Page 8 of Waiting for Devon
What am I doing? I must be stark raving mad.
As soon as the Barringtons’ private jet climbed high in a cloudless azure sky, Shane removed a small black velvet box from his briefcase and handed it to Devon.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Your engagement ring. Go ahead, Devon. Put it on.”
A half-carat diamond surrounded by a dozen smaller gems glittered in the light. Overwhelmed and alarmed, Devon shook her head. “No, Shane, I can’t wear this.”
“I understand your reluctance, but as a future Barrington bride, you have to look the part.”
“But…”
“No buts. You can’t arrive at the ranch without an engagement ring if we expect to make our relationship believable.”
Devon clenched her teeth as she slipped the ring on her finger. This wasn’t an auspicious beginning to what promised to be a precarious adventure.
Shane didn’t engage Devon in conversation during the remainder of the flight while he studied files filled with reports. She didn’t care if he spoke to her or not, for thoughts of her patients occupied her mind. The Dalton baby was still ill, and she wondered how he was doing. There was a little girl on the fourth floor who was facing chemotherapy without her. Would she feel abandoned? Devon had promised she would stay with her through every treatment. The staff depended on her, and she felt as though she were letting them all down. She hated this charade.
When the pilot informed Shane they were about to begin their descent, he buckled his seatbelt and gave Devon brisk instructions. “Once we arrive at the ranch, you’ll be introduced to our housekeeper, Mrs. Peters, and our butler, Mr. O’Rourke. Mrs. Peters will show you to your room. Dinner is always served at seven. Blair will probably be home, but you’ll not meet her until later. Reed will be down at the stables with the horses. Do you have any questions, Devon?”
“No,” she answered, her voice cold and empty. “I don’t.”
The Barringtons’ driver, known simply as Lincoln, waited for Shane and Devon as they disembarked on the private runway. He smiled when Shane introduced Devon and helped them load their luggage in the trunk of the black limousine.
Lincoln maneuvered the car through the heavy downtown traffic while Devon received her first glimpse of the impressive Dallas skyline as they headed south out of the city. Shane pointed out the Reunion Tower, rising fifty stories into the air with is revolving restaurant and observation tower, and explained that Barrington Industries was situated near it in a glass building. He told Devon he would show her the company’s national headquarters in a few days. Soon, they left the business district behind and entered the suburban communities, home to many multi-millionaires.
The Barrington ranch lay thirty miles southwest of the city, sprawling on the flat prairie lands of Texas. Devon expected a whitewashed Southern plantation-styled home, but the Georgian architecture of the main house pleased her. Flowers and lush greenery adorned the landscape, and in the distance, Devon could see the pasture and corral for the Barringtons’ stock of champion thoroughbreds.
As soon as the limousine came to a complete stop in front of the palatial home, the wide, oaken doors opened and an elderly, silver-haired man wearing black pants, a short-waisted jacket, and a white shirt with a dark tie stepped forward.
“Welcome home, Mr. Barrington,” O’Rourke announced. “You have been away too long.” The butler’s black eyes pierced Devon as he nodded with formality. “We were told to expect you, Miss Brooks.”
Devon inclined her head and smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. O’Rourke. Shane has spoken very highly of you.”
“Indeed,” O’Rourke replied with a slight smile of his own. “Follow me, madam. Mrs. Peters is anxious to make your acquaintance.”
Devon followed O’Rourke into the elegant foyer. Her heels clicked on the marble tile as she gazed in appreciation at her surroundings. To the left of the main entrance, a marble staircase wound its way to the second floor, and a grandfather clock stood against a wall. To her right, a vase full of fresh flowers sat on a cherrywood table. Ahead lay the formal living room, the library, dining room, music room, and kitchen.
Upon hearing voices, Mrs. Peters came flying downstairs. A robust woman, she put Devon at ease with her breezy personality. “Oh, sweet child!” she gushed. “Aren’t you the pretty one? Welcome to the Barrington family, my dear.”
“Thank you,” Devon murmured. Guilt swept through her as she hugged the older woman.
“I’ll wager your presence will breathe new life into this house,” Mrs. Peters predicted. “It’s become too stuffy.”
She met O’Rourke’s disapproving frown with twinkling gray eyes. “Yes, I meant you. Come along, Dr. Brooks. I’ll show you to your room so you may rest before dinner.” Eyeing Shane, she continued, “Well, m’boy, I think you finally got it right this time. Don’t let this lovely young woman slip away.”
Shane grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
Linking her arm through Devon’s, Mrs. Peters chattered with merriment as they climbed the marble stairs and strolled down a long hallway until they stopped in front of the suite of rooms assigned to Devon. Inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t expected to share a room with Shane.
As they stepped inside, the housekeeper began, “I hope you like this suite, Dr. Brooks. I chose it especially for you. In the morning it’s bright with sunlight, and in the evening the view is spectacular. Come, see for yourself.”
Devon appreciated the peach and cream color scheme of her bedroom. A huge four-poster bed and twin nightstands dominated one wall. French doors opened onto a balcony and a rocking chair sat nearby. A dresser stood opposite the bed. The bathroom impressed Devon with its luxurious sunken tub and separate vanity area. On the other side of the bathroom, a sitting room contained a sofa, recliner, television, and an old-fashioned roll-top desk.
At the end of the tour, Devon turned to Mrs. Peters and said with gratitude, “Thank you for choosing these rooms for me. I love them. And,” she added, “you may call me Devon.”
Mrs. Peters patted Devon’s hand. “I will when we are alone, dear, but never in front of Mr. Barrington. He wouldn’t like the familiarity. Now, unpack and rest for tonight. Dinner will be ready at seven, and you must wear something nice. Appetizers will be served at six-thirty in the living room. You’ll meet Blair and Reed then. Do you need any help?”
