A Marriage Between Friends (7 page)

“I didn’t agree to a divorce.” Vince stood. He’d showered and now looked every inch the corporate citizen in his fine wool slacks, white shirt and tie. “How about I toss in something even better? I’ll include you in my meetings pertaining to the casino.”

“Why would you do that?” It gave Jill a huge advantage over Vince and Arnie.

Vince pinned Jill with his gaze. “With an inside look you’ll come to see a casino as the best thing for this town and to Shady Oak. You could offer weekend gambling getaways. This way you’ll have plenty of opportunity to talk with Arnie privately.”

How dare he? Jill tried to laugh but it came out more like a squeak.

“Afraid?” Vince challenged, still staring at her.

“I wanted you gone. I’ll let you stay, but only for another day, two max,” she added when Vince smiled too quickly.

“He’s staying?” Teddy rushed across the room at Jill’s nod and hugged her. He must have been eavesdropping in the hallway. “And I didn’t even have to promise to be good. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Vince echoed, flashing Jill his trust-me smile minus the dimple. He winked at Teddy. “You won’t regret it.”

Jill already did. She remembered falling under Vince’s spell, bending to his arguments about the marriage. Vince was bound to captivate the town just as easily. And she’d invited him to stay here? She had to be nuts.

“Don’t you have any other clothes besides a suit?” Jill snapped shrewishly before shaking her head at Vince. “Oh, never mind. Meet me out at the garage.”

Vince obediently left the apartment, most unusual for a man who argued with her about everything. Teddy put on rubber cleaning gloves and picked up the caddy without a word of protest, most unusual for a boy who normally dragged his feet when it came to chores. Was Teddy that excited about Vince staying?

Teddy blinked, his grin never fading. “Have you seen my goggles?”

Jill reached past Teddy beneath the sink for a pair of ski goggles. Teddy liked to pretend he was a mad scientist when he cleaned. Actually, he liked to pretend he cleaned. Mostly he kept Jill and Edda Mae company. Jill eased the goggles over his thin face.

“Thanks, Mom.” His eyes were masked behind orange plastic. “Gotta go help Edda Mae.”

“Everything okay?” Vince asked when Jill joined him a few minutes later. His damp hair gleamed blue-black in the morning sun.

“Do I look like…? Oh, never mind.” Jill sighed. What was done was done. At least now she knew to keep her guard up. “Could you load these signs into Edda Mae’s truck?”

“The NO CASINO signs?” he asked. “Why, exactly, am I helping you with these? I can clean rooms.” Vince pointed to Teddy and Edda Mae disappearing into a guest bungalow.

“Since you refuse to leave, I get to choose how you earn your keep.”

Vince gestured to their previous night’s work. “But these are—”

“Signs against you.” Jill cut him off with a smug smile. That was what he got for trying to intimidate her with a kiss.

“I said I was sorry,” Vince said, reading her mind. He tucked his tie in between two buttons midplacket.

“Don’t apologize.” If only she’d had some warning. If only she’d realized what Vince had in mind….

Jill jerked back a step. “I didn’t want you to kiss me.” It was vital Vince know she hadn’t led him on.

“Really.” With a dimpled smile Vince looked down at Jill. If he could read her thoughts, they were probably just as confusing to him as they were to her. But he kept on smiling as if something she’d done amused him. Maybe it was the way Jill kissed. Or maybe she had a smudge of dirt on her nose. Whatever it was, Vince wasn’t taking her declaration seriously.

Jill pointed at the signs, frustration emanating from every pore. “I need these signs loaded in the truck—
now
—so I can post them and people will know Railroad Stop opposes outside moneymen.”

Vince tried to argue but Jill stalked away, returning periodically with stakes for the signs, piling them into the back of Edda Mae’s dented old white pickup alongside the stacks of signs Vince had made. Jill also stowed a nail gun and a shovel from the garage. When they were finished loading, she latched the tailgate, called a cheery goodbye to Vince and climbed behind the driver’s seat. She grinned. She was free of him.

The passenger door creaked open as Vince hopped in beside Jill.

“You’re not coming with me.”

“You wanted my help.” A smile played at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re done helping me.” Jill fiddled with the truck key.

“And put you behind schedule? Not a chance.” Vince fastened the seat belt. “How long will it take you to dig the holes, post the signs and make sure they’re stable?”

“Most of the day.”

“I don’t have most of the day and neither do you. Let’s go.” Vince reached across Jill’s lap to snag the key, sliding it into the ignition. The truck sputtered to life. He kept his fingers on the key. She could feel his eyes on her as palpably as a caress.

