THE MILLIONAIRE SHE MARRIED

by Christine Rimmer

  Mack stood above her, at the edge of the blanket, his hands in his pockets.

  She looked up at him and forced a smile, though she felt terribly nervous all of a sudden. "Sit with me." She patted the blanket beside her.

  He let her suggestion pass without response. He was looking at her mouth. "Your lip is twitching."

  She pressed both lips together in an effort to make the twitching stop. It didn't help. "I know."

  "I don't … know where to start."

  Neither did she, really. She pulled at a loose thread on the quilt and tried to organize her thoughts, which suddenly seemed to be spinning off in a thousand different directions at once.

  "We could start at the beginning," he said.

  She nodded. "That sounds right."

  Mack dropped to a crouch, picked up a twig from the yellowing grass and broke it in two. "When you called me and told me you were going to marry the doctor, at first I was stunned. Just at the idea that you could even think of marrying someone else…" He paused then, to toss both bits of twig away, one and then the other. "It seemed impossible to me." He laughed, a dry sound. "That's my ego for you. Here we'd been apart for seven years, should have been divorced for five. I hadn't seen you in all that time. And yet…" He sat then, on the edge of the blanket, and wrapped his arms around his knees. "I couldn't just let it go. I had to see you again, had to try…" He seemed not to know how to go on. He looked up at the pine branches swaying overhead, then down at the blanket, then across the glen, where the clear water of the little stream burbled cheerfully over the rocks.

  Finally he tried again. "What I'm saying is, I didn't really think it through all that well. I just knew I had to get myself some time with you, one way or another, to find out if maybe you felt the same as I did, to see if there was still anything there for you, when you thought about me."

  The wind blew Jenna's hair against her mouth. She brushed it away. "And so now you know. There's still something there."

  "Yes. Now I know."

  "And the question is … what do we do about it?"

  He nodded.

  She wanted to touch him, wanted to reach out and put her hand against his cheek. She wanted to feel his lips against her palm. And then she wanted his mouth touching her own, his body covering hers, shielding her against the chill of the wind.

  When they touched, it always seemed as if there was no need for words. When they touched, she could forget the future, and put aside the past. When they touched, there was only the moment, only right now. But they couldn't put off discussing the future forever. The time had come to deal with what would happen next.

  She kept her hands to herself. "I love Meadow Valley, Mack. You know I do. But I don't … I don't need to live here the way I did once. I don't feel that a place defines who I am anymore. I realize now that I could have done better, when we lived in New York. I could have tried harder to make a new life there."

  He scanned her face, his gaze intent. "You're saying you'd move to Florida with me now?"

  "I would. Yes. I'd give it a try. And a real try this time. We could fix up that house of yours—you did say it needs fixing up?"

  "Yes, I did."

  "And you could teach me to fish. Isn't that what you do on that boat of yours—fish?"

  "Yeah. I fish. And sometimes I just drift."

  "I could do that. Drift. Up to a point."

  He shifted, looked away again. "Up to what point?"

  And she said, as clearly and firmly as her suddenly tight throat would allow, "I want children, Mack. I always have. I think you know that. I want … an ordinary, everyday, garden-variety family. I want a husband who's around a reasonable amount of time."

  He turned to face her again. "A husband who's around. That, I can do now. I can be there, with you, whenever you need me."

  "Yes. I know. And it's…" She swallowed, took a breath, and said, "It's almost enough."

  "Almost?"

  "Yes. Oh, Mack…" There it was again. That overpowering urge to reach out. But she didn't do it. She laced her hands together in her lap and chose her words with utmost care. "I want kids we can love and raise together. Our own babies, if that's possible. But if for some reason we couldn't have children, then I'd want to adopt. I just want to do that, to help some little ones grow up and start their own life. To me, that's the most important thing there is. I wouldn't feel I'd really lived if I didn't raise a child or two."

  He said nothing. His eyes were tender and sad.

  "Would you … do that with me, have a family with me, Mack? Do you think that you could?"

  He spoke then, but only to say her name soft and low. "Jenna…"

  She bit her lip to keep from begging him. All those years ago she had begged him. It had done no good.

  She doubted that it would do much good now.

  Her nose was starting to run. And a few pointless tears had gotten away from her. She felt in the pocket of her mackinaw and found a tissue. Carefully she smoothed it out. Then she blew her nose and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  Mack rose to his full height as she slid the soggy tissue back into her pocket. He walked a few feet away and stood staring down the trail they had climbed up the side of the hill.

  She thought he looked so tall and strong standing there—tall and strong and utterly alone. She ached for him, for the lost little boy he had been long ago, for the driven young man who couldn't slow down enough to be a husband to her—and for the drifting, footloose millionaire he was now, the man who still hadn't found real meaning in his life.

