More Than Friends (18 page)

He’d sent her away the previous night with claims of paperwork to get through. The stacks of papers still waited on his father’s desk, as untouched as they’d been yesterday. He’d spent a couple of minutes on the phone with his partner in Phoenix, making sure the business was surviving without him, but other than that had wasted the night thinking.

In truth, he’d been afraid to leave with her. The feelings he’d experienced had terrified him; they still did. He’d needed her so much in the past and, except for that last September day, she’d always been there. But his father’s death had shifted everything. A line had been drawn and he stood on one side, alone.

Jenny had become a part of everything he hated about the town. He couldn’t fault her decision; they had each made a choice. What he wanted to know was why she’d sold out.

The sound of a car door cut through his musings. He glanced up and saw her walking up the steps.

“You’re early,” he said, opening the door and grinning.

She didn’t return the smile. Half circles under her eyes marred the creamy paleness of her complexion.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me, either,” he admitted. “I should have taken you up on your invitation.”

She wore jeans and a sweatshirt. The faded logo for an ivy league school matched the green of her eyes. Her hair, layered and feathered around her face, glowed in the morning light. She hadn’t sprayed on her usual perfume, but he caught the scent of her body. Fragrant soap combined with her heat to produce something heady.

But there was nothing soft or willing about the way she stood in front of him. Her feet braced against the floor, legs stiff, her hands tightened into fists.

He reached out to touch her. She stepped away.

“Last night I wasn’t offering you the spare bed, I was inviting you into mine.”

Involuntarily, his head jerked as if he’d been slapped. “I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t listen. You couldn’t get me out of here fast enough.”

“You’re angry.”

“No. I’m hurt. Yesterday, I saw you clearly for the first time.”

He didn’t like the sound of that, or her. “What do you mean?”

She folded her arms over her chest and stared out the front window. “Even when I knew it wouldn’t have worked out, when I told myself the union president’s daughter and the son of the mill owner couldn’t have made a go of it, I believed it was all about circumstances. That we were star-crossed lovers. A modern-day Romeo and Juliet. I saw yesterday that it’s more than where we grew up and what our fathers did for a living. It’s us.” She looked at him, the pain visible in the trembling of her mouth. “You and I are not what
I
thought we were. You can tell me what time to show up for work and where to be. You control the destiny of my family. You’re not the boy I fell in love with—you are William Jackson’s son.”

“No!” he roared, backing away from her. “I’m not. I won’t be.”

“It’s too late, Chase. You never had a choice.”

“You can’t make me do this. No one can.” The rage grew, ugly and out of control. “Dammit, no!”

He walked out of the foyer and down the hall, moving faster until he was running. But somewhere he took a wrong turn. There was no exit from this part of the house. The tall double-doors at the end of the corridor led into his father’s study. Chase burst through, then glanced around. Bookcases stretched to the ceiling. Leather-bound volumes, dusted, but never read, stared back.

In front of him stood the old wooden fireplace, and above it, a mirror. Reflected in the glass was the portrait of his father, painted many years ago. The older Jackson, barely forty in the picture, sat at his desk in this very room. No wife, no son, no family pet. He’d been painted as he’d lived and died. Alone.

Chase looked at his own reflection, then up at the picture. The mouth, the eyes, the jawline, they were all the same. Fate or time or God had played a cruel trick, he thought. But the last word would be his.

He heard a soft step, then saw Jenny also reflected in the mirror. Regret and compassion mingled on her face, and the hurt he had so callously caused. And through it all, his father’s portrait stared down.

“Go to hell,” he shouted, then picked up the bronze Remington statue on the coffee table and flung it at the mirror.

The glass shattered with a loud crack. Shards fell. The bronze hit the marble floor, cracking the tiles and breaking off the horse’s tail. A cold sweat broke out on Chase’s back.

“Do you feel better?” she asked.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I do.”

He felt her small hands on his arms, urging him from the room. “I guess this isn’t the best time to ask you for a raise,” she said.

