Almost A Wife

Almost A Wife Eva Rutland “You’re quite a woman, Lisa.” Tray continued. “You deserve more than…than this,” he said, his gesture taking in the kitchen. “We have to decide where we go from here.” “We?” Lisa blinked. “I don’t know about you, but I am very well prepared to take care of myself.” “You’ve proved that. But we both know this is temporary. I might be able to make you an offer….” Eva Rutland began writing when her four children, now all successful professionals, were growing up. Eva lives in California with her husband, Bill, who actively supports and encourages her writing career. Books by Eva Rutland HARLEQUIN ROMANCE® 3439—MARRIAGE BAIT 3490—THE WEDDING TRAP 3518—THE MILLION-DOLLAR MARRIAGE 3550—HER OWN PRINCE CHARMING Almost a Wife Eva Rutland www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) With love, to my delightful granddaughter, Chelsea, and her bear. CONTENTS PROLOGUE (#u6bda4659-4b00-598e-a21b-d9d8891d0d47) CHAPTER ONE (#u1133cd07-0a44-5bd0-85d7-e5dde2d89c09) CHAPTER TWO (#u34c75050-c359-5692-a35e-c01f832be9bd) CHAPTER THREE (#u1d2e4dc1-b08b-5454-9639-f2b29fe7e90a) CHAPTER FOUR (#u24b3c055-3223-5b4f-9924-597261cb3700) CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) PROLOGUE LISA REYNOLDS gazed with apprehension at the empty lobby of the Bonus Bank Building. No one standing by the bank of elevators. No telling when someone would come and choose the one marked Floors 21 to 40. She walked to that elevator, and courageously lifted her finger. She couldn’t push the button. This was crazy! Just because it happened once didn’t mean you were going to be stuck every time you stepped into an elevator. She wasn’t crazy. Hadn’t she breezed through college, and earned a master’s degree in business by the time she was twenty-three! Now, at twenty-six, she was director of research and development at CTI—Computer Technology Incorporated. Not anymore, she reminded herself. Well, she hadn’t lost the job because she wasn’t darn good at it. Mergers! That was what was crazy. All these takeover, downsizing shenanigans going on in business today. Anyway, it was CTI’s loss, not hers. She already had feelers out. With her qualifications, she’d be hired by the competition in a hot minute. Maybe with an office on the ground floor, she thought, trying to laugh at herself. Why couldn’t she lose this ridiculous phobia about elevators! She had almost overcome it. Out of necessity. She could hardly have climbed the stairs to her thirty-fourth floor office each working day for one whole year. She had compromised. She would board the elevator only if someone got on with her. That way she wouldn’t be alone in death or disaster. She should have come earlier. Not everybody had lost their job, and the elevators would have been crowded with workers. Bad timing. Stupid to think being a little late didn’t matter because it was her last day. She straightened hopefully as a woman breezed into the lobby. But the woman stopped at the one to twenty-block. Lisa stepped back as if waiting for someone. She pretended to be studying the mural on the opposite wall while gazing surreptitiously at the woman. She looked very chic in a smart gabardine business suit, one leather gloved hand clutching a smart leather attach? case. Like me, Lisa thought, touching a hand to the cloud of silky black hair that framed her face in a smart shoulder-length cut. I’m coiffured, manicured and groomed as sleek as the sleekest of women executives! And I’m more efficient than most. Sam Fraser said so. “I hate doing this to you,” he had said when he handed her the pink slip that terminated her employment. “Research and development was gaining momentum under your management, and it’s not your fault that we’ve dropped in the market.” “But that’s only temporary,” she protested, at the moment more concerned with the potential of CTI’s software than with her personal problem. “Of course we show a slump in the market when a large share of funds is going into development. But when the new programs are on the market, our stock will go up.” “Yeah,” Sam agreed. “But the merger hangs on the current rating. Tray Kingsley, the man who’s negotiating the deal, is looking at the market and if our stock doesn’t go up, a sell-off will begin. We’ve got to cut overhead to raise profit. Middle management is the first to go. Sorry.” So her job had vanished. Just like that. Just because some big shot sat in his New York office, studying the stock market. A big shot named Tray Kingsley. She hadn’t known she could hate a man she’d never seen. What could he tell about the real worth of CTI, sitting on his backside three thousand miles away? More to the point…why the dickens did CTI decide to merge with Lawson Enterprises just at this time! She had been with them only one year, hardly eligible for the golden handshake! She straightened again as a man entered the building. Any other time she might have noticed that he was tall, dark and quite handsome. But this morning she only noticed that he headed straight for the 21 to 40 block of elevators. She sprang into action. Tray Kingsley smiled as he pushed the button. He was on the way up in more ways than one. After only one year with Lawson, he had been chosen to negotiate the takeover of CTI, for which he had received a sizable bonus. Now he had been selected as the new CEO to head the new San Francisco subsidiary. His tenure here was only temporary, an opportunity to study the facility and decide the best economic shifts. But the bonus included a substantial increase in salary, and a brief taste of sunny California. You couldn’t beat that with a stick. Actually he had suggested the California stint himself. It provided a diplomatic breather from his indecisive involvement with a very persistent lady who just happened to be the boss’s daughter. Not much of a breather. He still maintained his position at the New York headquarters and would be there often. And, to be fair, he enjoyed his association with Chase Lawson. She was beautiful, and charmingly acquainted with all the right people, a companionable asset in any social gathering. Personally? He tried to think beyond the social swirls to the little dinners and their intimate times alone. Well…Perhaps the fact that she was a Lawson was the put off. He liked to think his advancement was due to his capabilities…not as a future son-in-law. So, back to the job, he thought as the elevator door slid open. This would be his first look at the physical site, but he was already immersed in plans for improvement and expansion. The first thing to do was— “Pardon,” he said, a little startled and not sure who had brushed against whom, for they seemed to enter the elevator simultaneously. He didn’t look at her, and hardly noticed that there was no response. The key man here was Sam Fraser, he thought. Perhaps he could arrange to take him to lunch. Talking was better than looking when it came to sizing things up. He meant to get a good grip on things right off. Wouldn’t bother about an apartment. The hotel was convenient and… “Oh, my God!” The heartrending wail commanded his full attention. What the hell! He turned to see the woman crouching in terror, the wail escalating into a crescendo of uncontrollable sobs. He bent toward her. “What…what is it?” “We’re stuck. We’re stuck. Oh, my God! I knew it. I knew this would happen! Oh, God, oh God, oh God!” Her hysteria was so unnerving, it was a moment before he realized she was right. The elevator had stopped somewhere between floors. He was about to sound the alarm, but she blocked his way. “I shouldn’t have got in…I wish I hadn’t. I wish I hadn’t.” He wished so, too. She was losing it. He tried to reassure her. