Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas Gift\The Soldier's Holiday Homecoming\Santa's Playbook (7 page)

Mercifully, Casey seemed to give up and returned to the pool table across the room.

She kept her back toward him and pulled in a deep, necessary breath.

Arlo was talking in her ear, saying something sweet about his looking forward to it, too, and guilt congealed inside her. But it wasn't enough to make her do what her conscience demanded: cancel the date.

Not with Casey standing fifty feet away.

Finally, the call ended and she hung up, only to have the thing ring again before she'd even taken away her hand. She picked it up, expecting Arlo had forgotten to relay some detail.

But it wasn't Arlo.

It was her ex-husband, and true surprise swept through her. Since their divorce nearly ten years earlier, their encounters—despite his involvement in her purchase of Colbys—had been few and far between. Not because of acrimony, but simply because he was always busy. He was a died-in-the-wool workaholic. He had been before their divorce and nothing had changed after. The only thing that had was that his work had paid off. He'd become ridiculously successful along the way. And as a way of making it up to her for the failed marriage, he'd given her the means to buy Colbys. “Gage! How are you?”

* * *

Casey heard her greeting from across the room and biffed the shot he'd lined up so badly that Axel practically howled with laughter.

He ignored his cousin and tried to listen to Janie's end of the conversation. But she still had her back turned, and though the volume on the jukebox was low at that particular time of day, it was loud enough that he could catch only one word out of every ten.

Whether he could hear or not, though, he could still read the visual cues, including the way she suddenly reached out for the stool she kept behind the bar and sat down. The way she rested her forehead in her hand, nodding occasionally as she listened, the receiver clutched in her fist.

She'd told him, shortly after they'd squabbled their way into bed together, how her ex-husband had enabled her purchase of Colbys. He'd said then, and he'd still say it now, that a financial investment of that magnitude meant there were more ties left between them than she admitted. That there was still unfinished business between her and her ex-husband. She, of course, had contradicted him pretty much the way she contradicted most everything he said.

But there'd been no point in arguing with her about it. As she'd said then, why did it matter to him, anyway? It wasn't as if he had any cause for jealousy. There were no emotional entanglements between her and Casey.

Continuing to gnaw at the issue might have suggested otherwise.

So he'd left it alone.

And now Janie was showing all the signs of shocked devastation over whatever was being said by her ex-husband.

She hung up the phone, and even from across the bar, Casey could see her pallor before she disappeared into the storeroom.

He stuck his cue back on the wall rack and headed after her.

“'Bout damn time,” he thought he heard Axel mutter behind him, but he couldn't be sure, because his cousin had a mouthful of pecan pie.

She was in her office, hunched over in her chair, staring blankly at her computer screen. The same one she'd said she was going to replace but obviously had not.

And the second he stepped into view, she stiffened. “Authorized personnel only back here.”

He crouched beside her chair, spinning it around so she had to face him. “What's wrong?”

She did her level best to push his hands off the chair arms but was no match for him. After a moment, she gave up and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I'm sorry.” Her cool tone said she was anything but. “Didn't we establish already that sharing what's upsetting us is
very
clearly out of bounds?”

He frowned. He wasn't likely to forget what had occurred when she'd shown up at his house. He didn't want to verbally regurgitate those events, but he knew she deserved something from him. An apology at the very least. “That was a bad night. I didn't handle it very well.”

She looked away, but not quickly enough to hide the sheen in her eyes, and he felt even more like the crumb he was.

“I'm sorry,” he said gruffly. “Don't cry.”

“Don't flatter yourself.” She dashed the back of her hand over her cheek. “I'm upset because my mother-in-law,
former
mother-in-law, had a major stroke last night. She died this morning. She was a really great lady and deserves my tears.”

Whereas he didn't. Message received loud and clear.

“I'm sorry,” he said again. He'd lost two people—probably three—whom he'd spent the past few years trying to protect. But that wasn't something he could share. He pushed to his feet. “Is there anything I can do?”

Her brows pulled together as she eyed him. “Like what?” Her lips twisted. “You want to go with me to her funeral? You've got an appropriate suit, at least.”

His jaw tightened at her sarcasm. “Yeah.” The word was abrupt, coming out before he thought better of it. “I'll go with you.”

Her frown smoothed, only because the sarcasm had gone lax with disbelief.

