by Dani Wade
“Twelve years. I apprenticed under the man who took over from your father.”
Aiden’s shoulders tightened once more at the mention of his father, but he made a conscious effort to relax, stretching his neck to loosen up. “You’ve done a good job. The lines are running well.”
Bateman indicated a sitting area. Hardly aware of what he was doing, Aiden guided Christina to the small love seat and tucked her close against him as they sat. Though he hated to admit it, the warmth where her thigh met his kept him focused. The tremors deep down inside receded, leaving him enough space to breathe. Contrary to his earlier actions, he needed her close, and for once his need had nothing to do with sex.
They chatted for a minute—Aiden well remembered Christina’s lesson on polite behavior—then he got serious. “Before we start, there’s something I’d like to address,” he said. “As I’m sure you know, I’ve run my own business for several years now. An art import/export business out of New York.”
He took close note of the defensive straightening of Bateman’s back in the chair opposite them. Betty leaned casually against the edge of the desk in case she was needed.
“But a factory, especially a working mill, is outside of my experience,” Aiden continued. “I’ve been studying my grandfather’s reports, but I would appreciate it if you could fill me in on a few logistics of this type of operation.”
Asking questions first rather than jumping in with orders appeared to be the right start. Bateman relaxed back into his chair, arms stretched along each side rest.
“The mill runs at full capacity eighty percent of the year, with some holiday and annual maintenance shutdowns. You may remember we carry out all production from the raw cotton bales to midgrade linens, so it is a large-scale operation.”
He went on to explain about profits, which had declined the previous year due to drought, but were improving. Aiden listened attentively, but remained cued in to every subtle shift of the woman at his side. This split awareness was new to him. Normally, business always came before pleasure. But Christina could not be ignored. Pretty soon he wouldn’t be sleeping at all. Her effect on him only grew. Good or bad, it simply was.
“Any financial concerns in the immediate or near future?” Aiden asked.
“No, sir. You’d have to ask accounting for specific numbers, but thanks to the long-term equipment upgrade schedule your father initiated and the profits reinvested, we’ve weathered through pretty well.” Bateman’s chest expanded a bit. “Our sales force has worked hard to establish a stable, loyal client base. We have no worries for the near future, outside of the normal business concerns in today’s economy.” A frown slid across his face. “No financial worries, anyway.”
Aiden sensed they’d come to the purpose for this meeting. Christina must have, too. She leaned forward to join the conversation. “Is there something we need to know?”
Bateman’s face was a guarded mask, as if he was deciding how much to say. He studied Aiden for long moments, until Christina spoke again. “It’s okay, Jim. We wouldn’t be here if Aiden wasn’t going to do his best for the mill and the town.”
Aiden wondered where her confidence came from, but didn’t add his own reassurances. Bateman would have to take him on faith until he could prove his intentions himself.
When the older man spoke, each word came quicker than the last. “There is something off around here. Random problems cropping up. No pattern that I can tell.”
“How long?” Aiden asked. The news wasn’t unexpected, but he wanted details.
“Maybe a year,” Bateman said, a frown of concentration on his face. “Little things, at first. But then the problems gained momentum, the worst happening most recently. A major supplier canceled at the last minute. One we’d been working with for a few years. Like everything else, it was an annoyance. But when they refused any further orders for no reason, it became a suspicious annoyance. It meant we had to delay a large delivery to an established client.”
“If the mill gets a reputation for that sort of thing, it could hurt sales,” Aiden filled in what Bateman wasn’t saying outright.
The other man exchanged a look with his assistant. “Did you show him?”
Betty nodded.
“We had a problem with one of the lines this past week,” Bateman explained. “A delay because of equipment malfunction, but the tech came straight to me with his report. He thinks the failure wasn’t an accident.”
Aiden asked, “Any guesses as to who would do that?”
“Not the tech,” Bateman said with a sad grin. “It could have been any employee with access to that area—part of the maintenance crew, or even the cleanup crew. I hate to think about it being any of those, really.”
Aiden felt Christina straighten as the significance finally hit her. “You think it was an inside job.”
Bateman nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. It was more an annoyance than anything, but I worry about the next time, if the source is who I think it is—”
“Why don’t you just spell it out for me,” Aiden said, absently laying a soothing hand against Christina’s spine.
“About a year ago, a man named Balcher made an offer on Blackstone Mills. He’s well-known in the industry for buying out the competition at rock-bottom prices and taking them apart, piece by piece, until eventually the plants just close.”
“Eliminating the competition.”
“Exactly. Only Blackstone isn’t hurting. Yet. But if the safety standards are compromised on the equipment...” Bateman rubbed his balding head until what little hair was left stood on end. “I’m afraid someone will get hurt. Then we’ll have more than our financial standing to worry about.”
Aiden cursed. This must be the potential buyer Canton had mentioned. The one who would destroy Black Hills, unless Aiden kept the mill viable. “Any suggestions?”
