Now he answered his question. “Yes, I found Jillian Kendall…and Abby could be my daughter. I think I see myself in her. I think I see Fran.”
“How did she take it?”
“Jillian’s still in shock. She wants to believe Fran had an affair and Abby isn’t mine.”
“I can’t say as I blame her. Did she come back with you?”
“Yes. She and Abby are staying at the house.”
“How is she acting toward Marianne?”
“My gut twists every time I see her with both girls. She’s torn up about this, too. She obviously wants to get close to Marianne if she is her daughter, but she doesn’t want to give up any of her bonds with Abby. It’s a hell of a mess.”
“What’s she like, this Jillian Kendall? You said she’s a widow.”
Chase had told Scott what his private investigator had found out about her. “She’s a young widow. She could be a model if she wanted to be. She’s only twenty-seven and as independent as all get-out.”
“You’ve noticed a few curves?”
That stopped Chase. Obviously, he had. “They’re hard to miss,” he conceded.
Scott laughed. “If you’re noticing them, that means you’re alive. I was beginning to wonder.”
“It hasn’t been that long—”
“It’s been over three years since Fran died. Don’t you think it’s time you took a look around?”
“Time has nothing to do with it, Scott,” he snapped. “If something suddenly happened to Allie, how could you say you’d get serious about another woman in three, four or five years?”
“I didn’t say anything about getting serious. I’m talking about getting laid.”
Unfortunately, because they’d been friends since high school, Scott thought he could say anything and get away with it. “Enough.”
His friend sighed. “So what comes next?”
“DNA testing, and then Marianne’s surgery on Monday.”
“She’s going to be fine.”
“That’s what I want to believe.”
“Do you think this…Jillian…is going to want to be at the hospital with you…watch over Marianne as you will?”
“I don’t know her yet.”
“You’ve got a gut instinct.”
“I think she’ll want to be there. But I think Abby will come first with her until she knows for sure if Marianne is her daughter.”
“Could you expect anything different?”
“That’s the hell of it. I don’t know what to expect on any front. I’m just trying to be prepared for everything and keep Willow Creek succeeding at the same time.”
“You could chuck it all and come work for me.”
“As what?” Chase asked wryly. Scott owned a sporting goods store and did quite well with it.
“You can manage my store with one arm tied behind you. That’s one of the things I always hated about you and liked at the same time. You can do any damned thing you put your mind to—whether it’s winning a football game or making superior wines. Speaking of wine-making, how about after Marianne’s surgery, you and James and Greg come for dinner? You can bring your best bottles and we’ll sample them.”
“I’ll have to be sure Marianne is okay before I can leave her. Her activities will be restricted for a couple of weeks.. if everything goes well.”
“Everything is going to go fine. I’ll talk to Allie about planning dinner in a few weeks. Then you can mark your calendar.”
“It will be such a relief when Marianne’s surgery is over.” It would be such a relief when the DNA results were in and they knew the truth. A night with Scott, Greg, James and their wives would be a nice distraction. “Dinner sounds good. I’ll give you a call after Marianne’s surgery and let you know how it went.”
“I’ve heard Dr. Beckwith is the best.”
“He’s good with kids, the parents he just tolerates. At least that’s what I’ve heard. Marianne seems to like him, though. And he’s been straight with me. That’s what matters.”
“That’s what matters,” Scott agreed.
After Chase ended the call, he looked out across the vineyard and let the sight ease his soul.
When Jillian went upstairs after breakfast, she sat with the girls for a little while, talking with them, letting them play quietly while Eleanor went downstairs. Jillian thought Marianne looked too pale this morning. Her thoughts were racing with the idea of DNA testing while Abby chattered to Marianne as if she’d known her all her life. Marianne’s quiet responses told Jillian that she was comfortable with Abby, too, and liked her being there.
While the girls got to know each other, Jillian noticed the photograph of Chase and a petite woman with dark brown short-cropped hair. Jillian remembered Fran Remmington even though that memory was dim.
