The Mason Dixon Line (A Horizons Novel) (12 page)

Carolyn peered at the bedside clock.
Three-thirty. Hours until dawn. Beside her, Mason slept the sleep of the
innocent, snoring faintly. Her lips crooked in a slight smile. He’d earned a
good night’s sleep.

She got out of bed and wandered to the
bathroom to don one of the white fluffy robes she’d seen hanging on the back of
the door earlier. In the kitchenette, she got a bottle of water out of the
refrigerator and killed half of it right away. Looking out the window, she took
in the lights of the city and the river in the distance. She finished the water
and tossed it in a nearby wastebasket.

In the silence of the predawn hours, all of
the worries she’d pushed out of her head earlier came back. Were she and Mason
a couple now?

He didn’t have casual sex. He’d also said
he didn’t feel very casual about her. She didn’t know quite how she felt about
him, except head-over-heels infatuated. Was that enough when they weren’t away
from the real world, shacked up in a cabin together? Were they headed for a
relationship? Was she ready for that?

He lived in another city. They didn’t have
that much in common, and they each had problems of their own. The realization
gnawed at her stomach.

Had she gone home with another
inappropriate man? Part of her rejected that. Everything about her night with
Mason had been so different than anything she’d ever experienced. Still . . .

How would the long-distance thing work? Did
she have her head together enough for a relationship? She’d taken a first step
by trashing her credit cards tonight, but she still had plenty of problems. The
balance on her cards was as intimidating as ever, and she still didn’t know
what the hell she wanted to do with her life.

Did she have any business starting a
relationship when she’d only begun to sort out her own mess of a life?

She’d meant to grab some bottled water and
go back to bed, but suddenly sleep—and peace—seemed miles away.

She plopped on the couch and flicked on the
television.

She scrolled through the infomercials,
reruns, and sports highlights. She wished she had a book. There was nothing on.

The TV lit on the Home Retail Channel.

“Ohh!” She’d practically forgotten all
about the channel after going without for a week. Clearly she’d been in
withdrawal.

The sales rep beamed. “We’ve got Dr.
Bridger here with us tonight, with his patented mineral powder foundation.”

“Thank you, Mona. I’m so glad to be here
and to be sharing with you the amazing secrets of this foundation, which is
truly unlike anything else on the market.”

Carolyn leaned forward. It couldn’t hurt to
watch as long as she didn’t buy anything. She watched the presentation as the
doctor applied his miraculous foundation to models with already-flawless skin.

She scanned the different shades. Hmmm, she’d
been looking for a new foundation. The neutral beige would be perfect for her.

This stuff cost $86 plus shipping and
handling for one little jar. Pricey. And even if she wanted to, she couldn’t
buy it. She’d torched all her credit cards.

Good thing, too. She obviously had no
willpower. If she hadn’t burned her credit cards, she’d be on the phone dialing
in right now.

The screen flashed a series of
before-and-after photos, showing women of all ages transformed by Dr. Bridger’s
amazing product. Spotty women, wrinkled women, blotchy women all had flawless,
sheer skin in the after photos.

The need arose in her like an itch
desperate to be scratched. She needed this. It didn’t cost much more than a
good department store foundation. Besides, you got what you paid for. But how
was she going to get it without a credit card?

The thought hit her like a fifty-pound
anvil.

Mason had a credit card. She could borrow
it.

No
. She
couldn’t do that.

But it’s
not like you’re stealing from him. You’ll pay him back on your next payday.

True. And she seriously doubted Mason would
begrudge her a little makeup. He’d said himself he did pretty well financially.

She went to the bedroom where his wallet
lay on the bedside table. In the moonlight, he lay still, his head dark against
the white pillow. Not letting herself think about it, she picked up the wallet
and went back to the TV room.

If you’re
so sure he won’t mind, why don’t you wake him up and ask his permission?

No, she didn’t want to disturb his rest.

Awfully big
of you
, a voice jeered in her head.

“And we are very busy on the phones!” Mona
said. “Last call for the neutral beige and tawny. If you want it, get it now!
Dr. Bridger, our viewers can’t get enough of your wonderful product. Let’s take
a call. Lisa from Kansas City. Hello, Lisa you’re on the air.”

Lisa came on the phone and began to enthuse
about how Dr. Bridger’s foundation had changed her life.

You’re
being stupid. Mason won’t mind.

Sitting down, she picked up the phone and
dialed the 1-800 number. Following the prompts, she entered her account number
-- still had that memorized, thank you very much -- and the item number, and
then typed in Mason’s credit card info and pressed 2 to have the order shipped
to the address on file.

She ended the call and looked at the phone.
She still couldn't quite believe she’d done it.

“What are you doing?”

Mason’s voice from the doorway made her
jump. He’d pulled on his boxers but not his glasses. Her eyes skittered to the
TV screen, where Dr. Bridger and the host had moved on to hawking anti-wrinkle
cream. Mason’s unfocused gaze followed hers.

“Are you buying something? But you don’t
have a credit card.”

His eyes dropped to her lap, where his open
wallet lay.

“Did you use my credit card to buy some
crap from TV?”

Shit. Her brain froze. In her mind, she
supposed she’d have some time to think up a plausible story, some way to break
it to him gently. Maybe paying him back before he’d even had a chance to notice
the charge on his card. But no.

She lowered the phone. The sweat on her
palms made it slip into the base with a crash. “It was this really great
make-up. I’m almost out and I wanted to try something new.”

