More Than Friends (20 page)

He touched the sleeve, fingering the fine stitching on the cuff. “No. It seems to belong to you. Please, take it.” He dropped the sleeve. “Unless you already have a wedding gown.”

She pulled off the hat and set it on the bed. “Why would I?”

“You were engaged to Alec.”

“It never got that far.” She looked back in the mirror. It wasn’t right for her to accept the gown. The last thing she needed was another reminder of Chase Jackson. But the gown was too beautiful to refuse. “If you’re sure?”

“I am.”

“Thanks, Chase.”

She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, but he’d already turned away and moved into the hall.

“I’ll check what’s left to go through,” he called.

“Okay.”

She stared at her reflection. All their talk had left her feeling melancholy, she thought as she swirled the skirt and watched the beading catch the light. Lost children and forgotten dreams.

She picked up the hat and carried it and the gown back into the storage room. After placing them in the trunk, she shut the lid. Had Elizabeth Jackson had dreams? Had they come true for her? Jenny sat back on her heels, remembering what she and Chase had planned. It had been so long ago; she couldn’t recall the particulars. Fragments of vague hopes drifted through her mind. Did it matter? She’d made her life here. She belonged.

“I’ve looked at the other room,” Chase said, standing in the hall. “There’s not as much as I thought. I appreciate your help, but I can handle the rest.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Take the day off.”

“I’ve got work at the office.”

“Whatever.” He took a step away, then paused. “I’ll be at the mill on Monday to go through the books. Could you have everything ready?”

“Of course.” She rose to her feet and rubbed her arms. The air had grown cold. “Does that mean you’ve made a decision about the mill?”

“No.” His clipped answer didn’t invite comment.

“Then I’ll be leaving.”

He walked back into the room and hoisted the trunk to one shoulder. “Don’t forget the dress.”

“Thanks.” She moved to follow him and kicked something with her foot. It was the toy soldier he’d pressed into her hand. She bent over and picked it up. Surely he wouldn’t miss one. Squeezing it, she went down the stairs.

Chase placed the trunk in the front seat of her car. “I’ll be by either this weekend or Monday to finish working on your roof.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

She stared at him for several seconds, but the mask was firmly in place. Without a word, she got into her car and drove away.

He’d shut her out again. Too much emotion, too many shattered dreams. He wasn’t running yet, but it was just a matter of time. He was bent on fixing her. It was obligation, she told herself. And another way of avoiding the mill. Could she allow herself to hope that Chase would find his way out of the past? Or would he be lost there forever, never able to forget what had been a lousy twist of fate?

“M
orning, Mr. Jackson.”

Chase froze in the act of opening the door of the office building.

“Morning,” he answered as the mill worker stepped past him.

Mr. Jackson? What the hell had he meant by that? Mr. Jackson was his father. He was just—

Chase sighed heavily. Along with the mill and the rest of the headaches, he’d also inherited the title. He climbed the stairs to the second story, then stared down the hall.

“Good morning, Mr. Jackson,” said a young clerk as she hurried past him.

“Morning,” he mumbled in return.

“Good morning, sir.” A secretary smiled as she passed.

He half waved a greeting. It was worse than he’d feared. If they couldn’t scare him off with sob stories, they’d kill him with courtesy.

When he reached Jenny’s office, he paused and leaned against the wall. What was he going to say to her? After the way he’d hustled her out of the house on Friday, he wasn’t sure they were still speaking. He hadn’t meant to be rude, but seeing her modeling that wedding gown had made him feel as if he’d gone ten rounds with the heavyweight champ. And lost.

There had been something so old-fashioned and innocent about the way the dress had made her look. And sexy as hell. Those buttons running down the back must have driven men wild. The thought of undoing each one, imagining the secret pleasures concealed beneath—he’d seen more than he could stand.

For the past two days he’d struggled to find a solution to the Jenny Davidson problem. In between, he’d wrestled with paperwork. His father had left a sizable portfolio, but he would have given it away without another thought if that would have made everything all right with Jenny.

