Wedding at Wildwood (11 page)

He glanced up toward the high ceiling. “If these old walls could talk. You know, Isabel, sitting on the front row in church doesn’t necessarily mean you’re guaranteed a spot in Heaven. You saw a whole different picture than the real one.”

He was right, of course. Grammy also said actions spoke louder than words or appearances. And the Murdock actions spoke volumes. “I guess so. I believe we see what we want to see.”

Tugging her along, he said, “Well, the whole town saw what my parents
wanted
them to see, that’s for sure. We kept our secrets safe and our problems behind the walls of this house. That is, until Eli and I had our parting of the way.”

Thinking he was going to open up at last, she said, “That is when everything changed, isn’t it? I guess that’s why your leaving was such a shock. It was so unexpected.”

“It was a long time coming,” he replied, a contemplative frown crossing over his features. “My father and I…we didn’t see things eye to eye, and Eli and I had our share of problems long before I took off.”

He guided her up the stairs, his big hand holding tightly to hers as he easily tried to change the tone of the conversation. “You’re gonna love these big, old rooms.”

Refusing to let him sway her from her intent, Isabel said, “I’m sure I will. But tell me, what kind of problems did you and your brother have?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, that’s not part of the tour package.”

Isabel watched as the wall of blankness fell back across his face, shutting her out as effectively as the shuttered windows of the upstairs landing tried to shut out the sun. Just like this old house, Dillon didn’t want to give up his secrets. He would fight her every step of the way. Maybe that was what Grammy was trying to make her see. She wouldn’t be fighting against Eli if she got herself involved in this; she’d be fighting against Dillon’s resistance, too.

How could she tell him Eli was in trouble, when he seemed so excited about drywall and paint, when he went on and on about antiques and family heirlooms. Dillon intended to bring it all back, in full glory. But she had to wonder if he was considering restoring this house because he wanted his home back, or because he wanted the home he’d never really had. Maybe it was all a facade, and maybe he was building his dreams on that facade—the sower throwing out seeds at random, mindless of where they would land.

She’d hate to see him try to restore something that had never been there in the first place, especially when he could easily lose it all again. If things had been as bad as he’d indicated, he was definitely sowing on ground that had not been as solid as everyone believed.

They finished the tour—five bedrooms, an upstairs sitting area and den, four bathrooms, and then back down the stairs to the central hallway with four huge open rooms on each side. There was an office just opposite of the long kitchen. Dillon had made that into his own temporary living quarters.

Within each room, he’d talked about what he hoped to accomplish. Restoring his great-grandmother’s four-poster rice bed, the one that had been especially designed for her up in New England, which now stood empty and open, without even a feather mattress to grace its frames, finding antiques to match the ones Eli had sold off or given away, bringing this house back to life in a timeless fashion with respected memories and traditional treasures, both bought and borrowed—he was willing to put everything into making this house what he pictured in his mind.

Even though she knew she should, Isabel couldn’t find it in her heart to bring up Eli’s problems.

“Restoring this place will be a huge task,” she said as they moved back down the stairs. “But you seem to know what you’re talking about—antiques and heirlooms! I always remembered you as being only interested in fast cars.”

He shook his head. “I was young, a rebel in the worst way. I’ve learned a lot since then.” He gave her a look that touched her heart, yet revealed nothing. “I know what really matters now, Isabel.”

His words and the look in his eyes caused her breath to flutter much in the same way as the faded lace curtains at a nearby floor-to-ceiling window.

“Such as this house, and rebuilding your life here,” she said to deflect the warm sensations pouring over her. She had to remind herself he could never love her the way she loved him, no matter how he looked at her. She had to remember what really did matter the most to Dillon Murdock. “It should turn out beautifully,” she told him. “I hope it does.”

The intimacy was gone, replaced by that controlled, brooding mask…and doubt. “You don’t sound so sure.”

“It just seems like a huge undertaking for someone who didn’t want to stick around.”

“You don’t believe I have sticking power?”

She stood on the last step of the curving stairs, with him down below her. Looking down at him, she prayed he did see this old house restored, and she prayed even harder that he’d find the restoration his tattered soul needed. “I believe in
you,
Dillon. I told you that. But I really wish you’d talk to Eli, try to patch things up before you spring this on him.”

