by Joan Hohl
Later, back in her room, Jen pondered the exchange between Tony and Ida. They were close to the same age, somewhere in their late fifties, Jen figured. They made an odd couple. Ida was of medium height, a bit plump and still very pretty, her face unlined. She had lost her husband to cancer after only a few years of marriage and apparently didn’t feel the need to marry again. So she had made a home with Jen’s parents.
Tony was flat-out handsome, tall and lean with gleaming dark eyes and a ready smile. And he was one terrific cook. Jen had often wondered why he had never opened his own restaurant. Now she wondered if he stayed with her parents to be with Ida.
While they both had their own quarters in the huge house, Jen knew they slept together in Tony’s bed.
Is that what Marsh had in mind for her? The thought wormed its way into her mind, making her restless. Getting out of her chair, Jen began to pace the apartment as if by walking she could find the answers to her dilemma.
Marsh had said he wanted marriage and children.
Without love.
Jen shivered at the chill that snaked down her spine. Whereas Ida and Tony had love without marriage, Jen found herself facing the idea of marriage without love, just like her parents. She couldn’t help thinking that Ida had the best deal.
Like other young women, Jen had wanted marriage and children. But she had always dreamed that love would come first. And while she admittedly was head-over-heels in love with Marsh, he was admittedly hot for her body.
Although he did consider her good wife and mother material. But so what? What good was any of that without love?
Sighing, Jen looked around, finding herself in her bedroom. She plopped onto the bed to be comfortable while ruminating.
Fat chance of being comfortable while thinking about Marshall Grainger.
What to do? Was it enough that she loved him? Should she take a gamble and marry Marsh even though she knew he didn’t love her? Should she accept his offer—be his wife, keep his books, take care of his home, cook his meals and share his bed and someday, hopefully, bear his children?
Jen felt a twist of longing inside. She so wanted to bear his children…their children.
She was already keeping his home and his books and cooking his meals. Why not take the next leap of faith and pray they could make a go of marriage, even if he didn’t love her? They would have the intimacy of the bedroom, and in truth Jen craved his body as much as he seemed to crave hers.
Was that enough for her? Could she make it enough? Was she strong enough to live out her life under those conditions? Jen bit her lower lip. Like a greedy child she wanted it all—all of Marsh, including his love.
But, she reminded herself, Marsh didn’t believe in love.
Square one.
This was real life, Jen told herself, heaving a deep sigh. She loved him, and was beginning to doubt that she would ever love any other man. In real life one played the hand that was dealt—it was pointless to wish for it all. That was the stuff of romantic fairy tales, dreamed by teenagers.
She was a woman, a woman in love with a man who wasn’t going to love her back.
And it sucked.
* * *
Jen woke the next morning still balanced on the sword of indecision, so to speak. Although she had gone to bed early, she had lain awake most of the night mentally replaying the pros and cons of her present situation.
All things considered, Jen simply could not decide what to do about her relationship with Marsh. She had changed her mind several times already, going from vowing never to see him again to agreeing to marry him. Teetering on the edge was not her style, as a rule. For just about as long as she could recall, Jen had thought through a problem then quickly made a decision, as she had when deciding to accept Marsh’s terms of employment.
On reflection, Jen thought what she should have done at the time was jump back into her car and run. Then, having only just met him, she could have gone on her way, personally unaffected by him…except for that strange sizzling sensation that zinged up her arm when they first shook hands.
It had started right away. She should have fled when she still had the strength.
She replayed her conversation with her mother, in which her mother said she was always running away in some way, shape or form. She frowned. Had she been running away her whole life, first from the guy in the school parking lot? Had she run to the hill country after finding her parents in compromising positions with their best friends?
Had she run back to Dallas to escape her feelings for Marsh?
Jen shook her head to dispel the vision in her mind, only to find herself with her thoughts of Marsh again. In time, the memory of his touch would pass, wouldn’t it? Gazing at her hand, Jen had an eerie sensation she could still feel him. Maybe the sensation wouldn’t have passed.
