A Daring Vow (Vows) Page 7

  He straightened and regarded her evenly. “I did live in Charleston, and I did run.”

  “You did?” she said, unable to hide her astonishment. If Taylor had run for office, why wasn’t he in the capital now? He wasn’t the kind of man who would even enter a race, unless he’d been virtually assured of winning.

  “What happened?” she asked finally, since he didn’t seem inclined to enlighten her on his own.

  A dark look crossed his face. He drummed his fingers on his desk, then shoved them through his hair. The nervous ritual was familiar, but in the past she’d only seen him act that way around Beau, when he’d been struggling not to tell him off. She was absolutely certain now that he intended to toss her out without replying.

  Instead, he merely glared at her impatiently, then bent back over his work. A wise woman would have taken the hint. Zelda, however, wasn’t about to let it rest, now that she’d finally opened up the subject.

  “Taylor?”

  He looked up, scowling. “Damn it, I don’t have time for this. I hired you to work, not to cross-examine me.”

  “I can’t do the best possible job, if I don’t really know the person for whom I’m working.”

  “You’ve known me for the better part of the past thirty years,” he reminded her.

  She shook her head. “I knew you ten years ago. You’ve changed, Taylor. You used to be just as big a risk-taker as me, maybe even more daring. Now you’ve settled for boring. I can’t help but wonder why.”

  He tossed his pen aside. “Zelda, what’s this really all about? I seriously doubt whether you’re worried about how stodgy I’ve become. Besides, you’re here on a temporary basis, right? Maybe for one more week. Less than a year, if you decide to fulfill the terms of your mother’s will. I don’t see much need to confess all my deep, dark secrets to you.”

  “Who better to talk to than an old friend who’s leaving town?” she shot right back, angered by his assumption that she wouldn’t last one instant beyond the year necessary to satisfy the terms of the will. “I’ll take your secrets with me.”

  “How reassuring. I’ll keep that in mind if I ever feel the need to make a confession.”

  Zelda groaned and barely resisted the urge to shake him. Or kiss him until he looked as bemused as he had at her house a few weeks back. “Why can’t you stop being so evasive and just answer me? Is the truth so terrible? Maybe you could just start by telling me about Caitlin. In the past three weeks, you’ve never once mentioned her name.”

  A faint spark of warmth lit his eyes. “Seems to me you already know about her,” he said dryly as he glanced pointedly at the framed picture on his desk.

  “I know she exists,” she corrected, refusing to be baited. “I don’t know anything about her or about her mother.”

  “Frankly, I can’t believe no one’s filled you in,” he muttered. His gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Or is that why you’re asking, just so you can gloat?”

  “Gloat about what? No one’s told me a damn thing. In fact, everyone’s so tight-lipped, you’d think I was asking about national security. If you don’t want to talk about your marriage, then tell me about the election.”

  “Look it up in the local paper. There were plenty of stories at the time.”

  “I’ve worked for a highly publicized attorney in L.A. I know how the media can distort things. I’m asking for your version,” she said with exaggerated patience.

  Taylor uttered a sigh of resignation. “Damn it, you always were persistent,” he grumbled.

  She grinned, relaxing slightly. Victory was just within her grasp. She could sense it. She just had to reel him in. “Glad to know I haven’t lost the knack for it. I’m still waiting for an answer, by the way.”

  “I lost, okay?” he said, then added with undisguised bitterness, “That ought to make you happy.”

  The words were curt, but it was the bleak expression in his eyes that distressed her. Taylor rarely showed signs of his vulnerabilities. Whatever had happened had hurt him deeply. With anyone else that might have dissuaded her from pursuing the topic, but she sensed that Taylor needed to talk. He wouldn’t, unless she badgered him into it. So she kept at him, but her tone softened.

  “Why would that make me happy?” she asked, genuinely puzzled by the comment. “I always wanted what was best for you. Remember when we used to talk about how we would redecorate the White House one day? I believed in that dream, Taylor. Even when I knew I wouldn’t be the woman there with you, I still wanted you to get there someday.”

