Jamie couldn’t listen a minute longer.
Armed with her briefcase, she turned.
The door burst open.
Slade McCafferty, all six feet of glorious anger, filled the door frame.
“Excuse me,” she said, trying to dodge past him.
“Not yet.” He grabbed her arm roughly and she sent him a glare as icy as the day.
“Let go of me, McCafferty,” she warned as the sound of a car, tires spinning in the snow, engine purring, reached her ears.
“Now what?” Slade looked over his shoulder, and Jamie caught a glimpse of the new visitor as he climbed out of his silver Mercedes. Her heart nose-dived as she recognized the driver.
Chuck Jansen had arrived.
Chapter 11
“I thought I might find you here.” Chuck’s affable grin was wide as he walked up the steps to the front porch where Jamie and Slade were standing. Tall, lean, tanned from skiing in the winter and golf in the summer, Chuck leaned forward to hug Jamie, but stopped short. His smile faded, and the arms that he’d opened fell to his side when he saw Slade’s hand upon the sleeve of her coat.
“I was just leaving,” she said awkwardly. Of all the times for him to show up. She yanked her arm away from Slade’s hand. “Chuck Jansen, this is Slade McCafferty.”
Eyeing each other warily, the two men shook hands as Randi, holding her sleeping baby to her shoulder, stepped into the foyer through the archway from the living room. “I thought I felt a draft. For Pete’s sake, Slade, close the door—” Her expression changed from mild irritation to concern, her eyebrows pulling together, her arms inadvertently tightening over her child as she saw the stranger.
“Randi, I’d like you to meet my boss and a senior partner for Jansen, Monteith and Stone,” Jamie said, recovering quickly as Slade pulled the door shut and little Joshua Ray let out a soft, sleepy gurgle.
More introductions were made as they eased into the living room, and Jamie realized her escape from the Flying M would have to be delayed.
“Chuck!” Thorne, looping a strand of tiny gold beads over the tree’s sagging branches, peered through the uneven boughs as Randi carried her son upstairs.
The attorney grinned. “I never thought I’d see the day,” Chuck observed as the twins clustered glittering ornaments on the lower branches.
Nicole, after a quick “Nice to meet you” and perfunctory handshake, continued sorting through dozens of boxes of decorations.
Jamie wanted to vaporize.
Chuck had recovered from the shock of seeing Jamie with another man. “I just didn’t think domesticity was ever your thing,” he said, needling Thorne.
“I’m a changed person these days.” Thorne cast a loving glance at his wife and stepdaughters. “A family man.”
“I see.” Was there amusement in Chuck’s voice, or just disbelief? As if a McCafferty could never settle down.
“Let me get your coat,” Nicole suggested, and Jamie, wishing she were anyplace else on earth, suffered through the small talk and offer of refreshments, all the while aware of Slade’s gaze upon her.
She realized that tiny pieces of straw were sticking to her coat and that her hair was a mess, probably punctuated with hay, as well, her clothes askew. She just wanted to leave, but Chuck had different plans and had her sit in as he asked for an update on the transfer of the property. He and Thorne cradled drinks and traded stories about practicing law together for a brief but obviously memorable time, then they moved to the dining room table and a pot of coffee.
Jamie felt like the underling she was. Worse yet, she sensed that Chuck was making a point about who was in charge of the McCaffertys as clients. Chuck and Thorne had worked together, and the intimation was that they were part of the same “good ol’ boys club,” an idea as antiquated as some of the furniture that still graced the law offices at Jansen, Monteith and Stone.
Jamie didn’t make too many waves, but did explain what was happening with the deed transfer and sale of the acreage. She didn’t mention calling Felicia Reynolds about the baby’s custody, nor did she bring up Thorne wanting the firm to use any means possible to locate Joshua’s father. Chuck was in error on a couple of points concerning the title transfer, and Jamie gently straightened him out. She wondered about that. Chuck was pretty sharp. Was he testing her?
