People wouldn’t ask how he was doing, tilting their head to one side in sympathy as they spoke, or regard him with an overly bright smile that failed to camouflage their pity.
“Alone?” his mother asked.
“Mom—”
But she talked over his objections. “You know, it wouldn’t bother me so much that you refuse to spend the holidays with loved ones in Denver if I at least knew you were spending them with someone special.”
“I’m fine.” He repeated the old saw.
But she threw him a curve. “Are you seeing anyone, Dawson?”
“I’ve gone out a couple times,” he admitted. The dates had been unmitigated disasters, from the stilted conversations at the beginning to the awkward good-night kisses at the end. Both attempts had left him feeling guilty and angry at fate all over again, but he didn’t see any reason to divulge that information to his mother.
She apparently figured it out, though, because she said in a quiet voice, “Oh, son, at some point you need to move on with your life.”
“I have,” he insisted. He got up each day, didn’t he? He went to work. He’d turned the company into an even bigger success than it had been under his father.
As usual, though, his mother cut to the chase. “But you haven’t forgiven yourself.”
No. He hadn’t forgiven himself. He couldn’t do that. He closed his eyes, only to see it all happening again. He’d been the one behind the wheel of the car on that snowy Christmas Eve, the one firmly in control of all their destinies until a patch of black ice had changed everything.
Dawson had been the only one to survive the impact with the bridge abutment. He’d walked away with a nasty gash on his forehead and a busted arm. His wife had died instantly, while his daughter had hovered on the brink for several more hours with internal injuries before a surgeon had come out of the operating room to deliver news Dawson still wasn’t ready to accept.
“Sorry, Mr. Burke. We did all we could, but we couldn’t save her.”
How could Dawson forgive himself for that?
His mother’s voice snapped him back to the present. “I want you to be happy,” she said.
He opened his eyes, rubbed them with his free hand. She didn’t get it. No one did. For him, happiness had ceased to be relevant. “Don’t worry about me, Mom,” he told her for the second time.
But she was saying, “You know, the Harrisons’ daughter recently moved back from California.”
At that an alarm bell began to sound in his head. He silenced it by saying, “The one who got married a couple of years ago?”
“Yes, but she’s divorced now.” The alarm sounded a second time as his mother continued. “I ran into her at the club a couple weeks ago. She still has that same lovely, bubbly personality. She’ll be at the ball tomorrow evening. I was thinking of asking her to sit with us. That would give us an even number at our table. And you know how I like an even number.”
Dawson straightened in his seat. This was the last thing he needed. The last thing he wanted.
“Mom, I’d really rather you didn’t do that.”
“She’s nice, dear. You’ll both have a good time. It doesn’t have to lead to anything. In fact, I’m not sure she’s ready for a relationship yet herself. Her divorce was final only a few months ago. But at least it will give you both an opportunity to get your feet wet again.” Sounding pleased with her plan, she added, “I’ll phone her after I hang up.”
Good God! His mother setting him up on a date with a newly divorced woman who probably was every bit as unenthusiastic about the matter as he was.
“No!” His gaze caught on the questionnaire Eve had left with him and inspiration struck. Perhaps there was a way he could kill two birds with one stone. His lips curved with a smug smile. “What I mean is, there’s no need to do that. As it happens, I already have a date.”
Eve was on her way to Boulder, the rear of her Tahoe already laden with the morning’s finds in Denver, when her cell trilled. Normally, she didn’t like to operate a vehicle and talk on the phone at the same time, but when she saw the number of the person who was calling, she decided to make an exception.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hi. It’s Dawson Burke.”
“Well, this is unexpected.”
He sounded confused when he asked, “Didn’t my secretary tell you I would be calling?”
“Mrs. Stern? Yes, she did. Which is why I’m in a state of shock. I mean, if I had a dollar for every time your secretary has told me you’d get back with me…” She let her words trail off.
“Very funny,” he muttered. “Are you this flippant with all of your clients?”
“Nope. You seem to bring it out in me.” But she moderated her tone and added, “Thank you for returning my call.”
“You’re welcome.”
“The reason I phoned you earlier is that I’m on my way down to an art gallery in Boulder to pick up some pieces by a local artist for another client of mine. Buying artwork for someone is like buying clothes. It has to fit the recipient’s style.”
“Which makes it personal,” he said.
“Exactly. So I was wondering if art might be something that would appeal to any of the friends or family members on your list?”
He made a humming noise, then said, “My parents’ walls are pretty full at this point and I wouldn’t presume to know my sister’s taste in art as she’s made a hobby out of redecorating her home. My friends…I don’t know.”
“Oh, well, it was just a thought.” Her exit was coming up, so Eve shifted her vehicle to the right lane. “How’s the questionnaire coming along?”
She heard him clear his throat. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“You haven’t filled it out,” she guessed.
“Not yet, no.”
“Mr. Burke—”
“Dawson, please.”
“All right. And you can call me Eve. But I really want that information. I need it, as I explained to you the other night,” she said.
“A matter of principle, I believe you said.”
“Yes.”
“And if I refuse?” he asked. The question sounded almost like a dare.
The dollar signs flashed again, but Eve thought about her father and she remembered her disappointment and heartache. She wasn’t willing to pass on those emotions to someone else. Her tone was firm when she replied, “I’d have to ask you to find another personal shopper.
