Wedding at Wildwood. Lenora Worth
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him, true. But that was long ago, and even though I saw Dillon each and every day, I never really knew him. And I don’t know him now. It was a dream, and not a very realistic one.”
“Amen to that. And now?”
Isabel couldn’t hide the truth from her grandmother. “And now, I’m curious about the man he’s become. Seeing him again tonight, well, it really threw me. He seemed the same, but he also seemed different. I’m hoping he’s changed some.”
Martha gave her a long, scrutinizing stare. “That’s all well and good, honey. But remember, the boy you knew had problems, lots of problems. And as far as we know, the man might still be carrying those same problems. I’d hate to see you open yourself up to a world of hurt.”
Isabel got up to clear away their dishes, her eyes downcast. “Oh, you don’t have to worry on that account, Grammy. When I left Wildwood, I promised myself I’d never be hurt by the Murdocks again.”
“Including Dillon?”
“Especially Dillon,” Isabel readily retorted. Then she turned at the kitchen door. “Although Dillon never really did anything that terrible to me.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really. Oh, he teased me a lot, but mostly his only fault was that he was a Murdock. Eli, on the other hand, made no bones about my being the poor hired help. I just can’t tolerate their superior attitudes and snobbery. Not now. I did when I was living here, but not now. Not anymore.”
Martha followed Isabel into the kitchen. “And did Mr. Dillon Murdock act superior tonight, when you talked to him?”
Isabel surprised herself by defending him. “No, he didn’t. Not at all. In fact, he was…almost humble.”
“I just hope that boy’s learned from his mistakes.”
“Me, too,” Isabel said. “Me, too.”
Dillon’s soul-weary eyes came back to her mind, so brilliantly clear, she had to shake her head to rid herself of the image. “You don’t have to worry about me and Dillon Murdock, Grammy. I don’t plan on falling for any of his sob stories.”
“Should be an interesting wedding,” Martha commented, her hands busy washing out plates.
Isabel didn’t miss the implications of that statement. She never could fool her grandmother.
Dillon stood at the back door of his brother’s house, every fiber of his being telling him not to enter the modern, gleaming kitchen. But his mother was standing at the sink, dressed in white linen slacks and a blue silk blouse, her curled hair turned now from blond to silver-white, her small frame more frail-looking than Dillon remembered. He smiled as he heard her loudly giving orders to the maid who’d been with their family for years.
“Now, Gladys, we want everything to be just right, remember? So finish up there, dear, then you can go on back to tidying the guest room for Dillon. He’ll be here any minute.”
Cynthia had written to him, begging him to come home for his brother’s wedding.
And so here he stood.
The minute he opened the glass door to the room, he was assaulted with the scent of dinner rolls baking, along with the scent of fragrant potpourri and a trace of his mother’s overly sweet perfume. At least some parts of Eli’s new home were familiar.
“Hello, Mama,” he said from his spot by the door.
Cynthia whirled from directing the maid to see who’d just entered her kitchen, her gray eyes wide, her mouth opening as she recognized her younger son. “Oh, my…Dillon. You came home.”
Dillon took his tiny mother into his arms, his hands splaying across her back in a tight hug, his eyes closing as memories warmed his heart even while it broke all over again. Then he set his mother away, so he could look down into her face. “This isn’t my home, Mother. Not this house. It belongs to Eli.”
“Well, you’re welcome here. You should know that,” Cynthia insisted as she reached up to push a stubborn spike of hair away from his forehead. “You look tired, baby.”
He was tired. Tired of worrying, wondering, hoping, wishing. He didn’t want to be here, but he wanted to be with his mother. She was getting older. They’d kept in touch, but he should have come home long ago. “I could use a glass of tea,” he said by way of hiding what he really needed. “Where’s Eli?”
“Right here,” his brother said from a doorway leading into the airy, spacious den. “Just got in from the cotton patch.” Stomping into the kitchen, his work boots making a distinctive clicking sound, Eli Murdock looked his brother over with disdain and contempt. “Of course, you wouldn’t know a thing about growing cotton, now would you, little brother?”
“Not much,” Dillon admitted, a steely determination making him bring his guard up.
His brother had aged visibly in the years that Dillon had been away. Eli’s hair was still thick and black, but tinges of gray now peppered his temples. He was still tall and commanding, but his belly had a definite paunch. He looked worn-out, dusty, his brown eyes shot with red.
“So, it’s cotton now?” Dillon asked by way of conversation. “When did we switch cash crops? I thought corn and peanuts were our mainstay.”
“We didn’t do anything,” Eli said as he poured himself a tall glass of water then pointed at his own chest. “I, little brother, I did all the work on this farm, while you were gallivanting around Atlanta, living off Daddy’s money. Why’d you come back, anyway—to beg Mama for your inheritance?”
“Eli!” Cynthia moved between her sons with practiced efficiency. “I invited Dillon home, for your wedding. And I want you to try to be civil to each other while he’s here. Do you both understand?”
Dillon looked at his mother’s hopeful, firm expression, then glanced at the brooding hostility on his brother’s ruddy face. “Why don’t you ask the groom, Mother?”
“I’m asking both of you,” Cynthia said, her eyes moving from one son to the other. “For my sake, and for Susan’s sake.”
Eli hung his head, then lifted his gaze to Dillon. “As long as he stays out of my way. I won’t have him ruining Susan’s big day.”
“Thoughtful of you,” Dillon countered. “But, hey, I won’t if you won’t, brother.”
“I’ll be too preoccupied with my bride to pay you any attention,” Eli retorted, a distinct smugness in his words.
Wanting to counter his lack of tact, Dillon said, “Well, it certainly took you long enough to find a woman willing to put up with you.”
That hit home. Eli set his glass down, then placed both hands on his hips. “I don’t see you bringing any young ladies home to meet Mama.”
Cynthia clapped her hands for quiet. “Enough of this. Can we please sit down to have a pleasant dinner together? Gladys and I made baked catfish and squash casserole.”
“Why did you have to invite him back here?” Eli asked. “And for my wedding, of all things?”
“I wanted your brother here,” Cynthia said, tears glistening her eyes. “I wanted my sons to make peace with each other.”
Eli stomped to the sink to wash his hands and face. Then turning to dry himself with a dishtowel, he said, “I don’t have to make peace with Dillon, Mama. He’s the one who should be doing the apologizing. He ran off.”
“No, you drove me off,” Dillon said, then he turned to his mother. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay in this house. I’ll be at the wedding, Mama, and I’ll show up at all the required functions, but if you need me, I’ll be at Wildwood.”
“You can’t stay in that run-down house,” Cynthia said, grabbing his arm as