It was midmorning when Eleanor came back to the room, looked at Marianne and said, “I think you’d better rest now, honey.”
“We haf to go?” Abby asked Eleanor.
The woman’s smile was gentle. “For a while. Why don’t you take Buff for a walk? He looks like he needs to stretch his legs.” Eleanor glanced at Jillian.
“Is it all right if we walk through the vineyard?”
“I suppose. There’s not much to see at this time of year.”
Jillian almost smiled at Eleanor’s gruffness. It was as if there was a kind woman in there, but she just wasn’t sure how to turn her on.
“Everything will be new to us.”
“The snow and ice have melted with the sun, so it’s going to be muddy.”
“We’ll watch where we’re walking.”
“Abby had better wear one of Marianne’s coats. It’s still cold out there. If you’d like one of my coats…”
“I’ll be fine,” Jillian assured her. “We won’t stay out long.”
Ten minutes later, Jillian had bundled Abby in one of Marianne’s down coats. It was red with a hood, and white fur framed her face. Watching Abby run after Buffington as he zoomed across the lane away from the barn, Jillian noticed a brick building to the side of the barn and wondered if it was as old as the house and the winery.
Abby continued to run toward rows of posts and vines. The posts were four-foot stakes about eight feet apart. Two wires ran along the top of each trellis. Jillian saw a few orange flags on poles and wondered about their purpose.
She’d only taken a few more steps into the rows of vines when she realized where Buff was headed. Chase was crouched between two rows, one hand on a grapevine as he studied it. Although she didn’t want to get caught in another net of conversation with him, especially if it turned personal, she couldn’t just ignore him and walk away, either. Besides, she was curious about the vineyard.
Abby and Buff had stopped near one of the poles of orange flags and were peering down into a hole.
Although Chase looked up at Jillian, he didn’t get to his feet. “The flags point out groundhog holes.”
“Should I tell Abby to stay away from them?”
“No. There’s no need for that. We need to flag them so the tractor doesn’t drop in.”
Chase did rise to his feet then, towering a good six inches above her, and Jillian took a deep lungful of crisp February air. Her jacket wasn’t warm enough and she rubbed her arms.
“Cold?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” At least she was fine unless she got within two feet of him. Then her heart skipped and ran and her cheeks felt hot. It was a kind of phenomenon she’d never experienced before, and she didn’t welcome it now.
His brows drew together at her response as if he didn’t believe her for one moment. Unzipping his leather jacket, he shrugged it off. Before she could guess what he was going to do, he’d hung it around her shoulders. It was warm, and she could smell the slight scent of cologne and something masculine underlying it that made warmth spread through her whole body.
When she tried to shrug the coat off and protested, “You need it,” he firmly anchored it around her, holding the tw
o lapels. “No. I’m fine like this. I’m used to winter in Pennsylvania. You’re not.”
She noticed he’d added an insulated vest under the jacket. He was still holding the lapels. His hands were large, scarred and calloused—the hands of a man who worked the land, not the hands of a biochemist.
“Do you know anything about wine?” he asked suddenly.
“I know about types and a little about which years are best because of choosing wines for the parties I plan. But that’s about it.”
“That’s a lot,” he decided with a smile. “Most people don’t know that.”
“What kind of grapes do you grow?”
When he pointed to a small sign, he released the jacket lapels, giving her a chance to breathe normally. “These are Niagara vines.”
“White wine, right?”
He looked pleased. “Yes. Catawba are over there. We also grow Aurora, Concord and a few others. I know everything looks dead now, but it’s not. The vines will begin flowering in June.”
“You said your grandfather owned this vineyard?”
Chase looked out over the acreage with pride and something else—something deep that made her certain he appreciated the land and what it gave them.
“Actually, my great-grandfather started it with about two acres, just as a sideline. Over the years we grew. The whole process depends on the soil and the weather, and we’ve been fortunate with both.”
Reaching out, he touched the nubs on a vine.
