Love Will Find a Way (29 page)

"I won't tell her."

"She misses my dad, too."

"I know she does."

"Do you think she's going to like the house if Daddy isn't here?"

Dylan looked at the house taking shape around them. He had followed Gary's plans carefully, not wanting to veer off in the wrong direction, but sometimes he wondered if this was truly the house Rachel wanted. Could she be happy here on her own? Or would it always feel empty? Would it always be just a house and not a home?

Gary would want Rachel to be happy. Whatever he had or hadn't done with other women, Dylan knew with a deep and unyielding certainty that Gary had loved Rachel on some level and her happiness had always been important to him.

"Mommy wanted a big bathtub in her bedroom," Wesley said. "But Daddy said he'd never get her out of it, so he drew in a shower."

Dylan smiled, seeing a new light in Wesley's eyes. "You think your mom would rather have a bathtub?"

He nodded. "A really big one, the kind you can swim in."

"With jets and bubbles?"

"That would be cool. And I could use it, too."

"Then maybe we should put one in. What do you think?"

Wesley's smile went from ear to ear. "I think we should."

"Then we will."

"I can't help you very long today. I have a soccer game at five. It was supposed to be this coming Saturday, but it got rescheduled because everyone is going to the festival."

"That's okay."

Wesley hesitated. "Do you think you could come to the game? Do you have time?"

Once again Dylan had the sense that Wesley had asked this question more than a few times.

"I'll make time," he said firmly. "How about we go out to the field a little early and warm up?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Now, hand me those nails. We've got some work to finish before we go."

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asked Dylan as he parked in the spot next to hers at the soccer field.

"Wesley and I are going to take some warm-up shots. Didn't he tell you? Hey, Wes," he said as her son got out of the minivan.

"Hey, Dylan." Wesley squatted down to retie his shoe.

"No, he didn't tell me," she said.

Dylan gave her a little wink with his smile, and she had a feeling there was more going on than soccer.

Wesley had been acting differently since he'd come home an hour ago. Something had gone on between these two males, but she didn't have a clue to what it was.

"Toss me the ball, Wes," Dylan said.

Wesley tossed him the soccer ball. Dylan rolled it around in his hands. "It's been a while since I've kicked one of these."

"Are you planning on kicking one now?" Rachel asked.

"Maybe."

"What's going on with you two?"

"We just had a little man-to-man chat," Dylan replied. "I'll tell you later. Let's go, Wes."

They were off before Rachel could protest, not that she wanted to. Wesley had been struggling with his soccer skills since the season had begun a few weeks earlier. Since she'd never played soccer, she couldn't do much to help him. And Gary had never had the time. Or made the time, she thought with a sigh. But then, neither one of them had realized just how little time they would have.

Rachel wandered over to the bleachers and sat down. One of the other moms, Ellen Connor, sat down next to her.

"Who's that?" Ellen asked.

"Dylan Prescott. He's working on my new house."

"Ah, that's the sexy contractor. I should have guessed," Ellen said with a laugh. "My sister, Melissa, says all the single girls in town have their eyes on him. Is he available?"

Rachel felt a little discomfort with the question. Was Dylan available? Well, of course he was. He was an attractive man with a successful business. And he was good with
kids, that was
for sure. Athletic, judging by the way he was juggling the soccer ball. Sexy? He certainly did fill out a pair of tight blue jeans. Oh, heavens! She felt the warmth rush to her face and hoped to God that Ellen was still looking at Dylan and not at her.

"Sure, he's available," she said, deliberately infusing a breezy note into her voice.

"He was friends with Gary, wasn't he?"

"Since they were kids."

"It's nice of him to help out now." Ellen shot Rachel a sideways glance. "I heard you and Dylan heated up the dance floor at Shenanigans the other night."

"We danced. I don't think there was any smoke."

"Too bad. I mean, I know you're still grieving, but he seems like a great guy." Ellen sighed as her son called out for a Gatorade. "Can I get you anything at the snack bar?"