Jill didn’t move. In fact, Jill wasn’t sure she was breathing. If she turned her head it wouldn’t take much to close the distance between them, to feel his warm body pressed to hers. Married couples kissed all the time. But Vince wasn’t her husband, fantasy or otherwise, not really. He wanted to gut Railroad Stop.

“Stop it.” Jill thrust his hand away. “You don’t…These signs…”

“Are important to you.”

She did look at Vince then, allowing herself to stare into eyes so dark brown they were almost black. Yet there was no mockery there, no sarcasm.

“Friends—”
Vince stressed the word “—help friends. I made a promise on our wedding day. I’ll always be there for you, Jill.”

“Whether I like it or not. Why, Vince? Why?” With a slight shake of her head, Jill answered her own question, suspecting Vince was directing her down a path where she’d have to make a choice. “Till death—” or divorce “—do us part.”

“W
HY HAVEN’T
I
HEARD
from Vince?” Aldo called to his secretary the moment he came in the door of his personal quarters at the Sicilian Saturday morning. “He doesn’t answer his phone. Where’s my e-mail? Why don’t you know why I haven’t heard from him?”

“Mr. Patrizio, did you call me down here on a Saturday because you’ve forgotten how to retrieve your messages?” Ernie paused on the gold-and-white marble entry in front of a tile mosaic of the waterways of Venice. After years as a semiprofessional gambler, Ernie had come to work for Aldo last spring. He was the first secretary—correction, personal assistant, as Ernie preferred to be called—with any backbone. It was a rare day he didn’t talk back at his boss.

Who would have thought Ernie had such gumption?

“I haven’t forgotten. You don’t program the things properly,” Aldo grumbled, pushing his worthless BlackBerry across his desk. It wasn’t his responsibility to figure out all the buttons on the gadgets he owned. It was Ernie’s.

Instead of storming off, Ernie set his briefcase on the foyer table with a solid thump. “They’re programmed perfectly.”

“Ha! Then why don’t I have any messages?”

“If you don’t want to learn how to use technology, why do you buy all this stuff?” Ernie crossed the room on sturdy legs. He was short and solid in both physical appearance and temperament, but he had no fashion sense. Today he wore an Elvis bowling shirt, black shorts and leather hippy sandals. Not exactly appropriate office attire.

Rosalie would have liked Ernie. Aldo hid a smile behind his scowl. “Because a man of my position must have those things.” Or he’d be thought weak by those young MBAs.

“Maybe no one wants to talk to you. Have you thought of that? You’re as bad as Maddy used to be, throwing tantrums at the drop of a hat.”

Guilt reared its ugly head. Aldo had forgotten Ernie watched six year-old Maddy on Saturdays as partial payment for his room and board. “I’m Italian. That’s what we do.” But his retort lacked his usual sting. He stood and moved aside to let Ernie work his magic at the desk, receiving a whiff of the after-shave Ernie insisted on drenching himself with.

“How’s your wife today?” Ernie asked.

“Fine. She’ll likely wake up tomorrow.” Despite more than eighteen months in a coma, Aldo still maintained to others that Rosalie would come back to him. There had been several episodes in the past year where she’d stopped breathing, as if she’d finally given up. But Aldo wouldn’t let her. He loved her too much.

“We can only hope she does. Heaven knows I could use someone else to keep you in line.” Ernie started with Aldo’s BlackBerry, then did something with his cell phone and finally clicked whatever mysterious buttons were needed to open the e-mail program on the computer. “You don’t have any messages.”

“Are you sure? Vince had that meeting last night.”

“On a Friday? I know where he gets his work ethic,” Ernie quipped.

“I want a status report.”

“And I want two days a week off.”

“When I started this business I worked—”

“Seven days a week for ten years.” Ernie moved the mouse contraption around on the desk and then started typing. “It probably snowed while you were building this high-rise, too.”

“I don’t know why I haven’t fired you.”

“I don’t know why you haven’t given me a raise.”

Aldo snorted. “Maybe if you found my messages, I would.”

“The best I can do is send one to Vince. See?” Ernie pointed to the screen. “‘Update me on Indian casino ASAP.’ Good enough?”

“It’ll do.” Unlike Aldo’s last few secretaries, Ernie didn’t sugarcoat his communications with niceties, even ones sent to Vince. Although Aldo would have liked to at least mention that Rosalie’s condition was the same, he didn’t want to keep Ernie from his Saturday activities any longer than he had already.

