The Bridal Path: Ashley (16 page)

Tammy wasn’t the least bit put off by the comment. “Oh, heavens, Whit knows all about Dillon and me. He was Dillon’s best friend back then. He figures the end result is all that counts, and he wound up with me.”

By default, Ashley guessed, but kept the nasty assumption to herself.

Listening to Tammy, though, had given her some idea of why Dillon got so upset with her reactions to him. Slumming, indeed!

In some ways, she was no better than Tammy. She’d been labeling him since the moment he’d arrived at the cabin, and the label she’d pinned on him had everything to do with the past. No wonder he’d been seething with resentment this morning and on several occasions prior to that.

But hadn’t he been doing much the same thing with her? Just like Tammy, he’d been caught up in the myth of Ashley Wilde, superstar model, or alternatively, superstar student. How did anyone ever get past such deeply entrenched images to the real people they hid?

She thought of the way Dillon made her feel and knew with everything in her that somehow she had to try.

Chapter Eleven

D
illon was hiding out, and he knew it. He lingered beside Mrs. Fawcett’s bed, forcing a conversation she was too drowsy to participate in beyond an occasional sleepy comment. Anything was better, though, than going into the ER lobby to face Ashley and Tammy.

Seeing Tammy again had brought his past sharply into focus. That possessive spark in her eyes reminded him of the few months when she’d been his girl and his reputation had been at its lowest ebb.

Obviously, she’d managed to turn her life around by going into a respected profession right here in town. He’d fled, certain that memories were too long to forget his outrageous exploits. Maybe he should stick around and ask her how she did it.

Ironically, though Tammy had been very much a part of his life then, he hadn’t felt the same surge of longing to recapture his devil-may-care days he’d experienced when he’d seen Ashley for the first time at the cabin. Tammy stirred regrets, while Ashley brought out hope and possibilities.

“Why are you still here?” Mrs. Fawcett demanded in a groggy voice. “There’s no need for you to hover, Dillon. I’m in good hands.”

“I know that. Maybe I just like hanging out with you.”

“Hogwash,” she said succinctly. “Just don’t forget to pick me up first thing in the morning. I am not staying in this place one second longer than necessary. It’s a waste of good money and hospital resources taking care of someone who can fend perfectly well for themselves.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dillon said, grinning at her ability to give orders even when heavily sedated. “I’ll be here at ten.”

“Make it eight.”

“The doctor won’t have signed your discharge papers by then,” he pointed out.

“Then we’ll just leave without them,” she said as if they were of no importance whatsoever. “Now, go away. I’m tired and I won’t have you watching me while I sleep.”

“I’m out of here,” he said, then impulsively leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You behave. You’re not the boss around here, even if you do remember most of the staff members when they were in diapers.”

She smiled at him, her expression a little dreamy from the knockout dose of sedative she was still fighting. “You’re a sweet boy, Dillon. I don’t care what anyone says.”

“You must be all doped up,” he said. “That’s a far cry from your usual opinion of me.”

“Somebody has to make sure you try to be the best you can, but I’ve never given up on you. You have a good heart.”

He put a silencing finger to her lips. “Don’t let that get around, okay?”

“I was always the only one who could see through you, wasn’t I?”

Dillon grinned at the smug gleam in her eyes. “I can’t imagine how I slipped up with you.”

“Does Ashley know what a good man you are?”

“Maybe we should keep that just between you and me,” he suggested.

She sighed and closed her eyes, then winked them open again. “Women always fall for the troublemakers,” she told him, “but it never lasts. Tell her, Dillon, before that pride of hers kicks in and it’s too late.”

Dillon contemplated the advice as he went to the lobby in search of Ashley. He ran into her on her way to join him.

“How’s she doing?” she asked.

“Sleeping, finally. I’m to pick her up in the morning at eight, she says. I got the feeling there would be hell to pay if I’m so much as a second late.”

Ashley chuckled. “And what does the doctor say?”

Dillon shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll do as he’s told, too.” He found something in her expression worrisome. “What went on between you and Tammy while I was in with Mrs. Fawcett?”

