The Ashtons: Cole, Abigail and Megan. Maureen Child
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don’t have a double chin.” Dixie spoke absently as she adjusted the brow line, which defined the eyes. “The jaw has softened with age, but…whoops. Forgot tact.”
The older woman laughed. “Tell me something. Since you won’t cater to my vanity in one way…you’re sure it’s okay if I talk?”
“Absolutely.” Dixie turned to a new page, moved slightly to the left and began a gesture drawing from the new angle in a series of quick sweeps of her pencil.
“I’ve sometimes wondered if anything of me showed up in my boys. The girls, yes. I see something of myself in them. But Cole and Eli…”
Dixie heard another question in the way Caroline’s voice trailed into silence. How much did her sons resemble the man who’d fathered and deserted them?
“The girls do take after you more than Eli and Cole do,” she said casually, as if she hadn’t noticed the unspoken part of the question. In Jillian’s case the resemblance was more a matter of manner than genetics, but Dixie could be tactful when it mattered. “But Eli has your nose and your ears.”
“And Cole?”
Cole…whom Mercedes said most resembled their father. “He has your hands. Great hands,” she added, crouching for another angle. “I plan to use them.”
When Caroline chuckled it took Dixie a moment to realize why. Then she flushed. “Ah…in the painting. I’m going to use your hands in the painting. Not Cole’s hands. I’m not planning to use them for, ah…”
Caroline smiled. “How delightful. I didn’t think anything flustered you. You’re a rather formidable young woman.”
“Me?” Dixie was astonished. Caroline was the one with the inbred class and composure, the soft voice and gentle ways Cole had once thrown up at Dixie as the feminine ideal.
“But of course. Look at all you’ve accomplished at such a young age. Though I suppose you don’t think of yourself as terribly youthful.” Her smile turned amused. “The young never do. I hope I didn’t insult you, dear. It’s just that you’re so very competent and confident. I wasn’t, not at your age.”
And yet what Dixie’s pencil had captured was a calm, determined woman. She turned back to the finished sketch, then reversed her pad to show Caroline. “Here’s what I see—strength, kindness, grace.”
“Oh, my,” Caroline said softly, taking the pad. “You’ve made it difficult for me to pry the way I’d intended. May I have this?”
“Of course.” Dixie accepted the return of her sketch pad with a silent, fervent wish that Caroline would continue to find it difficult to pry.
“I don’t know what you charge, but—”
“You’ll insult me if you offer to pay. The paintings are business. This isn’t.”
“Then I’ll just thank you. I’d like to frame it and give it to Lucas for our anniversary.” Her cheeks were a little pinker than usual. “Perhaps it’s vain, giving him a likeness of myself, but I think he’d like it.”
Dixie smiled. “You’ll be giving him a picture of someone at the center of his life. Of course he’ll like it.” She closed the pad. “I’ll need to hang on to it until I’ve finished the painting, though.”
“Our anniversary isn’t for another two months. No rush.” Caroline stood. “I take it you’re through with me?”
“For now,” Dixie said cheerfully. “I’ll be starting the paintings soon, and I may need to stare at you some more then. Or not. First I’m going to pester your vineyard foreman for a day or two.”
“I suspect Russ won’t mind,” Caroline said dryly. “Dixie?”
She slid her pad into her tote. “Yes?”
“My son was deeply hurt when you left him. I’m concerned about your reappearance in his life.”
Dixie froze. Déjà vu, all over again, she thought. First Eli, now Caroline.
And what could she say? That Cole was the one doing the pursuing? It was true, but if she was honest, she’d have to admit she enjoyed the game they were playing. “I don’t know what to tell you. He isn’t serious.”
“Isn’t he?” Caroline let that question dangle a moment, then smiled. “You probably want to suggest I mind my own business. I understand. We’ll change the subject. I’m having a small dinner party Friday, mostly family. I’d like it if you could join us.”
“Thank you,” Dixie said, wary.
Caroline shook her head ruefully. “I’m not usually so maladroit. The dinner invitation has nothing to do with the question I didn’t quite ask you. Truly, I would like to have you join us.”
“And I’m not usually so prickly.” Dixie’s smile warmed. “I’d love to come.”
“Head over any time after six, then. Casual dress. We’ll eat around seven-thirty.”
Dixie was frowning as she headed for the carriage house. She didn’t resent Caroline’s delicate prying. Mothers were allowed to worry—it was in the contract. They were also entitled to think the best of their offspring. Dixie couldn’t very well tell Cole’s mother that all he was after was a quick roll in the hay.
Well…maybe not quick. Her lips curved. That had never been one of Cole’s faults.
Her smile didn’t last. She suspected his pursuit rose, in part, from the desire to prove that he was over her. If that thought pinched a bit, she could understand it. Because Caroline had been right about the other. Dixie was sure she’d hurt Cole.
He’d hurt her, too. But his had been sins of omission, not commission. He hadn’t lied or cheated. He just hadn’t been there enough. Business had come first, second and sometimes third with Cole. All too often, Dixie had been an afterthought.
She’d been so desperately in love. And he…he’d been halfway in love. In the end, she hadn’t been able to handle that.
Dixie rounded the corner of the house—and almost walked right into Cole. And her cat, who was purring madly in Cole’s arms.
“Good grief.” She shook her head, disgusted. “He got out again?”
“I was working on a budget projection and turned away to get a file. When I turned back, there he was, sitting on top of a stack of quarterly reports, cleaning his face and looking smug. Tilly’s still hiding under my desk. Hey.” He touched her arm lightly with his free hand. “Is something wrong?”
“Just thinking deep, philosophical thoughts. It interferes with my digestion.” She started walking again. He fell into step beside her. “Is Tilly okay?”
“She’s fine, now that I removed her tormenter.” He smiled. “That’s three, Dixie. And still two days to go.”
“I know, I know.” She and Cole had a bet on. Cole had bet that Hulk would escape at least half a dozen times before Friday.
It should have been an easy win for her. Not because she fooled herself that she controlled Hulk, but she did know his ways. She’d figured her cat would escape once a day, no matter what she did—but if she let him stay out long enough to get his outside fix, he’d be content to stay in the rest of the time.
She hadn’t counted on his obsession with Cole’s dog. “I think you’re sneaking him out,” she said darkly.
“Would I do that? He may be teleporting. Here.” Cole dumped the cat into her arms. “Where did you find Cattila the Hun, anyway?”
Had Cole always had this deliciously wry sense of humor, and she’d forgotten? “He just showed up one day, sitting outside my apartment as if he’d been waiting for me. I opened the door and he strolled in, demanded dinner, then curled up