worked the land so hard it had eventually killed him. Little Isabel, whom Eli and he had teased unrelentingly all through grammar school and high school. Isabel, afraid and ashamed, defiant and lost, a young girl who’d worn her feelings on her sleeves and carried her heart in her hand.
He’d known the girl all his life. Now he wanted to know the woman. “Isabel,” he said as he reached out to grab her arm. “I’m sorry.”
She whirled to face him in the muted dusk, thinking his apologies always had come too easily. “Sorry for what? I was the one who got caught where I wasn’t supposed to be. Some things never change.”
He jammed a hand through his hair in frustration. “Well, you’re certainly right about that.” Her words only reminded him of all the things he’d done to bring his life to this point. Glancing back at the house looming in the distance, he said, “I don’t know why I came back here.”
“Me, either,” Isabel said, some of her anger disappearing. Why should she be angry with Dillon for questioning her about being on Murdock property? She’d always been a hindrance to the powerful Murdocks, anyway. And she’d do best to remember that now, when her heart was pounding and her mind was reeling at seeing Dillon again. “I’d better get back to Grammy,” she said at last, to break the intensity of his dusk gray eyes.
Dillon knew it was rude to stare, but he couldn’t help himself, and besides, he’d never been one to fall back on manners. He was so amazed to be standing here, seeing her again after so many years. She’d literally knocked the wind out of him, and now in typical Isabel style, she wanted to run away. “Stay a while,” he said, his hand still on her bare arm, his gaze lingering a bit too long on her face. “Stay and tell me why you were taking my picture.”
“No.” She tried to pull away. She did not want to be with Dillon Murdock.
But he refused to let her go. “Then stay long enough to tell me why you came back to Wildwood—and don’t tell me it was just to take a few pictures.”
Wanting to show him he couldn’t get to her the way he used to when they were younger, Isabel retorted, “I think a better question would be—what are you doing back here, Dillon?”
He dropped her arm then to step back, away from the accusation and condemnation he saw in her eyes. “Well now, that’s real simple, Isabel,” he said in a voice silky with sarcasm. “I came back at my mother’s request, to witness my brother’s happy nuptials.” He shrugged, then lifted a hand in farewell, or maybe dismissal. Backing away, he called, “Yes, the prodigal son has returned.”
With that, he turned into the gathering twilight, his dark silhouette highlighted by the rising moon and the silvery shadow of Wildwood—the house that once had been his home.
“Dillon, wait,” Isabel called a few seconds later. When he just kept walking, she hurried after him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t question your being here. You have every right to be here.”
“Do I?” he asked as he whirled around to face her, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, his eyes flashing like quicksilver. “Do I really, Isabel?”
“It’s still your home,” she reminded him as they faced each other in front of the house. “And it’s still beautiful.”
Dillon snorted and inclined his head toward the other side of the country road, away from the mansion. “That’s not my home, and that house is not beautiful. Not to me.”
Isabel shifted her gaze to the big house sitting across the way. Eli’s modern new luxury home. Grammy had told her he’d built it a couple of years ago. Now, their mother, Cynthia Murdock, lived there with her son.
“I guess Susan will be moving in soon,” she said, very much aware of Dillon’s obvious scorn for the elegant brick house with the lavish landscaping.
“I guess so,” Dillon replied, his gaze reflecting the timid moonlight covering them like a fine mist. “Hope she can stand the squeaky clean linoleum and all the gadgets and gizmos my brother had installed.”
“It’s probably more convenient for your mother, at least,” Isabel said, trying to be tactful.
Dillon scoffed again. “Yeah, well, Eli always did have Mother’s best interest at heart.”
He turned then, his eyes moving over the old plantation house. He stood stoic and still, then said in a voice soft with regret, “I miss this house. I wanted to come home to this house.”
Isabel’s heart went out to him. Dillon, always the wild child, always the scrapper, getting into trouble, getting into jams that his father and older brother had had to pull him out of. Dillon, the son who’d left in a huff, mad at the world in general, and hadn’t looked back. Now, he was home, for whatever reason.
Isabel could feel sympathy for whatever Dillon Murdock was experiencing. He’d had it all handed to him. His life had been so easy, so perfect. And what had he done? Thrown it all back in his parents’ faces. What she would have given to have been able to live with that kind of security, with that kind of protection. But instead, she’d had to live in a house so full of holes, the winter wind had chilled her to the bone each night as she’d lain underneath piles of homemade quilts. She’d had to live in a house with run-down plumbing and a leaky roof, simply because the Murdocks didn’t deem her family good enough for repairs. They lived in the house for free; what more did they want anyway? That had been the consensus, as far as the Murdocks were concerned. No, she couldn’t feel sorry for Dillon Murdock. Yet she did, somehow. And that made her put up her guard.
“I always loved this house,” she said now as she strolled over to the raised porch of the mansion. Swinging her slight frame up onto the splintered planks, she sat staring out into the night, into Dillon Murdock’s eyes. “It’s a shame it has to stand empty. Some people don’t realize what they have, obviously.”
She hadn’t meant the statement to sound so bitter, but she could see Dillon hadn’t missed the edge in her words. He came to stand in front of her, his eyes lifting to meet hers. “You’re right there. It took me a long time to learn that lesson.”
Isabel studied him, searching for clues of the life he must have led. But Dillon’s face was as hard as granite, blank and unflinching, unreadable. Until she looked into his eyes. There, she saw his soul, raw and battered, his eyes as aged and gray as the wood underneath the peeling paint of this old house.
“So, you’ve come home,” she said, accepting that he didn’t owe her any explanations. Accepting that she didn’t need, or want, to get involved with the Murdocks’ personal differences.
Dillon stepped so close, she could see the glint of danger in his eyes, could feel the warmth of his breath fanning her hair away from her face. His nearness caused a fine row of goose bumps to go racing down her bare arms, in spite of the warm spring night. Yet, she didn’t dare move. She just sat there, holding her breath, hoping he’d back away. But he didn’t.
“We’ve both come home, Isabel,” he observed as he leaned against the aging porch. “But the question is, what have we come home to?”
With that, he turned and stalked away into the night, leaving her to wonder if she’d made the right decision after all. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her hair away from her face and wondered if maybe she should have stayed away from Wildwood a little longer. Well, she was here now. But while she was here, she’d be sure to stay clear of Dillon Murdock.
She didn’t like feeling sorry for him. She didn’t like feeling anything for him.
Yet, she did. Even after all these years, she still did.
Chapter Two
The smell of homemade cinnamon rolls greeted Isabel as she entered the screened back door of the old farmhouse. Grammy had already set the table, complete with fresh flowers from her garden. Touching her hand to a bright orange Gerber daisy, Isabel closed her eyes for just a minute. It was good to be home, in spite of her feelings regarding Wildwood.