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Danni battled a growing frustration. “No way,” she said. “Forget it. You refuse to see things the way they really are, Kris. You spin fantasies, you cling to half truths—”
Kristine turned back and gave her a hard look. “If you’re so against deception, why didn’t you tell Bryan the truth yourself?”
At first Danni simply couldn’t answer. She stared out at the moonlit night, remembering this afternoon…remembering the way Bryan McKay had taken her into his arms and kissed her. Just thinking about it, her skin tingled with warmth.
“He is rather hard to resist, isn’t he?” Kristine remarked.
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“Sure,” Kristine said. “Nothing.”
Danni curled her fingers against her palms. Why hadn’t she told Bryan the truth, once she’d realized what her sister had done? Instead she’d pulled away from him, mumbled some incoherent excuse, and rushed out the door. It had all been so embarrassing and undignified. Why couldn’t she have handled the matter with some authority?
Maybe her sister was right. Maybe she hadn’t told Bryan the truth because she did find him attractive…very attractive. But slowly another answer came to her. Perhaps deep down she’d known it all along. The main reason she hadn’t enlightened Bryan was because, quite frankly, she’d felt an odd, surprisingly intense disappointment. If a man was going to kiss her the way he’d done, she wished that he could have told her apart from her sister. Kristine and Danni were different. And for once, just once, Danni wanted a man to see without being told.
“What I find most interesting of all,” Kristine said astutely, “is that during your little social tête-á-tête you neglected to tell Bryan you even have a twin.”
“We were just casual acquaintances. The subject of twins never came up. But he needs to know the truth now,” Danni said. “All of it. And if you can’t tell him, I certainly will—”
“No,” Kristine said urgently. “Just give me a few days. I promise I’ll tell Bryan—but just let me do it in my own way, my own time.”
Danni pressed her hand to the window. Waves glided across the sand, surged and fell back.
“Just two days, Danni. That’s all I’m asking.”
Maybe, deep down, Danni was a coward. Because she certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell Bryan he’d been tricked. She didn’t want to see the look on his face when he found out.
“Two days, Kris,” she said at last. “You have forty-eight hours…and not a minute more.”
BRYAN HAD EXPECTED his mother to be taking it real easy. That had been the first thing he’d suggested. It had all happened so quickly. Son gets the midnight call. Son drops everything, flies out to Saint Louis to arrange things. Son transports mother, mother’s belongings and mother’s three cats back to San Diego. Thus son fulfills his dying mother’s plea to live out the last few remaining months of her life in the city of her birth. So what the hell was the old gal doing perched on a high stool, dusting the pantry cabinets?
“I’ve hired a service, Mom. Cleaning’s done three times a week. Meals are Monday through Friday. The weekends we’ll have to fend for ourselves, but that shouldn’t be a problem—”
“I’m not dead yet, Bryan,” his mother said, still chasing phantom cobwebs and imagined dust bunnies with a damp cloth. “I’ve cooked and cleaned and looked after myself since I was ten years old. That’s fifty-seven years of managing things—”
“59 years, Mom. You were sixty-nine last May.”
“I know when my own birthday is,” she muttered. She strained to reach a far corner of the pantry shelves, teetering dangerously on the edge of the stool. Bryan stepped forward, ready to stop her from toppling off. She scowled at him.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just fine.”
She was anything but fine. She’d lost too damn much weight, seeming to shrink right before his eyes. Her once-thick hair hung listlessly, and new lines had etched into her face. The cancer seemed to be whittling away at her. He’d talked to the doctors in Saint Louis, rounded up the best he could find here in San Diego. They all used the same words, the same phrases. Incurable. Inoperable. We’ll make her as comfortable as we can.
Bryan wasn’t ready to give in just yet. And neither, it seemed, was his mother. She swiped her cloth along another shelf.
“You found me a very nice apartment, Bryan, even if the neighborhood is a bit upscale for my taste.”
The remark was typical of her—paying him a compliment but being sure to throw in a little criticism at the same time. Ever since he was a kid, his mother had operated on the “don’t let your son get a swelled head” theory of parenthood. Namely, she’d done everything in her power to ensure that Bryan didn’t turn out like his father: conceited and cocksure, self-important and self-indulgent.
Not that Bryan had ever had much of a chance to imitate his father. He’d only been seven when Randall McKay was killed in a boating accident. In all the years afterward, his mother had freely elaborated on her dead husband’s faults. She’d dwelled on his inconsistencies, his many annoying habits…never quite able to hide how much she’d loved him in spite of his flaws or how angry she was at him for leaving her. Her complaints about him were her way of keeping him alive. Bryan had long since figured that out.
Funny thing was, lately she hadn’t talked much at all about him. That worried Bryan. Of course, everything about his mother worried him these days.
“I’m not sure an apartment was the right way to go,” he said now.
“I know you wanted to stick me in a nursing home, Bryan. Or, even worse, have me live with you. A parent should never live with a grown child. It’s not good for either of them.”
