Jessie

by JJ Aughe

Dressed for the day, and hoping her lifelong cook and housekeeper, Maureen O’Brian, who always insisted she take time to have a wholesome breakfast, would be occupied elsewhere, Jessie hurried downstairs to sneak a glass of orange juice and a bagel slathered with cream cheese. It wasn’t to be.

  As Jessie entered the small private kitchen/breakfast nook her Grandfather, an architect, had designed for casual family meals, Maureen was standing at the stove. She noted Jessie’s attire and welcomed her with a cross expression, then smiled and motioned to Jessie’s usual place at the small table. Her expression softened as did her Irish brogue as she commented, “You’re up earlier this morning than I thought you would be, Jess. Your attire tells me you are headed into town or somewhere.” Her voice hardened as she said, “I know you so very well, dear Jessie. When you are going somewhere early like this you don’t take time to eat a good, healthful breakfast. I know you are in a hurry to leave. Please take the time to pause long enough this morning to have some fresh squeezed orange juice and eat this good breakfast I have almost ready for you.”

  Jessie negatively shook her head and Maureen quickly admonished, “Now, Jess don’t you be giving me any of that ‘I’ve got to get somewhere’ stuff, either. Nothing is more important than having a wholesome breakfast before you start your day! Besides, you don’t eat enough at any of your meals to keep a bird alive, girl. If your mother, God rest her soul, were here, you know she would insist you eat a good meal at least twice a day.” Tears came to her eyes and her voice broke as she finished with, “Your mother isn’t here Jess. So it’s left up to me to make sure you eat. Now, I’ve been working since six this morning just so you will have good, wholesome food to start the day for a change. Now sit!”

  Jessie, knowing she was trapped, gave a resigned sigh, pulled out her chair and sat.

  Without giving Jessie a chance to get a word in edgewise, Maureen kept up a continuous dialogue all the while she put the finishing touches on the breakfast she insisted Jessie eat. She informed Jessie that she had heard her come in late only because Gerald had called about an hour before that and, in a huffy, dismissing voice, demanded to speak to her employer. She said that Gerald had sounded surprised when informed that Jessie wasn’t yet home. Then he said it was important he talk to Jessie as soon as possible.

  Because of what Gerald hadn’t told her, Maureen said she hadn’t been able to go back to sleep. In essence, though he hadn’t come straight out and said it, what he had said made it sound as though the two of them had argued. Knowing Jessie had probably driven out to the Bellevue docks to let the serene view of the lake calm her, Maureen had waited until Jessie came in before letting herself drift off to sleep.

  The argument, Maureen now surmised, must have been something to make him worry because he had called four times since seven that morning. She told him only that she would deliver his message as soon as her employer came down for breakfast. The last time he called, he blatantly informed me that if Jessie didn’t call by ten o’clock he was coming over to talk to her in person. Maureen had succinctly told him that if he came over and Jessie didn’t want to see him he would not be admitted to the house

  “You know what he had the nerve to say?” Jessie could tell by the heavy Irish brogue tone of Maureen’s voice that Gerald had really upset her. “He had the audacity to threaten that, when he married you, one of the first things he would do would be to fire me if I didn’t let him in when he got here!”

  The oven timer dinged just then, signaling the rolls were ready to come out of the oven. Not missing a beat, Maureen removed them, placed them on a warming plate and set them in front of Jessie. “I hope you like these. I tried that new whole-wheat flour brand I told you about last week. According to the chefs that have tested it for themselves it is the best on the market.”

  Maureen paused long enough to set fresh butter for the rolls and a plate of scrambled eggs and strips of crisp oven baked bacon on the table. Jessie saw her chance. “Everything looks good, Maureen. I hope you won’t be too upset if I don’t eat very much. After last night I just don’t seem to have much of an appetite.”

  Her housekeeper turned from the stove and studied her, concern creasing her brow. Seeing the brightness of tears Jessie was trying hard to hide brought her Irish ire to the fore. “What happened, Jessie? What has he done that has you almost crying this morning? If that ego maniac has done something to hurt my girl I’ll give him a tongue lashing he won’t ever forget!”

