THE MILLIONAIRE SHE MARRIED

by Christine Rimmer

  Jenna, who felt terrible about Logan herself, couldn't resist remarking, "It would have been nice if you'd shown him this much sympathy when he and I were engaged."

  "Why? He didn't need it then. He really is such an irritating man. But now, well, I just worry about him, you know? I guess I have to admit, I've developed a certain … fondness for him, over the years."

  Jenna was worried about him, too. Which was why she suggested, "Maybe you could stop by and see him, in a few days. You know, just to make sure he's doing all right."

  "Oh, great idea. That's exactly what he needs. Your bad baby sister showing up at his door."

  "I think it would mean a lot to him. I think he cares about you, too."

  That seemed to give Lacey pause. "You do?"

  "Yes. I know he got on your nerves, always pushing you to move back to town and 'settle down.' But he did it because you matter to him, I'm sure of that."

  "Well," Lacey said. "I'll think about it. Visiting him, I mean."

  * * *

  Jenna called Mack Saturday evening to tell him they were booked on a flight from Sacramento to Denver. Their plane would leave at ten on Monday morning.

  "What's in Denver?" he demanded.

  She considered dragging out the "surprise," since she didn't really want to listen to him groan over where she'd decided they were going. But then again, he might as well groan now as later.

  She said, "Denver is where my cousin Cash is picking us up. He has a small plane. He'll fly us to Medicine Creek, Wyoming. We're staying at the Rising Sun, which you just may remember is the Bravo family ranch."

  Mack was still stuck back there with her first sentence. "Wait a minute. You have a cousin named Cash?"

  "I'm sure I mentioned him, when we were married." Not that he would have been listening.

  He said, "We're still married."

  "Let's not get into that right now, please. Back to Cash. His real name is John, but everyone calls him Cash. He's my second cousin, actually. His grandfather was my grandfather's brother, on my father's side."

  "Right."

  Jenna knew what Mack's face would look like right then. His eyes would have that glazed-over look they always got when she started talking about the various members of her extended family.

  "I've wanted to go to Wyoming for a long time, Mack. I even asked you once or twice to go with me, way back when."

  It had been a dream of hers, a visit to Wyoming, ever since that awful second year of their marriage, after the move to New York City. She'd felt so lonely, so far away from home, a small-town girl in a very big city with a husband who had no time for her.

  She'd learned from her mother that she had family right there in New York: Austin Bravo, a first cousin once removed. His children were grown. He and his wife, Elaine, lived on the Upper East Side.

  Mack was supposed to have met Elaine and Austin. But as usual, at the last minute some problem at the firm came up and he backed out of the dinner engagement that Jenna had arranged with them. Jenna went alone. And Austin and Elaine had told her all about the ranch in Wyoming, which had been in the Bravo family for five generations.

  Mack started grumbling. "What's it like in Wyoming in September, anyway? I'll bet it's damn cold. And it's windy there, too, did you know? Nothing but wind and prairie and cattle, from what I've heard."

  "Mack, we are going to spend my week at the foot of the rugged Bighorn Mountains, getting to know the Wyoming branch of my family. Another second cousin of mine, Zach Bravo, whose father, by the way, is Austin Bravo, the one you were supposed to have met when we—"

  "Can we skip what I was supposed to have done all those years ago? Please?"

  "Certainly. As I was saying, Zach runs the ranch. He's married, has two daughters and a new baby due about three months from now. They're looking forward to our visit."

  "Jenna, the whole point of this two weeks is that we're spending some time alone. That's a-l-o-n-e. Meaning just you and me. As in, No one else around. How are we going to be alone with your second cousin and his wife and the kids and the—"

  "We will have time alone. I promise you."

  He asked, "How big is this house where your cousin and his family live?"

  "Not quite big enough for us to have separate rooms, I'm afraid."

  "How sad," he said smugly. "So you're saying we'll be sharing a room, after all?"