“Did you always help your father with the wine?”
Chase’s expression grew closed. “Why would you assume that?”
“You grew up here. You know a lot about it. You came back to run the vineyard. You’re a biochemist, so I figured that played into it somehow—into the making of the wine.”
“That was my original intent when I applied for a biochemistry major. But then—Circumstances took me in a different direction. My father ran the vineyard until he died a year ago.”
She had the feeling there was a lot more to the story than that. There were gaps and things that didn’t make sense. If Chase loved the land as he seemed to, if he enjoyed the process of wine-making, why hadn’t he helped? Why hadn’t he come back before now?
Jillian heard Abby giggle, and she turned to see what she was doing. When she did, the leather jacket slipped from her shoulder.
Chase caught it, and once again they were much too close, gazing into each other’s eyes. “She’s fine,” he said. “She found a stone she particularly likes.”
“She has a collection,” Jillian murmured, looking at her daughter, but much too aware of Chase.
“Marianne isn’t a nature buff. I suppose it’s because she spent most of her life inside. The city isn’t conducive to field wandering, catching leaves in the wind or plucking flowers from a garden. I bought her a pony after we arrived here to lure her outside.”
Jillian had seen the barn, but didn’t know if it was actually being used.
“She’s afraid of him,” Chase explained with a shake of his head. “I can’t get her on him. And now—”
She knew what he was thinking. That he could lose her. That she’d never ride that pony. “We have to believe that everything will go perfectly. That she’ll be happy and well after the surgery.”
“You know that old adage, hope for the best but expect the worst? It’s become my motto.”
“I think the way it goes is—hope for the best but prepare for the worst. But I’m not going to think about the worst.”
“You’re one of those people who create your own reality?”
It was a scoffing question, but she answered it seriously. “I guess I try. Now, anyway. I had hard lessons to learn first.”
He was studying her intently, with a light in his eyes that was deep and dark and hungry. “Care to share them?”
Caution bells went off. One of those lessons had been not to give freely…to protect herself from being taken advantage of. “We don’t know each other, Chase. We’re virtual strangers.”
Still very close to her, his breath was white vapor when he spoke. “Strangers, maybe. But we’re connected by our girls.”
How could a barren vineyard in the middle of a cold February day seem intimate? Yet, standing here with him like this, all she could do was look at his lips. Unbidden, vivid pictures began playing in her head…A scene of him leaning toward her, kissing her—
His large hand was still on the jacket, and now she backed away from him. “We might be connected by the girls. We don’t know that yet. Did you make an appointment with the doctor?”
“This afternoon at three.”
A shout from the house interrupted their conversation. It was Eleanor and she was running toward them. “Chase! It’s Marianne! She’s having trouble breathing!”
He took off at a dead run. “Call 911. I’ll put the oxygen on her.”
Jillian rushed to Abby and took her hand, then quickly encouraged her and Buff to run toward the house.
As she felt the warmth of Abby’s little hand nestled in hers, as they hurried across the lane, Buff at their heels, her heart hammered and her own chest tightened. If Marianne was her daughter—
Holding all thoughts at bay, she lifted Abby into her arms, then rushed up the porch steps. She followed Chase inside, hoping there was something she could do to help, praying she wouldn’t lose Marianne…or Abby.
Chapter Four
As the ambulance attendants wheeled the gurney from Marianne’s room, Abby stood outside in the hallway looking scared.
Jillian crouched down to her. “They’re taking Marianne to the hospital to make her better.”
Chase was suddenly at Jillian’s elbow, holding it, pulling her up. “Do you want to come along? I’m going to ride in the ambulance.”
“Yes, I want to come, but—”
Suddenly Eleanor was bending down to Abby, her arm around the little girl. “How would you like to make sugar cookies with me? And afterward, Buffington and I will take you to see Marianne’s pony. What do you think?”
“I wanna see the pony,” Abby said with a grin and an exuberant nod of her head.
