MacAllister, he thought, get it together. Jillian was his Angels and Elves assignment, and he wasn’t doing particularly well in changing her mind-set about work. He was caught up in the magic spell of the woman, instead of concentrating on the mission at hand.
Well, hell, that was easy to understand. Jillian was fantastic. She was intelligent, fascinating, fun, and had a great sense of humor. And when they made love, it was like nothing he’d experienced before. It was as though they were meshing their hearts, minds and souls, as well as their bodies.
But he knew they were looking for different things from life. Jillian was adamant in her stand that she preferred to live alone, just as she was doing. The problem was, he just knew that she would view the future differently if she could put the ghosts of her past to rest.
Forrest frowned as he continued to stare at Jillian.
One of Jillian’s major concerns had come across loud and clear in each of her novels he’d read so far—the importance of trust. That message was Jillian’s voice, her beliefs and values. She had trusted him enough to tell him of her lonely childhood. She trusted him with her very essence each time they made love.
But there was a section of herself she protected. She hadn’t shared her past pain, or the details of what had destroyed her brief marriage. He needed her to take that final step, he really did.
Before he could completely believe that Jillian wanted a solitary existence, wanted to concentrate almost totally on her work, he had to be convinced that the past wasn’t dictating her future.
Why was he so determined that Jillian should trust him enough to reveal her ghosts? Of course, how else could he complete his assignment in the proper Angels and Elves manner if he didn’t have all the data he needed? There, that made perfect sense.
“Hooray,” Jillian said, clapping her hands. “They solved the mystery. I love it, I love it. The butler did it. Can you believe that, Forrest? The butler actually did it.”
Forrest crossed the room and put the fresh batch of popcorn on the coffee table. Sitting down next to Jillian, he pressed the button on the remote control to rewind the movie.
“Let’s take a break before we watch the next one,” he said. “All right?”
“Sure,” she said, reaching for a handful of popcorn. “You’re a terrific popcorn popper, Forrest.”
“That’s good to know. If things get slow at the office, I can moonlight as a popcorn popper.” He paused. “What did your husband do for a living?”
Jillian’s head snapped up and she frowned as she met his gaze.
“Where did that come from?” she said, a slight edge in her voice.
He shrugged. “I was wondering, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Because, Jillian, we are today the sum total of all we have been. You were married, but it didn’t work out. It stands to reason that it was a painful time in your life. I’ve learned so much about you since we met. We’ve talked for hours. But that section of your life is closed off, kept behind a protective wall.”
“I prefer not to discuss it.”
“I realize that, but it leaves a piece of the marvelous puzzle that is you, now, missing. I don’t know if this makes sense to you, but it’s important to me.” He continued to look directly into her eyes.
No, it didn’t make sense, Jillian thought. Forrest was talking like a man who was in a committed relationship, wanting to know all and everything about the woman he loved. That wasn’t remotely close to what they were together. He wanted love, marriage, a family. So what difference did it make if some of the pieces of Jillian—the puzzle, as he put it—were missing?
You’re not being fair, Jillian, she admonished herself. She’d gathered her data about Forrest, found out what she needed to know before declaring him to be The Project. Who was she to stand in judgment of what details were important to him?
But, dear heaven, he was asking so much of her. She’d buried it all so deep, refused to allow the pain to touch her again. If she dragged it all out into the open, she’d feel stripped bare and vulnerable. She would be trusting Forrest with a raw wound that might never totally heal.
“Jillian?” he said quietly. Trust me. Ah, Jillian, please, trust me. “Will you tell me about it?”
She drew a shuddering breath. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me?”
“Yes. I’m asking you to trust me.”
“That’s exactly it. That’s the issue...trust.”
“And truth, honesty, respect. Do you trust me, Jillian?”
Yes, her mind whispered.
There were no warring voices beating against her, no chilling doubts, no fear. There was simply a warm, peaceful, whispering word: yes.
“My husband was more than twenty years older than me,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “He was one of my college professors. Oh, I was so in love, or I believed I was at the time. I’ve since wondered if I wasn’t seeking a father figure because I’d never had a close relationship with mine.”
Forrest’s heart thundered, and he was hardly breathing.
She was doing it, he mentally cheered. Jillian was trusting him with her innermost secret. She was giving him, at that very moment, a very special gift, and he would cherish it.
“I got pregnant,” she said softly. “He...his name was Roger. He whisked me off and married me, moved me into his house, and that was that. It all happened so fast, I hardly had a chance to think. I continued in school, but two months later I lost the baby.”
“Ah, Jillian, I’m sorry.”
“I was terribly upset, really devastated, because I wanted that baby so very much.” Sudden tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them away angrily. “Anyway, Roger shrugged off the miscarriage and refused to address my sorrow. I felt...I felt as alone as I had as a child. There was no one there for me. No one.”
“What about your parents?”
“They never knew I was pregnant. I’ve never told them.”
“Dear God, Jillian, why did you do that to yourself?”
“Because I’m the only one I can truly count on to be there for myself,” she said, her voice rising. “That’s how it is, how it’s always been.”
“No, I...”
