Donovan's Child (17 page)

Or so he told himself.

At the same time, somewhere in his guilty heart, he knew he was a liar. The worst kind of liar, the kind who lied to himself.

The real problem was that he wanted more time with her. They'd only just found each other. And he simply couldn't bear to let her go.

Not so soon. Not quite yet.

T
he Foundation people were thrilled with the design. They gave their full approval to proceed.

During the presentation, Donovan deferred to Abilene. He made sure they all knew that it was her dedication and talent that had made the design come together. He explained that she would be taking the position of lead architect as they moved toward construction, though of course, he would be available whenever he was needed.

Ruth Gilman, who was in her early fifties, slim and impeccably dressed, with short strawberry-blond hair, remembered meeting Abilene at some charity function or other. The two of them really seemed to hit it off. Donovan had been sure they would. Ruth had always liked to encourage up-and-coming architects, especially female ones.

They all went to lunch to celebrate—Donovan and
Abilene, Ruth Gilman, Doug Lito and Jessica Nevis. Jessica left them after the meal. They moved on to the Johnson Wallace offices, where they met with the builder.

Around four, Jessica and a couple of others from the Foundation joined them. They went over everything, fine-tuning the basic design, working into the evening, and calling it quits around seven.

Donovan was tired when they got back to Dax's; his legs ached and twitched. But it hadn't been as difficult as he'd expected, to spend a whole day working from his wheelchair, dealing with a lot of people, never getting a break to go work out the kinks in the gym.

Still, he told Abilene he was exhausted. And that his legs bothered him more than they actually did.

And when she got on him for giving her all the credit with the Foundation people, he was able to convince her that she needed to accept the credit—and shoulder most of the work. He said he wasn't at the point where he could consistently spend whole days at Johnson Wallace, or at the construction site, for that matter.

She kissed him and said she would do her best.

And then she asked him to go with her to her family's ranch for Sunday dinner. She added, “That is, if you can bear the indignity of having one of my brothers carry you up the front steps.” She looked adorably anxious, afraid he would be too proud to agree.

Meeting the parents. He shouldn't do that. It would be only another lie, another indication to her that he was thinking in terms of a future for them.

And it would have been so simple, just to mutter gruffly that he wasn't comfortable with having one of her brothers carrying him anywhere, just to let her think his pride was the problem.

But he looked in her beautiful, shining, hopeful face—and he couldn't do it, couldn't tell that particular lie.

“Life is full of indignities,” he said, and gathered her close. “What's one more?”

 

They were hard at work again by 9:00 a.m. the next day, spending the morning at Johnson Wallace and the afternoon at the cleared construction site. For Donovan, that day was actually easier than the day before. He saw possibilities for himself now, in terms of his future and his work, possibilities that he hadn't seen before.

But again that night, he lied to Abilene. He made a big deal of his exhaustion and pain.

Thursday morning, he finally got to meet with his temporary assistant. The first task he set her was to find him another place to stay, one with wheelchair access. A house to rent, if possible.

It bothered him to be taking advantage of Dax's hospitality, mostly because Dax was married to Abilene's sister. It was bad enough that he was lying by omission to Abilene about their possible future. He shouldn't be mooching off her family at the same time.

The temp didn't disappoint him. That day, she found him a nice house in Olmos Park, one that had just become available as a sublet for two months while the owners—one of whom was a paraplegic—were out of the country.

He left Abilene happily working with Ruth at Johnson Wallace and went to see the place. It was one story, with ramps leading up to all the entrances. It had space he could use for an office, a small exercise room and a kitchen specially designed with lowered counters. He could cook his own meals there, from his wheelchair.

So he took it, paid for both months, though if every
thing went according to his plan, he would only need it until the first week of March. Then he had his assistant find him a part-time housekeeper.

That night, during dinner, just the two of them, at Dax's, he told Abilene about the house he'd rented and that he'd be moving there the next day.

She set down her fork. “I'm…surprised. I thought it was working out well for you, staying here.”