  “Sure,” he said disbelievingly. “Once upon a time, maybe you felt that way, but I suspect I haven’t exactly been in your prayers in recent years.”

  “Maybe, maybe not, but I do know how much being elected to public office meant to you and your family. In fact,” she added dryly, “who would understand that better than I would? I paid a high enough price, so you could fulfill Beau’s ambition.”

  “It was my ambition, Zelda, not just my father’s, but you’re right. It sure as hell did ruin things between us. The blame for that’s as much mine as my father’s.”

  Once again filled with regret, Zelda sighed. “It didn’t have to ruin things for us, Taylor. I think that’s what made me angriest. You bought into your father’s assumption that I’d be a liability.” She shook off the memories. It was too late now to change what had happened back then. “Look, all I’m saying is that I know how disappointed you must have been, but that still doesn’t explain why you’re here in Port William again. Losing a campaign wouldn’t send you running back home.”

  He regarded her intently for the space of a heartbeat and then he sighed deeply. “No,” he said quietly, “but losing my wife did.”

  Zelda felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. “Losing your wife,” she echoed in dismay. “How? Surely she didn’t divorce you just because you lost an election.”

  “No. She died,” he said bluntly.

  The succinct reply explained a lot…and nothing at all. This time, though, Taylor’s dark, forbidding gaze kept Zelda from pressing for more answers. But it didn’t keep her from wondering.

  * * *

  After she’d left his office, Taylor felt all of the old pain and anguish wash over him. The wound, which had been healing nicely at long last, had been ripped open with just one sympathetic look from Zelda. He didn’t want her sympathy. He didn’t even want anyone to know how much pain he was in. He just wanted to be allowed to exist in peace. He wanted a life with no expectations and no bitter disappointments. No highs. No lows. With a woman like Zelda, there’d always be plenty of both. He shuddered at the thought.

  Clearly, though, Zelda didn’t intend to let him get off that easily. Just behind her sympathetic expression, he’d seen the familiar stubborn determination to probe until she knew everything. He’d remembered too late how persistent she could be and how perceptive. She’d guessed, when no one else ever had, how much he’d resented Beau’s control of his life, even when they’d shared the same goals.

  It was obvious, too, that Zelda blamed his father for everything that they’d lost. Some day he would have to correct that impression. In the end, it had been his mother who’d persuaded him to see reason, who’d gently pointed out how much more suitable a woman like Maribeth would be when he eventually ran for office. No one regretted the success of her persuasion more than his mother did today. He wondered if perhaps that was why she’d been so insistent that he help Ella Louise with her will, a gesture to make amends for a wrong done to Ella Louise’s daughter.

  Or maybe even a gesture meant to give him a second chance at happiness. What a laugh that was! He’d botched his life up royally and, bottom line, he had no one to blame but himself. He hadn’t been an impressionable kid when he’d cut Zelda out of his life. He’d made choices, bad ones, and he was going to spend the rest of his miserable life paying for them. Wasn’t that what penance was all about?

  Taylor sighed as he struggled to face the fact that it was onl
y a matter of time before Zelda heard the whole story about his marriage. He knew he should be the one to tell her, but the words just hadn’t come. It had been easier to talk about the election. Losing a political race was one thing. Failure was another.

  He admitted to himself that pride had kept him quiet. That and the fact that they both knew her presence here was only temporary. There was no point in sharing secrets, in allowing a touch of intimacy that could delude either of them that things could ever be the same between them. His decision to keep silent had been a good one, he told himself repeatedly.

  If that were true, though, why was that gnawing turmoil in his stomach worse than ever? And why did he sense that he’d missed an ideal opportunity to strengthen a bond that never should have been broken in the first place?

  He still hadn’t answered those questions by Friday afternoon. At three that day, as he’d sworn to Ms. Patterson that he would do religiously once a month, he drove to the small private boarding school where he’d sent Caitlin. Ignoring his parents’ objections, he’d told himself that he was no match for a precocious seven-year-old who needed rigid discipline. Except for those lonely hours in the evening, when he desperately missed the sound of Caitlin’s laughter, he almost believed it.