  Finally he turned to her again. He came back to the blanket, but stopped at the edge. "I keep thinking about that kid, Jenna. About Riley Kettleman. About that baby, little Lissa—and those two other kids, Tina and whatever the other boy's name was. I keep thinking that those kids haven't got a prayer. That their father is gone and their mother can't provide for them. That it's the same old story, over and over. People start out with the best damn intentions. They get together and they have children. And then something happens. Divorce. Death. Lost jobs, lost hopes…" His voice had gone rough, as if something inside him were tearing. He paused, stuck his hands into his jacket pockets, pulled them out again. "Jenna, I just don't think I can do that. Bring some kid into the world, into my life. Kids … they don't understand. They trust. They believe that you will take care of them. But that doesn't always happen. Things go wrong, things you can never anticipate. And children are left with less than nothing. I couldn't do that to another human being."

  She really hadn't meant to touch him. But she couldn't stop herself. She reached up, took his hand. "Mack…"

  He didn't pull away, but he didn't come down to her, either. He only looked at her through bleak and lonely eyes. "I know," he said. "It's not rational, that I feel that way. You're not Erin Kettleman. You've got a business, you own a house. You're a woman with your own resources.

  "And I've got money now. I could protect the ones I loved, no matter what happened to me. I could see to it that you never ended up like Riley's mother, living in a run-down shack with four children and no way out, or like my own mother, feeling you had to make a choice between your children and a man." His fingers tightened over hers, hard enough that her bones ground together. But she did not wince, and she didn't pull away.

  "In my mind, I understand," he said. "In my mind, I realize that the chances my children will end up like I did are minimal, that even if we both got hit by a truck, they could still be provided for. But then I think of what it was like for me. To have a family, and then to have nothing. My father dead. My mother just … gone. And my gut knots up and I can't get air. I've even lied to myself that someday I'm going to change, someday I'll let go of all this irrational, faulty reasoning. I'll realize that I'm like just about everyone else. I'll want children.

  "But Jenna. It hasn't happened. And the truth is, I don't think it's ever going to happen." He tugged on her hand. "Come up here. Come on."

  She let him pull
her to her feet.

  He wrapped his arms around her, but held himself away enough that he could meet her eyes. "I'm sorry, Jenna. I don't know what the hell I was thinking, to force you into this two weeks with me, when I knew how you felt about having a family—and I also knew that on that issue I hadn't really changed. I'm just a selfish S.O.B. to the end, I guess, and I—"

  "Shh." She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled his head down close to her. With a low sound he buried his face in her hair. The cold wind blew around them. The pine branches swayed and rubbed together, making a sound like a long, drawn-out moan.

  "I told you last night," she whispered. "I have no regrets."

  And she didn't. Not a one.

  Except perhaps regret that she was losing him. Losing him all over again…

  Oh, Lord. She couldn't bear it. She wouldn't bear it.

  Yes, she did long for children. But she didn't want to have them with anyone but Mack. She had learned that the hard way, and she'd hurt her dear friend Logan deeply in the process.

  She pulled back enough to swipe the stubborn tears away with her hand. "Mack. Listen. If you feel that you just can't—"

  He took her by the shoulders, his fingers digging in. "Don't say it."

  She didn't understand. "What?"

  "Don't give away your children for me."

  "What children? I don't have any children."

  "But you will. And you should. You'll make a hell of a mother."

  "No. Not without you."

  He cupped her face. His palms were warn. "It's not going to work with us, Jenna."

  "Don't say that. That's not so. It will work. We'll make it work. This time, we are not going to throw what we have away. Oh, Mack. Please. Just stay here with me, in Meadow Valley, for a few more weeks. Let me get my sister on her feet again, and put my shop up for sale. Then I'll go with you to Florida. We'll make a life together. A good life. Just say that you'll stay married to me, that you want me as your wife."

  Instead of answering, he kissed her, his mouth covering hers with a yearning so powerful, it stole her breath away. She kissed him back, pressing close, warmed by his body against the coldness of the wind, tasting the salt of her own tears on his lips.

  We will be all right, she thought. We'll make it. Somehow.

  If he couldn't let himself have children, so be it. She would have no children, either. Half a dream, after all, was better than no dream at all. She would focus on what they did have and let what might have been alone.

  Mack was the one who ended the kiss.

  And her hopes, as well.

  He pulled away and stared into her eyes.

  He said, "It won't work, Jenna. I'm leaving today."

  * * *

  Nothing she could say would dissuade him.

  When they got back to the house, he went straight upstairs to unhook his computer equipment and take it out to the car. Jenna couldn't bear to watch him getting ready to leave her. She glanced at the door to the back parlor: still shut. And it sounded quiet in there. Lacey might still be sleeping—or she could be hard at work.

  Of course, she wouldn't mind the interruption once she learned that Mack was going.

  But Jenna turned from the louvered doors without knocking. Mack was leaving. There was nothing Lacey could do about it. No reason to drag her into the final goodbyes.

  Jenna trudged to the front parlor and sat on the sofa. She stared blindly out the window at the Boston fern hanging from the eaves above the porch rail, thinking rather numbly that it was getting too cold out there for the fern now. She would have to remember to bring it in tonight.

  And tomorrow…

  Her mind skittered away from tomorrow.

  From all the tomorrows.

  Without Mack.

  In her side vision she noted a flicker of movement: Byron, tail held high, strutting her way from the arch to the dining room. He came and sat at her feet and looked up at her expectantly.