“It is. It's great. But I don't feel right, taking advantage of Dax like this.”

She sighed and fiddled with her water glass. His gut knotted and he was sure that she would argue. That she would ask too many questions and he would end up saying too much.

But in the end, she only picked up her fork again. “I get it. You like your own…space.”

“That's it, exactly.” Well, okay. It wasn't all of it. But she didn't need to know that. Not now. Right now, she needed to put her boundless energy where it mattered—on the work she was doing, on the center she would be helping to build. And on the future she was creating for herself.

She looked at him sideways. “Do I get to see this house you'll be staying at?”

“Absolutely.”

“When?”

“I'm thinking tomorrow, for dinner.”

“Do I get to…sleep over?”

“I hope you will.”

She laughed then. “I'll bring my suitcase.”

 

She did bring her suitcase.

She stayed with him Friday night, and Saturday, too.

Sunday, they went out to Bravo Ridge, her family's
ranch, where her brother Luke carried him up the wide front steps and he met her mom and dad and Luke's wife, Mercy, along with five other brothers, their wives and a few very cute children.

Over dinner, one of the wives, Irina, announced that she and Caleb, the fifth-born Bravo brother, were expecting a baby in August. Everyone jumped up, the men to clap a beaming Caleb on the back and the women to pull the serenely smiling Irina from her chair and pass her from one laughing, congratulatory hug to the next.

For Donovan, the moment was bittersweet. He envied Caleb. He envied all the Bravo men—whole and strong, married to women they obviously loved. Unafraid to be fathers, secure in the firm belief that they could protect their children and their women from harm.

Overall, though, Donovan enjoyed himself that day. They were good people, he thought. Abilene's mom, Aleta, was especially charming. He saw Abilene in her—in the way she tipped her head when she was listening, in the curve of her mouth when she smiled. And her father, Davis, was something of an architecture buff. He knew of the five-star hotel Donovan had designed in Dallas, and the headquarters for that office supplies conglomerate he'd built in Manhattan.

They all stayed well into the evening, playing pool in the game room and then returning to the dining room for a late dessert. At a little after eight, Luke carried him back down the front steps. Gabe, the second-born brother, brought his wheelchair down and set it up for him at the back of the van. Before he rolled onto the lift and in behind the wheel, he thanked them all.

Aleta bent close and hugged him and told him to come back any time.

“I liked them,” he reassured Abilene, later, in bed.

She kissed him and whispered, “They liked you, too.”

Monday was Valentine's Day. Donovan took Abilene to her favorite restaurant. They went home to his rented house and made slow, beautiful love. She fell asleep in his arms. He cradled her close and tried not to think about how fast each day was going by.

He wished he could hold back time, make it stand still. Just for a little while.

But time failed to cooperate. It flew by.

That Wednesday, Zoe and Dax returned, and the four of them had dinner together. Dax had always been a player, dating one gorgeous woman after another. But it was obvious that he'd found all the woman he needed in the six-months-pregnant Zoe, who had long red hair, a great sense of humor and a mind as sharp as Abilene's.

Later, the men retreated to Dax's study, where they drank very old Cognac and Dax tried to get him to talk about Abilene. But Donovan had a feeling that whatever he said would go right back to Zoe—and from Zoe, to Abilene.

So he was evasive. And Dax didn't push.

And that night, when they were alone, Abilene talked about how happy her sister seemed, how great it was that Zoe and Dax had found each other. He agreed.

She gazed at him expectantly. “A little like us, huh?”

Again, he lied by omission. He pulled her down into his lap, tipped her chin up and kissed her, ending a dangerous conversation before it could really get started.

Every evening, it seemed, there was someone new Abilene wanted him to meet. Friday night, he met Javier Cabrera, the builder Abilene admired so much. Javier was also the man whose estranged wife had once had an
affair with Abilene's father—a brief liaison, which had resulted in Abilene's half sister, Elena.

