Swept Away

Swept Away
Gwynne Forster

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my husband who loves me and whom I love; to the memory of my father who gave me my first lesson in the meaning and power of a man’s love; and to my stepson who is so much like them both.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Veronica Overton walked with prideful steps into the executive ladies’ room on the fifth and top floor of the building that housed the agency, Child Placement and Assistance—CPAA—that she headed as executive director. In the three years that she’d been its chief, she’d developed the agency into a driving force on Baltimore’s notoriously depressed and blighted west side. When she went home to her co-op town house in upper-middle-class Owings Mills, just outside Baltimore proper each night, she could pride herself in the knowledge that she’d made it; she’d accomplished what millions strove to do. She’d reached the top of her profession before her thirty-third year, and by bringing integrity to everything she did, she’d won the respect and admiration of everyone who knew or knew about her. Veronica reached the entrance to the ladies’ lounge and stopped short.

“What do you know about that?” she heard a woman ask. “Her Highness, Lady Veronica, is flat on her backside. The invincible Miss Overton. Not even the governor can get her out of this one.”

Veronica recognized Mary Ann’s voice when she said, “Why’re you so happy about it? I think it’s a reflection on all of us. Somebody slipped up somewhere.”

“Yeah,” came the voice of Astrid Moore, the woman who had competed with Veronica for the position of executive director, “but Her Highness is the one who’ll burn for it. That man means business.”

Veronica rubbed her arms to relieve the sensation of burrs and thorns attacking her skin. Forgetting that the women thought themselves alone, she startled Astrid with a hand on her shoulder.

“What are you talking about? What’s happened that I don’t know about?”

Astrid’s glistening white teeth sparkled against her smooth dark skin. “You didn’t know? Schyler Henderson just held a news conference. Seems Natasha Wynn is missing from the foster home we placed her in, and he’s suing CPAA for negligence.”

Veronica couldn’t help bristling at the accusation, even as apprehension raced like blood through her body. “Negligence? He’s out of his mind. Some children run away from their own parents.”

“Yes,” Mary Ann said, stepping over to Veronica’s side in an unspoken gesture of support. “But Mr. Henderson said the home in which we placed Natasha is an unsuitable environment. You know what that means.”

“Do I ever!” Veronica wrinkled her nose against the sweet, sickening perfume that Astrid sprayed around her neck and ears. “Thanks for your loyalty, Astrid. Be sure I won’t forget it. Not ever,” she added with pointed sarcasm.

She inspected her light brown skin, combed her black, artificially straight hair, refreshed the lipstick that matched her dusty-rose raw-silk dress and walked out of the room head high and shoulders straight. People said she walked regally, but she felt anything but regal right then. A blast from Schyler Henderson and his Advocates for the Child (AFTC) people could topple her, destroy all that she’d done and sink her into professional disgrace.

She welcomed the sharp mid-March air that greeted her when she stepped out of the CPAA building. Winter had hung around longer than usual, and she tugged her street-length black shearling coat closer to her body. At the corner, she bought some roasted chestnuts from Franco, who told her proudly that he’d sent three children through college on what he made selling them. She believed him. Over twelve years, chestnuts at ten for a dollar fifty could have bought him a mansion.

The twenty-minute train ride home gave her just the time she needed to unwind after a hard day and to begin thinking of her other life. Her choral society, work with the shelters and her plan to help juveniles achieve more respect in their neighborhoods. She wanted to form them into groups of volunteers who would assist people in emergencies. As she entered the two-story brown brick structure, she couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride. It was hers, and she didn’t owe one penny on it.

After a light supper, she sipped ginger ale and watched the evening news. The Henderson man was everywhere, and his commanding presence and mesmerizing charisma seemed to have worked their magic on the reporters. Not one of them questioned his accusations; not one pointed out her contribution to the people in the area she served. Sickened by the media’s readiness to put her on trial, she flipped off the TV and set about planning her defense.

The next morning she sat in her office with her deputy, Enid Dupree, discussing the agency’s options. Enid didn’t believe they had the resources or the proof to combat AFTC. “Veronica, you know Henderson is formidable when he makes a case against you. Look at the way he managed that case against the boys’ club.”

Veronica sat forward. She’d forgotten that case. “But this agency is not culpable.”

Enid shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be. He believes in his soul that we’ve destroyed Natasha Wynn, and if you didn’t have anything more to go on than the evidence he cited to the press, you’d say he’s right.”

“I know he’s a heavyweight. Everybody around here knows about him and his crusades, but people say he’s honorable.”

“Somebody’s feeding him half-truths. I’d bet my new face on it.”

Veronica’s shoulders shook with her laughter. “You paid eight thousand dollars for that face. You mean you’re that sure we’ve got a stool pigeon in here?”

“You heard what he said at his news conference. He sounded as if he’d been reading our files.”

“Then he should have read the truth. That foster home has had a perfect record.” She gritted her teeth. “You wouldn’t believe how I’d like to get my hands on that man.”

Enid’s new face bloomed into a lusty female grin. “Me, too. Lord knows I would, and I wouldn’t be taking my hands off him anytime soon. Believe me, I’d—”

Veronica could hardly believe what she heard. Enid never talked about men unless discussing them professionally. “Wait a minute. Are you saying—?”

Enid didn’t bother to show any embarrassment at having raved about a man. “Haven’t you met the guy? If he doesn’t send your blood rushing the wrong way, you haven’t got any. I’m fifty-four, but just looking at that man from a distance of twenty feet made me pray.”

“Pray?”

