When they came to the capitol building, the guide went into a coughing fit and kept excusing himself. Olivia hurried to a nearby bar to get him some water. Dustin was actually feeling so comfortable and relaxed that he offered to tell the story. The distressed guide raised his eyebrows; Dustin launched in. Olivia, running back with a bottle of water, looked at him curiously.
He bowed to her and began his speech.
“When Tennessee first became a state, the capital was Knoxville—Nashville was the frontier back then, little more than a wilderness. But by 1806, Nashville was starting to thrive. Yeah...a lot of outlying areas were still wilderness, but she was now becoming a great city. An important city. So Nashville was voted as the capital but the seat of government was just a small building. In 1845, Architect William Strickland was hired to construct the new capitol building. He fought constantly with Samuel Morgan during the many years it took to get the building completed. Morgan, called the ‘Merchant Prince of Nashville,’ had been appointed by the Capitol Commission to oversee construction. The two men did not get into a duel or murder each other, but alas, they both died, William Strickland in 1854, Morgan some years later, in 1880. The capitol building wasn’t complete at Strickland’s death, but he would be interred in a vault within its walls. This honor went to only one other man—Samuel Morgan. Today, people believe, you can still hear the two of them, arguing eternally over the most minute details of construction.”
By then the guide had recovered. He asked if Dustin would mind if he took over again, and Dustin stepped back beside Olivia. Not thinking, he placed an arm around her shoulders. She laughed at the guide’s antics and didn’t seem to notice.
When the tour was over, he drove back to the small chain motel, where they checked into adjoining rooms under his name alone.
He bade Olivia good-night and went to his own room. He’d slipped his Glock into the top drawer of his bedside table and had stripped down to his briefs when there was a knock at the adjoining door.
He rose and walked over, opening it partially.
Olivia stood there in a sheer black gown with red trim. It might have been the most seductive garment he’d ever seen—on the most seductive body.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” His voice was too deep, too gruff.
“I...was thinking about those one-night no-obligation flings you talked about.”
He felt as if he’d suddenly become paralyzed, and then he felt as if someone had set him on fire. He lowered his head, fighting the fierce longing that ripped through him.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I apologize. I can tell that...” She started to step back, to close her side of the door. He stopped her, his hand firmly on the door she would have closed.
“Don’t you see?” he asked her, his tone harsh. “I do know your number—and it would mean something.”
She didn’t fight him. She didn’t run in embarrassment.
She met his eyes. “Yes, yes, it would. Thank you. Thank you for rejecting me. I think.”
“I’d never really reject you,” he whispered.
She looked down and then back up at him, a trace of amusement in her eyes. “That’s very sweet. Thank you again. And good night.”
Olivia shut the door, and he allowed her to do so. He went to bed, knowing he should have been seeking a killer in his mind even as he fell asleep. He should have been thinking about clues, about putting together small pieces of information in some logical order.
Instead...
He dreamed of what the night might have been.
8
No way out of it. Olivia was almost certain that the morning would be incredibly awkward. She wasn’t sure why she’d done what she’d done; maybe it was the way they’d laughed together or how much they’d shared. Maybe it was simply that she’d been impressed with the man from the moment she’d seen him. Maybe it was the fact that she’d given too much of herself and her life to the Horse Farm.
It was a wonderful place. No, they weren’t a cure-all or a fix for everything that befell humanity. They didn’t cause autism to vanish; they didn’t make Down syndrome disappear. They couldn’t automatically make an addict see the light. But they did help people learn about trust, self-worth and their ability to control themselves, their own lives, within the world around them. Most important, perhaps, to believe that they could love themselves. All this because of Marcus Danby.
All of it could be ruined. And here she was, upset about being rejected when she’d made her first sexually aggressive move ever. An action she still didn’t entirely understand...
But what a nice rejection.
For a moment, mortification seized her. Did men talk? Would he call Malachi and say, “That cousin of yours is really something. She tried to hop into my bed last night.”
She didn’t think so—oh, not that men didn’t talk! She just didn’t think Dustin would be so callous.
She’d just finished brushing her hair when there was a tap on the connecting door. She opened it. Dustin was dressed and ready to go. “I figure you have to be at work,” he said.
“I do. But I have to go by the house first to take care of Sammy.”
“Of course. Sorry. I was planning on stopping at your place first, anyway. I want to see if we have footprints on your porch.” He grimaced. “You can tell I don’t have a pet.”
“You should have a pet,” she told him. “You’d be a good pet owner.”
“Pets deserve more than I can give,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “Let’s grab some coffee in the lobby and drive to your house. After that, once you get your own car, I’m still going to follow you.”
“Sounds good.”
She picked up her backpack and they walked to the lobby, where the motel offered coffee and Danishes. They each filled cups and quickly chose some food.
To her relief, their time together wasn’t awkward at all. He was completely natural. Still fun, still quick to smile, even quicker to tease her.
But when he pulled into her driveway, he sat there for a few seconds, looking over at her. It was going to get awkward then, she just knew it.
“I don’t even know how to say what I want to say, what I want you to know. I can’t tell you how much I would have loved to have been with you last night. You’re...spellbinding. That’s the only word I can think of. You must have some idea how attractive you are. More than attractive—beautiful, inside and out. And I admire what you do. But...I wouldn’t want just one night. I’d want a lot more. And we both know what it’s like when people leave—or when you have to go.”
She gazed down at her hands and then raised her eyes to meet his. “When I said thank you, I meant it. You were really decent about the...situation. You were honest—and kind. You’re a good person.” To her, there was no higher praise.
“No, no, I’m not. I spent years being bitter and wondering why I was a freak. Then I spent more years patting myself on the back for being a freak—but for dealing with it so well. I finally figured out that my...unusual skills could be of some service in the right line of... Good? Decent? I don’t know. I’m kind of hard and brash and not always socially adept. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder. But I do care about you, and—”