  "No, I'm not saying that at all. As it turns out, there's a smaller house a little way from the main house. The woman who lives there is away on some kind of trip, so that's where we'll be staying. Tess—that's Zach's wife, the one who's having a baby—said that house had more than one bedroom. So we're in luck."

  He muttered something that was probably an expletive.

  She said, "I've got everything arranged."

  "Yeah. I can see that—and I guess I'd better pick you up at eight Monday morning, all right? That'll get us to the airport in Sacramento in plenty of time."

  "Eight sounds perfect."

  Jenna hung up feeling really good. She was in charge and she and Mack were going somewhere she'd always wanted to go.

  * * *

  But by Monday morning at eight-thirty, as she paced back and forth in the foyer with her suitcases waiting a few feet away, she was not feeling good. Not feeling good at all.

  As she paced, Byron appeared, tiptoeing along the hall between the back parlor and the front door. He strolled up to her, sat down in her path and looked up expectantly. She bent and took him into her arms.

  He purred. She vented.

  "Déjà vu," she muttered. "That's French for 'I've been here before,' and I have, Byron. You know that I have." She scratched the cat behind an ear. "'Eight o'clock,' he said. 'I'll pick you up at eight.' Well, as usual with Mack McGarrity, eight o'clock has been and gone and Mack McGarrity is nowhere in sight."

  Right then, the phone rang. "Great. Now we get the excuses." She put Byron over her shoulder and stalked to the extension in the front parlor.

  "What?" she barked into the mouthpiece.

  "You're mad."

  "You're right."

  "Look. Something's come up, something completely unexpected and I—"

  "Unexpected?" She tried not to shriek at him. "It's an hour's drive to the airport. Our plane takes off in—" she glanced at her watch "—eighty-three minutes. We don't have time for the unexpected right now."

  "Listen. I'm on my way."

  "You had to call to say you're on your way?"

  "I know I'm late. I'm sorry. I wanted to let you know that I am coming over there. In fact, I'm here. Look out the window."

  She did, and saw a silver-gray Lexus pulling up to the curb. Mack was behind the wheel, a cell phone at his ear. He waved at her.

  She set down the phone and marched to the foyer, where Byron began to squirm to be let down. She bent and set him on the floor. He ran off down the hall. Then she turned to pull open the door.

  Mack strode swiftly up the steps toward her, wearing faded blue jeans, a black T-shirt and a dark leather bomber jacket, looking like Steve McQueen in The Great Escape, ready for anything and so handsome it hurt. Funny, she thought, he never used to wear blue jeans, back when. Then, he wore expensive suits and designer ties—even at first, when he couldn't afford them. Apparently now that success was his, he no longer felt the pressing need to dress for it.

  She stepped back and gestured him over the threshold, turning immediately for her suitcases. "Come on. Let's get these out to the car and—"

  "Jenna."

  She did not like the way he said her name. Slowly, she turned back to him. He had both hands stuck in the pockets of that gorgeous leather jacket and a very guilty expression on his face. That was when she knew what he was going to say next.

  She said it for him. "You're backing out."

  "Jenna, I—"

  She went to the door and shut it. Then she planted both fists on her hips. "Just say it. You're not going."

  "There's a … crisis. I'm so
rry. I don't like it. But I'm going to have to put off our two weeks together."

  "A crisis."

  "Yes." He spoke very quietly, too quietly, in fact. "A crisis. Something I just can't put off dealing with."

  "A meeting, right? A really terribly unavoidably important meeting. Am I right?"

  "No. You're not." His voice rose in volume. "It's not a damn meeting."

  "Stop shouting," she said. "You'll wake up my sister."

  His mouth became a flat line and he muttered, "Sorry," but not as if he really meant it.

  "Well," she said, making no effort at all to mask her sarcasm. "I suppose I should think of this as progress. At least you're telling me in person that you can't do what you said you'd do. The old Mack would have gone ahead and told me over the phone."

