Without meeting Melanie’s gaze, Livie went across the room to her toy shelf, and when she returned with a brunette Barbie, her gaze was fixed on that dress, her eyes shining.
As she put the frock on her doll, Melanie’s gaze lit on the bridal dress, too, unable to look away, as thoughts of Zane Foley taunted her with something she knew she would never have with a man like him.
Zane hadn’t moved an inch from his desk, ever since getting off the phone with his brother. Jason and he had been cut short by a slew of phone calls from Zane’s office, and he was just wrapping up the latest one while he multitasked, paging through a bound hard-copy file for the Santa Magdalena Diamond that he’d pulled from his library.
Magazine articles, news transcripts—everything, he thought, as he scanned a computer printout about Great Grandfather Elwin and his alleged role in making off with the gem. Zane was going through it all, just to see if he could find something he’d missed, a clue that might let him know where that diamond could’ve gone—something to lead him to it before the McCords saw it first.
Meanwhile, he listened to his assistant, Cindy, as she talked over the speakerphone.
“Just in case you’re wondering,” she drawled in her wry manner, “we’ve got your Fourth of July Dallas Children’s Hospital charity event about set and ready.”
“Two months ahead of time?”
“I aim to please, sir. Expect a crew to be descending on Tall Oaks within the month, to start whipping the estate into shape. You’ve commented yourself that it’s not exactly in showcase form.”
Zane was still looking at the diamond file. Sometimes Cindy could be incredibly direct, like a less-tactful version of—
As he thought of Melanie Grandy, his gaze drifted from the paperwork. Lively blue eyes, a spark in every gesture…
He wondered how she was getting on with Livie so far. Wondered if he would be having to hire another nanny soon.
Something like disappointment sank within him, but he ignored it.
“Next item on your list?” he asked.
“I’m working on your other charity commitments, but there’re no updates on those yet. However, we’ve got a lot to cover about that state representative seat. Judge Duarte’s been ringing my phone off the hook to get through to you about running during the next election.”
“I know.” Zane had been avoiding any and all calls about it. “That man’s head is thicker than timber. What’s it going to take to get him to understand that I’m not interested in running for anything?”
“You’d be perfect for it, Mr. Foley. Besides, your family isn’t exactly the hands-off type when it comes to politics.”
True, but Zane preferred to let his fundraising abilities and civic activism do the talking.
“I’ll call Duarte tomorrow,” he said. “By the way, isn’t it about time you headed home? Mike probably has dinner all cooked up for you.”
“Carne asada. I love being a newlywed and having a barbecue master for a hubby.”
“Then scram before he leaves you.”
“Yes, sir.”
With that, they ended the call, but it wasn’t two minutes later that Zane got another one.
He didn’t mind, though. Business kept him going, gave him less time to think about everything else.
He saw his youngest brother Travis’s number on the caller ID, so he donned his earpiece, left the study and went to the kitchen, since his stomach felt empty.
“Hey, Trav,” Zane said as he walked down the dark hall. He knew every unlit step by heart. “You out on the range?”
“Just got back in from seeing to some fences that needed fixing. I hear Jason told you about the McCords’ unwelcome interest in the ranch.”
“That’s right.”
“I already talked to him about the grand plan with Penny McCord. I don’t love this sneaking around Jason’s going to be doing with her,” he said, “but if it clears the air in any way, I’ll live with it.”
He distrusted the McCords just the same as any of them, yet Travis was a cowboy, a loner, and loathed being distracted by what he thought to be less important matters, such as the other family’s “sniffing around.”
“Jace and I didn’t want to go forward on anything without your knowing it,” Zane said, opening the fridge, discovering that it didn’t contain much more than a drop of milk in a carton, and several long-neck bottles of beer. He grabbed one of those and headed for a pantry cupboard.
“Jason said the same thing.” Travis waited a beat, and Zane could hear the change in his voice as he switched gears. The less time he could dwell on the McCords, the better. “Aside from the drama, I hear you’ve got yourself a new nanny. Jason thinks you like her.”
Zane almost dropped his beer, and it wasn’t just because Travis was being a smart-ass.
It was because a bolt of contained need had shot through him, released from somewhere deep down, where he’d repressed the longing, thinking that it was useless.
He recovered in time to say, “For Pete’s sake, do you two live in a middle-school locker room?”
Travis laughed softly. “Just bustin’ your chops. But he did tell me that Livie’s finally going to have some dedicated company again. I have to say I’m glad for that, because I imagine she’s lonely over there.”
Zane wrapped up all remainders of desire that he’d felt this afternoon, packing it tightly away at the mention of his daughter.
Travis and Jason adored their niece, and occasionally they tried to let Zane know that he could improve his fatherly skills.
But they didn’t understand how tough it was. They hadn’t lived with Danielle, hadn’t tried to keep it all together after her death.
How could they understand Zane’s failures and his need to keep it from happening again with Livie?
“Zane,” Travis said, clearly knowing that he was treading on thin ice, “I know the anniversary of Danielle’s death is coming up, and I’m sorry for broaching this again, but what’re you going to do about Livie?”
“Stay out of this, Travis.”
Every inch a Foley, his sibling did no such thing.
“You think it’s a good idea to keep sweeping every mention of Danielle under the carpet?” his brother asked. “It’s not like Livie’s ever going to forget she had a mother. Your pretending as if Danielle never existed is only going to do more harm than good.”
Zane’s temper crept up, squeezing his temples.
But maybe “temper” was the wrong word. “Remorse” was more like it.
“I don’t need to hear this from you,” he said.
“Zane—”
Unable to stand any more, he hung up on his brother and leaned against the cupboard in the darkness of his home, wanting to say he was sorry.
And not just to Travis, either.
At ten minutes to six, a bell clanged from downstairs, and Livie jumped up from her spot on the floor in her upstairs playroom, immediately beginning to tidy all the Barbies and stuffed animals she’d brought out.