"No, thanks."

Rachel should have known that dance would stir up gossip. She should have thought about that before she'd insisted on the silly bet. Of course, she hadn't been thinking at all, just floating along on the tide of desire that always arrived with Dylan. But she had to start thinking, start acting better or at least differently. She wasn't being fair to Dylan.

As Ellen had reminded her, Dylan was free, single,
available
. He'd make a great husband, a wonderful father. Someday he'd find a woman who'd make him feel like he was first in her heart. He deserved that. She could never give him first. She could only give him second. And that wouldn't be enough for him.

She had to step back, keep her distance,
give
him a chance to get on with his life. She'd already had her turn at love and marriage; it was Dylan's turn. And there were women who wanted him, probably dozens, she thought, feeling even more depressed.

"Why the long face?" Dylan asked.

She was startled to find him standing next to her. Wesley had joined the rest of his team on the field for the official warm-up. He already looked like a different kid, like someone who felt more comfortable in the huddle. Dylan had given him that confidence. She owed him a lot. More than she could ever repay.

"Rachel?"

"Thanks for helping Wesley. He looks better already."

"He just needs to believe in himself, that's all. Move over," he added, climbing onto the bench next to her.

"So what was the subject of your man-to-man talk?" she asked, subtly scooting a little farther down the bench so their thighs weren't touching, but Dylan closed in on her again. Aside from running into the family of four sitting next to her, she had no choice but to stay where she was.

"We talked about Gary. Wesley brought it up, Rachel. I just listened and held on when he started crying."

"He cried?" Her gaze immediately darted back to her son. Wesley wasn't crying now. He was laughing and kicking a ball and having a great time.

"Cried up a storm. He needed to get it out."

"He admitted that Gary is dead?"

"Pretty much. It's a start."

She put a hand on Dylan's knee. "Thank you."

He covered her hand with his own, a warm, tender touch that almost undid her previous resolve to let him go. How could she let him go when he was holding on to her?

"I didn't do anything but listen."

"That was enough. By the way, I found the number for Gary's doctor. He had a checkup a month before he died. The doctor told me that Gary was given a clean bill of health."

"One less question," Dylan said.

"Yeah, one less question. I also spoke to his father this morning. He was surprised to hear from me."

"You've been busy."

"It was time. Anyway, he doesn't know why Gary went to Tahoe. He also didn't seem to remember anyone named Laura. In fact, he said the only thing he and Gary had talked about was a small loan. Apparently, Gary had sent him money over the years." She paused. "He sounded very sad, a man with a lot of regrets. I told him I'd send him some pictures of Wesley. After all, he is family."

"You're a good person."

"I try." As the stands began to fill, Rachel tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn't let go.

"Dylan, people will talk."

"Who cares?"

"I do. And you should, too. See that blond woman talking to the coach?" Rachel said, pointing out Ellen Connor. "She asked me if you were available. Her sister is gorgeous. Her name is Melissa. She works at the coffee shop on Main Street."

"I think I've met her."

"Ellen says half the single women in town are after you."

"Only half?" he asked dryly. "I must be slipping."

"You could have anyone you want."

He squeezed her hand. "If that were true, I'd have you."

"But you don't want me. You don't want to be second best. You don't want to be someone's second husband -- someone's stepfather," she added. This time when she pulled her hand away, he released it. "The game is starting," she said unnecessarily as the referee blew his whistle and the boys lined up on the field.

Dylan didn't reply, nor did he offer a counter argument. So that was that. He agreed that he didn't want to be second best. They'd finally drawn a line between them that would stick. It wasn't about Gary anymore. It was about what could never be.

"Careful," Dee said as Rachel took the sign out of her hand Thursday afternoon. "The paint isn't quite dry."

Rachel looked at the carefully scripted letters announcing the pumpkin prices for the upcoming festival. "It's great, but did we really need something so artistic? It's just a sign."

"Your cousin Tracy spent a long time making those pumpkin faces. Be sure you say thank you," Dee said reprovingly.

