More Than Friends (21 page)

“That was a long time ago.”

The anger, defused by his glimpse of her talent, flared back to life. “Not long enough. I’m reminded every time I look in the mirror.”

“He was protecting his daughter.”

Chase grabbed the doorknob. “He threatened to kill me. I was eighteen and I believed him.”

Behind him, she drew in a loud breath of air. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.”

*

If Monday had been bad, Tuesday showed every sign of being a disaster. Chase slipped on his sunglasses, but the glare still pierced his eyes like shards of glass. The lack of sleep would have been enough to make him edgy, but combined with the hangover, he looked and felt like road-kill.

“Hell,” he muttered, as he started the Bronco, then shifted it into gear. He’d spent the previous afternoon going over the financial statements, and most of the night thinking about Jenny. By dawn, both problems had been solved, but the solutions would please no one.

Across town, he turned into a parking lot and stopped next to a wooden, two-story building. He’d never been here before, but then the mill owner’s son hadn’t had a reason to visit union headquarters. He collected the folder he’d brought, wished he’d taken four aspirin instead of two and stepped out of the truck.

The receptionist recognized him immediately. Without saying a word to him, she picked up the phone and spoke softly into the receiver.

“Mr. Davidson will be right down,” she said, motioning to a worn vinyl sofa against the far wall.

“Thanks,” Chase mumbled and tried to smile.

No go. It hurt too much. Somebody had fired up a jackhammer in his brain. His eyes felt ready to explode and the painkiller was eating a hole through his gut. No more Jim Beam for dinner.

He studied the inexpensive prints on the wall and wondered who’d chosen the Impressionists. Somehow he’d thought they’d hang that painting of the dogs playing poker. Ah, that was the mill owner in him, he realized, assuming union men would have bad taste.

Then he laughed—hard and loud, despite the hangover. He was a contractor;
he
belonged to a union. Frank Davidson would lose it right in his chair if Chase whipped out his local card. It showed dues paid up to the end of the year.

“Mr. Jackson.”

Chase winced at the loud voice. “Mr. Davidson,” he said, turning to meet the older man. “But call me Chase. I’m having a little trouble adjusting to this Mr. Jackson thing.”

“My office is down here.” Davidson led the way.

Chase pulled off his sunglasses and squinted in the fluorescent light. The jackhammer dropped into low gear. The long hall was filled with activity. Everyone stopped to watch him go by. They didn’t say anything, they just stared. He thought about slipping the glasses back on, but didn’t. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing he noticed.

“Have a seat.”

Chase looked at the hard chair beside the modest desk. Frank Davidson didn’t believe in letting people get too comfortable. Probably made for short meetings.

“I’ll stand. Why don’t you take a look at this.”

The older man took the folder and flipped through it. “More management lies?”

“I don’t know what my father told you or how you handled things before and I don’t give a damn. Your daughter printed these out for me yesterday. If you want to confirm the numbers, call her and ask.”

Frank frowned at him. “Why are you willing to tell me the truth?”

“Read it and find out.”

Chase prowled the medium-size room. The walls, bare except for a bookcase, could use a coat of paint. The concrete floor was clean but cracked in places. There wasn’t a window. This was the office of the union president? Where were the original Oriental rugs and the fancy leather sofa? The conference table that sat twenty? He shook his head as he realized he was describing his father’s office.

Davidson scanned the papers quickly, turning the sheets over one by one. Chase studied him. There was more gray at his temples, although he looked fit enough. He had a temper—the one Jenny had inherited—and a deep devotion to his workers.

He finished reading and looked up. Under his tan, his skin had paled to an unhealthy gray. “I didn’t know.”

“Now you do.”

“I can’t believe this. There have been losses the last few years, the shifts have gotten smaller, but Jackson never said a word.”

“He wouldn’t. My father admit that the mill was less than perfect, that
he
might have made a mistake? He’d rather die than admit—” Chase sank into the chair. “I’m shutting it down.”

