"Thanks, Jack. You can reach me on my cell phone for the rest of the weekend."
"Will do. Listen, have you had a chance to look over that stuff I gave you on MDS before you left?"
"Yeah. Looks grim."
"Are you still thinking we're going to wade into this?"
Ethan had a mental picture of Abby, seated on her kitchen table, looking at him with bright eyes and kiss-swollen lips. "I'm already in, Jack."
"Seriously?"
"I'd say very seriously."
"Does Montgomery know it yet?"
"More or less. Why?"
"Because my source says on Tuesday he plans to announce he's splitting the company and putting it on the block."
"Damned fool."
"It's probably too late for you to do anything for him."
"I'm not in this for him," Ethan explained. "It's a long story. I'll fill you in when I get back to San Francisco."
"Wednesday morning, Edna said?"
"Yes. I'll probably fly in late Tuesday night."
"Okay, then, but we'll need to meet. You've got to spend some time listening to Lewis about the Kinsey matter."
"Wednesday," Ethan promised. "You can have my undivided attention."
Jack chuckled. "If you say so. I'll get back to you as soon as I have that number for Wells."
"Thanks, Jack. I appreciate it." Ethan hung up and tossed the cordless phone onto the bed.
Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he stood with his back to the room and stared out at the Chicago skyline. He replayed his conversation with Charlie in his mind and his frown deepened. Instinct told him that whatever answers he could get from Charlie or, with any luck, from Hansen Wells weren't going to be simple—and probably weren't going to be pleasant.
And he'd have to be the one to break the news to Abby.
nine
"Well, hello there, gorgeous."
Abby smiled into the well-wrinkled face of General John Standen. "John, you've got to stop flattering me like that. It'll go straight to my head."
General Standen, who was in his nineties, still had a bright twinkle in his eyes. "I live in fear that some young fellow is going to come along and snatch you away from me," he said. His sharp gaze darted to the edge of the room where Ethan and Rachel were unpacking the gift boxes full of cookies. "Like that one," he said, tipping his head in Ethan's direction. "With the long hair."
Abby laughed and patted the old man on the shoulder. "I'm sure he'd be thrilled to learn you think his hair is too long."
The general scoffed. "He couldn't care less. I can tell by looking at him. He's one of those self-made hooligan types you girls go for."
Abby smiled, as much at the description as at the gentlemanly way it was delivered. "Would it do me a bit of good to tell you it's none of your business?"
"No way. I've got to look after my girl, you know."
She dropped a kiss on his weathered cheek. "I'll let you know if I get myself into trouble." She started to make the rounds of the gaily decorated room. This was probably her favorite part of her job at the foundation. As much satisfaction as she got from administering the organization's myriad programs, nothing compared with the personal fulfillment of spending time with the men and women the foundation supported. It made her feel connected to the memory of her father and to the friends who had helped her survive the sorrow of her parents' death.
In honor of the holiday, the staff of the Chicago Metropolitan Veterans Center had hung flags and garlands, but despite the festive atmosphere, Abby was aware of the undercurrent of sadness that flowed among the residents. Few outsiders understood how difficult Memorial Day was for them.
In her experience, people often made the mistake of believing that veterans were united by their shared experiences of war, but Abby knew better. What bound them together was their shared grief at the loss of so many close friends. They seemed to have a resilience that inspired her, and in the years since her parents' death, she'd made sure that Rachel had the benefit of their experience. Though each veteran in this room had suffered unimaginable losses, and many had overcome hardships and trauma that she could only begin to imagine, they all had found the courage to rebuild their lives and their friendships.
And Abby loved them for it.
She greeted several friends as she slowly made her way toward the corner where Colonel Archie Jameson sat by himself, clutching a small American flag. He greeted her with his usual sad smile. Abby took his hand and gave it a tight squeeze. The colonel had been one of her personal projects for the past two years. "Hi, Colonel. Happy Memorial Day."
He turned his wheelchair toward her. "Hello, Abby."
