The Bride Means Business

by Anne Marie Winston

  He resisted the urge to clasp her fingers and squeeze until she begged for mercy but before he could think of a suitable comment, the surprise rippling around the room quieted as the chairman stood.

  “On behalf of us all, allow me to offer congratulations and the very best to you both,” he said formally. As Jillian inclined her head graciously, the man tilted his reading glasses higher on his nose and directed his attention back to the agenda.

  Dax was on tenterhooks throughout the whole damned meeting, wondering what she was up to. Several times she asked questions, intelligent, thoughtful questions, nodding at the answers, and he could see her filing the information away in her brain.

  When the new business opened, he took the floor. He had requested this opportunity to speak, and he made the most of it, sharing his concerns about the company’s shaky financial footing and outlining the proposals he favored for regaining a more solid financial picture. He fielded questions from the other board members, ignoring Roger, who was looking distinctly green around the gills as he realized his job might be in jeopardy.

  “But we can’t just start firing people,” objected Naomi.

  “I have no intention of just firing people,” Dax told her. “But there may be some layoffs necessary in the business office. Structurally, we are simply too top-heavy right now. I would like the board to vote to allow me to step into a leadership role, into the position of President held first by my grandfather and father and most recently by my brother Charles.” As far as Dax was concerned, it was a mere formality, since he—or at least, he and Jillian—held more than fifty percent of the stock.

  Then a horrible suspicion presented itself. He glanced at Jillian, listening attentively at his side. She’d told the board Charles had left his shares to her. Did she think she was going to vote them?

  As the rest of the board began to buzz with comments among themselves, he moved his foot to one side and kicked Jillian beneath the table.

  She turned and regarded him with a patient smile, a smile that confirmed his worst fears.

  “I assumed I’d vote for our whole family,” he murmured to her.

  She hesitated as if she had never considered that. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Charles placed his faith in me when he trusted me with his business. I feel obligated to keep an active hand in any decisions the board makes.”

  “Damn it, Jillian!” He wanted to pound the table in frustration. “If I don’t straighten things out soon, it’s going to be too late to save this company. You have to vote with me.”

  “Dax.” She patted his hand. “I don’t have to do anything.” She paused, and he seethed at the smug look on her face. She had him over a barrel and she knew it! Then she spoke again. “But if it sets your mind at ease, I think I agree with you. Piersall needs strong, assertive leadership, and—” she smiled in wry understatement, “You have those qualities.”

  He turned his palm up, capturing her hand in his and squeezing gently as the tension eased out of him. “Thank you.”

  When the time came for the vote to be taken on his proposal, Dax was gratified to see that more than eighty percent of the stockholders backed him. Naomi Stell voted against, and to his surprise, so did Gerard Kelvey.

  But as the board adjourned and he escorted Jillian out of the conference room, he couldn’t prevent the small flare of pleasure deep inside. She had backed him! She trusted his judgment and she had reinforced his position with the rest of the board.

  The glow faded as he recalled her claim that he had never accorded her the same trust.

  Six

  September wore on, and Dax was relieved to see Christine losing some of her moodiness. She liked school—thank God—and had made some friends. It seemed every time he turned around someone was dropping off or picking up a little girl who’d come to play.

  Jillian, too, seemed to have settled in since her arrival two weeks ago. She spent most of her time in the evenings with Christine. In the mornings, she was out the door as soon as she’d woken the child and fixed her hair, leaving him to make breakfast and get Christine to school.

  It was an arrangement that seemed to work well. The hair thing had been driving him crazy. Christine had been so reluctant to get it cut that he hadn’t been able to force himself to make her, but he was totally incapable of creating ponytails and braids. Until Jillian came, it had been a long, loose mop. She took the time every morning to fix it in some pretty style with ribbons that matched the outfit they’d chosen the night before.

  But she hadn’t spoken to him, alone, in more than a week. He suspected she was avoiding him on purpose.

  Three mornings a week she left the house at seven-thirty to go to the gym, and from there she went straight to work. Three other mornings, she refused breakfast, snatched a piece of toast and ate it as she climbed into her red Porsche and zipped away, leaving him with an impression of flying legs that went clear up to her waist, and a stirring arousal that he fully intended to do something about. Soon.

  The only thing that pleased him about the situation was that she seemed to be forging a tentative friendship with Christine. A few nights ago, he had followed the sounds of giggling to the open door of Jillian’s room, where he’d caught Jillian lying across the bed while his daughter tried on various items of clothing and shoes.

  And so, on Saturday, he was waiting for Jillian on the landing in the morning. “I want to talk to you,” he said as she quietly shut the door of her room behind her.

  She jumped a full foot in the air, and came down scowling. “That’ll give me gray hair.”

  The image brought a smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. “You? Never. You’ll die a blonde, even if it comes from a bottle.”

  She glared at him for a moment, then relaxed enough to smile back. “You’re probably right.” Then she glanced at her watch. “I have to get going. What did you want?”

  You. But he only said, “A couple of things. I want to host a dinner party for eight next Saturday night. Will that suit?”

  She assessed him. “You’ve already invited them, haven’t you? So why does it matter if it suits me?”