“And I told you, I’m not worried about Eli—except to protect you from him. I won’t let him ruin what we have between us.”

“Why would he even try? I mean, I know he’s never liked me—he thinks I’m just some poor country girl. But, I’m not that girl anymore. I can stand up to Eli. And I will, just to prove to you that I’m stronger now.”

Dillon looked over at her, forcing the old blankness to take over his expression and his emotions. He couldn’t let her see the truth there in his eyes. He refused to open her up to that kind of pain. She might be stronger now, but in some ways she was still fragile. What they had together now, friendship or more, was too precious to him to squander in another fight with Eli. If she knew, if she even suspected, that he and Eli had quarreled about her and her family all those years ago, she’d bolt like a fawn and he’d never see her again.

Remembering all the old hurts Eli had inflicted on him, remembering his brother’s dire warnings and malicious jeers, Dillon steeled his heart against loving Isabel. He didn’t want to bring her into his family; she’d only wind up resenting him for loving her, for making her love him. Theirs could never be an easy coupling. Eli would make sure of that, just as he had once before. And no amount of praying or repentance could help this situation.

“Dillon?”

He heard the need in her voice, saw the hurt and confusion in her eyes. By trying to protect her, he was hurting her just as badly. Thinking he should just grab her by the hand and run away with her, Dillon shook his head. He was tired of running. And he was also tired of fighting his feelings for Isabel. He was no longer content with having her assume the worst of him. So he did the only thing he could do. He gave up.

“You want the truth, Issy?” he said now, his heart crystallizing and breaking like the aged paint on the walls. “You want to know what makes me the way I am?”

“I want you to be honest with me.”

Coming close, he willed himself to find the strength to let her know his real feelings. “Okay, I’ll tell you, but you might not like it.”

Shaking her head, she said, “What do you mean?”

The war inside him shifting into a gentle surrender, he pulled her into his arms. “I mean, I think I’m falling for you. And I don’t want that to happen, not yet. Not here on Wildwood. Maybe when we both get back to our own worlds, away from here, maybe I can think straight about all of this. You offer me friendship and support, but by doing that, you don’t know what you’re asking in return. I might not be able to give you everything you need in return.”

Filled with shock and joy at the same time, Isabel touched a hand to his face. “What if I told you I feel the same way—about the falling for you part, I mean.”

He swallowed, stared at her, touched a hand to her hair. “I’d say what I’ve already said—I don’t deserve you.”

“Okay,” she said at last. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I threw myself at you, sorry I forced you to care about me. I’m sorry I’ve been hovering around…as Eli put it…chasing after you.”

He lifted his head then, his eyes flashing fire. “Eli? What did he say to you?”

Her head down, she whispered, “He told me you’d never settle for one woman. He told me you’d never change.”

A frustrated rage simmered beneath the deliberate calm Dillon tried so hard to maintain. “That’s my big brother. He always did have me pegged.”

Tossing her hair back, Isabel gave him a pleading look. “Well, this time, he was wrong,
wasn’t
he? You say you might be in love with me, yet you tell me you don’t want to love me—you’re afraid of something. You’re hiding something deep inside. And you won’t let me in. That hurts much worse than anything Eli could ever do to me. Much worse.”

She didn’t have to convince him. He could see the hurt in her beautiful eyes, in her defeated stance, in the frown marring her expression. But this hurt would go away; if he told her everything, it would be ten times worse.

“I’m truly sorry, Isabel,” he managed to say. “But some habits die hard. I’m not very good at talking things out, and until you came along, I didn’t think I was capable of loving anyone. It’s scaring me.”

Hearing the sound of tires on gravel and clay, Dillon pulled his gaze away from her to look out the open double doors at the front of the house. “We’ve got company.”

Struggling somewhere between resentment and rejoicing, Isabel watched as Dillon headed up the hallway to see who’d come up the drive, then she took the time to get herself together.

Dillon loved her, but he didn’t want to love her. Something was holding him back—maybe his own fear of making that final commitment, maybe his problems with his family, maybe their life-styles being too different, and too far apart. Whatever it was, Dillon still didn’t trust her enough to tell her about it.

“Just leave,” she told herself now. “Just tell him about his brother, then go before things get much, much worse.”

