The Ashtons: Cole, Abigail and Megan. Maureen Child

a good idea, enjoying her own sensual side while looking at Cole. “A hint of blackberry,” she said hastily, looking away. “See how well I know the lingo? Should be nice with chocolate.” She took another nibble of that. “Want to argue about politics?”

      “Not the effect I’m going for tonight.”

      “You probably voted for the governor,” she said darkly. “All right, all right—I won’t get into that. So we’re left discussing work or hair. I vote for hair.” She tilted her head. “Who does yours?”

      “Carmen at The Mane Place. She has magic fingers. I like your hair.” The warmth in his voice did not belong to anyone named Sheila, unless Sheila had been of the same persuasion as Dixie’s New York neighbors. “You left out a couple choices. Movies, books…family.”

      She took a healthy swallow of wine. “Read any good books lately?”

      “No. How’s your mom?”

      She huffed out an impatient sigh. “Your male side is showing, Sheila.”

      So he asked again, but in an absurd falsetto, “How’s your mom?”

      Dixie nearly choked, trying not to laugh, and gave up. “The same as ever, pretty much. Only happier.”

      “Because of this man she’s going to marry?”

      Dixie nodded, sipped, and a smile slipped out. “She always used to try so hard with whatever man she thought was going to fix everything for her. With Mike, she’s relaxed. She isn’t desperate to make him happy, or trying too hard to be happy herself. She just feels good with him, and it shows. Not that she doesn’t hurt because of what’s happening to Jody, but she’s…I don’t know. Somehow she’s okay about it.”

      “You aren’t okay about it.”

      She frowned, not answering. He didn’t say anything, either. Just sat there and sipped and petted Hulk, watching her.

      “All right.” She set her glass down with a snap. “All right! You want to hear about my feelings? I’m mad. Pissed as hell.”

      “You would be, of course.”

      She shoved to her feet and started to pace. “It’s so horrible and so unfair. She still knows who we are. She isn’t so far gone that she’s lost that, but she will. She’s already lost so many pieces of herself, and it hurts me. This shouldn’t be about me, but every time I see her…the bewildered look on her face…My mother’s dealing with this so much better than I am.”

      “She’s been here, watching it happen. She’s had time to adjust.”

      “And I’ve been on the other side of the continent, letting her deal with everything. You know what makes me crazy?” She stopped, shook her head. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

      “I have no problem with you being stupid.”

      “You’re in danger of slipping out of supportivefriend mode,” she warned him.

      “Afraid you’ll shock me?”

      “No.” She took two steps, stopped and threaded the fingers of both hands through her hair. “It’s all this praise I keep getting. It makes me nuts.”

      “Yeah, I hate it when people praise me.”

      “Very funny. You know how often I hear some version of how strong I am?” she demanded. “Or that I’m such a great daughter and niece for moving back here. God. Aunt Jody was diagnosed two years ago. Two years. And I’m just now showing up.”

      “I guess you haven’t done anything to help these past two years.”

      “I sent money. Big deal. I gave up a couple of vacations, flew out for more of the holidays. Then I’d go home and throw myself into work so I wouldn’t have to think about Jody.”

      He shook his head. “Now that I can’t understand. Throwing yourself into work to avoid dealing with something? You mystify me.”

      A reluctant smile touched her mouth. “You hinting that you have some experience in those lines?”

      “I might.” He stood, ignoring Hulk’s protest at being disarranged. Crossing to her, he rested his hands on her shoulders. “What is it you think you should be doing differently, Dixie? Hurting less? Fixing things so your aunt doesn’t hurt?”

      “Don’t forget the part about keeping my mother from hurting, too.” The shape of his hands woke a visceral memory, a wordless surge of feeling that tangled past and present. She swallowed. “I said it was stupid.”

      “According to you, feelings are never stupid. They just are. It’s what we do about them that matters.”

      “I could have sworn you never listened to my preaching.”

      Cole smiled that half up, half down smile without answering.

      Dixie felt the impact low in her belly. Her heartbeat picked up as the present turned compelling, wiping out the whispers from the past. Desire bit, sharp and sweet. Her lips parted.

      His gaze dipped there, lingered. His hands tightened on her shoulders, and the look on his face was unmistakable. He was going to kiss her…and she wanted that, wanted the taste and heat of him.

      He dropped his hands and stepped back, his smile lost.

      The disappointment was as disorienting as his sudden retreat. She put a hand on her stomach as if she could ease the sense of loss that way and tried to sound amused. “What was that? An attack of nobility, or common sense?”

      He snorted. “You think I know?” He turned away, heading for the door. “This was a dumb idea. Enjoy the wine and chocolate and carry on with the nail painting. I’m leaving before I forget Sheila entirely.”

      “Cole.”

      He paused but didn’t look at her.

      “I was the one who switched the dial to another channel, not you. You…what you did helped.”

      He glanced back at her, conflicted emotions chasing over his face before he got it smoothed out. “Does this mean I’m invited to your next sleepover?”

      “Not likely,” she said dryly.

      “Good. Because the next time I visit you at night, I won’t be planning to sleep.”

      After the door closed behind him, Hulk came over, voicing his protest at being abandoned. “Don’t come complaining to me,” Dixie muttered, contradicting her words by picking him up and rubbing behind his ears. “At least you got stroked for a while. I didn’t.”

      Which she ought to feel a lot better about, dammit.

      Chapter Five

      Louret’s cellars had been a disappointment to Dixie when Cole first showed them to her. She’d hoped for earthen-floored caves or something appropriately dungeonlike. Instead, the barrels and bottles were aged in perfectly ordinary underground rooms with high-tech climate control and lousy lighting.

      Lousy from her perspective, that is. To a winemaker, the dim lighting was necessary, as was strict control of temperature and humidity. But her imaginings would have made such a cool setting for Eli’s painting…well, she thought, studying the barrels from her vantage point on the cement floor, you work with what you’ve got.

      The barrels themselves were interesting. She’d use lots of browns in the painting, she decided. Earth tones would suit Eli and suggest Louret’s old-fashioned, hands-on approach while evoking the earth the grapes sprang from.

      And gold for Caroline’s painting, she decided, staring dreamily into space. Hints of brown to tie it to the earth and Eli’s painting, touches of blue for the sky, and lots of gold—pale, glowing gold, like the sunlight that joins earth and sky.