Javier came to dinner at the rental house in Olmos Park. He was a compact, powerfully built man, with silver-shot black hair. He treated Abilene with honest affection and respect. Donovan felt drawn to him. There was loneliness in the older man's dark eyes, and wisdom, too. Javier said he was considering selling his business. That he didn't have the heart for his work anymore. That he was ready to retire.

As soon as the older man was out the door, Abilene turned to Donovan, tears in her eyes. “He seems even sadder than ever. I just want to grab him, you know? Grab him and shake him and tell him to go to his wife, go right away. To tell her he loves her and he forgives her for what she did all those years ago, to swear that all he wants is to get back together with her.”

Donovan only shook his head. “Some things, a man has to figure out for himself.”

Two fat tears overflowed the dam of her lower lids and trailed a gleaming path down her soft cheeks. “And some things, I guess, just can't be forgiven.”

He reached for her hand then, and pulled her down to him. She curled into him as if she belonged there, in his arms. He wished for the impossible, that he would never have to let her go.

 

The weekend passed, a weekend they spent together, he and Abilene.

She had essentially moved in with him. He shouldn't have allowed that, shouldn't have indulged himself so completely with her. But he did it anyway.

Every night with her was a night to remember, a night to treasure. He was hoarding those nights, storing them
up in his heart. When he no longer had her with him, at least he would have the memories of her.

And during the day, he'd established a schedule much like the one he'd kept when she came to his house in the desert. He checked in and out with Johnson Wallace and the builder, making himself available when necessary, but pushing Abilene to the fore.

It went well, though by the end of their second week in San Antonio, he did notice a certain watchfulness in Abilene. She asked him Tuesday evening if something was bothering him.

He lied and said there was nothing. After that, it seemed to him, she was quieter, less lively somehow.

Except when they went to bed.

In his arms, she came alive. She burned with a bright fire, taking the lead, driving him wild. He was only too happy to be consumed by the flames.

By the next week, the third week in February, the Foundation people, the Johnson Wallace team and the builder all seemed to have accepted that they were working with Abilene. That Wednesday night, again, she asked him if there was something wrong.

He denied it.

And then, both Thursday and Friday, he stayed away from Johnson Wallace, didn't even look in to see how the project was going. He knew he would hear from them if there was an issue and that Abilene could handle things without him hanging around.

He got no calls. No one seemed to notice his absence.

Or so he thought, until Friday night, when Abilene got home.

She came into the kitchen, dropped her big leather bag
on the chair by the door and said, “Okay. It's enough. We've got to talk about this.”

 

Abilene waited, her pulse a roar in her ears, her stomach tied so tight, in painful knots, as Donovan lowered the heat under the sausage he was cooking and turned off the burner beneath the big pot he used for boiling pasta. He wheeled over to the sink to rinse and dry his hands.

Oh, she did not want to go here. She didn't want to confront him.

But really, they couldn't just keep on like this. Pretending everything was all right, playing house in this cute little place he'd rented.

Finally, he turned to her. His eyes were a cool, distant gray. “Talk about what?”

Talk about what?
The words bounced around in her brain, and she wanted to fling them right back at him,
Talk about what? As if you don't know…

Resolutely, she marched to the small breakfast table by the bow window, pulled out a chair and lowered herself into it. “Please.” She gestured at the empty space across from her.

He didn't move, only suggested so gently, “Abilene, you don't have to do this.”

A torn sound escaped her. “If I don't, then what?”

“Abilene…” His voice trailed off. He shook his head.

At that moment, she almost hated him. She
would
have hated him, if only she didn't love him so damn much.

She asked in a voice barely above a whisper, “Is it the groundbreaking ceremony? Is that the end? Is that when you're leaving me?”

He glanced away, which only made her more certain that it had to be the groundbreaking ceremony.

She pointed at the place across the table again, asked for the second time, “Please?”

And at last, he moved. He wheeled around the central island and took the space she'd indicated. When he stopped, he kept his hands at his wheels. As if, at any second, he would back and turn and roll out the kitchen door and away—from her, from this moment, from the words that needed to be said.