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll alert somebody.” Whoever’s in charge of the damn thing…if she’ll shut up! He shook her gently, and tried to cut into the now incoherent babble. “Hush. It will be all right.” The mass of black hair swung around her face as she violently shook her head. He couldn’t tell whether she was laughing or crying. Clearly hysterical. He didn’t want to slap her. If he kissed her? His mouth closed on hers, shutting off the screams. Or shocked her into silence. For…Good Lord! The kiss was more potent than a slap. Her soft yielding surprised him, evoking an exciting erotic spasm of…What on earth was he doing! He tried to release her, but he couldn’t. She clung to the feeling. His arms around her, secure and warm. Safe. The pressure of his lips against hers…demanding, teasing, pleading. Her whole body responded, awakening to a strange exhilarating sensation of desire that pleased and held her. Each time he tried to pull away, her grip tightened. Her head was buried on his shoulder and an alluring scent of fresh shampoo mixed with an exotic perfume wafted from the hair covering his chest. Her arms held him close. Too close. A hell of a time for the way she was making him feel! With an effort, he took control. At least he had shut her up. Over her shoulder he reached for the phone connected to the alarm. She heard him on the phone. “Hello, hello…Is anybody there?” Her head jerked up as the panic returned. She still held him tight, but she vehemently declared, “No! Nobody. They won’t come…Oh, God! Oh, God!” Hell, she was off again and whoever was supposed to answer the alarm was out to lunch! “Shut up!” he shouted. He felt tears dampening his shirt and softened his tone, “I can’t hear if you’re not quiet. Just be patient. They’ll have us out of here in a jiffy.” “They won’t. We were stuck for almost two hours!” “Oh? It happened before?” This elevator must be a jinx. But it should have been fixed. “When?” he asked. “Two years ago. At my old apartment. But there were only seven stories,” she said. “We were stuck halfway to third and we had to climb out.” “Oh.” Her apartment. It wasn’t this elevator. The woman was the jinx. The thought made him laugh. That seemed to make her mad. Not mad enough to turn him loose, but she flared up at him. “Why are you laughing? It’s not funny. Do you realize we’re stuck between no telling how many stories of solid wall? This elevator doesn’t stop until the twenty-first floor. No way to climb out like we did…That is, if something doesn’t break loose and we go crashing to the ground. That time at my apartment, we decided that if that happened, we would jump up and down so when it hit, we—” “Hey! That’s enough.” Hysteria was better than her crazy predictions. She was making him nervous. Still…best to keep her talking.. “You may be an old hand at this, but you’re not an expert. Elevators have springs on the bottom, so if they hit bottom, it’s not with a crash.” “Oh?” She looked up at him, eyes wide. “Is that true?” He nodded, though he wasn’t sure. He also wondered about all that solid wall between openings. He pushed the alarm, and spoke again into the phone. “Hello. Anybody there?” “They weren’t when we called,” she said. “We’d probably have been there all night if it hadn’t been for the pizza.” “Pizza?” “A girl on the elevator was delivering a pizza, and this guy on four came to see why she hadn’t gotten there, and found out the elevator was stuck. If he hadn’t, we might have been…” She stopped, struck by another alarming thought. “Maybe it’s an earthquake.” “Earthquake?” “They told us never to use the elevator during an earthquake. They cut off the electricity you know, and—” “If there was an earthquake, you’d damn well feel it,” he snapped. “And if the electricity was off this phone wouldn’t be—” A voice on the other end stopped him. A reassuring voice. He smiled. “Oh. Sure. Okay.” He looked down at her. “It’s okay. Be calm. Help is on the way.” She didn’t release him until the elevator started its ascent. Then she moved, turning away from him, mopping at her tear stained face. “Sorry I was such a nuisance. Thank you,” she said, and bolted as soon as the elevator came to a smooth stop at the thirty-fourth floor. He was straightening his tie, and only nodded. When he stepped out of the elevator, she had disappeared. CHAPTER ONE “SO YOU got stuck in the elevator!” Mike said. “It’s not funny,” Lisa scolded, but she laughed with him. At least he didn’t know she had acted like an idiot. “Well, you’re only a little late,” he said, and pushed open the door of the conference room. Lisa gasped. Looking at all the gang, waiting to say goodbye, at the table laden with goodies and gifts, made her all teary. She didn’t want that. “What’s this! You’re celebrating my getting canned?” “Sure thing.” Mike grinned. “I warned you. Squash my creative talents one more time and you were out of here!” “Stingy with the supplies, too. Slow,” Jim said. “Took me all of two days to get those bytes I needed.” Others joined in the bashing, and the laughter made it easier. Not much easier. She really hated leaving…right in the midst of everything it seemed. Things changed fast in softwear, and you had to be on the ball to get there first. And they were getting there, for instance what Mike was developing with— “Stop it, you guys! Come on, Lisa.” Pam, who was fashioning a special keyboard that was bound to be a major success, led her to the table. “Help yourself. Coffee?” Lisa nodded and smiled at the Japanese girl she had hired only a few short months before. One of the three new people she had hired after convincing the head office that if they were to capture the international market, they had to offer a keyboard and program compatible with the nuances of the different languages. But now that she was leaving… Egotist! You think you’re the whole kit and caboodle, that the wheels of progress stop with your departure? These are the scientists and technicians. You were just one spoke in the wheel. An important spoke, she told herself with a touch of bitterness. I dealt with the idiosyncracies of this talented crew, I was the mediator between them and management, I fought for their ideas, got the supplies, monitored the deadlines, and— “I brought champagne,” Mike said. “And I baked the cake,” Linda said. “I