  He put his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “Guilty. I already invited them. If you’re tied up, I’ll take them to the club.”

  She waved a hand. “Forget it. Isn’t that what I was hired for? I’ll take care of it. Just find out if anyone is allergic to shellfish, and make sure I know their names before they arrive.”

  “Thank you.” He regarded her for a minute, irritated but not quite knowing the reason why. She’d said she’d help, hadn’t she? “Christine’s birthday is on the thirteenth.”

  “The thirteenth of October? Two weeks from now?”

  “Yes. I was wondering if you could help me arrange the kind of day she might enjoy, think about what gifts I ought to get, that sort of thing.”

  She hesitated, then appeared to come to some decision. “Sure. I’d be glad to help you. We can talk about it tonight. After Chrissy goes to bed we can make some plans.”

  “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

  There was an awkward silence. She was wearing a leotard with a pair of baggy sweats, and the exercise bra beneath pressed firmly against her breasts, creating cleavage that he couldn’t keep his gaze away from. She shifted position, shrugging her bag higher over her shoulder, and the flesh shifted—

  Then she raised her eyebrows. “What else?”

  What else? He felt warmth creeping up his neck. Right. He was supposed to be talking. “Uh, I—about the company—I’ ve got some strange things going on in the books I’ve been looking over. If I bring them home tonight, would you look over them and tell me what you think?”

  “I guess so. How about if I hold dinner for you and we can all eat together?”

  “I’d like that. Our first meal as a family.” He had to clear his throat, hoping she didn’t see the rush of emotion in his eyes. Was it unmanly to admit that the thought of coming home to a wife and child an
d warm meal was powerfully appealing? He didn’t think he cared.

  She glanced at her watch. “I have to get going. See you tonight.”

  As she bounded down the steps, a door opened behind him. “Daddy? What’s wrong?” Christine opened her door and looked out, shielding her eyes against the bright light in the hallway.

  He turned and walked to her.

  “Nothing,” he said, smiling at her tousled hair and the too-big T-shirt that read, You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince. On the front was a big bullfrog puckered up for a kiss. “Nice shirt.”

  She glanced down at herself. “It’s Jillian’s.”

  “Why are you wearing it?”

  “I told her I liked it and she gave it to me.” Christine yawned. “It’s too early. I’m going back to bed.”

  “Want a lift?” He held out his arms.

  “Yeah!” As she reached for him, Dax bent and lifted her into his arms. She twined her arms and legs around him and laid her head on his shoulder, and he kissed her hair as he carried her back into her bedroom.

  “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you too, Daddy.”

  He paused. “Did I hear Jillian call you ‘Chrissy?’”

  “Um-hmm. Like Mommy did when I was little. I told her she could if she wanted to.” And his daughter snuggled down beneath the bedspread he pulled over her and closed her eyes. As he left the room, he rubbed a hand over his heart, trying to soothe the ache that had appeared. Christine clearly hungered for the love of a mother. If Jillian left as she insisted she would, Christine was going to be shattered.

  She wouldn’t be the only one.

  The little girl had been invited to go to a local amusement park with a friend’s family later in the morning. After he dropped her off, he went in to work for a while. Saving Piersall was proving to be a full-time job, and he was relying more and more on his manager in Atlanta to make the day-to-day decisions for Travers. For the right offer, I’d sell the damn coffin company and quit making myself crazy, he thought as he pulled into the garage at seven-thirty that evening.

  Then he realized what he’d just been thinking. Was he really considering selling the business in Atlanta? And coming...home, to live? Permanently? He wondered when he’d begun to think of Butler County as home again.

  True to her word, Jillian had waited with the evening meal. To his delight, it went pretty smoothly. Not a prickle or a smart comment to be heard. If he hadn’t been fighting his body’s reaction to his wife all evening, it even would have been relaxing. As it was...one particular part of his body had no intention of calming down.

  Jillian had changed from her work clothing into a T-shirt and denim shorts. The T-shirt was oversized and should have looked like a sack. On any other woman, it would have.

  On Jillian...man, oh man. The fabric was faded and worn from a million washings, and it skimmed down over her breasts, catching on the tips and outlining the gentle mounds every time she made a move. The shorts were just that—short. They barely peeked out beneath the long hem of the shirt, exposing her shapely legs and giving the impression that she wore nothing beneath the shirt.

  She might be an untrustworthy witch and he was probably crazy for getting involved with her again, but he sure was glad she was living in his house right now. He could barely keep his mind on Mrs. Bowley’s tasty baked chicken.

  Jillian talked a little about some funny things that happened at the toy store, and he forced himself to pay attention. She also drew out Christine, who chattered nonstop about her day at the park, her school and her friends once she got started. Jillian responded to her with such complete attention that he realized how little he really listened to his daughter. Guilt rose. He should have been doing this with his child on a daily basis, but it had taken a third person to make him see it.

  Well, guilt could run the rest of his life if he let it. Forget it, he told himself. You can’t go back, but you can go forward on the right foot this time.

  They finished the meal and everyone helped clear the dishes. As Jillian loaded the dishwasher, he gave his daughter’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I enjoyed this. I’ll have to try harder to get home to have dinner with my girls.”

