You've Got Male (14 page)

Dixon was about to say something himself—something like
Oh, for God’s sake, people, get over yourselves—
when Carly Nesbitt rose and looked at Avery. She even smiled at her younger sister. Well, it kind of looked like a smile. If she stood a certain way. Like backward. But he decided not to hold it against her—yet.

Instead of speaking to Avery, Carly let her gaze roll right off her sister—in the same way it might have rolled over a piece of lint on the rug—and rove to Dixon instead. “And who are you?” she asked. “Are you one of Gillespie’s little friends?”

Dixon frowned. Okay, he’d hold it against her now. Bitch. He reached into his jacket pocket with the hand Avery wasn’t choking to death, and extracted his ID. It took a moment for him to realize that Carly was waiting for him to step forward to hand it to her, and when he did realize that, Dixon stayed right where he was. She sighed a much-put-upon sigh and started to take a step forward, but before she completed it, Dixon tossed the leather case toward her. Oops. Guess he should pay closer attention next time. Caught off guard, Carly’s eyes went wide, and she fumbled to catch the ID case. But it bounced off her fingers and landed on the floor a few feet away from her, not six inches from Cowboy’s right foot.

She floundered for a second after the fact but quickly recovered her composure. After shaking her black curls from her face, she hooked one hand on her hip and waited for one of the men to retrieve the ID for her. So Dixon and Cowboy, in a rare occurrence of thinking the same way, exchanged identical expressions of bemusement and, as one, turned to gaze back at Carly in silence.

Carly frowned.

Dixon and Gillespie looked bemused.

She dipped her head toward the ID case lying on the floor.

They looked bemused.

She expelled a sound of clear exasperation and strode casually toward Cowboy, bending to scoop up the ID as she passed. Then she continued walking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, circling back to the love seat. And Dixon had to hand it to his temporary partner, because Cowboy didn’t kick the case out of her reach before she got there, which Dixon couldn’t have guaranteed he wouldn’t have done himself, had their positions been switched.

“Santiago Dixon?” Carly said incredulously, glancing up from the case she had opened with one hand. “Am I actually supposed to believe that’s your real name?”

In response to her question, Dixon released Avery’s hand and strode forward, removed his ID case from Carly’s fingers, stepped back and took Avery’s hand in his again. In doing so he figured he’d acknowledged and replied to Carly Nesbitt, who was a stranger to him, which was more than she had done for her own sister.

He turned to Desmond IV. “Mr. Nesbitt,” he said, “OPUS appreciates your cooperation in this matter.” Though truly Dixon still didn’t know why OPUS had wanted the man’s cooperation in this matter. “Gillespie and I will do our best not to disrupt the normal routine of your family while we’re here, and—”

“Just why
are
you here?” Carly demanded. “No one’s really bothered to explain that to—”

“Not that someone didn’t try,” Cowboy interjected.

“—us in any way that’s made sense,” Carly continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And speaking as a resident of this house, which is more than I can say for most of the people in this room, I find the whole thing unbelievably inconvenient. Not to mention potentially dangerous. And also thoughtless. And crass.”

“And tacky,” Cowboy threw in. “Don’t forget tacky.”

Thinking it might be best to just ignore
every
one for now, Dixon directed his reply to the elder Desmond. “With luck, Mr. Nesbitt, we won’t have to stay here for more than a couple of weeks. Hopefully it will be less than one. There will be no danger to anyone in your family, and we’ll do our best to stay out of your way.” He would have assured the elder Nesbitt they’d all be fashionable, too, but remembered how Avery had been dressed the first time he’d seen her and hesitated. No need to be hasty.

Carly completed the three steps necessary to put herself directly between Dixon and her father. Then she fisted her hands on her hips and stated quite baldly, “You’re already in our way.”

Although he could rectify that by tossing Carly Nesbitt out a window, Dixon instead strode forward until he stood toe-to-toe with her and glared down at her as hard as he could. To her credit, she didn’t back down one iota, and in fact seemed to push herself up on tiptoe to get farther into his face. Biting back a growl, he continued on his way
around
her, so that he could look at Desmond Nesbitt again.

“Gillespie and I will need someplace to set up our equipment,” he continued. “Preferably someplace quiet and apart from the rest of the family. I noticed a guesthouse as we were driving in,” he added, even though he hadn’t actually seen the house and was taking Avery’s word for it. “That would probably be ideal for our needs.”

“Oh, no,” Carly said adamantly, spinning around and moving between Dixon and her father again. “The guesthouse is where
I
live. It’s
mine
now. You’ll have to set up in—” She halted abruptly, clamping her mouth shut tight. She blinked slowly once, inhaled a deep breath and continued, “In…her…old room.”

