Til There Was U Read online

  BRAVA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp. 850 Third Avenue New York, NY 10022

  Copyright © 2005 by Dianne Castell

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  Brava and the B logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN 0-7582-1005-1

  First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: November 2005

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  To my son David,

  part computer guru, part Mama Jillin

  and totally fabulous guy.

  Chapter 1

  Sweat beaded across Ryan O’Fallon’s upper lip as he stood in the middle of his California office, gripped the phone tighter and said to the reporter on the other end, “That grandbaby my father’s showing off around O’Fallon’s Landing is not mine, no matter what he says.”

  Ryan disconnected, turned and collided with Effie Wilson, coworker, competitor and all-around hot babe. “Dear God, Ryan, you have a baby?”

  “No!” He raked his hair with shaky fingers as he stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of Designs Unlimited to the clear blue sky. He could feel Effie watching him. Well, she was entitled since he’d discreetly ogled her blond hair, green eyes, slender build—what he could see of it hidden under those damn business suits—every chance he’d gotten for the last eighteen months.

  He pointed to the phone. “That reporter from the Landing Times got things screwed up. He should have said uncle. I have two brothers. Must be Keefe’s baby or Quade’s. I’m Uncle Ryan.”

  Effie sat in the chair by his desk and studied the folder in her lap. “Right. Just an uncle. Whatever you say. Now, about this mall in La Jolla that we’re redesigning, I—”

  “Why would any baby of mine be in Tennessee when I’m here? That makes no sense. Besides, I would never be that irresponsible,” he said in explanation to himself as much as Effie.

  He paced. He always paced, and he always, always used protection. But sometimes things happened. What if this was one of those times? He counted backward on his fingers, checking off the months and women—Maria, Jennifer, Lucy, Honey, Monica.

  “Need a calculator?” Effie offered, a smart-ass edge to her voice. She held it up as if knowing exactly what he was doing.

  “No!” Ryan considered the number of relationships he’d gone through in the last twelve months. Not exactly a surprise. He wasn’t into any permanence, except with his job. Didn’t have time and he always made that clear.

  He added, “If it is my baby, why wouldn’t the mother just tell me? Bring the baby to me here instead of going to Tennessee? She didn’t do either of those things. How can it be mine? It’s a mistake.”

  “Of course it is.”

  Did her brow just arch? Her eyes roll? “Okay, Ms. Know-it-all, you’ve obviously got some opinion brewing in that brain of yours. Spill it.”

  “I think we could win an Architectural Environmental Beautification Award if we utilize solar energy and water conservation facilities. Water’s already the theme with fountains and still pools. You’ll have to refigure the infrastructure, but it’ll mean our names in Architectural Digest, a plaque. My name first, E before R and—”

  “No way are you changing the subject and weaseling out of this, Wilson. You’re talking mall and thinking baby. And you’ve got that shame-on-you look on your face, and I sure as hell don’t want to deal with that all day.”

  Her spine stiffened, and she stared straight at him. “I do not have a look like that.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Like hell.”

  She let out a deep breath and tilted her head. “You’re sure you want to hear my opinion?”

  “Shoot. Clear the air and then get back to the mall project.”

  This was the very reason he’d never persued getting it on with Effie Wilson in the first place. Work and personal lives were a bad mix, especially since his relationships always ended badly. No need to put his job or hers in jeopardy over some wild temporary fling involving hormones on a rampage and not much else. “And my name goes first on any plaques; O is before W.”

  “First names first on awards.” She folded her hands over the papers. “As for the baby issue ... How did you break up with whomever you were dating at the appropriate time for this baby to be yours?”

  Lousy! Damn lousy! A year ago he was dating Monica. She hated his guts now. Wouldn’t trust him with so much as a dust mite. Starting relationships was no problem, but ending them ... Hell, how did any man end a relationship? Piss-poor! “You know for a fact I was dating someone a year ago?”

  “Monica. The lunchroom knows all. You’re on the fast track for partner, some consider you handsome and you’re always dating, but it doesn’t last longer than four months. The average is ten weeks and two days.”

  For the second time in less than ten minutes he felt as if he’d been smacked by a two-by-four. “You keep track?”

  “Every woman in the building keeps track.” She smiled sweetly. “I won the last two pools,” She held up her foot and wiggled it back and forth. “Bought these with my winnings. They’re Italian and go great with my Gucci purse from the last pool.”

  She gave him a superior wink. “I just nominated you for Mr. Sexy San Diego. After you win, I should clean up; you’ll have more flavors-of-the-month than Baskin Robbins. I know you well, Ryan O’Fallon. So many women, so little time. I’ll make a killing.”

  He sank into the chair. “There’s a lunchroom pool on my dating habits?”

  “It’s this way: guys do football games, women do—”

  “My relationships?”

  “Known around here as bedroom bingo.”

  His eyes squinted, and he glared at her.

