More Than Friends (13 page)

“It’s late,” he said, dropping his arms to his sides. “You’d better turn in.”

She slipped off the couch and gathered her robe around her. The needing ache inside would keep her awake most of the night. He knew that as well as she did. But making love would only complicate everything. He needed time to come to grips with his new knowledge. She was already having trouble thinking of Chase leaving. At least now she could only imagine what it would be like to make love with him. If she had the actual memories to call upon, his absence would be unbearable.

The argument sounded hollow, but it was the best she could do at the moment.

*

It was barely dawn when Chase picked up his boots and crept down the hall. He paused outside Jenny’s door and listened for any sound.

Last night he’d heard her restlessly tossing and turning in bed. Long after midnight, they’d both lain awake, staring at the ceiling. Even when the physical evidence of his passion had faded, the wanting inside had stirred him. The little sleep he’d managed had been filled with violent or sexual dreams.

Cautiously he opened her door and peeked inside. She slept on her stomach. The blankets covered her completely, only her face and tousled hair showed.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered fervently. “No matter what it takes, I’ll fix it. I swear.”

Leaning on the wall by the front door, he pulled on his boots, then let himself out and started toward his truck.

After stopping at a fast-food joint for coffee and breakfast, he drove to the mill. The first shift came on about an hour and a half before the office staff started. He parked the Bronco in an out-of-the-way corner of the lot and counted the number of cars pulling in.

Since he’d refused to ask Jenny to show him the books, he didn’t have any idea about the financial state of the business. The brief glimpse he’d had of the mill yesterday showed him that the equipment hadn’t been improved in years. With today’s economy, an American steel mill would require the best machinery and management to survive. Offshore companies had the advantage of reduced overhead. He’d bet his contractor’s license that Jackson Steel hadn’t shown a profit in a decade.

He watched the parade of cars quickly file into the parking lot. And he counted. By the time the whistle blew signaling the beginning of the first shift, he had his answer. Production was down. There was about half the workers that there had been eleven years ago.

He sipped his coffee. His father was going to die and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it. And when the old man was gone, Jackson Steel would pass down the family tree. To the oldest son. The
only
son.

“I don’t want it,” he said, speaking aloud.

He stared out the window and frowned. In the half hour he’d been sitting there, a fine coating of ash had covered his windshield. He looked around. Most of the cars had rust spots on the paint, a legacy from the mill.

A man walked toward him. Chase recognized Frank Davidson and grimaced. Hell of a way to start the morning.

“You here to count your chickens?” Davidson asked when Chase got out of the truck. The older man carried a cup of coffee. He paused and took a sip.

“I came by to see how the mill’s making out.”

“Times are hard. People worry about being laid off. They have families to support.” Jenny took after her mother in looks. There was little of her softness in the older man’s craggy face.

“This company is a dinosaur. It should have been extinct a long time ago.”

“There’s still a way to turn a profit at steel. With the right man in charge.”

Chase leaned against the hood and folded his arms over his chest. “Don’t look at me. I’m just some rich kid. Never amounted to much.”

“That used to be true. The way my daughter tells it, times have changed and you’ve gone and made something of yourself. I might have been a little too quick to judge you yesterday. ’Course that don’t excuse you spending the night at her house. Again.” Davidson finished the coffee and tossed the paper cup into a nearby trash can.

In spite of himself, Chase grinned. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what’s going to happen to my people when your father dies. Your great-grandfather started this company. My grandfather worked for him. That used to mean something. Now it’s all changed.” Davidson shoved his hands into his pockets. “William Jackson has turned his back on his people. He won’t listen to reason. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but—”

“He’s not gone yet. Let’s put off the funeral arrangements until the body’s cold.”

Davidson had the grace to look ashamed. “Sorry. You’re right. But we’re going to have to talk about the future of Jackson Steel soon enough.”

Chase opened his door. “It has no future. There’s nothing to say.”

“The problem’s not going away. Decisions have to be made.”

“Forget it. I’m not going to run the mill.”