All right, that was it. Dixon had had enough. Obviously the Nesbitts had chosen the wrong daughter to ostracize. How the hell had they gotten the two of them confused? He opened his mouth to put Carly Nesbitt in her place—and that window was looking better all the time—when Avery’s brother decided to get in on the action, too.

“The guesthouse is
not
yours,” he stated flatly as he rose from the love seat and approached his sister. “It may be where you’re living right now, but it doesn’t belong to you. The entire estate will eventually come to
me.
Including the guesthouse.”

Translation, Dixon thought, once the old folks were rotting in their graves—preferably sooner than later, from the tone of Desmond V’s voice—his beloved sister would be hitting the bricks. And, gosh, it just made Dixon feel all warm and fuzzy inside to see such devotion and munificence between siblings, not to mention such love and respect for their still-very-much-alive parents.

“Don’t count your acreage before it’s hatched, Desi,” Carly countered without an ounce of concern. “I’ve still got my attorneys working on Daddy’s will. That bequest-to-the-male-offspring thing that Great-Grandfather insisted on is
so
yesterday. It’s only a matter of time before you and I are equal partners in the will. Besides,” she added with a smirk, “I’m more man than you’ll ever be.”

Desmond V went scarlet at the slur on his masculinity. Not that Dixon blamed him. Not that he disagreed with Carly. She was
mucho hombre,
no two ways about it.

“It’s
mine,
” Desmond V reiterated manfully. Well, kind of manfully. “The big house. The guesthouse. All of it. But maybe if you’re nice to me, I’ll let you keep living here. Maybe.”

That’s it, Desi. Don’t back down. You go, girl.

Dixon shook his head in amazement. That two siblings could be challenging the will of their still-living parents while those parents looked on without comment—or so much as a sniffle to indicate failing health—was more than a little troubling. But the bickering continued for several minutes without a word from the elder Nesbitts. Clearly it was an old argument, one they heard often. Nevertheless, had the two been Dixon’s children arguing about his possessions as if they couldn’t wait for his death, he would have dragged them out to the woodshed. And then he would have willed every nickel he owned to Beekeepers for a Tree-Hugging, Whale-Loving, Non-Fur-Wearing Planet.

As Carly and Desmond V carried on, Avery stood silently watching them. Dixon wondered if she’d ever gotten caught up in the sibling battles when she was living here, but decided pretty quickly that she hadn’t. For one thing, she didn’t seem like the type to care about whether or not she’d end up with the family jewels—especially since Desmond V was in such dire need of them himself. For another thing, he couldn’t see her succumbing to such juvenile behavior, in spite of being the youngest of the three Nesbitt offspring.

It was Desmond IV who finally put an end to the squabble. And he did it, Dixon noted, simply by standing up. As soon as he began to unfold himself from the couch, the contentious siblings shut their traps.

“Here’s how it’s going to work,” he announced. “Carly, you’ll speak civilly to your brother. Desi, you’ll speak civilly to your sister. And you’ll both speak civilly and be civil to Avery.”

It didn’t escape Dixon’s notice that the man omitted any mention of Avery’s relationship to the rest of them, just as everyone else—Avery included—had done. This was not a well family, he thought. And they did not put the
fun
in dys
fun
ctional, either.

“We’ve had enough unrest in this house to last a lifetime,” the elder Nesbitt continued, clearly confident that no one would mess with him once he started talking. He looked at Avery, then back at his other children. “Whether Avery has been living here or not. And this will be the end of it. Now.”

Dixon wished he could believe it. But one look at the other Nesbitt children and he knew better. If looks could kill, Avery would be nuclear fallout right now. The prodigal daughter may have returned. But by the looks of it, she was going to be the fatted calf they slaughtered for dinner.

A
VERY KNEW HER FATHER WAS
talking, but her head was too full of static for her to make sense of what he said. Something about Dixon and Gillespie setting up their equipment in her old room and assigning Dixon the guest room across the hall from hers and insisting their activities not jeopardize the big party he and his wife were hosting next week. And then something about raging black thunderheads and big hairy spiders and bloody butcher knives and…Oh, no, wait, that was the panic stuff interrupting again. Her father was saying something about putting Gillespie in the guesthouse apartment that Carly wasn’t using.

That, Avery suspected, was her father’s way of telling his oldest child not to get too attached to the place, because it was indeed intended for Desi, her lawyers be damned. And putting Dixon across the hall from Avery would serve two purposes. One, it would be convenient. And two, it would prevent her parents from having to keep an eye on her.

Avery didn’t mind, though. She was strangely reassured knowing Dixon would be so close. So far, he was the only one in the house who’d shown any concern for her. She felt closer to him at the moment than she did anyone in her family. And how bad was that? That someone she’d known a matter of days and with whom she’d shared little more than friction should make her feel more comfortable than the people she had once called her family?

