More Than Friends (9 page)

“Probably.” She grinned.

“I’m going to pay my respects to the old man this afternoon. Has there been any news?”

“No. I called the hospital a little while ago. His condition is unchanged.”

“If he dies, it’s over. For all of us.”

“You don’t know that.”

Frank touched her cheek. “You’ve always believed in that boy. I admire your loyalty. I wish you had the good sense to see the truth about Chase Jackson.”

*

Chase pulled into the parking lot in front of the mill, then swore when he saw the crowd. A catering truck stood on one side, close to the office building. As he eased the Bronco to a halt, the people began to stare. When he stepped out onto the gravel lot, silence crashed over the group like a wave. Some people nudged one another. A few pointed. A couple hundred pairs of eyes bore into him as if they could drive him away simply by their combined force of will.

He’d almost forgotten what it meant to be the mill owner’s son in a town that resented its main employer as much as it depended on him for survival. Many people believed they had been exploited by the mill, that their labor had provided the means to a luxurious life-style for the Jacksons. Two generations ago, that had been true. Government regulations and the union had made the employee-employer relationship more equitable, but old habits—and hatreds—died hard.

Chase’s footsteps crunched loudly as he walked toward the truck. The line parted, allowing him to go immediately to the front. It wasn’t, he knew, an act of politeness. They wanted him gone as fast as possible.

He paid for his lunch, then turned and moved toward the picnic benches set up under the tall oaks. A group of three women sat at the last table. Two of them stood up when he approached. The third remained seated, gesturing with her half-eaten apple for him to take the bench opposite.

“At last,” Jenny said. “A friendly face.” She smiled.

“My thoughts exactly.” He could feel them staring into his back.

The conversation resumed around them. Murmurs and whispers, half-heard phrases. The hatred was all-encompassing, like a thick cloak that threatened to suffocate him.

“I’ll bet your day’s been better than mine,” he said, then took a bite of his sandwich.

“Don’t count on it.”

He raised one eyebrow.

“My sister found out that you spent the night at my house. She’s already been here to explain in detail the damage done to my reputation. My father also dropped by to discuss his feelings on the subject.”

“What did you tell them?”

“To mind their own business.”

Frustration grew inside of him. She looked exactly as he remembered from eleven years before. A little older, perhaps, more mature, but the essence of Jenny remained the same.

Dark blond hair fluttered around her shoulders. Despite the bright sunshine, the fall temperature was brisk. She wore a sweater. The burgundy wool hid her curves from view, but he could still feel the imprint of her breasts on his bare chest. The taste of her kiss lingered, as did the passion. He’d spent eleven years hating Jenny Davidson. Did, in fact, still hate her. And he’d gladly sell his soul to the devil for an hour with her in bed.

He swore again.

She finished her apple and licked the juice from her fingers. The sight of her pink tongue tasting her skin turned his sandwich into sawdust and his groin to fire.

“Don’t blame them,” she said.

“Who?” he managed after swallowing half his drink.

“My family. It’s this town. Everybody knows everybody’s business.”

“I should never have stayed with you.”

She shrugged.

“Why the hell didn’t you send me packing?” he asked, his voice little more than a growl.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, placing her forearms on the picnic table and leaning close to him. “Don’t go blaming this on me. You’re the one who showed up at midnight with nowhere to go. I did you a favor. You knew what could happen, what people would say. This is Harrisville, Chase.”

“Why do you stay?”

She settled back in her seat. “Because I belong here.” She opened a package of cookies and passed him three. “How’s your father?”

“The same. I spoke to the doctor this morning. She says—” he rubbed his temple, but the ache didn’t go away “—it’s no good. Just a matter of time. There’s been too much damage to the heart and he’d never survive surgery.”

“She said he was going to die?”

He shook his head. “It’s more what she
didn’t
say. I understood the message.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” He glanced up and saw her face soften with compassion. “I’m not. The old man’s a bastard. He never gave a damn about anything but the mill and getting his way.”

“He loved you.”

“Save the speeches for someone who cares.” He bit into one of the cookies.

