Читать книгу Faith, Hope and Family - Gina Wilkins - Страница 11

Lenore called Deborah to the telephone later that evening. Before Deborah could ask, Lenore added, “It’s Lindsey Newman.”

Deborah lifted her eyebrows in surprise. She couldn’t imagine why a woman she hadn’t seen in years would be calling her at her mother’s house. “Did she say what she wants?”

“No, she just asked if you were available to speak to her. You can take it in the den, if you like. I’ll be in the kitchen, making a cake for tomorrow’s church potluck.”

Deborah had been sitting in the den since dinner with her face buried in a thick book, leaving Lenore to help Isabelle with her bath, then read her stories and tuck her into bed. They’d all been perfectly courteous during dinner, Isabelle having returned to her sunny mood. Everyone had been very careful not to mention Dylan’s name, but Deborah had been ready for time to herself by the end of the meal.

She picked up the phone to find out why her peaceful solitude had been interrupted. “Hello?”

“Deborah, hi. It’s Lindsey Newman.”

“Lindsey. It’s been a long time.” There was a question implied in the statement, a polite prompting for the reason for the call.

“I know. Except for seeing each other at the weddings, we’ve hardly had a chance to speak in the past few years. Seems like when you’re in town, I’m always gone. Anyway, I know you’re wondering why I called.”

“Well, as a matter of fact…”

“I wanted to ask if you’re free for lunch tomorrow. Or if not lunch, maybe dinner?”

Frowning in genuine bewilderment now, Deborah answered slowly. “Actually, I am free for lunch. My mother’s got some sort of potluck thing at her church that I wasn’t planning to attend.”

“Great!” Lindsey’s voice practically bubbled with satisfaction. “So can you meet me? How about pizza? It’s been ages since I’ve had pizza.”

“I suppose I can. Is there any particular reason we’re meeting for lunch tomorrow or is it just for the pleasure of my company?”

Lindsey laughed. “Actually, there is a reason. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to wait until tomorrow to discuss it with you.”

“Okay, sure.” Though still confused, Deborah was perfectly willing to meet Lindsey for lunch. They didn’t know each other very well, Lindsey having been a couple of years ahead of Deborah in school, but Deborah had always liked the bubbly redhead. She was sure their lunch would be much more entertaining than the church potluck her mother had been trying to talk her into attending.

She was still curious when she entered the designated pizzeria at one o’clock the next afternoon. They had chosen the time in hopes of avoiding the noon rush, but the place was still crowded. She was glad Lindsey had arrived early enough to have a table waiting when Deborah walked in.

Wearing a hot-pink jersey T-shirt with a hot-pink-and-orange flippy chiffon skirt, Lindsey stood to greet her. The colors should have been awful with her mop of red curls, but somehow it all worked, making Lindsey look bright and fresh and cheerful. In contrast, Deborah felt almost subdued in the red polo shirt she had paired with a short, straight khaki skirt.

“It’s really good to see you,” Lindsey said with a warm smile, her eyes sparkling with characteristic enthusiasm. “You look great, by the way. Love the hair.”

“Thanks. You look good, too.”

They took their seats at opposite sides of the booth, then chatted about inconsequential topics until they’d placed their orders and received their food. Lindsey was a close friend of Caitlin’s and had been the maid of honor in her wedding, so she and Deborah had no trouble making conversation, though they had spent little time together in the past.

“I always thought Caitlin and Nathan would make a good couple,” Lindsey said as she lifted a slice of Canadian-bacon-and-mushroom pizza. “Ever since he hired her as his partner in the law firm, there was always something special between them. Of course, when he took in your little sister, I wondered if Caitlin was prepared for a ready-made family, but it seems to be working out just fine.”

“Yes, the three of them seem very close.”

“I don’t know if I would have the nerve to start out a new marriage with a three-year-old to raise. I’ve sort of made it a policy not to date guys with kids. Too many complications.”

“Exactly the way I feel about it,” Deborah agreed, reaching for her soda.

Lindsey sighed. “Not that I ever have time to date, as much as I travel for my job. Which, by the way, brings me to what I wanted to discuss with you.”

Deborah lifted an eyebrow. She knew that Lindsey was a sales rep for a local company; she believed they manufactured fishing lures or some such sports-related merchandise. She couldn’t imagine what that had to do with her. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Rumor has it you’re between jobs right now.”

