“Sympathy isn’t a word anyone associates with you,” she retorted.
They glared at one another for what seemed forever before Gillian managed to pull herself together.
“I was hoping that you could put aside your personal animosity for me to do what’s best for my dad, a man I happen to know you respect more than your own biological father. A man who trusts you enough to put his fate in your hands—even if you’re no longer officially part of the family.”
While their father’s decision to include Bryce merely annoyed her, it infuriated her sisters. Still, whatever they wanted to believe about Bryce, Gillian knew only John Baron himself was to blame for instigating this awful face-to-face meeting between his youngest daughter and the ex-son-in-law he loved like a son. Gillian hoped her father wasn’t playing them all for rubes. God help him if she ever found out he was faking his condition in hopes of contriving a reconciliation between them! The thought filled her with sudden guilt. A good daughter wouldn’t even entertain such a wicked notion when doctors had confirmed that her father was ill and in need of all the support she could give him.
Hoping a more philosophical approach would better advance her cause, Gillian posed a hypothetical question. “Can we at least agree that fate sometimes brings people together, even when they’re doing their best to stay apart?”
“I don’t think so.”
An exasperated sigh ruffled an errant tendril that had fallen over her forehead. Clearly she was going to have to appeal to this man’s overdeveloped sense of duty if she were to stand any chance of enticing him back to the ranch over the holidays. She knew that severing his relationship with her father had been particularly hard on Bryce. Asking him to become emotionally involved all over again with her crazy family didn’t seem fair, especially if her father’s condition was truly as dire as her sisters would lead her to believe. Terrified by death’s knock at her heart’s door, she couldn’t imagine anything more painful than watching a disease destroy someone she loved so dearly.
“I’ll only admit that I hate leaving John to the mercy of Jekyll and Hyde,” Bryce said. “I’m not surprised that they’ve grown tired of depending on your father’s generosity. I’m sure they feel ‘entitled’ to their inheritance before he squanders it all away on something as unimportant as the ranch he’s spent his entire life building.”
Gillian bristled at the insult to her sisters. However, since it was a step up from what he used to call them—the “bitch brigade”—she let it pass.
“How I would love to return a measure of the misery those two caused me over the years. I wonder how they’d manage if they were suddenly cut off without a penny?” A smile played with the corners of Bryce’s mouth as he mulled over the idea of karmic payback in his head.
Clearly he’d never forgiven them for encouraging Gillian to file for divorce when he could have used their support. Gillian’s voice turned as cold as the sleet building up on his front window. “If you could just let go of your anger toward them for one second and focus on a less vindictive—”
Rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the heavy burden that had been placed there, Bryce interrupted, “You always did have a blind spot where Rose and Stella were concerned, and while it shouldn’t make a damned bit of difference to me whether those two bitter old maids lock your father away or bamboozle you out of your rightful inheritance, I still consider myself a man of principle. Right is right, and wrong is wrong. So, as much as I resent it, if John has placed his trust in me, I won’t let him down.”
Gillian’s heart stumbled over itself.
“You’ll do it?” she asked, wanting to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood.
Bryce spelled it out for her in no uncertain terms. “I’ll do it for your father. Not out of any sense of misguided sentimentality or obligation to you.”
There was little chance Gillian would get the wrong idea about his motives, not when he was looking at her as if she’d just slithered out from under a rock. Biting her lower lip to stop herself from saying what she really thought, Gillian simply nodded.
“Whatever your reasons, I appreciate it,” she said. “Thank you.”
Those two little words cost her dearly. They hung in the thick space between them as their cups of coffee grew cold and the pendulum of the chrome clock on the wall swung back and forth in a perfect rhythm belying the chaotic nature of life.
Having made up his mind, Bryce suddenly became all business. “How do you propose we coordinate this little adventure?” he asked. “It shouldn’t be any problem for me to take time off work over the holidays, but I’d love to get this over with and be home in time for Christmas next week. How about you?”
The eyebrow Gillian raised in disbelief plunged them back into the same old argument that had plagued their marriage.
“I told you I’d eventually be able to spend less time at the office. If only you could have been a little more patient—”
“Patient!” she exploded. “What you called temporary was literally a lifetime.”
Apparently unfazed by the intensity of her emotions, Bryce had the acumen to point out the facts coldly. “You weren’t the only one who suffered over the course of our marriage. Why are you so certain that your feelings are so much more heartfelt than mine? Do all women assume they have cornered the market on emotion? Or just you?”
Gillian clenched her fists at her sides and wondered how they’d managed to live together as husband and wife for as long as they had without killing each other. At the moment there was nothing she would have loved more than to slap the smug expression right off his face.
“Can we get back on track?” she asked, wanting to appear the more mature of the two. “It’s pointless rehashing things we can’t change.”
She remembered all too well the times she’d complained about him spending so much time on his career to the exclusion of their home life. As a newlywed she’d been stunned by how lonely she’d felt when he was at work. It wasn’t as if his hours hadn’t been bad before they were married, but a part of her had hoped he’d make her a priority once they’d said “I do.” Since the divorce two years ago, however, Gillian had gained new empathy for what it took to make a living. It hadn’t been easy earning her real estate license and trying to carve out a niche in a challenging market.