thank you both. My favorite drink, and my favorite cake,” she said, forcing a jocular mood. She sure wasn’t going to spoil the goodbye party they had planned. “You guys go easy on these goodies. What’s left goes home with me,” “Stashing, huh?” “Sure. No telling how long before another paycheck.” Lisa laughed with them. There was another job out there waiting for her, and she’d find it. She wasn’t worried, and the good mood held. At the end of the day, as she approached the elevator, she felt the familiar prickles of panic, more pronounced because of the morning’s episode. The champagne may have bolstered her. Anyway, several others were risking the downward plunge so, despite the mounting trepidation, she managed to board with them. She shut her eyes, remembering, feeling the claustrophobia and imminent danger of crashing or being forever trapped. The warmth and security of a man’s arms around her, the gentleness. The shock of sheer pleasure when his lips touched hers. She wished… No she didn’t! She had acted like an idiot! Better never to see him again in life. They had reached the lobby, and the doors slid open giving her a feeling of overwhelming relief as she walked away from the enclosed cubicle. Everything happens for the best, she thought. She’d make sure her next office was on the ground floor. From the bank building, she turned right to traverse the few short blocks to her apartment near the wharf. She liked her apartment. A one bedroom, but the bath was big with a separate dressing area, and the living-room space was large with lush carpeting. She had carefully chosen one on the bottom floor and found it offered more than just no elevator. Easy access to the community exercise room, laundry room and swimming pool. She meant to keep it. If she could. It wasn’t cheap. That hadn’t bothered her in the least when she left her so-so job in Sacramento to move to San Francisco to take the job with CTI. The enormous salary was a godsend. Not only could she afford the apartment, but she could help finance her grandparents’ move to the Sprightly Seniors retirement complex. When she was five years old, her parents had been killed in an automobile crash, and she had moved in with her grandparents. Their love enclosed her, a warm blanket that bolstered the shock…she, from the loss of both parents, and they from the loss of an only daughter. She had basked in that love, attention, things, for they had denied her nothing. Hers had been a privileged world, and she had danced her way through it…the private schools, music and dancing lessons, swimming, skiing, family vacations in Europe. She had never even been burdened with domestic chores, for they always had household help. Her grandmother had never worked outside the house, but remained at home to care for Lisa and enjoy her clubs and social functions. Her grandfather had only been a high school principal, but… No wonder she had thought they were rich! She found out they weren’t when Gramps retired, and decided they should buy into the senior citizens complex where many of their friends were already living. “If we can swing it,” he had said. For the first time she became aware of their financial status. She discovered that their style of living had strained Grandpa’s salary to the hilt, and their modest home had been heavily mortgaged to finance Lisa’s stint at Stanford. However, proceeds from the sale of the house and their few investments made it possible to buy a two-bedroom apartment in the senior complex. Lisa, who was just starting the job in San Francisco, was happy to see them so comfortably settled. The monthly maintenance fee included three meals a day, cleaning services and an abundance of recreational and social features, as well as continuing life care. The thing was, Gramps’s monthly pension check barely covered the cost of all these benefits. Lisa, feeling quite wealthy with her new salary, supplemented with a sizable sum every month. Gramps had protested, but she insisted. She had been glad to supply the extra, happy that she could repay in some small measure all they had given to her. But now… Lisa felt the first small prickle of alarm. She had been walking on air. She had splurged on everything—apartment, furnishings, clothes, you name it. One year ago. And now the job and big money were gone. Swish! Even if she gave up the apartment, what would she do with all that unpaid for furniture? That was another thing. Bills. The city was alive now. People pouring out of buildings and filling the sidewalks, bumper-to-bumper traffic. Lisa hardly noticed as she dodged other pedestrians and kept to her usual brisk pace, mentally calculating. How did the saying go? Like father…like son? No, in this sexist era, it would be mother/daughter. She chuckled. Like her grandparents, she’d been living it up to the hilt. She had given little thought to saving and, with her usual high lifestyle, she barely made it from payday to payday. She had one paycheck and one month’s severance pay. No more. She’d have to find another job quick. Again she reminded herself that she wasn’t worried. She had already put in some applications listing her credentials, experience and excellent references from Sam. She was well qualified. The possibilities were endless. Tomorrow she had an appointment with the Corry Corporation, and she had two interviews scheduled next week. All looked pretty promising, just a matter of choice. She felt very confident as she shed her clothes and headed for the swimming pool. Three weeks later, she did not feel so confident as she faced Mr. Brown of Safe Securities, the last company on her list. “Your qualifications are excellent, Ms. Reynolds, and I would like very much to have you aboard, but…” He paused, nervously shuffling papers on his desk. Probably the papers containing proof of her excellent qualifications, she thought with irony. “As I said, at the present time, we are cutting back, not hiring.” Same story she had heard from others. Why was everybody downsizing at the same time? “I can’t promise anything, but, in a few months, our position might be different.” He went on, again praising her credentials. He was trying to let her down easily. She helped him out. “I do understand, Mr. Brown. And thank you for taking the time to explain the situation.” She managed to make a graceful exit, and soon was outside his office, in the corridor. The empty corridor. Wasn’t anybody going down? Probably not. Long after lunchtime, long before quitting time. Oh, for goodness’ sake! Of course she could get in an elevator by herself! She walked toward it. Hesitated. Started to punch the button. Didn’t push it. She’d feel pretty foolish if someone walked down the hall and saw her just standing there…headed neither up or down. This paranoia about elevators was not only silly, it was darn inconvenient! But…Didn’t everything come in threes? That time at her old apartment, then three weeks ago at the bank… Well, only five stories. Her smart pumps had low heels and she had