“Just some reminiscing,” she said a little too cheerfully.

He thought of all Tammy could–and would–be likely to say and barely contained a groan. “It was a long time ago,” he felt obliged to point out.

Her expression softened. “I know.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“You look as if there’s more you’d like to say.”

“Maybe there is, but I’ll save it until we’ve gone to Stella’s for some homemade pie.”

Dillon’s eyes widened. The small diner was the hotbed of town gossip. For a woman who claimed to crave seclusion, it was not the place to be seen, especially with him. “You want to stop by Stella’s Diner? How come? The gossips will have a field day.”

“Maybe I’m just hungry.”

“Or trying to make a point,” he guessed.

“What kind of point would I need to make?”

“That you’re not embarrassed to be seen with me.”

She looked thunderstruck. “Dillon, I would never be embarrassed to be seen with you. Besides, the only people who matter to me are my family. They already know we’re at the cabin together.”

That surprised him almost as much as her apparent lack of concern about it. “Someone besides your father knows?”

“By now, yes,” she said with a rueful expression. “If Daddy knows, you can bet Dani and Sara know by now, too. Dani was at the cabin the other day, anyway. She knew I was there with a man. She just didn’t know it was you or what the circumstances were.”

“Because you were embarrassed,” he repeated, unable to let old hurts drop so easily.

“Dammit, if you don’t knock that chip off your shoulder, I’ll just have to do it for you. I didn’t tell Dani I was with you because I wanted to keep what was happening between us to myself for a while longer.” She leveled those topaz eyes of hers squarely on him. “I don’t know how it is for you, but for me it’s special. I didn’t want to spoil it by having to answer a lot of questions from interested bystanders.”

Dillon felt some of the tension drain out of him. His shoulders relaxed. “I see.”

“I certainly hope so,” she said, “because I really do hate having to explain myself every time I open my mouth.”

Dillon grinned. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to think of something else to do to keep that mouth of yours occupied,” he said, leaning down and crushing it beneath his own.

Oblivious to the possibility of being discovered, oblivious to the antiseptic smells and low beeps of monitors, he kissed her deeply and thoroughly. She tasted of stale vending machine coffee and chocolate. To his way of thinking it was as intoxicating as champagne.

“Been sampling the vending machine offerings, haven’t you?” he teased when the kiss finally ended with a sigh of regret from both of them.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I had a craving for chocolate.”

“And now you want pie?”

Her gaze narrowed. “Is that a problem for you?”

“Not for me,” he assured her. “I think you could do to gain a few pounds. You looked awful scrawny when I got here,” he said. He surveyed her thoroughly from head to toe and gave a nod of satisfaction. “I’d say you’re coming along nicely now. You look almost healthy again. If we add in a double portion of Stella’s peach pie, you’ll be just right.”

“If only some other people shared your concept of beauty.”

She said it in a bitter, defeated way that instantly alerted him that he’d hit a nerve. He wondered if he dared probe for more or if he’d only be rebuffed for his efforts to get at the problem that was nagging at her. He decided to let it go for the moment. Once she had a tummy full of Stella’s pie, maybe she’d finally be mellow enough to open up.

* * *

Ashley did not like the way Dillon was looking at her. Oh, she loved the approving gleam in his eyes well enough, but not that inquisitive, I’m-getting-to-the-bottom-of-this glint.

Her weight, her food choices, they were all off-limits. As if being tossed out of modeling hadn’t been real enough, talking would only belabor it. Even their teasing banter had made her thoroughly self-conscious, so that by the time they walked into the diner, she was certain everyone was staring.

And, of course, they were. Every eye in the place zipped from her to Dillon and back again. People with whom she had once been well acquainted seemed torn between shock and the exuberant welcome that would have been more in keeping with her return home.

When they seemed unable to decide how to react, she settled the matter by waving blithely at everyone in general, then slipping into a booth by the front window. Dillon slid in across from her.

“Not quite the welcome home you envisioned, is it?” he asked sourly. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

“No,” she said vehemently. “It’s theirs. Forget them. We came here for pie, not reunions.”

