“With your wife?”
“No. She’s German—didn’t want to leave.”
She studied his profile. “That must have hurt.”
“No more than I hurt her, not loving her enough to stay.” He shook his head. “It wouldn’t have worked, anyway. She loves men in uniform, especially pilots, and I would have left the Air Force soon, in any case. I got a Christmas card from her and she’s marrying a guy from my squadron this summer.”
Jill wanted to ask if his wife’s remarriage bothered him, but before she could phrase the question, he pulled up in front of a stately old two-story home.
“We’re here,” he said, turning off the engine.
She gazed in admiration at the white house with its forest-green shutters flanking each window. An ornamental iron fence ran the perimeter of the snowy yard, where twin blue spruces stood sentinel on either side of a freshly shoveled walkway. “That looks like a carriage house that’s been converted into a garage,” Jill observed. “Was this place built during the gold rush days?”
“Pretty close. My ancestors had to sell a few ropes and picks before they could afford to put this up, but yeah, the house has been in the family for almost a hundred years.”
Jill glanced down at her jeans. “The house is quite elegant, Spence. I feel underdressed.”
“Don’t you dare,” he said, squeezing her hand. “You look great. Come on, let’s go in before you get even more nervous.”
He guided her down the walk; roots from the tall spruce trees were pushing up under the cement, making it cracked and uneven. “Watch your step. My mother’s sure someone will fall and sue us one day, but Dad can’t stand to chop down the trees.”
“I couldn’t either.”
“I figured as much,” he said, giving her a gentle squeeze as they mounted the front steps to the porch, with its miniature Doric columns. He reached for the polished brass doorknob, but before he could turn it the door swung open to reveal a tall, smiling, gray-haired woman straight out of an L. L. Bean catalogue. Despite the formality of a chandelier hanging in the foyer and fresh flowers reflected in a gilt-framed hall mirror, Spence’s mother was dressed in corduroy slacks and an oxford-cloth shirt under a pullover sweater.
“Welcome to our home, Jill,” she said, ushering them inside. “Stanley will be down in a minute.”
For a moment Jill thought she’d heard the words “welcome home,” for that was the way she felt as soon as she stepped across the threshold.
“Charlie said we’d fall in love with you,” Spence’s mother continued, taking their coats, “and I think he may be right. Spencer, give your old mother a hug.”
“Hi, Mom.” Spence embraced her warmly, coats and all, before helping her hang them up. “What was that about Charlie?” he asked.
“He called here about a half-hour ago and asked if either you or Jill would call him back immediately when you arrive. I have the number right here.” She reached in her slacks pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.
“Is anything wrong?” Jill asked, exchanging a worried glance with Spence as he took the paper.
“Didn’t sound as if anything was wrong. He seemed quite cheerful. Staying with Gladys must be good for him. I never did understand how he could be happy all alone in the back of the store.”
“I’ll call,” Spence said. “I’ll use the phone in the office.”
“That’s fine,” his mother responded with a grin. “That way Jill and I can talk about you while you’re gone. Come on, Jill,” she said as Spence left. “I’ll give you the cook’s tour of the downstairs. I’d take you upstairs, too, but Stanley’s liable to be running around in his BVDs. He spent the afternoon chopping wood, and I told him it was getting late, but he wouldn’t listen.” She shrugged. “I should be used to it after forty-six years, but it still ticks me off.”
“Forty-six years,” Jill repeated, following her into the living room where a fire, probably thanks to Stanley Jegger’s efforts, blazed on the hearth. “That’s really great to be married that long.”
“Some people might say we’re simply in a rut. Look at us—same town, same marriage partner, same house, most of the same furniture,” she said, waving a hand around the room at what looked to be priceless antiques. “We were even in the same business until two years ago.”
“I envy you both, Mrs. Jegger. I’d love to find my niche and stay in it.”
