her hand, as though she’d been tempted to take something that didn’t belong to her.
On a sigh, she crept back out, snatching her tote bag along the way, hoping against hope to make her escape without running into C.J.
“Dana?”
So much for that.
His voice drained of its earlier fury, her name floated out from the darkness in the living room. Then, like an apparition, the man himself appeared. Wrecked was the only word for his expression. Exhaustion, and something else Dana couldn’t quite identify, slumped his shoulders, fettered his smile. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming back tonight.”
She lifted the bag. “Left my writing stuff here. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay. You just surprised me, that’s all.”
“Sorry,” she repeated. “So … how’d it go with Ethan?”
The smile relaxed, a little. “I gave him a bath. Or he gave me one, I wasn’t quite sure which. He asked where you were.”
“He …? Oh. You almost had me there for a second.”
C.J. slid his hands into his khaki pockets, his eyes fixed on hers. “You aren’t going to ask who I was arguing with?”
“Why would I do that?” she said, slightly confused. “It’s none of my business.”
“It’s not an old girlfriend, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not thinking anything. Really.”
Actually, her brain was processing so many possibilities she half expected it to short out. But if he was hinting that maybe he was ready to talk … well. He’d have to do more than hint. Because almost every time she’d handed him an opening the past few days, he’d clammed up. So, tough.
Never mind that everything inside her was screaming to give him one more chance, one more opening. To be the sounding board she suspected he’d never had, or at least not for a long time. But torn as she was, the new Dana—the older, wiser Dana—had finally learned there were some roads best left unexplored.
At least, until she was sure she’d come out okay on the other end.
C.J. closed the space between them, taking her bag. “I’ll carry this out to the car for you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Hush, woman, and let me be the man.”
The cat barreled past her when the door opened, streaking into the night. They walked to her car in silence; C.J. opened her door, setting the bag in back.
“Thanks.”
“De nada.” Was she hallucinating, or was he focusing entirely too much on her mouth? Then he lifted his hand, and she held her breath …
… and he swatted away a tiny night critter fluttering around her face.
Then, with what sounded like a frustrated sigh, he gently fingered a loose curl hovering at her temple.
“I’m a mess, Dana.”
“So I noticed.”
He dropped his hand. And laughed, although the sound was pained. “And here I always thought Southern women bent over backward to be diplomatic.”
“Clearly you’ve been hanging out with the wrong Southern women.”
“Clearly,” he said, his expression unreadable in the harsh security light. Then, gently: “Go, Dana. For both our sakes … go.”
Only, after she slid behind the wheel, he caught the door before she could close it. “That was my father,” he said. “On the phone.”
Her breath caught. “Oh? Um … I’m sorry?”
“Don’t be. I finally got some things off my chest. Someday, I’ll tell you the whole sordid story. If you really want to hear it, I mean.”
Afraid to speak, she simply nodded. He pushed her door shut; her throat clogged, Dana backed into the street, put the car into Drive, drove away. Noticed, when she glanced into her rearview mirror, C.J. still standing in the driveway, hands in his pockets, watching her until she got all the way to the end of the street.
“Oh, Merce,” Dana whispered to herself. “Now this is huge.”
“No news yet?” Val asked from the doorway to C.J.’s office.
He swiveled in her direction. “What? You’re bugging the phones now?”
“No, I was on my way to the kitchen and your voice carries. And when you’re the youngest of seven you get real good at deducing what’s going on from only one side of the conversation.” She waltzed in and plopped down across from him. “So what’d she say? That private investigator gal?”
“Not much. But if Trish is working off the books somewhere, or hasn’t used a credit card recently, it might be harder to track her down.”
“Well, the child couldn’t have just vanished. She’s bound to turn up, sooner or later.”
“That’s what worries me.”
“I don’t understand, I thought you wanted to get things settled. Legally. So there’d be no question.”
On a weighty sigh, C.J. leaned back in his chair, tossing his pen on his desk. Frankly, he doubted things would ever feel settled again. With Trish, with Dana …
Oh, God, Dana. The more he was around her, the less he could figure out if she was the best thing, or the worst thing, to happen to him. If she’d had any idea how close he’d come to kissing her the other night …
And then what? Take her to bed? Lead her to believe things were headed in a direction he couldn’t, wouldn’t go? That much of an idiot, he wasn’t.
At least, he hoped not.
He stuffed his thoughts back into some dark, dank corner of his brain and once again met Val’s quizzical, and far too discerning, gaze. “If Trish doesn’t reappear soon,” he said, “the law’s on my side. I’d get custody free and clear. It’s the limbo that’s killing us.”
“Us? Oh. You and Dana?”
He let his gaze drift out the window. “Until we know what Trish is really up to, we can’t make any permanent arrangements. Which we very much want to do. Need to do. For Ethan’s sake.”
The older woman eyed him for several seconds, then rose. “Well, I truly hope it all works out. For everybody. And soon. So … subject change—you ever decide who to take to the charity dinner Saturday night?”
Despite the permanent knot in his chest these days, C.J. chuckled. “It’s not the prom, Val. And I’m taking Dana.”
“‘Bout
