The Substitute Fiancée

“Yeah,” the mumbler added. “This is lame. I’d rather be back at the hospital playing video games with my buddy.”

The tall boy elbowed the “mumbler.” “Did y’all forget it was our idea to come tonight?” The spokesman for the group turned to Jessie. “We get so tired of not being able to do anything to help. Lots of our friends can’t leave the hospital, but we’re in remission, so we talked our parents into bringing us with them tonight. They had to fill out all sorts of papers so we could and now it looks like it was all for nothing.”

She didn’t doubt their sincerity but was still confused. “It’s wonderful that you want to help. What was your plan?”

The tall boy shrugged. “We figured if we talked to some of the guests about how we got sick and what we need to get better, that people might understand and give even more. But it’s harder to go up and talk to strangers than we thought.”

Jessie’s heart went out to the brave young souls who had obviously been through more than most kids their age, and to their parents. How did a mother or a father deal with watching their loved one suffer daily as well as live with the fear of losing their child at any moment?

She wanted to do more to help than make a monetary donation, but what? “These people do care or they wouldn’t be here tonight,” she offered. “And I think they’d love the chance to talk with you, but they have no idea that’s why you’re here, so we need to get their attention somehow.”

She glanced about the room for ideas. At the end of each table sat a balloon bouquet made up of one Mylar balloon and half a dozen of the latex. “Come on, kids. Follow me.”

She untied one bouquet and, carrying it like the Olympic torch, headed for an empty corner of the ballroom.

All but the two older boys followed, no doubt too cool for any activity that involved balloons. The rest of the kids, three boys and seven girls ranging from ages six to twelve, she guessed, gazed at her expectantly. “Have you everdone balloon relays?”

All shook their heads.

“Pick a partner, face each other, and form two lines.”

As they positioned themselves, she freed two of the latex balloons from the bunch and tied up the ribbon streamers so no one would trip. “Now, the object of the game is to carry the balloon between you and your partner’s bellies to the wall and back to the beginning of your line. You can’t use your hands. Got it?”

Heads bobbed up and down. Wide eyes sparkled with excitement. Faces beamed.

Jessie helped the first four get into position and then gave the signal to begin.

The kids clapped and cheered for each other as teammates squished the balloons between their bodies and tried to move forward. The balloons fell and were retrieved and repositioned many times. Both groups made it back to the line about the same time and the next four kids took off.

Jessie observed the little brown-eyed girl glancing at one of the older boys. When she failed to get his attention, she hurried over and raised her arms. He shook his head and grinned, then scooped her up and headed over to the game, with the other boy following.

“Squirt here wants me to help her, says she can’t go fast enough by herself. Is that okay with you?”

“Of course,” Jessie replied. “And your friend here can help, too.”

The “mumbler” picked up a small boy and waited for their turn.

To keep the game moving, Jessie helped retrieve the dropped balloons and repositioned them between the bellies. Within minutes, her high heels morphed into torture chambers. Another balloon escaped, but her feet protested the idea of one more chase.

Forget glamour. The kids were having too much fun. The shoes had to go, she decided, and kicked them off. The carpet felt like a caress against her aching bare feet; her toes wiggled with delight at their newfound freedom. Why hadn’t she done that earlier?

As the relays continued, Jessie noted the grins that covered the kids’ faces. Whether or not her idea worked to draw attention to the children, at least for a little while they had forgotten their reality of doctors, hospitals and treatments.

A hand gripped her elbow, leaving every nerve ending exposed and screaming for more than an innocent touch. Only Mac had that effect on her, much to her surprise and dismay, and she had nowhere to hide.

She was busted.

“What’s going on, Jenna?”

Chapter Three

Jessie turned to face Mac and found his gaze puzzled, his frown pronounced. “Why? Is there a problem?” she asked brazenly while her mind raced for a believable explanation for “her” behavior.

How could she have let her guard down even for a minute? Jenna would never have interacted with kids on her own, let alone be caught in bare feet while dressed to the nines.

“This is a fine hotel, not a playground, and kids usually don’t even register on your radar.”

Jessie stalled for time as she tucked in the strands of hair that had escaped during the numerous balloon retrievals. A quick glance around the room revealed that she had become the center of attention.

Oh, God. She smothered the urge to clench her stomach, which felt as if a medicine ball relay was going on inside of it. She had to respond to him, but hated to lie. She decided to stay as close to the truth as possible. “I know, but some of the kids said the party was lame, and you know how I feel about whiners. So I decided to make them part of the solution to their problem in a way that might help with the fund-raiser.”

“Help how?”

“Some of the older kids sounded as if they’d be willing to talk to the guests, put a personal spin on why money is needed. I figured we’d get everyone’s attention first, then hand over the microphone to the kids.”

“It never occurred to you to run this by me first?”

“Why?” Jessie asked, confident Jenna would never have stopped to ask permission. “It was a win-win situation.”

“Jenna, I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying,” interrupted an older, distinguished-looking man who had introduced himself earlier as chairman of the board of C.D.R.

“You’re a marketing genius,” he continued. “I’m going to make a special announcement right now. Keep the kids playing.”