“Yes, honey. If I hadn’t prayed for self-control, I’d have gone straight up to him and said or done something stupid.”

Thank God it wouldn’t be a jury trial, and with luck, the judge would be a forty-year-old ladies’ man. “I’ve seen him on TV, but I never got the impression that he was irresistible.”

“Same here, but Mr. Henderson in person is an all ’nother cut of cloth. Those eyes! And, Lord, that million dollar charisma. Whew!”

Veronica leaned back in her chair, picked up a pencil, twirled it, put it down and shuffled some of the papers on her desk. Restless and impatient. “All right. I get it. That only means I’ve got work to do and plenty of it. He’s used to getting his way, no doubt.”

Laughter spilled out of the woman sitting beside her desk. “If he told me what his ‘way’ was, I’d see that he got it.”

At Veronica’s icy stare, Enid threw up her hands. “Just kidding. Just kidding. See you later.”

Veronica watched her leave. She trusted Enid, but she didn’t care to do battle with a male heartthrob. Competence she could handle, but she didn’t relish being the generator for a man’s ego trip. She read and reread the information in Natasha’s file. The agency hadn’t made a single mistake with the girl. Who knew why an eleven-year-old would run away. A sudden chill stole into her. A child wouldn’t run away from a warm, loving and happy home, would she? If indeed that was what had happened. Lord forbid Natasha had been a victim of foul play.

She mused over the problem and, on impulse, asked her secretary for Schyler Henderson’s phone number. She couldn’t plan if she didn’t know precisely what the charges were.

“Schyler Henderson. Good morning.”

His warm, caressing tones gave her a mental picture of a perfectly proportioned male lying supine on a bed of dewy grass with a warm breeze kissing his bare skin. She reined in her thoughts.

“Hello, Mr. Henderson. This is Veronica Overton.”

“What may I do for you, Ms. Overton?”

So he didn’t engage in small talk. She held the receiver away and stared at it. She respected professionalism. She told him she’d learned of his charges through the media.

“It seems to me that if you were seriously concerned about our placement practices, you would at least have spoken with me before you made your public grandstand.”

“I considered it, but since I didn’t know you or how you operated, I decided against it.”

“Well, I want you to know that I had no idea Natasha wasn’t in that home until one of my staff told me about your press conference.”

“Ms. Overton, that home is unsuitable. The child has disappeared, and no amount of discussion will change that. The only way we’ll stop this…these tragedies is nip them at the source.”

“That home has served more than a dozen children over the years without one unpleasant incident. Furthermore, my agency has an impeccable record, and we provide the only service of its kind to West Baltimore. If you destroy us, what can you put in our place?”

“I’m not out to destroy your agency. We need it; you and that agency have been a good thing for this community. But we must protect and preserve every child, every little life, Ms. Overton. No mistake is tolerable. My aim is to make sure that our children get the best possible service. From the information available to me, it appears that Natasha Wynn didn’t get that so, much as I’d rather not move against you, I have to do what I believe is right.”

Schyler hung up, got the file and read it through again, assuring himself that he hadn’t misrepresented the woman or her agency. Still, an uneasy feeling settled in him. He’d never met her, but he knew her reputation and he was loathe to sully it. Women, and especially African-American women, had a hard enough time getting executive jobs and receiving the support they needed after they got them. He didn’t want to knock her down, but when he remembered his own travails in first one foster home and then another, he had to stay his course for the child’s sake. He called the district attorney’s office to lodge his complaint.

Brian Atwood answered the phone. “Man, Overton has a spotless record. You asking me to dethrone that icon?”

Schyler sat down, put his feet on his desk, crossed his ankles and leaned back in his swivel chair. “I know who she is, and I don’t want to hurt her, but it’s my job to act when a child is endangered.” He could imagine that he’d worried Brian, the coward of their college class.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, man. She’s rock solid.”

Fishing with Brian could be fun, but working with him tried his patience. “Was rock solid. I’m sending the file over by messenger.”

“Okay,” Brian said, a tad slowly, Schyler thought. “I’ll get back to you.”

Three hours later, Schyler lifted the receiver hoping his caller was not Veronica Overton and breathed deeply in relief when he heard Brian’s voice. “What do you think?”

Brian didn’t hesitate. “I’ll check this out and if I find cause, I’ll bring charges.”

A week later, AFTC’s charges against Veronica’s agency were aired in Family Court.

Schyler strode into court, certain of his grounds but unhappy about the damage he might inflict on a woman of commanding stature and singular achievement. She had rescued Child Placement and Assistance from irrelevancy and made it a force in the community. He knew about her, had heard her on radio and seen her on television, but he’d never met her. A half-smile settled around his mouth. She always sounded so correct, perfect, like Miss Betts, his fourth-grade teacher. He hadn’t liked Miss Betts, he recalled, because she never gave him credit for what he did. Sometimes, he wished she could see him now. He’d grin at her and show her his thumbs up sign, the way he always did when she was mean to him. He laughed to himself, because he knew he was procrastinating. Much as he hated it, he had to present this case.

He walked away from his side of the aisle, greeted an acquaintance and shook hands with him, still postponing the inevitable. Then he sat at the table provided for him and looked across the narrow aisle that separated him from Veronica Overton, intending to bow graciously, and did a double take. Right straight to the marrow of his bones. An arrow with his name on it. She’d looked at him and his heart had taken off and sped unerringly to her. Get ahold of yourself, man. This spelled trouble, because she’d reacted to him as surely as he had to her. Quickly, he focused his attention on the papers in front of him. She’d been looking at him again and had diverted her gaze when he caught her at it. He ran his fingers through the thick black wavy hair that disputed the purity of his African heritage. Now, what was that all about?