  "You may not believe me, but this is important. I'm flying to Long Beach right away and—"

  "Long Beach? Long Beach, California?"

  "Right. And—"

  "What's in Long Beach?"

  He didn't answer, just went on with what he'd been saying before. "—the minute this situation is handled, I'll call you and we can—"

  "What situation?"

  "This situation."

  "Mack. I am exerting great effort not to start shouting at you. You could help me a little here. You could tell me what the problem is. You could tell me why you're backing out on me."

  "I'm not backing out on—"

  "What is the problem?"

  He glared at her, then he sucked in a big breath and raked his hand back over his hair. "It's not a good idea, I think, to go into it now. If you'll just wait until I've—"

  "Wait? You want me to wait?"

  "Yeah, but only until I've taken care of this thing and we have a little time to—"

  "Stop. Stop right there." She held up her left hand and wiggled the fingers at him. "Notice. No engagement ring. Because of you, I have broken up with a wonderful man who loved me with all of his heart."

  Mack made a low noise in his throat. "What? You expect me to feel guilty about that? Well, I don't. Not one damn bit. It was a wise move on your part. You're not ready to marry the good doctor right now. It wouldn't be good for you, and it certainly wouldn't be good for him to marry another man's wife. You need—"

  "Do not tell me what I need, Mack McGarrity. Listen to what I am telling you. You wanted two weeks. I am giving you two weeks. And those two weeks are starting right now."

  "Jenna, I'm trying to tell you that I—"

  "Stop talking. Listen. If the two weeks do not start now, they are not going to start at all, because I will do what I threatened to do when you first proposed this crazy scheme of yours. I'll divorce you all over again."

  "Jenna. That's foolish. You don't want to do that."

  "That's another thing I never could stand—the way you always thought you knew what I wanted. Well, you don't know what I want. I know what I want. And if you listen, I'll tell you. I want our two weeks to start right now. I'm ready to start right now, ready to get it over with. I don't want to wait around until you decide you're ready. I've been there and done that back when I lived with you."

  "This is hopeless," he said. "You just will not listen. I keep trying to tell you that doing it now is not possible."

  "Yes, it is possible. Because I'm willing to compromise a little."

  "Compromise. I don't like that word."

  "That's only because you have never done it in your life. But you're going to get your chance now. This is my offer. Your week will come first. We can spend it doing whatever it is you just have to fly to Southern California to do."

  "That's a bad idea."

  "Take it or leave it."

  "No. Jenna. What I have to do right now isn't what I had in mind for my week at all. I wanted us to get away together, to be alone someplace private, someplace beautiful. I was hoping—"

  "Stop trying to soften me up. You can't. I've been through it all with you before. We're going to Long Beach for this emergency of yours—or we aren't going anywhere."

  He scraped a hand through his hair again, stared down at his boots and shook his head.

  "I mean it, Mack. We start today, or we never start at all."

  "Jenna…"

  "And right now, before we begin, you are going to tell me what this emergency is."

  "Damn it, Jenna."

  "Now."

  "All right," he said—and then he looked away.

  She waited for a count of ten and then demanded, "Mack. Tell me."

  He turned to her, glaring. "My mother is sick. They believe that she's dying."

  Jenna was certain she hadn't heard him correctly. "Excuse me. I could have sworn you just said—"

  "I did." He said it again. "My mother is dying."

  "But … how could that be? You don't have a mother. Do you?"

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  Mack felt like an idiot as he was forced to confess, "Yes, Jenna. I do have a mother." He couldn't believe she'd kept after him until she'd made him tell her. The old Jenna would never have been so determined.

  Oh, where had the old Jenna gone?

  The new Jenna was shaking her head. "But you always said … you always led me to believe that you had no family, that you'd been raised in foster homes."

  "I was raised in foster homes—mostly, anyway." Damn, he did not want to go into all this now. "Look. It's complicated. It's one of the things I thought we'd be talking about during our two weeks."

