The Expectant Secretary (8 page)

She knew when they were alone again she'd have to explain. Now what would she say?

“Y
ou don't feel well,” Brody stated, walking toward Jillian's car after thanking the Sheltons for their hospitality and tour of their property. “I'll drive.”

At Jillie's startled look, he explained, “I have my international license. I'll be careful with your Yank tank.”

He'd anticipated an argument, but she handed him the keys and with a tired sigh climbed into the passenger seat. Concern clouded his thoughts. In college Jillian had always been energetic. Now she had about as much energy as the pumpkin patch he drove past. Was something wrong? Was she ill? Maybe he was being overly protective.

But then he remembered her clipped statement that she didn't drink. Since when?

He drove a couple of miles down the highway, his gaze on the road that extended into the darkness beyond, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “You look as if you're going to strangle that steering wheel.”

“Yeah, I'd say so.” He cut to the chase of his irritation, ignoring his concern for her constant exhaustion. It was probably because she didn't eat breakfast unless he brought her a bagel. Which he now did every day. Irritation was simpler than ad
mitting he really cared about her. “Why did you insult our hosts by refusing to drink their wine?”

She took a deep breath and leaned back into the seat, tilting her head against the headrest and closing her eyes. Slowly, she released a pent-up breath. “Because my husband died in a drunk driving accident.”

Guilt ripped through him, tore apart his petty anger. And he'd been worried about her tasting a damn bottle of wine!

“Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have asked you to come today.”

“It's all right, Brody.” She sounded weary. Lifting her hand, she let it fall back to her lap, limp, tired. “It doesn't matter.”

“It does. It matters a lot. I shouldn't have put that kind of pressure on you. I'm sorry—”

“I'm okay, Brody.” A slight edge entered her voice. “Forget it.”

But he couldn't.

A couple of miles passed with nothing but silence between them. He glanced at her twice—okay, three times. Her skin looked pale, almost translucent in the moonlight. Her mouth had compressed into a thin line. From aggravation? Anger? Grief? Illness?

“Brody,” she said, her voice tentative, “I owe you an apology.”

Confused, he shot her a glance then jerked his attention back to the roadway. “No worries, Jillie. I understand your reasons. If anybody owes anyone an apology, it's me. I didn't mean to upset you, to remind you—”

“You don't owe me anything.” Her voice sounded solid, firm, full of conviction. “I'm not upset.” But
she ground each word between her teeth as if trying to gain control.

“You're not?”

She shook her head. “Numb, maybe. I haven't felt anything for a long time.” She spoke carefully, uttering each word as if stepping gingerly over rocky terrain. “I—I misled you. And I was wrong.”

“About what?” he prodded, confused by her statement.

Another heavy sigh, this one was filled with exhaustion. “James was drunk the night he died. He caused the wreck. Took his own life.” She swallowed hard. “And the lives of two others.”

Her statement shot through him like a bullet. Stunned, he felt his body tremble, a shudder of outrage, revulsion, denial. He had to force himself to watch the road. What had Jillian been through the last few months…or years? What had James done to her?

He cursed James. The bloody fool.
I was right. Goddamn it, I was right! James was no damn good.

The knowledge brought no satisfaction, only a deep resonating sorrow. Brody had always believed the man Jillian had married was worthless, a bum. But he'd convinced himself his convictions were based on jealousy and not justified. After all, he'd had no proof. He'd never met James.

An oppressive weight descended on Brody's shoulders. It was his fault. He should have stopped Jillian from marrying James. He should have gone after her when she left Winslow. He should have done something…anything to protect her. But the simple truth was she might have chosen James over him, anyway. The realization burned in his gut.

Jillie's head fell forward, her shoulders slumped. Silent, shoulder-shaking tears splashed against the backs of her hands, which she clasped tightly in her lap. Her pain saturated his soul, flooded his senses. Regret pounded against him in violent waves.

