The Tycoon's Christmas Proposal. Jackie Braun
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go shopping with you.”
Again, she ignored his sarcasm. Smiling sweetly, she replied, “It’s kind of you to offer, but that won’t be necessary. Unless you really want to. I can always use someone to carry the purchases out to the parking lot.”
She wasn’t sure why she had just baited him, other than the fact that his arrogance rubbed her the wrong way.
“Excuse me, Mr. Burke?” the housekeeper said from the doorway. “The driver has brought the car around.”
“Fine.” He turned his attention back to Eve. “I believe we’re finished.”
“For now,” she affirmed and had the satisfaction of watching him scowl.
CHAPTER TWO
DAWSON prided himself on being the sort of man who thought outside the box when finding solutions for problems. It was one of the things that had helped make him a success in business. So, when adversity knocked Friday afternoon, he let opportunity answer the door.
“Your mother is on line one and Eve Hawley is on line two,” Rachel informed him.
“I’ll take the call from my mother. Tell Miss Hawley I’ll call her back.” As he said it, he glanced in the direction of his in-box, where the questionnaire she’d given him remained untouched. He had a good idea of the reason behind Eve’s call. He also knew why his mother was phoning. The charity ball was Saturday.
“Hello, Mom.”
“Dawson, darling. How are you?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“So, you always say,” she chided. “But I still worry about you.”
“There’s no need to, really.”
But she disagreed. “It’s a mother’s job.”
“I’m an adult, Mom. Thirty-eight last month,” he reminded her.
“Your age doesn’t matter. Nor, for that matter, does mine.” Tallulah was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I know this is a difficult time of year for you.”
“Mom—”
“It’s a difficult time of the year for everyone,” she went on. “We all miss Sheila and Isabelle.”
Hearing the names of his late wife and daughter spoken aloud turned his voice unintentionally crisp, “Don’t. Just…don’t.” He softened the command with “Please.”
“Dawson—”
But he held firm, even if he did moderate his tone. “I prefer not to talk about them. I’ve made my wishes on that very clear.”
“What is clear,” Tallulah began, “is that you’ve locked yourself inside a prison of your own making for three very long years. You’ve always been a fairly rigid individual. But in that time, you’ve become overly controlling, overly driven. You don’t make any time for friends or family, let alone yourself. You spend every waking hour at the office.”
“Yes and Burke Financial has thrived as a direct result,” he replied. “The last quarter’s earnings were the best in the company’s history.”
“Your father and I don’t give a damn about the business,” she snapped. The fact that his mother had used even a mild curse had Dawson blinking in surprise. This was a woman who rarely raised her voice let alone lost her temper. Neither had ever been necessary. She’d always had more effective ways of getting her children to toe the line. She pulled out one of the big guns now. “I hate to say this, Dawson, but I’m very disappointed in you.”
He sank back in his chair and closed his eyes. Whether he was eight or thirty-eight, that particular weapon never failed to hit the mark.
His tone was contrite when he said, “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mom. That’s certainly not my intent.”
“I know.” But, of course, she wasn’t through. “Have you made plans for the holidays?”
It was a Burke tradition to gather for dinner at his parents’ estate on Christmas Eve. In fact, that had been his destination the evening of the crash. Ever since then, he hadn’t been able to make it. He expelled a ragged breath. “You know that I have.”
“San Tropez again?” she inquired, dismay obvious in her tone.
He’d gone to that tropical paradise the past two years, unable to remain in snowy Denver for the anniversary of that fateful night. This year, however, he’d decided on a different destination. “Actually, I thought I’d try Cabo. I’ve rented a condo ’til just after the new year.”
Like San Tropez, it was warm and sunny with gorgeous beaches and, most importantly, no one who knew him. People wouldn’t ask how he was doing, tilting their head to one side in sympathy as they spoke, or regard him with an overly bright smile that failed to camouflage their pity.
“Alone?” his mother asked.
“Mom—”
But she talked over his objections. “You know, it wouldn’t bother me so much that you refuse to spend the holidays with loved ones in Denver if I at least knew you were spending them with someone special.”
“I’m fine.” He repeated the old saw.
But she threw him a curve. “Are you seeing anyone, Dawson?”
“I’ve gone out a couple times,” he admitted. The dates had been unmitigated disasters, from the stilted conversations at the beginning to the awkward good-night kisses at the end. Both attempts had left him feeling guilty and angry at fate all over again, but he didn’t see any reason to divulge that information to his mother.
She apparently figured it out, though, because she said in a quiet voice, “Oh, son, at some point you need to move on with your life.”
“I have,” he insisted. He got up each day, didn’t he? He went to work. He’d turned the company into an even bigger success than it had been under his father.
As usual, though, his mother cut to the chase. “But you haven’t forgiven yourself.”
No. He hadn’t forgiven himself. He couldn’t do that. He closed his eyes, only to see it all happening again. He’d been the one behind the wheel of the car on that snowy Christmas Eve, the one firmly in control of all their destinies until a patch of black ice had changed everything.
Dawson had been the only one to survive the impact with the bridge abutment. He’d walked away with a nasty gash on his forehead and a busted arm. His wife had died instantly, while his daughter had hovered on the brink for several more hours with internal injuries before a surgeon had come out of the operating room to deliver news Dawson still wasn’t ready to accept.
“Sorry, Mr. Burke. We did all we could, but we couldn’t save her.”
How could Dawson forgive himself for that?
His mother’s voice snapped him back to the present. “I want you to be happy,” she said.
He opened his eyes, rubbed them with his free hand. She didn’t get it. No one did. For him, happiness had ceased to be relevant. “Don’t worry about me, Mom,” he told her for the second time.
But she was saying, “You know, the Harrisons’ daughter recently moved back from California.”
At that an alarm bell began to sound in his head. He silenced it by saying, “The one who got married a couple of years ago?”
“Yes, but she’s divorced now.” The alarm sounded a second time as his mother continued. “I ran into her at the club a couple weeks ago. She still has that same lovely, bubbly personality. She’ll be at the ball tomorrow evening. I was thinking of asking her to sit with us. That would give us an even number at our table. And you know how I like an even number.”
Dawson straightened