“Increase nighttime security?” Bateman said. “I’m worried about causing a panic, but I thought I’d tell the line managers so they could be more vigilant and strict about safety.”
Aiden frowned. He didn’t have much pull around here, but said, “I’ll see what I can do about getting some authorities involved.”
Bateman’s face echoed his own worry. “I’m afraid it is time for that, though all I have is the tech’s word. No real proof.”
Aiden stood, shifting on the balls of his feet like a boxer. His mind worked over the puzzle. “If he’s hiring inside personnel to sabotage the plant’s effectiveness, you might not like what you find.”
Still, he felt the surge of competitiveness rush through him. The grin he let slip out wasn’t a nice one. “Too bad for Balcher, I’m not a pushover.”
The tension in Bateman’s shoulders and face eased, telling Aiden he’d gone up in the man’s estimation. Good. They were going to have to work together on this. Teamwork? The loner Aiden balked at the idea, but this was bigger than just him and his own survival.
Though he knew he should be cursing a blue streak over this complication, instead, his energy surged. His competitive nature looked forward to taking Balcher on....
And winning.
Lost in his own thoughts, Aiden didn’t realize Bateman was watching him with a speculative gleam in his eye. “Tell me,” the other man said, “why are you doing this?”
“What do you mean?” Digging into motivation wasn’t something Aiden enjoyed.
Bateman arched a gray-sprinkled brow. “You haven’t set foot in this town since you were eighteen years old. I’m smart enough to know you aren’t here because you want to be.”
“Then you are a smart man.” Aiden dropped into a chair this time, letting his eyes drift shut against the glare of the fluorescent lights. He didn’t want to focus too much on his surroundings and the memories they evoked. He didn’t want to think about how alone Christina looked, seated there without him. He especi
ally didn’t want to think about how much he missed her warmth against him.
But Bateman wasn’t finished. “You know, I was in upper management when your father took over direct supervision from James. I saw him in action on a daily basis. No matter why he came in the first place, your father stayed for one reason and one reason only. The people.”
Aiden’s eyes shot open, giving him a too-clear view of the white ceiling tiles. He wished he could throw out some quick, sarcastic remark, but his normally agile brain remained blank. “So what are you saying?” he asked, instead.
“That the two of you are a lot alike.”
Aiden was ashamed to realize they weren’t. He’d been so caught up in his own wants, desires and rebellion that he had hardly thought about others since that first afternoon at James’s bedside. His father wouldn’t be proud of the man he had become. Not at all.
As the realization threatened to close his lungs, Aiden knew he had to get out of there. Fast.
Eight
Christina had been so fascinated watching Aiden work, seeing his mind process the problems, that she wasn’t prepared when he made excuses and motioned to the door. Her gears didn’t change quickly, but the quivering urgency beneath his polite facade propelled her out the door ahead of him.
He turned the opposite direction from which they’d arrived, and his steps picked up speed.
“Aiden,” she called. “Aiden, where are you going?”
She struggled to keep up, trailing behind by several feet. His steps were quick, and he never looked back. Her heart pounded. A seriously wrong vibe made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. She followed him around twists and turns in the long hallways. Where was he going?
Finally, she rounded a corner to find him stock-still, arms and legs spread as if he’d jerked to a halt. His rigid stillness kept her silent, but she couldn’t deny the impulse to get close. As she neared, she noticed fine tremors vibrating along his muscles. From the rigidity or something more?
Hesitant, she slowly extended her arm. This wasn’t her place. He’d made it clear that she had no right to pry into his issues. Still, some inner need to heal, more intense than she’d ever known, urged her forward.
Just as her fingertip grazed his shoulder, he turned, blindly plowing back the way he’d come. And right into her.
He managed to keep her from falling on her tush. They danced a few steps until they collided with the wall. Their bodies came to a full halt, Christina’s back braced, Aiden’s arms on either side, facing her. His harsh breathing stirred her hair, awakening the urge to stroke her hands down his back until he calmed. Until he talked to her...
“Aiden,” she said, aiming for a no-nonsense tone. He wouldn’t appreciate emotion. “What is it?”
“I have to get out of here.”
His voice was so strained, tight. She almost didn’t hear him, he was clenching his teeth so hard. “Then let’s go back through—”
“No.”
She listened to his breathing a moment, searching for guidance. His straining lungs, tight fists and taut body told her he was seriously fighting for control over whatever was happening on the inside. Beneath the surface, something powerful was wreaking havoc.
“Why?” she whispered, her voice full of sympathy, coupled with something deeper, darker.
“I can’t.” He drew in a breath, flattening her chest against his. He kept his head facing away, shoulders crowded so close she couldn’t turn to see. Finally, his voice came again, slow and reluctant. “I can’t go back there. But I can’t be here.”
She wanted to understand, but felt as if she was navigating in the dark. So she did the only thing she knew how.
Reaching up, she placed her hands on each side of his waist, where his upraised arms left him vulnerable to her invasion. Her fingers traced the steeliness of his body under the thin cotton as she ran her hands over his ribs, then around to the bowstring muscles of his back.