Veronica glanced up just as the tall, distinguished-looking man entered the far side of the chamber. Schyler Henderson. A giant of a man. At least six feet five inches tall, though trim as an athlete. She’d never realized he was so tall and, for reasons she refused to examine, imagined that he’d dwarf her five feet ten inches. Not that she wouldn’t like it; she enjoyed being with a man who made her feel soft and feminine. She settled her gaze on him. She wouldn’t say he was a knockout, but…He looked at someone in front of her, smiled, and long strides brought him to within a few feet of where she sat. His smile claimed his whole face as he shook hands with the man before going to the table reserved for him and sitting down.

The bottom dropped out of her belly, and she knew what Enid meant about blood flowing backward. She stared at his back while something leaped within her, quickening her insides. She couldn’t move her gaze from him. He sat alone, without a lawyer, leaning back, as relaxed as a marathon runner at the end of a race. She brought herself under control and breathed. Lord, she’d never seen such eyes.

The judge called the proceedings to order, and Brian Atwood read the charges. She marveled at her ability to sit quietly through it. Her agency’s lawyer refuted the charges, and she strummed her fingers on her knee. Such a waste of time and money. It hadn’t occurred to her that Schyler would be the one to argue on behalf of Advocates for the Child. She bristled at the assurance with which he read the brief he’d written as a friend of the court.

“No matter what CPAA’s reputation is, it cannot be allowed to endanger our children. The tragedy of Natasha Wynn has sullied the commendable reputation that this agency established during the previous three years. But saving a hundred children does not excuse the loss of one.”

Angry at him as Veronica was, he fascinated her. And thrilled her. She watched, spellbound, as he strolled from one end of the bench to the other, a consummate actor.

He spread his hands as though helpless. “Of course, Your Honor, we can pat them on the back and say, now you be good little boys and girls and don’t do this anymore. Sure, and we could be right back here a month, two, three or a year from now with another tragedy.” He looked over at her and smiled. “We wouldn’t want that, Your Honor.” To her surprise, he called her to the stand.

Veronica took the stand. “Thank you for the opportunity to speak on my behalf, Mr. Henderson. Not many of us can claim to have achieved perfection in every aspect of our lives as you so obviously have, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t blow my own horn and let the agency’s record speak for itself.”

She could see that she’d stung him, but he was only momentarily nonplussed. “When we’re dealing with people’s lives, we’d better be perfect,” he replied, his tone gentle and his manner respectful.

She refused to allow him the last word. “Since you know that, Mr. Henderson, I’d think you’d have gotten your facts straight before you took an action that could destroy my life.”

A look of distress flashed across his countenance, and she got a sense that he regretted the entire affair, but he quickly replaced it with an expression of confidence and asked the judge for a ruling against CPAA.

The judge, apparently having heard enough, announced that he’d render a decision within ten days and dismissed them.

Veronica marched out of the chamber, head high, without a glance in Schyler’s direction. He’d had the temerity to accuse her agency. She couldn’t think of any torture good enough for him. As the crisp March air hit her face, enlivening her skin, invigorating her, his long shadow paired with hers, and she didn’t doubt that he’d maneuvered it so that they’d leave the building together.

She didn’t look at him. Deliberately. She didn’t want any of his magnetism, though it seemed to radiate from him even when she wasn’t looking at him. “I’m surprised you’d care for my company, Mr. Henderson. It taxes my credulity to think you’d allow yourself to be seen with such an irresponsible person as me, a menace to the well-being of Baltimore’s children. Sure you haven’t mistaken me for someone else?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This isn’t personal, Ms. Overton. I’ve admired your work, but this tragedy requires restitution.”

She stopped walking and looked up at him. “And you don’t care who pays. Is that it? You don’t even know that there is a tragedy. She’s missing, but for all you know she could be safe. Where there’s no body, there’s no murder; any detective will tell you that. Make a name for yourself at somebody else’s expense, please.”

He faced her, towering over her, either unable or not caring to hide the sensual awareness making itself known through the prisms of his remarkable gray eyes. “I’m not a crusader, Ms. Overton. I’m trying to protect children because they can’t do that for themselves. I’d never set out to hurt you. You…you’re…” He looked into the distance, protecting his thoughts, and when he looked back at her, she couldn’t mistake the compassion his eyes conveyed for anything but what it was. He did dislike hurting her.

He stared down at her, his gaze unfathomable. A half-smile formed around his sensuous mouth. Then he winked. “See you next week.” And he was gone.

Schyler’s steps slowed when he approached the restaurant where he’d told Brian they could meet for lunch, as his mind grappled with the enigma that was Veronica Overton. Once there, he ordered a hamburger with french fries, coleslaw and a dill pickle, and a chocolate sundae for dessert.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Brian asked, as he watched Schyler pick at his food.

“I don’t know. I just don’t feel that spurt of adrenaline, that excitement that I usually get on a case. I don’t feel like making the kill. Maybe I ought to turn this job over to somebody else and stick to engineering.”

“This doesn’t surprise me. It’s a real bummer. The woman’s standing in the community didn’t happen accidentally. She had to work her tail off for it, man. You’re going to make yourself a bunch of enemies.”

“I know, but I can’t help it. When I became head of Advocates for the Child, I took an oath to pursue vigorously every case in which a child had been put at risk. It’s my job, and I have to do it, but I…” He rubbed his forehead. “You don’t know how I hate the thought of jeopardizing that woman’s career.”