He risked a glance. She was smiling.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I just destroyed an antique mirror and a priceless piece of art. You should be pissed or screaming for help. Not laughing.”

“I hardly think a sculpture of some nameless cowboy smoking and sitting on a horse is priceless.”

“What do you know about Western art?”

“Nothing,” she said cheerfully.

The delayed reaction set in. A tremor rippled though his body. He stiffened his muscles. “Why aren’t you frightened of me? I’ve never lost control like that before.”

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me. And I provoked you.”

He stopped walking and turned to face her. “You did it on purpose?”

“I was telling you the truth. I wanted to make you think about everything that’s been going on.”

“That’s all I have
been
doing.”

“No. You’ve been running. And you still are. But you’re going to have to stop pretty soon. You can’t hide from the mill forever.”

“I know. But one more day won’t hurt.” He glanced over his shoulder at the library door. “Guess we won’t start in there. That is if you’re still going to help me go through the house.”

Her smile faded. “You remember how in eleventh grade I had all that trouble with quadratic equations?”

“Yeah.”

“And I told you that if I got a
B
in the class, I’d owe you forever?”

He grinned. “Now that you mention it—”

“After we’re done with the house, we’re even.”

*

Their first stop was the kitchen. While he filled a thermos with coffee, Jenny grabbed a couple of apples and a bag of cookies. He wanted to make a joke about it being like it used to be when they got ready for a study session, but he knew the humor would fall flat. It wasn’t the same. They weren’t in high school. They’d both changed. Funny how, in the space of a few days, his whole world had spun out of control. The house, the mill, the town, even Jenny, stood poised, waiting for his decisions. He was a Jackson, after all, born and bred to lead the masses to victory.

Right. The only thing he wanted to lead was a parade out of town. The urge to run and never look back swept over him. He pulled a couple of mugs out of the cupboard and followed Jenny across the foyer and up the stairs. He was getting used to fighting his natural inclinations. In all the years he’d been gone, he prided himself on his control and good sense. Now he knew it wasn’t anything that mature, he thought with a frown. He’d never been tested like this before. In Phoenix there had been no expectations, no past, no responsibility save what he had chosen to take on. Here—

“You’re looking pensive,” she said, pausing on the second-floor landing.

“Just thinking.”

“A dangerous occupation for a jock.”

“It’s been a lot of years since I’ve been classified as a jock.”

“Good. Then I’ll race you to the third floor. Loser makes lunch.”

She ran up the first few stairs.

“You’re cheating again,” he said, following right behind.

“And you’re losing again.”

“Watch me, woman. I might not be able to throw a football a hundred yards, but I can still—” He drew in a deep breath and passed her on the turn. Taking the last ten stairs two at a time, he jogged onto the third floor and smiled victoriously. “Beat you.”

“I let you win,” she wheezed, stopping short of the landing and sitting on the top step.

“Liar.”

She nodded. “I need coffee. It might be ten by the clock, but according to my body, it’s the middle of the night.”

He settled next to her and poured them each a cup from the thermos. After screwing the top back on, he leaned the container against the wall and stared out the window.

Big, square panes of glass illuminated the top of the house. Behind him was the long corridor with guest rooms. At the end of the hall, where the building branched into wings, began the old servants’ quarters. It was in there that the boxes had been stored. The musty odor of abandoned house clung to the walls and freshly vacuumed carpet. No cleaning product could erase the scent of disuse.

From this elevation, the sky soared on forever. Treetops, some leaves still green, others gold and red in the autumn morning, reached high toward the light. Past the grove lay the river, and to the east, the town. He was king of all he surveyed. And he’d give it away to the first person who asked. If he could.

Jenny stirred next to him. Except for a light gloss on her lips, she didn’t seem to be wearing much makeup. A pale hint of color stained her cheeks. The profile, strong, yet feminine, made his heart pound with both desire and regret. He was supposed to be fixing things for her, atoning for the past. Instead, he only seemed to be making things worse.

