“You don’t have to convince me of the merits of Mass Mentors. I’ve seen how it has changed lives. And, unlike yours, my family wasn’t always in this position, Jordan. Remember, I didn’t move to Wintersage Academy until my sophomore year, after AFM finally took off. If my father had not busted his butt to build that company, I could have been one of those kids in the Mass Mentors program.”
“You do understand,” he said, sliding his hand up her pants leg and caressing her calf.
“Yes. It’s an important part of the community. Just think of how great it would be if it were in more places in Massachusetts.”
“That’s just it. One of the items on Oliver’s agenda once he got to the state legislature was to work for funding for the program so that it could be launched statewide. That’s the reason I worked so hard to get him elected.”
Vicki reached over and stilled his hand. She waited until Jordan looked up at her. “What makes you think Darren wouldn’t work just as hard to get the program funded?”
His forehead creased in a frown, as if the thought had never occurred to him.
“God, I’m stupid,” Jordan said. He exhaled an anguished sigh. “I became so hung up on finding the discrepancy to prove that my polling was right that I forgot what was really important. The goal should be to make sure Mass Mentors gets funded, no matter who is in the state representative seat.”
“That can still be your goal,” Vicki said.
“Except that I’ve pissed everybody off because I let my own damn ego get in the way.”
“Go to the Howertons, Jordan. Talk to Darren about Mass Mentors. Explain what the program is about, and how it played into your decision to support Oliver’s candidacy. Darren is a reasonable man.”
“Reasonable enough to back a program I support, even though I still have investigators looking into whether or not he stole this election? And what if he did steal it, Vicki? That question hasn’t been answered yet.”
“Do you really believe that?” she asked softly.
“My gut tells me that I’ve got those investigators on a fool’s errand,” he said. “But I still believe in my polling data.”
“Then you have to go with what you believe,” she said, “or you’ll question it forever.”
Vicki set her wineglass down and scooted over to him, resting her head on his chest. She could hear his steady heartbeat beneath her ear. As the seconds flowed into minutes, the heartbeats began to thump at a faster pace. His fingers trailed lightly along her cheek, the faint caress seductive in its gentle promise.
“When is Sandra bringing Mason home?” Vicki asked.
Jordan lifted his wrist to check his watch. “Not for another hour.”
“Hmm,” she murmured. “I know you mentioned that you had work to do, but can you think of anything else you’d like to do with that hour?”
The soft rumble of his laugh reverberated along her skin. He lowered his head and whispered in her ear.
A cluster of wickedly erotic sensations traveled up her spine.
“I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time,” she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck and lost herself in his kiss.
Chapter 10
Jordan picked up a package of baby spinach and tossed it into the shopping cart. The “homemade” dinner he was planning to prepare tonight for Vicki consisted of prepackaged salad, canned vegetables and a frozen lasagna. He gave himself a fifty/fifty shot at not messing it up.
He never claimed to be a cook. The closest he usually came to cooking was warming up whatever leftover takeout was in his fridge. If his housekeeper, Laurie, were to see him in an actual grocery store, she would probably fall away in a dead faint. But he wanted to do something special for Vicki, even if his brand of “special” came already prepared. He decided to stop in at the bakery section to pick up an extrarich chocolate cake to make up for the lackluster meal.
“It’s a good thing Vicki likes us for more than Daddy’s cooking, huh, buddy?” he said to Mason, who was devouring the animal crackers Jordan had yet to pay for.
After adding a tomato, red onion and cucumber to his basket, he left the produce section in search of salad dressing. He had no idea if there was any at the house. The takeout restaurants always included more than enough with his order.
As he rounded the endcap stacked high with the canned artichoke hearts that had won the privilege of being this week’s special hot-item buy, Jordan nearly ran his cart right into Darren Howerton, Jr.
The tension that stretched between them as they stared at each other in the middle of the grocery store was palpable.
“Jordan,” Darren Jr. said, his voice stoic.
“How’s it going, Darren?” Jordan replied, trying to infuse a bit of lightness into his reply. It wasn’t all that long ago that he and the man standing before him had been friends. Jordan didn’t want to lose that friendship over this election.
“How do you think it’s going, Jordan?”
“I know things are a little awkward—”
“A little awkward?” Darren Jr. asked. “You accused my dad of cheating. I’d say things are more than just a little awkward.”
“I never explicitly said it was Darren Sr. who cheated,” Jordan said in his defense. “I said it was the campaign.”
“Ah, yes. The campaign. My father’s campaign. You can play whatever semantics game you want to, Jordan, but actions speak louder than words, and the minute you started up that petition you made your thoughts about my father’s integrity loud and clear.”
“Explain how he managed to win,” Jordan challenged. “Oliver was leading in the polls up until election day. Explain to me how your father pulled off that defeat.”
“I don’t have to explain anything,” Darren Jr. said, his mouth twisting with derision. “The election results speak for themselves.”
Jordan released a weary breath. He was suddenly very tired.