“Well fasten your seat belt, man. I’ve got some news for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Those foster parents have separated. I got it when I called my office just before you walked in here. You can’t lose this one.”

“Separated after twenty-three years? What about?”

“Seems she’s tired of doing everything in the house while he comes home at night, buries his face in a book or newspaper and cultivates his mind. She’s mad as hell and she’s not taking it anymore.”

Brian’s laughter grated on his ears. He didn’t find it amusing. “That doesn’t make it a bad home for a child.”

“Does if they argued about it a lot.”

Schyler nodded. “If the man’s such a lost cause, how’d she stand him for twenty-three years?” He finished his chocolate sundae. “Gotta go, man. See you in court.”

He hailed a taxi to his office at Branch Signal Corporation, where he worked as chief of electrical design. An engineer by profession, he’d gotten a law degree so that he could help underprivileged people, particularly children, who otherwise wouldn’t get competent counseling. He didn’t charge for his services to AFTC, and although he represented the foundation, he didn’t practice law.

He went to his drafting table and began working on a method of tapping electric energy in summer when it was cheapest and storing it for use in winter when it became more expensive. He was too disconcerted to work. Something…everything about that case bothered him. He walked over to the window and looked down at the crowds scurrying along Calvert Street like ants after sugar. He’d gotten one good look at her, and she’d poleaxed him. In all his thirty-six years, no woman had done to him what she did without trying. He wondered how he’d had the presence of mind not to stare at her. He lifted his left shoulder in a quick shrug. She wasn’t immune to him either. But he suspected she had the strength to put aside whatever she felt, to ignore it and him. Too bad. He’d give anything if he’d met her in more favorable circumstances.

Veronica walked into Enid’s office without knocking, something she never did with any of her employees. Allowing a person privacy was essential to good relations. She dropped into the chair nearest the door and, in a gesture uncharacteristic of her, folded her hands and dropped them into her lap.

“For goodness sake,” Enid exclaimed, “what happened? Don’t tell me he…he…Good Lord, I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me out of going to that trial with you.”

Enid got up from her desk and walked over to her boss. “What? Did the judge rule against us?”

How could Veronica tell a woman who was her subordinate what Schyler Henderson had done to her? That her common sense didn’t function when she was close to him? That he was the Greek God Apollo incarnate? Well, maybe he wasn’t, but what difference did it make? If he had invited her to lunch, she would probably have gone with him.

“Did he?” she heard Enid ask in a voice that had become plaintive.

She straightened up. “No. No. It’s not that. His Honor decided to make us wait ten more days.” She rose from the chair, patted Enid on her arm and left. In her own office, she prowled around for a few minutes; then she shook her body as if divesting her clothes of chaff and her shoes of loose soil. On top of that sex-charged aura, he was a gentleman. He’d indicted the agency, but he hadn’t said a word against her personally. And he’d been sorry, almost apologetic about that. He’s a man I could spend a lot of time with and be happy doing it. If only I’d met him in more favorable circumstances. But she hadn’t, and she’d better stop thinking about him.

Before the week’s end, however, Veronica’s thoughts of Schyler were not filled with longing for him. Natasha Wynn had been apprehended, wan and emaciated while stealing food in a supermarket, and AFTC had indicted her as the head of the agency.

Enraged, she phoned Schyler. “What’s the meaning of this? Are you trying to destroy me? Why are you persecuting me?”

His long silence only served to heighten her annoyance. Finally he gave her an answer different from what she would have expected, all things considered.

“Ms. Overton, I am not your attorney, but I will give you some good advice. Please don’t appeal to my good nature. I have one, yes. But I place my responsibilities above my personal feelings.”

Her bottom lip dropped. She held the phone away and stared at the receiver. Talk about chutzpah! “Your personal feelings? Where do they come in?”

He let her have another pause. “You’re old enough to know the answer to that question. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you in court next Monday. And be prepared, because I’m duty bound to get a conviction in this case, though I may have come to hate the thought, and I’m warning you that you’re in trouble.”

“Wait a minute. I don’t know the answer to that question, and if you do, I wish you’d let me in on it.”

He expelled a long breath, and she imagined that he closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “I tell myself the truth,” he said, “even if I don’t mention it to anybody but me. You were right there with me when it happened, so you know what I’m talking about. But don’t let that lull you into complacency about this court case.”

So he acknowledged the electricity between them, felt it and would still do what he regarded as the noble thing. If she hadn’t been facing the fight of her life, she’d admire him for it.

“One doesn’t expect protection from one’s avowed executioner. Better look closely at your motives, Mr. Henderson. See you in court.”

She hung up, her nerves rioting through her flesh, making a mockery of her cool manner. The case against CPAA hadn’t been settled, and now AFTC had indicted her. That indictment was a death knell that filled her head with dislike for Schyler Henderson. Yet, his eyes, his smile, his masculine bearing raised havoc with her feminine soul. The moist telltale of desire dampened her pores, and her heart stampeded like horses charging out of a corral. She dropped her head into her hands as her warring emotions pitted her against herself.

The day of decision arrived, but before the judge ruled on the case against CPAA, Schyler presented to the judge his agency’s case against Veronica herself. Once more, she refused to answer questions but, instead, challenged Schyler and AFTC.

“My record is my defense. The whole of Baltimore, Maryland, knows what I’ve contributed to this community. Whose sins are you demanding that I pay for?”

Schyler knew that the effect of the blow she’d landed had to be mirrored in his face, telling her that she’d touched a nerve.

