Partners In Parenthood

by Raina Lynn

  Mason ate until he could hardly move, and he couldn’t remember having laughed so much. Jerry, the head of advertising, Ben, the press supervisor, and Vicki’s husband Wilson had conned him into taking off his suit coat, tie, socks and shoes, and filling the empty place on the volleyball court. Now Jill stood on the far side of the net, looking like a cat who’d found the cream. In his experience, management didn’t mingle to this degree with employees. Then again, the people who depended on him for their livelihood didn’t treat him like a boss. Instead, they’d welcomed him as a new member of their extended family, another novelty he hadn’t been prepared for.

  Without warning, Jill fired a vicious serve. He and Wilson dove for the ball, both managing to miss. It hit the sand between them, and the two men exchanged sheepish looks. Wilson Haynes was fifteen years older than his wife and the light frosting of gray at his temples added to the image of the respected high school principal that he was. From the sudden glint in his dark eyes, Mason suspected that the man wasn’t in the habit of losing at anything, not even volleyball.

  “Gettin’ old, Haynes?” Jill taunted. “As for you, Bradshaw, if you think that little display of physical prowess impressed your devoted underlings, think again.”

  Anything remotely resembling decorum abandoned the group at that point. By the end of the day, Mason was exhausted, foolishly content and convinced he’d discovered something touchingly priceless.

  While everyone loaded dirty plates, leftover food and tired children into various cars, he made it a point to carry Jill’s basket to her fully restored, canary-yellow Volkswagen, the most preposterous-looking contraption in the parking lot.

  “Thanks,” he said low enough so that no one else would hear. “How did you know what I needed today?” His unexpected openness startled even him. There was something about Jill that invited trust, despite the fact he doubted he’d ever get used to her eerie resemblance to Karen. Every time he saw her, stopping himself from staring took every ounce of willpower.

  He expected one of her usual crazy comments. Instead she turned to him, compassion smoothing her delicate features.

  “I’ve been there,” she said simply. “It’s not a pretty place. Alone is insufferable.”

  Thanks to Karen’s frequent calls, everyone who worked for him knew about his personal problems.

  “Remember, Bradshaw, if you ever need to talk, my coffeepot is always on.”

  He gave her a tentative smile. “I’ll think about it.” That he was actually considering it startled him, too. The pressure had begun to eat him alive. His stomach hurt most of the time, and he wondered how close he had come to an ulcer.

  Indecision tightened Jill’s expression. Then she bobbed up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “See you Monday.”

  With that, she took her basket from his hand, tossed it onto the passenger seat and fired up her VW. She didn’t look back, and her gentle, undemanding kiss stayed warm on his cheek the rest of the weekend.

  Jill looked up as Vicki stormed into Mason’s office, her eyes snapping with annoyance. “Mason, you’ve got another call from L.A.”

  Jill watched the color leach from his face as his gaze swiveled to the blinking light on his phone. “Thank you,” he said tightly. Vicki went back to her desk, and Mason gave Jill what he probably thought was a passable smile. To her, he looked as if he’d just been slugged from behind.

  “We’ll tackle the rest of the budget later,” he said.

  Studying the haggard lines of his face, she nodded and backed toward the door. “When you say hello, sound like you’re having the time of your life. It’ll drive the bad guys insane.”

  Winking, she left then, but engraved on her mind was the image of him staring at her in surprised gratitude, his hand poised above the receiver.

  Dejected, she returned to her own office, sat down at her desk and dropped her head into her hands. “Do you have any idea how much pain you’re setting yourself up for?” she asked herself. “Falling in love with a self-centered creep like Donald was bad enough. Falling for Prince Charming in the middle of an ugly divorce is emotional suicide.”

  “Talking to yourself isn’t a good sign, either, girlfriend,” Vicki drawled as she walked in, purse in hand.

  Jill looked at her watch. Time for lunch. The last thing she wanted right now was to put food in her stomach. “What possessed me to kiss him at the park Saturday, and in front of everyone, too? Facing him this morning was awful. Please tell me he doesn’t think I’m a complete idiot. Lie if you need to.”