Yet another secretary walked past, greeting him. He forced himself to smile as he made his way into Jenny’s office.

“Hello, and don’t call me Mr. Jackson,” he said, collapsing in the chair across from her desk.

“I won’t, but can you explain the request?”

He motioned to the hallway. “Them. They’re calling me by his name. Gives me the willies.”

“Get used to it. You’re the big boss these days.”

As she smiled, he searched for a trace of anger or hurt. She seemed normal enough.

“I meant to get by your house this weekend,” he said, resting his ankle on his opposite knee. “But I never got past the paperwork.”

“I’ve already told you to leave my roof alone. It’s not your problem.”

“I
want
to fix it. Humor me.”

“You’re the boss.”

“Don’t
you
start.”

She leaned back in her chair. “No humoring and no calling you `Mr. Jackson.’ I don’t remember you being this bossy when we were growing up.”

“Back then I was only heir apparent.”

“And now you’re the king.”

He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and dropped his head into his hand. “Want to play Mrs. Simpson to my Edward VIII?”

“You can’t abdicate your responsibility.”

Maybe not, but he could do the next best thing. “You win. All right, Ms. Davidson. I’m ready to see the books now.”

She led him toward his father’s office. Although Jenny walked right into the room, Chase hesitated. He hadn’t been inside the old man’s domain in over eleven years. It didn’t matter that his father was dead and buried, his presence dominated the building as it always had.

Chase cautiously crossed the threshold, suspecting that, at any moment, he might plunge back in time. But there was no bright light, no sizzling flash, no vision of the elder Jackson seated behind the wide oak desk. The leather chair, ordered especially for the owner’s tall frame, faced the window and the mill. The seat remained empty. As it always would. Chase had no plans to take his father’s place.

A conference table sat on one side of the huge room. Jenny straightened several files. “I got out everything I could think of. Income statements, balance sheets and statements of cash flows, through last month. The auditor’s report is from the beginning of the year.” She tucked her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “There are a couple of outstanding loans, and I have the current balances on those. Then here—” she pointed to a thick sheath of papers. “—is the investment information. The income is quite substantial. Can you think of anything else you’ll need?”

“Coffee?”

“Sure. Do you want to talk to anyone else?”

“No.” He stared at the tableful of reports and groaned. “I’ll yell if I have a question.”

“Fine.” She turned to leave. “Oh, I did think of something.” She walked out of the room and returned shortly with a cup of coffee and a thin folder.

“What’s this?”

She handed it to him without meeting his eyes. “A list of employees. Just their names.”

He tossed the folder on the table. “It won’t work.”

“What?”

He wasn’t fooled by her innocent tone. “Trying to make me feel guilty. It won’t work,” he repeated.

“It has to. You’re our only hope.”

He cupped her chin and forced her to look at him. “As you just pointed out, it’s
my
responsibility and I can do any damn thing I want.”

“We’re depending on you.
I’m
depending on you.”

“I’ve got you covered, kid. Don’t worry.”

“I can’t help it. There are a thousand people employed here. My family, my friends. The whole town depends on Jackson Steel.”

He dropped his hand and turned away. “The town and I have never been close. Why should I care about it now?”

She didn’t answer. There was silence, then the sound of the door closing quietly behind her.

*

Three hours later, he stormed into her office and tossed a report on her desk.

“Is this correct?” he asked.

She glanced at the income statement. “Yes.”

“No. That’s not possible. You can’t have a business lose money for ten years and still keep going.”

“It’s true.”

Chase started to sit down in the extra chair, then bounced back to his feet and paced to the window. “It’s insane. If the company didn’t have a huge investment portfolio, Jackson Steel would have gone bankrupt a decade ago.”

“I know.”

“You know!” he shouted. “You know! What the hell has been going on around here? Perhaps everyone is unclear on the concept. Businesses are supposed to make money. Not a lot, but enough to pay the goddamn bills.” He reached across her desk and grabbed the report. “These losses run into the millions.”

