Unable to take his eyes from Jillian, he realized she had a few freckles on her nose. Otherwise, her skin was porcelain perfect. A stir of desire again compromised his need to keep his distance. “You have to eat, Jillian. For Abby’s sake, as well as Marianne’s.”
His words had come out a little sterner than he’d expected. But Jillian didn’t retreat…she stood her ground. “I had a huge breakfast this morning. Once we get to Pennsylvania, I’ll think about food. Right now I’m better off without it, especially flying.”
He supposed the protective feeling that overtook him where Jillian was concerned came from the fact that he was twelve years older. “You must have married young,” he commented.
Jillian blinked at the change of subject. “I was twenty-one, although I don’t know how young that is.”
From the report, he knew Eric had been three years older than she was.
Suddenly, forestalling any further conversation on the subject, Jillian asked, “Could I see those papers again? The guardianship papers and the transcript. I really didn’t look at them thoroughly before.”
Extracting them from his jacket pocket, he handed them to her.
This time as she studied them he could see she was doing it carefully. “Even though I’m returning with you, you’ll be making all the decisions for Marianne,” she concluded.
“I came to find you because you might be her mother,” he said in a low voice only she could hear. “We’ll discuss whatever happens with Marianne together. But, yes, until we have the DNA testing results, I will make final decisions.”
He saw wariness flare in her eyes and wondered why she didn’t trust what he’d told her. “Even though Abby might be my daughter,” he said in the same low voice, “you have final decisions on everything that happens to her until we know the truth.”
“You act as if the truth is a foregone conclusion.”
Maybe Jillian was holding on to the scrap of chance that Fran had been unfaithful to him, but he knew better.
With her attention on the papers once more, he saw the shimmer of tears that came to her eyes as she read the transcript and the nurse’s statement. She blinked quickly, trying to stay composed.
Chase laid his hand on her arm.
There was instant awareness that went beyond a stranger’s comfort. A tear fell from Jillian’s lashes, and Chase badly wanted to wipe it away, feel her skin under his thumb, breathe in more of her sweet scent. But his gut churned with guilt. Somehow, touching Jillian made him feel disloyal to Fran. After she’d died, he’d sworn he’d never go through that kind of pain again. Love hurt too much when it ended. Although he’d taken off his wedding ring when he returned to Willow Creek, he still felt married to Fran. And he didn’t believe that would ever change.
He pulled his hand away from Jillian and thought about going home.
Before they landed, the pilot gave a report for the weather in Pennsylvania, and it wasn’t good. The temperature hovered near freezing, and rain that was falling could become sleet. Abby had fallen asleep during the latter part of the trip, and as they landed she didn’t awaken.
Chase said to Jillian, “Let’s let the other passengers disembark. Then I’ll carry her.”
Jillian looked as if she wanted to protest. He saw her bite her lip, weigh her options concerning luggage, the weather and what might come next. Finally, she said, “Thank you. That’s probably a good idea.”
Chase didn’t know what type of woman Jillian was yet, exactly what kind of mother, but he could see her bond with Abby was strong. Loosening her hold on it would be difficult for her.
Although Abby awakened as they deplaned, she didn’t protest against Chase carrying her. He explained, “We’re going to visit where I live.”
That seemed to be enough of an explanation for Abby as she poked her thumb into her mouth and laid her head on his shoulder. Chase’s chest tightened as he once again thought about the possibility of Abby being his daughter. Somehow, he’d have to convince Jillian to move to Pennsylvania. Somehow, they were going to have to learn to share their daughters.
During the hour-long drive to Willow Creek Estates the weather turned nasty. Snow fell, mixed with an icy rain and Chase had to concentrate on his driving. But he wasn’t concentrating so hard that he didn’t notice Jillian’s glances to the back where Abby was sleeping in Marianne’s car seat.
Jillian wrapped her arms around herself.
“Should I hike up the heat?” he asked.
“No. I’m fine.”