“Yes! Roger continued on with his life as though he’d forgotten he had a wife. I never knew where he was, when he’d be home. Oh, he was attentive and charming when he showed up, but... One day I cut class because I had a bad cold. I came home and there was Roger in bed with a pretty coed. She was that year’s model of the adoring student.”
Forrest swore under his breath.
“There was an awful scene,” Jillian went on. “The girl was hysterical, said she was pregnant with Roger’s child, demanded that I let him go so he could marry her, the woman he really loved.”
“What did the bastard say?” Forrest said, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
“It would almost have been funny if I hadn’t been so shattered. He looked rather bemused, then calmly said that it was best if he married the girl because she was, after all, pregnant with his baby. Surely I understood, as he’d done the same for me. I divorced him.”
“Jillian...”
“So, there you have it,” she said, lifting her chin. “Why you wanted that ugly puzzle piece, I don’t know. I’ve trusted you with the whole nasty story, Forrest. I was young, naive and gullible. I was also very stupid. But I learned from that experience. Oh, yes, I certainly learned a great deal.”
Forrest moved closer to her and framed her face in his hands. “I’m sorry you went through that nightmare, Jillian. I’d turn back the clock and change history for you if I could, but I can’t. All I can do is thank you for trusting me with your pain. I mean that sincerely. Thank you.”
“Well, it should make it clear to you why I don’t want any part of marriage ever again. Not ever. I’m doing just fine with my life the way it’s structured now. I don’t need to implement any of the compromises I spoke of so that I don’t have to work so har
d. I like my schedule just as it is. You’re the one who is due to make adjustments so you can have the family you want.
“We’re doing fine, Forrest, you and I together, because we understand each other, and we realize that we simply want different things in the future. But for now, there’s no problem.”
Wrong, Forrest thought, capturing her lips with his. There was definitely a problem. Jillian’s dragons from the past had to be slain before she could be free to have a future made up of more than just work.
His Angels and Elves assignment was becoming much more complicated than he’d anticipated, but he could handle it. He had to—for Jillian. It had nothing to do with him, really; Jillian deserved to have more in her life than she was allowing herself.
No, of course it didn’t have anything to do with him, personally.
He was simply going to see his Angels and Elves assignment through to its proper end.
Eight
Early the next afternoon, Forrest telephoned Jillian to say he had to make an unexpected trip up the coast to San Francisco. The woman who had replaced Andrea at MacAllister Architects was to have made a presentation to a group of investors planning to build a large apartment complex. The woman was sick in bed with the flu, and Forrest was going in her place.
“Oh, I see,” Jillian said, acutely aware of the wave of disappointment that swept through her.
Forrest chuckled. “Now don’t start in on me about working while I’m supposed to be taking time off. This is a red-alert emergency.”
“I understand that, I really do. How long will you be gone?”
“If everything goes as planned, I’ll be back Wednesday afternoon. This is Monday, so...yes, I should be able to wind it up by then.” He paused. “I’ll miss you, Jillian. That sounds too lightweight for how I’m feeling. I will really miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too. Listen, why don’t I cook dinner for us Wednesday night? Don’t expect fancy, because the few things I can make are very basic. I haven’t poisoned myself so far, though.”
“That’s comforting,” he said, laughing. “I accept your invitation to dinner. Take good care of yourself, Lady Jillian, and I’ll see you as soon as I possibly can. Bye for now.”
“Goodbye, Forrest,” she said, then replaced the receiver slowly, staring at it for a long moment before she moved away.
She wandered into the living room, sat down on the sofa, then got up again, too restless to sit still.
She felt rather...empty, she realized. As a writer she was accustomed to keeping her own company. It was emphasized at every writers’ conference she’d ever attended that writing was a lonely profession, requiring the person to spend countless hours alone in order to achieve her goals. She had no problem with that. She liked herself, and the comfortable haven of her home.
No, she’d had no difficulty with the isolation of being an author.
Until now.
Until Forrest.
“Perdition.” She halted her trek and pressed her hands to her cheeks.
What was happening to her? What was Forrest MacAllister doing to her?
She still found it hard to believe that she’d actually told Forrest the grim details of her disastrous marriage. She’d opened her mouth and the story had just spilled out. The unsettling part was that it had felt right, so good, to share it with him, and in the light of this new day she wasn’t one bit sorry that she had. Why?
Jillian threw up her hands and continued to pace around the living room.
She didn’t want Forrest to go to San Francisco. She wanted him here, with her. She didn’t want to be alone, she wanted to be with Forrest. She didn’t want to have to wait until Wednesday night to see him, she wanted to see him right now.
Oh, dear heaven, what did it all mean?
Jillian ordered herself to calm down. She needed to gather her data. She was on vacation, and during any other hiatus would be filling her idle hours with The Project. Since Forrest was The Project, it was perfectly reasonable that she would miss him, would feel incomplete because he wasn’t there, and would be a tad lonely.
Thank goodness, she’d figured it out. For a moment there she’d panicked, thought perhaps her emotions had run roughshod over her common sense. Thought perhaps she’d done something as foolish as falling in love with Forrest MacAllister.
