Jack grimaced. “You don’t want to know. But if we wait long enough, maybe the other guys will bring it all up for us.”
“They’re members of Jack’s lacrosse team,” Frannie informed Dax. “Impressed into service by the coach.”
He looked at Jillian again. “Is there more stuff at the condo you want to get?”
She shook her head. The uncertainty had faded and the mantle of confidence she usually wore so easily was back. “Nope. Six months and then I’m outta here, buddy.”
A silence descended on the room. It felt like everyone—except Jillian, who was openly smirking—was holding their breath, waiting for his reaction.
He would have dragged her out of the room for a private confrontation, except that he was afraid that if he put his hands on all that bare skin, he’d be shooting himself in the foot.
Instead, he put his hands in his pockets and shrugged, turning to her friends. “She gets combative when she feels threatened, and right now I’m making her nervous as hell.”
Jack hooted and Ronan gave a long whistle, but his words had the predictable effect on Jillian. He could practically see the fur rising. In another minute she’d be hissing and spitting. Just as she opened her mouth—to blast him, no doubt—he said, “Go ahead and call me names, honey-bunch. You can make it up to me later... when we’re alone.”
If those blue eyes could shoot bullets, he’d be bleeding to death at her feet. Jillian paused, almost gave in to the urge to say something, then sniffed and stomped out of the room.
“Hey, honey-bunch, wait for me.” Jack headed after her with Ronan on his heels. “You have to tell the guys where you want them to set that little table.”
There was a short, uncomfortable silence behind the trio’s departure.
Dax was still patting himself on the back for winning that skirmish when Deirdre Sullivan approached. She looked as nervous as he’d claimed Jillian was, but her little pointed chin was up and her eyes were determined.
“Jillian told us this was a business deal.”
He nodded. “That’s one way to explain it.”
“I’d like to hear your way to explain it.” She crossed her arms.
Dax was surprised. Who’d have ever thought this one would be Jillian’s champion? Mildly, he said, “I think that’s better left between my wife and me.”
“When Jillian told us, this wedding idea sounded like a simple business maneuver,” Frannie murmured, moving up behind her friend. “But it doesn’t seem simple now that I’ve seen you two together.”
He gave her a bland look. “We’ve known each other most of our lives.”
“Jill’s not as tough as she acts,” Deirdre informed him. “I don’t know why you’ve come back or why she’s really coming to live with you, but please, please don’t hurt her.”
“Any more,” Frannie added.
Dax raised his eyebrows, wondering just what in hell Jillian had told her friends about him. “Whoa. Who says I did?”
Frannie didn’t smile. “Nobody said anything. But if it wasn’t you, then someone else slammed her down and kicked her a few dozen times in the past. Can you tell me it wasn’t you?”
“Look,” he said, beginning to feel a little like a porpoise in the midst of a pod of Orcas, “Jillian and I have a lot of history together, and some things to iron out. I’m not—” He stopped abruptly. He could not stand here and lie to these two women. He had come back to hurt her. And he’d succeeded. But the success had created more questions than it had quelled.
“I have hurt her,” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I’m not sure I won’t again. But I won’t hurt her on purpose.” He lifted his hands. “That’s the best I can do.”
“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t embarrass me in front of my friends.” Jillian stood in the doorway, spoiling for a fight. She’d been here for twenty-four hours and hadn’t spoken to Dax since their verbal battle in front of Frannie, Dee and their husbands.
Dax was sitting comfortably in a chair in the homey family room Charles had preferred to the more formal areas of the house, watching a baseball game on the sports channel. He glanced up at her words. “Then don’t bait me.”
She made a pretense of looking at her watch, saw that Christine was playing in the room and decided to abandon the attack. “What do you want for dinner tonight? Am I expected to make the meals when Mrs. Bowley is off?”
Dax blew out a huge, exaggerated sigh. “Of course not. You can cook if you’d like, or I will, but Mrs. Bowley usually leaves us a casserole.”
