More Than Friends (16 page)

She forced herself to climb the stairs leading to the double-wide front door. Chase had left the key to the Jackson mansion in her mailbox. She frowned as she realized she hadn’t seen him in four days. Not since Saturday morning when the hospital had called. He’d barely made it in time. His father had died a half hour after he’d arrived.

The house made her uneasy. She’d never been inside it before. When they’d been in elementary school, she’d often wondered why Chase didn’t invite her home—he was at her house almost every day. Weekends had been a problem; her father didn’t like him around. They’d often gone down by the river to play and talk. Whenever she’d teased him about not wanting to share his toys, he’d shrugged and said the big house didn’t like kids.

Jenny turned the key, then pushed open the door and stepped into the black-and-white tiled foyer. A huge chandelier hung from the two-story ceiling. To her right was the living room. She walked across the floor, her black pumps clicking loudly in the silence. Now, looking around at the elegant furniture and dark paintings, she understood Chase’s need to escape. Even the atmosphere was stiff and unfriendly. He’d called the house a mausoleum. He’d been right.

When she stepped onto the thick Oriental carpet, the hush swallowed her up. Sofas and tables sat in groups to better allow conversation. The back wall of the living room consisted of a series of panels. Someone had slid them aside so that the area opened up into what used to be the ballroom.

The showplace had been built by Chase’s great-grandfather almost a hundred years ago. At one time, parties and dances had been the norm. There hadn’t been a large gathering since before Chase’s mother had died almost twenty years earlier. Gilt-edged love seats hugged the walls of the ballroom, while tiny tables and straight-backed chairs had been scattered around the center. Several long tables, covered with white cloths, stretched across the left side of the room. She was expecting at least a couple hundred people to stop by after the funeral. The old house would handle that number easily. She glanced at her watch; the caterer was due any minute.

Jenny returned to the foyer and went in search of the kitchen. She passed through a library, a darkly paneled formal dining room and finally found the cheerful yellow kitchen. An eight-burner stove and extra-wide refrigerator dominated one side of the room. Two metal coffeemakers stood on the counters, ready to be started. Serving dishes in crystal and silver filled the counters, but the worktable in the middle of the floor had been left vacant.

In the front yard, a truck pulled up. She hurried to greet the workers. They carried in platters of food and boxes of liquor. Within minutes, a bar was being set up in a corner of the ballroom. Salads, cold meats, breads and hot dishes were all laid out. Someone found the sound system and classical music filled the house. She hovered in the background, answering the few questions they had and generally trying to stay out of the way.

Jenny checked the time again and saw that she’d have another half hour or so until the mourners returned from the graveside. The bustling activity was giving her a headache. She grabbed her purse and climbed the steep staircase to the second floor.

Three doors down, she reminded herself. Chase had told her the location of his room a hundred times. Three doors down, on the left. It would be the only place in the house that would make her feel safe. The elder Jackson had died; the mill belonged to his son. Nothing would ever be the same again. For a few minutes, she needed to hold on to the past, remember what was, cry for what could have been, and then she’d have to let go and face the future.

The door stood open. The duffle bag at the foot of the bed was the only sign that Chase had slept in this room. Otherwise it looked like a museum. High school sports trophies lined most of one wall. A baseball glove sat on the desk, a football nestled next to it.

She searched for something meaningful, something to connect to, but there were only impersonal things. The room didn’t welcome her or insist she leave. No trace of the boy remained, and the man—he had never been hers. Even the memories had been dusted away.

She turned to go. A picture on the nightstand caught her eye. She stepped closer. The photograph, taken her junior year, was a duplicate of the one on her parent’s mantel. Only this frame was bent, the glass broken, the picture cut. She traced a bit of glass stuck in the corner. Had he destroyed it in a rage when he’d found out she was pregnant? Or was the damage new?