“This is quite a change from Florida.”
“Yes, it is.”
Talk about the weather wasn’t going to get them much mileage. He could feel Jillian’s tension, see it in the set of her shoulders, the tilt of her head. After a few beats of silence, Chase decided to trod in unchartered territory. “Tell me about Abby’s father.”
“Why?” Jillian’s voice was defensive.
“Because he might have been Marianne’s father.”
Jillian stared at the windshield wipers swishing away the flurries of snow and the pinging sleet. “He was a financial advisor.”
Chase already knew that, along with other basics. “What happened?” Chase asked. Although he knew Eric had died of cancer, he wondered how it all started and how Jillian had handled it.
“He developed pancreatic cancer. He came from a small town in Pennsylvania where there were a lot of powder metal factories and a high incident rate of cancer. But, as the doctors say, that’s anecdotal. He died five months after he was diagnosed.”
“That’s tough.”
Jillian didn’t answer. She just kept staring out the window, and he wondered what she was seeing—other than the icy rain.
“Were he and Abby close?”
“I don’t see what this has to do—”
“I want to know how Abby grew up. What role you and Eric played in her life.”
Now there was a fiery passion in Jillian’s voice. “I loved Abby with all my heart and soul from the moment she was conceived. She was only six months old when Eric got sick. His role in her life wasn’t the usual one.”
Still, Chase persisted, “He wasn’t with you that night—the night you were in labor.”
Jillian was silent just a second too long for Chase to believe her answer when she said, “He traveled a lot. He was out of town on business.”
Treading carefully just wasn’t in Chase’s nature, but he had too much at stake to push Jillian or make an enemy of her. Despite the tension between them, her defensiveness and the entire situation, his body responded to her—or his hormones, or whatever made a man desire a woman. He hadn’t felt the electric stirrings, the physical need, the inclination to touch someone else in an intimate way, since Fran had died. That he felt it now with this woman made no sense and complicated the situation even further. However, he’d always prided himself on being in control of his emotions, as well as his actions. He could control lust just like all the rest. The invisible touch of Fran’s hand on his shoulder would help him because he wasn’t about to forget her or what they’d shared.
“You said you and your wife were married a year before she got pregnant?” Jillian asked, turning the conversation back to him.
“I only had twenty-one months with her, and it wasn’t nearly enough.”
Though he expected Jillian to dig deeper than that, to his surprise, she didn’t. She became uncomfortably silent and he wished he could read her mind.
When they arrived at Willow Creek, Chase sensed Jillian reading the floodlit sign marking entry to the private road. It was difficult to see anything with the darkness, the snow and the sleet. But because he was so familiar with Willow Creek, he knew the shadows and darkness, as well as every square acre of the property.
“How big is Willow Creek?” Jillian asked.
“About fifty acres. The trees along this road are silver maples, planted by my grandfather.”
The road wound deeper into the rolling vineyard for half a mile, unt
il they came upon first the winery on the right, then a three-story stone and brick house with a wide front porch. The porch light illuminated the wide white door and the pristine trim.
“It’s big,” Jillian murmured.
“Yes, it is. So there’s plenty of room for you and Abby.”
Switching on the interior light, he checked on the little girl in the back seat and saw her eyes were open now. He smiled at her. “Let’s go meet my mother. I’m sure she’ll have a snack waiting for you if you’d like. Maybe some oatmeal cookies.”
Abby’s gaze went to her mom’s. “Can I have cookies?”
Although Chase could see Jillian was still tense, she forced a smile for her daughter. “Sure you can have a cookie.”
“Bow-Wow, too?”
Jillian nodded. “Bow-Wow, too.”
Chase had called his mother from the airport and alerted her that they’d landed. Confirming his suspicion that she was probably waiting—worried, anxious and excited as well—his mother opened the front door before they were out of the car. Before he could open his door and get to the back seat to release Abby from her seat belt, Jillian was there unfastening the buckle and taking Abby into her arms. It was obvious there was going to be a push-pull here, that she was claiming Abby, protecting her and giving him the message that nothing would harm her daughter. Would she have those same feelings for Marianne?
