Ship of Dreams (Dreams Come True Series Book 2) (23 page)

They’d just finished a late dinner she’d had delivered from one of her favorite restaurants and were sitting back enjoying their wine. Throwing back a mouthful of wine, she took a deep breath.

“Fine. My father and I have never had what people would call a loving relationship. I think my lack of a penis disappointed him.”

Nathan snorted. “Well, I, for one, am
not
disappointed by that missing organ.”

She couldn’t suppress the laugh. His humor had already taken the edge off the conversation.

“When I was twelve years old, I tried out for and won a place on the school debate team. Up until that time, my father had shown me nothing more than indifference. He never came to any of my events, whether they were sporting events or not. I was captain of the volleyball and basketball teams—”

“I could see that.”

“Academic events like spelling bees, or even parent-teacher conferences. He was always too busy, or more likely just couldn’t be bothered. Anyway, he finally came to my first debate. God only knows why.”

She took another sip of wine, followed by another calming breath, the moment so fresh and vivid in her mind, it was as if she were reliving it. “I stood at the podium to debate the pros of banning smoking in public places. My nerves jangled, but the butterflies only added to the excitement. I felt confident in my research and in my arguments in support of the ban, and my coach told me I had a voice made for public speaking.

“Then I saw my father walking down the aisle to take a seat next to my mother near the front. I didn’t expect to see him, and now that he was there, those butterflies turned into an angry hive of killer bees.

“The moderator announced my name and told me I could begin. The notes in my hands blurred. I swallowed, trying to get a grip on my nerves. The audience grew restless, and the moderator said my name again. Taking a deep breath, I began with my opening comments, but the words were coming out all wrong. Jumbled. I took a moment to collect myself and started again.

“After a few more stumbles, I saw my father rise from his seat, glare in my direction, and stalk out of the school auditorium, leaving students and parents muttering in his wake.”

She huff
ed out a laugh devoid of humor. “I finally recovered enough composure to complete my arguments, but not without feeling like a dismal failure.

“As if his public disgust weren’t enough, later that evening, after the ever-painful family dinner, I overheard my father telling my mother, “‘Well, Cherise,’” she mimicked her father’s brash voice, “‘that’s quite a daughter you’ve given me. Can’t even stand up and read from her own notes. And you wonder why I’ve never come to any of her activities. So I can sit there and watch her monumental failure? I’ve got better things to do with my time. Never mind being an object of ridicule at the country club. Never again. Mark my words. That girl will never amount to anything.’”

She swore she’d never tell anyone about that. Not even Darcy knew. She closed her eyes in shame.

“I wanted to believe that my father thought I was out of hearing, but I couldn’t rule out the possibility that he wouldn’t have cared even if he had known I was listening.”

She’d cried herself to sleep that night. But the next morning, she swore she’d be the best at everything she undertook from then on. With or without her father’s support. And she’d never let a man make her cry again.

After that, every triumph, every A+, every volleyball match or basketball game won, every debate won, bolstered her self-esteem. And with every win, the exhilaration of the hunt, and the thrill of the kill fed her soul. But nothing she did ever won not only her father’s love, but his respect.

“Thank God for Darcy’s parents,” she continued. “They were there to cheer me on as if I were their own child. I’m sure their love and support was the only thing that kept me from becoming a serial killer.”

Their loyalty to her, and to one another, taught her how important it was to have a few very close friends in her life. But the lack of her parents’ support taught her if she wanted to succeed in anything, she’d have to do it on her own. And that was what she’d done.

She’d never been in love. Never let herself fall. And she didn’t need a psychoanalyst to tell her why she craved attention from men, primarily those with no depth. And why she went from sexual fling to sexual fling, without regard for developing any kind of long-term relationship. Until now. Until Nathan.

“I watched my father stop at nothing to win. To stomp out their competitors, to intimidate their suppliers, to win the Navy’s bids. But I didn’t want to win that way.” She looked Nathan straight in the eye, and continued. “I’d no more sleep with someone to win their business, than I would stab a competitor in the back.”