She replaced the photo, then hurried down the stairs. There was no comfort to be found in this house. No place for her. Funny, all these years she’d known he was the mill owner’s son, but they had just been words, not really meaning anything. Today, seeing where he grew up, touching his belongings, remembering the payroll of the mill, she saw for the first time that they came from different worlds. Even through leaving, he had highlighted their differences. He’d gone on to make something of himself in construction. He owned the company, employed other men. She was the daughter of a blue-collar family. A bookkeeper. She’d never gone to college, had only left Harrisville on vacation twice.

The servers had finished setting up. She knew Chase had paid for the caterer out of his own pocket. Glancing around at the selection and quantity, she calculated the cost. It was more than she made in three months. She’d been fooling herself to think they might have a chance at happiness while he was in town. He was Chase Jackson, mill owner, successful businessman. Rich. She was just the girl he’d left behind.

Storing her purse in the coat closet, she returned to the kitchen and made sure the coffee had been started. After chatting with the woman in charge of the food, she returned to the foyer and waited. The mourners would be arriving any moment. She was ready; her pride would see to that.

Her father drove up first. He parked by the wide, green lawn, and took the stairs slowly.

“How are you doing, Daddy?” she asked, coming forward to hug him. He looked old and tired. Deep lines fanned out from his eyes. The dark suit, the best one he owned, hung loosely around his shoulders and back. “You’ve lost more weight. Do you feel all right?”

“What is it about funerals?” he asked, smiling gently and kissing her cheek. “I’m healthy as a horse. It’s the mill that’s got me up nights. What do you know of young Jackson’s plans?”

“Nothing. I haven’t seen him in four days. We’ve spoken by phone, but only briefly.”

“I need to know what’s going to happen. Everyone fears losing it all. If the mill shuts down, the town goes with it.”

“I know, but I don’t think Chase would do that.”

He patted her shoulder. “You’ve always thought the world of that boy. I hope he’s worthy of it—especially now.”

“He is. I know Chase. He’s confused, but he’ll do the right thing. You’ll see.”

“A lot of families are praying you’re right, little one.”

Three more cars pulled up with a black limousine following. “He’s here,” she said. “Go on into the living room. I’ll send the others in. I want to talk to him for a moment.”

Chase didn’t wait for the chauffeur to open the door. He stepped out as soon as the vehicle pulled to a halt. Family, or the lack of it, had never bothered him before. But standing alone beside the grave had shown him that dying alone and unloved was the worst thing that could happen to a man. He regretted asking Jenny to help out at the house. As the minister had talked about William Jackson’s service to the community and the cycle of ashes to ashes, Chase had missed her presence. Despite her slight body and sweet nature, she was a rock of strength. He could have used a rock to ward off the waves of animosity crashing against him.

“Chase?”

She stood on the top step of the house. The black dress, relieved only by a white collar and cuffs, drained the color from her face. She’d worried away any lipstick.

He took the steps two at a time and held open his arms. She flung herself against him.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I wanted to be there for you.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “I know. Thank you.”

“I’ve been worried about you. Are you eating, sleeping? Do you need anything?”

“Jenny.” He studied her face, noting the changes time had wrought, the similarities. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“But you said you knew he was dying.”

He sighed. A few guests passed by them. They offered sympathetic smiles, but didn’t intrude.

“I thought I was prepared. At the end—” He took her arm and led her around to the side of the house. A stone bench stood in the middle of a garden. A few last hardy roses clung to the bushes, but most of the shrubs were already bare. “When I got to the hospital, it was too late. He was unconscious. We never spoke.”

He sat down and pulled Jenny onto his lap. Burying his head against her chest, he allowed the heat of her body to warm the coldness in his soul. His jaw pressed against the soft curve of her breast.

“He loved you,” she whispered, stroking his hair and face.

“You keep telling me that.”

“It’s true. He just didn’t know how to show you.”

“He wanted a replica of himself. I was only a disappointment.”

“Then it’s his loss.”

He tightened his grip, trying to bring her closer, inside him to where the pain had left a gaping hole. “I need you. I’ve always needed you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He wanted to make love to her. Here, on the lawn, with the sun caressing and healing their bodies. Only by being with her could he forget what awaited him. While his father had lived, there had been a reprieve from the duties. Now, he had no escape.