“In a way. I recently completed a contract in Tampa, and now I’m considering some other offers. But I really wouldn’t be interested in selling fishing lures.”

Lindsey laughed and shook her head. “I’m not suggesting you should. Actually, I’m considering opening a business here in Honesty, and I wondered if you would be interested in becoming a partner.”

Deborah set her plastic tumbler down to study the other woman in surprise. “Really? What sort of business?”

“It would be a franchise store. A company based in Chicago is manufacturing a line of modular office furnishings—some of the coolest stuff I’ve seen on the market. I’m not sure if you’re aware that my degree was in interior design. A long way from fishing lures, I know, but it’s something I’ve always been interested in. I sort of stumbled into the sales job when I needed to pay off college loans. It’s been so profitable, I’ve been slow to give it up, but now I’m ready to be self-employed and cut out some of the travel. Selling this furniture intrigues me, and since I know office design is your area…”

Deborah was technically considered an efficiency design consultant, her specialty being the maximization of office work space and effective traffic-pattern management. She didn’t select colors or fabrics or furnishings as much as she arranged for the best use of limited space, and her services had been in increasing demand among growing businesses that weren’t yet ready to expand into larger spaces.

She liked her job. Never too long in one place, no getting attached to people and then having to say goodbye. She much preferred dealing with blueprints and cutouts than trying to understand the complex workings of other peoples’ minds.

“I know you’ve been freelancing, and I’m sure you like it that way,” Lindsey rushed on when Deborah didn’t immediately speak. “But, think about it. Wouldn’t it be nice to expand the services you can offer? To provide modern furnishings that work well with your space-usage expertise? A partner to share the workload? To bounce ideas off?”

Deborah had certainly considered similar projects before. She had interned with several interior-design firms during college and had received offers during the past couple of years while she’d worked as a freelancer, primarily on word-of-mouth referrals. She hadn’t been getting rich, but she’d been living comfortably. Mostly, she’d been completely self-sufficient, dependent on no one, answerable only to herself, all of which had seemed very important to her since she’d left college.

“Surely you’ve noticed that this area is doing quite well business-wise?” Lindsey added, her pitch obviously well-rehearsed. “It’s one of the fastest-growing areas in the state. Minority-owned businesses alone have increased by almost forty percent since nineteen—”

“Lindsey.” Deborah decided it was time to interrupt before the other woman pulled out a PowerPoint presentation. “Why me?”

“Because you fit so well into the business plan I envision,” Lindsey replied promptly. “I’ve followed reports of your career with both interest and envy. When Caitlin mentioned that you just finished a job and were considering new offers, it seemed the perfect time to approach you with mine.”

“This has really caught me out of the blue.”

“I realize that. And I hope you understand that I’m certainly not expecting an immediate answer. Take all the time you like to think about it; I’ve got to make a short sales trip early this week, anyway.”

“To be honest, I hadn’t planned to move back to this area. There’s an advantage to quiet anonymity, you know.”

Lindsey smiled in commiseration. “Don’t I know it. Nearly everyone around here has known me all my life, and they feel that gives them the right to comment on my personal business whenever they like.”

“Exactly. And it isn’t as if my family hasn’t had its share of public problems,” Deborah added in a mutter.

“I know. There will always be gossip, I suppose, but Nathan and Gideon seem to have risen above it very well. Nathan and Caitlin’s law firm is thriving, and Gideon’s really starting to hit it big with his writing. And your mother is certainly a highly respected member of the community.”

That understatement made Deborah grimace. “Yes, well, I’m not sure I want to take a place here among them. I rather like being completely on my own.”

“I’ve been on my own for a while, too—even though I still live in the town where I grew up. Sometimes it gets sort of…I don’t know…lonely.” Lindsey’s somber expression lasted only a moment, and then she replaced it with her usual cheery smile. “But there are certainly advantages to it, as well. So take all the time you need to think about my offer. But promise me you will think about it.”

“I’ll think about it,” Deborah replied. Why not? Thinking certainly didn’t involve obligation.

The brightness of Lindsey’s smile increased by several watts. “Thanks. I’ve brought along a file full of catalogues and figures and projections—you’ll find I’ve been doing my homework.”

