Sure, she’d been angry with him last night at the way he’d handled the man who’d approached her, but then she’d realized perhaps Chase was just being protective. It was hard to know with him sometimes. It was hard to know what he was thinking…or feeling, except where his marriage was concerned. He was always forthright with her about that. He’d loved Fran, and the admiration Jillian had seen in his eyes the night Fran had delivered their baby had been true and sure and real.
Fortunately, Chase stayed on the trail where she’d ridden Giselle before. She’d like to go riding more often but there weren’t enough hours in the day to fit everything in that she wanted to fit in. She hadn’t even had time to find a computer store that could recommend a tech to check her laptop, which hadn’t been reliable lately.
As Jillian rode, she got caught up in the lush, green, new growth of grass; the nearly budding cherry-blossom trees; the blue sky with puffy white clouds piled on top of each other. There were rows and rows of trellises on sloping land with vines coming alive again.
Urging her horse into a canter, she let the wind blow through her hair. Although her hands were cold in the early morning nip, she didn’t care as she caught a glimpse of Chase up ahead.
He was looking straight ahead, set on where he was going. That was like Chase. If he was on his way somewhere, nothing could deter him. She’d seen that with the girls and the winery and just in the way he handled his life. He didn’t seem to need anyone, and she understood that. She didn’t want to need anyone, though sometimes she did need Kara’s listening ear, Mrs. Carmichal’s arm around her shoulder and definitely Abby’s hugs. Marianne’s now, too.
When Jillian pulled up beside Chase, he slowed and glanced at her. “You’re up early.”
“I listened to the Weather Channel last night and it’s going to be a beautiful day.”
“That’s why you came for a ride?”
“One of the reasons.”
“And the other?”
Shifting in the saddle, she fingered her reins. “I don’t always know how to act around you. Last night when you stepped in, I didn’t know why.”
Overhead, there was a muted buzz of an airplane. The breeze rustled through pines and maples, cedars and long grass. Everything was coming back to life after the winter cold.
Chase didn’t say anything, though, as they continued riding until they climbed to a crest that overlooked the south acreage of the vineyard. There Chase dismounted and held his horse’s reins, and she did the same.
While he looked over the winding creek and rows of vines, she studied him. He was wearing jeans and a hooded black sweatshirt. At his neck, she could see he wore a pullover sweater underneath. The breeze whipped his hair back but he faced the wind as if he enjoyed the sensation. She had the feeling Chase was a terrifically sensual man, and she knew she’d tasted only one small element of that sensuality.
“I stepped in last night because I didn’t want that guy bothering you. It wasn’t until afterward that I realized you might have appreciated the contact.”
“It’s always flattering for a woman to know a man wants to date her.”
Turning slowly, Chase let his gaze wander from her hair to her flannel jacket to her snug-fitting jeans. In spite of the breeze and the early morning chill, she was suddenly a lot warmer.
“Are you going to call him?”
She ran her fingers up and down the length of rein in her hand. “No. I wasn’t attracted to him.”
Their gazes held and locked, and then Chase’s hand was folding over hers on the rein. “You’re cold.”
His hands were so large, so warm, so full of strength and felt so good covering hers. “Just my hands.”
Dropping the reins to the ground, Chase took both of her hands in his and raised them to his face. At first she thought his cheeks were cold to the touch, but then she realized there was an uncompromising heat underneath. His hands over hers on his face were somehow more intimate than kissing. When he tilted his head, his lips were on her palm and she knew what real heat was. The fluttering started deep inside of her as his lips nipped at her palm. A moan escaped from her throat. As his tongue did wonderful things to her lifeline, her knees grew weak.
His gaze didn’t leave hers, and she knew he could see what he was doing to her. She shouldn’t let him see but she couldn’t hide it…just as she couldn’t deny the feelings she had for him anymore. She was so attracted to him…
As if her thought translated into his action, he brought her closer, his arms going around her, enveloping her in an embrace that protected her from the cold and her own thoughts and anything that might come between them.
While his lips hovered over hers, he murmured, “You’re attracted to me, and I’m attracted to you.”
There was no denying it. The way she felt when he held her couldn’t be ignored. The way she felt when he strode into a room couldn’t be dismissed. The way she felt when he kissed her…
The breeze brushed her hair as his lips sealed to hers. It was a possessive, claiming kiss. Had he been jealous last night? Was that even possible?
His lips and tongue told her it was very possible. His hand lacing in her hair and the tightness of his body told her he wanted much more. Her arms had gone around his neck when he tugged her close. Now her fingers slid into the hair on his neck, and he responded by tonguing her more deeply, by rubbing his lower body against hers, by slipping his hands down her back until they rested on her buttocks. His hands were seductive through her jeans, and she suddenly wanted to touch more of him, too. Her hand slid from his shoulder to his chest.
He broke away with questioning, desire-filled eyes.
“I want to touch you,” she whispered, feeling bolder than she’d ever felt before.
“Go right ahead,” he growled, and then waited to see what she’d do next.
Her hand flattened on his sweatshirt, and she knew there were layers underneath.