Dixon and Gillespie exchanged a few more words with her father, then they chatted with each other to set up a timetable for when and where and how everything would get done. All the while Carly and Desi circled the wagons. But they created two perimeters instead of one, naturally, neither realizing how much weaker they would be as a result. Or maybe they did realize it and just didn’t care. Priorities for the Nesbitts had never exactly harmonized. Or made sense.

When it finally looked as if everything had been settled—at least Gillespie took off to do whatever he was supposed to be doing—Avery figured she could go, too. If she knew
where
to go. Her old room, she supposed, since that was where her father said she would be sleeping. But she suddenly felt as if she shouldn’t go anywhere until her host and hostess showed her around.

Telling herself that was silly, she turned to make her way out. But the second she stepped into the hall, she felt panic trying to claw its way in. Fear piled in her belly, terror wrapped around her heart and the demons started tap-tap-tapping at her brain. Her throat closed up, her face went hot and her entire body began to tremble.

And then the world began to collapse on top of her.

Until she felt Dixon’s hand on her shoulder and heard his voice near her ear murmuring, “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not going anywhere without me, Peaches.”

His touch and his words jerked her back into her surroundings just enough that she was able to spin clumsily around to look at him. She pinned her attention on his opaque green eyes, making herself think of nothing but their curious color, forcing herself to not succumb to the terror ripping at her insides. He seemed to realize what was happening to her, because his sarcastic smile fell and his expression turned to one of alarm. He cupped his other hand gently over her other shoulder and said very softly, “Don’t panic.”

She swallowed with some difficulty, but couldn’t make herself speak. Her mouth was as dry as soot and not much more useful. Her entire body was numb, immobile. Her brain was a screeching mass of chaos, fear warring with paranoia, anxiety mixing with dread, all of it blending together in a way that made her think she would never pull herself together again.

“Avery,” Dixon said, still speaking quietly. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She saw his mouth moving, could even hear him talking, but what he said made no sense. Nothing to be afraid of? How could he say that? There was
every
thing to be afraid of.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

She tried again to speak, failed again to do so. But the fear wasn’t quite as overwhelming as it had been before, and somehow she managed to hold it at bay. She continued to focus on Dixon’s face, on his strangely beautiful eyes and the way the green turned smoky gray at their center.

“Avery,” he said again even more quietly than before. “You’re all right, sweetheart. Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

By the time he spoke those last two words, she was beginning to come out of it. The terror ebbed, the dread slunk away and the panic gradually receded. Little by little, reality returned, and she saw the long hallway of her parents’ house stretching before her. But where it had seemed interminable before, now she saw the end of it—the front door leading outside, which was no safer than where she stood right now.

Then she realized that wasn’t true. Where she stood right now was indeed safe. But not because it was familiar. She couldn’t quite say why she felt safe here, and really, she wasn’t completely at ease. But she could function now. She could manage. She could look away from Dixon’s face and see her parents, her brother and sister and Tanner Gillespie all staring back. At some point during the last few minutes she had twined her fingers in the front of Dixon’s sweater, viciously enough that her fingers ached. Now she released him, absently brushing her palms over the garment to smooth the wadded-up fabric. But he caught her hands in his and pulled them away from his body, so she jerked herself the rest of the way free and dropped her hands to her sides.

“I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely.

“No problem,” Dixon replied just as softly.

No one said anything more for a moment, then Avery’s father took a step forward. “What the hell was that?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to tell him, not sure how to explain the panic attacks she’d never had when living at home, but Dixon spoke before she had a chance.

“Nothing,” he told her father. “Just a little disorientation trying to figure out which way to go. Understandable, since she hasn’t set foot in this house for ten years.”

And somehow, the way he said it, he made it sound as if he was also telling her parents they ought to be ashamed of themselves for that. Avery told herself she was just imagining it, that she was confused in the aftermath of her near panic attack, that Dixon had only said what he did to hurry things along so they could get everything set up and go to work.

But her father seemed to have heard the same thing she did, because he replied in a surprisingly gentle voice, “Well. She’s here now. Time enough to reacquaint herself with everything.”

She told herself he wasn’t including the family in that
everything.
But at least he didn’t sound angry.

Another awkward silence ensued, as if no one knew what to say or do or feel. Avery included. She wished she could just shrink into a little ball and disappear, or that she would wake up and discover the past few days had been a dream. She wanted to be back at home, seated in front of her computer, flirting and chatting with Andrew—an Andrew who was real, not some heinous scammer—living her life as well as she could manage. Maybe hers hadn’t been the greatest life in the world, but neither had it been awful. Well, not too awful. Not usually.

For now, she wanted to hide in her old bedroom and try to bar the door against the emotional upheavals that would be coming for her. Tears, for sure, because they were right on the verge, but she couldn’t quite tell yet what was causing them. Could be anger. Could be fear. Could even be sadness. Because all of those were cartwheeling inside her.