“I’m not being personal, so would you please try to resist it?” he said, deciding against a return thrust.

She countered his every point, fencing as skillfully as Errol Flynn or the great Olympians of the past. And he wanted her to destroy his arguments, prayed that she would, though he did nothing to help her. After she’d been on the stand for about an hour, Schyler conferred with the district attorney, who then asked the judge for a bench consultation, saying he wanted to withdraw the charges, that he could not aptly substantiate them.

Schyler knew without doubt that only once before in his life had he experienced such an overwhelming sense of relief. He’d finally lost a case, but he couldn’t be happier. AFTC would make certain that Natasha Wynn received all the support she needed, but her two weeks of pain on the streets of Baltimore had taught her and all concerned a lesson. Him, too, and maybe he’d needed it. He went out to face the reporters who crowded around him, their bulbs flashing and notepads bobbing in the air as they shouted for his attention. He was the man of the moment.

Over their heads, he saw Veronica walk out undisturbed. A fierce pain gnawed at his belly; her wings had been clipped, and he and AFTC had engineered it. Their intentions had been good, but as his father had told him dozens of times, the highway to hell was paved with good intentions. He watched her for as long as he could see her, her head high and chin up, and fought the urge to wade through that sea of reporters and take her into his arms.

Veronica made her way back to the office, called a staff meeting, gave them the outcome of the trial, packed her briefcase and left. Several blocks from the train station, at the corner of Reisterstown Road and Bock Avenue, she crossed the street to where she knew she’d find Jenny with her shopping cart full of useless things.

“You here early today, Ronnie.” Jenny claimed the gap between her front teeth made it impossible for her to say “Veronica.” “Ain’t a bit like you. You not sick, I hope.”

In spirit, maybe. “I’m all right, Jenny. Thanks. I have a few things to do at home.”

Jenny squinted at the sun and sucked in her cheeks. “I been sitting here every day it didn’t rain for the last almost two years, and this the first time you ever had anything to do at home. Well, I ain’t much to offer help, but ifn’ you need any prayers, you just let me know.” She rolled her eyes skyward. “He don’t always answer mine for me, but when I prays for other people, he do.”

Veronica pressed a few bills into Jenny’s hand. “Thanks, friend. I’ll take all the prayers I can get.”

“I sure do thank you, Ronnie. I know I’ll get something to eat every evening, ’cause somebody from Mica’s Restaurant across the way always brings me some fried lake trout and cornbread and collards. What you give me, I uses to buy soap, toothpaste, aspirins and things like that. I could use another blanket this winter.”

“I’ll make sure you get one. If you’d just go see that social worker, we might be able to get you a place to stay.”

She’d given up hope of getting Jenny off the street. What had begun as a solution to the loss of her apartment had become a matter of psychological dysfunction. Jenny no longer seemed to want a home; she had become inured to her hardships and accepted them as her way of life.

“Yes ma’am. I’m goin’ down to the shelter and get cleaned up, and I’m goin’ to see her. Yes ma’am, I sure am.”

Veronica waved her goodbye and struck out for the train station.

At home, Veronica watched Schyler on the local news channel, transfixed by the smooth manner in which he made it seem as though all parties to the litigation had won. Won? She’d had the carpet yanked from under her. She flipped off the television and took out her knitting, hoping to settle her nerves with the rhythmic movements of her fingers, and at the same time, to make some headway on the two dozen mittens and caps that she gave every Christmas to children at the homeless shelter. Schyler’s hazel eyes winked at her and refused to be banished from her mind’s eye. Reluctantly, she answered the telephone, hoping that the caller wasn’t from the media.

“Hello.”

“Veronica, I just saw Schyler Henderson’s press conference,” her stepfather said. “I hope the man will leave you in peace now. He can say what a great agency you’re running, but if he thought so, why did he do this to you? I feel like calling him and giving him a piece of my mind.”

She couldn’t help smiling. Sam Overton never failed to support her. Time and again he’d proved his boundless faith in her, and she loved him without reservation. “He was trying to make amends as best he could. I can’t deny that the case has done some damage, but the agency will survive, because nothing exists that can replace it.”

“All right, but what about all those awards the city and state have given to you and to the agency? They can forget about what you’ve done for that city?” She could imagine him snapping his fingers when he said, “Just like that? It’s sickening.”

“Don’t worry, Papa, I’ll be fine.”

“Then what’re you doing home this time of day? I couldn’t believe it when Enid told me you’d gone home.”

“Best place to clean out my mind. I was in no mood to console the sixty-seven employees who’d be drifting into my office for assurance that they still had jobs. How’s Mama?”

“Pretty good today. She’s asleep right now. Don’t worry, Veronica. As long as you do your best, you can hold your head up. You’re competent. Nobody can take that from you.”

“Thanks, Papa, but right now I don’t have much enthusiasm for service to the public.”

“It’ll come back. Looks like we’ve both met our Hendersons.”

“What do you mean?”

“Long story, child. There was one in my life once, and he won, too. But only for a little while. So chin up.”

“Thanks, Papa. Love you. Give Mama a hug.”

“You know I will. Talk to you later.”

She went back to her knitting, more tranquil now, musing over her stepfather’s comment that he, too, had met his Henderson. But if she knew Sam Overton, he’d said as much on the subject as he ever would. She searched for a solution to foster care but couldn’t think of a workable alternative. Still, something had to be done. Restless, she put her knitting aside, went to the Steinway grand in her living room and began to practice a song that her choral group had chosen for its next performance. But after half an hour she gave it up, went out on her back porch and sat there, looking at the ripening of spring, trying to count her blessings.