“I know you’re upset, but—”

“Damn straight. Do you know I haven’t even been back in this hole for twenty-four hours and all I can think of is leaving? How do you stand it, day after day?” He could feel his temper rising. With an effort, he tamped down the anger and rose to his feet. “I’ve got to get back to the hospital,” he said. “I’ll see you.”

Jenny got up from her seat and stood next to him. “Not everything here is bad. There’s a good side to a small town.”

He glanced around at the lunch crowd, noticed how they were careful to avoid his eyes. “Having people know you, care about you? The camaraderie? Friends for a lifetime?”

A frown line marred her smooth forehead. “Yes. Exactly. How did you know?”

“I’ve seen it. All my life. But you’re forgetting something. That’s your view of Harrisville, not mine. I’m William Jackson’s son and fitting in was never allowed.”

He crumpled the wrappings from his sandwich and tossed them into the trash.

“Chase, don’t go off like this.”

She touched his arm. Her hand, so small and delicate, feminine despite the calluses and lack of nail polish, burned like a brand.

“It’s always been like this,” he said. “You never noticed before.”

“It doesn’t have to be. You could try to—”

He jerked his arm away. “I tried with you. I gave you everything I had and it wasn’t enough. You were all I cared about in the world and you betrayed me. You lied. Even at the end, you didn’t have the guts to tell me the truth—face-to-face.”

She paled and took a step back. He could feel the workers listening. “It wasn’t like that,” she whispered. “I wanted to but there were things that had happened.”

“I don’t care. To hell with you,” he said, then turned to the crowd. “To hell with all of you.”

He stomped toward his truck, walking in a straight line, assuming the people would part to form a path. They did. No one would want to get too close to a Jackson.

He’d already started the engine when there was a tap on the window. He turned to tell Jenny to leave him alone, then scowled at the man standing beside the truck.

“Yeah?” he said after rolling down the glass.

“Hey, Chase. I just wanted to say hello.”

“Mark?” He studied the tall blond man. “Mark Anders?”

The man smiled. “It’s me. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry about your dad.”

Chase brushed off the concern and offered his hand. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Last I heard you were at Ohio State on a football scholarship. Rumor was you were going pro.”

Mark glanced down at his leg. “Busted the knee my sophomore year. Patti turned up pregnant, so we got married. I never had the time to finish college. So here I am.” He shrugged. “It’s a living.”

Chase turned to stare at the mill. Not in his mind, it wasn’t. Working at Jackson Steel was a life sentence in hell. He shifted uncomfortably. “I guess.”

“Heard you made it big.”

“A couple of guys and I build houses and office buildings in Phoenix.”

“I’m glad you got out.”

Chase stared at his old friend. Back in high school they’d broken school sports records together. He’d thrown the football downfield and Mark had carried it across the goal line. They’d been unbeatable. He’d always assumed Mark had made it to the pros. Funny how nothing turned out like he’d thought.

He cleared his throat. “I got to get to the hospital, buddy.”

“I hope your old man gets back on his feet soon.”

“Me, too.” He put the truck in gear.

“Maybe we can get together. Talk about old times.”

He nodded at Mark. “Sure. I’ll call you.” Then he offered a wave and steered the car onto the main road.

*

The nurse tapped him on the shoulder. “There are a couple of other people here to see your father. Do you want me to tell them to come back later?”

Chase shook his head. The Cardiac Care staff preferred only one visitor at a time. “I need to stretch my legs. Are they waiting in the hall?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t know who was here, but he had a fair idea that he didn’t want to talk to them.

“I’ll tell ’em they can come in.”

“Thanks. Why don’t you get something to drink? It’s almost four. You’ve been sitting with him for hours.”

He looked at his father. The old man still lay silently, a ghost kept alive by tubes and machines. He’d hated him for years, despised the way William Jackson had let him walk out of his life, and yet this was his father, his own flesh and blood. God help him, he couldn’t turn off all the feelings, no matter how hard he tried. Dr. Martin had urged patience and hope. Chase knew better. Time was running out. For all of them.