“Eileen,” she said, surveying Jill with a careful eye. “Eileen and Stanley. You know, Charlie said some pretty wild things on the phone.”
“Do I want to know what they were?”
“That depends.” Eileen led her through a dining room sparkling with polished wood surfaces, old silver and crystal stemware. “How do you like the house so far?”
“I think it’s lovely.” Jill hesitated to admit her strong attachment to the house after such a short time.
“There’s lots of upkeep to a house like this. I do hire a housekeeper, but you can’t leave everything to paid help. The details require a loving hand—my hand. Some women might find that wearisome.” She glanced at Jill.
“Taking care of a house like this and soaking up all the history would be a joy.”
Eileen nodded. “Let me show you the kitchen.”
After cooking on a Coleman stove for seven months, Jill was awed by Eileen’s beautiful kitchen. Copper-bottomed pots hung from a rack over a wide butcher-block island, and the walls and floor were brick. Open shelves held the rest of her dishes and utensils. The aroma of roast beef came from an oven set into the brick wall, and vegetables simmered on the stove. “Wonderful,” Jill breathed.
Again Eileen nodded. “Spencer will live in this house someday. None of the other five kids has any desire to move back to Colorado Springs, so he’s the logical one to have it, considering that he’s also taken over the business.”
Jill met Eileen’s gaze. “Exactly what did Charlie say to you?”
“I think you can guess. It had to do with you and Spencer.”
“Mrs. Jegger—Eileen—Spence and I just met. Charlie’s a romantic, that’s all.”
“He predicted you’d say that. He maintains that you are the right woman for Spencer.”
Jill sighed. “Even if I were, I can’t get serious about anyone until I have some idea what I want to do with my life. Charlie doesn’t seem to understand that marriage is not a career choice.”
“Charlie’s from a different generation,” Eileen said. “In his day, and in mine, marriage was a career choice for most women. And speaking of which, I hear my career choice coming down the stairs.”
From the living room, a man’s voice boomed out, “Where is everybody? Where’s the party?”
“In here, Stanley,” Eileen called.
Jill marveled at the pleasure on Eileen’s face at the sound of her husband’s voice. Forty-six years, and Eileen still loved Stanley. A picture of her counterpart—tall and gray-haired—flashed through Jill’s mind. When Stanley arrived in the kitchen, she had to stop herself from staring.
Stanley Jegger was at least ten inches shorter than his wife, and round, and bald. But when he looked at Eileen, his expression held the same devotion as hers. He shook Jill’s hand warmly and asked where they’d hidden his son.
“I’m here,” Spence said from the doorway, and stepped forward to embrace his father. “I had a call to make.”
“Is Charlie all right?” Jill asked. She couldn’t imagine why he would have called unless it was an emergency.
Spence leaned against the counter. “Charlie is fine. He gave me a message for you—said to tell you he’s learning how to loosen up.”
“Uh, that’s nice.” Jill wondered what Spence’s parents would think of a message like that. “He didn’t call just to say that, did he?”
“No, he didn’t. He wanted us to be the first to know. He and Gladys are engaged.”
“Engaged!” Jill stared at him. “So soon?”
“It’s not all that soon. They’ve k
nown each other for several months. I think it’s great myself. They want us to be maid of honor and best man for the wedding.”
“Why, how nice,” Eileen said. “When’s the wedding?”
Jill could have told her. She couldn’t believe that Charlie would stage a wedding ceremony just to fulfill his St. Valentine’s Day prediction for her and Spence, yet it seemed that he might have done exactly that. She looked at Spence. “They’re getting married on February fourteenth, aren’t they?”
He nodded. “At eight in the morning, in the mall. He wants to know if we’ll both be there.”
“What did you say?”
“I said we’d let them know, that after all, you had planned to leave earlier than that.”
“Can’t see what difference a few days would make,” Stanley said. “Spencer told us you have this trip sketched out and need to stay on schedule, but that little bit of time wouldn’t hurt, would it? I bet it would make Charlie Hartman happy to have you two stand up for him.”