Cautiously, he maneuvered the car into the far right lane and searched for a chance to pull over. At the first opportunity, he jerked the steering wheel and swerved into a parking lot. Tires crunched gravel. He drove to a far corner and stopped under the protection of an oak tree away from the security lights…away from any curious gazes.

“Jillie…” When he turned toward her, his heart contracted. He locked the blame on himself. He should have done something. He would do something now to help her. But what?

His insides shifted uncomfortably. What if she cried for James? Not for the heartache he'd caused? Uncertainty gripped his stomach. He ran his hands down the creases of his jeans. Unsure what to do, shaken by her tears, he remembered her words about how she'd felt numb for a long time. Maybe all he could do now was let her cry. Be there for her to lean on.

But he felt utterly helpless.

“Ah, Jillie,” he said, unable to sit by and watch her suffer alone. He pulled her into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder, wrapping his arms around her slight form. Her trembling shook him to the core. He absorbed each tremor and soaked up her tears with his shirt.

Her hoarse cries reverberated in his head, made his ears ache, his heart bleed. Her anguish penetrated the
deepest recesses, skewered him as nothing else had ever done. His arms tightened around her as he tried to contain his own anger and regret, tried to absorb her pain into him.

Her fingers pressed into his back, digging, clawing with need. He rocked her from side to side as he would a small child. But he felt only what a man feels for a woman, strong, powerful compassion. She was a survivor. And she'd get through this. He'd make sure of it.

The moments passed quietly as her tears began to slow. Darkness shrouded them in secrecy, guarding, protecting, uniting them together. Her shudders ebbed, becoming less intense, less frequent until she relaxed against him, spent and exhausted. She sniffled against his shirtfront. He smoothed his hands along her back, molding her to him, offering what he knew words couldn't.

“I'm sorry.” His chest muffled her voice but the words struck his heart. “I didn't mean to break down.”

“No reason to be sorry.” His fingers traced the column of her spine over and over. He never wanted to let her go.

That realization stunned him. It shouldn't. A part of him had known that his love for Jillian had never died. But fear spiked inside him. What if she didn't need him? What if she ran away from him again?

In that moment he secured a barrier around his heart. He had to wait to see what Jillie wanted, what she needed, who she loved. If it was still James, Brody knew he'd have to walk away.

“I haven't spoken of…of his accident…
James's…” She shrugged as if uncomfortable even saying her husband's name. He wondered if it was because of her love. Or grief. “T-to anyone.”

“Then it's time.”

Again she sniffled. Knowing the moment was slipping away, he shifted, reaching for his back pocket, and handed her his handkerchief.

“Thank you.” She gave him a soft, embarrassed smile.

He had an overwhelming urge to lift her face, blot away her tears with the soft cotton and kiss her until she couldn't remember or care about the past, until she could only cling to him in utter surrender. Until her numbness turned to passion. But he resisted, sensing it was too soon. Too many questions needed to be answered. She needed a moment to compose herself. She needed time to heal. He needed to know her heart first.

“I've really embarrassed myself now, haven't I?” She tried an awkward laugh.

“I wouldn't say that. You've been through a lot.”

She nodded. “More than you know.”

He wanted to say “Tell me,” but he swallowed the words. He waited, using more patience than he knew he owned. It had to be when she was ready.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, as if releasing the rest of the tension inside her. “I guess you've figured out I…James and I had a less than perfect marriage.”

His jaw clenched. “Didn't know there was such a thing.”

“Maybe you're right.” She shrugged. “I'm defi
nitely not an expert on the subject. But ours was even below normal standards.”

She brushed her hair back from her face. “I knew from the first day…maybe even before…that I'd made a mistake. But I was determined to make it work. I can be stubborn.”

“Right.” He chuckled, remembering her tenacity, her strength of conviction when they'd argued, her determination when she'd studied for a difficult exam. He'd admired her ability to persevere and bulldoze her way into college. “It was always the part I admired most about you.”

Her gaze lifted to meet his. Her eyes were deep and full and surging like the ocean, unsure, tortured, wild. Damn. He'd said too much, spoken out of turn. When she looked back at her hands, twisting the handkerchief between her fingers, he felt a cold shudder rock him.