“Jenny?”

He didn’t know if she understood the question, but her soft kiss on his forehead was all the encouragement he needed.

His hand slid up her leg, moving under her dress toward her thigh. Instead of seamless panty hose, he felt the lace edge of her stocking, then bare skin and the elastic of a garter belt strap.

He swallowed. “This is new.”

“I wasn’t trying to be sexy,” she said. “They were the only black hose in the house.”

“I’m not complaining.” His fingers traced the lace, then dipped down to brush her panties. His other hand cupped the back of her head and urged her mouth to meet his.

“Chase,” she whispered. “You’re expecting a couple hundred people and they’re already starting to arrive.” She shuddered as he breathed against her nipples. “This isn’t—”

“The time. Yeah.”

He helped her stand up, then followed her around the front. “I don’t suppose you could make them all go away?”

“No.”

He took her hand. “Then do me a favor. Don’t leave my side.”

Her green eyes met his. He saw the concern and the affection. “I promise.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“My dad would agree with you.”

For the first time in four days, he smiled. “Let’s go get ’em.”

She was as good as her word. For the next few hours, over two hundred people crowded into the house. Whenever a waiter approached, Jenny spoke in hushed tones about the food and drinks, but she never went into the kitchen, or left him alone with the mourners.

“So sorry about your father,” a matronly woman said. “He was a good man.”

Chase repeated words of agreement and thanks. When the woman moved away, he turned to Jenny. “Who is the man they’re all talking about, because it sure isn’t my father. Most of the people here hated him. Why are they acting like his death means anything?”

“They didn’t hate him, exactly.”

“What would you call it?”

“They resented his power and control over their lives. The peasants have always lived in fear of the lord of the manor.”

He glanced around the room. A crowd milled by the buffet tables. The clink of glasses and silverware threatened to drown out conversation. “They seem happy enough to eat and drink in his house. I’m surrounded by vultures.”

She cupped his hand in both of hers. “Not everyone is a hypocrite, Chase. I liked your father. I could never understand why he treated you so badly. I believe that he cared a lot more than he let on.”

“He treated you like a slave. Jenny, he threatened to dock your pay for visiting him in the hospital.”

“He was afraid of feelings. If I’d told him I cared about him, he wouldn’t have known how to handle it. I think he kept everyone at a distance, because the thought of affection terrified him.”

“Your imagination is working overtime. He kept everyone away because he was a cold bastard who never cared about anything but the mill.”

She leaned close and placed her hand on his chest. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Sorry.” He closed his eyes. “How much longer are they going to stay?”

“Not much longer. Here comes someone you like.”

He glanced up and saw Terry and her husband approaching.

“I’m so sorry, Chase,” she said.

“Thanks.” He bent over and hugged her. “I’d forgotten how tiny you are. A midget.”

She swatted him. “Almost five feet is
not
a midget.”

He pushed up her glasses and turned to Tom. “Thanks for coming.” The two men shook hands.

“If there’s anything we can do,” Tom said. “Just holler.”

“I appreciate that.”

“We’re leaving. The sitter has a test she needs to study for.” Terry glanced at Jenny. “Do you want me to come back later and help you clean up?”

“The caterers are taking care of that when everyone’s gone. But thanks for offering.”

“No problem. Keep in touch.” Terry offered Chase a smile and she and Tom left.

“See,” Jenny said when they were alone again. “Not everyone hates you.”

“I know, it’s just—”

“Chase. I’m sorry about your dad.”

He turned and saw Mark approaching. “Thanks, Mark. It was good of you to stop by.”

His former teammate shifted uncomfortably. His black suit, old and ill-fitting, hung awkwardly. “I guess you’ve got a lot to think about now, huh? What with the mill and all.”

Why the hell couldn’t they all forget about the damn mill for ten minutes? He started to tell his friend exactly what he could do with that particular mill, when he felt Jenny’s warning squeeze on his hand.