The Millionaire's Miracle

by Cathleen Galitz

  Back when he’d been struggling to make a go of his fledgling company, his starry-eyed bride had assured him she didn’t care about the finer things in life like diamonds and fancy trips that he was so bent on buying for her. All Gillian wanted was for him to spend more time at home with her and the baby. Even now, Bryce wished there was some way he could have made her understand about a man’s sense of pride. About his need to provide more than just the basic necessities for his family. About his desire to make something of himself that would make a wife proud.

  Now that the company he’d started was about to turn his dream of becoming a millionaire into reality, Bryce wondered if Gillian would ever regret leaving him. Since she hadn’t believed in him back when it meant so very much to him, he felt that crowing about his success now would be little more than a hollow victory.

  Studying the emotions playing across his ex-wife’s face, he hoped that Gillian wasn’t going to try to make him feel guilty about moving on with his life, especially since he’d never wanted the divorce in the first place. But now that their marriage was over and he had finally come to terms with it, he resented her showing up on his doorstep unannounced, reminding him all over again how very much he’d once loved her.

  “I’m happy for you,” Gillian said sincerely.

  While trying to say the right thing—or at least not the wrong thing—she prayed that the smile pasted on her face didn’t look as strained as it felt.

  She couldn’t imagine anything worse than having to spend time with her ex-husband on a long, drawn-out trip down memory lane while he was in the process of planning his wedding. No matter what the emotional cost, Gillian vowed never to let Bryce know just how much power he still exercised over her battered heart. Nor to interfere in his new life with his picture-perfect, ready-made family.

  Upholding her end of a polite conversation wasn’t easy, though, when her thoughts kept wandering to his impending nuptials. Would Robbie be the ring bearer or the best man? Would the bride wear traditional white? Would Bryce look as handsome and completely sure of himself as he had on their wedding day? Shaking her head as if she could get rid of those unwanted images like an Etch-A-Sketch, Gillian made herself focus on the crisis at hand.

  “Are you expecting your parents for the holidays?” she asked, hoping that wouldn’t present yet another obstacle to her scheduling nightmare.

  Bryce shook his head. “I gave them a cruise for Christmas this year.”

  “How generous of you,” she murmured.

  And smart…

  Gillian knew the only way his parents would take such a lavish trip would be if someone else paid for it. It came as little surprise to her that his parents would prefer some exotic location to the tedium of decorating a tree, wrapping presents and squeezing in time with a son who never could do enough to please them. Besides, she was no longer around to wait on them hand and foot while Bryce was blissfully off at work. If her sisters were the bane of his life, she could claim the same about his parents. She’d always believed Bryce to be closer to her father than to his own because Sedrick McFadden was so innately selfish. And cheap. The only thing tighter than Sedrick’s wallet was his wife’s pocketbook, and Gillian was convinced that was because it was welded shut.

  She imagined that Bryce’s generosity was born of the fear of someday becoming as stingy as them. From the time he was just a kid working both a morning and evening paper route, he’d been expected to earn his keep. Growing up, he’d been on his own much of the time. Only after he married Gillian did Sedrick and Donna decide to make up for lost time by visiting often—always when it was most convenient for them regardless of how busy Bryce was or how exhausted their pregnant daughter-in-law was.

  They treated each visit as their gift and her servitude as their just reward. Far more willing to share the good times than the bad with Bryce, they’d given Gillian the distinct impression that it had been a real sacrifice on their part to show up for Bonnie’s funeral in lieu of simply sending their regrets.

  Pushing aside those stale memories, Gillian tried to make herself present in the moment.

  “I’ll call you with all the details after I finalize our travel arrangements. I really do appreciate you doing this for me—for Dad, I mean,” she amended quickly, feeling her neck redden.

  She was growing more desperate by the minute to get out of this stifling place and was grateful when the phone rang, allowing her the opportunity to make a quick getaway. Only after she was safely outside Bryce’s apartment did her heart rate start to slow.

  Her hands trembled as she punched the buttons on the elevator. Try as she might, it was impossible to get the picture of Robbie’s cherubic little face out of her head. She was overwhelmed by old feelings of somehow failing as a woman. They were immediately followed by a swell of bitterness at a God who would give one woman a perfectly healthy child while depriving another of the same joy.

  Oddly enough, what cut most deeply wasn’t that Bryce was moving on with his life.

  With someone else.

  And a little blond angel who looked like a custom-ordered replica of Bryce when he was a boy.

  It was that, despite severing all ties to her old life, Gillian was permanently mired in the quicksand of the past, watching the rest of the world move on without her.

  Four

  Three short days later Gillian stood waiting in line at the airport, wondering if Bryce was going to bother showing up at all. Just as she had suspected, it had been a good deal easier obtaining tickets at inflated holiday rates than packing to accommodate the snowmobiles that would transport them on the final leg of their journey. Feeling like Charlie Brown so wrapped up in winter layers that she could barely move, she unzipped her coat to reveal a bulky sweater. Underneath her jeans she wore a pair of pink long johns.