“I’m sure it would,” Jill said, still struggling with the news. Surely Charlie wouldn’t go to such lengths to manipulate her into staying. Or would he?
9
DINNER WITH SPENCE’S PARENTS was thoroughly enjoyable. Jill shared so many interests with Eileen and Stanley that she had to keep reminding herself that they were both over seventy. Her beloved G.G. at eighty-two was spry of mind, but walked with a cane and suffered dizzy spells. These two, only a few years younger, still square-danced once a week and hiked in the mountains when the weather was warmer.
Inevitably, the dinner table discussion turned to the mall and Tippy Henderson.
“I understand her motivation,” Eileen said. “She wants to make a name for herself with her corporation. It’s tough for women in this field, and she’s trying to prove that she can be as hard-nosed as a man.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” her husband objected. “That sounds like a female chauvinist remark. All the people who designed the mall originally, and who approved the free trolley, the melodrama and the museum, were men.”
“I helped with the concept,” Eileen pointed out.
“True,” Stanley said, “but look at the people who are fighting this—Charlie, Spencer, Bernie, George, Robert. All men.”
“Gladys and Jill,” Eileen retorted. “And that woman Spencer told us about, the one who runs the candle shop, and—”
“Oh, all right, Leeny,” her husband said, reaching across the dinner table to pat her hand. “Don’t get your hackles up.” He glanced at Jill. “Ever since she started subscribing to Ms., life hasn’t been the same around here.”
“Ha! You read it before I ever get the chance,” his wife said.
“So I can understand what’s going to hit me next.”
Jill loved watching them together, lovingly sparring and making up. Her own father’s death ten years ago had deprived her of these scenes before she was capable of understanding them and incorporating them into her view of how marriage should work.
“Whatever Tippy’s motives,” Spence said, laying his fork on his empty plate, “we have to stop her. Jill has the bus tour lined up for Tuesday and about half the tenants have already said they’d come. I’ll be the tour guide for one bus, and I’d like you to be the guide for the other, Dad.”
“Of course. I wish I could do more than pay for the buses and be one of your tour guides. I wish I could afford to subsidize the amenities Tippy wants to eliminate.” He sighed. “Leeny told me to keep some of the money from the sale in reserve, but I wouldn’t listen.”
“Don’t berate yourself,” Eileen said. “Each one of the kids made good use of their windfall. I don’t want the free trolley rides to end, either, but I’m glad Bill and Sharon have a house, as well as Spencer. John’s finally in business for himself, and little Erin, our future celebrity, has a grand piano and the finest teacher in Akron.”
“And Jan’s going back to school, and Ted’s bought that fishing cabin he always craved,” Stanley added. “I know, and I wouldn’t take those things away, either, but I want the Remembrance Mall the way it was intended—a shopping community of the future.”
“I think there’s a good chance the tenants will rally to the cause,” Jill said. “I’ve seen it work before.”
“And your idea about forming them into a unit is excellent,” Eileen said. “I’m delighted that you showed up.”
Spence glanced at Jill. “So am I, Mom,” he said, leaving no doubt by his inflection that his feelings ran strong for this woman he’d brought home to supper. “So am I.”
“YOUR PARENTS ARE WONDERFUL,” Jill told Spence as they drove away from the house.
“They liked you a lot, too. I almost couldn’t get you out of there.”
She hadn’t allowed herself to think much about going to Spence’s house after dinner. But his single allusion to his impatience sent a current of electricity through her.
“But I’m glad they like you,” he said gently. “And that you like them.” He shifted gears then and took her hand. “I’m not surprised, though. With you, everything seems so easy, so right.”
She felt the pressure of his fingers differently, now that she was focused on what lay ahead. She remembered his touch on her bare skin, his lips moist against her breast. “But you are not the answer to my problem,” she said, more for her benefit than his. “No matter how we feel about each other, I still have to know what I’m all about before I can—”
“I know. But since I can’t give you that knowledge, I’ll give you what I can and hope for the rest.”
