there. Done that. And Sullivan wouldn’t make the same mistake, wouldn’t set himself up for emotional suicide again.
Who was he to think that the career of a traveling consultant would be conducive to a stable relationship? And what about Lissa?
She was on a light-hearted quest for self-discovery. Why else would she dangle Martinelli on a string while sleeping with Sullivan?
The telephone on the nightstand rang, and he answered.
“Hello,” Donna said, her voice as sweet and gracious as ever. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. We’re having spaghetti tonight.”
Sullivan didn’t feel like eating. Not at the family table. The Cartwrights were slowly sucking him in. Making him comfortable. Too comfortable.
He couldn’t let that happen. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have dinner alone tonight. I’ve got another client, one I’ll be working with when I finish here at Valencia Vineyards. And we need to have a telephone conference. It’ll take quite a while.”
If there was anything to the Pinocchio tale, Sullivan’s nose would have sprouted a couple of feet by now. Not that he didn’t have a client to talk to. But the conversation would take all of three minutes.
“That’s too bad,” Donna said. “But I understand. I’ll have Lissa bring you a plate of food.”
“Don’t do that,” Sullivan said a little too quickly. A little too panicky. “I’m not really hungry this evening.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Positive.”
He had to pull back. To cut his losses and get out while he could.
After all, Lissa was interested in Martinelli. And with Sullivan’s luck, he’d open his heart to the beautiful, green-eyed Lady Godiva and she’d walk away.
Just like his ex.
And if there was one thing he’d learned through his parents’ crappy marriage and the painful reinforcement he’d received from his own marital breakup, it was to keep a sexual relationship light. Unencumbered.
Sullivan had to keep his eyes wide open, if he planned to keep his heart in one piece.
Early the next morning, before Lissa left for the office, the phone rang.
“Honey,” her mom called from the kitchen. “Can you get that? I’m wearing rubber gloves. And I’m up to my elbows in oven cleaner, grit and grime.”
“Sure.” Lissa answered in the hall.
“Miss Cartwright?” an unfamiliar male voice asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Doctor Margolis at Hidden Valley Veterinary Clinic.”
Her heart dropped to her stomach. “How is Barney doing? Is he going to be okay?”
“He’s much better this morning, although not completely out of the woods. Of course, he doesn’t like the charcoal we’ve been giving him to absorb the poison. But he seems to be on the road to recovery.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” She blew out the breath she’d been holding. “When can he come home?”
“I’d like to keep him just a bit longer. Why don’t you pick him up after lunch?”
“Thanks, Doctor. We’ll be there around two o’clock.”
We’ll be there?
It was a natural assumption, wasn’t it? Sullivan would probably want to go with her. After all, he’d been worried about Barney, too.
Did she dare hope that they’d taken a step toward being a real couple? It sure felt that way yesterday afternoon when he’d supported her through Barney’s ordeal. And when he’d made tender, mind-spinning love to her.
Of course, when he hadn’t joined them for dinner last night, her old insecurities had flared, suggesting he might be pulling away from her. But she quickly dismissed them. After all, Sullivan had a conference call to make, another client he needed to speak to. And Lissa understood that.
Still, as she’d stared at his empty seat, felt the loss of his heart-tingling smile, she’d realized how difficult it would be to let him go, once his job at Valencia Vineyards was finished. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t come back.
Lissa and Sullivan had found something special, something worth holding on to.
Hadn’t they?
“Who was it?” her mother called from the kitchen.
“It was the vet. Barney is doing better.”
Before Lissa reached the front door, the phone rang again.
At this rate, she’d be late to meet Sullivan at the office. She sighed heavily, then grabbed the receiver from the lamp table near the sofa. “Hello.”
“Lissa? It’s Jared.”
The call took her aback, but only for a moment. She’d talked to the man after the reception, when he’d called to ask how everything went. But she didn’t think he’d called to chat today. “Hi, Jared.”
Did he have the results of her blood test? Would she be able to donate bone marrow to Mark?
“I have some bad news,” he said.
“I’m not a match?” She couldn’t imagine any news that would be worse than that, other than a setback in Mark’s condition. She said a quick prayer, hoping that wasn’t the case.
“No.” His voice sounded rough and ragged. “You’re not a match.”
“I’m really sorry.” The words seemed so hollow, so insignificant. But not because they weren’t sincere. She knew what this meant to Mark, to Jared, to everyone who loved the little boy. They’d have to search for an unrelated match. And that narrowed their chances of finding a bone-marrow donor in time.
“And there’s something else,” Jared said. “The paper work we found at the Children’s Connection indicated Olivia’s child had a different blood type than the lab reported for you.”
Her heart went out to the poor man. The records he’d found had been painstakingly pieced together. But that left all kinds of room for error. “Maybe you were mistaken, Jared. I might not be your daughter after all.”
“Actually,” he said, “the preliminary tests indicate you are my daughter, but that’s where things get confusing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Originally, I came to the vineyard looking for Adam Bartlite. His name was listed on one of the scraps of paper we’d found in the salvaged file. Your address was on a different piece. I put those two bits of information together when I shouldn’t have.”
Obviously.