Christine was sitting on the floor with a scattering of dolls and clothing surrounding her. Her head had jerked up at Jillian’s entrance and her eyes had followed the conversation as if she were watching a tennis match. Now she said, “Oh, Daddy, it’s tuna-noodle. Yuck.” She climbed into Dax’s lap and looked into his face. “Can we order pizza?”
Dax laughed at her, walking his fingers up her spine until she wriggled away, squealing. “Nope. Tuna casserole’s fine with me.”
“Well, it’s not fine with me. I can’t stand tuna casserole.” Jillian turned to leave the room. She felt small and mean, being jealous of a child, but she couldn’t bear to watch the open adoration in Christine’s eyes as she looked at her father, nor his tender affection. “I’m going to see what else I could make for tonight’s meal. I’ll freeze the tuna. Some day when Christine and I are out, you can eat it alone,” she informed him.
She went into the big kitchen and yanked open doors, drawers and closets in search of possibilities for mealmaking. A bag of tomatoes in the refrigerator had her thinking spaghetti, so she put a pot of water on to boil and cored the tomatoes while she waited.
She was assembling herbs and getting ready to chop a bell pepper when Christine came through the swinging door. The little girl gave her one swift glance and then made herself as small as possible in a far corner. Which was fine with Jillian.
She chopped up the pepper, as well as an onion, which she held under the running tap as much as possible so her eyes wouldn’t tear. As she prepared to drop the tomatoes into the now-boiling pot of water, Christine came to the counter and peered over the edge at the preparations. “Whatcha makin’?”
“Spaghetti sauce.” Plop, plop, plop. The tomatoes went in, came out and immediately she immersed them in a pan of ice water so the skins would slip off neatly.
“I like spaghetti sauce,” Christine informed her.
It wasn’t a question, so Jillian didn’t answer. Though she knew it was irrational to blame this child for her father’s sins, it was hard not to resent her. The old, familiar ache tugged at her.
“Daddy told me you’re going to be my stepmother now.” Christine peeped through her lashes to gauge the effect of her words.
“I guess I am,” Jillian said steadily.
“Do I call you stepmother?”
Jillian had to laugh. “No, that reminds me too much of Snow White. You can call me Jill if you like. That’s what my friends call me.”
Christine was silent for a moment, but her small hands twisted her doll’s curls into painful-looking knots. “I don’t have any friends,” she said.
She really did not want to like this child, did not want to care, but her soft heart couldn’t resist the loneliness in the little voice. She and loneliness were far too well acquainted for her to wish its presence on Christine. Laying down her knife, she turned and knelt in front of the girl.
Christine immediately shrank back, clearly startled, but Jillian pretended she hadn’t noticed. “I’m going to take you to visit your new school on Monday. I bet that you’ll make some friends there.” She smiled, wanting the wariness to fade from those wide eyes. “Did Daddy tell you about my family?”
Christine shook her head. The doll with the abused hair was tightly clutched to her chest now.
“You have some cousins now, and an aunt and uncle.” Then she stopped. Was it wrong to let the child get to know her family? Had Dax told Chris
tine that Jillian was only going to be here six months? Somehow, she doubted it.
But Christine’s eyes were wide and interested now. “Cousins?”
“Um-hmm.” Jillian rose and picked up her knife again, concentrating on smoothly slicing the thin tomato skins, and slipping their contents into the food processor. “Jenny is almost four. Her birthday is the next month after yours, in November. And she has a new baby brother. His name is John Benjamin but we call him J.B.”
“Can I see them?”
“Of course. We’ve been invited to dinner with them next week.”
“What are you gonna do next?” Christine was pointing to the tomatoes. She appeared to have lost interest in the family connections, for which Jillian was grateful.
“I’m going to puree them in here until there are only small chunks of tomato left. Then I’ll pour them into a big pot, add the rest of the stuff to make it tasty—” She nodded to the seasonings “—and let it simmer. Do you like meatballs?”