The excited chairman, no doubt picturing extra zeroes on checks, hurried off in the direction of the podium.

Unfortunately, Mac still appeared unconvinced. “How did you come up with the game with the balloons?”

“My sister teaches third grade, remember? She mentioned doing balloon relays at one of her homeroom parties and went on ad nauseam about how much the kids loved it. So, I thought, why not give it a shot?”

Seconds ticked by while he mulled over her explanation. Finally, he nodded. “Then I guess you owe your sister a big thank-you for the idea.”

Relief calmed Jessie’s raging stomach like a fast-acting antacid. “I won’t forget, believe me.” Only, before the family dinner tomorrow, Jenna would find herself on the receiving end of a tongue thrashing, not a thank-you, for the mess she’d created. “I’m glad you’re here now, though. I can use some help chasing after the balloons.”

Mac’s face turned pale and he backed away as if he’d just been told she were ill and contagious. “Can’t. I mean, there are still some people I need to talk to. I’ll check back with you later.”

Jessie watched Mac disappear into the crowd and wondered if the over-six-foot-tall hunk of a man was afraid of sick kids, then quickly dismissed the notion. If that were true, what reason would he have for being so involved with a research group that focused solely on cures for children?

Another explanation for his odd behavior came to mind but it seemed just as unlikely—Mac was afraid of kids in general.

Mac’s hands stung from all the clapping over the past half hour as one by one the children had claimed the floor. In their own honest, unscripted words they conveyed their gratitude for past donations and how crucial research was in order to find cures for childhood diseases.

He was now more determined than ever to continue raising money for research while he worked to gain some sort of justice in the courtroom; unlike these well-treated kids, his clients had suffered at the hands of someone either negligent or without scruples in the medical or insurance profession and deserved compensation.

Mac glanced at Jenna. She appeared as proud and humbled by the strength of the young heroes as he was, and a person would have to be made of stone not to react to the testimonials. Still, he was surprised she’d made no attempt to hide her emotions or tears. Why was he only now seeing this vulnerable side of her? Had she kept any softness hidden, afraid he’d see it as a weakness?

Or was she simply like the other women he’d known in the past who had claimed to be career-driven with no interest in having a family, only to later confess the opposite?

He had thought he’d closed that loophole by proposing to a woman he respected, but did not love. A woman who never claimed to love him, either, but shared his goals.

Had he been played for a fool, again?

The chairman offered his appreciation for everyone’s generosity and encouraged all to eat up and drink up while the band played its last set of the evening.

Jenna excused herself and headed in the direction of the children who were being collected by their parents.

Two men cornered Mac with questions about how the research funds were allocated, but he managed to keep an eye on Jenna as she busied herself collecting the balloon bouquets lucky enough to escape the relays. Again, she seemed skittish and in search of an exit.

He accepted checks from the two men, obviously satisfied by his answers, thanked them and shook hands.

His job done for the night, all he wanted to do now was get Jenna alone and find out the answer to his question—had she lied to him about not wanting children?

He made his way toward her, but C.D.R.’s chairman of the board reached her first.

“Jenna, my dear, don’t bother yourself with cleaning up.”

“The staff will deal with that,” Mac added, surprised to find Jenna fussing over decorations. Then again, he’d never expected to find her barefoot and playing with a bunch of kids, either.

“I know, but why trash them when you could give the balloons to the hospital? I mean, it would be great PR.”

Now that sounded like the sharp, image conscious Jenna he knew and wanted as a partner in his law firm.

“That’s a wonderful idea. I’ll take them by on my way home.” The chairman turned to Mac. “Next year, you should make sure Jenna is on the fund-raising committee. She obviously has a feel for this kind of thing.”

No way. Tonight had proven Jenna had a soft spot for kids and could be distracted. He’d made her a partner to increase his firm’s workload, not deplete it. “Now that she’s a partner at the firm, she’ll have a full schedule,” Mac replied before Jenna could respond. “But I’ll be sure and get her input.”

“Good enough, Mac. Well, congratulations on another successful gala. We can’t thank you enough for all you do for C.D.R.”

“It’s a great cause.” Mac glanced at his watch. “It’s late and we need to get going. Good night, sir.” He shook hands with the chairman, rushed Jenna’s goodbyes to the elderly gentleman, then took her by the elbow and made a quick exit from the ballroom.

Jessie had difficulty keeping up with Mac in her high heels. With every step her anger grew over his blatant display of bad manners, but she refused to sink to his level by making a scene in public.

Once they were out of sight and earshot of those remaining in the ballroom, Jessie came to a complete stop in the hallway that led to the main exit of the hotel. “What was that all about, Mac?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you. I’m not taking one more step until you explain why you were so ridiculously rude just now.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are we having our first fight? Here, in a public place?”

“No one is around, and besides, it won’t be our last fight if you’re going to keep trying to make decisions for me.” Jessie knew her sister would never allow Mac or any man to speak for her; she had to fight too hard to be taken seriously, let alone be treated as an equal in a predominantly male profession. Half the time Jenna was mistaken for the court reporter, since some people had trouble believing a lawyer could be blond, built and female.