  Recognizing her customized ring tone, she reached for the phone in her coat pocket and flipped it open. Even with all the background noise, Stella’s voice was unmistakable. Gillian was relieved that it wasn’t Bryce canceling at the last minute.

  “No, he’s not here yet,” she reported.

  As irritated as she was at the moment with Bryce, the last thing she wanted to do in a crowded airport was rehash the argument she’d had with her sister earlier about taking Bryce to see their father. Stella couldn’t understand why her contrary ex-brother-in-law didn’t just gracefully bow out of their private family affairs since he was no longer a member. If she ever found out that Gillian had been the one who actually talked him out of signing off as an executor, there was no telling what kind of protracted family squabble would erupt.

  “Still the same old, selfish Bryce, expecting the universe to wait on his overloaded schedule,” was her sister’s cynical observation.

  “He’ll be here. Don’t worry.”

  Gillian hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. One could never discount the possibility that Vi had decided at the last minute to keep Bryce at home because she didn’t want him alone with his ex. Of course, Vi had nothing to worry about since both Gillian and Bryce hoped they could go their separate ways permanently once they returned.

  “Little sister, when are you going to stop counting on men in general and Bryce in particular?” Stella demanded. “I don’t understand why you would expect him to take any precious time off from work on such short notice when you’re divorced. He certainly didn’t bother when you were married, back when it really would have meant something to you.”

  It still meant something to her, but Gillian wasn’t about to admit it. Stella might have good intentions, but her judgmental attitude did tend to grate on her nerves. She wished her sister would spare her the lecture and let her get on with the difficult task at hand. It was hard enough dealing with painful memories without having someone rub salt into old wounds. The strained silence on Gillian’s end of the phone did little to discourage Stella. Bryce used to say that she could put a dog with a bone to shame.

  “By the way, thanks for the birthday c
ard,” Gillian said, hoping to change the subject.

  In spite of her sister’s faults, she never doubted the sincerity of Stella’s concern for her. Still, Gillian was relieved when their conversation was cut short by another call. It came as no surprise that it was from the office. Even though her co-workers had promised to cover for her while she was gone, Gillian was generally considered indispensable at work. Having spoiled her clients with the kind of conscientious, personal attention that was a rare commodity in the business world, it was far more difficult for her to take time off than she’d led Bryce to believe.

  It wasn’t that her job wasn’t gratifying. Aside from the satisfaction of being a financially independent woman, Gillian truly enjoyed matching clients with houses that were perfect for them. She also took special pride in helping young couples purchase their first home; they greatly appreciated the decorating advice she threw in for free. Unfortunately all that talent was wasted on her own minimalist apartment, but Gillian was glad she didn’t have to bother asking anybody to water her plants or watch a pet while she was away.

  As much as her job served to numb the pain of losing a child and going through a divorce, Gillian was nonetheless ready for a break. It was just too bad that the plane she was boarding wasn’t bound for a tropical vacation spot instead of the one place certain to make her feel like a little girl all over again.

  “I left all the paperwork for the McVee contract with Becky,” she assured her boss before hanging up. Their flighty secretary was certain to be in for a lecture for neglecting to mention the fact to the broker whose blood pressure was dangerously high even on rare days when everything went right at the office.

  Stepping up to the boarding gate, she handed the attendant her ticket. “Any chance this flight will be delayed?” she asked, checking her watch for the millionth time.

  “There’s nothing to indicate that it won’t leave according to schedule, but you know what they say about the weather in Wyoming—If you don’t like it, just wait fifteen minutes for it to change.”

  Gillian thought the cheesy saying was just as applicable to Wyoming men as it was to its weather. Casting a final glance over her shoulder, she was relieved to see Bryce racing toward the boarding gate. Her pulse leaped, and she suddenly felt sixteen all over again. Hating the way her fickle body betrayed her, she supposed she should be glad to feel anything at all. For the longest time there had been nothing but pain beneath her skin, and she’d deliberately pushed away anyone who challenged her to feel anything else.

  Gillian reminded herself that she had no right to the tingling possessiveness that surged through her veins as every woman in the general vicinity swiveled her head to get a better look at the handsome man who skidded to a stop beside her. She passed him his ticket without saying a word. Instead she gave him one of the aggravated looks she’d perfected in their marriage. That he didn’t bother with an explanation—or an apology—only deepened her sense of irritation.

  Once on the tiny prop jet, Gillian located her seat next to a window. Since it was far safer concentrating on the tarmac outside than the emotions tearing her up on the inside, she turned to look at a world as bleak as the task that lay before her. Outside, men in jumpsuits cleared ice from the underside of the plane’s wings.

  “Do you still get nervous about flying?” Bryce asked, sliding into the seat next to her.

  She nodded, remembering how he used to hold her hand before the engines even wound up and didn’t let go until they were safely in the air.

  Feeling like a pebble about to be launched from a slingshot, Gillian told him, “Takeoffs are still the worst.”

  “Better than bumpy landings.”

  Digging her fingernails into the armrests, she wondered if he was referring to one that lay ahead of or behind them.

