A Lover's Dream (20 page)

“Please,” Dena hissed. “That was Quay's idea. He wanted to start a tradition for the younger set. He organized that party for the Ramsey
men
only with a select few of their closest friends in attendance.”

“How many made up this
select
few?” Mick asked.

“There were probably about fifteen guys at the party. I only know that because they left the family barbecue to go to the hotel. After all this was over, I found out that there were at least three girls to every guy in that suite.”

“I see,” Mick whispered, chewing her bottom lip as she wrote the numbers 15 and 3 on the pad and drew a circle around each.

Dena sighed. “So, when will you be returning to Seattle?”

Mick set the pad down and began to massage the tense area that had suddenly formed at the base of
her neck. She didn't want to consider such a trip in light of where things stood between her and Quest.

Of course, that would be inevitable as she had investigating and research that would surely demand another visit.

“I'm not sure of my plans yet,” she said finally.

“Well then, I'd like to invite you to the party we're organizing. It's time for another Ramsey reunion. It'll be a perfect occasion to put names to faces. This marks forty years of reunions. Family will be in town for weeks,” Dena predicted.

“Mmm… I appreciate that, but it really is a family thing and I shouldn't intrude,” Mick decided.

“Michaela, a reunion is a time for family and
friends
. You are most certainly a friend if you're trying to find out what really happened to Sera.”

Mick told herself that it was quite possible that the man Harriet Forman had circled in the photograph could be there. Besides, she missed Quest so much….

“Michaela?” Dena called. “Can we count on seeing you?”

Mick nodded. “I'll be there.”

 

Catrina Ramsey's lovely almond-brown eyes harbored concern as she watched her son staring fixedly at the pool in her backyard. She managed a brief smile when she was pulled back into a firm embrace.

“I'm worried about him, Damon.”

“He'll be all right,” Damon Ramsey told his wife, though he was far more interested in nibbling at the soft skin below her ear.

“He said she wouldn't make him choose between her and his family. That's what he said. That's
all
he'd say,” Catrina said, worried. “What do you think it means?”

Damon chuckled. “It means just what he said,” he teased, favoring his wife's other ear with soft, delectable nips.

“But why would she feel he'd have to do that?”

“Whatever it is, it's between them. They'll figure it out.”

Catrina rolled her eyes. “I can't stand not knowing. I hate seeing my baby this way.”

Damon propped his chin against her shoulder. “He's not a baby, Trina.”

“But if there's something we can do—”

“He's a grown man.”

“Talk to him, Damon.”

“Trina—”

“Please, baby,” she urged, turning to nuzzle her nose against the base of his throat. “Please,” she whispered.

Damon's hands smoothed across the silky fabric of Catrina's azure blouse and he uttered a frustrated growl. He knew he could refuse his wife nothing when she put her persuasive powers in full gear. Muttering a low curse, he pulled away and headed out to the pool.

Catrina fixed her husband with an adoring smile. She turned back toward the window as concern clouded her face once again.

 

“Q,” Damon called, upon approaching his son.

Quest just managed a smile. “Hey, Dad,” he replied, hugging the man after they shared a hearty handshake.

“Your mama's worried,” Damon announced.

Quest nodded. “I'm all right.”

“I figured as much, but Trina won't go for it. What else can you tell me?” Damon countered.

Quest debated telling his father the entire story. He didn't want another foul scene to erupt in the family's
long line of upsets, but he realized he just didn't care anymore. He'd just let himself and Mick drift out of each other's lives for a third time, and helping to prevent further unrest in the family was the least of his concerns.

“Michaela overheard a conversation I had with Uncle Marc,” he confessed.

Damon's onyx gaze narrowed with murderous intensity. “Marcus,” he breathed, then rolled his eyes and turned to wave over Catrina, who still watched from the bay windows in the sunroom.

Quest continued the story once his mother joined him and his father out on the deck.

