Donovan's Child

He rolled out from behind his twin computer screens and came at her, fast, stopping cleanly a foot from her shoes. “He left a half hour ago.”

Her throat clutched. She gulped. “What do you mean, left?”

“He packed his suitcases and he left. He said he needed to get out of this house, away from here. Far away.”

“For … how long?”

Donovan blew out a breath. “Abilene. He quit.”

She felt awful. Yes, Ben had been upset last night. But she’d never imagined he would just pack up and move out, just walk away from a job he’d had for two years now. “But where will he go?”

Donovan stared up at her. His sky-colored eyes, as always, saw far too clearly. “If you cared that much, you wouldn’t have turned him down when he made his play, now would you?”

She eased backward, around the drafting table, and sank into the swivel chair behind it, not even caring that Donovan would see the move for what it was: a retreat. “How would you know if he made a play for me?”

He let out a low sound—dismissive? Disbelieving? She couldn’t tell which. “I guessed. And since you’re not denying it, I’m thinking I guessed right.”

She threw up both hands. “What do you want me to say?”

“How about the truth?”

“Fine. All right. He did ask me out. I said no.” She glared at him, daring him to say one more word about it.

He said nothing. He only sat there, his strong hands gripping the wheels of his chair, watching her face.

She dropped her hands, flat, to the drafting table, making a hard slapping sound. “Where will he go, Donovan?” Tears of frustration—and yes, guilt, too—tried to rise. She gulped them down, hard.

He rolled a fraction closer and spoke with surprising gentleness. “Stop worrying. He owns a house in Fort Worth, near his family. And he’s an excellent engineer. I gave him a glowing letter of recommendation. He’ll easily find another job. Plus, it wasn’t just you. I think he was getting a little tired of things around here. A little tired of the isolation, of dealing with me. He was ready to move on. And he definitely has options as to what to do next. So please, take my word on it, Ben is going to be fine.”

She stared at him, vaguely stunned. He had just been kind to her, hadn’t he? He’d made a real effort to soothe her worries about Ben.

Had he ever once been kind to her before?

Not that she recalled. And Donovan McRae being kind … that was something she would definitely have remembered.

She pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks, murmured softly, “It’s … kind of you, to say that.”

“Not kind,” he answered gruffly. “It’s only the simple truth.”

A weak laugh escaped her. “You just can’t stand it, can you? To have someone call you kind?”

“Because I’m not kind. I’m a hardheaded SOB with absolutely no consideration for anyone but myself. We both know that.”

She closed her eyes, pressed her fingertips against her shut eyelids and wished she could quit thinking about the things Ben had said last night—about how she had a thing for Donovan. About how, if she had questions for Donovan, she should gut up and ask them of the man himself.

Well, she absolutely did not have a thing for Donovan. Not in the way Ben had meant. She was only … intrigued by him. She was curious about him.

And yes, she wanted to help him get past whatever was eating at him, whatever had made him turn his back on his own life.

Was that so wrong?

He was watching her. Way too closely. “All right.” He pulled a very clever sort of wheelie maneuver, leaning back in the chair, so the wheels lifted a fraction, turning while the wheels were lifted, and then rolling the chair backward until he was sitting beside her at the drafting table. “What terrifying thoughts are racing through that mind of yours?” He almost sounded … friendly.

So she told him. “I think you need someone to talk to.”

“About what?”

“About … all the stuff that’s bothering you. I think you need to see a trained professional.”

He craned away from her in the chair. “A psychiatrist. You think I need a shrink.”

“I do. Yes.”

“No.”

“Just like that?” She raised a hand and snapped her fingers. “No?”

“That’s right. Just like that.”

“Donovan, you’re a very intelligent man. You have to know that there’s no shame in seeking help.”

“I didn’t say there was shame in it. I only said no. And since I am perfectly sane and a danger to no one, I have that right. I’m allowed to say no.”

“It’s not about being sane. I know you’re sane.”

“That’s a relief.” He pretended to wipe sweat off his brow.

“I just thought that if you could talk it out with a professional, if you could—”

“I’ll say it once more, since you have a bad habit of not listening when I say things the first time. No.”

She could see she was getting nowhere on the shrink front. So she moved on to the next issue. “Then how about this? Will you go into Chula Mesa with me some evening?”

He actually groaned. “Didn’t I make it clear two weeks ago that I was not going to Chula Mesa—with you, or otherwise?”

“You could rethink that. You could change your mind. People do that, you know, change their minds?”

“Abilene. Have you ever been in Chula Mesa?”

“Well, besides driving through it, no, I haven’t.”

“I’ve been in Chula Mesa. I’ve seen it all, been there. Done that. I don’t need to go there again.”

“Just … think about it. Please.”

“I fail to understand what a visit to Chula Mesa could possibly accomplish.”

“We’ll get out of the house, see other people, broaden our horizons a little.”