had hurried home for quick visits with her grandmother. But on those occasions, she’d distanced herself from the Murdocks, always staying only a couple of days, sleeping in her old room at the farmhouse and keeping a low profile. During those rare trips, she’d never once ventured up the lane to visit the people who’d allowed her grandmother to stay on their land and still employed her grandmother’s services on occasion.
Now, she’d be forced to socialize with them, to snap happy pictures of Eli’s wedding to a girl Isabel had graduated high school with, a woman almost ten years younger than Eli. Well, at least Susan Webster was a wonderful woman. She’d make Eli a good wife, though for the life of her, Isabel couldn’t understand what had attracted petite, perky Susan to such a bully bear of a man.
“Oh, well, that’s none of my concern,” she reminded herself as she turned back to the mansion. She’d do her job, get her pay, then be on her way again to parts unknown. But right now, she wanted to get a shot of the house with the brilliant sunset behind it, and the wavering wildflowers out in the meadow in front of it. Then she’d head back to have supper with Grammy.
Finding a good angle, Isabel focused on the house, finding a side view so the massive columns lining the front of the two-storied house would be silhouetted in the sun’s glowing rays. With a flip of her wrist, she pushed her long blond hair back over her shoulders, then lifted her camera to click.
Then her heart stopped.
Through the lens, she saw a man standing at the edge of the wildflower patch on the other side of the house. Gasping, she dropped her arms down, almost dropping her expensive camera in the process. But surprise aside, Isabel knew a good shot when she saw one. She wanted to capture the man, whoever he might be, in the picture because the expression on his dark, rugged face clearly mirrored the mood of the mansion he stood staring up at.
Watching him as if he were a wild animal, Isabel barely moved for fear he’d spot her and bolt away. He looked that untamable, that intense. So intense in fact, that he wasn’t even aware she was just around the corner, hiding underneath a clump of tall camellia bushes.
For a minute, Isabel analyzed him, preparing herself for her subject. Tall, at least six feet, fit enough to fill out his faded jeans nicely, and…brooding. Definitely brooding. From the five o’clock shadow on his face and the stiff tufts of spiky hair on his forehead, he looked as if he had a chip on his broad shoulders that couldn’t be knocked off. His clipped dark hair mocked the wind playing through it, and every now and then, he’d lift a hand to scissor his fingers through the clump of hair that refused to stay off his face, the action speaking much louder than any gruff words he might want to shout out. This man was angry at someone or something. And…his actions seemed so familiar, so stirring.
Isabel wanted to capture that mood on film. Her artistic instincts had never failed her before. And the way her heart was beating now was a sure sign that she was on to something big here. She might not ever sell this photo, but she had to have this picture. Right now, while the light was playing off the planes and angles of his shadowed face.
Lifting her camera, she once again focused and then, holding her breath at the sheer poignant beauty of the shot, clicked the camera—once, twice, three times.
The third time, she moved closer.
And that’s when the man looked up and spotted her.
“Hey!” he shouted, a dark scowl covering his face as he began a mad stalk through the wildflowers like a raging bull about to attack. “What do you think you’re doing there, lady?”
Not one to take any unnecessary chances—she’d been in far more dangerous situations, but for some strange reason this man scared her—Isabel smiled and waved. “Just taking a picture. Thanks.”
Then she turned and as fast as her sandaled feet and flowing skirt could carry her, headed toward the lane, the echo of that deep, commanding voice wafting through her head on that vague mist of familiarity she’d felt on first seeing the man.
“Hey, wait a minute!”
She could feel him stomping after her. Picking up her pace, she trudged over delicate wildflowers, forgetting to follow the worn path that had been molded through the field over the years. Whoever he was, she’d apparently made him angry by interrupting his solitude. Maybe she should at least apologize and explain, but too many warning bells were clashing loudly in her head, telling her to get away.
“You’re on private property,” the man called, nearer now.
Isabel didn’t dare turn around, but from all the thrashing sounds, she knew he was gaining on her. Then, telling herself this was silly and that she really should speak to the man at least, she whirled just as he reached her. And came crashing into his firm chest.
The action sent the unprepared man sprawling backward even as he reached out a hand to grab Isabel. Which meant she went sprawling down with him, her camera still in one shaky hand.
Her breath coming hard, Isabel looked down at the man holding her, the scent of sweet flowers and rich loam wafting out around them as he stared up at her, a look of surprise coloring his features as his gaze moved over her face.
When she looked down into his gray eyes, Isabel gasped again as recognition hit her hard and fast, and a very real fear coursed through her. “Dillon?”
He squinted up at her, then as realization dawned in his deep blue-gray eyes, he dropped his hands away from her shoulders so she could get up. In a voice as hard-edged and grainy as the soil beneath them, he looked her over, his surprised gaze sweeping her face. “Isabel.”
It was a statement, said on a breath of disbelief.
Fussing with her blouse and skirt, Isabel used the brief time to gather her skittish thoughts. Had she also heard a bit of longing in his voice? Refusing to acknowledge her own longing, she turned to look him square in the face. “I’m sorry, Dillon. I didn’t realize who you were until you got close.”
Something in her drawling, soft-spoken words made Dillon Murdock’s squint deepen back into a scowl. He’d remembered that sweet voice in his dreams, in his memories, and he’d often wished he could hear it again in reality.
Maybe he was just wishing again now. The dusk was obviously playing tricks on his mind. After all, it wasn’t every day a man found a beautiful woman with long waves of blond hair and eyes as green as a pine forest, standing in the middle of a field of wildflowers as if she’d been waiting just for him. The same way Isabel used to wait right here for him.
To waylay the uneven beat of his heart, he said, “Well, since you’re the one who knocked me flat on my back, maybe you’d better tell me what you’re doing taking pictures of Wildwood.”
He didn’t know why she was here, Isabel thought wistfully. But then, he had no reason to know anything about her. They hadn’t exactly kept in touch over the years. And they’d both changed, obviously.
Last time she’d seen Dillon, he’d only been out of high school a few months, and in a rebellious resistance he’d sported long, scraggly hair and a thick beard. Now, the hair was different, cut short and spiky, and only the remnants of a day’s worth of beard covered his brooding face. Yet, she’d sensed something so familiar in him. Too familiar.
Determination and bitterness clouding her dreams away, she rose to her feet to stare down at him. “Relax, I’m just here to take pictures of your brother’s wedding.”
Dillon sat still, then let out a hissing breath before he stood to follow her retreating floral cotton skirts. Isabel. The minute he’d said her name, all the memories had come rushing back. Boy, she’d certainly changed from the scrawny, dirty-faced kid with cropped blond hair and bony knees. The last time he’d seen Isabel…He wasn’t ready to remember the last time he’d seen her. Not yet.
“Isabel?” he called now, refusing to go back to the dark days of his youth. “Hey, wait a minute, will you?”
“You told me I was on private property,” she reminded him with a haughty