“Here’s a picture of one of Linc’s Christmas trees,” Nick said a few minutes after he’d begun to join her in examining the photos.
Deidre came around the table and sat next to him on the couch. There was the magnificent pine tree arranged in the picture window of the great room of The Pines. Standing before it was Lincoln, perhaps at around forty, looking fit, handsome and happy. Next to him stood his mother and father. George had his arm around a tall young man, wearing jeans and a sober expression.
“That’s you,” Deidre whispered as she studied the image of a teenage Nick. He’d been very handsome and intense, even as a boy. A strange feeling went through her, seeing Nick standing there with Lincoln’s family—her family. “What were you so serious about?”
Nick frowned at the photograph, his brows forming a V shape. “Who knows? I probably was worried about getting my homework done or something,” he said dryly.
“Homework?” Deidre laughed. “You were that serious about your schoolwork? How come?”
“I think I’m about sixteen in the photo. I was trying to get a scholarship for college,” he said, shrugging.
“Wouldn’t Lincoln have helped you with college?”
“He would have. I didn’t want him to,” he said in a clipped tone that made Deidre realize she was once again treading on tender territory. He must have realized how he’d sounded because he waved his hand sheepishly. “It was a thing between Linc and me. He always wanted to give me more than I was willing to take. He would have taken over as my foster parent at any time, but I...”
“What?” Deidre prompted.
He shrugged. “I was stubborn. I resisted the idea, for some reason. Linc offered to adopt me, as well, but I told him no. I ended up making peace with the Garritsons—the family that fostered me and three other boys—until I went to college. It’s ironic, I guess, how I rebelled against foster families when I was a kid and then finally accepted a family because I didn’t want Linc to take me.”
“I don’t understand. You and Lincoln got on so well together.”
He glanced at her sharply. “I didn’t want to rely on his generosity. I didn’t have much of anything as a kid but a huge chip on my shoulder that might loosely—very loosely—have been called pride,” he said with a wry smile. “I spent most of my time at The Pines. I thought of it as home, but I always kept that barrier between Linc and me. I wanted to prove I was worthy of every opportunity he gave me, and it’s hard to do that if you’re legally lord of the manor, if you know what I mean. I’d like to think he understood my need for independence and to prove myself, but I’m not so sure he did. He would tell me I was too serious and needed to enjoy my youth while I still had it. It was an ongoing refrain between the two of us. Just a few days before he passed, he was admonishing me for working night and day on a merger deal.”
“He wanted you there with him. He likely suspected the end was coming,” Deidre murmured, carefully placing the photograph on the table and leaning back on the couch, her gaze on his profile.
“He was right. I should have been with him every minute instead of on the phone, worrying about meaningless business details. I regret it now,” he said stiffly.
“You couldn’t have known precisely when his last days would be. You were there when the time came. You said your goodbyes. It’s normal to regret things when people we love pass,” she said softly. “We always wish we’d done and said more.”
His gaze narrowed on her. Deidre wondered what he saw on her face. “Was this a bad idea?” he asked, nodding toward the table that was now littered with photos.
She self-consciously wiped at a damp cheek. “No. It was a wonderful idea. Thank you for having the photos sent. Why did you?”
“Why did I what?” His longish bangs had fallen on his forehead. Deidre suppressed and urge to comb the strands back with her fingers. How could he seem so hard and cold at times and all too human and approachable at others? A spell seemed to have fallen over her as she tried to gauge his reaction to the photos and understand his relationship to Lincoln. She saw him differently tonight than she had before. He felt deeply about Lincoln, but he rarely spoke of his feelings. It was as if he didn’t think he had a right to have such strong emotions toward Lincoln.
Did he possibly resent her showing up at the last moments of Lincoln’s life, claiming to be his flesh and blood daughter? It saddened her to consider it, but she could completely understand if he did feel that way. She wished for the tenth time that evening that the circumstances between Nick and her weren’t so unusual, so tense, so inherently ridden with conflict. He was a complex, interesting man.
“Why did you have the photographs sent, when you’re not even convinced I’m Lincoln’s daughter?” she clarified softly.
The silence seemed to swell. Deidre experienced his gaze moving over her face like a physical touch. His nostrils flared slightly when his stare landed on her mouth.
“I thought Linc would have wanted you to see them.”
“Oh...I see.”
He looked into her eyes. “I’m not so sure that you do.”
She swallowed thickly. They’d started talking in hushed, intimate voices. She couldn’t unglue her stare from his moving lips.
He lowered his head until their faces were just inches apart. He opened his hand along the side of her head. She trembled when she felt him moving his fingers through her hair. “Why didn’t you tell me about the genetic testing?” he asked, his breath fanning her lips.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I was mad at you for always pushing it. I was scared—”
“Don’t be afraid,” he cut her off in a pressured tone. His hand came around and cradled her jaw. “I can understand you being angry, but don’t be scared. Not of me. Not ever.”
She heard his voice through the pounding of her heart in her ears. She watched him, entranced by his image. He looked intent...fierce.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do ever since I laid eyes on you.”