Elizabeth McKay had a lot of rules. She was not a woman who tolerated shades of gray; she cherished absolutes.
“Okay,” Bryan said, “so you won’t move in with me. But what I really had in mind wasn’t actually a nursing home. More of a…cooperative living arrangement, with nurses on duty—”
“Nursing home,” said his mother flatly. “Doesn’t matter what you call it, or how fancy it is.”
Another of Elizabeth’s absolutes: she would not end up in a nursing home, no matter what the circumstances. So Bryan was playing it her way, trying to give her the dignity of spending her last few months as she wished.
He felt a heaviness inside. His mother had raised him single-handedly, with virtually no help from anyone. Among his father’s failings had been improvidence. Randall McKay had left his widow with no insurance, no assets and a pile of bills. After his death, she’d struggled along on a secretary’s salary. And—unknown to Bryan at first—she’d cleaned houses in her off hours in order to afford a few luxuries for him. Basketball shoes, a guitar when he went through his music phase, even sailing lessons “so you’ll learn not to kill yourself on the water like your poor reckless father.”
Bryan still remembered the jolt he’d had at the age of twelve when, emerging from youthful self-absorption, he’d finally figured out what his mother was doing. Her long hours weren’t all spent at the office typing reports and financial statements. Instead, she spent a good portion of her time mopping other people’s floors, scrubbing their kitchen sinks, scouring their bathroom tiles. Pride had kept her from telling Bryan. Pride…and not wanting him to feel guilty. The day he’d learned the truth had been the beginning of manhood for him. It had given him a hearty dislike for deception, and it had made him vow someday he’d be rich enough so that his mother wouldn’t have to work at all.
Of course, he hadn’t counted on her stubbornness, or her independence. She’d kept right on working, well past the time when he could have supported her several times over. It had been something of a coup when at last he’d convinced her to retire. She’d chosen Saint Louis, to be near one of her girlhood friends. But now…now she was back in San Diego, trying to arrange the end of her life as neatly as she was arranging the cans on her pantry shelves.
Having set down her cloth, she’d lined up the potato soup next to the cream of tomato. “It would be nice,” she said, “if you could meet someone, Bryan. Someone besides those dreadful businesswomen you usually surround yourself with.”
Another backhanded compliment. “Actually,” Bryan said, surprising himself, “I have met someone.”
His mother perked right up. “Oh—who is she?”
He smiled a little. “You could say she’s a carpenter.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “That’s different, at least. About time you got away from those icy corporate types.”
Bryan had to smile again at that. Danni was indeed a “corporate type,” but hardly icy. Maybe she’d been standoffish at first, but at their last few meetings all that had changed.
“What’s her name?” Elizabeth asked.
“Danni. Danni Ferris.”
“Go on,” his mother said impatiently. “Is it serious?”
There was only so much he was willing to share. He didn’t tell his mother a whole lot about his personal life; that was one of his rules.
“Bryan,” said his mother, “don’t keep me in suspense. Is it serious?”
Maybe there was no point in hiding the truth. Especially since his mother was so ill. And so he gave a grudging nod.
“Could be,” he said. Finally, Bryan saw a smile ease the pain and weariness on his mother’s face.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS GOING TO BE a long night at the offices of Nolan, Williams and Beck. A new account had just been dumped on Danni’s desk, deadline yesterday, and she was brainstorming with the two members of her team. At least, she was attempting to brainstorm while one half of her team sat slumped over a notepad, making non-sensical doodles, and the other half rambled on.
“Mr. Nolan told me personally this was a very important assignment,” said twenty-one-year-old Michelle in a reverent tone. Michelle was discoursing at length on her favorite subject: Mr. Nolan, chief partner in Nolan, Williams and Beck.
Larry, still doodling on his notepad, conveyed an air of world-weary cynicism. It didn’t fool Danni, though. She knew all about his long-term crush on Michelle. The wonder was that Michelle didn’t know.
“Mr. Nolan,” said Michelle, “is putting his full trust in us to do a first-rate job. That’s exactly what he told me. His full trust.”
Larry rolled his eyes. Michelle gave him a suspicious glance.
“Mr. Nolan,” she said, a bit more forcefully, “is the type of person who expects a person to rise to the occasion. I won’t let him down. He’s counting on me.”
Larry rolled his eyes even more expressively this time. He didn’t need to say anything, but Danni knew what he was thinking. It was the same thing she was thinking: the very rich and powerful, very good-looking Mr. Nolan probably didn’t even know Michelle’s name.
“Speaking of the job,” Danni said, “let’s get going. We need to come up with ideas fast.” She rubbed the crick in her neck, and frowned at the file on Hobbyhorse Toys. The company was a regional business, brand-new, rushing to launch its grand opening in time for Christmas. Apparently there had been “creative differences” with the previous advertising firm, and Danni was pinch-hitting late in the game. Make that very late. She needed some major inspiration.
A familiar tension coiled through her body. This was the nature of the business—always struggling for that one perfect idea that would excite the client and sell the product. After so many years, she ought to be used to the process by now…the endless late nights, the gallons of coffee, the deadlines threatening, the panic—followed by elation when the idea came. And then the whole cycle beginning again with another client.