He knew better than to offer to take Abby. The look in Jillian’s eyes said she wasn’t giving her up. Not to anyone.
Pulling Abby’s little flannel hood onto her head, Jillian mounted the steps, unmindful of her own hair collecting ice and snow.
She stopped in front of Chase’s mother, and there was an awkward silence until Jillian said, “Hello, I’m Jillian Kendall.”
The older woman nodded curtly before replying, “I’m Eleanor Remmington.”
Chase joined them on the porch, having retrieved the suitcases, and now his mother’s eyes went to his. “Come in out of the cold,” she said before backing up to let them inside and shutting the door against the February wind and weather.
Chase tried to see the house through Jillian’s perspective and realized it probably looked terrifically old-fashioned and out of date to her. A large foyer led to a living room on the left. To the right of the foyer, the widestepped oak stairway led to the second floor, and a hall continued straight ahead to the kitchen. The wallpaper in the living room hadn’t been changed in over a decade. Off-white with large bouquets of cabbage roses, its formality was evident in gold scrolling on cream paper. It was a long, wide room with two overstuffed chairs and ottomans. A sofa, with a multitude of throw pillows that matched the wallpaper, sat across from the fireplace with a stone hearth and a mahogany mantel. At the other end of the room, two leather recliners and a Boston rocker were grouped around an entertainment center.
Chase knew Jillian would see the kitchen as old-fashioned, too. All of the appliances, except for the microwave, were almost two decades old. But his mother kept the cherrywood cupboards polished to a mirrored sheen, and though the green and beige tiled floor and counter had been recent additions in a superficial makeover, they were as immaculate as everything else in the house.
Chase made introductions as casually as he could. “Mom, you’ve met Jillian and this is Abby.” He looked to his mother.
Eleanor’s expression said she wanted to claim Abby as Chase’s daughter, but it was too early for that yet. Instead, she held out her hand to Jillian.
Balancing Abby in one arm, Jillian took it. But it was a perfunctory shake for both women.
Eleanor’s gaze passed over Abby and Jillian once more. “Those clothes aren’t going to be suitable for Pennsylvania in February. I hope you brought something warmer.”
When Jillian’s shoulders squared, she held Abby a little tighter. “Pennsylvania’s quite different from Florida. I brought the warmest clothes we have.”
Seeing that battle lines were being drawn, Chase tried to cozy up the atmosphere a little. “I told Abby you might have oatmeal cookies for her as a snack before bedtime.”
“Of course, I do,” she said, her stern expression softening. She reached out to Abby. “Would you like to come with me to get one?”
Abby eyed the woman in her sixties—her brown-and-gray curly hair, her silver wire-rimmed glasses, her navy sweatshirt and casual slacks. Without answering, she tightened her arms around Jillian’s neck and buried her face in Jillian’s shoulder.
“She’s shy with strangers,” Jillian explained, patting her daughter’s back, but not encouraging her to go to Eleanor.
Instead of attempting the same move as his mother, Chase crossed to Abby and stooped a little to peek at her from a different direction. “Hey, there. I thought you wanted an oatmeal cookie.”
Abby held a death grip on Bow-Wow, but she nodded.
“Okay. Then let’s go to the kitchen and find them. I think I know where they are—in a special kitty-cat cookie jar. Would you like to see it?”
Again, Abby nodded, but ventured, “Mommy cawwy me,” with a certainty Chase knew he wasn’t going to shake.
“Sure, Mommy can carry you. Come on. Follow me.”
Eleanor looked disappointed, but as he passed her Chase whispered, “Give her some time.” Then he led the way, wondering how Marianne was going to fit into this mix and whether she could bring all of them together.