As Nathan gazed into her eyes, witnes
sed the pain he saw there, he wanted to slit his own throat for causing her even more pain. He reached out for her hand and, taking it in his, brought it to his lips. “I’m sorry. I should never have jumped to that conclusion.”

“I suppose it was a valid conclusion to jump to.”

“No. There’s no excuse.”

This explained so much. The next time he saw Milton he’d be hard-pressed not to kick him in the teeth. Or better yet, the nuts.

“And now you know the whole sordid story of the dysfunctional Armstrong father-daughter relationship.”

“Sugar, the only dysfunction there applies to your father. Come here.” He gestured to his lap. Once she’d settled there, he took her face in his hands. “Despite it all, or maybe because of it all, you turned into a strong, independent, sexy woman who’s not afraid to carve her own path. For that, you should be proud.”

As they cleared away the dishes, Nathan’s
phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he frowned. The number was unknown to him but the area code was his sister’s.

Seeing his frown, Laura asked, “Everything okay?”

“I don’t know. I’ll tell you in a minute. Hello.” Nathan dropped back into his chair.

“Is this Nathan Maxwell?”

“Yes.”

“Nathan, you probably don’t remember me, but we were in high school together. I’m Nadine Hendrix.”

“I remember you, Nadine.”

“I’m a nurse now at Darla General Hospital, and, well, your sister is here.”

Nathan stood up, startling Laura, who placed her hand on his chest, an expression of alarm on her face.

“Is she okay? What happened? Was there an accident?”

“No. She came in with acute right flank pain and vomiting. She’s being evaluated now, but at this point it’s hard to know whether it’s appendicitis or possibly kidney stones until we do more tests. She wanted me to call you.”

Nathan glanced at his watch and paced away. Too late to get a flight out tonight. “Dammit, I probably can’t get there until tomorrow. Tell her, tell her I love her and to hang in there. I’ll be there soon.”

He hung up and turned to Laura. “I have to go. I have to get a flight out first thing in the morning.”

“Nathan, what’s wrong?”

“Amanda’s in the hospital, and they’re not sure what’s wrong.”

With the pitch only a week away, he sure as hell didn’t need to be flying off to Georgia, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d call Hawk first thing. He was a family man. He’d understand. He hoped.

Nathan stared out the window. “I can’t lose her. She’s all I have left.”

Nathan’s gruff voice tugged at Laura’s heart. She was no good at
times like this. She never knew what to say or what to do. Taking his face in her hands, she spun him to face her.

“Everything will be okay. You’re not going to lose her.” Pressing her mouth to his in a tender kiss, she was shocked by the depth of emotions she felt for him. “Let’s book our flights.”

“Our?”

“Of course. I’m not going to let you go alone. You’re too upset.” She walked away before he could see how much his distress affected her.

“But, you’ve got the pitch.”

“So do you.”

“But she’s
my
family. Why would you do that?”

“What are friends for?” She turned back. “Wait—you do have Internet on the farm, right?”

He chuckled. “Yes.”

“Then we’re good.”

Laura gazed out her car window at the North Georgia hill country. Hard to
imagine the polished, urbane Nathan Maxwell growing up here.

They’d flown into Hartsfield International Airport in Atlanta, where they’d rented a car and headed northeast for almost two hours into the mountains of North Georgia, almost to the North Carolina border. Nathan had been quiet most of the trip, only pointing out items of interest here and there. Worried about his sister, no doubt.

He’d called the hospital and was told she’d been discharged, but that was all they could tell him given the privacy laws. So they were headed straight to the house, where he’d called several times and not gotten an answer.

She placed a hand over his, and when he looked her way, she said, “Everything will be all right.”

His mouth lifted a little at the corner, then, taking her hand, he brought it to his lips. The sweetness of the gesture set butterflies to fluttering in her belly.

“Just another half hour.” He turned his attention back to the road.

She wasn’t sure if the ETA was for her benefit or his.

A little while later, Laura sat up and took notice when they entered a small town. As they passed under the one stoplight, she spotted a tidy square off to the left with a red-brick courthouse, a grocery store on one corner, a gas station on another. A dilapidated bar sat across the square from the grocer. A farm supply and hardware store, pickup trucks parked out front, rounded out the occupied buildings. The rest appeared to be empty, their darkened windows a sad reminder of how small towns were often left behind even in times of economic prosperity.