Schyler had been home twenty minutes when the phone rang. He lifted the receiver, knowing instinctively that the caller was his father.

“You didn’t call to let me know how the case went,” Richard Henderson said to his son. Not accusing; he didn’t do that. He merely stated the facts.

“I didn’t have anything to rejoice about. I lost, but I’m not sorry.”

He could imagine that his father, knowing how he hated to lose even the most trite argument, raised his antennae.

“Why not?”

“Instead of answering my question, she asked me if I wasn’t demanding that she pay for someone else’s sins. Dad, that thing cut me to the quick. Maybe I was. I…I just don’t know.”

“Don’t punish yourself for nothing, Son. You said the case had merit. You questioning your judgment?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. The case against the agency made more sense than the one against her.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “For the life of me, I don’t know why I went after her like that…like a lion after a gazelle. She…she’s…”

“I see. You liked her. You more than liked her, you bent over backward not to let your feelings get in the way, and you think you overdid it. Right?”

Arrow-straight as always, Richard couldn’t have put it plainer. Schyler rubbed his square chin and released a breath of frustration. “Something like that but, well, that’s history now. Our paths won’t cross again unless we meet at a conference, a fund-raiser or a civic meeting.”

He rubbed his chin, reflecting on what could have been. Too bad. Rotten, lousy timing. This woman had gotten to him in ways that he couldn’t have imagined. And right then, he didn’t want to examine his feelings, a mélange of almost everything a man could feel for a woman. Almost. Something remained that he’d never given to any woman. But if he got to know her…

“Would it help to call her and tell her you’re sorry, or maybe that you’re glad things worked out as they did?”

He didn’t believe in putting Band-Aids on life-threatening wounds. He’d take his medicine. “I don’t think that’ll help, but you’re right. I ought to do something to restore her status in the public’s eyes. I’ll call a news conference. That’s how it got started.”

His father’s low growl of a laugh had always comforted him in an odd way. “You going to eat crow?” Richard asked when he finally stopped laughing.

Schyler didn’t catch anything amusing. “Don’t like the stuff. No way. I’ll fix it, though.”

Veronica flicked on the television in her office, leaned against her desk and watched Schyler tell the press that his complaints against CPAA and Veronica were not substantiated and reminded them that the case had been thrown out of court. When hours passed and not a single reporter had telephoned to get her reaction to the press conference Schyler had called to exonerate her, she knew the damage to her and the agency exceeded what she’d imagined. She was no longer good news copy, and she said as much to her deputy.

Enid tried without success to camouflage her disheartened mood. “When a man drops an egg, he thinks his only problem is cleaning up the mess. Does he stop to deal with the fact that there is no longer an egg?”

It surprised her that she didn’t want to hear him vilified. “Don’t you think he tried to repair the damage?”

Enid sucked air through her teeth hard and long. “Not in my opinion. He should have come right out and said he made a mistake in bringing the charges, that he was wrong and next time he’d see to it that his assistants did a better job of getting the facts.”

Visions of his eyes glistening with heat for her flashed through Veronica’s mind, and she remembered his words: “You were right there with me.” He’d wanted her and hadn’t tried to hide it, and he had known that she reciprocated what he felt.

Veronica leaned back in her chair, folded her hands behind her head, crossed her knees and pondered Enid’s attack on Schyler. She thought for a few minutes before answering. “You’re forgetting that the girl was missing, he didn’t know where she was and, when she surfaced on a charge of stealing food she was a shell of her former self. His crime was in caring too much.”

Enid rolled her eyes skyward, crossed and uncrossed her ankles. “If you say so. I don’t know what we’re going to do, though. Fund-raising’s going to be a problem.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll think of something. Right now, I need a change of scenery.”

Chapter 2

At home later that day, she walked around her elegant town house. She picked up a paperweight and stared at it. For the past five years she’d done nothing but work. CPAA had been her whole world. She thought of what she’d done with her life and what she hadn’t done. As a child, she’d had such promise, gifted in music and art. But she’d chosen the safe way, a career that would enable her to make a good living and help her parents. She’d done that. Renovated their home, refurnished it and eased their lives. But her dreams were still that, dreams. She’d never swum in the Pacific; stood before the Taj Mahal; skied on a mountain top; gazed at the Mona Lisa; flirted with a handsome Egyptian; and she’d never sung Billie Holiday songs in a jazz club.

She might have made a difference in the lives of a few people, but in the world? Not at all. And what could she show for her thirty-two years? A busted career. And the misfortune to have met, in a battle that had ruined her, the one man who had made her fantasize about love in his arms. A picture of herself in her high school cap and gown mocked her from the top of her piano. Oh, what hope and what naiveté. She’d had the world on a string then. But a decade and a half later, she still didn’t have the nest, children and love that she craved, and she’d lived a life of adventure only in her dreams.

Her thoughts went back to her childhood, filled with love and her parents’ caring. But it had encompassed only a few short years. Study and work were about all she had ever known: work for food and clothing; study for the scholarships that would take her to the next level. And when she finally reached the top, staying there had consumed all of her time and energy. She had never known a man’s love, never enjoyed a carefree vacation, never spent hours chatting with friends. She hadn’t lived, only worked and struggled. And what had it brought her? She wanted to taste life, to do the things about which she had always fantasized, and to shed her affected aura of ultraconservatism.

The next morning she called Enid to her office as soon as she got there. “Sit down and brace yourself. I’m taking leave from the agency. Then I’ll decide whether to remain.”