  Vicki’s face crumpled in shared pain. “Did he say anything about it?”

  A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed past it. “Mason? Mr. Good Breeding himself? Of course not.”

  “Why did you kiss him?” Vicki asked. “You’re impulsive, but that’s just not like you.”

  “That man needed a good smooch more than anyone I know, so I gave him one.” The lump in her throat got bigger, but she put on a brave front. “How about we hit the pie shop over on ‘B’ Street? I’ll smother my humiliation in meringue and listen to you whine about the calories.”

  Chapter 2

  Jill swung through the pressroom on yet another search for Mason. In the two months he’d been here, they’d all learned he worked like a man possessed, and she never quite knew where he’d be at any given moment. As bosses went, he was fair, appreciative of everyone’s efforts and made them all feel that the lowly Stafford Review-Journal was as prestigious as any big-city daily. Maybe, she suspected, because that’s how he saw it.

  She finally found him checking inventory, engrossed with the figures on the clipboard in his hands. She took a moment to study him. The set to his finely chiseled features seemed more strained than usual. In fact, he looked absolutely gaunt. Her silent questions as to the reasons were endless, but he never seemed willing to confide in anyone, always kept the world at arm’s length. Maybe it was just her. Even so, she wondered if he knew any other way to live.

  In Mason she found all the things Donald lacked—warmth, strength and consideration. Every nuance of his personality yelled “Good Guy Here.” No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find one single significant flaw to latch onto. Frankly, she was beginning to feel doomed. If she couldn’t find a way to put a lid on the hormones that had begun to make themselves heard, she knew she’d end up getting hurt. Maybe if she ignored them long enough, they’d go back to sleep where they belonged. Right, and ducks walk south.

  Finding the right man at the wrong time was hell. “You got your check-signing pen out, Bradshaw?” she asked, forcing as much cheer into her voice as she could.

  Startled, he raised his head. As usual when she came upon him when he didn’t expect her, something painful and defensive flared in his deep-set hazel eyes. And as usual, it hurt.

  If he didn’t find her attractive, fine. She was a big girl and could live with the rejection. But she couldn’t help wondering what it was about her that bothered him. And why couldn’t he get past it? Ordinarily she’d ask, but it struck her as too much like wearing her emotions on her sleeve. So she kept up the protective facade that she had no interest in him other than friendship. That approach also struck her as the best way to keep her job.

  “You straightened out those invoices already, Jill?” A softly incredulous smile warmed his face. He smiled so rarely. But when he did, it chased away the haunted cast to his features. At those moments, she believed she saw the man he should be. If it were up to her she’d make sure he smiled like that all the time.

  “Bradshaw, I keep telling you, I’m the hottest bookkeeper on two feet.” She winced at the accidental double entendre.

  Instead of pretending he hadn’t heard, he seemed to recoil further into himself. Without a word, Mason took the proffered stack of checks, braced them on the clipboard and went through the pile. His signature was an elegant script—something else she found fascinating. The voice of disaster told her that when a woman became infatuated with minutiae such
as a man’s penmanship, she was in serious trouble.

  Then she noticed the deeper shadows under his eyes. Her heart turned over in her chest, and common sense deserted her. “Okay, out with it. What’s eating you?”

  His gaze snapped to hers, and he froze. “Beg your pardon?”

  Groaning, Jill shook her head. “You’re falling apart.” He gave her another incredulous look. Come to think of it, over the weeks, she’d gotten used to them from him. “You looked bad enough the day you bought this rock pile. I doubt you’re sleeping right, and it’s getting worse, not better.”

  A twinge of panic raced up her spine. She’d really jumped in with both feet this time. If he didn’t fire her on the spot, it would be a miracle. Swallowing hard, she plunged on. “Bottled-up garbage ferments. That’s bad for humans.”

  He pulled himself up to his full height, which was considerable, and gave her a decidedly cool look. “I don’t think my personal life is any of your concern.”