Christine nodded.
“Good,” Jillian said. “Me, too. I’m going to make some while the sauce is cooking.”
“Can I help?”
Jillian looked up. The child was twirling a long strand of blond hair, studiously avoiding her eyes. How many times had this little girl’s questions been ignored? She acted as if she expected to be refused.
“Sure,” she said. “The quicker I teach you to cook, the sooner you can do it instead of me.”
Christine smiled, a tentative expression that told Jillian the little girl was dying to giggle but was simply too inhibited. Wondering exactly what the child’s mother had done to make her so anxious to fade into the wallpaper, Jillian made up her mind to ask Dax for details at the next opportunity.
“You never told me you could cook.” The deep voice startled them both.
“You never asked.” Aware of Christine’s straining ears, she kept her tone light and matter-of-fact.
“Your kitchen in the condo looked like it doesn’t get used much.” His voice was normal enough.
She opened the refrigerator and got out a package of ground beef. “It doesn’t. I eat out a lot.” There, let him imagine her dining out with a different man every night. “Just because I don’t cook doesn’t mean I can’t,” she added. “I’m actually a fairly decent cook.”
“I guess cooking for one isn’t much fun.” There was an edge in his voice.
Fine. If he wanted to throw down the verbal gauntlet, she’d be glad to pick it up.
“I wouldn’t know, since I rarely cook just for myself,” she said. “Most of the meals I prepare are small, intimate dinners.”
“From now on, the only meals you’ll be preparing are family ones.”
“You must be sure of that since you seem to think it’s necessary to remind me.” She gave him a mocking smile. He didn’t trust her anyway, so why not live up to his expectations?
“Don’t push me, Jillian.”
“Who’s pushing? You can leave the kitchen any time you—”
“Stop it!” The hoarse demand came from the corner of the kitchen and they both whirled, shocked out of their animosity. Christine had pushed herself as far into the corner as she could without becoming part of the woodwork.
“Baby, it’s okay. Daddy and Jillian—” But Dax never got to finish the sentence.
Launching herself out of the corner with a mighty push, the little girl raced from the kitchen. As her pounding footsteps echoed down the hall and up the stairs to the second floor, they heard the sobbing begin.
Jillian turned to Dax. “This living arrangement is going to make us all crazy.” Aching to comfort the sobbing girl, she gripped the edge of the counter to keep herself from going after her. It’s not your problem, she told herself. She’s not your kid, remember?
Dax sat heavily on one of the tall stools at the island bar. “She’s usually a little trooper. But I guess she thought we were fighting and it probably scared the hell out of her. Libby’s husband shouted at her all the time in the past few years.”
“At Christine?” She stared at him, sympathy rising. “Good Lord. You could have told me. At least I would have been a little more sensitive.”
“I’m sorry. I should have warned you.” His face was a study in sadness and frustration and his wide shoulders slumped wearily. “I’ll go after her.”
“No, I’ll go talk to her. She already knows you love her. I’m the one she needs reassurance from.” As Dax’s head came up and he stared at her, she didn’t know who was more surprised. Why in the world had she said that? She didn’t want the responsibility for his child. Still, she’d said it and she’d endure torture before admitting to him that she’d made a mistake.
“Jillian?”
She had started through the swinging door but paused and looked back.
“I’m sorry.” Dax’s voice was subdued but sincere. “I shouldn’t have picked a fight.”
“I’m sorry, too,” she said. “I promise you I will never raise my voice to her. And you and I are going to have to agree to keep our differences to ourselves until we have privacy to duke it out.”
He smiled, as she’d intended. “I don’t worry about how you treat Christine. I know you would never do anything to hurt her.”
She went on up the stairs then, but inside her there was a warmth that gave spring to her steps.
That might have been the nicest compliment he’d ever given her.