  “That International House of Pancakes T-shirt you gave me for my birthday . . . The Ihop logo has nothing to do with me loving pancakes, does it?” He picked the coffee mug up off his desk and read, “Architects know all the angles. You gave me this for Christmas. It’s not referring to my design abilities.”

  “Sort of. Maybe. It was kind of a multipurpose gift. But the point is, leaving the baby with your family makes more sense than giving the baby to you. Consider the fact that you had to think who the mother might be. Not exactly a sign of responsible parenthood. You’re not up to raising a baby, anyone can tell that. Want me to leave you alone for a few minutes so you can make some phone calls and check on ... things?”

  “No, dammit. We’re going to clear this up right now. I am not the father of this baby, and I can prove it with one phone call.”

  “I’ll come back later.” She closed he
r portfolio, stood and headed for the door.

  “Sit.” He pointed to the chair she’d just vacated, stopping her mid-stride.

  “This is none of my business, O’Fallon, and I do not take orders from you.”

  “You started this. Who’s wearing Italian shoes? My business is damn-well your business, and I want to set the record straight right now before this goes any further and we never get this damn mall finished on time.”

  She reluctantly parked herself in the chair, and he snatched up the phone. “I’m calling my father. He’ll know the whole story. I’m an uncle, just an uncle, and the Landing Times is fishing for gossip.”

  He hit speed dial for Rory O’Fallon. And two minutes later he disconnected more confused than ever. Rory had told him to forget the newspaper and stay where he was and keep his mouth shut. He had everything under control.

  What kind of answer was forget the newspaper?

  “Well?” asked Effie as Ryan stared at the phone for the second time today. This was not his favorite pastime. She added, “I didn’t get much from this side of the conversation except ‘but. . . but. . . but.’”

  He cut his gaze to the flat landscape dotted with pristine modern office buildings and perfectly manicured grass. Even the trees in the business complex looked computer generated. He liked things precise and organized and wanted to stay right where he was, doing what he did best, building things his way, being a success in his own right in San Diego and not just Rory O’Fallon’s son back at the Landing, but,.. There was that word again.

  Something was going on with his father and this baby. Rory O’Fallon was a man who told it like it was. He didn’t hedge on the truth or dodge the issues .. . ‘til now. “I’ve got to go to O’Fallon’s Landing.”

  He turned, catching one of her dazzling smiles. “Family restaurant here in town? Think they’ll know what’s going on?”

  “Family business on the Mississippi and I’m sure they know what this is all about. I’m leaving for Memphis tomorrow. “

  Effie’s eyes shot wide open, and she stared at him. “You can’t do that. Out of the question. We are armpit-deep in plans for renovating this mall. The estimates are already running late. What’ll we do? You work on half of the mall there and I work on the other half here and we glue the plans together in the middle? That’s no way to win an award!”

  He took her folder. “I’m the senior designer. I’ll finish the plans at the Landing.”

  She stood and grabbed the other end. “And let you take credit for all my ideas? Over my dead body, O’Fallon.” Her eyes blazed. Hot, sensual, sexy as hell.

  She continued, “I’ll finish up things here. You’re the one taking off. I get the project.” She pulled the folder her way.

  He pulled back. “And you take credit for all my work? Not in this lifetime. I’ll only be gone a week.”

  “We don’t have a week.”

  “Then you’re coming with me. I got you Italian shoes, dammit, you owe me. And it’ll keep you from setting up some kind of father-of-the-baby pool or entering me in any more contests to embellish your wardrobe.”

  She let go of the folder. “Me? Go? The Mississippi River? I... I have dry cleaning to pick up on Friday, pilates on Saturday. I have a cat. What do I do with Wally? What if I don’t want to go?”

  “Then stay. Works for me.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “I’m a California girl. I’ll lose my tan. There’s not even a beach. What about sushi? I love sushi. I don’t belong in Tennessee. I’m not all that sure where Tennessee is.”

  “Get a map.” This time he gave her a superior look. “Unless you don’t think you’re up to a trip to rural America, you being a California girl and all.”

  “Staying here will kill my career.” Her brow furrowed, and she glared while pointing at her chest. Least now he had an excuse to look at her boobs. “I intend to be the youngest partner this firm’s ever had, and that means this project gets done on time and with my name attached. I’m up to anything you are, O’Fallon. When do we leave?”

  ———

  Ryan drove the rental, and Effie read aloud the specs for the mall’s parking lot as Rod Stewart sang “Mandy” softly in the background. She looked up. “We’ve been over the back roads of the world for an hour now. I feel like Daniel Boone.”

  “Except he didn’t have to listen to Rod Stewart. And for the record, Daniel Boone belongs to Kentucky. We got Elvis and Jack Daniels.”

  And Ryan O’Fallon, Effie thought as she gazed at his sandy hair, broad shoulders, determined chin and sleeves rolled back exposing strong forearms. It was hard enough to ignore the San Diego Stud at the office where she could bury herself in work and go home at night. Now they’d be together nonstop for a week. That was not good and the real reason she hadn’t wanted to come along.