  Maureen’s words reminded Jessie that her housekeeper’s feelings toward Gerald had not been the best since that first time he had been at the house. He had boldly been very nasty voiced when told her he would do and say anything he wanted. That situation in mind, Jessie put feeling into her words as she answered, “I won’t go into detail right now, Maureen, but I broke it off with Gerald last night.”

  Watching Maureen’s eyes, Jessie did not miss her housekeeper’s quick smile. “Oh yes, Maureen. I know that pleases you. So, no matter if I am at home or not, if he calls again tell him I meant what I said last night. I positively will not talk to or see him ever again.”

  The thought of the breakup and her hopes of having children and a husband to love and adore now, for all intents and purposes, being forever gone caused Jessie’s heartbreak and anger at Gerald to flare up even more. The tears that had been threatening at the back of her eyes all morning began to break loose as a single teardrop slowly slid down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, but others followed.

  Maureen, seeing Jessie’s tears break free and knowing she had so looked forward to having a family, silently wrapped the young woman in a consoling embrace. Wisely knowing there were no words she could voice that would relieve Jessie’s pain she quietly handed her a tissue and held her until her mistress hiccupped a few times, the tears subsiding.

  “I’ll sure tell him, Jess,” she consoled. “And I will also inform Monty of what has happened and tell him to refuse the worm entrance if he shows up here. You already know Monty’s dislike for Gerald. He wouldn’t brook any guff from him and wouldn’t hesitate to deck him if he tried to force his way in.”

  White haired, seventy year old Monty Montblanc had been her father’s personal bodyguard. He stood six foot five and had the muscular physique of a much, much younger man. The image of him knocking Gerald to the ground had the corners of Jessie’s mouth curving upwards in a satisfied smile. Gerald, she revengefully thought, deserved whatever Monty felt needed to be dealt him. Immediately contrite, then repulsed by her unsettling feelings of animosity toward the man, she mentally shook herself, wiped her eyes with the tissue and stood, breaking the embrace of her housekeeper.

  “Forgive me, Maureen,” she apologized. “I need to go.” Her voice broke as her composure again dissolved. Uncontrollable tears bursting from her eyes, she hurried from the room. She took the stairs two at a time, rushed down the carpeted hallway, burst into her suite, flung herself onto her bed and let the tears flow.

  Maureen stepped to the archway, watched Jessie ascend the stairway and disappear down the hall. Shaking her head in disgust and anger at the cause of Jessie’s distress, she turned back to the kitchen. “If only I were a man,” she raged, her brogue going entirely Irish. “I’d take a shillelah to that egotistical so-and-so!” She was so upset she didn’t bother to remove the dishes from the table. Instead, she stormed off to inform Monty that on no circumstance was Gerald to enter the premises.

  Forty-five minutes later Jessie had somewhat controlled her emotions and repaired the damage to what sparse make-up she wore. Still angry that Gerald would assume she would be over his unfaithfulness and forgive him, Jessie stood in the garage trying to decide whether to remove the hard top from her classic 1958 ‘Vette’ before leaving.

  Her home being situated at the north end of Lake Sammamish the drive to the cemetery southeast of Issaquah and then back to Bellevue alone would take over an hour. Considering that and the fact that she always felt calm and peaceful with the hardtop remov
ed allowing the sun to warm her skin and the wind to ruffle her hair as she drove, Jessie prepared the hardtop for removal. She attached the padded lift bars that hung above the car and pressed the button, automatically lifting the top and stowing it safely out of the way at the ceiling of the garage.

  An hour and a half later, having thoroughly gone over her intentions with Burney and satisfied he would do the same as she wanted to do, Jessie happily breezed along the highway heading for the Five Twenty Freeway interchange. As she was making the turn onto the metered onramp, she noticed the silver Mercedes behind her had made the turn too and was decidedly following too close for comfort.

  The Mercedes shot over into the HOV lane and sped past her as she was entering the freeway, then, for no reason she could see, suddenly cut into her lane, almost hitting her car, then speeding on. If she hadn’t been alert the car would have collided with hers, sending her over the steep bank at the side of the onramp. As it was, she had to swerve onto the dirt and gravel shoulder at the edge of the pavement to avoid a collision. She knew a man had been driving the car because she got a good look at his turbaned head as the car sped past.

