuccoed the exterior and cut down the big oak tree. So much is the same, but I keep tripping over the differences.”

      “You’ve been home for visits, though, haven’t you?”

      She slid him an amused look. “I was speaking metaphorically.”

      “I got that. I just wondered if you’d avoided California altogether.” And why she’d returned.

      “I come back once or twice a year to see Mom and Aunt Jody.” She pulled up some more grass and let it sift through her fingers. “Mom’s getting married again.”

      “Yeah?” He tried to sound as if this was a good idea.

      Her wry look told him he hadn’t pulled it off. “This time it might work. Mike’s a good guy.”

      Cole could barely call up an image of Helen McCord Lynchfield. He’d only met Dixie’s mother once…and that seemed odd, now that he thought about it.

      Of course, their affair had only lasted a little over three months, though they’d known each other off and on ever since Mercedes went off to college. Merry and Dixie had been roommates, and Dixie had come home with her several times during breaks. There’d been trouble at home. The man who’d been her