Somehow she knew she would very likely never forget those delicious sensations.
She got out of bed and headed into the bathroom for a shower. She had to shove thoughts of Marsh aside and pull her act together. Her friends were due to arrive for lunch in less than an hour.
She set the shower at full blast hoping the cold water would clear her thoughts. Maybe time with her “gang” could help her decide what to do about the new man in her life.
It was time to come clean with them about where she’d been all this time—and who she’d been with.
* * *
Her friends were right on time, all five—Kathie, Marcie, Karen, Leslie and Mary—pulling their cars into the driveway one after the other. Jen ran to meet them.
After hugs all around, they made their way into the house. The grilling started almost immediately.
“All right, Jen, where did you run off to?” Kathie demanded, giving Jen a mock stern look.
“I missed you!” Marcie said, putting on a pout.
“Yeah, you sneak, it’s time to come clean,” Karen added.
“If you’ll recall,” Jen chided, herding them into the house, “I kept in touch online.”
“But you said absolutely nothing,” Mary replied.
“There’s a man, isn’t there?” Leslie asked.
Jen ushered them through the dining room and onto the shaded patio where Tony had laid an elegant setting for seven on the round garden table. Glasses of iced tea were waiting for them.
It was a perfect day for lunch outside. The temperature was in the high seventies with a lovely fall breeze. “Isn’t it gorgeous out?” Jen asked.
“Come clean, Jen, now.” It was an order from Kathie in her sternest drill-sergeant tones.
“Who are you working for? More to the point, what kind of work are you doing? And why did you leave so mysteriously?” Marcie asked.
“I’m getting suspicious,” Mary said, giving her a narrow-eyed look.
“And I’m getting impatient,” Karen added.
Jen held her hand up to get them to stop. “I’ll tell you all about him—about everything. Let’s just sit down first, okay?”
“Is he deliciously handsome and sexy?” The salacious note Leslie had managed to achieve had all of them laughing as they settled at the table. It was like old times, the six of them laughing together as they so often had in college. It was wonderful—just the tonic Jen had been needing.
The laughter came to an abrupt stop when Jen’s mother joined them at the table. Seating herself, she glanced around the table, one eyebrow arched.
“Having fun, ladies?”
“Actually, we were, Mother,” Jen said. “It was as if we were back in the dorm again.”
“We’re trying to get your daughter to tell us who she’s working for,” Karen asked.
“For whom, dear,” her mother corrected. “You don’t know about Jennifer and Marshall Grainger?” Now both eyebrows were raised.
Jen nearly spit out her drink.
“Marshall Grainger?” Kathie repeated in awed tones.
“Holy…shoot,” a wide-eyed Marcie said, catching herself to clean up her language just in t
ime.
All the women at the table looked at Jen, waiting for her to offer some sort of explanation.
“Yummy,” Leslie said. “But Marsh Grainger isn’t exactly—”
“How did you even—” began Kathie.
“It’s a long story. I swear, I’ll tell you everything. Later,” Jen added.
“Well, this is a happy group, isn’t it?” Tony drawled, coming to a halt at the table. “Shall I wait a few minutes to serve?”
“Heck no, I’m starving,” Marcie said.
Only Marcie, Jen thought fondly. “No, you can serve now, please,” Jen said.
“May,” her mother corrected again. “You may serve now, Tony, thank you.”
Who, whom, can, may—what the hell difference did it make? She was among friends, her very best friends. Though Jen was sorely tempted to say something very impolite to her mother, she held it back, not wanting to spoil her friends’ good humor and lunch. Besides, she didn’t want to endanger the accord she and her mother had reached yesterday afternoon.
Tony had prepared a wonderful warm day luncheon. In the center of the table he set a large pitcher of freshly brewed iced tea with mint. “There’s more of everything, ladies,” he said as he turned away, “including the tea. Just give me a call for refills.”