Still feeling torn, Jillian wasn’t sure what to do. Would Abby be all right with Eleanor? Or would she get scared and want her mommy?
Eleanor made a shooing motion with both hands to Jillian and Chase. “We’ll be fine. We’ll find lots to do. I’m sure Abby would like to play ball with Buffington, too. Go on, now.”
Jillian gave her daughter a hug. “I’ll call you and see how much fun you’re having. Okay?”
Again Abby nodded, lifted her hand and waved. “Bye, Mommy.”
If the situation weren’t so serious, Jillian would have smiled. Abby was used to her comings and goings. She spent time with Mrs. Carmichael and Kara, too, now and then. Besides that, Jillian took her to a playgroup. Separation anxiety didn’t seem to be a worry for Abby.
Thankful for that, Jillian turned to Chase and hurried with him down the stairs.
At first the attendants were reluctant to let Jillian join Chase, but he explained the situation tersely and their reluctance turned to acquiescence.
When Jillian was in the ambulance with him, sitting beside him with their arms brushing, she looked down at Marianne and murmured, “Thank you.”
Chase shook his head. “You need to be with her the same as I do.”
He was so sure she was Marianne’s mother.
As Jillian gazed at the little girl now who was hooked up to an IV and heart monitor with an oxygen cup over her nose and mouth, a blood pressure cuff on her arm, she felt as if she were being ripped in two. She could see herself in Marianne’s eyes. If she looked hard enough, she could see the same slant of Eric’s jaw on this little girl. Couldn’t she?
She lay her hand on Marianne’s head. “You’re going to be all right. Soon you’ll be playing with Abby and racing after Buff across the yard.”
Before their flight to Pennsylvania, Chase had explained everything abou
t atrial septal defect. If the surgeon was skilled and everything went as anticipated, they could expect Marianne to make a full recovery in a matter of weeks. But as Jillian had learned a long time ago, life didn’t always go as planned.
Thinking about Abby, Jillian worried whether or not to believe she’d be occupied and happy with Eleanor.
Uncannily, Chase read her mind. “My mother’s good with children. She’ll keep Abby busy so she doesn’t miss us…miss you,” he amended quickly.
“You already think of yourself as her father, don’t you?”
“You’re still in shock, Jillian. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I dropped this bomb on you. I’ve been dealing with it a bit longer. My gut’s telling me what I should believe. I have to go with that.”
Jillian knew instincts were powerful. Where Abby was concerned and even in business matters, she trusted hers. But when it came to men, she wasn’t so sure she could trust her instincts or her judgment.
As a little girl, Jillian had loved her dad desperately. When he’d carried her on his shoulders, she’d felt as if she were on top of the world. He’d been a pro at hide-and-seek. He’d taken her on wagon rides through the park and pushed her on the merry-go-round. But by age six, she’d known he wasn’t around a lot, and he didn’t come home when he said he would. When she was eight, her father divorced her mother. He often planned visits with Jillian but many times didn’t show up. By the time she was ten, she knew her father didn’t know the definition of the word promise and she’d learned not to count on him.
Over the years, Jillian had seen her mother become stronger, more independent, as she learned to stand on her own two feet. That’s the type of woman Jillian had known she wanted to become. From a rural town in Vermont, Jillian had decided she wanted a future in a big city. She was just finishing up her business management degree at Columbia when she’d met Eric. He was charming, handsome, had eyes only for her and she fell hard. After a whirlwind courtship, they’d married and moved to Washington, D.C. But after only a year, when Jillian was pregnant, she’d discovered Eric had had an affair. Even then she hadn’t wanted to give up for the sake of their child. Eric swore renewed fidelity, but trust had been broken and she couldn’t seem to mend it. He still took out-of-town trips and didn’t always explain his whereabouts. However, when Abby was born, their daughter took all of Jillian’s time and attention until Eric was diagnosed with cancer. She couldn’t leave him then, and she’d recommitted herself to him. What kind of woman would she have been if she’d walked out?
Their Child? Page 23