Let me hold you.
For a moment, he ceased to move, to even breathe. Closing her eyes, she mentally sent out sympathy and peace as she’d learned to do long before her nurse’s training. She could only hope to somehow restore his inner equilibrium through touch, physically and mentally.
He drew in a deep breath, easier this time, giving her hope that she might have reached him.
She inched closer, aligning her body with his, focusing solely on his breath as her hands slid around him. The intimacy of their position, of this situation, softened her voice to a caress. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
He held out, jaw tightened to trap the words inside. Her healing hands splayed across the small of his back. Her head tilted until her forehead rested on his chest, next to his pounding heart. Once again she sent the energy out, hoping for some kind of breakthrough.
“What’s wrong?” he finally said, anger and bitterness giving the question bite. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong.”
He twisted to point to the hallway he’d run from. “He died down there.” She felt him shudder. “He simply stepped out of someone’s office and fell to the floor.”
She spoke despite her tight throat. “Your father?”
Aiden’s nod shattered her control. She gazed into his taut face, darkened eyes, and felt the tears he refused to shed spill onto her own cheeks.
James certainly was a bastard. She’d thought he’d trapped them in a marriage they didn’t want. She had no idea he’d sent Aiden back into his worst nightmare.
* * *
Aiden had little recollection of finally finding the exit door and getting to the truck. He wouldn’t want to remember, even if he could. At least he hadn’t blubbered like a baby. Running like one had been bad enough.
He’d just been sitting there, listening to Bateman talk about his father, and it had all become too much. He’d known if he didn’t get out of there right then, things would get out of hand. Fast.
Before he’d come here, he’d gone days, sometimes weeks, without thinking about his dad. But now, everywhere he turned were memories of his parents, chipping away at the emotional control he’d built up all these years. Something he couldn’t afford to lose.
Especially in front of Christina.
The familiar rhythm of tires on pavement, the mindless task of driving back to the manor, and the darkness helped him regain control. It didn’t even slip when Christina spoke again.
“You were there...when he died?” He could hear the tears in her voice and wanted to tell her not to cry for him. But he didn’t.
Surprisingly, he could answer without that gripping sensation returning to his chest. “He often took me to work with him that summer. I’d become too much of a handful for Lily at home, bucking James at every turn. She had her hands full with the twins, too. So he made me work down there as a runner for him.”
He slowed down and pulled into the Blackstone estate, turning on the wipers as an evening drizzle started to fall.
“He’d just come out of a meeting when I met him in the hall. ‘Hey, son.’ That’s the last thing he said before his heart attack.”
Pulling around back, Aiden parked on the gravel lot outside the garage. The soft ping of water on the hood and windshield grew louder when he turned off the engine. Neither he nor Christina made any move to get out. The intimacy of dusk and the falling rain loosened his tongue.
“My father always had time for me, before we came here. He was a business-management professor for a small college. But James wanted Lily closer, and I guess my father felt he couldn’t refuse the salary he was offered to manage the mill.”
Put that degree to some real use, he remembered James saying. But James had insisted on his old-fashioned ways and constantly found fault with the methods used by Aiden’s father.
“Betty pointed out quite a few improvements your father
made,” Christina said. “Seems he was a good manager.”
“I hope it was worth it,” Aiden said, bitterness tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “The long hours and stress probably killed him.”
They sat for long minutes in silence. Aiden’s eyes drifted closed. The rain seeped down like the good memories, washing away those last dreadful moments: his father lifting him high in the air, explaining some kind of economic concept with apples and bananas, and grinning when one of the workmen praised Aiden. That’s how he should remember his father.
It wasn’t until his grip relaxed and his eyes opened that Christina spoke, “Ready to make a run for it?”
He grinned, his mood lifting as he caught the mischievous glitter of her barely visible irises. They’d had a bumpy road, but she had a way of soothing him. She seemed to know exactly what others needed in a given moment, and provided it if it was within her reach. It was so good, even while it scared the hell out of him.
He nodded, and they both opened their doors. Jogging out from under the trees, the rain fell harder. He hadn’t realized how heavy it was until he was out in it. With his long legs, he could have easily outdistanced Christina, but he paced himself, only pulling forward enough to get the door open for her without breaking stride.
The kitchen was dark, the house quiet except for rain on the roof. They stood facing each other in the back mudroom, clothes dripping on the utility carpet, both looking like drowned rats. Christina’s eyes met his. He couldn’t resist a small grin at her soaked hair and the thin shirt now plastered over her very interesting curves. Her hands plucked at the clingy material, then she started laughing. Not the polite, amused titter of some of the society women he’d met.
Not for this woman. It was a deep, rolling belly laugh, doubling her over, making it hard to catch her breath. He couldn’t help but join her, reveling in the lightness after the storm of his emotions. God, she was gorgeous. Even now.
“Marie is going to have a fit if we drip all over her kitchen floor—” she said.
“And the stairs.”