“If you would sit down and listen—”

“To what?” He tossed the papers in the air and let them fall. “Fairy tales about how the American steel industry can turn it around? Guess what? It can, but not here. Look at that place.” He motioned to the mill. “I haven’t been inside, but I’ll bet my life the equipment is old. It would have to be refurbished from the ground up. Even then, there’s no guarantee that the union won’t strike for more benefits or salary, then there goes your profit margin. What was my father thinking of?”

“You’re upset.”

He leaned his head back and laughed. “A prize for the pretty lady in the red blouse. Damn right, I’m upset. I’d thought I could at least try to sell this white elephant, but who’s going to want it? The only good news is that the company isn’t in debt.”

She rose and walked toward him. “The employees—”

“Are sucking this place dry. Thanks to your father.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Leave my father out of this.”

“Fine, let’s talk about you.” He leaned forward until their noses were inches apart. “You knew about this. All along you’ve been keeping your little secret. What were you hoping for? That I’d agree to run this sinkhole? That I’d leave you in charge and let the company continue losing money until there was nothing left?”

“I thought you’d at least try.”

“Give me one reason why I should?”

“It’s your birthright. Your father left you this company because he wanted you to make it work. He could have closed it years ago.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“I’m not sure.” She shrugged. “Family duty?”

Duty. He swore. The four-letter word dropped into the silence of the room like a ton of raw steel.

“I don’t want it and I don’t need it,” he said.

“You don’t have a choice.”

He pointed at her. “Watch me.”

There was a knock at her open door. “Jenny, I brought—” A young woman paused and stared at them. “I can come back,” she said, her gaze going from Chase to Jenny.

“Good idea,” he said.

“No wait, Connie. I’ll take the papers.” Jenny looked back at him. “Don’t be a jerk,” she whispered heatedly.

“Me?” He shook his head in disgust.

Jenny spoke to the other woman, took the papers she offered, then shut the door behind her. “Connie was delivering the monthly newsletter from the printer. I wanted to see how it came out.”

“You interrupted our discussion for a newsletter?”

“Not
a
newsletter.
My
newsletter.”

“Wait a minute. You write it?”

She set the sheet on her desk, then perched on the corner. “Edit it mostly. The employees provide the articles. I take care of design and the layout, then get it ready for the printer.”

His anger dwindled in the face of confusion. He held out his hand. She gave him a copy, then folded her arms over her chest.

“Don’t get all defensive,” he said. “I’m not going to jump down your throat.”

“Once a day is your limit?”

“I’m ignoring you.” He scanned the sheet. The newsletter, eight pages in all, was professionally put together. Clear photos and eye-catching headlines dominated the first page. He flipped through the rest. “This is better than the brochure my bank puts out.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m serious. Can I keep this?”

She raised one shoulder. “I don’t see why you’d want to, but sure.”

He frowned. “You have a real talent for this. Why are you spending your days balancing books?”

“You really like it?”

“I said so.” He collapsed into the chair in front of her desk.

She sat up straighter. “I’ve been looking at the catalog for the local junior college. They have a certificate in graphic design, working with different computer programs.” Her arms moved as she spoke, illustrating the conversation with graceful movements. “I was thinking of taking a few classes in the evenings and—” The animation faded from her eyes. “You think it’s silly.”

“Of course not. I think it’s terrific. And again, I ask why are you here at the mill?”

“I have a responsibility.”

“To your family.” He rubbed his temples. “I’ve heard it a thousand times before. You’re Joan of Arc, and I’m a selfish bastard. Spare me the lecture.” He rose to his feet and glanced at the papers littering the floor. “Sorry about the mess.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She slipped to her feet. “Now what?”

“Now I collect the financial statements and take them home. Tomorrow morning, after I’ve made my decision, I’ll go have a talk with your father.”

Jenny touched his arm. “Go easy on him, Chase. The mill is his whole world.”

“Go easy on
him!
Your concern seems a little misplaced. He’s the one who beat me up and ran me out of town on a rail.”