The Ashtons: Cole, Abigail and Megan. Maureen Child

      She rolled her eyes. “If you want to argue, fine. But you don’t get to pick the subject.”

      “And you do, I suppose?”

      “Yes, because you’d have us fighting about all the wrong things. What you really need to fight about—”

      “I told you I don’t want to talk about him.”

      At least Cole had moved close enough to the real subject to say “him” instead of “it.” Dixie decided to let him hole up inside his turbulence until he wasn’t behind the wheel, so she said nothing.

      Neither did he. The silence held until she noticed which way they were heading. “This is not the way to The Vines.”

      “I need to drive for a while. It clears my head.”

      “You have a destination in mind, or are we just going to dodge traffic?”

      “My cabin.”

      Chapter Six

      Cole spent the drive to his cabin caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. When would he be old enough for it to stop mattering? So what if his father was a sorry sonofabitch? Millions of people had lousy fathers. He ought to be able to shrug off the bastard’s indifference by now.

      Most of the time he could. He did. Today, though…there was just something about seeing Spencer with his newest side piece, pulling the same shit that had wrecked Cole’s life all those years ago. It rubbed him raw, too, that Dixie had been there. He didn’t know why. It just did.

      If he hadn’t looked up to the man so much when he was a kid, tried so hard to win his approval…

      The past was a closed book, he reminded himself, pulling to a stop in front of his cabin. Put it back on the shelf and leave it alone. “Go on inside,” he told Dixie, climbing out. “I’m going to chop some wood.”

      “Oh, good idea,” she said, getting out and shutting her door. “Go play with an ax while you’re too mad too see straight. I’ll get the bandages and tourniquet ready.”

      He flicked one glance at her then walked away, heading for the edge.

      The cabin was surrounded on three sides by oak, pine and brush, but the strip along the front was clear all the way to the drop-off. There, the land fell away in dizzying folds. The view always opened him up, made him breathe easier.

      It didn’t do a damn thing for him today. He stopped a pace back from the rocky edge and shoved his hands in his pockets.

      Dixie had followed him, of course. “This would be easier if you really were Sheila. I can’t help you vent in the traditional male way, by getting into a fistfight.”

      “I should have known all that silence was too good to last.”

      “If you wanted silence, you should have come here alone.”

      Why hadn’t he? He was in no mood for company, yet it hadn’t occurred to him to take her back to The Vines before heading here. “If you wanted me to drop you off, you should have said something.”

      “I’m just putting you on notice. You brought me along. Now you have to put up with me.”

      “I want to show you the cabin.” There. He knew he’d had a reason for bringing her. “But I need a minute to myself first.”

      “You need to do something with all the stuff churning around inside you, all right. Try talking.”

      “I’m not in the mood for amateur therapy.”

      “You know, people were talking—sometimes even listening—for a few thousand years before Freud called it therapy.”

      He gave her an ugly look. “You won’t let it be, will you? You have to poke and prod and try to fix me.”

      “I used to do that. It was a mistake.”

      His eyebrows went up. “You’re admitting it?”

      “Astonishing, isn’t it? But I wasn’t the only one. We both tried to fix each other. Your technique was a little different, that’s all.” She shrugged. “Young and stupid sums it up, I guess. We fell hard and immediately started trying to change each other into people it would be safer to love.”

      Love. The word scraped across places already raw. “You found plenty that needed fixing, didn’t you? There wasn’t that much that you liked about me back then.”

      She winced. “I can see where you got that impression, but it isn’t true. There was plenty I liked. And,” she admitted, “one or two things I couldn’t live with.”

      She’d made that plain. Restless, he started walking. “Why did you come back, Dixie?”

      She fell into step with him. “You keep asking me that.”

      He didn’t know what kind of answer he was looking for. Just that he hadn’t gotten it yet.

      What was wrong with him, anyway? He’d planned to bring Dixie to his cabin after lunch—but he’d been hoping for a little afternoon delight, not a session mucking around in his least pleasant memories. Not to mention his least pleasant self. “I’m acting like an idiot, aren’t I? Sorry.” He made himself smile.

      She stopped. “Don’t do that.”

      “Don’t do what? Be pleasant? Polite?”

      “Don’t put on a happy face for me.”

      “What if it isn’t for you?” he snapped. “Maybe I need to remind myself I can be civilized.”

      She stood there, shoulders straight, eyes narrowed as she studied him. God, he used to love the way she faced off with him, not backing down an inch…Cole took a deep breath. Some things it was best not to remember too clearly. “Walk with me a bit, okay?”

      “Okay.” And that was all she said.

      Cole headed for one of his favorite paths, a deer trail that led to a small meadow that was green and pretty now. It would be spectacular in the spring, he thought. Dixie would love it when the wildflowers burst into bloom.

      But she wouldn’t be here in the spring, would she?

      Carpe the damn diem, then. If all he had was another week or so, he’d better make the most of them. “What did you think of my cabin? I realize you haven’t seen much of it yet.”

      “I love it. But it wasn’t what I’d been expecting.”

      “What were you expecting?”

      The path was too narrow for them to walk abreast, so she was following him. He couldn’t see her teasing smile, but he heard it in her voice. “Something more rustic. A lot more rustic. You did say you’d done a lot of the work yourself.”

      “You lack confidence in my carpentry.”

      “I didn’t think you knew one end of a saw from the other.”

      “I didn’t, to start out with,” he admitted. “After the wall fell down, I took a couple courses.”

      She laughed. “It really fell down? Which one?”

      As he told her the story of his early, botched attempt at fixing up his place, a wave of relief swept through him. They’d be okay. As long as they kept it light, didn’t let things get intense, they’d be fine.

      At the end of the tree-shrouded path lay his meadow. His heart lifted as he stepped from shade to sun. There was nothing vast or magnificent about this spot. The beauties here were small and common, but something about the shape of the pocket-size meadow seemed to cup the sunshine, to gather and soften it. He could have sworn the grass grew a little greener here, waving gently in a breeze the trees had blocked. Off to the west