“Apparently so.”

A tall, broad-shouldered man with fussily styled, thinning light-brown hair, sun-narrowed blue eyes and a shark’s smile paused beside their table. “Well, hey, Deborah. Looking good. Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

Deborah gave him a sidelong glance. “Let’s keep it that way a while longer, shall we?”

Lindsey giggled.

Kirk Sawyer, former pro football player turned pitchman for his father’s automobile dealership, scowled. “You always were a snotty bitch.”

“And I’ve gotten even better at it since you used to annoy the hell out of me in school. Don’t hang around and make me demonstrate it.”

He snorted and turned to stalk away. His arrogant footsteps weren’t quite steady; Kirk was rapidly becoming the town drunk, even though he still thought of himself as the local hero.

It hadn’t been ruined knees alone that had destroyed Kirk’s athletic career, though he would never admit that his problems had run much deeper. His daddy took good care of him, Deborah thought with a shake of her head. It was because of Bill Sawyer’s pleas that Nathan had reluctantly defended Kirk in several DUI cases, until he’d finally had enough and refused to serve as Kirk’s lawyer.

“Way to go, Deborah,” Lindsey murmured. “That guy gives me the creeps. He made a heavy pass at me at a club one night. Thought I was going to have to pull out the pepper spray, but Dylan Smith was there to help me out.”

“Of course he was.” Former bad boy Dylan had somehow become the new local hero, Deborah thought, bemused by the reversals of fortune.

“Enough business. Let’s rehash your brother’s wedding.”

Smiling at the abrupt change of subject, Deborah asked, “Which brother? They’ve both had weddings this year.”

“The latest. Gideon. Everyone was so surprised when he suddenly up and married his New York agent. Word is they’re going to split their time between Honesty and New York—mostly Honesty, since everyone knows how much Gideon hates having lots of people around.”

“Yes, that’s their plan.”

“Adrienne seems confident she can handle her clients’ business from here, for the most part. She told Caitlin she’s going to cut back to just a select few. Gideon, of course, and a couple of other long-time clients. And now Dylan. That was certainly a shock.”

A half-eaten slice of pizza fell from Deborah’s suddenly nerveless fingers, landing with a splat on her plate. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Dylan Smith. You haven’t heard yet? Dylan hasn’t said much about it, but you know how word gets around. Yolanda Krump found out that Adrienne has agreed to represent Dylan for a novel he has written. Yolanda’s sister works at the post office, you know. She’s the one who let the news slip. Yolanda is irate, of course, because Adrienne declined to represent that rambling so-called work of autobiographical fiction Yolanda’s been babbling about for ages.”

“Dylan’s written a book.” It was the only part of Lindsey’s explanation Deborah could focus on just then. “And Adrienne’s representing him.”

“Kicker, isn’t it? Especially since everyone knows he and Gideon have never exactly gotten along. And now Gideon’s wife is his agent and Dylan’s. One of those small-world things.” Lindsey took a sip of her cola, then suddenly tilted her head. “You and Dylan were once an item, weren’t you?”

“A long time ago,” Deborah muttered, well aware that Lindsey already knew. “Back when we were just kids.”

“So did you know then that he had aspirations of being a writer?”

“No.”

“Ironic, isn’t it, that he and Gideon have so much in common, really? Both good-looking guys, close to the same age, both writers.”

“Lindsey.”

“Mm?”

“If you want me even to consider a business partnership with you, you have to promise one thing.”

“Which is?”

“We don’t talk about Dylan Smith.”

“Oh.” Lindsey’s expression turned speculative. “Sore subject?”

“You could say that.”

“So, um, Dylan who?”

Deborah nodded in satisfaction. “Exactly.”

Deborah was fuming when she stormed into her mother’s house. During the drive back, she had tried very hard to concentrate on Lindsey’s business offer, but her thoughts kept circling back to the same infuriating point.

“Mother!”

Lenore appeared in the living-room doorway with an expression that conveyed both curiosity and displeasure. “Honestly, Deborah, there’s no need to shout. How was your lunch with Lindsey?”

“Did you know Dylan Smith has written a book? And that Adrienne is going to represent him?”

Lenore frowned. “I suppose Lindsey told you that. I wonder where she heard it.”

“You didn’t answer me. Did you know?”