  Chris turned a shining face up to him. “That would be really nice, Daddy,” she said. A beeping noise made them both glance down at a small oval disk hanging from her belt. As she squealed and detached it, he asked, “What’s that?”

  Christine was busy punching buttons on the face of the thing, and Jillian glanced up. She was bending over the dishwasher and he didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that her bottom was turned away from him. “It’s a virtual pet.”

  “A what?”

  “A virtual pet. They were all the rage in Japan a couple of years ago. It’s a sort of game that lasts a month or more.”

  “You’re kidding.” A game that lasted a month or more?

  “Nope.” Jillian pointed at the little gadget. “Show him, Chrissy.”

  For the next ten minutes, he learned more than he ever wanted to know about the rigors of taking care of the little computerized critter. Christine’s was a kitty, she explained. It needed to be fed and played with, disciplined, bathed and changed regularly. It required medicine when it got sick and the lights had to be turned out when it took naps and at bedtime.

  He couldn’t believe it. “This is like having a baby. You’re on call all the time.”

  Christine nodded. “Mine sleeps all night, but it gets awake at seven in the morning, and it’s hungry and sad. I have to feed it and play with it first thing.”

  He shook his head, bemused. “This is the craziest thing I ever heard of. We never had anything like that when I was a kid.”

  “Hot Wheels cars and Spiderman were the ‘in-thing’ back then.” Jillian reminded him.

  “And you played with those dumb trolls until their hair fell out.”

  “They were not dumb!” She flicked a dishtowel at him. “And having a troll’s hair fall out was a very traumatic experience. It marked me for life.”

  “Right. You were much more careful with Barbie and Ken. They’re the ones you operated on. I’ll never forget your face when your mom explained that Barbie’s leg wouldn’t heal again after you cut it off.”

  “You know an awful lot about each other,” Christine observed.

  Silence, awkward silence, fell.

  Finally, Jillian said, “I guess we do, don’t we?”

  Christine appeared oblivious to the sudden tension in the atmosphere. “I have to go finish my math. I hate homework!” She started out of the kitchen.

  Jillian glanced at her watch. “And after that, you need to hit the hay. You’ve had a big day.”

  A groan was the only answer, but they could hear her footsteps as she skipped up the stairs.

  The room grew quiet again.

  “Well.” Jillian hung up the dishtowel and looked around. “I guess this is clean enough that Mrs. Bowley won’t fuss me on Monday. I’d better go check on Christine, see if she needs help with—”

  “Honey-bunch.”

  The old endearment fell between them, and Jillian’s gaze flew to his. Then she looked down at the floor, rubbing a sneakered toe around the pattern of the rug beneath the sink. “What?”

  “You know what I’ve just realized I missed while I was away?”

  She glanced up sharply. “What?”

  “Roots. Memories, and people to share them with.”

  Her eyes were wide and blue as a summer sky, luminous as she nodded.

  “No one in Atlanta knew me. Does that make any sense?”

  Her eyes darkened. “Yes,” she said simply, looking away. “It makes a lot of sense to me.”

  There was an odd tone in her voice, almost a plaintive note, and he remembered her sister’s accident and subsequent memory loss. “You feel alone, too.”

  She nodded. “I do feel alone,” she repeated.

  “Jillian—”

  She t
urned back to the sink, gripping the edge with both hands. “Let’s just forget it, Dax.”

  “I don’t want to forget anything,” he said, and he meant it. There’d been a lot of good times that he’d buried beneath his bitterness. He stepped closer, standing directly behind her without touching her. “I’ve discovered that I like remembering.”

  “I don’t.” There was such sadness in her voice that he raised his hands to her shoulders and turned her around to face him. “It’s better just to forget some things.”

  Slowly, he drew her to him. She didn’t resist, though she didn’t return the embrace, either. And while the feeling of her long, lithe body against him stirred prurient interest, he knew sex wasn’t what she needed right now.

  Gently, he pressed her head against his shoulder, knowing an overwhelming sense of satisfaction when the rigidity left her limbs and she relaxed against him. Her arms came around his waist as he put his lips against her hair, and for long heartbeats, he simply stood in the middle of the kitchen with her in his arms.

  And for the first time since he’d set foot in Butler County again, he felt as if he had truly come home.

  Finally, the silence was interrupted by the squawk of the intercom. “Jillian? Could you come up here? I don’t get this subtracting stuff.”

  They drew apart slowly, and he took her hands as their bodies reluctantly parted. “I’ll go. I need to spend more time with her.”

  His wife nodded. “She would like that.”

  He wanted to say more, to talk about the feelings bouncing around inside him, but he seemed to have a talent for saying the wrong thing to her. So he dropped her hands and turned toward the door.

  “By the way.” Her voice made him pause and look back. “Marina extended an invitation for steak on the grill next Friday night. Christine is coming along with me.” Again she looked at the pattern on the rug rather than at him. “You’re invited, too, if you want to come.”

  His initial impulse was to refuse as he remembered the scowling features of Jillian’s brother-in-law. The evening would be uncomfortable, at best. But if he wanted to spend time with Jillian.... “Thank you. I’d like that.”