“We’re not dressed for this,” she said lightly.
“You mean we’re not undressed for this.”
Then he was kissing her again and she was trailing her hand down his chest toward his stomach to his belt buckle. She could feel it under his sweatshirt.
As his tongue mated with hers, as pictures of the two of them together floated in her mind, a desire she’d never felt before overtook her. Her hand continued lower until her palm cupped him, and he groaned.
She knew she was flirting with danger and didn’t care. She knew his need was becoming more demanding as was hers. Still she didn’t stop.
But he did. His hand covered hers once more, but it wasn’t for warmth this time.
“What do you want to happen, Jillian?”
His question hit her with the cold dose of reality that froze her stiff. Didn’t she know she couldn’t believe in dreams? Didn’t she know that although she’d never experienced physical attraction like this, chemistry didn’t last? Didn’t she know men couldn’t be depended on?
She suddenly felt more foolish than she’d ever felt in her life. Pulling her hand away from his, then grabbing the reins to her horse, she took a deep breath. “Obviously I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have come out here this morning.”
“Why did you?”
“I thought we should clear the air.”
“Is there something in particular you wanted to say?”
Trying to wrap her pride around her again, she answered quickly. “Yes. I don’t need protection from anyone. When a man approaches me, I can handle myself just fine.” After those words came tumbling out, she knew she had to be fair. “But I also wanted to thank you. It’s been a long time since anyone looked out for me.”
“I’m not sure that’s what I was doing.” Chase’s voice was enigmatic, and she knew she’d better not question him because she might not want to hear his answer.
If the atmosphere between them had seemed awkward last night, it was a hundred times more awkward now. “I’d better get back. The girls will be getting u
p soon.”
“I’ll ride with you partway. Then I’m going to check on the east slope.”
Was he protecting her again? Did he want to make sure she rode back without incident?
After she mounted Giselle, she glanced at him and saw he was studying her. Turning the horse away from him, she headed back to the house.
She’d told him she didn’t need his protection…or anyone’s protection. Yet she realized she needed protection from herself because she was falling in love with Chase Remmington and didn’t know what to do about it.
Chase never knew what to expect when he came home from the winery for supper. Sometimes Jillian was helping his mother in the kitchen, sometimes she was reading to the girls in their bedroom. It was obvious now Abby and Marianne didn’t want to be separated, and Marianne’s room belonged to both of them. Some days Jillian took the girls down to the barn in the late afternoon and played hide-and-seek with them among the hay bales.
Actually he was steeling himself to see Jillian again. Every time he thought about her, he thought about her hand on him. That picture seemed to jam up the circuits in his brain. He hadn’t wanted to stop her. He’d wanted…
What every man wants—physical satisfaction.
“She’s in the living room,” Eleanor said. “You won’t believe what they’re doing.”
There was a note of disapproval in her tone.
“What? Playing with Play-Doh on your mahogany coffee table?” He remembered his mother’s reaction the first time he and Marianne had done just that.
“No. Marianne saw Jillian painting her nails. She wanted her to paint hers, too. The polish is a light shade of pink, but still…she’s only three.”
Chase almost laughed out loud but he didn’t want to insult his mother. Still he couldn’t help but say, “I’ll make sure they don’t grow up before dinner.”
When Eleanor gave him a warning look, he chuckled and headed for the living room.
Marianne was awfully young to start having her nails painted. Maybe he should—
Chase stopped in the doorway when he heard Marianne’s laughter. It was light and free and open, and he didn’t think he’d ever heard her laugh quite that way before.
The tableau before him was a picture he wanted to store in his memory file for a lifetime. Cross-legged, Jillian and Marianne were sitting on the sofa, facing each other. Abby was kneeling on the floor beside them.
Taking one of Abby’s hands, Jillian blew with exaggerated puffs onto her nails. Abby giggled, too.
“Wave them in the air,” Jillian suggested. “They’re almost dry.”
Then she was giving her attention to Marianne again. With extreme concentration, she used the brush on the nail of his little girl’s smallest finger. Then she put the top on the polish and set it on the coffee table. Just as she’d done with Abby, she took Marianne’s little hand in hers and blew with exaggerated forcefulness on her nails.
Marianne’s laughter filled the room.
“It tickles,” she managed between giggles.
“No, it doesn’t tickle.” Jillian playfully brushed Marianne under the chin, and Marianne ducked her head giggling even louder.
“That’s what tickles,” Jillian said. Then she was tickling Abby under the chin, too.
All of a sudden, Marianne pushed herself up on her knees and encircled Jillian’s neck with her arms. “Thank you, Mommy.”
Marianne’s words immobilized Chase, and he could see they stunned Jillian, too. He realized Marianne was using the word Mommy not with the knowledge that Jillian was her mother, but with the heartfelt knowing that she wanted this woman to be her mommy. She knew other kids had moms. She saw them in stores and on TV. She didn’t have one and she obviously wanted one.
Moving into the room then, he crossed to the sofa. Jillian’s gaze met his and he could see the tears there.
Putting his arm around Abby, he asked, “What are we doing?”