“I swear,” Celia muttered, “that man grows more familiar every day.”
“Maybe,” Jen agreed dryly. “But, keep in mind, he is one of the best chefs in the city.”
Her mother surprised Jen by smiling at her. “Well,” she conceded, “there is that,” she added, continuing to peck daintily at her meal.
The rest of the women, including Jen, set to devouring every morsel on their plates. Before they had reached the fruit salad, her mother patted her lips with her linen napkin and set back her chair.
“I have a bridge date this afternoon, Jennifer.” She sent a friendly smile around the table. “Enjoy the rest of your time together, girls. It was nice seeing you all again.” She hesitated in the doorway. “We’ll be leaving for the Terrells’ at nine o’clock, Jennifer.”
“I’ll be ready,” Jen replied.
With the stature of a queen, she walked away, a chorus of goodbyes following her.
“The Terrells’?” Marcie said the minute the door closed behind Celia. “Are you actually going to that old people’s party?”
“I am,” Jen said on a sigh. “But this is the last year. It really isn’t just old people who go. There are still some younger ones there.”
“And every one of the young lions hell-bent on kissing butt to get to the top.” Kathie’s voice held an acid tint.
“That’s the name of the game, isn’t it?” Leslie observed. “Wasn’t that the reason we all decided to get our degrees and concentrate on breaking through the glass ceiling?”
Marcie grinned. “I opted out by grabbing my delicious husband and immediately having his babies.”
Jen felt a funny pang in her chest at her friend’s innocent mention of marriage and babies.
“Speaking of delicious, Jennifer, it’s time you told us what in the hell is going on with you and Marsh Grainger,” Leslie said.
“Yes,” said Mary. “Let’s get down to discussing something way more interesting than a fusty old party or our careers.”
Jen took a deep breath, and launched into her story. She decided not to tell her friends exactly what had sent her fleeing from her parents’ house—she did truly believe that what her parents did was their own business. All she said was that there had been an issue, and she’d decided it was time to strike out on her own and get some distance.
And that was how she ended up working for—and living with—Marshall Grainger.
Her friends were all ears—until they were all questions. This time, their questions were serious.
Jen launched into a recitation of her activities since accepting Marsh’s offer of employment. She told them everything having to do with the job. But for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she left out the personal side of the story.
They wanted to know what he was like to work for, and whether he was as tough and aloof as gossip described him.
And they also wanted to know how she kept from jumping his bones.
“I’ve got strong principles, and he has a bad rep,” she said, and they believed her. It was the truth, to some degree. Jen stood by her principles, and Marsh did have a reputation for using women…but, she had fallen for him. And, after all, he had asked her to marry him.
But for reasons she couldn’t entirely explain, she didn’t tell her friends about that. She could tell by the expressions on their faces that they weren’t buying her story, but they knew when to quit, and didn’t press her. When her story came to an end, too much time had passed and her friends needed to go. With hugs and promises to stay in touch, they went their separate ways.
Jen went back to the patio to begin clearing the table. Tony was beside her as she reached for a second plate.
“I’ll take care of that,” he said, moving her out of the way with a nudge. “You ladies sounded like you were having a good time.”
Jen’s smile was soft. “Yes, we did have a lovely time. Your lunch was superb.”
He flashed a bright smile at her. “Thank you, ma’am, that’s what I like to hear.” His eyes teased her. “Now go away and let me do my job.”
“Yes, sir, master chef,” Jen said. “But never say I didn’t offer to help.”
He waved a hand as she walked into the dining room from the patio.
Back in her room, Jen glanced at the bedside clock. It was a little after three and her mother had said they’d be leaving at nine. Six hours. Time enough to do the ranch books before she needed to get ready.