Danni pulled a blank sheet of paper toward her and started doodling herself. Think, she commanded. What’s the angle on this one? What’s going to save us this time? She scarcely paid attention to what she was drawing until Michelle leaned over to peer.
“Designing a dream house?” she asked with interest.
Danni stared at her rough sketch. A porch with arches, a garden gate, a trellised passage-way…it looked very much like Bryan McKay’s house. Danni crumpled the sheet and lobbed it toward the trash can on the opposite side of the room. She kept it over there on purpose so she could practice her set shot. This time she missed. The crumpled sheet of paper landed at the feet of someone who had just appeared in the door-way—Bryan McKay. He picked it up and took his own aim. It landed neatly in the trash. Then he regarded Danni, his expression impassive.
Her heart pounded uncomfortably. She could think of only one reason he would be here. Kristine no doubt had spoken to him…and now he probably wanted Danni’s explanation as well.
“Larry,” she said. “Michelle. You can take a break.”
The two trooped out the door. Michelle, as she went, gave Bryan an interested glance—her devotion to Mr. Nolan notwithstanding. Of course, what woman could avoid looking at Bryan? Tonight he wore a charcoal suit of understated sophistication, his tie loosened just a bit. With his dark eyes and darker hair, he was far too handsome for anyone’s good.
When they were alone, Danni nodded toward the door. “You might as well close it,” she said. “And then we’ll get this over with.”
He gave her a quizzical glance. “It’s going to be that unpleasant?”
“After what Kris told you,” she muttered, “it’s bound to be.”
“Who’s Kris?”
She sank back in her chair. So he didn’t know…Kristine hadn’t talked to him yet. Danni felt the oddest mixture of despair and relief. The forty-eight hours she’d given her sister were only half over.
“Bryan, why are you here?” she asked, trying to sound as businesslike as possible.
He closed the door after all. Then he came to her desk and drew her up beside him. He put his arms around her and traced his lips across her cheek.
Unfair…so unfair. To have a man touch her like this, hold her like this, and to know it was all a mistake. She felt herself tremble.
“Danni, what’s wrong?” he murmured against her ear.
She closed her eyes briefly. Then she lifted her head and gazed full at him. See me, she commanded silently. See who I am.
But he didn’t see. He just brought her close once more and kissed her.
It was a very long moment before she pulled shakily away from him. She’d never known a kiss like that, not even in her dreams. Tender, sensual…possessive. Claiming her, even when he didn’t know who she was.
Danni retreated to the other side of her desk. “We can’t do this,” she said.
“Why not?” he asked in a reasonable tone.
She folded her arms against her body, and gazed at him as steadily as possible. “By tomorrow night you’ll know the answer. I’d tell you myself, but…well, I made a promise. And I always do keep my promises.”
He gave her a long, considering look. “What gives, Danni?”
“I told you—you’ll find out soon enough. Twenty-four hours from now…it will all be too painfully clear.”
Bryan seemed about to argue, but then seemed to think better of it. He changed tack. “So we’ll talk about my house,” he said.
Danni took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Bryan, but I can’t do the remodeling for you.” She waved at the papers and folders strewn across her desk. “As you can see, my schedule is already overextended.” She was telling the truth. Her advertising job didn’t exactly leave a lot of time to spare. She had no business considering moonlighting as a carpenter. Much as she loved the idea.
“Yesterday you couldn’t wait to get to work on the place,” Bryan said. “I saw it in your eyes. So why are you backing off now?”
Danni gave what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug. “I can’t deny it’s a wonderful house. But you know that—you bought it.”
His face tightened. “I didn’t buy the place for its charm.”
Danni knew she was stalling for time, but she would probably never see him again after today. Could a few more moments really matter?
“Why did you buy the house, Bryan?” she asked.
He got a brooding look. “Let’s just say it was…a promise I made to myself. A promise fulfilled.”
It occurred to Danni that she wasn’t the only one with a secret at the moment. “Come to think of it,” she said, “I didn’t see much furniture around. No boxes to be unpacked…I thought you’d moved in. Unless you intend to wait until after the remodeling.”
He made an impatient gesture. “I’m not moving in. I bought the place as a sort of…investment.”
“If it were my house,” Danni said, “I’d move right in. I’d let the remodeling happen all around me. I know that would drive a lot of people crazy, but I’d want to be right in the thick of it, figuring out what the house needs as things go along.”
“I don’t exactly want to get personal with the place,” Bryan said dryly.
“You almost sound as if you don’t like the house.”
“Let’s just say it brings back memories,” Bryan said, almost as if to himself.
Danni was more puzzled than ever, but she knew she’d delayed long enough.
“Thanks for stopping by and all,” she said, “but I really do have to get back to work.”
“Let’s see. You ran out on me yesterday—and now you’re showing me the door.”
“That’s the basic idea,” she said. “Goodbye, Bryan.”