How ironic it was that since becoming a full-time working woman, she’d adopted Bryce’s own over-the-top work ethic. Looking back, she wondered if she’d been too hard on him about investing so much energy into his fledgling software business, not that it excused him from neglecting his obligations to his family. It wasn’t the need for money nearly as much as his masculine pride and driving sense of ambition that ultimately put such a wedge between them. After all, her father had been more than willing to help them out financially.
“Christmas is a slow time for selling houses,” Gillian said, shoving to the back of her mind all the reshuffling she would have to do to keep her broker and clients happy. “Taking a couple of weeks off shouldn’t be too difficult,” she lied.
It was Bryce’s turn to look surprised. “I’m impressed that you’ve managed to strike the perfect balance between your personal and professional life in such a short time. Or is it safe to assume that your daddy’s money is supporting your little foray into the business world?”
“Go to hell.” Gillian resented the implication that she was just dabbling in real estate as a hobby courtesy of her father’s generosity.
“I’ve paid every penny back I’ve ever borrowed from my father—just like you did,” she said, taking perverse pleasure in reminding him that he’d once been financially in debt to John Baron, too.
Bryce barely reacted to that jab. While they’d been married, he’d taken his responsibility as bread winner seriously—much too seriously in Gillian’s opinion. It had cost his ego greatly to finally accept help from his father-in-law at her persistent urging. She believed they would have been far better off if her stubborn husband had relied
more on family rather than trying to do everything on his own.
“Glad to hear it,” he said.
The lopsided grin he gave her had Gillian self-consciously smoothing out a wrinkle in her skirt. She hated to think she was still susceptible to his charms, but wasn’t going to make eye contact just in case.
“Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember that all you once wanted to be was a wife and a mother.”
Gillian was surprised at the unexpected tenderness in his voice. It was true. Had fate not sent her blindly down such a cruel path, she probably would have still been deliriously happy with that humble dream. Struggling to overcome the pain that Bryce’s simple observation evoked, she abruptly changed the subject.
“It’s sure to be a challenge getting to the ranch this time of year. Flying out of Cheyenne to Jackson Hole shouldn’t be much of a problem—except for the exorbitant holiday price they’re sure to charge.”
Mentally, Gillian clicked off the days remaining until Christmas. Eight total.
“The hard part will be getting from the airport to the ranch in the dead of winter,” she added.
Since ten-foot snowdrifts made regular transportation impossible in the winter, Bryce suggested hiring a private helicopter or renting a snow coach.
“It would be easier just to pack in,” she countered with the glib attitude of someone raised in the heart of some of the most challenging terrain in the country. “If you don’t have any objections, I’ll go ahead and make arrangements for Sid to have a couple of snowmobiles ready for us when we get to Jackson.”
She wasn’t surprised that the thought of strapping himself to a sleek six-hundred pounds of raw power appealed to Bryce’s adventurous nature.
When he readily agreed, she asked, “Do you mind if I make a couple of phone calls before I leave to get the ball rolling? The battery on my cell phone died on my way here.”
“I think I left the portable phone in my bedroom. It’s down the hall and to the right.”
Gillian headed in the direction he pointed. A moment later she stood transfixed and trembling in the doorway of his bedroom.
Hearing her gasp, Bryce rushed to her side. “What’s wrong?”
Understanding dawned as he followed her gaze to the only picture in the apartment. Hanging above his bed the photo of an infant’s foot was enlarged many times over so one could truly appreciate the proportions represented within its gild frame. Two thumbs—Bryce’s and Gillian’s—cradled and dwarfed the tiny foot. A diamond wedding ring glinted in the background.
The photograph had been taken shortly after Bonnie’s premature birth, just a few short months before their daughter died of SIDS—while Bryce was at work.
Gillian stepped over the threshold and robotically made her way across the room to stand before the haunting representation of the fragility of life. On the bottom of the frame was a brass plaque upon which a single word was engraved.
Forever.
Bryce reached out to catch her as she stumbled.
Three
Steadying herself, Gillian shrugged off Bryce’s helping hand. She’d never fainted before and wasn’t about to start now, however shocked she might be. Righteous anger was as good as a shot of adrenaline for shoring up her rubbery muscles.
“What are you doing with that?” she demanded, pointing at the offending image.
The concern in Bryce’s eyes vanished so quickly that it made Gillian wonder if she hadn’t imagined it there in the first place.
“I’m so sorry,” he drawled sarcastically. “I didn’t realize that I needed to check with you before hanging anything on my walls.”
Reality trickled in with the light through the window, casting a supernatural glow on the photograph above his bed. She and Bryce were no longer husband and wife, and as such, Gillian had no business judging either his decorating decisions or his emotions.
“I would think such a poignant reminder would render you incapable of getting out of bed every day,” she said, her tone wavering between an apology and an accusation.