“It was always one-sided,” she continued, ignoring his comment. “James never worked to save our marriage. Probably never even thought it was in danger.

“He had what he wanted. A proper wife. And he wanted to continue enjoying himself, as he had when he was single. He didn't think anything should change once we said our vows.” Her voice choked. “I guess they meant more to me than to him.”

Brody kept her tucked safely under his arm but remained silent, listening, waiting.

“James liked to drink,” she said matter of factly. “Liked to go out with the boys. And he did. Almost every night. Oh, most of the time he said it was for
business. But I knew better. I heard rumors. I knew how much he drank.

“He figured he could get away with it. His daddy wasn't going to fire him from the bank. And I wasn't going to leave.”

“Why not?” Brody cursed himself for asking. But he couldn't imagine why she'd want to stay.

“Because I believed…still believe in marriage. I wanted to be true to my vows.”

Rage imploded inside Brody. He had nowhere to aim his anger, nowhere to release it. “Even if he wasn't true to his?”

“Yes.” Her lips pressed into a tight line. “At least he hadn't left. Like my daddy left my momma when I was a little girl. Just walked out and never looked back.” Her hands folded into fists. “I wasn't going to be like him. And I wasn't going to let James be like that, either. We'd made a commitment. No one forced me to say ‘I do.' I made the decision to marry James with a clear head. I knew what he was like…sort of…but not completely. And I was going to stick to it. No matter what.”

Silence reverberated in the confines of the car. Brody's ears roared as blood pounded in his temples. Her words proved what he'd always known. She'd chosen James. Of her own free will. The knowledge hit him like a sledgehammer to his heart. But had her love for James died even before he'd met his death?

“Do you remember calling me a few months ago?” She laughed. It was a stark, incredulous sound. “God, what a shock. Over the years, when it had been almost impossible to stay with James, not to just walk out, I'd dreamed of you calling me. Of you sensing
something was wrong. Of you coming to the States and rescuing me from my marriage. Ridiculous, huh?”

He shook his head, unable to speak as a ball of hard emotions jammed his throat. And he'd dreamed she'd returned to him. Both had been too proud. He wished now that he had gone after her. If only he'd known. If only he hadn't been so self-absorbed with his own anger. If only he'd taken a chance, followed his gut instinct.

“James and I had a terrible argument…that night you called. A real whopper. He stormed out and I knew he wouldn't be home until morning. Then he would stagger in drunk.

“I think by then I was starting to suspect he was seeing another woman…” She arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I should say—other women. But I didn't want to believe it. Oh, I'd heard the rumors. But I'd ignored them. Nothing was going to destroy my marriage. So, I turned a deaf ear. I sent his clothes to the cleaner's so I wouldn't catch a whiff of perfume or find lipstick stains or phone numbers scribbled on napkins.

“James had his faults. No one would deny he liked his Scotch. A little too much. But I couldn't believe he'd…” She swallowed hard, as if still trying to accept it. “I didn't want to believe or know he'd do that.”

“Why not?” Brody asked, finding his voice at last. He believed James was a jerk and he'd never met the bloke.

“Because then I could live with myself, with my choices, my mistakes. James and I had known each
other since we were eight years old. We'd grown up together, gone to school together every day since second grade. We'd been high school sweethearts. I just couldn't believe he would do what y—” Her spine stiffened and she moved away from Brody, scooting back into the passenger seat. “I refused to believe it, that's all.”

Brody's arms felt cold, his heart empty.

“Anyway—” she sniffed and squared her shoulders “—when you called that night a few months ago… I'd been feeling really alone. God, hearing your voice brought back so many memories. Good and bad. It reminded me of how empty my life was. How much had changed. How much I'd lost.”

She took a deep breath before continuing. “I wanted to pour out my heart to you. I wanted to ask for your help. I wanted…needed…” She tilted her head into her hands, then brushed her hair back and stared up at the roof of the car. “But I couldn't.”