And there were other things, too, things she hadn’t expected. Guilt for one. Shame for another. And embarrassment. That last, perhaps more than all the others, was probably what was motivating her right now. Embarrassment that Dixon had been a witness to how little her family thought of her. Embarrassment for her weakness that had nearly brought on another attack. And the fact that she cared so much about what Dixon thought of her told her more about herself than she wanted to admit.

Looking at him now, Avery realized she wouldn’t be granted the escape she craved. Her family murmured uneasily among themselves and one by one dispersed, and Gillespie excused himself from the group to get settled in his room. But Dixon stayed where he was.

He said nothing until everyone else had left. Then, “You didn’t have any dinner,” he said. “You wouldn’t let me stop on the way up.”

Which was true. Because there was just something about going catatonic in a roadside diner that played havoc with a person’s appetite.

“Neither did you,” she reminded him.

“Then we both need something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said, turning toward the stairs. She tried to walk away, but he caught her wrist gently in his fingers. If she’d tugged hard enough, he probably would have let her go. But she just couldn’t rouse the strength to manage it. Sighing softly, she turned to face him.

“I’m hungry,” he said. “And I don’t like to eat alone.”

“Dixon, I—”

“Come on, Avery,” he said. And there was something in his voice that made her want to accept his invitation. “You’re going to need all your strength to face what’s ahead,” he added. Then he smiled. “And now that I’ve met your family, so will I.”

She relented after that, unable to help the small smile that curled her lips. “Okay,” she said. She gestured halfheartedly over her shoulder. “The kitchen’s that way.”

She turned and began to walk in that direction, assuming he would follow. But he didn’t. This time he strode side by side with her, as if he knew precisely where he was going, too. He said nothing more as they covered the short distance to the back of the house, but he halted just inside the kitchen, giving it a good once-over.

“Wow,” he said when he completed the survey.

“What?” Avery asked.

She looked at the kitchen, too, trying to see it for the first time, but it looked exactly the same as she remembered it, right down to the brushed-aluminum appliances. Granted, the Nesbitt kitchen probably claimed a few more appliances than the average home—the two-hundred-and-fifty-bottle wine cooler, nearly full, for instance, and the under-the-counter TV—but still. The cherrywood cabinets and hardwood floor weren’t so unusual. Even if there were about two dozen more cabinets and a couple hundred more square feet of floor than the normal suburban home. And, okay, the dozens of pieces of copper cookware hanging from the ceiling were maybe a bit more than the average family cook needed—or could afford. It was still just a kitchen.

Dixon only shook his head in response to her question and headed straight for the double-doored Sub-Zero refrigerator on the other side of the room. “You know,” he said as he opened it and began to inspect its contents, “you’d feel a lot better if you didn’t eat so much crap.”

“I do
not
eat crap,” she said defensively, wondering when he’d turned into the diet doctor. “And I feel just fine,” she added.

“Hey, I eavesdropped on your most recent grocery list,” he reminded her. “You eat nothing
but
crap. Here’s
your
food pyramid,” he said, turning around, the fridge door still open behind him. He made an L shape out of the thumb and forefinger of each hand and pressed them together to make a triangle. “At the top, in that little bitty space? That’s where anything remotely nutritional is. Your pineapple upside-down cake, say. Or chocolate-covered raisins. One level down comes dairy, which in your case would be yogurt-covered pretzels and sour-cream potato chips. Next to that is your protein group. For you, that means candied almonds, and lots of ’em. Next level, instead of fruits and vegetables, you’ve got the three Cs: cookies, candy and caffeine. And that big space at the bottom?” he said. “That’s your crap quota. News flash for you, Peaches,” he added as he dropped his hands and turned his attention back to the refrigerator. “Cheetos are
not
a significant source of calcium.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “And your point would be…?”

His back still turned to her, he replied, “That you’re out on the Net often enough. Don’t you ever visit any Web pages that focus on health and nutrition?”

“And the reason I would do that is because…?”

He turned again and met her gaze flatly. “Because you’re sick.”

She gaped at him. “I am not.”

“One word, Peaches—agoraphobia.”

“That’s not a sickness. It’s a phobia.”

“It’s not normal.”

“But it’s not a sickness.”

“It’s not healthy, either.”

As much as Avery wanted to argue with that, she couldn’t. So she said nothing.

“Haven’t you read about how the things you eat can affect your frame of mind?” he asked.

“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “But just because somebody writes something down doesn’t make it true.” Even though in this particular case, she conceded to herself, they were probably right.

Naturally, he ignored her protest. “According to some studies,” he told her, “overindulgence in sugary foods, carbohydrates, caffeine and alcohol can contribute to panic and anxiety disorders. You need to ease up on those and add more protein and vegetables to your diet. And while you’re at it, make sure you get enough vitamin B.”

Avery narrowed her eyes at him. “Since when do you know so much about it?”