“This is the booming town of Darla, Georgia, elevation eighteen hundred eighty-five feet, population at last count six hundred fifty-two. It’s about to get a bit bigger. A major retailer is building a regional distribution center not far from town.”

“That’s good, right?”

“That remains to be seen.”

Just past the town square, they came upon a school, Samuel Jefferson Middle and High School.

“Named for the town’s first mayor,” Nathan supplied.

Laura twisted to look back at the red-brick building, white columns adorning the front. “Is that where you went to school?”

“Eighth grade through twelfth.”

“Did you play any sports?”

“A little junior varsity baseball. Pitcher. But I really didn’t have time for it. Farm took up all my time, especially after my grandmother got sick.” His voice carried no disappointment, as if to his mind, it was just what you did. Gave up something you loved to take care of your family.

“Were you any good?”

“Managed to bean your purse snatcher in the back of the head with my phone at twenty paces.”

“Right.” She shivered at the memory of that day. And the long, lonely night that followed.

They turned right onto a bumpy dirt road where trees closed in on either side. “The farmhouse is up here on the left.”

Pulling into the dirt driveway, Nathan stopped the car in front of a white clapboard house nestled into the hillside behind it. Off to the side sat an old pickup truck in a color formerly known as blue. A slightly sagging front porch resembled like a lopsided grin, while the windows gazed out across the fields on the other side of the road. Red-brick chimneys flanked the house. The tin roof had seen better days, and the house could use a coat of paint.

On the left, about thirty yards from the house, was a tiny barn and what appeared to be a chicken coop that looked nothing like Martha Stewart’s. On the right grew an enormous oak tree, a tire swing hanging from one of the sturdy lower branches.

“My great grandfather built this house in the early 1900s. It replaced the original home from the early 1800s.”

Laura sat back and took it all in. This is where Nathan grew up. She could picture him swinging in the tire swing, tossing a baseball in the front yard, riding his bike down the long country road. “So your family has lived here for generations?”

“Yep. Come on.”

Nathan strode up to the house, threw open the unlocked front door, his long legs eating up the distance while Laura picked her way across the lawn in her signature stilettos.

“Amanda?” Nathan called. When he didn’t get an answer, he yelled louder. “Amanda!”

Still no answer.

“Dammit.” He charged up the stairs.

Laura heard him opening doors before he clambered back down the stairs.

“Where the hell is she?”

A screen door slammed in the back of the house.

“Amanda?”

“Nathan? Is that you?”

A tall, rangy young woman came around the corner. Her Wrangler jeans molded to lean, muscular legs, and a faded red T-shirt showed off biceps Laura would kill for. On her feet, no-nonsense work boots. Her hair, a lighter, sun-kissed version of Nathan’s, hung in a braid draped across her shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” Amanda asked, clearly surprised by his appearance.

“What do you mean?” He scrubbed his hands through his hair “The hospital called me last night. Said you were in the ER with acute pain. You-you told Nadine Hendrix to call me.”

Amanda laughed. “I did?”

“Yes. You did. I told Nadine to tell you I was on my way.”

Amanda shook her head. “They gave me some really good drugs. I don’t remember any of it.”

“What the hell are you doing home? And out of bed?”

“I passed a kidney stone last night, or rather in the wee hours of the morning. Other than a mild backache today, I’m fine. And let me tell you, after that experience, I’m really looking forward to giving birth someday.”

“Jesus!” He hauled his sister in for a hug. “You scared ten years off me.”

“I’m sorry.” She withdrew, and glanced at Laura. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Oh, yes. Laura, this is my sister, Amanda. Amanda, this is Laura Armstrong.”

Amanda’s frank appraisal of Laura began at her ponytail and ended at her Manolo-enclosed feet.

Where Nathan’s eyes were the color of whiskey, Amanda’s were the color of coffee, dark and rich. She had the most exquisite skin. Not a stitch of makeup, not even lip-gloss or blush. Clearly, she wore lots of sunscreen.