  True, except I care about you too much to let it alone. “Bradshaw, your divorce is killing you. You’d better talk to somebody about it before your stomach lining commits mutiny.”

  Color blasted his cheeks, and his gaze shot to somewhere across the room.

  Uh, oh, she thought. How close to home did I hit with that one?

  The guilty flush turned into a cold glower. Jill crossed her arms and held her ground. After a tense moment, he returned to signing checks. Had his anger been all bluff? A defense mechanism?

  The fact that his signature changed into something tighter and less flowing did not escape her notice, either. Instinct said she was far from standing on solid ground, but it might not be too dangerous to give one more nudge. When he finished, she still stared at him, arms crossed, making no effort to take the stack of checks he held out to her.

  “Why are you doing this?” he blurted out.

  The question made her ache with empathy for him. It also confirmed her suspicions about his show of anger being nothing more than a ploy to get her to back off. Her voice softened. “Because you need a friend.”

  Mason shot her a look of total bafflement.

  “Come on, Bradshaw. When you walked in here that first day, that white strip of skin on your ring finger looked like shark bait. You’d probably had your wedding ring off for a week, maybe two. Every time your soon-to-be-ex calls, your face turns a sick shade of gray. You can’t tell me this isn’t destroying you.”

  Unrequited hormones aside, Jill empathized so much with the horrors of divorce that all she wanted to do was to wrap her arms around him and make the ugliness go away. Her voice lowered, and lacked the steadiness she would have liked. “You need to talk to someone. I’ve got two ears, no waiting.”

  “I’m not sure that employers and employees should—”

  “Cut the bologna.” Jill cringed the moment the words left her lips. Once again, the unemployment line loomed large in her mind’s eye. Then, beyond conscious will, she reached out and laid her hand on his coat sleeve. An electrical storm of awareness arced between them, and she could hardly breathe.

  “Oh, Mason, you can’t live this way,” she whispered. “It’s not healthy to build a fortress around yourself, then fill the moat with alligators and pull up the drawbridge. People here care about you. Talk to me.”

  Mason didn’t exactly pull away, but he shifted his weight enough that she either had to make an obvious reach to maintain contact, or let her hand drop away. She chose the latter, holding her breath as he weighed her words.

  Then unexpectedly, he hooked his hip on the corner of a packing crate. His shoulders slumped. “My divorce goes to court tomorrow.” Pain radiated from him in a solid mass, and she grieved for him.

  “Is that why you won’t be in? You’re flying down to L.A.?”

  His eyes closed on a nod. “My wife finally agreed to sign the property settlement if I promised to meet with her before the hearing.”

  Something didn’t sit right. He had all the symptoms of a man who’d been dumped, and dumped hard. Yet the implication was that Karen was the one doing the foot dragging. “You don’t sound like a man looking forward to his freedom.”

  “I’m not.”

  That really confused her. Jill wanted him free and ready to find someone new. Everyone deserved that measure of happiness. Maybe he would even find it with her—provided she could get past her own misgivings about taking the relationship plunge again—but he apparently still had a lot of feelings for his estranged wife.

  An entirely inappropriate twinge of jealousy lanced her chest. What kind of idiot would let a man like Mason Bradshaw get loose? Convinced she was slitting her own throat, she asked, “Is there any chance of an eleventh-hour reprieve?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “A reconciliation.” She shrugged. “It does happen sometimes.”

  In a rush of agitated motion, Mason jerked to his feet. “There’s no going back.”

  “Look, Bradshaw,” she said firmly. “It sounds to me like you still love her. Maybe with counseling—”

  He turned on her then, his eyes bleak with fury and memories. “I caught her in bed with another man.”

  Old, barely scarred-over memories of her own surfaced, and Jill wanted to weep for them both.

  “She’s done everything but spin cartwheels to get me to forgive her. At first, I tried to tell myself maybe I could—eventually. But I can’t. It’s like what I saw is permanently burned into my brain.” The rage seemed to drain out of him then, and his tall, lean body sagged.