“Look, Darren, despite what you may think, I didn’t start that petition without giving it some serious thought. But something was not right with those election results. I would never have petitioned the outcome if I didn’t think there was some credibility to my theory.”
“You want to know what I think, Jordan? I think you’re full of crap.”
With that Darren Jr. turned and walked away, leaving his cart of groceries in the middle of the aisle.
Jordan’s head fell forward. It suddenly felt as if the weight of the entire world had climbed onto his shoulders and sat there, weighing him down.
He was no longer convinced that this fight was worth it.
Hell, Oliver refused to take it up, and it was his seat in the state legislature that was on the line. If it wasn’t worth it to Oliver to fight, why in the hell was he alienating lifelong friends over this? What did he expect to gain? Was it worth it just to prove that his polling data wasn’t faulty? Did any of that even matter anymore?
It was as if Jordan was running on autopilot as he went through the checkout line and drove home. He put the lasagna to bake and the wine to chill, but his mind was occupied with thoughts of his run-in with Darren Jr.
The only bright spot in his gloomy afternoon was Mason’s bath time. His son enjoyed himself so much in the tub that Jordan couldn’t help but delight in it. But when Vicki arrived not long after he’d dressed Mason in his pajamas, Jordan still hadn’t shaken off his moroseness.
“Hey there,” Vicki greeted as she entered the house. She lifted Mason from his arms and planted a kiss on his cheek. “How are you two handsome guys doing?” She turned her attention to Jordan and frowned. “Okay, really, how are you doing? You look like someone rolled over your dog, or, in your case, your favorite attaché case.”
“Good one,” he answered with a wry smile. She always managed to get a laugh out of him.
Motioning her to follow him into the kitchen, he shared his earlier encounter with Darren Jr. in the condiments aisle at the grocery store. While Vicki strapped Mason into his h
igh chair, Jordan retrieved the lasagna from the oven and served them both healthy portions, all with salad and sweet corn. He waited for Vicki to take her seat before pouring them both a glass of wine.
As he mashed up a bit of lasagna noodles on Mason’s Thomas the Tank Engine plate, Jordan brought his story to a close with Darren Jr.’s dramatic grocery store exit.
Vicki paused with the fork halfway to her mouth. “He left the shopping cart in the middle of the aisle?”
“Yeah. I was nice enough to return the ice cream to the freezer.”
“Wow.” She put the fork down and picked up the wine instead. She took a sip, then brought her elbows onto the table and rested her chin on her folded hands. “Now that I think about it, I’m not all that surprised by his reaction, Jordan. You knew you would alienate people when you started that petition.”
“Maybe I should just call the whole thing off.”
“And you think that will help?”
“I can’t piss anybody off any more than I already have.”
“Really? So you think calling a stop to it now, before bringing the investigation to a conclusion, is going to endear you to anyone?”
“No,” he said with a frown.
Vicki reached over and covered his hand with her own. “You demanded a recount because you believed there was an issue with the election. Do you still feel that way?”
“I do,” he said. “But the longer this drags on, the worse it’s going to get, Vicki.”
“The damage is already done, Jordan. Calling a halt to the investigation will only leave you with a bunch of unanswered questions. Whether or not the answer is the one you’re expecting, you won’t be satisfied until you see this through to the end.” She squeezed his hand. “See it to the end.”
Jordan tugged her hand to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss in the center of her palm. “You are the personification of the voice of reason, Vicki Ahlfors.”
“In the past that trait has led to some unflattering comments, usually by your sister when I’ve talked her out of doing something outrageous. Today, I take it that my voice of reason is a good thing.”
“It’s a very good thing,” he said.
As he smiled into her eyes, Jordan couldn’t help feeling that this was exactly what he wanted his life to be like for the next fifty years. Sitting at the dinner table with Mason and Vicki every night, sharing their day, planning out their future; at the moment, he couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted more. Never had a woman fit more perfectly in his world. He wanted her to stay here. Permanently.
He’d always been a man of action. He needed to figure out just what he had to do to make that happen.
*
“Oooooh. I recognize that glow,” Sandra said in a singsongy voice as she leaned against the counter where Vicki was working on the centerpieces for the Woolcotts’ Kwanzaa celebration. Sandra rested her chin on her fist, and said, “It’s the ‘I just got laid’ glow.”
“Really, Sandra? Must you be so crass?”
“How is that crass? You’re the one who’s wearing the glow.” She picked up a red-and-black Peruvian lily and pointed it at Vicki. “Let the record show that I said weeks ago that this was a good thing. Lord knows Jordan needed it.”
Vicki was pretty sure her face was the color of a fire hydrant. If anyone knew how to embarrass her, it was her friend here.
Sandra’s cell phone rang, halting her commentary on the positive effects a healthy sex life would bring to both Vicki’s and Jordan’s lives. When her face immediately beamed, Vicki automatically knew who was on the other end of the line.
Her own cell phone dinged with the arrival of a text message. She snatched the phone from the counter, hoping to see Jordan’s name. Instead, it was a message from Angela Darrow, a fellow florist who had a thriving design studio and nursery in North Andover, a town just west of Wintersage. She and Angela were far away enough that they didn’t compete for business, but close enough that, if necessary, they could help each other out.