Davidson stiffened and leaned forward on the desk. “No! You can’t. There are a thousand people employed there. This town depends on Jackson Steel. It’s the primary source of income for the community. Shut down the mill and the town dies.”

“It should have died a long time ago.”

“My God, what about the employees? You’re going to put everyone out of work. The union contract—”

“Has clear procedures to be followed. I’m not going to cheat you or the workers, Davidson. I’ll be more than fair. As of today, I’m delivering notice. The mill closes.”

Davidson shook his head. “Don’t talk to me about cheating. I won’t deny your legal right, but how can you do this? There are ways—an infusion of capital, new equipment. We could work something out, concessions—”

“Would be too little, too late.”

Chase thought about the projections he’d done on his father’s computer. The options he didn’t have. He wasn’t interested in sticking around to try to bail out a drowning company. “Closing is the only solution.”

Davidson glared at him. “Explain how putting everyone out of a job is a solution.”

“The investment portfolio will allow everyone to stay on severance pay for over a year. The union and unemployment benefits will supplement the rest. No one is going to starve, and you damn well know it.” Chase squinted against the light, hoping to reduce the throbbing in his head. “After selling the inventory and machinery and paying outstanding bills, there will be money for job training. I’m counting on you to coordinate that. When everyone is settled, the investments can be sold and the money distributed to the employees. They’ll get usable job skills and cash in their pockets. It’s a fair plan.”

Davidson shook his head. “You can’t fix this with money. People have homes and families. They’ll have to move. Even if you pay to relocate them, you’ve destroyed their way of life.”

“Everybody needs to move on sometime.”

“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You don’t want the responsibility. Dammit, boy, this is one time you’ve got to stand up and accept what’s happening.”

Chase straightened in his chair. “I have accepted it. What the hell do you all want from me? I’m doing every damn thing I can to make sure my employees—don’t look so surprised, I know they’re mine—have a chance at a decent life.”

“They have a decent life here. Harrisville is their home. They don’t want to change that.”

“This place will suck them dry and spit out the remains. Trust me, I’m the expert on small towns.”

Davidson rose and came around the desk. He bent over and braced his hands on the arms of Chase’s chair. “And what about my daughter? Does she get tossed aside like the rest of us?”

“I’m taking her with me.”

The older man swore. “She know?”

For the first time since the beginning of the interview, Chase was on shaky ground. “I haven’t told her, if that’s what you mean, but she needs to get out of here. She has talent and potential and she deserves more than what the mill has to offer.”

“And you’re going to see that she gets it?”

“You bet I am.”

Davidson straightened and arched one eyebrow. “You spent your whole life turning away from your father. When you were a little tyke and he used to bring you to the mill, I could see it in your eyes. You wanted something he couldn’t give you. I felt sorry for that little boy. That’s why I never forbade Jenny to see you. By the time I realized you were going to break her heart, it was too late to change things. I understand you, Chase Jackson, more than you think. I thought you’d turned into a man I could respect, if not like. I was mistaken. You turned into your father.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” He folded his arms over his chest. “I’ll fight you on this, with every breath I have. Now get the hell out of here.”

Chase rose slowly, then walked to the door. When he reached the hall, the older man spoke.

“When are you going to tell Jenny about your plans?”

“Tonight.”

“She won’t take kindly to your shutting down the mill.”

“It’s for the best. She’ll understand.”

“Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you aren’t just like your old man. William Jackson might have been a sonofabitch, but he was never a fool.”

*

Jenny pressed hard on the accelerator. Her tires squealed as she rounded the corner. Of all the stupid, insensitive, thoughtless, selfish things she’d ever heard in her life!

She’d kill him. And she didn’t care if she went to jail.

The Bronco sat in her driveway. She pulled her car behind it, slamming on the brakes so that her bumper stopped inches from his.

“Chase Jackson!” she yelled as she slammed the door shut. “Where the hell are you?”

“Jenny?”

She looked up and saw him staring down at her from the roof.

“What are you doing up there?” she asked.

“Fixing shingles.”