  Badly shaken, she pulled to stop to let her nerves settle. She knew she shouldn’t be stopped along the freeway so she pulled back into traffic and drove to the next exit and, though she had more than a half a tank of gas, pulled up to a set of gas pumps at a gas station to calm down.

  She was surprised when, as she reached for the door handle to pump her own gas, a young man came running out and courteously asked if she wanted a fill-up. Though it had been a couple of years since she had heard about these full-service stations on the local news, this was the first time she had ever stopped at one. As she recalled from the newscast this station was one of a few in the state that had attendants who filled your gas tank, checked the car’s fluids and washed your windshield. This station even had a car wash with the added convenience of a nice lounge where customers could wait while the attendants wiped the car’s exterior windows of excess moisture and for a nominal fee, buffed the finish to a glossy shine, cleaned the interior of the windows and vacuumed the interior carpets at their detail shop. Jessie was so impressed by the unexpected service that she decided right then and there that she would make this gas station her regular stop for service for all of her vehicles.

  Jessie waited patiently while the attendant finished his duties. By the time she had signed the debit receipt for her purchase her nerves had all but settled. As she started to pull out of the station a silver Mercedes drove by. Not having seen the driver she still thought the car was very similar to the one that had forced her onto the shoulder of the off ramp. Dismissing the car as coincidence, she entered the freeway again and traveled on into Bellevue.

  Still a little upset about the near accident and the unfaithful and egotistical attitude of the man she had thought loved her, Jessie pulled into the bank’s underground parking lot, maneuvered into a parking space, killed the engine, threw the door open and swung her shapely legs out of the ‘Vette. She opted to take the stairs to the surface instead of the elevator then hurried to the bank’s double glass doors. Pausing, she took a deep, calming breath and slowly let it out. Before she pushed open the door, she ordered herself to think only about the four twenty-five thousand dollar Cashier’s Checks from the Castleman Fund’s account for quarterly donations to worthy charities she was there to pick up.

  Yeah, she thought. What the receiving organizations will accomplish with these Castleman Funds is much more important than some idiot driver running me off the onramp. These checks are even more important than my being upset by what Gerald outrageously suggested and his revolting revelations last night. I’ll just get the Cashier’s checks from Mr. Devlin and take them to my lawyer and to hell with idiot drivers and Gerald, too. With that thought fresh in her mind, she pushed open one glass door and stepped into the bank.

  Automatically directing her steps toward the bank manager’s desk, who usually handled her banking business, she glanced at his area and noticed he was busy with another customer. Since she had told her lawyer she would be at his office before ten thirty, she opted instead to go to the first available teller.

  As she stood at the teller’s counter awaiting the Cashier’s checks she overheard a very masculine, but upset, rich baritone voice heatedly declare, “That is just great, Mr. Devlin! You can’t, or won’t, finance this project! To top that, you won’t even tell my why! Well, somehow I have to secure that financing because that land has to be preserved so the public will have a chance to enjoy it! I told you about it, but you don’t seem to care that besides the lake and the pristine forests there is something else on that land that any archeologist would give a right leg to excavate!”

  Jessie had minored in archeology at the University of Washington so the man’s angry words piqued her curiosity. She glanced over to see whom the voice belonged to and made immediate, though accidental, eye contact with the agitated, sky blue eyes of the speaker. The man’s genuine angst and caring about the land he referred to that had been vibrating from his baritone voice shown plainly from his sky blue eyes. The eyes, the voice, the high cheekbones and chiseled square jaw, his athletic physique and his very disturbed demeanor sent chills coursing up and down Jessie’s spine, causing a very unsettling, quivering sensation deep in her core.

  A sudden thought sent weird, never before felt sensations coursing up and down her spine again. That man is dangerous! A very, very dangerous man indeed!