Besides, the point in sending Vince away was to make him into a man, the kind who could run the Sicilian, putting it above everything else in his life. Aldo wouldn’t coddle the boy and tell him he missed him. He shared Vince’s disappointment with every deal that slipped through his fingers, but it wasn’t Aldo’s way to commiserate. Vince was too old to be pampered.

V
INCE WAS
on edge.

“Your shoes are ruined,” Jill pointed out in her unrelenting quest to piss Vince off.

She was right. Last night’s rain had left the air fresh and the ground soft muck. Standing in eight inches of wet grass on a steep, sunny slope, Vince’s loafers were caked in mud, his socks no better off, his feet cold. He wanted to wrap Jill in his arms and kiss her until her warmth made his toes curl. But he also wanted to tell her to give it a rest—not exactly in those words. And so he clenched his teeth and followed her lead by avoiding talking about the casino.

“My shoes are no more ruined than they were last night when you splashed paint on them.” When she’d first used him.

“Yeah, but now your pants are trashed, too,” she said.

“Right.” His trousers dragged with inches of soggy, dirty cuff. Vince was starting to question his judgment in helping Jill with her signs. He should have insisted he work with Teddy, even if it meant donning a pair of ski goggles and gloves. Instead, he’d chosen Chinese water torture—this slow ping-ping on his nerves until he wanted to scream in frustration. That was Jill. His wife.

Jill held a sign propped on its posts waiting for him to finish his hole. With her auburn hair held in that loose, curly ponytail Jill was nothing like the adorably awkward debutante of her youth, but probably looked a damn sight better than Vince did. She stood just out of reach, her faded jeans tucked into rubber boots, her shirt buttoned but untucked. A man needed a good imagination to identify Jill’s curves beneath all that baggy flannel. Good thing Vince could supplement the gaps with the memory of her body flattened against his.

During their first few stops, Jill kept busy attaching the thin posts to the signs with a nail gun while Vince made holes in the claylike earth. This was a workout in itself and not conducive to conversation. Now that all the signs were done, Jill stood by watching Vince dig and trying to pick apart his self-control.

“I’ve never seen a man dig a hole with a tie on,” Jill said. “Or cufflinks.”

“You know me. It’s all about the clothes.” If Jill believed that, she didn’t know him at all.

“No. With you it was all about the cars. Fast, sleek, sexy.” Jill thrust out her chin, unaware that he wanted to kiss that mutinous expression off her face if only to shut her up. “You liked your women that way, too. Which is why—”

“I’d prefer we talk about the present, not the past.” Vince stared at the reddish-brown mud tumbling from the edge of the hole onto the shovel, wishing she hadn’t recalled that aspect of his youth. “I know you don’t want a casino here, Jill, but I’m going to build one. My grandfather—”

“Need any help?” An elderly woman with silver Princess Leia braids slowed her faded blue, late-model SUV. She leaned over and looked at the odd pair on the side of the road. Her tire rims were so rusty Vince was surprised they didn’t shatter into pieces, leaving the vehicle sitting on its axles.

Vince recognized the older woman from the meeting the night before. Great. He looked like a grave digger instead of a man with millions of dollars at his disposal.

“We’re fine, Mildred,” Jill assured her. “Just putting up a few signs. I can count on your support, can’t I?”

Mildred hesitated and Vince could feel her curiosity burning, could feel an opportunity slipping away. To hell with looking like a grave digger. Vince quit battling the sodden earth and turned, wobbling as his foot began to slip over the edge of the hole. Lurching with the shovel, he dragged it back up the side, filling the space between his shoe and his arch with cold mud, but his smile never wavered.

Jill steadied him, her grip surprisingly strong and reassuring, a direct contrast to her laughter.

Jill was laughing at him?

Vince shook her off, trying to unclench his teeth. “Where do you stand on the casino issue, Mildred?”

“Why I…I haven’t decided yet.” One of her pale, thin hands fluttered in the air as her SUV idled roughly. “Just look at it. It’s a lovely piece of property. And yet, it could do such good for everyone.”

“Not everyone,” Jill muttered.

“That’s okay. Jill’s made up her mind, but I think everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, don’t you, Mildred? Let me know if you want to talk about it. I’m staying with Jill at Shady Oak.” He waved dismissively, anger bubbling as he realized he was standing on the property being considered for the casino. They criss-crossed the valley so much he’d lost his sense of direction. The sooner Mildred left, the sooner Vince could strangle Jill.

Mildred’s brow furrowed and she said something Vince didn’t catch before she drove off at a leisurely pace that would have gotten her run off the road in Vegas. Her SUV backfired as it coughed and stammered its way up the next hill.