Angela had a huge project—a decorating job for a wedding with a winter-wonderland theme—and had asked to borrow Vicki’s snow machine. In exchange for the machine Vicki had purchased last year when she’d decorated for the homecoming dance at Wintersage Academy, Angela was going to loan her the five-foot-high cornucopia she had in storage. She had no idea why her friend had a cornucopia that was almost as tall as she was, but it would be the perfect focal point for the Woolcotts’ Kwanzaa celebration.
As she headed west to North Andover, Vicki decided to stop in at Jordan’s to check in on Mason, who had developed a cold over the past couple of days. When she’d left Jordan’s last night, the baby had been so congested she could hear the rattle in his chest with every breath he took.
As she turned into the cul-de-sac where Jordan lived, Vicki spotted an unfamiliar black BMW in the driveway. She slowed her car, but continued toward the house. Vicki’s stomach dropped at the sight of the woman standing on the porch with Jordan.
Allison Woolcott.
She slammed on her brakes, not even thinking to look to see if there was a car behind her. Vicki just sat there for several long moments, paralyzed by the scene in front of her. Allison stood mere inches from Jordan, one hand resting on his shoulder. She wore stylish dark blue jeans tucked into calf-length boots, and a shapely white coat that showed off her drop-dead-gorgeous figure.
Every inadequacy Vicki had ever harbored came roaring back. There wasn’t a haircut or eye shadow palette in the world that could ever make her measure up to the woman standing on the porch with her hand on Jordan. Some women were born with that amazing beauty and the personality to match. Allison was one of them; Vicki was not.
Janelle’s earlier warning came back to haunt her.
What if Allison decides to come back?
Jordan’s ex had not been around in months. Vicki was certain that she was out of Jordan’s and Mason’s lives forever. Yet, here she was, looking as if she fit perfectly with Jordan.
Just as she was putting her car into Reverse, Jordan looked her way. Their eyes caught and held through the windshield, but Vicki didn’t dare to stay another minute. She didn’t want to see guilt or pity or sorrow in his eyes. She didn’t want to witness Allison gloating.
Vicki backed into his neighbor’s driveway and drove away. She didn’t even consider confronting them like some jealous girlfriend, and she damn sure wasn’t going to shed a tear over this.
She and Jordan had made no promises to each other. What they had was too new; she wasn’t even sure if it could even be classified as a real relationship.
“It sure felt like one,” Vicki whispered.
Still, it paled in comparison to what Jordan had with Allison. The two of them had a history—a rocky one, but nevertheless significant. They had been married; they had a child together, for goodness’ sake.
How could she ever compete with that?
It was simple: she couldn’t. She wouldn’t even try.
Holding her head up, Vicki didn’t bother to so much as glance in her rearview mirror. She continued driving, proud at how she was able to hold her emotions in check.
She stayed in North Andover longer than necessary, helping Angela decorate the reception hall and then treating herself to a nice dinner at a local steak house. That was right, she could dine alone and be just fine with it.
It was after nine o’clock by the time she drove through the gates of her subdivision. When Vicki pulled up to her house, she spotted Jordan’s car in the driveway. Maybe she should drive right past it.
What in the heck was she thinking? This was her house.
She pulled up next to his car and took her sweet time gathering her things before opening the door and sliding from behind the steering wheel.
“Let me explain about Allison,” Jordan said the moment she got out of the car.
“You don’t owe me an explanation, Jordan.”
“Apparently, I do, especially since you wouldn’t answer my
calls or text messages.”
Vicki hoisted her purse higher on her shoulder, folded her arms across her chest and leaned back on the driver’s-side door.
“Okay,” she said. “If you feel you have something to explain, go right ahead.”
“I called Allison,” he started.
His words slammed into her like a fist to the gut. He’d called his ex-wife?
“And she came running back? Just like that?” Vicki asked, proud that she could maintain the air of nonchalance she certainly wasn’t feeling at the moment.
“No, she took two weeks before she even responded. I called her because I wanted to talk to her about her family’s medical history.”
Her spine stiffened. She had not expected to hear that. “Medical history?”
“Yes,” Jordan said. “I called her the day after we brought Mason to urgent care. I had to fill out that patient information form and it had all these questions about both our medical histories. I realized then that I didn’t know anything about her family’s medical history.”
He held his hands out, pleading with her to understand.
“Allison and I were together for such a short period of time. We never discussed whether diabetes runs in her family, or if there’s a history of high blood pressure, or any of that. I need to know those things for Mason’s sake.”
“Of course you do,” Vicki said. She suddenly felt like the biggest idiot in the world.
“I can only imagine what you thought when you came over and saw us together this afternoon,” he continued. “I tried to call and explain, but you wouldn’t answer your phone.”
“I was an idiot. I’m sorry.”
“I think the idiot title belongs to me. I should have told you that I’d called her.”
A Mistletoe Affair (Mills & Boon Kimani) (Wintersage Weddings - Book 3) Page 15