  He stood outside the gates and watched her come down the walkway in her blue and gray uniform, her wild black curls tamed into braids, her pace sedate. Something inside him wrenched at the sight, but he didn’t dare admit to himself that he’d preferred the exuberant child who’d flung herself into his arms with sticky kisses only a year before.

  “Hello, Daddy,” she said in a soft, emotionless voice. Her eyes, the same gray as his own, were shadowed in a way no child’s should be.

  “Hey, puddin’. How’s my best girl?” He tugged on a braid and a familiar, impish grin flitted too briefly across her face. “How’s school?”

  “It’s okay. I got an A in math. My teacher says I have a very orderly mind.”

  Taylor winced. How could he ever have thought that such praise would delight him? It sounded so dull, so predictable. It sounded like something to be said once all the life had been squeezed out of a person, not words to be used to describe a seven-year-old.

  Had seeing Zelda again reminded him of what it had been like to be a child? Before they’d met, he’d been every bit as studious and diligent as his daughter was now. Zelda had breathed the spirit back into him. What terrors they had been! For the first time in a very long time, he found himself smiling at the memories.

  Caitlin regarded him curiously. “What’s so funny, Daddy?”

  The surprise written all over her face reminded him of how seldom he smiled these days. “I was just thinking back to a long time ago.”

  “About Mom?”

  He felt as if the blood drained out of his face. “No,” he said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. “No, I wasn’t thinking about your mother.”

  Caitlin’s expression, which for one brief instant had been that of a happy, exuberant kid again, shut down immediately at his terse response.

  Taylor cursed himself for his insensitivity. He’d vowed that he would never do anything to destroy the love Caitlin had felt for her mother, no matter how much he blamed Maribeth for ruining their lives. Obviously he was going to have to guard his words more closely.

  During the drive back to Port William, he tried to put that spark back into her eyes with silly teasing, but Caitlin was too sensitive to his moods to respond. She was silent all the way, lost in thoughts. Looking at her sitting stiff and silent beside him came very close to breaking his heart.

  Chapter Seven

  Zelda stood at the front window of the office long past six o’clock, watching for Taylor. Dusk settled in right along with anxiety over his likely reaction to her presence on his return. Still, she couldn’t make herself go. She switched on the outside lights illuminating the driveway and waited.

  Though he hadn’t said a word about his destination, she knew from what Darlene had told her that he was probably going to pick up his daughter. Even knowing that he would be furious to find her still around, she had dragged out her work until it seemed silly not to stay just a little longer. She needed to see for herself the child she might have shared with Taylor if only things had been different, needed to try to understand the currently unfathomable dynamics of their father-daughter relationship.

  She knew what she was doing was foolish, that it would be emotionally costly. Still, she stood there, gazing down the street, wondering how she dared to get involved. Once she’d left Port William, would she be able to bear thinking of that little girl going through life without a mother and banished by a father for reasons Zelda couldn’t begin to comprehend? Wouldn’t it be better not to know what Taylor’s child was like, how much she needed to be loved?

  Too late for caution now, she thought. Her heart began to hammer with anticipation as Taylor’s car turned the corner. As he pulled into the driveway, her breath seemed to catch in her throat. Finally the car door opened and Caitlin emerged.

  Instantly Zelda felt the tug on her heart, the sting of tears in her eyes. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t this placid, too thin child who walked so sedately at her father’s side instead of skipping ahead. She carried an expensive overnight bag rather than some outrageously colorful tote like the ones most youngsters preferred. So little, yet pretending to be so grown-up. Zelda’s heart ached for her.

  Picking up her own purse and firming her resolve, Zelda swiftly left the office, locking the door behind her. She met the pair on the walk, defiantly ignoring Taylor’s forbidding expression. She hunkered down in front of Caitlin and held out her hand.