“Is it too late to apologize?” he asked.

“For?”

“Everything.”

She glanced at him. “That’s quite an apology. Maybe you could be a little more specific.”

“I guess this is where I tell you I’ve never stopped wanting you, and you tell me that it’s too late.”

Green eyes flickered over his face, as if picking out the features one by one. Her gaze seemed to linger on his mouth. “I wish I was strong enough to say that.”

“But?”

“We both know I’m not. For the next couple of hours, I’ll continue to hold on to how angry I’ve been. Yesterday I left here hurt, and staring at the ceiling for most of the night has a way of fanning my temper. I’m sorry, too.”

“You’re cute when you’re angry.”

She rolled her eyes. “The line is `you’re beautiful when you’re angry,’ not cute.”

“You
are
beautiful.”

She moistened her lips. “Chase?”

They had a ton of work to do, he reminded himself. They should get started. Instead, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’ve always believed that about you,” he said. “Even when I hated you, I never stopped wanting—wondering.” He thought about the years apart, what he had accused her of. “Tell me how it could have been.”

She turned to look out the window. “Tell me about the watch. It’s the one I gave you. I noticed you’re wearing it again.”

“My watch?” He stared at the timepiece strapped to his wrist.

“Why do you wear it?”

“You asked me before.”

“I know.”

He’d told her it was old and convenient to wear at the construction site. He’d lied.

She’d given him the watch on his birthday. A cold November afternoon they’d stolen between football and cheerleading practice and study time. A laughing conversation when she’d told him he was getting old and he’d realized there was something different about Jenny these days. She’d grown up. Not just the body that was beginning to drive him wild, but her mind, where she kept track of their plans and reminded him of what their future together could be.

The slim, elegant box had been store-wrapped, an unheard of luxury for a blue-collar town. Her hands had trembled. Even the tiny card, edged with gold, told him this was no ordinary gift. She’d signed her name, but above that, the phrase: With love.

He’d looked at her then, a question forming that he didn’t dare ask. What if he was wrong? What if she’d meant the kind of friendship-love they’d shared for years. What if he’d been the only one to sense the difference when they touched?

So he’d gathered his courage, his voice cracking for the first time in three years as he spoke the single word.

“Love?”

She’d blushed and glanced down at her tightly clasped hands. The tiniest of nods had given him hope.

“Do you love me, Jenny?”

She swallowed, then had nodded again.

He hadn’t cried since the summer his mother had died, but that day in his car, as they sat by the river, he’d felt the burning behind his eyes and the lump in his throat.

“I love you, too.”

They’d come together in a glory of words and promises, kisses and laughter. Only after he’d brushed away her tears and heard the magical words again, had he thought to open the package. He recognized the brand, knew what the gift had cost. For him, not even two weeks’ allowance, for her, a summer of hard work.

“I’ll treasure it always,” he’d said, holding her close. “And you. I’ll love you forever.”

Chase rubbed the metal band. Scratches marred the finish; he’d had to replace three links after a construction accident. There weren’t any more secrets between them. They’d lost as much as they could.

“When I left town that day eleven years ago, I drove until sunup, then stopped at a motel to rest. All I could hear was you telling me you wanted to see other people, then your father saying you were pregnant.” He wasn’t looking at her, but he could feel her stiffen. “Eventually, I gave up trying to sleep, got dressed and walked to my car. As I opened the door, I saw a trash can on the side of the road. Your words got louder. I remember wondering how they could drown out the sound of a big rig thundering by on the highway. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d slipped off the watch and thrown it across the parking lot. Actually, it fell about two feet short of the trash can. Kind of like that time I joggled the winning pass to Mark at the playoffs.”

“We went all the way the next year,” she said. “State champions.”

“I know. But dammit, I still remember that missed throw.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I got about a mile down the highway when I stopped and came back. The watch was lying there, in the dirt. Still ticking. I couldn’t leave it behind. I’ve worn it ever since.”