plenty of time. She found the stairwell, swung through the door and started down. The exercise would be good for her legs. She had plenty of time to think as she made her way down, step by step. She’d check the want ads more carefully, though it appeared to be nothing in her line there. What was her line anyway? Business, of course! She had her MBA to prove it. Training, experience. Okay! Okay! Where does that get you if there are no job openings! Maybe she should get on the list of some employment agency, sign up for one of those job placement seminars. Do something, or pretty soon she’d have to put in for unemployment benefits. She hadn’t bothered to do that because she’d thought by now that something would have turned up. Good, At last she was on the first floor. Gratefully she reached for the door. It didn’t budge. She shook it, but it held fast. First floor. Security? No access unless you had business. That was stupid. That bank of elevators was plenty accessible to anyone. Well…Someone had to come near that stairwell sooner or later, and she would bang on that door until somebody heard her. Ten minutes later, the door was opened by a woman in a chic tan coatdress, a smart leather purse slung over her shoulder. She shook back her sheath of smooth blond hair and stared at Lisa. “What were you doing in there?” Lisa touched a finger to her own sleekly cropped hair, adjusted her own smart shoulder bag. “Thought I’d walk down for the exercise. A big mistake. I didn’t know they locked this door.” “In some buildings. For security I think.” “Funny kind of security. Anyway, thank you for letting me out. I could have been there forever,” she said, smiling as she walked away, head and shoulders high. When she reached her apartment, and opened the door, she heard the vacuum cleaner humming. Joline. Her weekly cleaning lady, one of the splurges that accompanied the big salary. Oh, she had felt so grand. No more scrubbing tiles, changing linens, dusting. All she had to do was water her plants, and arrange fresh flowers when the gang was coming over or she had a date. Well, she wouldn’t be having a gang over anytime soon. Most were from work, and she had another agenda now. And Chris, the guy in accounting that she’d been dating, had transferred to Seattle three months ago. He must have seen the downsizing coming. At any rate, she’d have to do her own cleaning now. She’d put off telling Joline because she’d been so sure she’d have another job by this time. Now…She deserved notice, too, didn’t she? Two weeks? A month? “Come and have a cup of coffee with me, Joline,” she said when the woman had finished her chores. “I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news for you. For me, anyway.” “Thank you. I could do with a cup of coffee, and I’m glad to take a load off my feet for a spell.” Joline, who was rather heavy, settled herself in a chair by the coffee table. “But…bad news? I don’t like the sound of that.” “I don’t like it, either,” Lisa said, as she poured coffee. “I hate to say it, but I can’t afford you any longer.” “Oh? I’m sorry. I like working here. You’re not as messy as most.” She didn’t ask why, but Lisa explained anyway. Joline was sympathetic. “That’s a shame. Goodness, I don’t know what’s happening these days. Mr. Taylor, on the fourth floor, gave me notice last month. He lost his job and had to take one in Lodi. Much less pay, he told me. Times are getting tough.” “Yes,” Lisa said, thinking she might have to move to another area herself. She’d hate to leave the city, her nice apartment. Then another thought returned…notice. “Would two weeks notice be fair, Joline? Or would you prefer severance pay?” “Oh, honey, you got enough problems. Don’t worry about me.” “Are you sure?” Lisa was relieved, but she wanted to be fair. “Sure I’m sure. I know how it is when you lose a job. And, to tell the truth, I’ve got more than I need. I turned down three jobs just last week.” “You did?” Lisa whistled. “No downsizing in the cleaning industry, huh?” “You can say that again. And you can set your own pace, pick and choose.” Lisa listened with idle curiosity as Joline elaborated. “You’re your own boss, set your own wages. Like I charged old Mr. Jenkins double ’cause his place was a pigsty. And you can charge an arm and a leg out in the Heights and the Cove.” “Oh?” “Yeah. But you got to drive all the way out there, and you get plumb wore out climbing them stairs.” “Stairs?” “Oh, you know. All those Victorian houses got them winding stairs to the second floor. No. I couldn’t stand that. Even if one house do pay more than three apartments. Mrs. Smith called me yesterday, trying to get me to come back. I told her no, sirree, not me.” Lisa stared, her interest perked. Set your own pace. Your own price. An arm and a leg in the Heights with all those stairs…Stairs. No elevators! Anybody could clean a house. She calculated. Set your own price? An arm and a leg? Just temporary…while she was looking. “Joline,” she said. “Could you give me a reference?” CHAPTER TWO HE HADN’T seen her again. Not in the two months since he’d been at CTI. That was strange. She got off on the same floor. Must work for the company. Not necessarily. He’d been through every office, meeting the key people, assessing things, and he’d taken a careful, though cursory glance at every woman. He hadn’t seen her. Not once. Heck, he probably wouldn’t recognize her. Her face had been buried in his shoulder most of the time. If he knew her name, he’d ask…No, he wouldn’t. Too wacky for his taste. So why did she linger in his mind? At the strangest times. Even in his dreams…that mass of freshly shampooed hair, that faint scent of perfume, that soft yielding. The ringing intruded. The alarm. He stretched a hand to shut it off. The ringing continued. The phone. He picked it up. “Tray, darling! Did I wake you?” “And how pleasant a wake up!” he managed to say, rousing from his stupor. “How are you, Chase?” “Missing you. And worried about you. You’re still stuck in that hotel.” “’Fraid so.” “Poor baby. We’ll have to do something about that.” We? “I’m okay.” What’s with this we? Haven’t reached that stage yet! Okay, he’d been rather flattered when Chase Smith-Lawson centered her attention upon him. Recently divorced, she had returned to her father’s palatial home, her maiden name and her role as leading hostess in New York’s social set. She was the spoiled apple of her father’s eye. She was also beautiful, glamorous, stimulating and…Face it. Officious! “Tray, are you listening?” “Sure. Trying to get a word in to tell you I want be here long enough to need an apartment.” Nonsense. “I knew you’d need me. I promised Daddy I’d be there to help you find the proper place, meet the proper people. Start you off on the right foot, so to speak.” That grated. Like his rapid rise at Lawson Enterprises wasn’t due to his business acumen, but to his relationship with Lawson’s daughter. “I think I’m getting my foot where it belongs. Into business, so to speak.” She missed the sarcasm. “I know. As always, you’re probably working your head off in that stuffy office and still stuck in that stuffy hotel room. Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of both.” “Listen, Chase. I’m fine. I—” She didn’t hear him. “But not right away,” she was saying. “Page Anderson wants me here to help with the Symphony Ball.” “Oh?” Thank God for Page Anderson. “Can you manage without me for the next six weeks?” “I’ll try.” He tried not to sound relieved. “I’ll try.” Later that morning, Tray looked across his desk at Sam Fraser, who, in his two short months at CTI, had become his chief aide. “Okay, Sam, get ready. We’re making some changes.” “What kind of changes?” “Diversification.” Anticipated changes that had been thrashed out at the corporate board meeting last week. “You must have expected it.” “Guess I did. Lots of relocations, huh?” “Yes. Guess there will have to be. Each operation with its own specialty. That’s Lawson policy. Production in Denver, research and development in—” Fraser interrupted. “What’s our role?” Tray, noting his wary expression, smiled. “Don’t worry. You’re not moving. We’re considering this as our marketing base. East coast, Asia and the Middle East, and you’re my number one man. Quite a bit of travel, however. Is that a problem?” “Not really. Not as big a problem as transplanting Sandy and the kids. Tim, the eldest, is at Cove High, basketball and all that stuff, and to take him away now would…Oh, you know how it is.” He spread his hands. “So what’s the procedure.” “Relocation. That’s a first. If we—” His buzzer sounded and he picked it up. “Yes?” “A Mr. Canson, sir, attorney at law, from Columbus, Ohio. He says it’s urgent.” “Put him on,” he said, wondering. “Canson? He didn’t know a Canson. Nobody in Columbus but… “Tray Kingsley,” he said into the phone. He listened, trying to absorb the shock, a creeping feeling of sorrow. Kathy Byrd dead. Sudden. A heart attack. “I am sorry.” Vaguely he wondered why he had been called. “Is there anything I can do?” He listened again, longer this time, astonished. “Of course,” he finally said. “I understand.” He didn’t understand, but he added, “I’ll be there as soon as possible.” At four that afternoon, he sat on a plane to Columbus, Ohio, still trying to understand. Trying to absorb the shock. Kathy Byrd dead. She was only…He added the years. Twenty-six. Strange. Same age Pete had been when he died two years ago. Pete and Kathy Byrd. Both gone. He stared out at the clouds, feeling a little numb. Of all the rotten luck. He remembered the lawyer’s words, “All of her affairs left in your hands. It has taken me some time to find you.” “Yes.” He had moved twice in the two years since he had seen her. Despite the sorrow, he felt a bit of irritation. Why me? And at this crucial time, just as he was about to get going with all these new developments. “I am sorry,” he had said again, “I can’t leave San Francisco at this time.” “Mr. Kingsley, it’s imperative that you come immediately because of the children.’ That gave him pause. Poor little tykes…couldn’t be quite out of the toddler stage. “Are they all right?” he had asked anxiously. “I mean, who’s taking care of—?” “A friend,” the lawyer assured him. “They’ve been with her all week.” He felt relieved. Of course. Kathy would have long ago made some arrangement for the children in case of her death. She was that practical. Absently he wondered what was his role. Probably executor to be sure her plans were carried out. She was not one to skip details. He had been amazed at how well she had dealt with Pete’s death. He had come then because she called him. Even though she had been surrounded by friends and neighbors, she had clung to him. “You’re family,” she had said. He had been touched, but they were not at all related. She had been just one in the gang that hung around his house during the growing up years in Dayton, Ohio. His had been that kind of house. His mother that kind of mother, he thought, and felt the familiar lump in his throat. She had been so loving, full of fun and easygoing, never minding the noise at the Ping-Pong table or around the basketball hoop that hung above the garage door the constant splashing of the swimming pool. Kids from the nearby Children’s Home, Kathy and Pete among them, had been welcome and frequent visitors. Pete and he had been pretty close, same teams through Little and Pony League, same classes during high school. And Kathy, always and forever Pete’s girlfriend, had tagged along. The two of them had frequently double-dated with him and Gloria or whoever had been his current crush. After high school, they had gone their separate ways. He went on to Harvard, and would probably have lost touch altogether, had it not been for his mother who was on the board of the Children’s Home, and took a personal interest in several of the kids. She kept him informed. “Pete’s waiting tables, and studying to be a court reporter…Kathy’s working at the bank.” He had come home to be best man at their wedding, and later, godfather for their first child. But then…his mother died. For a moment he was back in that nightmare. She had had a heart attack and he returned home. Too late. He shook off the feeling that always haunted him when he thought of his mother. Anyway, Pete and Kathy moved to Columbus and, well, just faded into his past. Until Pete died, and Kathy called. He had gone to Columbus then and found capable Kathy distraught and trying to cope, saddled as she was with a babe in arms and a three-year-old. Though grief-stricken, she had not been in bad shape financially, what with Pete’s life and mortgage insurance. He had been doing well as a court reporter, with Kathy typing the transcripts at home. During his illness, she had begun transcribing for other court reporters, and was assured of a steady income. Tray had only needed to give solace as best he could, and help iron out the legal details concurrent with death. He had promised to stay in touch. “Call if you need me. Anytime for anything.” “Cocktail, sir?” He looked up at the Flight attendant. “Whiskey and soda, please. Thanks,” he said, taking a swallow before setting the glass on his tray. He needed it. He was assailed by guilt. He hadn’t kept in touch. Oh, a few phone calls in answer to her infrequent notes. Birthday and Christmas presents for the kids. But he hadn’t been back, not once. He often went back to visit Dad, who was still working as a pharmacist, still living in Dayton, though he had moved from the old home to a condo, complete with golf course, swimming pool and cronies. Dayton, he reminded himself, wasn’t all that far from Columbus…But no, he hadn’t kept in touch. I’m in touch now, he thought, two days later, when he sat on a plane headed back to California. He was accompanied by a six-year-old girl holding tight to a teddy bear almost as big as she, and a four-year-old boy clutching a peppermint stick in very sticky fingers. Quite a bundle for a bachelor accustomed to traveling light. Especially when the bundles were alive and kicking! “No! I don’t want this thing ’round me.” The boy pushed at the seat belt with surprising strength. “It’s just till we get going,” Tray apologized, desperately trying to get boy, girl and teddy bear buckled in. “You have to, Peter.” It was the girl who got the boy’s attention. “You know like Mommy always did in the car.” “I want Mommy!” “Mommy’s in heaven,” the girl said, repeating as before, that Mommy was never coming back. It broke Tray’s heart every time she said it. Her big blue eyes would grow even more solemn and sad. Not the happy child she had been when he had seen her two years ago. “Her real name is Chelsea, but we call her Sunny because she’s our…my,” Kathy had corrected herself, remembering Pete was gone. “My little ray of sunshine.’ Sunny. She had been then. A happy, smiling child, her eyes bright, her golden curls dancing as she pranced around. Too young then to realize that her daddy was dead. She was not too young now. She was keenly aware that her mother had suddenly disappeared from her life. He hadn’t seen her smile once. But he felt a tug of admiration for the staunch little figure…bravely reassuring her brother while tightly clutching her own security…the bear. His eyes burned, his heart aching for both of them, the boy who didn’t understand, and the girl who did. What right have I to complain, he thought, holding his sticky hands away from his clothes as the plane sped slowly down the runway, and gathered speed to take off. With the help of the Flight attendant they were all buckled in. He had placed both children in the window seat, and they were dreamily staring out, headed, he hoped, for sleep. When the plane was aloft, he could get washed up, open his newspaper… Newspaper, hell! He had more on his hands than peppermint candy. He had been right about Kathy Byrd. She had made careful plans, all documented in a living trust. But he couldn’t quite grasp it when Mr. Canson, the lawyer, informed him that Kathy had named him guardian for the children and left everything she owned to him, in trust for the children. “Me?” he had asked. “I’m not even a relative.” The lawyer reminded him that Kathy had no relatives. “But she’s never said anything to me. Surely there must be someone else.” “No,” Canson assured him. “Only you.” Tray stared at him. The trust, the financial part, he could handle, supplementing funds if necessary. He would see that the children were never in want. “But the children themselves,” he said in some consternation. “I can’t possibly take them. I’m a bachelor. No wife, no home even. I’m living in a hotel.” Mr. Canson could see his point. “Well, as guardian, your only responsibility is to see that they are given proper care.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps there’s a relative who would be willing to—” “No.” Tray thought of his father, in his bachelor apartment. An aunt…on a cruise somewhere, he thought. This was crazy. A person couldn’t will her children to someone, could she? “I can see that this places you in a rather awkward position,” the attorney said. “But I think we can arrange something. There is an agency available here for help in this kind of situation. I’ll get in touch and arrange for a temporary placement.” “That might be the thing to do.” What had Kathy been thinking? “She never mentioned anything about this to me,” he said. “Perhaps in the letter,” Canson suggested, gesturing at the documents he had handed Tray. “Oh.” Tray had been so stunned, he hadn’t even glanced at the papers. He opened the letter. After reading it, no way could he place the children, even temporarily, with some agency. He looked at them. Both asleep. The seat belt light was off. He went to the bathroom, washed his hands and dashed cold water over his face. He returned to his seat and took out the letter. Dear Tray, I hope you never read this letter. And maybe you won’t. I’m only twenty-five and perfectly healthy. But Pete was only twenty-six when he left us all alone, and I’m scared. What would happen to Peter and Sunny if I weren’t here? If anything does happen to me, and I’m praying with all my heart it doesn’t, then…this is why you have this letter. Why you? Because you’re the only person in all this world that I trust. And because yours was the only happy home I knew. Only a small part, it is true, but you cannot possibly know how much I cherished every minute spent at your house. All the laughter under that big oak tree or in the pool, even helping your mother make sandwiches or clean the kitchen. Do you remember how we made homemade ice cream in that old freezer, and everybody wanted the dasher? And always your mother smiling her warm smile. I used to pretend that it was my home, and I wouldn’t be returning to the orphanage where I was one among many forgotten kids. To be honest, the Home was the best place I ever lived. All the foster homes were horrible, and I don’t even want to think about the Youth Authority. You didn’t know I did time there, did you? Kids can get turned around. I don’t want that to happen to my children. Promise me, Tray, that it won’t. I know you’re not married yet, and might not want to keep them yourself. If not, please find someone…someone who really wants them and will love them, and give them the kind of home you had. Please, for God’s sake, don’t let them get caught in the system like I was. Please, Tray. Do this for me. Again, I hope you never read this letter. But, just in case…Thank you for sharing your home with me, and thank you for finding that kind of home for Sunny and Peter. I love you, Kathy CHAPTER THREE ON HER knees, Lisa mopped her way out of the second upstairs bathroom. She stood in the hall, rubbed an aching shoulder and looked back at the gleaming tiles covering the long counter, the clear mirror above, the spotless floor beneath. Stain-free. Sweet smelling. Perfect. Bleach along with that fragrant tile cleaner worked miracles. And havoc on me, she thought, glancing at her red hands and broken nails. Rubber gloves slowed her down, and time was a precious commodity. Her chopped off hair was also a time-saver. Just wash and blow! Money saver, too. No weekly trips to the beauty shop. Chic and smooth not required in this business, she thought as she picked up her pail. Still, skimping on beauty treatments hardly made a dent in the monthly bills. I’m cleaning houses like crazy and getting further and further in debt. Harder work, less pay. Talk about hard labor! Talk about time! On her first job, it had taken the whole day for her to do one house. But the real kicker had come when the lady of the house said she would not need her again. She was still trying to recover from the shock when Joline showed up that evening with more referrals. No downsizing in the housecleaning industry. But qualifications were stiff, she thought, rubbing her aching muscles. “I don’t know if I’d better take those on,” she said, burning with shame. “Mrs. Smith fired me,” “She can’t fire you,” Joline said. “Call it