But she’d waited too late. With Dillon’s next heated words to the man out in his yard, things went from bad to worse in a matter of minutes. Rushing up the long, wide hallway, Isabel heard his shouts as she reached the front doors.

“I won’t let you do this. I won’t let Eli do this!”

Isabel hurried out onto the porch to see what the two men were arguing about, but the sign in Leland Burke’s hand told her everything she needed to know.

The Wildwood mansion and the surrounding land, was going to be put up for public auction, one week from today.

Dillon was going to lose the home he loved so much, the home he’d come back to, the home he had just decided to rebuild. And now, it was too late for Isabel to warn him, or to help him.

And it was too late for her to tell him that she’d known for days now that something like this might happen.

“M
other, you have to tell me what’s going on!”

Dillon watched his mother’s face, saw the confusion and shock that had changed her usually serene features into a mask of grief. It wasn’t easy interrogating his mother this way, but someone had to explain why his brother would be willing to let the bank auction off part of Wildwood—the main part of Wildwood as far as Dillon was concerned.

Cynthia seemed to age right before his eyes. Swallowing back some of the rage he’d felt at seeing Leland Burke in his yard just over an hour ago, Dillon took a long breath then reached out a hand to take his mother’s trembling fingers. “What’s Eli done, Mother?”

“I honestly don’t understand,” Cynthia said weakly. “I just can’t believe he’d stand for this—auctioning off the plantation house. Why, it’s ridiculous to even think of such a thing.”

“The sign’s up on the front field, Mother,” Dillon reminded her. “I yanked it down, but Leland put it back up. According to him, Eli mortgaged that piece of property and now the mortgage is due. We’ll lose it, Mama. We’ll lose Wildwood. From the sound of things, we’ve already lost it.”

Cynthia shook her head, disbelief evident in her misty eyes. “That house is over 150 years old. I shouldn’t ever have left that old place.”

Dillon tilted his head, his voice softening. “I know, Mama. I know. We should have taken better care.
I
should have taken better care of the place.”

“I never wanted to move, you know,” Cynthia said, her voice low and raspy. “I begged Eli to let me stay there. I wanted to live out my days in that old house—you know how I love my wildflowers. But he insisted I’d be more comfortable here with him.”

“Why did you move in here if you knew you wouldn’t be happy?” Dillon asked now, concern for his mother calming his earlier anger. He could understand Eli wanting to punish him, but it was cruel to do this to their mother.

Cynthia held his hand in hers, her eyes bright with tears. “I didn’t want to be alone, and Eli insisted it would be easier on both of us. I didn’t argue very much, because I missed your father so terribly, and you—oh, Dillon, how I longed for you to come home and make peace with your brother. I prayed for it and when you came back, I thought my prayers would be answered.” She hushed, looked over at him, then reached up a hand to touch the spike of inky hair covering his forehead. “But now, it looks like that won’t be possible. I can’t believe we might actually have to give up Wildwood.”

“Not if I can help it,” Dillon said, letting go of her hand to pace the length of the kitchen. “I might not be able to make peace with Eli, but I certainly don’t intend to stand by and watch him destroy Wildwood.” Whirling, he glared out the window at the sign now back on the grass in front of the old mansion. “I’ll do whatever I have to, to save that piece of land.”

“It’ll be another fight,” Cynthia said. “I don’t know if I can stand this.”

Dillon shot a hand through his hair, then looked at his mother. “I don’t want another fight, but I won’t run away this time, Mama. I came home hoping to find forgiveness and a fresh start with Eli, but since I’ve been here, he’s done nothing but ridicule me and condemn me—it’s not ever going to change.” He turned back to the window, his mind made up.

“Well, I might as well live up to my reputation. If he wants a battle, I’ll give him one. I’m older now, and stronger, and I won’t let him do this to our family.”

Cynthia leaned her elbows on the table, then placed her head in her hands. “How can you stop this? I had no idea Eli had done this—mortgaging our land. Why, we’ve never owed a dime to that bank—we helped build that bank with our hard-earned money and our backing. How can Leland even be a party to something like this?”

“Leland is well within his rights,” Dillon explained. “He wouldn’t give me all the details, but apparently Eli is heavily in debt to the Wildwood Bank and Trust. I intend to find out exactly what my brother’s been up to. Starting right now.”

“What are you going to do?” Cynthia asked.