She waved her nails in his face. “Paintin’ nails like Mommy’s.”
He could see that Jillian had a light coating of pink on her fingernails.
“Marianne asked me to paint hers. I didn’t think there’d be any harm. I don’t think your mother approves, though.”
Her voice was a little shaky, and he could understand that.
“Why don’t you go show Grandma,” he said to Marianne.
“Me, too,” Abby chimed in.
“You, too. You know, you might want to think about calling Eleanor ‘Grandma’ just like Marianne does. I think she’d like that.”
At that, Jillian knew Chase had heard Marianne call her Mommy.
Once the girls had run into the kitchen, Jillian swung her legs onto the floor. “She took me by surprise.”
“I guess so.”
“She sees other kids have mothers,” Jillian continued. “It’s only natural she wants one, too. Did it bother you?”
“She’s your daughter.”
“Yes, but for three years you didn’t know that and now to just change gears…I imagine you always pictured Marianne saying that to your wife.”
Jillian’s statement should have rung true. After all, he’d thought every day about what Fran was missing, about what Marianne was missing. Yet today, it had seemed so natural for Marianne to look to Jillian as her mother.
“We have to live in the real world, Jillian. The reality is you are Marianne’s mother.”
Silence hung between them for what seemed like a very long time.
Then Jillian stood. “You encouraged Abby to call your mother ‘Grandma.’ Maybe you should think about asking her to call you ‘Daddy.’”
“She will when the time is right.”
With insight that had materialized over the past weeks, he realized what he could do to make the time right. He realized there was only one solution to this situation with Jillian.
On Saturday afternoon, Jillian and Eleanor were painting Easter eggs with the girls in the kitchen. Tomorrow was Palm Sunday. After church they were going to an Easter egg hunt at a nearby mall.
Jillian was helping Marianne paint a blue stripe around her egg when Chase came in the back door. He was dressed in khakis and a red polo shirt, and he looked so sexy Jillian had to take a breath.
He was smiling as he asked Eleanor, “Can you and the girls finish this project on your own? I’d like to show Jillian something. We’ll be about an hour or so.”
Although Jillian had no idea what Chase was talking about and she was curious, she still protested. “I can’t just leave this mess for your mother to clean up.”
“Nonsense,” Eleanor said. “If Chase wants to show you something, then it’s important. Go ahead.”
Jillian looked down at the clothes she’d worn in case splashes and spills occurred. She was wearing a pink T-shirt and her comfortable jeans.
Chase guessed her thoughts. “You’re fine. Just grab your jacket.”
Jillian had the sudden urge to run a brush through her hair, add some lipstick and make sure everything about her was presentable. Then she chided herself. This wasn’t a date.
Still it felt like one as Chase led her out the back door and guided her around the side of the house to the front.
“What’s so important I couldn’t finish painting Easter eggs?”
“I just picked this up and I want you to try it out before I put it away.”
Jillian couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. However, as they rounded the corner of the house, she saw it. A black Amish carriage and a huge brown horse stood at the front walk.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Well, if we’re planning to do weddings here, I thought it would be a great idea. Not only that, but the girls will enjoy taking rides in it. Want to try it out?”
The idea delighted her and she smiled broadly. “Yes.”
Chase helped her into the carriage, holding her hand as she stepped up. His assistance was welcome. As she looked down at him, everything inside of her seemed to
come totally alive.
Swallowing hard, she asked, “Where are we going?”
When Chase climbed in beside her, they were close on the wooden seat, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm. “I’ll take the back roads. There’s a spot I want to show you.”
Flowers were opening now—hyacinths and daffodils. Forsythia was in full bloom. Everything about the day was perfect, vibrant and singing with the beauty only spring could bring. They didn’t talk as Chase clicked to the horse every once in a while and glanced at her often.
When she caught him looking, she just smiled and breathed in the warm, grass-filled air, the scent of Chase and the promise of a different life.
She didn’t know how long they’d been riding when Chase pointed out a covered bridge. It was obviously old, but refurbished, recently painted, red with white trim.
As they traveled over it, she asked, “Is this safe?”
“Probably safer than a lot of other bridges you go over. Local engineers check it once a year.”
They stopped on the other side of the bridge and she turned around to look at it once more. It reminded her of a P. Buckley Moss painting. The artist was an expert at capturing Amish life and bucolic scenes that soothed the heart and soul. Jillian had hung a few framed Moss prints in her town house. Soon she’d pack up all her belongings and she could hang the pictures in the girls’ room—and hers—if she stayed in the house.
“Are we still on Remmington property?”
“No, we left it about a quarter of a mile back.”
The creek flowed swiftly, foaming over the rocks. It was fast now because of rain that had fallen the past few days. But today there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
“Why did you leave all this?” she asked softly.
“I think it’s time to tell you something.”
Jillian’s heart started beating much faster. “What?”
“Eleanor’s not my biological mother.”
Nothing could have surprised Jillian more. “You’re adopted?”
“No.” He wrapped the reins around his palm and stared out at the landscape. “At eighteen, I learned the life I’d led up until then had been a lie.”
Their Child? Page 32