“Were you ever going to tell me this is the property?” Vince sought firmer purchase as he spun unsteadily on Jill.

“Nope.” She smirked.

Vince took the sign from Jill and stuck it in the ground, holding it steady while Jill pounded the stakes with an intensity that betrayed her annoyance. Vince kept quiet, clamping down on the anger, the frustration, the ever-present desire Jill elicited since they’d kissed. To distract himself, he concentrated on a strategy for Railroad Stop’s mayor, whom he wanted to speak with later. Hopefully he’d be able to address the mayor’s specific concerns about the casino.

“You’re just trying to win Mildred’s vote.” Jill swung the hammer with stronger-than-necessary strokes, as if she was imagining pounding Vince’s head.

He drew a deep breath. He had to walk a fine line. There was so much more at play here than a financial deal. “I want a chance to tell my side, unlike you, who just wants to tell Mildred what to think.”

Jill set her lips in a thin line, which was just as frustrating as a verbal denial.

Vince chose his next words carefully as he filled in the hole. “A casino is an investment in the future when the alternative is a town that might cease to exist because people have to move somewhere else to make a living. If everybody stopped to look at the issues, they’d see that vacation homes are seasonal, but a casino draws a crowd year-round.”

Jill made a derogatory sound that ran like a tremor beneath his skin. “You are so full of it. You don’t care what this does to anyone, do you?” Better than any drill sergeant, she’d pushed and pushed until anger rolled over Vince in an unstoppable rush, flattening reason and rational thought.

“You’re so quick to judge,” he said, “but you haven’t really given the idea of a casino a chance. Just like you didn’t give me a chance in Vegas. Maybe if you’d listen to me now you’d be able to find Teddy a father. There are lots of men out there who’d find you attractive.” So much for willpower and patience.

And
snap
—Jill’s bluster was gone, replaced by rapid-fire emotions—naive surprise in her widened eyes, heart-wrenching wariness as she drew back, then reluctant regret in the set of her lips.

“Stop it.” Jill retreated down the slippery slope to Edda Mae’s truck. When her boots met the pavement, she wheeled about, so full of indignation that she stamped her feet, sending reddish-brown mud clods flying. “How could anyone have anything real with
me?
” Jill’s voice cracked and then she closed her eyes as if the admission hurt.

It must be painful to carry such a belief. It wasn’t just Vince’s toes that were cold now. His veins had turned to ice. Jill thought she was less of a woman because of what Craig did to her. All these years later, Vince wished he’d tried harder to convince Jill to go with him on Senior Ditch night. But he’d been the class misfit, not the golden boy, just as helpless to protect Jill as he’d been to protect himself from his own family trials.

Vince’s fingers twitched on the shovel. This sleepy town was Jill’s crutch. She’d gated her house and she was going to control growth in town by gating that, too. Which would hold her back even more.

Jill stood, a bundle of insecurity, her arms wrapped tightly about her chest, eyes cast down and blinking back tears. Vince was bringing in a casino that, in her mind, would have a revolving door of men who didn’t live here, who’d shatter her composure.

Vince swore. He was closer than he’d ever been to closing a deal. There wasn’t time to broker another one. His grandfather’s offer to bankroll a project would evaporate come November first. If it came down to himself or Jill, he’d have to choose himself.

And then Jill wiped away a tear.

Without knowing what he had in mind, Vince suddenly morphed into a bundle of energy. Unfortunately he had less practice descending mountainous slopes than Jill, particularly in thick, suction-cup-like mud. He skidded several feet, nearly pitched face-forward when his shoes became entrenched in the muck, righted himself by using the shovel and then leaped the last yard to the road, catching himself against Edda Mae’s white front fender with a bone-denting crunch that was going to hurt much more tomorrow.

Vince spun on Jill, opening his mouth to speak, although he still didn’t know what he was going to say. He only knew it had to be something to comfort her.

“Are you okay? You’re a mess,” Jill said.

“I’m a mess?” Vince mumbled, bending down to catch his reflection in the side mirror. His hair was spiked by the wind, dirt smudged one cheek and his shirt was speckled with mud. His pants sagged halfway down his hips from the weight of mud and water. If his dad saw him…

Vince stiffened. If his dad saw him looking like this, he’d have beat the crap out of him. “We’re leaving. Get in the truck.”

All of Vince’s maddening corporate composure was gone, replaced by a vulnerability that surprised her. Jill tried to remember what might have caused such a change in Vince, but she’d been too upset by his remarks to pay attention to what she’d been saying. “What? Are you afraid that people will see us together and pity you for marrying me in the first place?”