  “Hi, I’m Zelda. I’m your dad’s new secretary. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  Caitlin placed one delicate hand in Zelda’s. “Hello,” she said, her tone very proper, very reserved. “I’m pleased to meet you, too.”

  She glanced up at her father for approval. Then with an obvious flash of childish curiosity, she asked, “What kind of name is Zelda?”

  “A troublesome one,” Zelda admitted with a self-conscious laugh. “My mother happened to love a particular author and since she couldn’t name me after him, she named me after his wife. When I was your age, I really hated my name. Now I don’t mind it so much.”

  “You probably just got used to it,” Caitlin said, displaying a wisdom beyond her years. Zelda couldn’t help wondering how often the child had been told that she would get used to something eventually, just to be patient.

  “Maybe I did get used to it,” Zelda agreed. “Or maybe it was that someone used to say my name with so much love in his voice that it suddenly seemed very special.” She could feel Taylor’s gaze burning into her, but she refused to look at him.

  “Your boyfriend?” Caitlin asked, obviously every bit as fascinated as she might have been by some gloriously romantic fairy tale.

  Zelda glanced up at Taylor, then back at his daughter. “Yes. He was, back then.”

  “Did you marry him?” Caitlin inquired ingenuously.

  Before Zelda could respond, Caitlin confided, “I’m going to marry a prince someday and live in a castle.”

  Zelda nodded seriously. “Now that seems like a very good goal to me,” she replied approvingly. “Have you picked out the castle?”

  Caitlin giggled. “No. I’ve never even seen one, but daddy promised to take me to…” She looked at her father. “What’s that place you said you’d take me?”

  “Europe,” Taylor said, his lips twitching with amusement. “It’s across the Atlantic Ocean. Remember, I showed you once on the globe.”

  “He showed me pictures of castles in a book, too,” Caitlin confided to Zelda. “I think I liked the one at Disney World best.”

  Taylor laughed aloud at that. Something inside Zelda twisted free at the sound. How long had it been since she’d heard his laughter?

  “Sweetheart, that wasn’t Disney World,” he
said, his hand caressing his daughter’s head. “That was Neuschwanstein in Germany. It was built by King Ludwig.”

  Caitlin wasn’t impressed by the historical information. “Well, it looked like the one at Disney World. I see it all the time on TV.” She inched a little closer to Zelda. “Maybe you’d like to stay for dinner and I could show you the castles, too. Do you know any princes?”

  Zelda heard the hopeful note in her voice, but she also caught the dismayed expression on Taylor’s face. Discretion called for polite excuses.

  “Maybe another time,” she promised. “Your dad probably already has other plans for tonight. I’m sure he wants to hear all about what you’re doing at school. And I can be thinking about whether I’ve ever crossed paths with any princes.”

  “But I’m not home very much,” Caitlin said wistfully, casting an appealing look up at her father. “It would by okay, wouldn’t it, Daddy? Please.”

  Zelda saw Taylor’s resolve wavering and knew that there was very little he would deny his daughter, no matter how hard he’d tried to distance himself from her by putting her out of sight in that boarding school. “If Zelda has the time, of course, she can stay,” he conceded with undisguised reluctance.

  Caitlin obviously wasn’t aware of the subtle nuances between the adults. Her eyes lit up. “See. I told you it would be okay. You can stay, can’t you?”

  Zelda regarded Taylor intently. He gave a faint, albeit unhappy, nod. “I would love to stay,” she told Caitlin, and meant it. She had been instantaneously charmed by this pint-size version of Taylor. A maternal instinct, long ago forced into dormancy, rebelliously reappeared.

  As if she sensed that she’d found an ally, the child immediately tucked her hand into Zelda’s and led her inside. “Maybe you can teach me to cook,” she said. “Daddy’s not very good.”

  “I know,” Zelda said, casting a sly look at the indignant Taylor, who was scowling with feigned ferocity at his traitorous daughter. “Once he tried to make me a hamburger and burned it to a crisp.”