  She patted her knees. He jumped and landed lightly on her lap. She stroked him, long strokes, from the top of his head to the end of his tail. He arched his back and purred his pleasure, then walked in a circle and curled up in a ball. She stared out the window and absently petted his silky head.

  She heard Mack come down the stairs and go back up twice, heard the front door opening and closing as he carried the equipment out. Then he went to the bedroom to gather up his things in there.

  Too soon, he appeared in the doorway to the hall. He had his garment bag slung over his shoulder and he carried a suitcase in either hand.

  Jenna set Byron on the floor and stood. "I'll help you carry that stuff out."

  "I can manage."

  "No, really. I don't mind." She walked toward him on legs that felt numb. All of her felt numb, actually. A puppet on a string, moving at the commands of her mind, which felt distant from the rest of her, far away. Disconnected.

  "Lacey's door is closed," he said. "I don't want to bother her. Will you tell her goodbye for me?"

  How considerate, she thought. He's broken my heart, but he won't disturb my sister.

  She said, "All right. I'll tell her."

  Byron approached him. Mack set down the suitcases, laid the garment bag over them. "Hey, Bub…" He bent and scooped up the cat. "You stick close to home now, don't go running off again." The cat dipped his head, to get under Mack's hand. Mack stroked him a few times, and scratched him behind the ears. "Bye, Bub." He bent and set the cat down.

  He handed her the garment bag and he took the two suitcases. She followed him out.

  He'd loaded his computer equipment into the back seat of the Lexus. The red-and-blue blanket and yesterday's empty picnic basket were still in the trunk. Mack set down the suitcases and took the garment bag from her, laying it over them as he had in the house. Then he took out the quilt and the basket and passed them to her. She stood there, shivering a little without her coat, her arms full of the things he had handed her, waiting as he loaded up the trunk. She watched him tuck the suitcases in with the box of mementos his mother had left him. He laid the garment bag over everything and closed the trunk lid.

  And then there was nothing more for him to do but get in the car and drive away from her.

  A barrage of questions rose to her lips.

  Where are you going now? You don't have a flight to Florida yet, do you? Won't it take a while to arrange one? Why don't you just stay here until then?

  Why don't you stay here with me?

  Why don't you stay here … forever?

  She held the questions back. She already knew the answers to most of them, anyway. And the others hardly mattered.

  They stood on the curb, facing each other, her bundle of blanket and basket between them—well, much more than that between them, really: the children she longed for.

  And the children he could not bring himself to have.

  She saw in his eyes that he wanted to kiss her.

  She didn't think she could bear that right then, though she knew that later, in the long, lonely time to come, without him, she would yearn for every kiss that they hadn't shared.

  But now was not later. Now she could not bear one more kiss. Now one more kiss would be the difference between numb dignity and senseless, tearful pleading.

  She needed her dignity.

  Right then, it was all she had left.

  She clutched the blanket tighter, and the handle of the basket, too, holding them close and high in front of her, a barrier to his touch.

  She hitched in a breath. "Goodbye, Mack."

  "Goodbye, Jenna."

  He walked around to the driver's-side door. She found herself following him, standing there, waiting, as he slid in behind the wheel, shut the door, started up the engine, then rolled his window down.

  "File the damn papers right away," he said. "Understand?"

  She stared at him, wondering what he meant. And then she remembered. The divorce papers.

  "Yes. I will. I underst
and."

  He saluted her with a quick wave of his hand. Then she stepped back and he pulled away from the curb.

  She stood there, staring after him, clutching her blanket and her empty picnic basket to her heart, long after the Lexus had turned the corner and disappeared from view.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  « ^ »

  Lacey hobbled out of the back parlor and into the kitchen about half an hour after Mack left. Jenna was sitting at the table, her head bent over a sheet of lined paper. She looked up and pasted on a smile.

  Lacey saw the pain behind the smile. "What's happened? Are you all right?"

  Jenna licked her lips. They felt very dry, for some reason. "Mack's gone. He said to tell you goodbye."

  Lacey maneuvered herself the rest of the way to the table, and lowered herself into a chair. She set her crutches on the floor beside her as Jenna pushed another chair her way. Carefully Lacey lifted her injured foot onto the second chair.

  "Coffee or something?" Jenna offered. "Breakfast, maybe?"

  Lacey waved at the air. "Forget about that right now. Are you serious? Mack just left?"

  Jenna swallowed convulsively. Then she coughed. "He didn't just leave. He … we…" She had to swallow again before she could finish. "It didn't work out, between us. So yes, now he's gone." She bent over the sheet of paper again.

  Her sister's hand came down and covered the paper.

  Jenna sighed and looked up.

  "Talk to me," Lacey said.

  "Lacey, I—"

  "Come on." Lacey's voice was so gentle. She lifted her hand off the paper. "What's this?"

  "I … I was making a list. I was thinking that it would help, for the next few days. To know just where I'm going and what I need to do. There's a lot to do, really. I've got to get back to the shop full-time. I have been neglecting it, these past few weeks. And this house…" She looked around the bright, old-fashioned kitchen. "This house really could use a good top-to-bottom cleaning."