Shit
. Even she
could hear how lame that sounded to her own ears.

“So you stole my credit card?” He looked
more disbelieving than angry.

She blanched.
That
was dramatic. She hadn’t thought of it as stealing. “I was
borrowing
it for a little bit. I’m going
to pay you back as soon as I get paid.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his furrowed
forehead for a second. “Carolyn, borrowing something without asking is
stealing.”

“But it wasn’t like that! I had every
intention of telling you!” Eventually. Why was he giving her such a hard time?
It was only eighty some bucks they were talking about, and she’d pay it back.
Nothing. A trivial amount like that never killed anybody. Right? The sparkling
wine she’d drunk earlier turned sour in her stomach as second thoughts set in.

“That’s not the point. You had every
intention of telling me
after
I
couldn’t stop you. You’re supposed to ask first.” He stalked to the television
and snapped it off. Silence covered the room like a blanket.

“Would you have let me borrow it if I’d
asked?”

“Hell, no! I’m not about to help you dig
yourself into a deeper hole, and I’m sure not going to let you drag me down with
you.”

She reeled as if she’d been slapped.
Carefully she slipped the credit card back into his wallet and placed it on the
table, and then rose, arms folded across her stomach to hold her robe closed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, but she didn’t
really mean it. She was too damn mad at him to be truly sorry. How dare he accuse
her of “dragging him down?” Like he had a perfect life without her? Pressure
built behind her eyes. She’d be damned if she’d cry in front of him.

She retrieved her gown, purse, and shoes
from where they were scattered around the fireplace. He’d come out to turn it
off at some point during the evening, and now a chill hung over the room. Here
was the chair they’d made love on. Here was the glass of sparkling wine she’d
drunk to ease her nerves.

He followed her. “What is it with you? You
have everything most people could want. You’re beautiful. Popular. You grew up
with money. You have a good job. Your family has its problems, but they
basically love you. And yet you’re flushing it down the toilet because you can’t
resist buying crap off of the television.”

She went to the bathroom to get dressed. He’d
already seen every inch of her body, but to be naked in front of him now, when
he was angry with her, seemed wrong. It stripped her bare.

He followed her but she closed the door in
his face. “I need privacy.”

She did, and not just for getting dressed.
She wanted a moment to breathe, to think about what he said. She needed a place
to retreat to, like a hurt animal.

He was right, after all. He’d struggled
with learning disabilities. His own parents had given him away. He’d been in
trouble constantly. Yet he’d come out of it with a creative profession he loved
and excelled at.

She’d grown up with every advantage, and
had come out of it with a five-digit credit card balance.

She dropped her robe and donned her
underwear and bra, and then shimmied into the evening gown, now sadly wrinkled.
Tears sprang to her eyes. God, when she thought about all the advantages she’d
been handed in life and how little she’d done with them . . . shame.

Peaked too
soon.

She didn’t deserve Mason. He had challenges
enough of his own to deal with without having to put up with her shit. What did
she really have to offer, anyway?

Nothing. Catching a glance at herself in
the mirror, she sighed. She looked good in an evening gown, she supposed, but
what kind of a man would settle for that? Nobody worth having.

Not Mason.

Even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t let him
settle for it. He deserved better than that.

He deserved better than her.

She wiped away her tears and blew her nose
on a square of tissue paper. God, she hated girls who cried all the time.

She stopped, her hand on the doorknob, but
not yet ready to turn it. Not yet ready to face him. She couldn’t tell Mason
she was leaving him for his own good.

He’d think she pitied him, and he’d hate
that.

Bracing herself, she opened the door and
pulled up short.

He was right outside the door, still
wearing nothing but his boxers. He’d donned his glasses at some point. He
looked so adorably worried that for a moment, she wanted to throw herself into
his arms, beg forgiveness, and pull him down to the rumpled bed.

But she didn’t. She had to be strong.

“Have you been crying?”

“No.”

He looked closely at her reddened eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“Really, I’m fine.” She had to do this. It
was for the best, for both of them. A clean break to end a fling that never
should have happened.

“Look, you were right. I mean about us. I
don’t think we’re a good fit. I’m never going to be the right kind of woman for
you, Mason. I know you don’t approve of me.”

“Carolyn, that’s not true. I don’t approve
of you using my credit card without asking. That’s not the same of disapproving
of you entirely.”

“Close enough.” It took everything she had
to affect a breezy tone, and not to cry when she saw the hurt in Mason’s eyes.

“Look, I was pissed when I saw what you’d
done, and maybe I said some harsh things. I expect an apology, and for you to
never do it again. I don’t expect you to give up on me and run away.”

“I’m not running away, Mason. But I’ll be
better off with someone I have more in common with, and so will you.” She
headed for the suite door.

She visualized Mason with a hipster woman,
somebody with a wardrobe of indie rock T-shirts like his, and maybe a tattoo. A
creative type. Damn. She wanted to vomit from the wave of jealousy that hit
her. She stumbled slightly and Mason grabbed her arm to steady her.

“You okay?” The concern in his voice made
her want to cry.

“Sorry. These stupid heels.” She swallowed
and shook off the hurt. Imagining Mason with someone else made her crazy. She
had to think about something else. “Mason, I liked how you stood up to my
parents and sister. Nobody’s ever done that for me before. I was swept away in
the moment, but that doesn’t mean I changed into a whole new person.” She took
a deep breath and forced herself to say a hard thing. “And you’re not right for
me. You have some problems, too.”