  Tears burned behind Jill’s eyes, tears for his wounds and tears for herself. No one had ever cared for her as deeply as Mason loved the woman who’d betrayed him. Loneliness had become a pronounced part of her existence, and she wondered if she’d ever experience that kind of devotion.

  “She’s the only woman I ever wanted, and it’s over. But I can’t seem to get on with my life.” Raw emotion boiled out with such force and he seemed so consumed by it that Jill doubted if he even remembered her presence. “You’re right about the lack of sleep,” he added softly, more to himself than her. “I haven’t slept more than four hours a night since I walked in on her.”

  Jill knew putting her arms around him was a stupid thing to do even before she did it, far worse than kissing him in the park. But she could no more stop herself than she could stop the sun from rising. He tensed as her slender arms encircled his ribs, but then the pent-up breath eased from his chest, and he wrapped his own arms around her shoulders.

  His embrace was genuine and comfortable and seemed to fit in all the right places. A tingling warmth started in her soul and trickled through her veins. Everything within her wanted to stay like this forever, but the unwanted voice of reason said that wouldn’t happen. Why is it I’m drawn to emotionally unavailable men?

  The hoarse clearing of his throat signaled the end. Jill accepted it and turned loose before she suffered the indignity of being pried off him.

  “Jill, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over—”

  “That’s what friends are for,” she whispered, trying to keep the sexual hunger and frustration out of her voice. “You’re supposed to dump on us, impose on us, and generally make a nuisance of yourself.”

  One side of his mouth twitched in a smile, but his natural reserve aborted the effort. “I’ll remember that.” Then he walked away, and she wondered if he had even a clue where he was headed. Probably anyplace she wasn’t. “Well, as the old saw goes, you can lead a horse to water, but....”

  At nine sharp the next morning, Mason walked into his attorney’s office. He hadn’t realized until he’d been away from Los Angeles for a while just how bad it smelled, how much everyone lived like rats in a maze. Mentally, he shook his head. No, southern California held nothing for him anymore.

  A moment later, Karen and her lawyer arrived. Echoes of what he’d thought he once shared with her reverberated through him. He hadn’t seen her since the week before he’d left
L.A. Secretly, he’d hoped she would look as horrible as he felt, but she didn’t.

  Her pale blond hair hung down over her shoulders in heavy, seductive waves, and she wore a navy blazer and straight skirt that gave her a touch of class. She looked good. Too good for the occasion. Suspicious, he braced himself the instant before she threw herself into his arms.

  “Mason, I’m so glad you agreed to meet with me.” Her voice cracked.

  He held himself rigid, praying she’d let go. He didn’t dare try to extricate himself. If he put his hands on her at all, he might end up pulling her closer. Then again, he might strangle her. He honestly couldn’t tell which. The implications scared the hell out of him. “You said if I came to this meeting, you’d sign the property settlement.”

  She leaned back and gazed up into his eyes. How many times had he seen that look? It promised so much and delivered so little. He stepped away, and her face fell, the picture of devastation.

  “I didn’t know any other way to get you to hear me out.”

  Both attorneys shared uneasy glances. The audience embarrassed him, too, but he couldn’t do much about it. “Then you never intended to sign anything?”

  Moistening her full lips with the tip of her tongue, she glanced at him through lowered lashes. He saw pain there, and something else that surprised him. Could it be genuine remorse? With Karen, he could never be sure.

  “Not signing would only give you more cause to hate me.” Each word resonated with emotion.

  Stunned, he stared at her. “I don’t hate you, Karen. You are what you are, and we just don’t belong together.”

  “I love you.” She drew a finger down his cheek.

  Mason caught her hand and pushed it away. “Our lawyers really don’t want to hear this. Frankly, neither do I.”

  He motioned for her to take a chair. Both of the other men sat down, but Karen remained standing. The fiery set to her shoulders cooled. Tears glistened in her eyes, and she reached into her purse for a tissue.