While sipping coffee, they discussed every aspect of current legal concerns, and Chuck, good-naturedly, pitched the firm again, suggesting that “J.M.S.,” as he liked to refer to the law firm, could do a lot more for Thorne and his siblings.
It was after seven by the time Jamie left. Chuck promised to stop by her place. He suggested they go to dinner so that he could catch up on all she’d been up to. Slade, seated insolently across the table from Jamie, had listened to the exchange silently. He’d kicked out his chair and rested on the small of his back as he witnessed the interplay between Jamie, Chuck and Thorne, but he hadn’t said a word.
It was the longest hour of Jamie’s life. When Thorne offered drinks and cigars, Chuck accepted, and she made a quick excuse of having to get back to her house. No one argued, least of all Slade. She made her way to her car and was surprised when she heard footsteps behind her.
“You’re not seriously considering marrying that pompous ass, are you?” Slade asked, and Jamie gnashed her teeth as she opened the car door and turned to face him. Snow was falling again, creating a soft, shifting curtain between the parking area and the house where the windows glowed warmly, yellow patches of light in the coming night.
“I was thinking about it, yes,” she admitted.
Slade’s face was serious. “You’d be bored inside of a month.”
“You don’t know Chuck.”
“That’s right. And I’m not sure I want to. That guy’s dry as a bone on a desert carcass.”
“Thanks for the advice,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Do.”
She tossed her briefcase onto the passenger seat.
“There’s something else you should keep in mind, as well.”
“Oh? What’s that?” she asked, turning as his arms surrounded her and he pinned her to the car. “Now, wait a second.”
“Nope.” His lips crashed down on hers, reminding her of their recent lovemaking. He kissed her hard. Long. To the point that her knees threatened to give way and her heart pounded a thousand times a minute. The memory of making love with him was fresh, the scent of his skin tantalizing... Why did she feel this way about him? Why? Chemistry? Forbidden fruit? Flirting with the devil?
Or was she just plain nuts? A masochist who wanted her heart broken a dozen times over?
Slade lifted his head and looked at her with smoky-blue eyes. “That, Jamie. That’s what I want you to keep in mind,” he said as he released her and started for the stables in his long, easy stride. Breathless, she slumped against the car. Then she smelled a trace of cigar smoke and noticed three men on the front porch. Thorne and Matt McCafferty were cradling drinks, smoking big cigars and talking with Chuck Jansen.
“Wonderful,” she muttered under her breath as she slid behind the wheel and twisted her key in the ignition. Her little car sparked to life. She rammed it into Reverse and caught a glimpse of Slade in the rearview mirror. She threw the compact into first. With a spray of snow she was heading down the long lane of Flying M and wondering how in the world she was going to break it off with her boss.
* * *
“...so you and Slade McCafferty,” Chuck said as they sat across the table in a booth at a small restaurant in Grand Hope.
They’d spent the meal talking about what was going on at the office, how the repairs to Jamie’s grandmother’s house were coming along and the legal work the firm was handling for the McCaffertys, including discussion of Randi’s baby, custody rights and the identity of the missing father. But the conversation had steered clear of her involvement with Slade. Until now.
“Slade and I have a history.” She pushed her pl
ate aside, half her fillet untouched.
“Do you? You never mentioned it.”
“Didn’t see the need.”
A slim, blond waitress swept by and cleared off the plates. Bland music drifted around the cavernous room split by half walls and booths.
“So what’re you going to do about it? A history is one thing, a future another.” Chuck reached across the table and took her hand in his. “You know how I feel about you, Jamie. I was hoping you and I could work things out.” Gently he stroked the backs of her knuckles with the pad of his thumb.
“I don’t think that will happen,” she said, and withdrew her hand. “We want different things.”
“And you and McCafferty don’t?”
“This isn’t about Slade,” she insisted, holding his gaze. “It’s about you and me.”
“I love you.”
She shook her head. “But you ridicule me.”