  “Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen,” a masculine voice announced over the intercom. “Today we’ll be cruising at an altitude of twenty-six thousand feet. At the present time the weather in Jackson Hole is a chilly twelve degrees. Due to our short flight time, I would request that you keep your seat belts fastened until we arrive.”

  The fact that she was wrapped up like a Christmas present made little difference to Gillian when Bryce’s hand settled on her thigh after he reached over to fasten his seat belt. Even through layers of clothing, his touch had the power to make her flinch. Hoping he hadn’t noticed, she didn’t release her death grip on the armrest until she heard the landing gear retract.

  “Thanks,” she muttered.

  “No problem.” He grinned, making her wonder if she was the only one who felt the charge between them.

  Determined not to dwell on it, she folded her hands demurely in her lap to hide their telltale tremors and studied the landscape below.

  Intricate patterns of snow fences snaked across the Great Plains for miles in all directions. From this vantage point she thought she and Bryce may have just as well been crossing the arctic tundra of Alaska as the frozen prairie of Wyoming. It was hard to imagine the hardships that men like her great-grandfather had to endure in laying claim to this land through homestead laws intended to settle the rugged West.

  When Bryce struck up a friendly conversation with another passenger, Gillian found herself resenting how much more easily he could talk to complete strangers than to her. By the end of their marriage it seemed they could barely manage to mumble simple courtesies to each other let alone hold real, meaningful conversations. Just as she feared when she first decided to contact Bryce, all the old horrible feelings associated with their divorce came tumbling back.

  Gillian dreaded returning to the solitude of wide-open spaces where there was no way of ignoring the ghostly voices of the past echoing off the red canyon walls, but she was no longer so certain that running away was the best way to rebuild a shattered life. Studying the lay of the land with a bird’s eye perspective, she couldn’t help but wonder if she might have been happier had she stayed put rather than succumbing to the allure of geographical change.

  When the Grand Tetons loomed into view, looking more like the Swiss Alps than anything belonging in North America, Bryce asked her permission to get a better look.

  “By all means.”

  She instantly regretted those words.

  The warmth of his breath against her cheek when he leaned across her seat was enough to make her light-headed. The smell of his favorite cinnamon gum took her back to a time when she’d felt free to kiss him whenever the urge took her—as it did now. She beat back that urge with a vengeance.

  “Does your father have any idea how much the old homestead’s gone up in value over the years?” Bryce asked, apparently unaffected by their close proximity.

  “I doubt it.”

  Gillian didn’t really want to talk about market values. It saddened her to think about selling the home where she’d grown up. No matter how much profit was involved, some things just couldn’t be measured in dollars and cents.

  From fifteen thousand feet up she was surprised to see Jackson Hole encroaching upon the wilderness that abutted the snowy valley lying at the foot of those majestic mountains. One fabulous mansion after another was being built in what was quickly becoming the Beverly Hills of the West. Perhaps it was too much to ask that the quaint mountain town of her childhood remain the same when she herself had undergone so many changes.

  “With so many millionaires having two or three trophy homes, I wouldn’t be surprised if most of those sprawling estates are vacant during the winter except for an occasional ski weekend or holiday,” she offered in the way of polite conversation.

  “I’d bet every cent of your next commission that both of your sisters know exactly how much the land is worth.”

  Gillian threw up her hands to ward off the attack. “Can’t we just leave them out of this?”

  “I would love nothing more than to leave them out of the rest of my life,” Bryce rejoined, “but I have a sneaky suspicion they aren’t about to let that happen any more than th
ey could keep their noses out of our business when we were married.”

  “Why is it so hard for you to believe that they’re as torn up about this as I am?” Gillian snapped, rushing as she always did to her sisters’ defense.

  “Maybe because you love that old man as much as I do. Or at least you once did.”

  Gillian felt her blood pressure soar. The man could provoke a saint to violence.

  “Who are you to question my loyalty—”

  Her response to his provocations was interrupted midsentence as they hit an air pocket and Gillian’s stomach lurched into her throat.

  The pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom. “We’re experiencing some turbulence and ask that you stow all unsecured items under the seats or in the overhead bins. Please fasten your seat belts and put your seat backs in the upright position.”

  Gillian hoped it was nothing serious. She had no desire to spill her guts to her ex-husband as her life flashed before her eyes and their plane crashed into the white abyss below. Still, when Bryce wrapped an arm reassuringly around her shoulder, she didn’t pull away. Grateful to have something warm to hold on to, she knew better than to read anything more into the gesture than kindness inspired by the terrified expression on her face. Even so, a comforting squeeze flooded her mind with memories of intimate moments they once shared.

  Looking at that big masculine hand on her shoulder, she remembered the simple gold wedding band she’d given him. Inside, she’d inscribed it with the same naive word that blindsided Gillian when she’d discovered it below that incredibly moving photograph in Bryce’s bedroom.

  Forever.

  “Trust me,” Bryce said in a voice that somehow managed to sound more authoritative than the captain’s. “Everything’s fine.”

  Gillian desperately wanted to believe him—just as she had when they’d made their vows to one another. Those words came back to her as clearly as the day they said them to each other in front of a crowded church.