He walked through the double doors and saw Frank Davidson and his wife standing in the corridor. It had been eleven years since he’d last seen Davidson, eleven years since the union president had punched him in the face and accused him of knocking up his daughter. His hands closed into fists as he centered his weight over the balls of his feet. He wasn’t a kid anymore. If Davidson tried something, he’d be ready.

The two men stared at each other, like lions warily circling before their fight for the pride. Mrs. Davidson, a slight, brown-haired woman with Jenny’s eyes, took her husband’s arm.

“I’ll just be a minute, Frank. Then you can go in.”

Her husband nodded.

She smiled at Chase. “It’s good to see you. I’m sorry you had to come back to such sad news. We’re all praying for your father’s recovery.” She sounded sincere.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m sure he appreciates it.”

As she walked past him, she paused, then raised herself on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Be strong,” she whispered, then disappeared into the Cardiac Care unit.

Davidson continued to glare at him. Chase remembered Jenny’s complaints that the entire town knew he’d spent the night at her house. Words of explanation formed on his tongue, but he refused to speak them. He didn’t owe her old man anything.

The silence between them grew until it filled the hallway.

Finally, the older man shoved his hands into his pockets. “I won’t apologize for hitting you that day.”

He couldn’t believe it. The urge to give back what he’d received was almost overwhelming. “You
can’t
still think I got Jenny pregnant.”

“No.” Davidson scowled. “I know you didn’t sleep with her. But she was out with you. You were so damn cocky all the time. The golden boy who could do no wrong. I expected more from you and I hold you responsible for what happened. You should have kept her safe.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The night of the carnival. That last summer. When you got drunk and passed out.”

“So?”

“Jenny got a ride home from a carny worker.”

“She told me that. Things got out of hand—that’s how she got pregnant. I had nothing to do with it.”

Frank shook his head. “She’s still protecting you, boy, and I’ll be damned if I can see why. Things didn’t
just
get out of hand. He
raped
her.”

R
aped?

The word thundered through his brain, growing louder and louder until he could hear or see or feel nothing else.

No! Not Jenny. It couldn’t be true. Not Jenny. There must be some kind of mistake. Her father could have misunderstood what she said or—

“No,” he whispered. “No. She would have told me. I would have known.”

The older man shook his head, his eyes dark and cold. “Nobody knew. She saw to that. But you could have stopped it in the first place. If for once in your useless life you’d thought of someone other than yourself.”

Chase tried to draw in a breath. The band around his chest tightened until he thought his ribs would snap. Raped? It wasn’t possible.

Without a word, he turned and started down the hall.

“That’s right, boy,” Davidson called after him. “Run away. And don’t come back. My little girl doesn’t need anyone like you.”

The elevators were slow, as usual. Chase hit the down button again, then swore under his breath and headed for the stairs. He jogged across the parking lot to the Bronco, then slipped inside and started the engine. It was only after he turned onto the road that he realized he had nowhere to go.

There wasn’t one person in a radius of a thousand miles that he could talk to. No home where he’d be welcome, no child that would smile at the mention of his name. He squeezed the steering wheel harder.

That wasn’t completely true. There was one person who cared. Jenny. Even after all that had happened, she’d opened her door to him last night. She’d kissed him with all the passion he remembered. Had smiled when he’d walked up to her table at lunch. Dear God, what had he done?

The past appeared before him, flashing pictures of so many events that hadn’t made sense. He remembered the night of the carnival, the way he’d gotten drunk and passed out. How the next morning, he’d been too hung-over to do more than lie in bed and groan. When he did get around to calling Jenny that evening, she’d claimed a summer cold and had stayed in her house for a week. At the time—he wrinkled his forehead, trying to remember—oh yes, he’d thought she was pissed about the brandy.

Raped
. No wonder she’d avoided him. Everyone, really. That had been a summer of growing up for all of them, only Jenny hadn’t deserved that kind of introduction to the real world. No wonder she’d resisted his suggestions that they make love.