"How are you doing today?" She sat in the chair next to him.
His eyes looked misty to her. "A little worse than usual," he admitted. "This holiday is almost the toughest. Christmas is worse, though."
Abby nodded. "I know." Archie Jameson's story had struck a certain chord in her, one that had wrapped tighter and tighter around her heart the longer she knew him. "Thinking about Miss Jo?"
Josephine Wyler had been Archie Jameson's high school sweetheart and, as far as Abby knew, his only love. He'd gone off to fight with the Allied forces in France while Josephine had stayed behind. Archie had lost both his legs on the beaches of Normandy. Josephine had written him after hearing the news, telling him he'd better come home to her and that at least she'd always know he couldn't stray from her side. Archie had clutched that letter during the long days of recuperation in the hospital, the difficult days of recovery, and his subsequent ship's voyage back to the United States. He'd arrived in New York and been greeted with the tragic news that his beloved Josephine had died waiting for him to return. Archie's spirit had never recovered.
"I'm always thinking about Miss Jo," Archie answered, and his voice sounded a little thready.
Abby wove her fingers through his trembling ones. They had almost ten minutes, she knew, before the program started. "Why don't you tell me your favorite thing about her, Archie?"
He clutched the flag a little tighter. "Did I ever tell you about Jo's hair?" he asked softly.
At least half a dozen times, Abby thought with a slight smile. "What was it like?" she prodded. "Pretty, I'll bet."
"The most beautiful hair I've ever seen."
She felt two strong hands settle on her shoulders. Ethan dropped a kiss on top of her hair. "I know just how that feels," he said, his voice close to her ear.
Abby drew a sharp breath. Since their conversation on Saturday night, Ethan had made good on his promise to try to accelerate the timetable of their relationship. He was constantly finding excuses to touch her. She'd never imagined that baking could turn so quickly into foreplay, but he would come up behind her and pin her to the counter so he could look over her shoulder; or lift her dough-covered fingers to his mouth to taste them, and she'd break into shivers.
Though he'd remained circumspect in front of Rachel and LuAnne, he'd somehow managed to corner her alone several times. In the past two days she'd learned what she imagined were all the ways a woman could be kissed. Softly, hungrily, hard, gentle, demanding, begging, Ethan seemed to know them all—and he was a great communicator. Her lips tingled just thinking about how he'd caught her in the hallway that morning while Rachel and LuAnne were loading the car. Before she had time to think, Ethan had pressed her up against the linen-closet door with her hands pinned near her shoulders. He'd covered her mouth in an intense kiss that tasted like toothpaste and something else, something wildly forbidden. "I missed you last night," he'd whispered against her mouth, and sent shivers skittering down her spine.
Abby coughed and met his gaze. "Hi."
Archie gave him a once-over. "You a friend of Abby's?"
"Yes." Ethan took the chair next to Abby.
"A good friend?" the colonel asked, looking at Abby.
Ethan reached for her free hand. "I like to think so."
Archie stared at him for several seconds, sizing him up. F
inally, he nodded. "You got a good one. You treat her right."
"I'm trying." Ethan gave her hand a squeeze, then released it. "Everything's unpacked," he told her.
She nodded. "Where's Rachel?"
"Charming the crowd." He draped his arm across the back of her chair. "She's a natural."
"Abby," Archie prompted, "aren't you going to tell me the man's name? I got a right to know."
She laughed. "Subtle as usual, Colonel." She squeezed his hand. "This is Ethan Maddux. Ethan, Colonel Archie Jameson."
Ethan extended his hand to the colonel. "Nice to meet you."
Archie hesitated, then shook Ethan's hand. "I guess you'll do," he said, "although you're going to have your hands full fighting off some of these guys for Abby's attention. She's got 'em all under her thumb."
"I'm starting to gather that," Ethan drawled.