“Baby, you know we'd never put you through anything like this,” Catrina swore, while Damon stood cursing his brother. “I can't speak for the rest of your father's foolish family, but you know we love you and Quay regardless.”

“I know, Ma,” Quest whispered, gracing his mother with a dimpled smile before sadness returned to his haunting gaze. “That's not the issue. Michaela can't stand thinking that she's the cause for tension between me and
any
member of my family.”

“But, baby, she can't control that,” Catrina argued, pressing her hands to the front of Quest's brownstone knit jersey. “There always has been and always will be some sort of craziness going on between one or more members of this family.”

Quest rubbed a hand across his close-cut hair. “I know that,” he groaned, a well of frustration swelling inside his chest. “But you don't know Michaela. Family, or the lack thereof, has put her in some very bad places with some very bad people. I can't get her to look past it. She thinks there's nothing more important than the love of my family.
Nothing's
more important. Not even
her
love.”

“To hell with this,” Damon muttered, pulling keys
from the pocket of his twill driftwood trousers and storming off the deck.

“They can never be friends for long,” Quest noted in a wry tone.

“Please,” Catrina groaned with a wave of her hand. “Marc knew better. My guess is he's somewhere now hoping to avoid your father,” she predicted, smiling when Quest began to laugh. “Now tell me,” she commanded, fixing him with a stern look, “do you love this girl?”

Quest's expression was serious at once. “She has all of my heart.”

The simple, genuine reply sent Catrina nodding. “Of that I have no doubt. That's why”—she sighed, digging around in the front pocket of her jeans—“I want to give you something I've been carrying around for a while now.”

Quest's brows rose when he saw the small, exquisitely crafted emerald ring in his mother's palm.

“This was my mother's,” Catrina said. “I decided to give it to the first one of my son's who lost his heart.” She rested her hand against Quest's cheek. “I know love when I see it and I've seen the change in you these last few months. Love like this can take years to craft and you found it in a surprisingly short time. Maybe it's because you finally recognized what you needed.” She paused to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. “Anyway, I know you won't let Michaela go. You simply need to formulate a new plan. This is for your future wife when you're ready to put that plan into action,” she said, folding the ring into Quest's palm and laughing when he pulled her into a tight hug.

Quest kissed the top of his mother's bouncy silver-gray hair. Silently, he vowed he would have another chance and this time he'd be playing for keeps.

 

After her phone conversation with Dena Ramsey, Mick left to spend another week in Georgia. She had to see if anyone there recognized the man Harriet Forman had circled in the news photo. There were no new leads and she left Savannah feeling as though she'd completely wasted her time. Now, as she took the steps to Houston and Daphne Ramsey's glorious home, she prayed for a break, or better yet a familiar face at the family gathering.

“Michaela!” Dena Ramsey called, rushing forward with outstretched arms. “So glad you could make it,” she whispered, while pulling Mick into a close hug.

“Dena?” Mick inquired, hearing the woman laugh.

“I'm sorry, yes, Dena Ramsey,” she said, introducing herself, and stepped back. “My father told me to look for a lady with a head full of gorgeous black Shirley Temple curls.”

Mick threw her head back to laugh. “I haven't heard that description in a long time!” she cried.

“Let's get you introduced,” Dena suggested, hooking her hand through the crook of Mick's arm as they strolled through the majestic foyer.

Houston and Daphne's home was as elegant as they were. Each room seemed to have waltzed right off the pages of an interior designer's portfolio. Every room housed an elaborate chandelier, there was gorgeous carpeting throughout the house, and every flower arrangement was housed in a gleaming brass pot. Classical jazz arrangements sifted through the built-in speakers in every room. Michaela couldn't believe how hospitable the group was. She'd expected them to be at least a little reserved. Sure enough, the good feelings came to an end when she was introduced to Marcus Ramsey.

“I don't think anyone here has time to be cross-examined for your investigation, Ms. Sellars,” was the first thing Marcus said to her.

