The Tycoon's Son. Shawna DelacorteЧитать онлайн книгу.
had a falling out over a business deal gone bad. Wyatt’s grandfather had ended up the winner and Vicki’s grandfather had lost almost everything.
Wyatt and Vicki had defied both sets of parents by dating and falling in love—at least Wyatt had thought they were in love. But obviously he had been wrong about Vicki Dalton’s feelings for him. He wrinkled his brow in irritation at the fact that it still bothered him. After all these years it was still a thorn in his side.
He pulled his car into a parking space next to the post-office entrance at the back of the general store. He needed to make arrangements for a post-office box. He entered the building and looked around. No one was there. He walked through the connecting door to the market that occupied the front of the building.
Shock hit him smack in the face. He stopped dead in his tracks. It could not be.
Vicki Dalton was standing behind the counter by the front door. It took him a few seconds to collect his wits and recover his composure. He stared at her, noting the way she bit at her lower lip. It was a nervous little habit that had always manifested itself whenever she was upset or worried about something. As he watched her, he felt a soft warmth flicker to life. She looked every bit as beautiful as the image he had carried in his mind all these years.
He quickly ducked out of sight. He certainly had not planned on this. He had been prepared for the unpleasant and awkward necessity of dealing with Willis Dalton, but not for the reality of seeing Vicki again. It was not too late; there was still time. She had not seen him yet. He could turn around and drive back to San Francisco. He drew a steadying breath. He needed to gather his wits about him. Then a surge of anger brought him back to reality.
No, he would not turn and run. She had disappeared from his life fifteen years ago and he had never known why. He clenched his jaw in renewed determination. He could not leave until he had confronted her and demanded an explanation. He wanted her to know exactly how much pain she had caused him—how much pain he had been carrying all these years. He stepped back through the door into the market.
“Well, well, well...” He took a couple of steps toward the counter, trying to keep his voice and manner as casual as possible. “If it isn’t Vicki Dalton. Only I guess it’s not Dalton anymore, is it? It’s been a long time, Vicki.”
The smooth, masculine voice resonated across the room. She did not need to look up to know its owner’s identity. The moment she dreaded had finally arrived. She bit at her lower lip as she continued to stare at the order form she had been filling out. His footsteps pounded in her ears as he drew closer and closer until finally he stood directly in front of her.
“Just how long has it been? Ten years...fifteen?” There was no mistaking the edge to his voice and the antagonism just beneath the surface. “I’m surprised to find you here. Are you just visiting your father or did you decide to move back to Sea Cliff?”
She put down her pen and finally lifted her gaze, smothering the gasp just before it escaped her mouth. His commanding presence overwhelmed her. He seemed to have grown even taller than the six-footone height she remembered, and his blue eyes immediately captured her very soul. The bright colors of his sweater enhanced his golden tan. His dark hair was tousled, probably windblown, giving him a very sexy appearance. His features had matured from the boyish good looks she had known. With the passage of time he had become even more handsome...if that was possible.
When she was an inexperienced eighteen, Wyatt Edwards had been an older man of twenty-two. But now she was thirty-three years old, a widow with the responsibility of raising her son by herself, and the proprietor of a business vital to the small community. There were days when she felt a great deal older.
She managed to find her voice, but could not find any of the words she had been rehearsing for two days. Instead, she stammered, more like an impressionable teenager than a mature woman, “Uh...my father... died two months ago. I came back here to run the store. And it’s Bingham...Vicki Bingham.”
She saw the surprise dart through his eyes, then quickly disappear. His voice softened a little, dropping a bit of its hard edge. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know about your father.”
“Well... it was sudden. A heart attack.” Nervousness churned in the pit of her stomach. She wished a customer would come in or that Noreen Dillon, her full-time employee, would show up for work early—anything to break up the awkwardness that filled the air. She went to the magazine rack and began straightening the periodicals. She felt his stare follow her every movement, but refused to turn and look at him while she spoke. “My... uh... father had mentioned something several years ago about your father passing away. It seems to me that he said your mother had moved back East somewhere.”
“Yes, Mother returned to her hometown of Boston. She still lives there.”
“What brings you to Sea Cliff?” She was not sure why she had asked such an inane question. He had to know that everyone in the small town would be talking about the renovations to the family house and would have seen the moving vans.
“I’m moving back into the house.”
“I see.” She still refused to look at him. She straightened the last magazine in the rack and returned to the counter.
“Vicki...” The edge returned to his voice, now impatient. “I’m trying to conduct some business here and I’d appreciate it if I could have your attention for a few minutes.”
She was not sure what he was talking about, but she did not like the sound of it. Her defenses went on full alert. “All you need to do is pick out your purchases and bring them here to the counter and I’ll be glad to ring them up for you.” She bit at her lower lip and twirled a strand of hair around her finger as she glanced around the market.
Wyatt did not understand her blatantly obvious nervousness. He could have understood a show of guilt on her part—she certainly had lots to feel guilty about—but this was different. She appeared almost obsessed with finding mindless little things to do and went out of her way to avoid any eye contact with him.
He took a deep breath and held it for a moment,. He would have to save the speculation for some other time, after he had an opportunity to digest all the unexpected happenings of the morning. He adopted a businesslike manner and tried to project an authoritative tone of voice. “I want to make arrangements for a post-office box.”
Her gaze flew to meet his. He noted a strange combination of surprise and... well, relief was the only word he could find that seemed to fit. It was a very odd reaction on her part, one he found strangely out of place.
“A post-office box? That’s why you’re here?”
“This,” he gestured toward the back of the building, “is the post office, isn’t it? And I assume you are the official agent for the United States Postal Service.” He fixed her with a hard stare.
Antagonistic... that was the word that immediately leapt to Vicki’s mind. Why was he being so antagonistic? If anyone had a right to exhibit hostility and anger, it certainly was not Wyatt Edwards. She drew in a calming breath, then slowly let it out. “Yes, of course.”
She led the way to the post office at the back of the building. Wyatt stepped through the customer entrance while Vicki went through the employee door. She reached below the counter and withdrew a form. “Here,” she said, shoving it through the customer window toward Wyatt. “Fill this out and sign it.”
“I’ll require one medium-size box for my personal mail and a large-size box in the corporation’s name.”
She checked the list of available boxes while he filled out the form. “Here are the two keys. Please try them before you leave to make sure they work.” She slid the keys through the window, and allowed her hand to linger on them while she looked over the form he had completed.
Wyatt reached for the keys, but halted as soon as he focused on her left hand. She wore no ring, nor was there any indication that she had recently worn one. His brow was furrowed as he slid the keys out from under her fingers.
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