Forty-five minutes later Jillian found herself in a bedroom with an enormous mahogany sleigh bed, feeling as if she’d landed in Oz. Today events had transpired so rapidly she couldn’t quite seem to get her bearings.
“‘Night, Mommy,” Abby murmured as she turned on her side, holding Bow-Wow closer.
Jillian’s heart hurt as she covered her daughter. Eleanor Remmington had intended for Jillian and Abby to sleep in side-by-side bedrooms. But Jillian had vetoed the idea, telling the older woman she and Abby would sleep together tonight. She didn’t want Abby to awaken in a strange place and be scared. To her surprise, Chase had backed her up.
Jillian sank onto the bed next to Abby now, wanting to take her into her arms and never let her go. Her mind was telling her she should get ready for bed, too…that she should tumble into the same sleepy world as Abby and try to get a better perspective on everything in the morning. Yet, her thoughts were whirling and her body felt as if she’d had ten cups of caffeine. She’d had none.
The bedroom door creaked open and Chase stepped inside. “I didn’t want to knock and wake her if she’d fallen asleep.”
Jillian looked down at Abby rather than at him. “I think she’s down for the count. It’s been a long day.”
He came over to stand beside the bed, and Jillian’s heart raced faster. She told herself she was simply reacting to the news he’d brought her…the suddenness of her trip…the strange surroundings. But the small, dim lamp by the side of the bed gave the room an intimate feel.
Suddenly needing to be on her feet rather than having him tower over her, Jillian stood. “Your mother doesn’t like me.” She’d decided to put the issue on the table right now so they could deal with that, too.
“She doesn’t know you,” he countered.
“That doesn’t seem to matter to her.”
Chase raked his hand through his hair, and Jillian saw the lines of fatigue on his forehead and around his eyes. He’d had a long day, too. More than one of them.
“This past year hasn’t been easy for her. My dad’s death was sudden. And even though my uncle tried to step in to help her run the winery, she’d never had to deal with all the aspects of running the business. She’d helped my dad succeed in her own way—being connected to the community, serving on committees, acting as his hostess. But the process of making wine itself overwhelmed her.”
“Many women find themselves in that position when their husbands die.”
“Did you?” Chase asked.
“No. But I was already running my own business.”
“And my mother knows that. She k
nows you’re a widow and a single mom making it on your own. That could be why she seems defensive. Maybe she sees you as the type of woman she always wanted to be—independent with a career of her own. She’s also become protective and proprietary about Marianne. I think our being here has given her life new purpose.”
“She sees me as a threat to that?” Jillian asked.
“Possibly.”
He was looking down at her pensively, as if he was trying to read or figure out everything about her. As she tried to do the same thing with him, she felt that current between them again like a vibrational field that shook her almost as much as the entire situation.
Finally he asked, “Would you like to see Marianne? She’s a sound sleeper. If we go in, you won’t wake her.”
In a way, Jillian felt as if she’d been holding her breath all afternoon and all evening. Fear had never been a companion to her. She’d always pushed it aside, denied it, stepped around it to do what she had to do. But now she had to face the fear that had been jabbing at her heart ever since Chase Remmington had barged into her life.
What if Abby wasn’t her daughter? What if she lost her?
Turning away from Chase, she leaned down to Abby and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be right back, Bitsy-bug.”
Unwilling to let Chase see her fear, knowing it was a weapon he could use against her, Jillian straightened, calmed herself and said in a quiet voice, “I’d like to see Marianne.”
Chapter Three
As Jillian walked down the silent hall beside Chase, she felt as if she were in a dream. None of today seemed real—not his appearance at the park or the story he’d told her or their flight here. It was almost impossible for her to fathom that, in a few minutes, she might be meeting her own daughter!
A dim light glowed from a room on the right, and when Chase stopped, she did, too.
“She’s in here,” he said in a low voice.
She could see his love for Marianne as well as pain in his eyes. He was afraid he was going to lose his child to heart surgery or to the condition that surgery was meant to repair.
Their Child? Page 21