Though she didn't have his height advantage, Mick did an exemplary job of looking down her nose at the man. “Well then, I suggest you direct your complaint toward your niece here. She was the one who invited me.”

Marc blinked as though surprised by her frigid comeback. He recovered quickly and fixed Dena with the same disdainful look. “Your father would have a fit if he knew she was here.”

“I doubt that,” Dena retorted as a cold smile settled to her thin lips, “especially since he was the one who told me how to find Michaela and seemed quite pleased when I talked about asking her to come out,” she shared, hugging her thin frame as she twisted to and fro.

“What's he thinking?” Marcus breathed as though speaking to himself. His attention quickly redirected itself to Michaela. “You shouldn't be here. I think you know that. I'm sure you'll understand if I ask you to leave.”

“That's enough, Marc.”

The small group turned toward the tall, dark man who had spoken. He stopped right next to Mick and extended his hand.

“Hello, Michaela, I'm Damon Ramsey, Quest's father,” he said, covering her hand in both of his.

Mick blinked, words failing her as she studied Damon. It was clear to see where his sons had acquired their sinful good looks. “So nice to meet you,” she said finally.

Damon patted her hand. “I hope you'll accept my apologies for my brother.”

Mick acknowledged Marcus with barely a glance. “I've handled far worse, I can assure you.”

“Ha!” Damon bellowed, revealing a striking double-dimpled grin. “I see why my son loves you so. We'll speak more later,” he promised, and then leaned
close to plant a kiss on her forehead. The warmth of his expression vanished when he turned to Marcus. “You and I need to speak. Right now.”

Mick was intrigued by the exchange, wishing she could be a fly on the wall. Marc was clearly reluctant to follow his brother, and she could tell it wouldn't be a pretty scene. Before her thoughts could get too far ahead, she caught sight of Quest across the room. Her heart flew to her throat and her tummy did all sorts of crazy flips while her knees turned to water. She commanded them to continue to support her.

She loved this man! Fierce emotion filled her amber stare as she watched him laugh and mingle across the room. The chestnut sport coat molded to the incredible breadth of his shoulders while the matching trousers accentuated the length of his strong legs. Quest Ramsey had become her world and she'd scarcely realized that his presence in her life was so very important. Where he was concerned, she was selfish—undeniably so. She yearned for the love he offered. Every day she dreamed of the happiness she could find with him. So what if his family had a problem with it. So what? He was hers. He held every bit of her heart as completely as she held every bit of his. Family be damned.

 

Damon maintained his cool even after he closed the den door behind himself and his brother. “I've been waiting to talk to you for weeks. You been avoiding me?” he asked, approaching the man with easy steps.

Marcus simply pursed his lips and pushed his hands into the pockets of his pin-striped slacks.

Damon positioned his index finger a few inches in front of Marcus's nose. “Approach my son or the woman he loves with this crap of yours once more, Marc, and I'll take great pleasure in making you sorry.”

Marc tried to remain composed, but his lips trembled. “Threats, Damon?”

“Damn right.”

“You got some nerve,” Marcus seethed, maintaining his stance. “Do you understand how dangerous it would be to have someone nosing around our family affairs?”

“Marc, if someone
had
nosed around family affairs a long time ago, maybe the family would be in a far better state of mind than it is now.”

Marcus rubbed a hand across his bald head and chuckled. “Damon, please. Don't you stand there and act like we're different people. You've done the same thing to protect your sons. Have you forgotten how far you went during the ugliness of Sera Black's death? Not to mention all those strange happenings before? Quay's girlfriends always seemed to come up missing—all except Sera, of course. You never
really
questioned him about all of that, did you?” Marcus asked, his deep-set gaze sparkling with devilish curiosity. “Maybe you never wanted to know.” He shrugged. “As you say, no need to live in fear of the past.”

Damon shook his head, while fiddling with his gray and tan silk tie. “I won't deny that I've done things to protect my kids and I'd probably do them again, but none of this has anything to do with Michaela Sellars.”