“There are a thousand people still employed here. You going to forget about them, too?”

Despite the crisp morning air, Chase could feel the walls closing in again. “I’ve got to get to the hospital,” he said. “The doctor is expecting my father to be fully conscious today and we have a lot of things to say to each other.”

“I bet you do.” Davidson leaned closer and stared. Chase wondered if he’d nicked himself shaving. “I broke your nose, didn’t I?” the older man asked.

He rubbed the bump marring his profile. “If Jenny had been my daughter, I would have done the same.”

Davidson raised an eyebrow. “We couldn’t possibly agree on something, could we?”

“I always cared about Jenny. You’re right. I
am
responsible for what happened to her that summer. It’s not something I’ll live with easily. But I want you to know I intend to make it up to her any way that I can.”

“It seems a little late for that, but I’ll leave the two of you to decide. Just know that if you hurt her this time, I’ll do more than break your nose.” He offered his hand.

Chase stared at him a moment, then clasped it in his own and shook.

When the men stepped apart, Davidson turned and looked at the mill. “Lot of things are going to be different real soon. You might think you won’t be a part of it, but responsibility has a way of changing a man.”

“Not me.”

“Keep saying that, son, and you might make it true.”

C
hase glanced at his watch, then buzzed the speaker at the Cardiac Care unit. When the nurse came on the line, he announced himself. She told him to come in.

He pushed the door open slowly. The shift changed at 7:00 a.m., so Terry had already left. A different nurse greeted him. Youngish, close to thirty, she had a slight protruding belly under her smock.

“When’s the baby due?” he asked as she greeted him.

“Another four months. Feels like an eternity.” The nurse smiled. “Your father is awake and feeling pretty good. We’ve given him breakfast, although we don’t expect him to eat that much. You can talk to him. Just don’t get him too tired, and don’t let him move around. We don’t want his heart rate any faster than it has to be.”

“Fine.”

Chase squared his shoulders and walked toward his father’s room. Tension stiffened his spine. He was a Jackson; he wouldn’t show fear. Ironic that the training he’d despised would serve him so well when he faced his father.

The door to the room stood ajar. He knocked once and stepped inside.

William Jackson sat upright, his back supported by the hospital bed. A tray sat on the table pulled over his lap. Someone, probably the pleasant nurse, had shaved him and dressed him in a clean gown.

“Hello, Father,” Chase said. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Well, well.” The old man set down his spoon. Gray eyes, exactly as cold and judgmental as he remembered, met and held his own. “So you finally came back. I always knew that you would.” He motioned to the chair. “Tail between your legs. Couldn’t cut it, could you?”

Chase frowned, not understanding what his father was going on about. Had the medication affected his—

He tightened his jaw. William Jackson wasn’t crazy because of the medication, he was gloating. Apparently he didn’t know Jenny had sent a telegram recalling his only son. The old man thought he was returning in defeat.

Chase sat in the same chair he’d been using since his first visit to the hospital. “You’re looking well, Father. You gave everyone quite a scare.”

Jackson brushed off the implied concern. “They haven’t seen the last of me yet, even though the vultures are probably circling overhead. So. How much do you need? A million?”

“Dollars?”

His father nodded. “I might have spent my life in steel, but I understand about construction. Lose a couple of backers and the whole project falls apart. Times have been tough. I’ll loan you the money, with interest. Of course the best thing would be for you to come back and work in the mill. It’s not too late.”

“Wait a minute.” Chase leaned forward and linked his hands together. “First, I am not going to work in the mill. Second, I don’t need your money. My company is doing fine. We had to turn down a hotel expansion last month because we’re too busy.”

“There’s no need to exaggerate your position in—”

“I’m not exaggerating,” Chase said loudly as he came to his feet. “Why do you assume I’ve failed?”

“Because I know you don’t have what it takes to make it, boy. You’ve always—”

“Stop.” Chase walked to the end of the bed and braced his hands on the metal footboard. “It’s been eleven years and you don’t know a damn thing about me.”