Clicking on to her laptop, Jen logged in to the ranch accounts and got to work untangling the facts and figures the technology-challenged foreman tossed into the PC at the ranch. It didn’t take her long to straighten out the mess, pay the couple of bills due and cut the checks for the employees.
After logging off the ranch server, she decided she might as well wrap up the end-of-week with the home books.
Home. The word filled her mind and brought a wave of longing so intense Jen gave a soft gasp. Marsh.
Oh, Lord, she wanted to go home. To Marsh.
Damn. Damn, damn. What in the world was she going to do? He had proposed to her. But he didn’t want her, the person. He wanted her body, and she readily admitted, at least to herself if not to her friends, that she wanted him as badly.
But he didn’t really want her.
He wanted an assistant, a cook, a housekeeper, a wife, a mother to his children. And she, Jennifer Dunning, would do. It didn’t hurt that she was bright as well as beautiful.
Big flipping deal.
Feeling her eyes begin to sting with threatening tears, Jen closed the computer, set it aside and curled into a ball on her bed. Impatiently, she brushed her fingers over her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. Not over the high and mighty Marshall Grainger. She damn well would not cry.
Jen sobbed into her pillow.
* * *
She woke to darkness. Reaching out her arm, she flicked on the lamp on the bedside table and stared bleary-eyed at the clock set next to it. It read 7:10 p.m.
Time to get it together, she told herself, dragging her listless body from the bed.
Her face was a mess. Shoulders slumped, Jen stared at the sorry excuse for a woman reflected back at her from the wide bathroom mirror above the sink. Salty tracks of dried tears lay stiff on her cheeks.
Pathetic.
With an impatient shake of her head, Jen set to work on making herself presentable. It wasn’t easy. She still felt tired. That in itself was annoying as she rarely felt tired, especially not emotionally tired. The last thing she wanted was to put on that stupid costume and pile makeup on her face. Heaving a sigh, she adjusted the water temperature and stepped into the shower.
Fifteen minutes later, her body glowing from the hot sho
wer and her hair hanging in dripping tendrils down her back, she stood shivering as she wrapped herself into a long fluffy bath sheet.
As soon as her body was dry, she went to work on her hair. Drying her hair was always a project—there was so much of it, a veritable mass of blond locks that became tumbled waves and curls as it dried. But, at last, she turned off the appliance and pulled on her lacy panties before facing the next challenge.
Standing before the dresser mirror, Jen set about piling her hair on top of her head, fastening it there so she could slip on a net cap. The cap would contain her hair beneath the wig of long, riotous black curls she had bought on impulse.
After more than a few damns and some stronger words, Jen had the wig securely fastened in place.
Deciding it didn’t look half-bad, she shook her head. The wig stayed in place and long black curls went flying wildly around her head and down over her shoulders.
Offering her image a smile of satisfaction, she went to work on the makeup. Being a blonde, Jen was naturally fair. Opening a container of makeup a shade darker than her usual shade, she applied it smoothly. Blush next, high on her cheekbones. She darkened her eyebrows with a black brow powder, and swept black mascara on her lashes. She finished with a generous coating of scarlet lipstick.
“Jenny, I hardly know you!” she said to the stranger in the mirror. She shook her head. “No, not Jenny, not even Jen.” She needed a sexy, sultry name to go with this getup. She mulled it over as she stepped into the costume. Carmen? Nah, too obvious. Rosa? Nope. “Margarita.” She drew the name out in a throaty voice. Yeah! Perfect. Now, a big spray of perfume, a pair of black soft leather ballet flats and—
Stepping back, she perused her reflection. Damn if she didn’t look terrific—and nearly unrecognizable. She inched the top of the full-sleeved blouse to the edge of her left shoulder, leaving it there. On the right, she nudged the thin material off the shoulder. Tucking the blouse into the skirt, she wrapped a chain belt around her waist, attaching an empty jewelry pouch into which she then slipped her cell phone, a key to her parents’ house and some money. She gave the skirt a shake. The folds swirled around her ankles.