  "Well. I guess you thought right. We will be talking about this mother you never said you had during our two weeks—which are starting now. I assume you've already set up a flight?"

  "I have a plane waiting at Sacramento Executive Airport. And we need to get on it ASAP." He picked up her two suitcases, leaving the small overnight case for her to deal with.

  She followed behind him, not arguing for once, as he went out the door and down the porch steps.

  * * *

  On the drive to Sacramento, Jenna used Mack's cell phone to call her family in Wyoming and tell them that their visit had been postponed. She also called the airline to say they wouldn't be making the Denver flight.

  The private plane, a twelve-seater, was ready for takeoff when they got to the airport. The pilot loaded their baggage as Jenna and Mack settled into the passenger cabin, which was empty save for the two of them.

  As soon as they were in the air, she turned to Mack. "Okay. Tell me about the mother you never said you had."

  Mack had taken the window seat. He stared out over the wing at Sacramento's considerable urban sprawl. "Do you know that one in eight Americans lives in the state of California? Pretty incredible, huh?"

  "Mack." Her voice was gentle.

  It hurt, somehow. That gentleness. Hurt much more than all the hard accusations she'd hurled at him just about every time they'd spoken over the past week and a half. It hurt because it reminded him of the old Jenna. And of all he'd lost when he lost her.

  Of all it was very possible he could never get back.

  She wasn't the same.

  But then, neither was he.

  And the attraction was still there. That, he was sure of. For him and for her, too, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

  In the end, it hadn't worked the way they were. Maybe it would turn out that they were both different enough in the right kind of way. Maybe a new beginning would be possible.

  Then again, maybe he was whistling in the dark.

  "Mack?"

  He turned to look into the face that he'd never been able to forget, the face that had, on more occasions than he would ever be willing to admit, appeared in his dreams. "I didn't lie to you, not exactly."

  The dimples he'd always loved showed faintly at the sides of that wide mouth of hers. "You lied only by omission."

  "That's right."

  "So. Now's the time to tell me what you left out."

  He didn't know quite where to begin.

>   In that gentle, old-Jenna voice, she prompted, "You told me that your father died when you were six."

  "That's right. And that was the truth."

  "Somehow, I got the idea that your mother died shortly after."

  "Maybe because that was what I wanted you to think. But my mother didn't die. She is alive—or she was a few hours ago. And I … have two sisters." Hazel eyes widened, the tiniest bit, in shock, at that news. He added, feeling just a little guilty, "I never told you that, either, about my sisters, did I?"

  "No, Mack. You never did."

  "Bridget and Claire. They were eight and four when my father died."

  "You also never told me … how your father died."

  "He was killed in a convenience-store hold-up. He was the poor chump behind the counter. They were young, my parents. They didn't have much."

  "That must have been tough on your mother."

  "That's right. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't support us by herself. She put the three of us into foster care and got a job as a secretary in a small employment agency. For a while, she would come and visit us all the time."

  Jenna touched the back of his hand. Mack felt that touch to the center of himself. But it must have been an unconscious gesture, one she instantly regretted, because she jerked her hand back within seconds after she made contact.

  She asked, "What do you mean, she visited for a while?"

  "I mean that the visits tapered off. Bridget and Claire and I were all in different foster homes by the time I was seven. And it was around that time that my mother started coming less and less often to see me. She came on my eighth birthday, I remember that. It was the last time."

  "You mean, after that you never saw her again?"

  The disbelief on Jenna's face made him smile. He remembered her mother, Margaret, who had been tall and capable, with a wide smile a lot like Jenna's. Jenna's father had died when Jenna was—what?—fifteen or sixteen, Mack was pretty sure. He was also sure that it had never occurred to Jenna's mom to put her children in foster care, let alone to relinquish all claim to them.

  But then again, Jenna's father had been a successful insurance salesman and Jenna's mother had run the office for a tide company. No doubt there had been a big life insurance policy and sufficient money coming in that Jenna's mother never had to worry all that much about where her family's next meal would come from.