The older man pushed away the tray. “I know you’re my son.”

“Some father you turned out to be. You let an eighteen-year-old kid run off on his own. You never tried to find me, or write me. What the hell were you thinking of? If I made it—and I did—it’s no thanks to you.”

William Jackson pursed his lips. “You needed to learn about your responsibilities. We didn’t know that Davidson girl was going to lose her brat. If you hadn’t run away—”

“I didn’t get Jenny pregnant. I tried to tell you that, but you wouldn’t listen. You’re still not listening.” Frustration added an edge to his voice.

“I’ll admit I was hard on you, but it was for your own good.”

Chase turned away and ran his hand through his hair. Hard? He thought back on the beatings, the cold words, the obvious disappointment in his father’s voice every time they spoke. “Hard doesn’t quite describe it,” he said softly.

“You’re a grown man now, Chase. What do you want from me?”

The question, spoken in that impatient why-are-you-bothering-me voice he’d always hated as a child, brought him up short.

He folded his arms over his chest. “Guess what, Dad? I don’t want a damn thing.”

The room was silent. He forced himself to look back at his father. The man had aged suddenly. His hands shook as he lifted his juice glass. Something hot and gritty burned at the back of Chase’s eyes, and he stared at the floor. He didn’t want to see the old man like this. It was better when they yelled at each other.

“They sent you a telegram, didn’t they?” William asked.

“Yes.”

“So you’re here out of obligation.”

There was no good answer to that question. “It’s been a long time, Dad. Let’s just let it go. You need to think about getting better.”

“I’ve left you the mill.”

“I don’t want it.” He spoke without thinking.

“You are my son and you
will
be responsible. I don’t give a damn about your petty little construction business.”

Chase looked longingly at the door. “I employee forty guys.”

“
We
employee a thousand.”

“I’m not coming back.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

He spun to face him. “The hell I don’t. You can’t make me do anything anymore.” Anger boiled inside. Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to relax. “I didn’t come here to fight with you. I was concerned, so I flew home.”

“You must stay. The mill is your heritage.”

“It’s a death sentence.”

“Not to the people employed there.”

“Don’t give me that crap. When have you ever cared about the people of this town? One of the last things you told me before I left was that it didn’t matter that I’d gotten some girl pregnant, only that she was the union president’s daughter. It’s always been about what you want and no one else. Don’t pull this noble act now. Not on me. It won’t work.”

His father leaned back against the pillows. “You’ve gotten good at speeches. Maybe you should go into politics. The doctor says that I’ll be in the hospital for at least two more weeks. That will give you enough time to return to Arizona and pack up your house. When you get back—”

“Have you listened to one word I’ve said?”

William offered a half smile. “I heard, but it’s not important. The mill—”

“Is just a factory. Dad, I’m your son. Don’t you care about what I want?”

The elder Jackson raised his head slightly. “No. I don’t. The mill must continue. You will inherit everything eventually. You must learn how to run it. I tried to explain this eleven years ago, but you were too caught up in feeling sorry for yourself. I won’t live forever.”

He continued to speak, but Chase didn’t hear anything. He felt battered, as if he’d had a run-in with a two-ton flatbed. They’d been talking at cross-purposes and he’d finally figured out what was going wrong. He’d come home looking for a change in his father, some sign that the years apart had mellowed him. He’d hoped to find parental approval, a happily-ever-after ending to a tragic relationship. It had been a nice dream. But meaningless. The old man hadn’t changed at all. He had his priorities. Years ago, they’d never included a small boy. Now they couldn’t include a grown man.

“…just in time delivery systems,” William continued. “You can research that when you get back.”

“Dad, I—”

“Hi. Am I interrupting?”

Chase turned at the question and heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Jenny standing in the doorway. “No. Come in.”

“Mr. Jackson.” Jenny set a large flower display on a table in the corner. “I called to make sure you were allowed plants. I’d wanted to bring them sooner, but with the oxygen and all—” She shrugged, then smiled. “You look great. How do you feel?”