The Ashtons: Cole, Abigail and Megan. Maureen Child
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the resemblance the morning she ran into him, but it hadn’t occurred to her…
“What the hell—?” Cole’s words were more question than curse. He looked from one to the other of them.
“I know this must be a shock. I’m sorry for that.” That was the stranger, Western Man…Grant Ashton.
Cole took a step forward, his face hard. “You’d better have some sort of proof.”
“He does.” Caroline Ashton stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her face pale but composed. “He showed me his parents’ marriage license.”
“You spoke to him?” Eli asked, scowling.
She nodded. “I’m sorry. I should have been here when he told you. I…he arrived half an hour ago. After I spoke with him, I went to call Lucas. He’s on his way back from the city and would have been here soon anyway, but I…I just wanted to talk to him. I should have been here,” she repeated. “I’m sorry.”
“Never mind that.” Jillian hurried to her mother’s side. “Are you all right?”
Caroline smiled. “Of course.”
“I wasn’t going to tell them until you returned,” Grant said. “But your daughter found me waiting for you in the lanai and insisted I join the family in here. She was trying to be hospitable to a guest, I suppose,” he said wryly. “Then your son asked my name. I wasn’t going to make one up.”
“No, of course not. And once you told them you were an Ashton, you had to tell them the rest.”
“What’s the rest?” Cole demanded.
Grant met his eyes levelly. “My parents married young—a shotgun wedding, you might say. People still do that where I come from, or did, back when my mother found out she was pregnant. Until a couple weeks ago, I thought my father died when I was a year old. Turns out he just took off, leaving my mother to raise me and my sister.” He paused. “My father’s name is Spencer Ashton.”
No one moved. No one spoke. Then Cole’s sharp bark of laughter broke the silence. “The bastard started young, didn’t he?”
Caroline insisted that Grant join them for dinner. It was an awkward meal.
Merry was withdrawn, mostly silent. Jillian was tense. Dixie had noticed that she was sensitive to others’ moods, and the overall mood at the table that night was not jolly. Eli barely spoke—and Cole spoke too much, considering that he substituted grilling their guest for polite conversation.
They learned that Grant was from Crawley, Nebraska; that he had a farm there, which his nephew was running while he was gone; that he’d never married, but had raised his niece and nephew; and that he’d tried repeatedly to speak to Spencer, but the man brushed him off.
“I saw you at Charley’s,” Cole said. “You were trying to talk to him then?”
Grant nodded and buttered a roll.
“I can see why you’d think he owes you something, and he has plenty of money. Are you hoping to—”
“Cole!” Caroline said sharply. “That is quite enough.”
“For the record,” Grant said levelly, “I do fine, financially. I don’t want anything from him. Or you.”
Dixie gave him an approving smile. “For the record, Cole isn’t always such an ass. It sneaks up on him occasionally.”
Mercedes stifled a giggle. Cole turned to Dixie. “Thank you,” he said, dry enough to suck the juice from a mummy, “for your unquestioning support.”
“Friends don’t let friends talk junk. Especially at their mother’s table. Why don’t we discuss something innocuous for a while, like religion or politics?”
Surprisingly, it was Craig who came to her rescue. “How about sports? I missed the game last Monday and have been hearing about the Patriots’ fumble all week.”
Lucas picked up that ball and ran with it, and they managed to stagger on through dessert. Dixie saw that Craig had at least one undeniable virtue—he was socially adroit. He helped her keep the conversation going more than once during the interminable meal. So that was why Merry kept him around—he made the perfect fashion accessory. Pretty to look at, great at small talk, no obvious vices.
Dixie promised herself to find time soon to have a little talk with Merry. But not tonight. They still had to navigate the postdinner shoals.
She was worried about Cole. He’d made an effort to be civil for the rest of the meal, but the anger simmering in him demanded some kind of outlet. There wasn’t much she could do about it right now, though.
When they adjourned to the living room, the atmosphere wasn’t as tense as it had been immediately following the big revelation. Caroline and Lucas had cornered Cole and were forcing him to discuss some business involving the new chardonnay. Eli was talking to Grant about farming with Mercedes listening in, and Jillian had stepped out of the room for the moment.
That left Dixie with Craig. Unfortunately, he chose that time to demonstrate why he was Mr. Right Now instead of Mr. Right.
They chatted lightly for a few minutes about generalities. Feeling the need to give credit where credit was due, she thanked him for helping out during dinner.
“Glad I could do it.” He moved closer and spoke low, as if confiding in her. “Mercedes has some issues about her father. I admired the way you smoothed things over.”
“Mmm.” The jerk was trying to look down her dress. She frowned and shifted away slightly. “All of them have issues about Spencer, and with reason.”
He nodded solemnly. “Learning that he had yet another family that he abandoned was bound to upset them.”
“It wasn’t Grant’s fault, of course, but it’s hard not to associate the messenger with the message.”
“I’m fortunate,” he said. “My father and I get along great. Are you planning to stay in California, Dixie? I hope so.”
Uh-oh. “Probably. Is your family from around here?”
“They’re in Frisco. But enough about families. I’ve been wanting to tell you how much I like your work.” His voice turned caressing. “Being an unimaginative business grunt, I admire artists. They’re so…unconventional. I’d like to get to know you better.”
Hints weren’t going to work. “Don’t you think it’s tacky to come on to me with Mercedes in the room?”
He just smiled and reached up to toy with her hair. “Mercedes and I have an understanding. She likes you. I like you. Where’s the harm?”
Dixie sighed. “Coming at you from three o’-clock.”
He blinked, confused. “What?”
Cole plucked Craig’s wineglass from his hand. “Sorry you have to leave so early, Bradford.” The glitter in his eyes did not resemble regret.
“I don’t have to—”
“Yes, you do.” Cole gripped Craig’s elbow with one hand and passed the glass to Dixie. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
March him to the door was more like it. Craig might not have been the brightest bulb on the tree, but he wasn’t stupid enough to protest or try to shrug off the hand propelling him to the front door.
Dixie caught Mercedes’ eye across the room. Merry shrugged apologetically, which annoyed Dixie no end. Her friend shouldn’t be apologizing for the jerk. She should be dumping him.
Definitely they needed to talk.
Cole came back alone. He didn’t look satisfied—more like a volcano ready to erupt. His eyes were hot when he snapped at her, “You ought to know better than to flirt with that idiot.”
“Hold