what you like. She made it clear that my services were no longer required.” “By her! That don’t mean they ain’t required by somebody else. Look, I got three places here. They want somebody bad.” Lisa wasn’t listening. She was reliving the frustrating day. “I wouldn’t want me back, either. I couldn’t get the stains out of the bathtub and the windows still looked grimy.” “You gotta use bleach on stains. And—” Joline stopped, stared at Lisa. “Windows? You ain’t ’sposed to do no windows.” “She said just the downstairs one, and—” “She don’t say! You say. What you gonna do and what you ain’t. “But if she’s hiring me…” “She ain’t. You applying for the job.” “Oh. That’s…different?” Joline shook her head. “I can see you don’t know nothing ’bout running no business.” “Well…” Not the time to mention her business degree. “But don’t worry. I’m gonna tell you how. You been real good to me, Lisa. You always gave me clothes for my daughter, and you paid me extra that time my boy got sick. Now you in a bind, and I’m gonna help you out.” Lisa was touched. “You’ve been good to me, too. I really appreciate the referrals, but maybe I’m in over my head in this area.” If cleaning houses was a business, she was clearly unprepared. Picking up her clothes before the cleaning lady came wasn’t much experience. “Shucks! Nothing to it. All you have to do is get straight what you gonna do ’fore you start.” “You mean make a contract?” Lisa chuckled. When the mind-makes a contract the body can’t fill… “You still have to do the job. I know that much.” “Oh, you can do it. You listen to me, and you listen good. No, you better write it down. Get a paper and pencil while I pour us some more coffee.” Writing is more in my line, Lisa thought as she picked up a pen. But she could hardly keep up as Joline rattled off a mind boggling list of do’s and don’ts. “Don’t do nothing by the hour. Charge by the job, and do check size of the house and how the folks live in it ’fore you set the price. Some folks live like pigs. Do list equipment and supplies needed. Don’t supply none of these yourself. That way you ain’t loaded down and you ain’t bringing nothing in with you and you ain’t taking nothing out. Some folks are funny ’bout what you taking out.” This is a business, and an extremely complicated one, Lisa thought as Joline listed supplies needed for special problems as well as a definite agenda. “Always do one floor at a time. That way you don’t get plumb wore out, traipsing up and down all them stairs a million times. Hey, you ain’t wore out yet, are you? We just talking about it.” “I know.” But just thinking of the hard physical labor to which she was unaccustomed. “Today was…difficult,” she said.” “Forget today. Nothing to it if you do it right. Tell you what…I’ll go with you a couple of times and show you how to move along. Shucks! If you do houses in the same area on the same day of the week, you don’t spend no time fighting traffic, and you can do two, maybe three houses a day.” So she was doing it! Two houses a day was keeping her employed, but it wasn’t keeping up with expenses. If she moved from her costly apartment… Shucks, this was only temporary. When she got a real job… But two short months seemed like ten years, and no sign of a real job yet. She was worried. Tray Kingsley was noted for his business sense. With keen perception, he took instant command of any situation, knowing instinctively who should do what. As easy as breathing, to raise his hand, point a finger…direct. But when he entered the lobby of his San Francisco hotel with the girl, the boy and the teddy bear, he was at a complete loss. He hadn’t a clue what was to be done nor who could do it. “Mr. Kingsley, you’re back! And with company. How nice!” The desk clerk’s affability did not quite mask her surprise and curiosity. She leaned across the desk and smiled at Sunny. “Such a pretty little girl! What’s your name?” Sunny didn’t answer. In total silence, she hugged her bear, held on to Tray’s hand, her eyes seeming to grow bigger as she stared at the woman. Tray couldn’t speak, either, so unnerved was he by what he read in Sunny’s eyes. More clearly than if she had spoken aloud, the eyes revealed what she was feeling. The absence of all that was familiar and dear. The strangeness of the new and unfamiliar…big…crowded. The loneliness…the terror. He saw what she saw, felt what she felt. Too much weight for that staunch little shoulder. He wished— “We are happy to have you and your little brother with us.” The clerk smiled at Sunny, then turned to him. “We made the change you requested, Mr. Kingsley. Your things has been moved to the two-bedroom suite, 584.” “Thank you. I appreciate that,” he said, about to release the girl’s hand to take the key. But the tiny hand closed around his big finger and held on. He shifted the boy slightly, and accepted the key with his left hand. “Thank you,” he said. “Now about the children. I spoke with a Mr. Dancy about arrangements for baby-sitting.” “Yes. I am sorry that our hotel program is limited to much older children. However, we do have a recommendation for you. Many of our patrons have used Nanny, Inc. from time to time, and found them reliable.” She passed a card and a folder to him which he also took in the hand that held the boy. “If there is any other way we can be of service, please let us know.” “Thank you,” he said again. He followed the bellboy, his mind in a whirl. All hell was breaking loose at the office, which was normal and expected during this period of drastic change. He’d kept in touch by fax or phone almost every hour of the five days he’d been away, but it wasn’t the same as being there. Especially when he was simultaneously trying to grapple with this unexpected turn of events in his personal life. Well, too late to get to the office this afternoon. Should he try to meet with Sam tonight? He wanted to have everything in hand for the board meeting in New York on Wednesday. It was essential that he be at the office in the morning. On a plane Tuesday, headed for New York. He had to see that the children were taken care of. He’d phone that Nanny place immediately. In the elevator the bell boy tried to talk to Peter, but the boy only buried his face in Tray’s chest, his arms a noose around his neck. The girl’s hand stuck like glue. The message louder than words. You are all we have to hold onto. He felt burdened. Responsible. Awkward. “All right! We’re here,” he said, a bantering glad to be home ring in his voice. “Sunny, reach into my back pocket and see if you can find my wallet. That’s a good girl! Thank you. Now, you hold on to Peter while I take care of this gentleman,” he said, standing the boy beside her. The door closed behind the bellboy, and Tray took a look at the stark and cold perfection of the hotel suite. He should have ordered flowers, fruit. No. Toys, books, or…something. Her cry startled him. “I don’t…don’t like it here!” The broken sentences tumbled out between a spasm of angry, helpless sobs. “I want…want…to go…I