He lifted his glass to hers but didn’t feel anything close to wonderful.
Chapter Eight
She was a Southerner . . . born of grit and guts and she’d be damned if she’d be derailed by Walt’s honesty, even if it cut. She’d make the most of this weekend, do it right or don’t do it at all . . . in for the penny in for the pound . . . all the clichés she avoided in her writing sprang to her head.
Dakota had no idea if Walt was with her because he really wanted to be with her, or God forbid, needed her, to get through a weekend with his parents. Or, was she a convenience? It killed her not to ask. Honesty . . . the complete kind often scared off the right guys. A part of her wanted Walt to be the right kind of guy.
Stacey removed their plates and Dakota sucked back a second drink. She wasn’t doing this weekend completely sober. Didn’t think she had it in her to.
She thought of Mary’s questions and started a short inquisition. “My parents are Baptist . . . loosely. Yours?”
“Protestant for major holidays.”
“Close enough. Do you have any siblings?”
“A sister, Brenda. Married a couple of years now. Dakota—”
She kept talking, not letting him interrupt. “I have a sister, married her high school crush . . . two nephews. All of them live close to my parents.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“If we’re deceiving your parents, it might be best to have a little more information about each other.”
“Dakota?” His gaze softened and he leaned over the space separating them and grasped her hand that rested on the arm of the plush chair.
The air in the cabin crushed in. She slid her hand from under his and stood. “I need to use the restroom before we land.”
She felt his stare as she walked away. A practiced smile reached her lips as she passed Stacey, who sat reading a book in the galley.
The bathroom was larger than any in a commercial jet, but it was still confined. She locked the door out of habit and leaned her head against it when she was alone.
You’re stupid, Dakota. Always falling before thinking.
Through all her hard exterior she never failed to leap into relationships . . . seeing romance where there was only attraction. Or falling for married men who posed as single and in love. Or wanting to find love and stumbling over sloppy kisses and weak intentions.
She wanted Walt to be different.
She had no right to be upset . . . Walt had told her he was using her to get his mother off his back, but she’d still hoped that he was joking with her. Lord knew she couldn’t care less about his title of doctor or a character profile. She had been joking about that. The doctor in her book was a woman . . . and nothing like Walt.
She left the bathroom a few minutes later, a painted smile on her lips.
The Eddy estate—and there were no other words for the world in which Walt had grown up—was massive. The property alone took up over twenty acres. The sprawling two-story ranch home overlooked a private lake with tall pines and plenty of trails for the unknowing to get lost. According to Walt, there were two guesthouses, one doubled as a boathouse and the other was a comfortable two bedroom complete with kitchen and private drive. The groundskeeper had his own home, but Walt didn’t include that as an actual living space since the same man had lived there since Walt was ten.
“A doctor’s salary didn’t pay for all this,” Dakota said as they drove the rental car up the tree-lined drive.
He glanced out the window, unimpressed with the view. “Probably not.”
“Your mother is from a rich family?”
Walt laughed. “My father came up with the design for the Eddy Clamp. It’s a device used in open heart surgery. Diverts blood flow . . .” His words trailed off. “It made him a lot of money.”
“I guess it made sense that you follow him in cardiology.”
“It did to him.”
Like the last half hour, Dakota observed more than she talked, and Walt kept glancing her way without words.
They parked behind several cars in the open driveway. Dakota pushed out of the car and moved to the trunk, where they’d placed their bags.
Walt pulled their luggage from the car and closed the trunk. When Dakota turned away, Walt caught her arm.
“Dakota.”
Her playacting smile was in place.
He frowned. “I said something on the airplane that upset you.”
She gave a swift shake of her head. “It’s OK.”
“It’s not.” There were more words on his lips but he didn’t say them. Instead, he moved his hand to the back of her head and kissed her.
Her composure lasted for a few seconds and started to melt. As much as she’d like to be unaffected by his touch, she wasn’t that strong. His lips were soft, searching . . . she sighed and pressed closer.
The sound of someone clearing their throat broke them apart.
To Walt’s credit, he kept his arm around her when he turned and faced the woman standing on the landing. “Mom.”
The woman’s tolerant gaze moved over Dakota briefly, and then to her son. She wore a pantsuit, high-end . . . probably silk from what Dakota could tell. She wore heels that seemed like overkill for a woman lounging about the house. Walt’s father’s party wasn’t until the next evening, so this was daywear for the Mrs.
Walt left the bags and urged Dakota forward. “She doesn’t bite,” he whispered in her ear.
Dakota doubted that.