“Unless you'd rather have your new boyfriend with you.
Arlo
,” he prompted when she just stared.

“You're serious,” she said slowly. “You'd go with me to Althea's funeral. It'll be in Denver.”

The back of his neck pricked defensively. “I said so, didn't I?” He pushed his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. “But I'm sure you'd prefer your sister.”

“Already trying to get out of it. Figures.”

He managed not to swear. “I'm not trying—”

“Don't sweat it, Casey,” she said. “As it happens, my sister is traveling with her husband for the next few weeks. But I'm a big girl. I can get myself to Denver and back all by myself.” She swiveled her chair around to face the computer and hit the power button. “You'd just get called into solving some video game emergency anyway.”

The computer remained dead silent.

She would try the patience of a saint. And he was definitely no saint. Not even close.

He spun her chair around again. “I
said
I would go with you.”

Her expression was mutinous. But her throat worked. And the sheen in her eyes grew until big fat tears, two of them, crept slowly down her cheeks. The coffee-brown of her eyes had turned to wet, glowing amber. “Why?”

He straightened again. Moved away from her before he did something stupid. “Because we're friends.” He pushed out the gruff words. “So just...just let me know when it is and I'll be there. Okay?”

She swallowed. Moistened her lips. Then slowly nodded. “Okay.”

Chapter Seven

T
hree days later, Jane was heading up the stairs of a private Cee-Vid jet parked on a runway just outside Weaver she hadn't even known existed.

She was still wondering why she'd agreed to Casey's offer.

It had made no sense at the time he'd made it. Once Gage had finalized the details for the memorial service and she'd relayed them to Casey, it had seemed even less sensible.

Particularly when he'd insisted there was no reason they needed to spend seven or eight hours in a car driving all the way to Denver when he had access to Cee-Vid's transportation, which could make quick work of it.

Yes, she knew the gaming company was successful. There were commercials on television for new releases of their various games. Both children and adults clamored for every system they produced. And though she considered it an odd quirk that the billion-dollar company was headquartered in little Weaver, she chalked it up to the fact that the CEO, Tristan Clay, was loyal to his hometown. Locally, the company employed a few hundred people. She could only guess how many worked at its other locations but figured it had to be hundreds more.

But it still surprised the heck out of her to learn the company had its own jet that evidently flew right out of its own airstrip.

She wasn't looking forward to the trip.

Not with Casey.

Not to say goodbye to a woman who'd been as decent and hardworking as Althea had been.

Her nerves felt knotted as Jane stepped onto the plane. Inside, it resembled someone's professionally decorated living room a lot more than any other passenger plane she'd ever seen.

She looked at Casey behind her. He was ducking his head to clear the top of the doorway as he entered.

She quickly looked away, tightening her grip on the overnighter she was carrying.

The memorial service was later that afternoon. They could have made the trip there and back in one day, except Gage had asked her to stay after the service. The family was having a private dinner at the Denver Ritz-Carlton and even though, technically, she was no longer part of the family, he'd still wanted her there. Her ex-husband had promised to take care of the hotel accommodations, and he'd even included Casey in the invitation when she'd warned Gage she was bringing a “friend.”

She'd tried using the dinner as a reason for Casey to change his mind. But he'd been unswerving, telling her to stop arguing when she'd reminded him that family dinners—former or current—weren't part of their world.

So here they were.

She moistened her lips and stepped across plush taupe carpet farther into the plane.

“Give it up, sport. That needs to be stored. Coat, too, if you want.” Casey's hand brushed hers as he took the tote from her that she'd insisted on carrying herself while she shrugged out of her knee-length black dress coat. He opened a hidden cupboard and hung everything inside, along with the small battered duffel he'd brought. Then he shut the cupboard with a soft snap and gestured toward the six comfortable-looking chairs. “Take your pick.”

Feeling a little as if she'd fallen down the rabbit hole, she took the nearest chair. It was like sinking into a cloud. Even the upholstery felt more like velvet than the leather it was. There was a lap belt to fasten—the only item reminiscent of a regular airplane seat. Otherwise, the chair rocked and swiveled, and she suspected it would recline if she knew how to do it.