A slight commotion at the front of the room signaled that the program was about to begin. On cue, the lights dimmed as a young man from one of the local high schools began playing "God Bless America" on the slightly beat-up piano in the corner. Ethan moved his hand to Abby's shoulder and began to rub it in a slow, mesmerizing circle. "All right, Colonel," he said over her head. "No trying to make time with my girl after the lights go out."
Archie's soft laugh lightened Abby's heart. With a slight shake of her head, she admitted to herself that she'd actually gone and done the one thing she'd sworn she wouldn't: she had fallen for Ethan Maddux. Hard. Extremely, irrevocably hard.
The realization, she supposed, should at least have made her nervous. If she really sat down and thought about it, it probably would. But at the moment, it caused a warm feeling to flow through her blood. A feeling so tantalizing, she wanted to wallow in it.
With Abby's head tipped against his shoulder and a middle school choir singing the armed services medley, Ethan wondered why it had taken him his entire life to discover how incredible simple pleasures could be. He'd seen operas at La Scala. He'd sat in concert halls and listened to performances by the world's most renowned musicians. He had attended movie premieres, sponsored plays by leading dramatists, and gone to more galas and media events than he cared to count.
And he couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself more.
As the program unfolded, some hidden spring inside Abby seemed to gradually unwind. The dark smudges under her eyes hadn't disappeared, and he knew that the time spent in the kitchen wasn't the sole cause of her fatigue. He was suffering the same affliction. Lying alone in his hotel room, he'd resorted to everything from cold showers to midnight swims in the hotel pool to burn off the excess energy of his growing desire for Abby.
It hadn't helped.
To make matters worse, the only sign he had that Abby was showing any ill effects from the strain of too-close proximity and unfulfilled sexual desire was the incriminating circles under her eyes. Even those were barely noticeable, and if Rachel hadn't let slip that Abby had resorted to using frozen cucumber slices that morning, he might not have known.
So he'd kissed her in the hallway of her house just to be sure. And she'd melted against him like clarified butter. Her arms had wended around his neck and his world had righted itself on its axis. She wasn't pushing him away, and the depth of his hunger didn't intimidate her. As long as he played it easy, he could have her.
Abby's guard had definitely dropped, he decided the instant he felt her head tip against his shoulder. He stole a quick glance and saw her eyes were shut. She seemed to have slipped into lassitude. He took the opportunity to study the interesting features of her face. In stark contrast to Pamela's classic beauty, Abby looked fresh. He'd been pretty pleased with himself when he'd decided on this word late last night. He'd been lying in bed, fighting a war with his libido, trying to figure out just what it was about Abby's face that he found so irresistible.
It was round, with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her slightly upturned nose, and she had none of the tired look he'd seen so often. When she smiled, he could see the tiny gap between two of her bottom teeth. He found that gap utterly infectious—it was like a flaw in an otherwise seamless piece of marble. The gap gave her smile dimension and character.
Abby was all about character. Perhaps that explained why he knew he could trust her. Abby respected and cared for Harrison Montgomery, but she wasn't blind to his flaws. If and when the time came for Ethan to expose those flaws, she'd trust him. She'd given him her word on that.
And if he hadn't believed it for any other reason, he'd been sold the moment she'd risen to his defense on Harrison's yacht. When he walked into MDS tomorrow and informed Harrison that he'd made his decision, Abby would be irrevocably caught in the middle. He couldn't spare her that. The best he could do was struggle to contain the anger he'd suppressed for all these years.
That was getting tougher to do.
Being back in Chicago and spending time with the Montgomerys had begun to awaken a sleeping giant. It had been years since he'd allowed himself to revisit the seething rage he'd felt the day he'd hurled two house keys and three thousand dollars in cash at Harrison and announced he was leaving. The house keys opened the door to Harrison's downtown apartment, where Ethan had lived since his mother's death. The cash, which Ethan had earned through a series of odd jobs, covered his mother's funeral expenses.
He'd spent years after that episode feeling like a victim of that rage. Only his self-control had helped him conquer the anger, but it simmered just below the surface. It was one of the facets of that same deep passion that had destroyed his mother—the same recklessness that had driven her into the arms of Harrison Montgomery and ultimately ruined her life. At all costs, Ethan knew, he had to control his emotions or lose everything.