After only a momentary pause, Lenore nodded. “I knew. I thought it was still a secret in town. I should have known better. I wonder how Lindsey found out.”

“What I would rather know is how—and when—you found out.”

“I bet it came from the post office. Dylan had to mail several things to Adrienne’s New York office, and you know what a bunch of gossips those folks are who’ve been working in our post office for the past thirty years. Especially Yolanda Krump’s sister Twyla. She probably told Yolanda, who spread it all over town.”

Deborah’s hands drew into fists at her hips. “Would you please answer my question? How long have you known about Dylan’s writing?”

“Not very long. Gideon told me. Adrienne seems confident that she’s going to be able to sell Dylan’s work, so it will become common knowledge eventually. Gideon figured he might as well tell me about it before the gossip broke—though it seems he barely beat it.”

“How could Adrienne do this to us? And why did Gideon let her? Surely he told her our family hasn’t exactly been friendly with Dylan.”

“Honestly, Deborah, I can’t believe what I’m hearing from you.” Lenore shook her head in disapproval. “To think that you, of all people, would suggest that a husband has a right to interfere in his wife’s business decisions or to forbid her from making a decision. Just as Adrienne has a right to have Dylan for a friend, she certainly has every right to represent him if she considers him a potentially valuable client.”

With a wince, Deborah cleared her throat. “That wasn’t what I was saying…exactly.”

“Then what, exactly, did you mean when you asked why Gideon allowed Adrienne to accept Dylan as a client?”

Deborah gave a gusty sigh and shoved a hand through her hair. Because there was no way to clarify her outburst without making it worse, she asked, instead, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’d been asked to keep it confidential for the time being. I don’t spread secrets or gossip.”

“You could have told me,” Deborah said quietly. “Especially me. You shouldn’t have let me find out like this.”

Her mother’s expression changed from annoyed to regretful. “I’m sorry, Deborah. I didn’t realize it would matter quite this much to you.”

Deborah drew her shoulders straight and lifted her chin. “It doesn’t matter that much,” she lied. “I just don’t like hearing family business from outsiders.”

“I can understand that. But you really shouldn’t let it worry you, dear. Adrienne certainly won’t be bringing her clients home for dinner. You won’t have to deal with Dylan any more than you have for the past few years. After all, he didn’t even attend Gideon and Adrienne’s wedding.”

Regretting now that she had allowed her emotional control to slip, Deborah masked her feelings behind an impassive expression and a shrug. “Where’s Isabelle?” she asked, firmly changing the subject.

“She’s in the kitchen making a collage with magazine cutouts and scraps of fabric, rickrack and buttons. It’s a terrible mess, of course, but she seems to be enjoying herself.”

“I’m sure she is. I think I’ll go catch up on my e-mail.”

“I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

“Thanks.” Suddenly eager to be alone—even if it meant she was a terrible houseguest—Deborah turned and left the room.

She should have spent the afternoon thinking about Lindsey’s unanticipated business proposition—and she did, a bit. She thought especially about how accepting the offer would mean spending more time in Honesty, most likely increasing the amount of time she would spend around Isabelle and the number of occasions on which she would encounter Dylan.

A writer. She growled beneath her breath and plopped down heavily on the side of her bed. She had just gotten accustomed to thinking of the former teenage bad boy as a respectable officer of the law. And now this?

As irrational as she knew she was being, she couldn’t help suspecting that he had done this just to get under her skin. And probably Gideon’s, as well. After all, Gideon had been published for several years, his thrillers having built a loyal and enthusiastic following. It had been through his writing that Gideon had met Adrienne, his agent of two years. When she’d visited him here in Honesty for business purposes a few months ago, their first face-to-face meeting, they’d fallen in love almost immediately.

Now Gideon and Adrienne were away on their honeymoon and Deborah had discovered that Dylan was also one of Adrienne’s clients. What was she to make of that?

Nothing, she told herself. It was none of her business. If Gideon was okay with having Dylan Smith as part of his wife’s life, Deborah had no reason to get involved. Except for the inevitable small-town encounter, Dylan was completely out of her life now.

Exactly the way they both wanted things to remain.