He took the seat opposite her and stretched out his long legs. His black shoes were polished and seemed more fitting for a Wall Street banker than the man she knew. He was wearing the same black suit he'd worn the day he'd returned her wallet. But today the shirt was dark with tiny ivory checks—still as far away from psychedelic floral prints as it could get—and the tie was black. He hadn't brought an overcoat.

The door to the cockpit opened and a clean-cut young man in a white shirt and navy slacks appeared. “Good afternoon.” He greeted Jane with a professionally polite smile. Then his tone went a shade deferential. “We'll be under way in a few minutes, Mr. Clay.”

“Sounds good, Tim.”

Unlike Jane, who was watching the young man—Tim—hit a lever that retracted the steps, Casey was watching
her
. It was all she could do not to shift nervously in her chair. Instead, she brushed her palms down the skirt of her plain black dress to smooth it on her thighs and pretended to ignore him.

Once the stairs had disappeared into some magical cavern she couldn't see from her position, Tim secured the outer door and went back through the cockpit door, which he closed behind him.

Even though she knew she and Casey weren't alone on the plane, it suddenly felt as if they were.

She pressed her lips together and crossed her legs.

Casey's hooded gaze seemed to drop to them.

She shifted and crossed them the other way and turned her chair so she could look out the porthole window beside her. Beyond the single runway—which had only one tiny building alongside it, where Casey had parked his truck—there was just open field, gold with dying grass, and wide blue sky overhead.

“Never figured you for a nervous flier.”

It wasn't the flying that made her nervous. It was him. And she wasn't about to admit it. “When I'm on a plane that looks bigger than a toy, I'm not.”

She wasn't looking at him, but she felt his amusement at that.

“So tell me about Althea.”

She chewed the inside of her lip. The plane was already moving, engines roaring as they picked up speed down the paved strip. She guessed that was one advantage of having a private airstrip: not having to wait in lines for other planes to take off. “She was Gage's mother.” She stated the obvious. She realized she was holding her breath when the plane whooshed, leaving the ground. Then she sighed as the landscape below rapidly fell away from the plane. She shifted again in the chair, nudging the carpet with the toe of her black pump to turn the chair toward him once more.

“Is his dad still alive?”

“No. Gage never knew him. He died before Gage was even a year old. Althea raised him and his brother, Noah, on her own.”

“Older?”

“Younger. They had different fathers.” She didn't know how to describe Noah, exactly, so she didn't try. He'd barely been a teenager when she and Gage had divorced. And even at just thirteen, he'd been a handful. “Althea never married either one. She was an extremely independent woman.”

“And another example of why
you
want to be married before you have a kid?”

“Althea wasn't like my mom. They might have both chosen their paths, but that's their only similarity.” She lifted her shoulder. “My mom got pregnant when she was seventeen. She kicked out my father when I was seven.” And Jane had a very clear memory of that dreadful time. The screaming. The crying. “Julia was five.”

“You admired Althea. But not your mom.”

She frowned. “I never said that.”

“You didn't have to, sport. I can hear it in your voice every time you talk about her. You told me a few years ago that she'd died before you moved to Weaver. But why'd she kick him out?”

“No idea.”

“You didn't ask?”

“Of course I asked! She
had
no good reason. None she offered. And now she's gone, so there's no point wondering anymore anyway!”

He rested his head against the back of his chair. His long fingers were loosely linked across the flat plane of his stomach. He looked completely relaxed and at ease.

But his gray eyes were watchful. And they made her feel anything but at ease.

“What happened after your dad left? You and Julia spend any time with him?”

“Never saw him again. Last I heard, he was in California with a whole new legitimate family. Evidently, he wasn't against marriage. Just against marriage to my mother.”

He frowned a little. “If you have siblings out there in the world, aren't you curious about them?”

“Would you be?”

He let that pass, revealing nothing, which was typical for him. “And you blamed your mom for it all.”

She exhaled. “Hayley Templeton's the one qualified to be a therapist. Not you.”

“Some things don't need fancy schooling to figure out.”

She didn't have a response for that. Not a polite one, anyway, and manners at least dictated that she try not to argue with him outright while on a private plane ride
he
had arranged.

“So did you get permission to use the plane because Tristan Clay's your uncle, or because you're oh-so-important to the company he owns?”

His lips twitched. “Pretty obvious change of subject there, Janie.” He glanced out the window beside him as the plane leveled off, then unfastened his safety belt and stood. He shrugged out of his suit coat and tossed it over the back of the vacant chair next to him.