"I will." Rachel set the sign behind the counter and checked her watch. "Wesley is probably driving Dylan up the wall about now."

"He's over at the house again?"

"Every day after school." No matter what other enticing adventures Rachel had offered up, Wesley always chose to go to their house. Sometimes she wasn't quite sure if the "their" referred to her and Wesley or to Wesley and Dylan.

And she wasn't brave enough to ask. It was bad enough that every sentence coming from Wesley's mouth was punctuated with what Dylan said or Dylan did.
So much for trying to put the man out of her mind.

She'd spent the past few days avoiding him. After their conversation at the soccer field, she'd told herself to stay away, and for the most part, she'd done just that, having only minimal contact with Dylan, a brief conversation now and then when she dropped off Wesley or picked him up. It hadn't helped. He was still in her head, under her skin, driving her slowly mad.

"I understand the house is coming around very quickly," Dee said, interrupting her thoughts. "Dylan has half the town working on it.
At least the half that isn't working on the festival.
Speaking of which, don't forget to tell Dylan to vote for your cousin Christie tomorrow night. She really wants to be the Harvest Queen. He can vote at the dance."

"I'm not sure if Dylan will go to the dance."

"Of course he will -- everyone goes."

"He doesn't like to dance."

"That's not what your Aunt Shannon told me."

Rachel made a face. "I was wondering when you would bring that up."

"I heard there was a long kiss at the end of that dance."

"It was nice, but the world didn't end. I wish everyone would stop talking about it."

"It's not a crime to care about someone else."

"It's not like that with Dylan."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm trying to be sure," she admitted. "He confuses me. He always has."

"A little confusion can be good."

"Frankly, I'd prefer more clarity. I don't know who I am anymore. I was a wife. Now I'm a widow. I was part of a couple; now I'm alone. People look at me differently. They treat me differently. I want to be normal again."

"You will be. It takes time."

"How long did it take you to feel normal after Uncle Jeff left?"

Dee frowned at that question. "Longer than it should have. But Jeff left me. He didn't die. There's a difference."

"It was just as final. And we're both alone. I thought that damn apple would take care of forever."

"Ah, the magic of Lady Elaine. You were depending on that."

Rachel smiled. "You gave Uncle Jeff one of the Lady
Elaines
, didn't you?"

"No, I never did," Dee said, surprising Rachel.

"Why not? Didn't you believe in the legend?"

"You can only give the apple to one man, and I'd given the apple to someone else a few years before I met Jeff."

"Really? I had no idea. Who was it?"

"It doesn't matter. It didn't work out. He married someone else."

"Was he a local guy?" Rachel persisted, certain she was onto something when Dee avoided her gaze. "Was he?"

"You're certainly nosy."

"And you're evasive."

"It was a hundred years ago."

"Not that long. Tell me."

"All right. It was Malcolm Jennings," Dee said, waving her hand in the air.

"The butcher?" Rachel stared at her aunt. "Malcolm's wife died three years ago."

"I know that. So?"

"So do you still have feelings for him?"

"Don't be silly."

"I don't think I am. Why did you give him the apple in the first place? You must have felt something."

Dee didn't reply right away, her eyes taking on a dreamy expression, as if she were traveling back to that time in her life. "I fell in love with him in the second grade. He sat behind me and pulled my braids."

"How romantic."

"In the third grade, he pushed down a bigger kid who teased me about something, and I loved him even more. By high school I thought he was the man I would marry. The day he asked me to the prom was the day I gave him the apple. We ate it together. I was so happy. A few days later, Malcolm told me that a few weeks earlier, he'd gotten drunk and slept with Lucille. She was pregnant and he was going to marry her. That was that."

"What about now?"

"I'm too old to start over, Rachel. I invested so much time in Jeff that it is unthinkable to consider doing it all again, going through those nervous first dates and pretending to be prettier and thinner and more interested in sex than I really am." She smiled at Rachel. "I'm set in my ways. It would be difficult to bring a new man into my life."