Sean

'Sinclair doesn't love me.' She let the sentence hang in the air, her thought unfinished. She wasn't really sure how Sean felt.

'I think Sinclair misses you. He regrets what happened.'

'It's his fault,' Laurel said.

Alistair cleared his throat. 'No… actually, it's my fault.'

'Your fault?'

He set down the jar of mayonnaise that he'd retrieved from the refrigerator and met her questioning gaze. 'While I was in New York with your uncle, I let it slip that you and Sean weren't really husband and wife.'

'Alistair! Why would you do that?'

'I wanted to prove to your uncle how far you were willing to go to secure your happiness and to get your trust fund. I thought he needed to know what he was putting you through. And I also convinced him of the fact that you were in love with Sean Quinn.'

'Why would you do that?'

'Because I thought you were in love with Sean Quinn.'

Laurel sighed. 'I was. I am.' She moaned softly. 'Oh, God, I do love him.'

'Imagine my surprise when your uncle told me he thought Sean would make a good husband for you. So the two of us hatched a little plan. We decided to find a way to keep you two together until you both realized how you felt.'

Confusion muddled her brain as she tried to understand what Alistair was saying. 'And… and everything that happened that night was part of your plan?'

'We didn't expect you to get angry and walk out. Sinclair was crushed. He thought he was doing the right thing and it only served to drive you away. I tried to convince him to call you, but he's so stubborn. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'

Laurel braced her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her palms. 'I can't believe this.'

'We managed to make a real mess of it. And I'm sorry for being the source of it all. But you have to know, we only wanted your happiness.'

As Laurel considered all that Alistair had revealed, she tried to make sense of what her uncle had done. Why hadn't he just come out and told her how he felt? Why did he constantly have to manipulate her? Was that the only way he knew how to show his love?

'Now, about Sean…' Alistair prompted.

'I think he cares about me. But I don't think his feelings run as deep. It's so hard to tell with him. He keeps so much hidden. He has trouble trusting, and even if he did love me I think he'd deny it for fear that he might get hurt.'

Alistair put the ham sandwich he'd made on a plate and handed it to her. 'You know him pretty well, don't you?'

'Sometimes I think I do. And other times, I think there's a whole lot more behind that handsome face that I don't understand.'

'And you haven't wanted to see him since the two of you left here last month?'

'I figured if he really cared, he'd find me.'

'Maybe he figures the same,' Alistair suggested.

Laurel slid off the stool and picked up her plate. 'I need to get back to work.'

Whenever she found herself dwelling on what might have been, she went back to work, focusing her thoughts on the children's center and on her presentation. She shook her head and tried to clear her mind, but talking about Sean hadn't done her any good. Questions that she'd put aside rushed back into her head.

Laurel wandered into the dining room, then stopped short. Sinclair stood in front of one of the easels, staring at a huge photo of Laurel's mother she had brought along. Laurel had decided to use the photo in the presentation to put a face to her dreams, to make it clear why she'd had the dream in the first place.

'You loved her, didn't you?' she said.

Sinclair's shoulders stiffened and he slowly turned to face her, his ivory-handled cane clutched in his hand. His eyes were wistful and his face showed nothing of the hard expression it usually wore. 'She didn't love me.'

Laurel slowly crossed the room. 'That must have been so difficult for you. To live in this house with her and my father. To see their happiness every day.'

He shook his head. 'No. I considered myself lucky to be able to look at her beautiful face every morning and every evening. And after she died, I was reminded of her when I looked at you. You look very much like her.' His eyes misted over for a moment and Sinclair turned away, focusing his attention on the other easels she'd set up along one side of the room.

'This seems like a very ambitious plan,' he said, walking down the line of charts and photos.

'It is,' Laurel replied. 'I'm doing my presentation for the Aldrich-Sloane Family Foundation tomorrow morning. I'm hoping that they'll decide to fund the project.'

Sinclair was silent for a long time. 'You've grown up,' he murmured.

'I'm twenty-six years old,' Laurel said. 'I know what I want to do with my life.'

'And you don't let anything stand in your way to get it, do you? Not even a foolish old man.'

Laurel reached out and placed her hand on his arm. 'You're not a foolish old man,' she said. 'You just know what you want and you don't let anything stand in your way. We're alike in that way. It must be a Rand family trait.'

'Can you forgive an old man for his selfishness?'

Her gaze met his and for the first time in her life she saw how much he cared about her. Sinclair was family and the least she could give him was her forgiveness-and her love. 'I can.'

He nodded, patting her hand as he did. 'Good. And I think I can admit that I was wrong about your trust fund. This is a fine use of your inheritance. In fact, it might do me some good to put a little of my own money into this project.'

Laurel couldn't believe what she'd just heard. 'You're going to give me my trust fund?'

'I'll have the bank transfer it to your name in the morning. You'll have to sign some papers, but that shouldn't take long.'

Tears flooded Laurel's eyes and she grabbed her uncle and gave him a quick hug. He sputtered slightly, surprised at her show of affection, then reached out and patted her shoulder. 'There is one thing I'd like you to consider. Two things, actually.'

Laurel's breath caught in her throat. Was he about to lay down another condition? 'What is that?'

'First, I'd like for you to move back into the house. It's your house and you belong here. I'm going back to Maine soon. And, second, I'd like you to go find that young man of yours. I enjoy him. He doesn't take any crap from a rich old man. And I've got some new corns I want to show him.'

'No more conditions?' Laurel asked.

'No more conditions,' Sinclair agreed.

They strolled out into the foyer and Laurel walked with him to the library. 'When I was younger, I fancied myself quite the painter,' Sinclair commented as he settled himself into his huge wing chair.

'Really? A painter?'

'I was quite good, but my parents insisted that I take up something more practical. An artist couldn't make a good living unless he had a great talent.'

'Maybe you should take up painting again,' Laurel suggested. 'You have the time and we could go out and buy some paint and brushes. It's not too late. It's never too late to make your dreams come true, Uncle.'

'No, I suppose it isn't,' Sinclair said.

As Laurel sat in the library, sharing a brandy with her uncle, her thoughts drifted to dreams of another kind. Every night since Sean had left, he'd come to her in her sleep, a strong, certain presence that she found herself longing for in the morning when she awoke.

Now that all her other dreams were falling into place, maybe it was time to make one last dream come true.

* * *