“No, I—”
“Sure you do, Chuck. You did so a couple of hours ago with that tired old song and dance with Thorne at the Flying M. You tried to show me up, all under the guise of being my boss, of caring for me, of mentoring me, when we both know you did it because I’m a woman.”
“What?” His face showed sincere shock. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“You should have backed me up, Chuck. Instead, you tried to show me up by pointing out where I could have made a mistake, and you were grinning while you were doing it. That was the worst part. As if Thorne and you were in on some private joke over the poor dumb woman.”
“That’s ridiculous, Jamie. Paranoid. I never hire by race or creed or sex, you know that.”
Jamie barreled on. “The point you were trying to make was that, ‘Hey, I’ve got this young woman handling the case and she’s pretty good, but you know—’ and this is where you wanted to insert a wink, wink, just to make sure that Thorne was on the same wavelength ‘—she’s just a pretty underling.’”
“I didn’t do anything of the sort!”
“Sure you did. If Frank Kepler or Morty Freeman or Scott Chavez had been in the room and you’d thought they’d made a mistake, you would have taken a firm line with them, pointed to the error and cleared it up one way or another. There wouldn’t have been any of this patronizing, I’m-such-a-good-guy-helping-out-this-poor-little-woman attitude.”
“I didn’t.”
“Hogwash. I was there, Chuck.” She hooked her thumb at her chest. “And it made me feel small.”
He was actually horrified. Didn’t believe a word she was telling him. “Maybe you were overly sensitive. Maybe you were trying to make a big splash, impress the McCafferty brothers. Especially the hellion.”
“Low blow, Chuck.”
“But true.”
She couldn’t argue that point. Because some of his argument was true. There was a part of her, a small, petty part, that wanted to rub Slade’s nose in the fact that she’d grown into a successful attorney, that she’d become the kind of woman good enough for him, the kind of woman he’d thrown her over for years ago. She had money, looks, charm and success.
So what?
Big deal.
Right now it seemed trivial and vain. She poured cream into her coffee. Chuck was smart, was used to reading human emotion for the witness stand, so he probably understood the emotions she tried vainly to hide. Her need to prove herself to Slade was just wounded pride talking. Deep down, she knew that dealing with Slade was only asking—no, make that begging—for trouble. The kind of trouble she didn’t need.
And yet you made love to him. Wild, crazy, cast-all-your-worries-to-the-wind love. You haven’t gotten over him. All those years and all the pain, and you’re still a foolish, lonely girl who finds him sexy as hell. Which is just plain stupid.
His devil-may-care attitude may have matured a bit, but he’s still a wild man, one who isn’t putting down any roots, one to whom home is the open highway. And that’s not what you want. Or is it?
She took a sip from her cup, then set it down and stared at Chuck. “Regardless of what I do or don’t feel for Slade McCafferty, it’s not working for us. You and me. It hasn’t been for a long time and we both know it.”
A silver eyebrow lifted, begging her to continue.
“We want different things in life, Chuck. We’re at different places in our lives.”
“And I’m a supercilious prick.”
She nearly choked on a swallow of coffee, then dabbed at her lips with a napkin and nodded. “Well...yeah...sometimes.”
“Maybe I need a strong woman to keep me in line.”
“Definitely. But not me.”
Sighing, he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the booth. “I guess you don’t realize how much I love you and, yes, how much I like you. And that’s important. Whether you know it or not. You’ve never been married. Sure the passion, the spark, is important, but you’ve got to be compatible with the person you choose. You’ve got to like him.”
She didn’t disagree.
“And you’re right in the respect that I don’t want to have more children. Three is enough, if not just financially, then emotionally, personally and globally, as well. I’ve already done my share of leaving my genetic imprint, if you will, and, also, I’ve suffered through diaper changing, scraped knees, broken hearts and car wrecks—none of which is easy, all of which, I know, is important.