Dillon headed up the hallway toward Eli’s elegant office and all the files and documents concerning the operation of Wildwood. “I’m going to do a little research—find out just how much money your elder son owes to the bank.”

“Debt,” Cynthia repeated, her mouth falling open. “We won’t be able to hold our heads up in public. I’ll be ashamed to walk down the street. Your father would turn over in his grave.”

Dillon didn’t reply. Answering to the fickle citizens of Wildwood was the least of his worries since he’d had plenty enough practice at that particular chore. But he hated seeing his mother this way. He didn’t care what others thought of him or his brother, but Cynthia would have a hard time dealing with the public condemnation and scorn.

Theirs was one of the founding families of this town—the town had been named after the plantation. Wildwood, the town, was just an extension of the Murdock dynasty that had started with cotton long before the Civil War. This land had survived that war, and had continued to thrive and prosper with other crops and other ventures. Farming was in the Murdock blood. Which made it that much harder to accept what Eli had done.

Cynthia was used to everything being taken care of, everything tidy and in its place. She’d never had to deal with very much scandal. Dillon wanted to comfort her, but right now he was too anxious to find out all the sordid details of Eli’s business ventures.

“You should call our lawyer,” Cynthia suggested, her head popping up. “Fletcher Curtis will know what to do, since I certainly don’t.”

Dillon didn’t trust the family lawyer enough to call him right now as Fletcher had been the other man standing with Eli and Leland yesterday morning. Well, he’d deal with all of those involved later. Now, he’d call Sanford—see if there was any way his business manager could arrange for Dillon to pay off the mortgage on Wildwood.

If he’d been more alert, Dillon thought, he could have tried to stop this sooner. But no, he’d been too caught up in his feelings for Isabel, too preoccupied with her honesty and his denial to notice anything out of the ordinary around here. And Eli had covered his tracks very well, apparently.

Now, he stomped up the hall, thinking his mother was right about one thing. Murdocks didn’t fall into debt. They often bailed other people out of debt. Other people usually owed the Murdocks money. Isabel’s own father, Leonard, had come to Roy Murdock, asking for a loan once. But Dillon didn’t want to think of that fateful day right now, or what it had cost both him and Isabel.

Thoughts of Isabel reminded Dillon of how they’d left things earlier. After he’d practically attacked Leland in the front yard, Isabel had rushed out of the house, her face ashen, her eyes wide with shock and…and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Too distracted by this latest development, though, he’d ignored her to try to pin Leland down on the details of this upcoming auction.

After arguing with the man until they’d both lost their tempers, Dillon had turned to see Isabel walking away, back toward her grandmother’s house. Humiliated, and beyond reason, he’d let her go. What could he say to her now? How could he explain that he loved her so much it hurt with each breath he took, but that his family problems had once again gotten in the way of that love?

He’d go to her later and explain. He had just found her again—he wouldn’t lose her now. His priority had to be saving Wildwood, and that meant concentrating on getting to the bottom of Eli’s deceptions. Slinging his body down in Eli’s burgundy leather office chair, Dillon clicked on the computer sitting on one corner of the executive-style desk. While he waited for the computer to boot up, he looked out the window, toward the little cottage where Isabel had spent her childhood.

Leonard Landry had spent his entire adult life on that little spot of land. Isabel’s father had come to work for the Murdocks as a teenager, then continued working here after marrying Isabel’s quiet, shy mother, Miriam. How could a man make that kind of sacrifice? How could he continue taking orders from someone else without some sort of resentment building up inside him?

Well, the resentment had been there, all right. But not in Leonard Landry. The resentment had become Isabel’s legacy. It was now so deeply embedded inside her, Dillon doubted she herself even recognized it for what it really was. Which was why Dillon still found it hard to believe that she could possibly love him. She didn’t know how much he loved her, and how hard he’d fought for her all those years ago. He’d fought then, and he’d lost. And he’d failed Isabel’s family.

But Mr. Landry had accepted his lot in life and had worked as hard as any man could, trying to keep his family out of debt. And he’d done it on the meager wages Dillon’s father paid out, without ever once questioning or demanding any changes.

Except for that one time.

Memories of that day and the horrible consequences of Dillon’s interference came back to him now, capturing him like the blinking cursor light on the humming computer screen. Isabel was right; that was when everything had changed.