“That's going to wrinkle.”

“So?”

“So you should hang it up.”

“It's fine.”

She caught herself from letting out a huff. “Fine. You're a grown man. If you want to be wrinkled, that's your business.”

“You just can't stand it when someone doesn't do what you think they should do.”

She ignored that. “So? Which is it? I mean, do I need to send a thank-you note to your uncle?”

“Do you practice being annoying, or were you born with the gift?” He pulled his tie loose a few inches and freed the collar button. Then he opened another cupboard door much like the one hiding the storage compartment where he'd stowed their bags. But this one hid a refrigerator. He pulled out two bottles of water and tossed her one, then returned to his seat, hitching one ankle over his knee.

Manners be damned. “Back atcha,
sport
.” She twisted open the plastic cap and drank. “As it happens, nobody else seems to find me particularly annoying. So I guess it is just you who brings out the best in me.”

“What'd you tell Arlo?”

She pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth, gathering her scattered wits. “Nothing to tell,” she said. “I'm just going home to Denver for a memorial service.”

“With another man.”

She was glad for the water. It gave her hands something to do and combatted her dry mouth. “With another
friend
.” She took a few more sips, then waved the bottle around, taking in the luxurious interior. “That's why we're here, isn't it?”

His lips looked a little thin, but he gave a nod, acknowledging the point. “So what else is there about Althea?”

Frustration gurgled inside her. “She, um, she worked for a guy named Julian Locke.”

“Of Locke Technologies?”

She didn't know why she was surprised he'd have heard of the Colorado-based company. “Yeah. She was his assistant for twenty-five years. Gage was working there when we met in college. I was a freshman. He was a senior.” The details didn't seem to particularly interest him and she felt foolish for having offered them. She sipped the water and turned again to look out the window. The flight would only take a little while longer than a commercial one. And since they hadn't needed to drive to Gillette first to catch a flight, it would come out even in the end. “This
is
a pretty nice airplane.”

“I'll tell my uncle you approve.”

Despite herself, she felt a smile tug at her lips.

* * *

They landed about an hour later. Jane's ex-husband had sent a car that took them straight to the church where the service was being held. They were a little early, but not enough to stop off at their hotel and get checked in.

Early or not, Jane's ex-husband was already there. Even though Casey had never met Gage Stanton, he knew plenty about the other man, though not from Jane. He didn't even feel guilty about poking his cyber nose into his business.

What Casey didn't know, though, was what kind of ties still existed between Jane and him.

That they
did
exist was obvious as hell when the tall dark-haired man wrapped his arms around Jane, lifting her right off her black high heels as he hugged her tightly and kissed her square on the lips.

It was all Casey could do not to rip her away from the man.

Finally, Gage set her down and looked over her head at Casey.

Jane, still nestled against her ex-husband's side, turned her gaze back on Casey, too. He saw tears in her eyes again. She licked her lips and tucked her hair behind her ears. It was one of the few times Casey had ever seen her leave it down. Outside of bed, that was.

She waved her hand toward him. “Gage. This is Casey Clay.”

No other explanation. Maybe she'd already given one. How the hell was Casey supposed to know?

“Casey.” Gage held out his hand. “Good to meet you.”

Casey wasn't so sure. He shook Gage's hand, though, mentally taking the other man's measure, knowing his was being taken in return. Gage was just as tall as Casey. A little heavier. A few years older. His grip was firm. Casey had no reason to dislike him, except for his connection to Jane.

And the proprietary arm the guy still had around her shoulder.

“My condolences,” he offered.

Jane's gaze skipped from Casey's back to Gage's. “I'm just going to freshen up, and then Casey and I should probably get inside. There'll be other people you'll need to greet. Noah—”

Gage's lips tightened. “He won't be here.”

Jane squeezed his arm. She didn't look surprised. “I'm sorry,” she murmured. Then, flicking another glance at Casey—which had a warning in it as if she were afraid he'd misbehave or something—she hurried down the hall off the church entrance where they were standing.

She was obviously familiar with the church's layout. She knew where she was heading.

He wondered if she and Gage had been married at the church, too. Maybe it was where all family events were observed. The same way the Weaver Community Church saw most of the Clay family weddings and burials.