Enid’s mouth opened wide in a wordless exclamation of horror, and Veronica could see that she’d shocked the woman.

“You’re not serious! Veronica, don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for. Wait a few months until all this settles. I know you’ve—”

“I’ve spent the night thinking about it, and I need to get away from here, at least for a while.”

Enid leaned forward, her suddenly sallow complexion a testament to her sorrow. “Is it Henderson? I know he’s sorry, and I know he cares about what happened and about you, or he wouldn’t have called that press conference and tried to make amends.”

Veronica’s heart fluttered wildly. Then, something sprang to life within her, like a jonquil popping through the earth in spring or a song leaping to life in her mind, but she controlled her response to it. “That was gracious of him. Maybe he cares, and maybe guilt drove him to do it. I don’t know, and if I change my plan of action because of him, then what? I wish him well, but today is my last day in this office. I have three months of leave stored up, and I’m taking it. If I decide not to continue working here, I’ll give notice.” She called a staff meeting, locked her desk and left.

On her way home, she stopped by Jenny’s corner and handed the woman an envelope of bills.

Jenny peered into the large brown envelope, closed it and looked at Veronica. “You hit the lottery, Ronnie, or is this the last time I ever gon’ see you?”

A tinge of guilt struggled with the wave of sadness that overtook her. She hadn’t thought of Jenny as a dependent but as someone she helped, a friend, even. Now she understood that the woman depended on her. She looked at Jenny’s shopping cart of things that only she valued and fought back tears. She couldn’t even invite her to a nearby restaurant for a cup of coffee because she wouldn’t be allowed in with her “things.”

Resigned, she forced a smile. “I’m taking a three-month leave, Jenny. If I get back before that, I’ll drop by to see you. That little change in that envelope ought to keep you until I get back. I’d…I’d better run for my train.”

Jenny put the envelope in her coat pocket and secured the pocket with two safety pins. “You know I thank you. You know it. I…I hope you finds what you lookin’ for, Ronnie. Somethin’s wrong sure as my name’s Jenny, but you needn’t worry none. Anybody with a heart big as yours is always gonna be blessed. I ain’t even gonna worry ’bout you. Go on now, and get your train.”

Veronica hesitated, saw the tears in Jenny’s eyes, turned and rushed across the street. Jenny wouldn’t want to be seen crying.

She spent the next day storing her valuables and securing her house. Then she packed her bags, put them in the foyer, stuffed a few things in a small suitcase and left for her parents’ home in Pickett, North Carolina.

As she’d expected, her stepfather was not pleased about her plans. “How can you just walk away from what you devoted your entire adult life to? It bothers me seeing you this way, like you don’t care what happens. Stay here with us for a while and get yourself together.”

“I’m taking some leave I’ve got coming to me, Papa. When that’s up, I’ll have to make a final decision about the job.”

“That’s better, but don’t walk away from it like you could get another one just because you asked for it.”

She looked into her stepfather’s sad eyes and knew that for the first time in her life she was going to ignore his advice, to disobey him, and she hurt—not for herself, but for the man who had sacrificed so much for her. But she drew a measure of contentment from her mother’s words, telling her that she should always be true to herself.

“Your papa means well, and he’s even right. But if you feel you have to find what’s missing in your life, honey, do it now. Right now when you’re free, when it won’t affect anyone but you. Don’t compromise on important things.” Veronica noticed that she released a long, labored breath. “And always be sure of what you feel.” She patted Veronica’s hand. “I’ll be so glad when spring comes.”

After supper, Veronica sat alone on the back porch. As a child, she’d spent many lonely hours on the porch of their old house, knowing the world around her and dreaming of the universe that she had yet to discover. She’d known the approaching automobiles by the sound of their motors and the screech of their tires, knew the neighbor who chopped wood by the rhythmic noise of his ax, recognized every dog by its bark. She had loved the old porch and had given every splintered slab of wood its own name and its own story, had imagined them as ships that took her to special places. An only child, she’d spent most of her childhood alone while her parents worked at whatever jobs they could find. She glanced around at the lovely porch furniture, the yellow brick walls, and the yellow curtains that blew out of the kitchen windows. For the last four years, she had enabled her parents to live comfortably, and she would see that they always did, but she had to follow her dream. An early spring breeze whistled around her, and she tugged her woolen sweater closer, gazed up at the sky illumined with millions of stars and thought about Schyler. If only…A shudder passed through her. Too late for that.

The next morning she kissed her parents goodbye. “I’ll be in Europe for a while, Papa. Write me in care of American Express.”

She went back to Owings Mills, got the bags she’d left in her foyer and took a Swissair flight to Switzerland.

“I’m going to do everything I always wanted to do and see the things I’ve longed to see,” she promised herself as her Swiss guide helped her strap on her ski boots.

“You’ve only had two lessons, and you’ve done pretty well, miss, but you’re not skilled enough to go chasing down these mountains by yourself,” Tomass, her German-Swiss guide cautioned her.

Emboldened by her early success and invigorated by the calm, crisp mountain air, she felt as if she could soar over the snow-covered peaks that surrounded her.

“I’ll be careful, Tomass. Promise.”

He finished lacing her boots and towered over her, reminding her of Schyler. “If you respect these mountains, they’ll respect you. Some champion skiers have gotten careless or cocky and breathed their last breath right here.”

They compromised. She bought another hour of his time, and they skied together, her cares falling away like discarded clothing as they flew with the wind at her back.