He wouldn’t hurt Isabel with the ugliness of his father and brother’s snobbery and prejudice. She’d never be able to face him again if she knew all about that terrible day so long ago.

Well, I won’t lose you again, Issy,
he thought now as he grimly started scrolling Eli’s files,
and I won’t lose Wildwood.
This was his opportunity to make things up to his mother, and he intended to take full advantage of it.

When this was all over, he’d tell Isabel everything. He prayed that she’d understand and not turn away in disgust. And he prayed for guidance; he needed God’s help with this, and he hoped that The Good Lord would give a sinner like him one more chance.

*  *  *

Since sleep was impossible, Isabel worked long into the night, developing roll after roll of film and several sheets of proof shots from the hundreds of pictures she’d taken since coming back to Wildwood. Most were of the wedding and the activities leading up to that event, but a lot of the pictures she now held in her hands were of Wildwood itself…and Dillon.

At least she’d have these memories to take back to Savannah with her. She’d have her own private album of their time together here on this land. It would have to be enough, she decided. Because Dillon had more important things on his mind now. His home was in jeopardy; he didn’t have time to spend with a woman who’d never measure up to the Murdock standards.

Remembering how angry he’d been earlier that day, remembering her part in all of this, Isabel shook her head. Why hadn’t she prepared Dillon for this? Why had she held back the information Susan had given her? If she’d gone to Dillon sooner, he might have confronted Eli before that auction sign had gone up. Now, Dillon was madder than ever and in shock over this latest turn of events.

Had Eli deliberately waited until after the wedding to drop this little bombshell? Why couldn’t he have at least told Dillon what to expect. Because he probably thought Dillon would be long gone before the sign went up. Boy, would he be in for a surprise when he returned from his honeymoon and found Dillon still here and fighting harder than ever to keep his home.

Isabel leaned back in her chair by the window, wishing she’d had the courage to help Dillon. But she’d waited too long, hoping he’d trust her enough to share his past miseries with her.

“It was just wistful thinking, Lord,” she said into the still summer night. “Just me being foolish again.”

Her mother used to tell her not to wish too hard for things she could never have.

“You can’t just go out and start snapping pictures and call yourself a photographer, honey. Best you get a job at the sewing factory in town and bring home an honest day’s wages,” her mother had told her years ago.

Well, she’d tried that, Isabel remembered now. It hadn’t lasted because she couldn’t conform to the work the way so many women living in the rural areas had. She wanted an honest day’s work, but she also wanted more.

“No, Mama, I had to go out to prove you all wrong, didn’t I?”

She’d enrolled at the local community college about thirty miles away from Wildwood, much to the dismay of her parents.

“Girls don’t need that kind of education,” her father had warned. “You just need to find a good man and settle down. How you gonna get back and forth to that fancy school anyway?”

Isabel had found a way. She’d worked at the sewing factory just long enough to buy a run-down used car. And she’d driven that car back and forth for two years, using the scholarship she’d earned through the help of a guidance counselor at Wildwood High to help pay her tuition.

Then, a few days after she’d graduated, two years after Dillon had left Wildwood, she’d told her parents she was moving away.

“And where do you think you’re going?” her bewildered father had asked.

“I’ve found a job in Valdosta,” she’d explained, afraid that they’d talk her right out of moving to the larger town a few miles north, if she gave them time to argue with her. “I’ll be working for a newspaper there, as a secretary. I’ll be able to take a few photographs here and there—”

“She’s crazy,” Leonard had told her mother. “Crazy, just plain crazy. Girls don’t run off to Valdosta to work for a newspaper.”

But this girl had. And from there, she’d transferred to Savannah and now, she was independent and stable, on her own and…still trying to prove herself.

Funny, when she looked back on things, she’d always thought she’d find Dillon somewhere out there. Isabel had never dreamed she’d have to return to Wildwood to find the one man she would always love.

Well, finding him was one thing. Spending the rest of her life with him was quite another. She’d waited; she’d tried to talk to him, to get him to talk to her. She’d come so close to telling him about Eli’s problems.

And she’d failed at all those attempts.

Now, Dillon had a new battle to fight. And he didn’t need her right in the thick of things. She’d just be a distraction now, no matter how willing she was to stay here and see him through this.