“I did,” he agreed, studying her intently. “I’m not so sure about you. Are you sure you didn’t want to be served your fair share of adulation along with your pie?”

“Dillon,” she warned.

“Okay, okay, pie it is.” He glanced toward the counter, where the bleached-blond owner of the place was openly staring at them. “Stella, two peach pies and some coffee, please.”

Dillon’s order spurred the longtime owner of the old high school hangout into action.

“Sure thing, sugar,” she said, filling two mugs with coffee, then adding the two slices of pie to her tray.

When she reached the table, she beamed at Ashley. “Bet you’re used to fancier places than this by now.”

“Maybe so, but I’ve never had a better piece of pie,” Ashley told her honestly. The truth was, she hadn’t had any pie in years. Her mouth was already watering at the prospect of Stella’s light-as-a-feather crust and sweetened peaches. If only Stella would back off and leave her to eat in peace.

Unfortunately, now that the ice was broken, Stella clearly had a lot of questions. She set her tray on the table beside them and asked Ashley in a low, confidential tone, “Is it true you dated that guy who runs that big car company?”

“Briefly,” Ashley said, used to this kind of curiosity, although more often it had come from reporters hoping for a scoop.

“And what about that TV lawyer, the one whose series is such a hit?” Stella asked, eyes wide with envy. “I heard you were dating him, too.”

“Briefly,” she said again.

“And that king…”

“Actually, it was a prince,” Dillon said, startling both women.

Ashley swallowed hard at the suddenly possessive gleam in his eyes. He didn’t seem to be overjoyed at the review of her very public dating exploits. He also seemed to know an awful lot about them.

“Been reading the tabloids?” she asked tartly.

“They were hard to miss,” he said without the slightest hint of apology. “Even I shop for groceries.”

Stella apparently decided wisely that it was time to beat a hasty retreat. “You let me know if you need anything else,” she said as she grabbed her tray and backed away.

Ashley noticed she headed straight for the kitchen, probably so she could get on the phone and call half the town to alert them to the news that Ashley Wilde was back and that she had bad-boy Dillon Ford in tow. Ashley couldn’t seem to work herself into much of a frenzy over it. She was too concerned with what everyone’s reaction would be if they knew her modeling days were over, that she’d come home a failure.

With a sudden streak of defiance guiding her hand, she ate every bit of the pie Stella had placed in front of her. As she swallowed the last bite, she glanced up and saw that Dillon was regarding her thoughtfully.

“Why did you look as if you were savoring some sort of personal victory rather than that pie?” he asked.

“Because I haven’t dared to eat a slice of pie in more than ten years without losing sleep over it,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

“Because of modeling,” he guessed. “Was your career worth the sacrifices?”

Ashley sighed. “For the past few months, I’ve been wondering that very thing.”

He reached across the table and clasped her hand. “Ashley, what’s wrong? Did something happen in New York? Is that why you’re hiding out at your father’s cabin?”

She could tell from his expression that glib answers were no longer going to cut it. It was time to bite the bullet and spit out the truth. If he thought less of her once he knew, then so be it.

“Okay, here it is.” She met his gaze, then looked away, afraid to see his reaction to her revelations. “The short version is that my agent told me I was getting too fat for the sophisticated ads I’d been doing.”

Dillon actually laughed at that. “That’s absolute, utter hogwash,” he declared, then stared hard at her. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Very,” she said, gratified by his response.

“I hope you told him he was nuts.”

“Actually, I fired him.”

“And came here to lick your wounds.”

That awful sense of failure spilled over her again. “Dillon, modeling was everything I dreamed of. I wore incredible clothes. I traveled all over the world. I met fascinating people. I was good at it.”

“The best,” he concurred. “But that’s not who you are. It was just a job.”

Just a job, she thought. He made it sound so simple, when the reality was anything but. Her self-worth was totally tied up in her career, in the image of mind-boggling success and physical perfection.

“I wish that’s all it was,” she said.

“Maybe you should tell me what you think it was.”

“It was me. Ashley Wilde, supermodel. People said it in one breath, as if it was part of my name.”