Isabelle attended preschool the next day, and Lenore had her usual busy calendar, so Deborah was alone in the house for several hours, something she assured her mother she didn’t mind at all. She spent the morning studying the thick file of materials Lindsey had provided about the furniture franchise. She had finally succeeded in putting Dylan out of her mind, for the most part, and she was able to concentrate on business, except for three annoying incidents when the phone rang, but no one was on the other end of the line. Telemarketers, she assumed, hanging up irritably after the third non-call. She shared Gideon’s extreme dislike for the pesky profession.

She had to admit that Lindsey’s proposition was intriguing. She spent a long time leafing through catalogs of furnishings, and she liked what she saw. The furniture was of as high a quality as Lindsey had claimed, combining versatility with clean, modern styling. She could envision these pieces fitting very well into her clients’ decor and daily usage.

Sales wasn’t Deborah’s area, but Lindsey was apparently good at it. With Lindsey’s sales expertise and Deborah’s design experience, she could see how they could build a successful business.

She just hadn’t convinced herself she was interested in making that sort of long-term commitment. Nor in working with a partner. As much as she liked Lindsey, how was she to know Lindsey could be depended on for the long run?

Deborah had learned from experience that it wasn’t always wise to put her faith in others, no matter how likeable or trustworthy they might initially appear to be.

Finally, driven from her room by hunger, she wandered toward the kitchen for a late lunch. She was a bit surprised to find her mother standing beside the kitchen counter, her back to the doorway Deborah had stepped through.

“Hi, Mother. I didn’t realize you were back.”

Lenore gasped, jumped and whirled around.

“Sorry,” Deborah said, holding up both hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to—what’s wrong?”

Lenore’s face was unnaturally pale, and her mouth was drawn into a tight line. She clutched a single sheet of paper in her unsteady right hand. “You startled me. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Deborah wasn’t buying it. “What are you holding?”

“I, um—” Lenore looked down and Deborah would have sworn her mother’s face lost even more color. “It’s nothing.”

She didn’t accept that, either. Because every fiercely protective filial instinct she possessed had just kicked into overdrive, she held out her hand, speaking in the no-nonsense voice she had learned from Lenore. “Let me see.”

“It’s just some small-minded busybody’s attempt to throw her—or his—weight around. Someone who gets a sick sense of power by intimidating other people.”

“Let me see,” Deborah repeated patiently.

Sighing, Lenore held out the paper. “It’s trash, of course. Nothing at all to worry about. I shouldn’t have even given it a second thought, much less let it upset me.”

Deborah scanned the terse paragraphs with a hard knot of anger forming in her chest. “When did you get this?”

“It was in today’s mail. No return address, just an Honesty postmark, dated Saturday.”

“And this is the first time you’ve gotten anything like this?”

When Lenore didn’t immediately respond, Deborah looked up with narrowed eyes. “Mother?”

“It’s not the first,” Lenore admitted reluctantly. “But it’s the most unpleasant.”

“How many?”

“Three—maybe four. I don’t know. I threw them away.”

“Has there been anything else? Phone calls? Any other personal contact?”

“No. Just the letters. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

“You’re probably right.” But she agreed only to ease the lines around her mother’s mouth. Deborah was furious and, no matter what she’d just said, she was worried.

As much as she hated it, there was only one person she could think of to turn to for advice.

Dylan’s mobile home was old but in good repair, and he kept it relatively neat, for a bachelor. It sat on three partially wooded acres that backed up to a small fishing lake just outside of town, giving him a nice view of the water from the wooden deck he’d built across the back of the trailer. He’d bought the place two years ago with vague plans of building a house here someday. When he was ready.

He had the money to build now, if he wanted. But, as he told all those who asked what he was waiting for, he wasn’t ready. There never seemed to be any urgency to build a house just for himself, and he hadn’t met anyone in the past few years he wanted to ask to share it with him. His dogs were company enough for now.

It was the barking of the dogs that let him know he had company Monday afternoon. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was just after two, an unusual time for anyone to come calling. Putting away the lunch dishes he’d just finished washing, he wiped his hands on a dishtowel, tossed it on a counter and headed for the front door just as someone knocked.

If there was one person he would not have expected to find on his top step, it was Deborah McCloud.

Seeing her at his door, her blue eyes meeting his with the direct challenge with which she had always faced him, her dark-blond hair tossing in the spring breeze, it suddenly occurred to him exactly what he’d been waiting for all this time.