The Expectant Secretary

“But I—”

“Did you have other plans?” His brow compressed into fine lines.

“No, it’s just that…well, I…”

“You don’t eat lunch, either?” He winked, giving her heart a lurch.

A smile tugged at her lips but she resisted. Still, his thoughtfulness touched her. Did he notice everything? “Actually, I am starving.”

“Good. Then have a seat.” He indicated the copper-colored suede chair she’d almost run over earlier then looped his tie around his neck. As he stepped into the private bathroom to tuck in his shirt and use the mirror to adjust his tie, he continued through the open doorway, “I thought we could go over some of those figures while we eat.”

Disappointment shot through her, followed by irritation. What did she expect? What exactly had she wanted from Brody? A date? She could have laughed at the absurdity of that thought. This was business. He was her boss. Nothing more.

“Do you like barbecue?” he asked, returning to his desk fully dressed, his tucked-in shirt accenting his trim waist. He unwrapped the paper-covered sandwich and the tangy aroma filled the room.

“Almost as much as chocolate,” she answered.

He grinned, and she realized she hadn’t seen him smile, really smile, since she’d started working for him. The way the elongated brackets surrounding his mouth creased his cheeks made her toes curl.

“You’re a real Texan, then.”

“Nothing but.” She opened her sandwich and poured an extra amount of sauce over the chopped beef.

“You didn’t grow up in San Antonio,” he said, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

“That’s right. Amarillo.” Sensing his unanswered question, she added, “It’s in the Panhandle. A good ways from here.”

“Were you homesick for Texas?” His pensive gaze made her feel restless inside her own skin. “Is that why you left Winslow so suddenly?”

She almost choked on a bite but washed it down with a deep pull on her soda. Her mind spun. She’d never told Brody why she’d left. Now it seemed too late, too petty, too painful to bring up what should have been forgotten. Even if she’d never gotten over Brody, never forgotten him, never forgiven herself for giving her heart so completely. But she didn’t want him to know how he’d hurt her. Not now. Not when it didn’t matter.

Reverting to the excuse and truth that she’d given the scholarship board for why she’d returned to the States early from her studies in Australia, she answered carefully, “My mother was sick.”

He gave a thoughtful nod. “Your letter said she passed away not long after you returned home.”

“That’s right.” It still gave her a strange, empty feeling that she couldn’t pick up the nearest phone and call her mother. She didn’t think the gaping hole in her heart would ever close from that traumatic loss. The loneliness had been unbearable during her marriage to James, when she’d longed to call her mother for advice. Now a sharp twist constricted her heart. She couldn’t share her pregnancy with her mother, either.

He paused for a moment as if to pay tribute to her long-ago buried mother. When he next spoke, his tone had hardened. “And then you married your old boyfriend.”

“Yes. James.”

His mouth pulled to the side as if he couldn’t make himself say the name. Several moments passed as they each concentrated on their sandwiches. Then he pinned her with a fine-pointed stare. “Has he made you happy, Jillian?”

Startled by the question, by the concern in his voice, her mind spun. Happy? Had James made her happy? Words clogged her throat. Her engagement had made her dying mother happy. The match had pleased James’s folks. She wasn’t sure what James had wanted. Another conquest? A Stepford wife to help him climb the ladder of success?

And her? What had she wanted? Security? Comfort? Escape from memories…and gnawing pains of regret and loneliness. Had it brought her happiness? No. Her marriage had only made things worse.

It was an answer she couldn’t readily admit. Especially to Brody. Her marriage to James had been a mistake from the start. But still the admission tasted bitter.

Instead, she skirted the topic completely with, “James is dead.”

Jillian Hart Tanner. A widow?

That description didn’t compute. Brody’s mind replayed her words over and over, as if trying to make sense of an illogical equation. It seemed simple. But the implications were mind-boggling. Finally the answer clicked and shifted his universe.

She’s not married.

She doesn’t have a husband.

She’s available!

A surge of unreserved, unabashed optimism flooded his soul. His pulse quickened, his blood pumped, hot and fast.

He stared at her, seeing her as he once had, beautiful, intelligent, single. But something in her eyes had changed. Sadness darkened, swirled in those aqua depths like storm clouds. He imagined her tears as she cried for her dead husband. Those tears poured over him, dousing his inappropriate excitement.

You fool, can’t you see she’s hurting? Can’t you be sensitive, instead of thinking of yourself?

Guilt saturated him, made him focus on Jillian. Her pain. Her loss.

“I’m sorry, Jillie.” Not sorry that James was dead. He’d never liked James Tanner. Hell, he hadn’t even met the bloke. But he’d despised him for taking Jillian away…for marrying the only woman he’d ever loved. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s not something I talk much about.”

He nodded. “Doesn’t come up in conversations easily, does it?”

She shook her head and stared down at her hands. Her fingers turned white. He wondered if it was a struggle every day for her to wrestle her composure, to combat the anguish.

Like a slap, the truth hit him, the sting resonating through him, making a part of him he’d thought long dead tremble. She’d chosen James. Not him. No matter how sharp the truth, he couldn’t forget or ignore that fact.

He looked at her from across the desk and read the shadowy pain darkening her eyes. So many questions spun around his mind. How long had she been alone? What had happened to James, a young man of their own age? Too young to die. Too young to leave a beautiful wife.

“When did he…?”

“Two months ago.”

“Hell, Jillie.” Shock brought the words too fast. “What happened?”

Daintily, thoughtfully, she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “An accident. On the road. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it.”

Lifting his hand, he wanted to go to her, reach out to her, hold her. But he knew he shouldn’t. He searched his soul but could find no words that might offer solace. He understood the need to turn inward, to protect the shaky walls of dignity.

Slowly he nodded his understanding and cursed himself for causing her more pain. His chest constricted with a raw burning agony for the heartache she must be suffering. He wished he could give her something to cling to for support—his hand, his arms, maybe. But he knew there was no comfort for a broken heart.

And damn if he ever wanted to be Jillian’s second choice.

It was the right thing to do, Jillian told herself over the next few days as they entered the last week of September. It was best if everyone, especially Brody, thought she mourned James’s loss. She wanted others to think she was a grieving widow. Even if the image she’d created was a blatant lie.

There was no reason to disparage James’s memory. No reason to let her wounds from her marriage ooze. She could clean them in private. But she felt as if she were keeping a dark, ugly secret, which made her feel isolated, alone.