Abby stirred against his shoulder and released him from his melancholy thoughts. She blinked, and the confusion cleared from her eyes. "Sorry," she muttered, sitting up. Her hand automatically went to her hair.
"Don't be." He nodded in the direction of the stage. A student was reading a poem about Pearl Harbor. "I was enjoying the program."
A smile played across her lips. "Not your usual style of entertainment, I'm sure."
He shrugged. "A man can take only so much opera. Besides"—he reached for her hand—"I hear this place serves really great refreshments."
"What makes you think we'll get any? I've seen these people eat."
"I've got connections with the chef." He planted a kiss on the back of her hand. "I conned her out of a tray of lemon bars. They're hidden in the back."
She smiled a sleepy smile and leaned against him again. "I happen to love Rachel's lemon bars," she murmured.
"Well, Abby, I trust you enjoyed your weekend." Deirdre strode forcefully into Abby's office.
Abby glanced up from her computer. "Actually, yes."
"That little scene at Carlton's party on Saturday was particularly charming."
"Everyone seemed to enjoy it." She swiveled to face Deirdre. "What can I do for you today?"
Dressed in a lipstick-pink silk suit with matching ostrich skin pumps, Harrison's sister sank dramatically into the chair across from Abby's desk. "Come on, Abigail. You've got to know everyone's dying for the story."
"What story?"
Deirdre's perfectly plucked eyebrows rose. "The Ethan Maddux and Abigail Lee story."
"Then they'll have to perish waiting," Abby said patiently.
"You really aren't going to tell me, are you?"
"I'm really not."
Deirdre clucked her tongue. "I thought we'd developed something of a rapport lately, Abby."
"I feel the same way." As annoying as Deirdre could be at times, Abby usually found the woman's candor refreshing. Most of the Montgomerys had an annoying habit of coyness and false humility. With Deirdre, what you saw was what you got.
"But you don't trust me?" the older woman pressed.
"It has nothing to do with trust."
Deirdre gazed at her fingernails in speculation. "I ha
ppen to know that Ethan Maddux has a team looking into this right now."
"Do you?"
"He's here to bail out MDS from its financial woes."
And maybe save Harrison from personal ruin, Abby thought. There was something irrepressibly sad about Harrison's having to turn to his estranged son for help while the rest of his family watched in horrified fascination. "Let's hope it works, then."
Deirdre looked up, and some of the artifice was gone from her expression. "How bad is it, Abby?"
Abby shrugged. "I think that's a question you should ask your brother."
"Is he going to lose everything?"
"Hard to say." She leaned back in her chair. "I hope not."
"But he could?"
"It's a possibility."
Deirdre shook her head. "I can't believe—God, the man is insufferable sometimes!"
"I'm hearing that a lot lately." Abby's gaze drifted to the shaft of light near her window. Dust mites danced on the beam.
"You can't understand what it was like," Deirdre continued. "Father was—well, it's no wonder Harrison is like he is. He was the only son, and Father had enormous expectations for him."
"How did Ethan's mother fit into those expectations?"
Deirdre's snort was inelegant. "I don't suppose you've ever discussed that with Harrison?"
"Only once. He didn't tell me much." Abby looked back at Deirdre. "I'm not trying to pry."
"You've got a right to know. Especially if you're involved with Ethan."
"Deirdre—"
She held up a hand. "Abigail, I may not be the sharpest tack in the box, but I know a lot about men. I should," she added with a slight smile. "I've married five of them."
"What exactly is it about the Montgomerys that none of you can manage to stay married?"
Deirdre laughed, and the sound lacked its usual brittle quality. "It's a relentless taste for adventure. Believe it or not, Ethan has it too. He'll never settle in one place—I think you should know that."
Abby reached for a pencil and twirled it between her fingers. The site of the chewed eraser brought a smile to her lips. "You don't think so?"
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