  She needed some sort of a diversion while they were here. That’s what the Ryan O’Fallon Date Survivor Pool was all about, kept her focused on why she shouldn’t like the man when every inch of her liked him a whole lot.

  “Why’d you stop reading?”

  “I’m thinking. So, what is a landing, anyway? Isn’t that what our plane just did back in Memphis?”

  “It’s like a dock area on the river. Think later, read now.”

  “Always business. Business, business, business.”

  “Me? I’m not the one who named their cat Wall Street.”

  They turned onto another road, this one narrower with more bends. “Everything’s so green.”

  “Around here we don’t get three hundred and sixty days of sunshine. We get about half that in rain, and when it mixes with the blazing sun you get instant sauna and spontaneous mold. Be sure to wash between your toes.”

  The road curved right to a wide stretch, past two schools, a grocery store, a bank, two churches, a doctor’s office with the Landing Times above, Burgers-n-Bait—she hoped they kept them separate—and a weathered clapboard building called Slim’s that advertised cold beer, Memphis-style barbecue and Delta Blues. “Who’s Slim?”

  “Does the best barbecue in the northern hemisphere. We need to make the mall’s parking lot larger or add a garage.”

  “Where are we?”

  “You just read about dimensions of sidewalks and went on to parking—”

  “Not that.” She did a mental eye roll. “I mean, where are we on earth right now?”

  “Small town on the lower part of the Mississippi River just above Memphis and the Wolf River.”

  She craned her neck around. “That was a town? There wasn’t even one Starbucks. It looks kind of rundown.”

  “That’s the town part of O’Fallon’s Landing. The Landing itself is just down over the bluff with the docks and fifteen or so towboats. I’m not sure how many Dad has these days. The town grew up from people working the river over the years. They’re not rich; they do what they can.”

  “What do these towboats tow?”

  “Push barges up and down the Mississippi.”

  She put down the papers and turned sideways to face him. Blue eyes, capable hands, great butt. Some things she’d committed to memory. “Okay, if they push, why do they call them tows? I don’t get it.”

  A flash of red sports car tore by them. “What the heck was that? Or more accurately, who was that?”

  “My guess is Conrad Hastings. His family owns the marine repair dry docks just down the river, though he’s all that’s left of the family.”

  “Well, business must be booming. That was a Ferrari and not an old one.”

  “Doesn’t matter if business is good or not for Conrad. He was the Hastingses’ only child, and they spoiled him rotten. He never outgrew either and is now mostly a forty-something conceited ass.”

  Ryan nodded back to the papers in Efiie’s lap. “If we add those solar panels, we need to reinforce the roof. Better make a note.”

  She made sketches in the margin as he turned, sending her pencil bouncing over the page. Gravel crunched under the tires as
the car slowed, then stopped.

  “Well, here we are,” Ryan said, sounding only marginally less bored than a few minutes ago.

  She looked up. “We’ll justify the added expense in construction with the savings in electricity and ...” The rest of her thoughts vanished as she gazed around. It was more of a gawk, and she never gawked, except at Ryan’s butt when he wasn’t looking, and since his eyes were on the front of his head that let her gawk a lot.

  She threw open the car door and stepped onto the circular drive that separated a rambling white frame house with wraparound porch and baskets oi Boston ferns swaying in the hot July breeze from the expanse of lawn and Mississippi River beyond. Oak trees formed a green canopy over everything, flowerpots overflowed with pink and white blooms, and a yellow dog bounded toward them with a ball in his mouth.

  “This is Gone With the Wind meets Old Yeller.”

  Ryan remained in the car, door open, studying the plans. “Gone With the Wind is on a plantation in Georgia. This is just a river house, but the Old Yeller fits, least on a smaller scale. Meet Max of indiscriminate parentage. Is this scribble you just made supposed to be a tree? What’s it doing on the roof? We should fax these changes to the client, without the tree, tonight. I wonder if Dad has a fax machine.”

  “I can’t believe you grew up here. I grew up in a condo. I live in a condo. My first word was condo. But my grandparents lived in upstate Washington, in a place half this size on a little river. We caught trout, picked apples, played Parcheesi. I’d forgotten all about it... ‘til now.”

  A smile crept across her face. “I used to make mud pies, run barefoot. I remember stepping on a bee and yelling my head off.”

  He got out of the car and leaned against it as he gazed around. “I spent my whole life getting to the big city, to the action, making my own way. Not much happening on the banks of the Mississippi. You can make a hell of a lot of mud pies, but that’s about it. Hope Dad has high-speed Internet.”

  The front door suddenly flew open, framing a middle-aged woman with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore a blue blouse over a white T-shirt and jeans. She craned her neck, her eyes suddenly rounding as if not believing what she saw. She laughed, her whole face happy, while stepping around a stroller on the porch, then running down the steps with the enthusiasm of a teenager. “Ryan? My stars! Is that really you? Well, color me happy.”