The following Tuesday was the monthly meeting of Piersall’s board of directors. Dax arrived early and went to his office for a final review of the materials he intended to present. He’d been in and out of the building throughout the week before, acquainting himself with Charles’s staff and reviewing procedures, checking inventory and familiarizing himself again with the process of manufacturing the steel beams that the company produced.
He’d grown up here, had been groomed for a position managing the company, but his father had died when Dax was seventeen, and a hired C.E.O. had stepped in while Dax went to college. Dax had stayed in school for two additional years to complete his graduate work and had planned to come home and gradually take over the reins after that.
He’d also planned to come home and marry Jillian, but neither of those plans had materialized. When he’d been betrayed by his brother and his fiancée, he hadn’t been able to get away from Butler County fast enough.
Charles, apparently, had been expected to become the company’s standard-bearer, but from what he could see, Charles had been a paper figurehead, leaving most of the decisions as well as the day-to-day management in the hands of the board of directors and the employees. So far, he’d read minutes from the past three years’ worth of board meetings, and it appeared Charles had missed more meetings than he’d attended.
He, Dax, had no intention of being an invisible presence.
The door of the conference room was open and he strode in. More than a half dozen men and one silver-haired woman were seated around the table. All rose at his entrance and introductions began. Roger Wingerd was there, neat piles of printouts stacked in front of him for distribution to the board. Several of the men were longtime stockholders he’d known before he left, and one, Gerard Kelvey, had been a friend of his father’s. Two others were young, shrewd-eyed, ambitious-looking types. The woman was another person he recognized. Naomi Stell’s husband had held stock, and Dax learned that since his death three years ago, Naomi had become active on the board.
The chairman of the board banged his gavel amid the chatter and the meeting was called to order.
And then the door opened.
Everyone turned automatically to see who else was attending the meeting. No one looked away as Jillian appeared in the doorway.
She paused for a moment, and Dax unconsciously held his breath, releasing it only when she stepped forward. She was wearing a stylish navy suit with bold brass buttons that fit her perfectly—too perfectly—managing to look risqué without revealing a single hint of cleavage.
The skirt of the suit was shorter than he thought was appropriate for a business meeting, but he doubted a man there would object. Her navy pumps made her legs look even longer, her ankles even trimmer, and when she walked in the high heels, the muscles in her calves and along her shins slipped rhythmically beneath her silky skin. Her blond hair was tousled artfully, a current style which should have looked sloppy and disheveled, but on Jillian managed to give the impression of being natural and sexy as hell.
Her eyes sparkled as she looked around the room and her reddened lips parted in a smile that displayed her perfect white teeth. As one, every man in the room rose, himself included.
Dax was the first to recover. He stepped forward and pulled back the empty chair next to his. His brain was starting to function again, and he realized that her presence here probably meant trouble for him. If so, he wanted her where he could manage her if he needed to.
“Miss Kerr! An unexpected pleasure!” The chairman of the board beamed at her as she took the seat without glancing at Dax, and everyone else resumed their seats as well. Then, as if he remembered where he was, the man said, “It’s always good to see you, of course. How may we help you today?”
Jillian waved a hand languidly in the air. “You all just go on and ignore me. I’m just here to watch and learn.” Obviously, she had expected the lack of comprehension evident on everyone’s face, because she added, “Charles left his stock to me, so I’ll be joining you on a regular basis now.”
There was a sudden, electric stillness in the room. The chairman cleared his throat. He glanced at Roger Wingerd, who spread his hands helplessly. “We, ah, were given to understand that the majority share of stock was staying in the Piersall family,” the chairman said.
“And it is.” Dax spoke, trying not to grit his teeth. Damn her! He should have known she’d do something to undermine his position if she could. “Jillian is Mrs. Piersall now. We were married last week.”
“But, of course, Dax knew I would want to be an active part of any company decision-making policy.” Jillian laid a graceful hand on his and turned her high-voltage smile his way. And if it held a suspicious hint of amusement, he doubted anyone else noticed.
The Bride Means Business Page 9