“But now I’m paying through the nose for college. By the time the last one is finished—and this isn’t including grad school—I’ll be almost ready to retire. I’m just not willing to start over and do it again. I want some time for me. What’s left over I need to give to the kids I’ve already got and the grandkids that will inevitably come along. My children deserve that.”
“And what about your new wife? Would she get any of that precious time of yours?”
“That goes without saying.”
“Does it?” She shook her head. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him. Chuck was baring his soul; she knew that. But it still wouldn’t work. Not for them. “I can’t give up the dream, Chuck. I won’t. Call me old-fashioned, or even a dreamer, but I want it all—a career, a husband, babies, station wagon—no, make that a minivan—and a cute little house with a garden, swing set and white picket fence.”
“And you think Slade McCafferty can give you those things?”
“I doubt it. I’m not talking about Slade or what he wants. I’m talking about me.” She opened her purse, withdrew her wallet and flipped it open.
“What are you doing?” He was aghast.
“Paying for my dinner.” She slid out her credit card.
“No way. This is on me. On J.M.S.” He was already reaching into his jacket pocket.
“Not this time.”
“I insist.”
“Of course you do.” She caught the waitress’s eye. “Would you ring this up for me?” she asked when the girl stepped to the table.
“Bring me the bill,” Chuck ordered the blonde.
“I—”
“I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
Jamie’s temper flared. “That’s just what I’m talking about.”
“I asked you to dinner.”
“Should I split the bill?” the waitress, her face anxious, offered.
“No!” Chuck was adamant, his male pride shredded.
“No, I’ll get it.” Jamie slapped her card into the startled woman’s hand and she glared directly at her boss. “And I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
“This is ridiculous,” Chuck snapped.
“Beyond ridiculous.”
They waited in tense silence. When the waitress returned, Jamie added a healthy tip to the tab and signed her name to the receipt. She felt freer than she had in years.
On the other hand, Chuck stewed. He tried not to be churlish, but he was steamed. Deep furrows lined his brow.
As the waitress turned her attention to another booth, Jamie hauled her purse
from the bench beside her.
“You can expense out the meal,” Chuck finally said, as if he was trying to find some way to deal with her erratic behavior.
“I know I can, but I won’t.” Jamie stood and looked down at the man she had nearly married. Oh, God, what a mistake that would have been. Impulsively she added, “I quit, Chuck. Not just this relationship, but the firm, as well.”
“Wait a minute, Jamie. Quit? No. Now you’re acting like an emotional female.”
“Well, good. Because that’s what I am. But I’m also a damned good attorney and you know it. I’ll be faxing my resignation to the office in the morning.” She left him gaping, looking like a landed fish gasping for air. And it wasn’t until she’d unlocked her car, started it and began driving through the snowy streets to her grandmother’s house that she realized what she’d done.
“So be it,” she said to her reflection in the rearview mirror. It was time to start over. With or without Slade McCafferty.
* * *
“So what’re you going to do about Jamie?” Randi asked as she padded into the living room. The house was dark, everyone having gone to bed, except Slade. He sat near the dying fire, glowering at the lopsided Christmas tree and remembering making love to Jamie in the hayloft. A drink sat on the table beside him but he didn’t really want it. Randi, in a worn robe and fluffy slippers, settled into the rocker, cradled her son and smiled down at his little face. She cooed at him as she offered him a bottle. The baby played with the nipple and stared straight into his mother’s face as if mesmerized.
“What do you mean, what am I going to do about her?”
Randi yawned. Her short hair stuck up at weird angles but her face, devoid of makeup looked healthy and fresh, no bruises or scars visible from the accident that had maimed her. “Let’s not go over this again, okay? We both know that you’ve got it bad for the lady lawyer, and if you don’t do something about it soon, you’re going to lose her to the likes of Chuck Jansen.”
“How can I lose what I haven’t got?”
“Oh, give me a break. This is how I make my living, remember? I’m a professional.”
“A professional who self-admittedly doesn’t have all of her faculties.”