  Immediately breaking eye contact, Jessie quickly turned back to the counter to await the teller’s return. As she patiently waited, she found herself wondering why she couldn’t find a man that could generate that kind of feeling, have that kind of heart stopping masculinity, a man who deeply cared about the world around him. A man who would be willing to fight for what he believed. A man like that would be respectful of a woman just as her father had been of her mother. He would love her for who she is and not for whatever fortune or status she may hold. Instead, all she had ever found were men like egotistical, faithless Gerald.

  Disturbed by these thoughts after the episode the night before and her body’s erotic reaction to a complete stranger, she quickly snatched the Cashier’s Checks and account receipts from the bank teller and hurried out of the bank. She almost ran toward the stairs leading to the parking garage. She was within a few feet of the stairs when she suddenly remembered she had left her small green clutch purse, containing a small amount of pin money, her credit cards and ID on the shelf in front of the teller’s window. She hurriedly turned to rush back into the bank to retrieve the purse and nearly ran into a gentleman wearing a green turban, an expensive tan suit and sunglasses. She hastily apologized and brushed past the man and hurried to the bank’s double glass doors.

  Jessie hurriedly pushed open one of the heavy glass doors and immediately collided with and glanced off of a solid male body. The impact was too much for one of her two-inch kelly-green Gucci heels. The heel snapped off sending her toward the floor. She threw out her hands to break her fall, but it was too late. She landed in a very unladylike sprawl on the black and white checkered tile floor. To her embarrassment, her dress hiked half way up her thighs and the Cashier’s checks and papers flew from her hand, scattering just out of reach. Humiliated and embarrassed by her own carelessness, she scrambled to regain her feet. Suddenly a very familiar male scent drifted to her nostrils.

  “I’m so sorry!” a vaguely familiar, rich baritone voice exclaimed as a hand grasp her wrist, steadying her as her heelless shoe caused her to stumble sidewise. As her eyes slowly traversed up the dark blue suit-sleeved forearm to a broad shoulder, Jessie’s senses were suddenly, but gently, stunned. The male scent of the man was the faintly familiar scent of the man in her dreams. As her eyes finally reached the man’s very concerned, striking sky-blue eyes, another shiver coursed up and down her body as she realized her reaction to this tall hunk of a man had been the very reason she had rushed out of the bank
in the first place.

  “Let me get those,” the stranger kindly offered as he knelt and began to gather up her scattered envelopes, papers and the heel of her shoe. Looking back over his shoulder he again started to apologize, but his mind went blank as his gaze locked with the gold and silver-flecked green irises of her eyes.

  Regaining some sense of decorum the man stammered the first thing that came to his mind. “I should have been watching or been more alert of my surroundings. As it was though, I didn’t see you coming in.”

  The bank manager, a short, slightly over-weight, balding man in his late forties, rushed up just then, Jessie's green purse in his hand. With a dour glance at the stranger he focused concerned eyes on Jessie, anxiously inquiring, “Are you all right, Miss Melano?”

  Mesmerized by the stranger’s almost erotic scent and his captivating blue eyes, Jessie shook her head, mumbled that she was fine and reached for her clutch, barely taking her eyes from those of the stranger’s. Jessie knew she needed to say something, anything at all to this hunk of a man, but she couldn’t seem to catch her breath to form the words. A beat later, she found her voice. “It wasn’t your fault, Mr., ah,”

  “Gilmore,” the man quickly supplied with the sexiest smile she had ever seen as he handed her the envelopes and papers she had dropped and the heel of her shoe. The stranger’s smile had her heart hammering in her breast as he finished with, “Bailey Gilmore.”

  A sudden blush pinked the lovely woman’s cheeks and sent waves of hot desire coursing through Bailey’s body. He could never resist a woman who blushed easily and this woman was coloring up right before his appreciative eyes! Wow, he thought. Is she ever gorgeous! Immediately chastising himself for his thoughts he again, made his apology. “But you’re wrong, Miss. This was my fault. Honestly, I was angry and wasn’t watching where I was going!”

  Her gaze still locked with his, Jessie again had to make several attempts before she could trust her voice enough to reply. “Jessica Melano, Mr. Gilmore. And it is I who is in need of apologizing,” she insisted, raising her clutch for him to see. “I left my purse at the teller’s window and was rushing to retrieve it. So our collision was definitely and entirely all my fault!”