Well, that wasn’t the case. She was under control, doing fine. She’d have to improvise for a couple of days, come up with miniprojects to tide her over until Forrest returned and resumed his role of The Project.
She would read, watch movies, plan the menu for Wednesday night’s dinner, then shop for the necessary groceries. She’d polish her fingernails, write a letter to her parents, go to Deedee’s store and spend oodles of money on books, and wash her car.
All of that sounded as thrilling as having a root canal.
She wanted to be with Forrest!
“Jillian,” she said, a warning tone in her voice, “knock it off, shape up, get it together. Now!”
* * *
Forrest once again found Andrea propped up against pillows on the sofa in her living room, her nose buried in a book. This time, however, his arrival produced a stormy glare from his sister, rather than a sunny smile.
“Having a bad hair day?” Forrest said pleasantly, sitting down in a chair he pulled next to the sofa.
“You’ve been avoiding me, Forrest MacAllister,” Andrea said. “You haven’t returned any of the messages I’ve left on your answering machine.”
“I’m a busy man. I have places to go, people to see. I’m out of here in a minute, and on my way to San Francisco. But I came by to tell you not to have the twins while I’m gone because I’d miss out on The Baby Bet, and that would not please me. I’m the current champion of The Baby Bet, and I have my title to protect.”
“You’d better protect your nose,” she said, glowering, “because I feel like punching it. If it wasn’t for Deedee, I wouldn’t know that you’re dating Jillian. You made her your Angels and Elves assignment and didn’t even tell me, you rat.”
Forrest snapped his fingers. “Slipped my mind.”
“Forrest,” Andrea said warningly.
“Don’t stress, Andrea. It’s not good for the munchkins. I didn’t tell you because you’d want details, details, details.”
“Of course, silly man, how else am I to know what’s happening?” She folded her hands over her enormous stomach. “Now then, tell all.”
Forrest got to his feet. “Can’t. Have to hit the road.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Bye.” He spun around and strode from the room.
“Oh, dear,” Andrea said to the empty room, “what have Deedee and I done? She’s afraid someone is going to end up with a broken heart because of this fiasco.” She patted her stomach. “Your mommy should never have played Cupid, little ones. I’m going to feel terrible if Forrest or Jillian get hurt. Oh, dear, dear, dear.”
* * *
Late that night, Forrest lay in bed in his hotel room in San Francisco, his hands laced beneath his head as he stared at the ceiling.
He’d called Jillian earlier and they’d had a nice chat. She’d sounded chipper, had told him that the day had flown by as she’d filled the hours with one activity after another, including washing her car. She missed him, of course, and hoped his trip would be a huge success. She’d see him Wednesday evening, and had said, “Good night, Forrest.”
He had fully expected to drop off to sleep immediately after speaking with Jillian, but three hours had gone by and blissful slumber was remaining annoyingly elusive.
Jillian, Jillian, Jillian, he mused. He replayed the sad tale of her marriage, hearing the trembling of her voice, seeing the flickers of sorrow and pain in her expressive gray eyes.
He’d been consumed with rage directed toward the unfeeling Roger, and had registered the urge to track the jerk down and wring his insensitive neck.
It meant a lot to him, it really did, that Jillian had trusted him enough to tell him ab
out her marriage. That trust was a precious gift he intended to cherish as the treasure it was.
So, where did he stand in his Angels and Elves assignment? Well, if by telling him about her past Jillian was able to put the ghosts to rest, then he was doing great.
She would be free to take a fresh look at the structure of her existence and to reevaluate her adamant “No way” regarding marriage and children.
Jillian married? To a man? Having that man’s child? Making love with that man to conceive that baby?
“Damn,” he said.
He didn’t like that idea one iota. The thought of another man touching her, reaching for her in the night... No!
“Cool it, MacAllister,” he said to the ceiling.
Okay, he was calm. Fine. The reason the image of some jerk being with Jillian was upsetting him was because he, Forrest MacAllister, was presently the one in Jillian’s life and in her bed. His initial reaction didn’t mean he’d gone off the deep end and fallen in love with her.
To fall in love with Jillian would be very, very foolish, as there was no guarantee that his Angels and Elves assignment would be a success. She could very well choose to continue her life exactly the way it was.
As for him? Well, he was registering a surge of hope that he just might be able to have the wife and children he yearned for. Jillian’s fresh take on the subject was beginning to make sense. Compromise. Maybe, just maybe, his deepest wish could yet come true.
Forrest yawned, and minutes later he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of sailing ships.
* * *
Jillian peered into the oven, then closed the door with a loud bang.
“Oh, posh,” she said, flinging out her arms. “Why aren’t you cooking, chicken? You’re just sitting there like a lump.” She swept her gaze over the multitude of dials on top of the stove. “Aaak!” she yelled, smacking her hands onto the top of her head. “I didn’t turn it on!”
She flipped the appropriate dial with more force than necessary, then burst into laughter.
When it came to cooking, she was a dud. She and Forrest were going to dine fashionably late. No, actually, they were going to dine so late they would be creating a whole new fashion of their own.
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