In the warmth of the afternoon, he’d taken off his shirt. Bare, broad shoulders, tanned from the desert summer, blocked the sun. His sunglasses hid his expression, but the straight line of his mouth told her he knew.

“Damn you,” she said.

“I can explain.”

“That’s an explanation I’d love to hear. Lucky for you my daddy never taught me to use a gun.”

He made his way down the ladder, then followed her onto the porch. “I never thought of you as the violent type.”

He pulled off his work gloves, then pushed the glasses up until they rested on the top of his head. Sweat beaded on his face and torso. A single drop slipped down his throat and chest, only to get lost in the light matting of dark hair.

Jenny planted her hands on her hips, pleased to note that her sensual awareness did nothing to defuse her temper.

“You are the lowest form of life, Chase. There are several words I could use to describe you, but that would cause me to sink to your level. You are a selfish bastard. Of all the—”

He held up one hand. “What happened to not sinking to my level?”

“Don’t joke with me.”

“With that temper? I wouldn’t dare.”

He took her arm. She jerked away from him, then walked over to the swing in the corner. After plopping down in the exact center, she glared, as if daring him to try to find room. He took one look at her face, then settled on the porch railing.

“You spoke to your father,” he said.

“It was a very enlightening conversation. I won’t even talk about the mill. What you’re doing with that is too despicable for words.” She covered her face with her hands and took a deep breath. A band twisted around her chest, the tightness more from fear than exertion. When her heartbeat slowed some, she looked up at him. “So you’re planning on taking me away from all this? When were you going to tell me? Have you picked the date yet? Should I start packing? Or is my life here so unimportant that I should drop what I’m doing and just walk away with you, leaving everything behind but the clothes on my back?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh?”

“I wanted—” He turned and stared out toward the street. “I owe you. I wanted to do something, but couldn’t figure out what until I saw the newsletter. I want to send you to college. Pay for it. You deserve a fresh start. It’s the least I can do.”

Was he crazy? “Send me to college? Support me? What am I, your pet project for the month?”

He faced her. She saw the confusion in his eyes. “No. It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it’s like. Would I live with you? Am I your mistress? Your daughter? Some street kid you’re taking in to show how magnanimous you are? What the hell have you been thinking?”

“Why are you making this so hard?” he asked, coming to his feet and glaring. “I want to help.”

“Why?”

“I want to make up for what happened.”

She rose also and stepped toward him. “This is all about the rape, isn’t it?”

“I want to make it like it never happened.”

“Oh, God.” She inhaled slowly and walked to the stairs. Standing on the top one, she collected her thoughts. “I am not a leaky roof,” she said softly. “Or a broken porch, or a shattered lamp. You can’t `fix’ me, Chase. It’s not your job and I don’t need your help.”

“I want—”

“Listen to yourself.” She whirled back toward him. “
I want. I want
. That’s all you’ve been saying in this whole conversation. Here’s a news flash. It’s not about you. It’s never been about you. Ever since you drove back into town flashing your expensive rental car and your self-made success, you’ve been wallowing in your own feelings.”

Stepping closer, she pointed her index finger at her chest. “I’m the one who was attacked. I’m the one who got pregnant and lost the baby and had my dreams sucked away by circumstances. I’m not saying you didn’t get some bad breaks. My father had no right to accuse you, and your father could have handled the whole thing a little more graciously, but that’s all over. Let it go.”

He folded his arms over his chest. The mask had returned, slipping down to hide his feelings. “I’m not living in the past, Jenny. I don’t need the lecture.”

“The hell you don’t. You found out about the rape less than two weeks ago. To you, it’s fresh and tragic and you’re reacting. I understand that. Believe me, I appreciate the white-knight routine. I think it’s swell that you care.”

She moved closer and touched his upper arms. The thick muscles tightened, but he didn’t step away. “You want to find the guy and beat him up,” she said. “But that only makes you feel better. It doesn’t help me at all.”

“But I want—”

He stopped speaking. The mask slipped a little, and she glimpsed hurt and confusion.