“What do you think about Charlie’s wedding plans?”
“I’m happy for him.”
“He wouldn’t have arranged a wedding just to keep me here through St. Valentine’s Day, would he?”
Spence glanced at her. “I think the ideas came to him at the same time. He knows asking you to be maid of honor is a perfect way to keep you here, but I’ll bet he’s also uncomfortable living with Gladys, perhaps engaging in some hanky-panky, without marrying her.”
“You could be right. He even hinted to me about a problem with impotence.”
“Impotence? I’m amazed that he’d discuss something like that with you.”
“He sort of talked around it. He said he couldn’t indulge in such matters, and I advised him to loosen up.”
Spence laughed. “So that was the meaning behind his message to you. Well, that’s probably the main reason for the marriage proposal, then. Charlie’s an old-fashioned guy.” Spence turned a corner onto a residential street. “He wants a wedding before succumbing to the pleasures of the flesh.”
Jill quivered at his choice of words. Soon he’d demonstrate his exact definition of that phrase.
He squeezed her hand and released it. “The automatic garage-door opener’s in the glove compartment.”
She began to tingle; they were almost there. She fumbled with the latch on the glove compartment and finally extracted the door opener.
“Go ahead and press it,” he said. “We’re only a block away.”
His house sat on the crest of a hill in a development of impressive homes on spacious lots. The exterior combined native rock and cedar shingling for an elegant yet rustic look. “So this is your share of the mall sale,” she commented.
“Yep.” He wheeled the car into the double garage next to a small Jeep. “Mostly as an investment and to escape apartment living. This house is nice, but it doesn’t have a soul, like my parents’ house.”
“I never thought of houses having souls.”
“Neither did I, until I moved around while I was in the Air Force and lived in several that didn’t. That old house we just left was one of the things calling me back here.”
“Your mother said it would be yours someday.”
He turned to her in the darkened car as the garage door slid down behind them. “That’s right. Incidentally, she took me aside when we were clearing the dishes and told me you fell in love with the place.�
�
“I suppose I did.”
“Don’t you see, Jill? Don’t you see how it’s all working?”
“I see that I’m on a runaway train with Charlie Hartman as the engineer. I have to know where I’m going, Spence.”
He opened his car door. “You will, in time.”
“Easy for you to say,” she answered as he helped her out of the car and guided her toward a door leading into the house. “You’re not the person everyone calls Jill of All Trades.”
“Forget them,” he said, unlocking the door and leading her inside to the kitchen. “In fact,” he said, unzipping her quilted jacket and easing it from her shoulders, “let me help you forget them.”
“I’m so afraid of detours,” she said. “My life has been filled with detours.”
Spence tossed his coat down beside hers on the counter. “This is no detour.” He cupped her elbows and drew her forward. “This,” he added, wrapping his arms around her and angling his head for a kiss, “is an eight-lane interstate.”
Her sigh served as agreement, and he proceeded with a kiss that transformed agreement to charged passion. She didn’t understand how he could so easily throw the switch that released her inhibitions, but within seconds she was pressed against him with unladylike eagerness.
He lifted his head and smiled down at her. “I suppose I should ask if you want a drink or something.”
“I suppose,” she said, trying to catch her breath.
“Do you want a drink or something?”
“Or something.”
“That’s what I thought.” He ravished her mouth until her legs were rubbery with desire. “Come on,” he murmured against her lips. “I know a far more comfortable place for this than the middle of my kitchen.”
“I hadn’t noticed that we were uncomfortable,” she said, breathing raggedly.
“Maybe not, but we sure are vertical.” He took her hand and led her through the dining area, past a sunken living room and down a carpeted hall.
“This is really a very nice house,” she said as he whisked her along.
Forever Mine, Valentine Page 11