want to go…go home!” She was still holding onto her brother and her bear, but she was no longer the staunch protector. Just a tiny lost and lonely child. The boy, following her lead, added his cries to hers, and the tumult filled the room, tearing him apart. He bent to his knees, gathered them in his arms and held them close. Their tears wet his face as their bodies heaved against him in hot convulsive sobs that broke his heart. “That’s right. Let it all out,” he whispered. It was too much. No way could they hold it in. What to do! “I miss your Mommy, too,” he said, guided by pure instinct. “I knew her when she was a little girl just like you.” Not altogether true. Kathy had been much older than Sunny when she first came to play in his yard. It worked. Sunny choked back a sob and her eyes widened with interest. “You did? You saw Mommy when she was little like me?”” He nodded, and her questions were eager and rapid. “Did she look like me…have a bear like mine? Could she read?” He sat on the floor, settling them against him, as he talked about Kathy with colorful, exaggerated details that soon had them giggling. After that, it was easier. They consumed some of the peanut butter sandwiches and hot chocolate he’d ordered, splashed in the tub for a short while, helped him find pajamas and books in their luggage. The suite was a mess, but he finally settled them together in one bed and read to them as instructed. “That’s what Mommy does.” It was after ten when he picked up the phone in his own room. Thank God Nanny, Incorporated was a round-the-clock, twenty-four-hour operation. “I’m a little worried about my grandfather,” Lisa told Joline. “He’s acting…well, not like himself.” “Oh? How?” “Grandma said he got into an altercation with a man at lunch one day. Over passing the salt of all things,” Lisa said, trying to picture her affable, always agreeable grandfather in an altercation with anybody about anything. “And Grandma says he gets very confused at the bridge table.” “That’s too bad. Has he seen a doctor?” “Yes. Grandma finally got him to go, and she talked to the doctor later.” “And?” “He’s not sure. Maybe just aging he says. Lots of people get irritable when they get older it seems. And forgetful. But Grandpa has always been so mild-mannered. I’m worried.” “Guess so. Do you think he could be getting that…what is it so many old people are getting now? Alls…something. Mrs. Salter, a lady I work for, says her father got so he didn’t even know her.” “Oh, Joline, don’t mention that for goodness’ sake. I couldn’t stand that.” “Couldn’t pay for it neither I reckon. Them places is awful expensive, Mrs. Salter says.” “Oh, we wouldn’t have to worry about that. My grandparents bought into that senior complex which guarantees continuing life care without raising the cost. That’s why gramps insisted it was the best place. He said he didn’t want me to have that burden in case either of them became ill.” “That’s the best way. Be prepared.” “Yes. Grandpa was like that. Extravagant, especially where I was concerned. But really smart.” She chuckled. “So why am I worried about something like Alzheimer’s? Whatever happens, Gramps’s not likely to lose that sharp mind of his.” The phone rang, and she picked it up. “Hello, Lisa,” came the voice of Mrs. Dunn, whose house she cleaned every Thursday. “I’m calling for a neighbor, a family that just moved in next door. They are desperately in need of a cleaning person, possibly twice a week. Interested?” “I certainly am.” Twice a week. She needed as many jobs as she could get. It was getting harder and harder to make the money for her grandparents and take care of herself too. If she didn’t get a decent job soon— “Good. It’s the house on the right, 168 Pine Grove. This is the phone number…The name is Kingsley.” Lisa wrote down the number and slowly replaced the phone, wondering…Kingsley. Why did that name ring a bell? CHAPTER FOUR THE Dunn’s house, always a mess, had taken all morning. It was well after one when she rang the bell at 168 Pine Grove. The door cracked open, and a small girl peered up at her, eyes wide. “It’s not your turn,” she announced. “My…turn?” “Bronsie’s already here.” Had she come too late? The man said afternoon was quite all right. The man! Perhaps… “Could I please speak with your mother?” “You can’t. Tangled curls danced as the child shook her head. “Mommy’s in heaven and she’s never coming back. She—” “Sunny! Who you talking to?” The shout from the back of the house was followed by the lumbering steps of a heavy woman wearing a light blue uniform. “I told you not to open the door.” “You said don’t let anybody in. I didn’t.” “Never mind that. Go up and see about your brother ’fore he gets into something.” Her eyes still on Lisa, the child backed away to obediently mount the stairs. “And you keep quiet! Don’t wake him up if he’s still asleep. Which I hope to God he is,” the woman said to Lisa. “He don’t set still a minute. Come on in,” she added, opening the door to admit her. “I reckon you the cleaning lady?” “Yes. I’m Lisa, Lisa Reynolds.” “I’m Mae Bronson, from Nanny, Incorporated, and I’m mighty glad to see you. This place is a wreck. Ain’t no hotel. Might as well be camping out. Nobody picking up nothing, or—” “Well, I’m here now. If you’ll just show me—” “Right. He said you’d be here and I was listening for you, but I sure didn’t hear the bell. Lord, such a commotion! Angela telling Ken she’s pregnant, and he—” “Angela?” Lisa gave a wary glance over the woman’s shoulder. “That’s her name, but she ain’t no Angel. She’s a she devil if there ever was one. In that soap, The Turning World. You watch it?” “No. I—” “That bitch ain’t no more pregnant than I am. But she knows he’s in love with Kathy and she mean to put a stop to that! Lord, the messes people get into. You see…Huh? Oh, yeah, supplies. Back here.” She led Lisa to a washroom at the back of the house. “Thank you.” It was all there: washer, dryer, vacuum cleaner and a pail full of cleaning rags and supplies she had requested. Except for the washer and dryer, everything, even the cleaning rags, brand-new. “I’ll start upstairs, if that’s okay with you,” she said. “Just don’t wake that boy. Oh, the mister left this for you.” Mae reached into her pocket and handed Lisa an envelope. “He say you’re to clean everywhere, just don’t touch his desk. In his bedroom. Upstairs. You’ll see it. And see what that girl is up to, will you? Can’t leave those kids alone a hot minute. Gotta get back. Time for County Hospital.” She darted off, leaving Lisa to find her own way. It did look as if they were camping out, Lisa thought, as she wandered through the house. Probably the household furnishings from their former residence hadn’t yet arrived. No dishes or cooking utensils, and all the downstairs rooms empty, except the sparsely furnished one where the nanny was seated before a blasting television. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/eva-rutland/almost-a-wife/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.