“Such a poignant reminder of what a lousy husband and father I was, you mean,” Bryce paraphrased.
Gillian’s silence spoke for itself.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I was a stellar son-in-law,” he added caustically. “Otherwise we’d be happily going our own ways like other divorced couples instead of dealing with complicated family matters that shouldn’t involve me.”
Gillian wouldn’t be goaded into admitting how hurt she’d initially been by the discovery that her ex-husband was the co-executor of her father’s estate. Choosing water over blood was a blatant betrayal on John Baron’s part, especially considering that Bryce was no longer even tied to the family by marriage.
Her gaze drifted back to the touching image on the wall. She’d almost forgotten how tiny Bonnie had been. Swamped by an unstoppable wave of grief, Gillian regretted letting herself be coerced into coming to Bryce’s apartment. Just as she had been afraid it would, this encounter only served to stir up painful memories.
Bryce’s features softened. “Would you like me to have a copy made for you?” he asked.
Gillian was surprised by his thoughtfulness. For a fleeting instant, she seriously considered the offer. Certainly her own bare apartment could stand such a loving touch. Since moving in, she’d done little but use it as a place to eat and fall asleep after pouring all her energies into long days at the office. Meeting clients at all hours and strong sales were rapidly making her a rising star in her profession and giving her virtually no time to remember her old life. Which was, of course, the point.
“I don’t think I could bear it,” she explained, amazed that he could.
After Bonnie’s death, he had been the one to encourage her to let go of the past and move on. Despite her needing him, Bryce had spent more and more time at work. Although a part of her had wanted to mend their marriage somehow, Gillian’s sisters had made her realize that Bryce would never change.
When she presented the divorce papers, he refused at first, but eventually signed. Considering him cold-hearted for putting work ahead of her and Bonnie, Gillian was amazed now to see him immortalize their baby in such a sentimental, moving manner.
Swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, she struggled to keep from crying. She blinked hard and forced herself to look away. The last thing she could afford to do was think Bryce had changed. A part of her still loved him despite their turbulent past, and she knew herself well enough that any weakness on her part could send her back to his arms.
Damn it!
Bryce had never wanted to make this woman cry, especially when her tears were like kryptonite to him. His reaction astonished him. In spite of all the painful things they’d gone through, he still felt a tug of protectiveness at the sight of her fighting back tears. He’d always had a soft spot where Gillian was concerned.
She was still just as beautiful as he remembered with her Snow White fair complexion, dark hair, amethyst eyes and those full, pouty lips that made all men thank God for making women. There was no denying that lust was what had initially attracted him to her, but that hadn’t been the only element at play. The first time they met, he’d felt an aura of goodness surrounding Gillian that one often associated with fairy-tale heroines.
Bitterly Bryce reminded himself that real life didn’t promise any magical happily-ever-afters, and that sometimes evil stepsisters triumphed over Prince Charming with poisoned words, not apples. By the time he finally signed the divorce papers with which he’d been served, he couldn’t be sure whether Gillian wasn’t a monster herself.
She’d averted her gaze from the picture of Bonnie to a photograph on his nightstand. In it, he had an arm draped affectionately around the shoulders of a pretty blonde who was in her mid-thirties. A little tow-headed boy standing next to him clutched Bryce’s free hand and grinned into the camera.
“I presume that’s Vi.” Gillian’s voice was flat and devoid of emotion.
Bryce nodded. “And her little boy, Robbie.”
“He’s adorable.”
“He’s a great kid.”
Bryce went on to explain that in spite of losing his father in a tragic automobile accident, Robbie was an incredibly well-adjusted child, who desperately needed a father. Wanting more than anything to be an integral part of a loving family again, Bryce was ready and willing to step into that role. He felt no need to justify his decision to put his miserable divorce behind him finally and rejoin the land of the living.
“Vi’s wonderful, too,” he added.
Gillian gave him a wobbly little smile. “I just hope she understands why you’re taking off over the holidays to help me.”
Bryce steeled himself against the wounded look that smile failed to hide. As a red-blooded American male fired by the memory of making glorious love to this woman, he may have little control over the testosterone rushing through his veins, but he did have a good deal to say about committing to someone who’d once used his heart as a toothpick. He definitely needed to think about Vi’s feelings and forced himself to concentrate on the logistics of this trip rather than the scent of the perfume wrapping around him in deceptively strong silken threads.
She had no right to begrudge him any measure of the comfort Vi brought to his life. Or the joy that her little boy shone into his lonely days.
“How soon can you book an available flight?” he wanted to know. “I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible so I don’t miss the look on Robbie’s face when he opens his presents.”
Bryce felt bad when Gillian’s eyes clouded over with longing for all the Christmases they’d never have with Bonnie. To be kind, he neglected to add that he didn’t want to miss Vi’s response, either, when she unwrapped her present from him: a three-carat diamond engagement ring that was far more impressive than the one he’d barely been able to afford for Gillian once upon a time.
The Millionaire's Miracle Page 2