“We’d better call it quits,” he said, two hours later. “Be sure to get a hot tub, because every bone you’ve got will be screaming.” At the chalet she thanked him, returned the rented skis and set out for a hike across the lush, green valley.

Beauty as far as she could see. She hadn’t known that the Alps, the grand mountain range of Europe that stretched from Italy through France and Switzerland to Austria, was of such imposing grandeur, so spectacular a feast for the eyes. She walked briskly, marveling at herself and the world around her, hardly able to believe she’d just skied on the Jungfraujoch, that rugged prize of the Swiss Alps that stood 11,333 feet at its peak and where skiers had challenged nature for over 850 years. At its foot nestled Grindelwald, arguably one of the most scenic places on earth. She gaped, spellbound, when her eyes first beheld it. Then she turned away from the awe-inspiring scene of snow-covered mountain, green valley and alpine roses that perfumed the air, wanting to banish the desire to have Schyler Henderson hold her hand as she stood there. She took a deep breath and quickened her strides through the meadow, enjoying a feeling of spiritual renewal.

Bewitched by the scenery, she lost track of time and place. Against the majestic white peaks, wildflowers of every color littered the fields, putting to shame the Ricola television advertisements.

“Guten Tag, Fraulein. Where you headed?”

She hadn’t seen the man as she strolled along deep in thought. “Hello. Where’m I going? Well…nowhere special. I’m just walking.”

The tall, blue-eyed blond gazed at her with frank appreciation of what he saw. “It gets dark early in these mountains. Where you staying? There’s no lodging anywhere near here.”

She noticed that he said it matter-of-fact-like, as though her situation were hopeless. “I’m staying at a hotel in Interlaken.”

“Interlaken? You’re at least a three-hour trek from there. You’d better come with me.”

Go with this stranger? She didn’t think so. She smiled her best I’m-in-charge smile. “Thanks, but I’ll get there okay.”

She didn’t fool him. “By morning you could be covered with snow. You don’t know these mountains, miss. You’d better come with me.”

He started to walk away and tendrils of fear unfurled through every molecule of her body. Suppose he was right. “Wait. Where are you—?”

His piercing eyes, as blue as the clearest sky, didn’t smile when he said, “Home. My parents will put you up. There’s no moon tonight, so I have to get there before dark. Nothing to fear. So come.”

He walked on, so she followed him, and followed, and followed until she thought her knees would crack.

“How…how much farther is it? I’m winded.”

He pointed to a distant light, the only other sign of life for as far as she could see. “Another couple of kilometers or so. Come along now.”

Another two miles. She stifled a groan and geared up her strength. When at last she stumbled into the two-story, unpainted chalet with its sloping roof and windows lined with boxes of blooming geraniums, she felt as if she hadn’t an ounce of energy left.

“Papa,” her rescuer told the older man who greeted them at the door, “she’s lost, so she’s staying the night.”

Words were exchanged in German, and for a while she wondered if the old man would let her stay. But he smiled, shook hands with her, and switching to French, asked her name. When she told him, he welcomed her and called his wife, from whom she received another welcome. Veronica followed the woman up the rustic stairs to a cheerful room. She’d never seen so many handmade quilts, hand-embroidered sheets and pillowcases as were stacked on shelving in the room. She thanked the woman and dropped into the nearest chair.

“Nous prendrons le dîner dans quelque minutes,” the woman said, as though anyone who didn’t speak German would speak French. “We eat in a few minutes.” Veronica followed the woman to the bathroom, which was clearly the only one in the house, for a woman’s shower cap hung on the same hook as a man’s razor strop and razor. She hadn’t known that men still used them. Glad for the chance to refresh herself, she did so as best she could. She went back to her room, and a short time later, heard a knock on her door.

“Miss Overton, we’re ready to eat.”

She opened the door, and he stared down at her. “My name is Kurt.”

He left her standing there and headed down the stairs, giving her no choice but to follow. As soon as she got to a bookstore that carried English titles, she intended to read about the Swiss culture. Unless she was missing a beat, the status of Swiss women was not too high. In the dining room, whose centerpiece was an enormous stone fireplace over which hung a rifle, several oil-filled lanterns and a large, noisy cuckoo clock, Kurt’s parents and a man she assumed was his brother sat at the table waiting for them. Kurt’s father said grace, a long soulful-sounding supplication in German. Then he introduced her to his other son, Jon. The family ate without conversation of any kind, limited their words to requests for the meat, or the bread or whatever else was wanted. They drank wine with their dinner, but she declined, thinking it best to face the night with a clear head. After the meal, the woman of the house refused Veronica’s offer to help clean up, but Veronica wasn’t certain that she was expected to sit around the fire with the men.

Kurt’s father lit his pipe and cleared his throat. “You understand French perfectly?” he asked her in French.

She told him she knew what was being said.

“Good,” he replied in French, “my son Kurt needs a woman, and he likes you. Not many women want to live out here, because it’s too harsh. But we have a good farm, and we live well. We want you to stay.”

Her heart landed in the pit of her stomach. When she could close her mouth, she said the first words that came to her mind. “I wouldn’t think of living with a man I wasn’t married to.”

Since the old man didn’t understand English, Kurt replied. “I’d take you for my wife, if that’s what you want.”

Stunned, she felt as if her brain had shut down. He couldn’t be serious. She looked at him. He meant what he’d said. They had already entered the twenty-first century, and this guy spoke of getting married as if that were the same as shelling a peanut. One thing was certain: she’d better not laugh.

“I’m sorry,” she managed at last, “but I can’t do that.”

She couldn’t believe the disappointment that registered on his face. “You’re already married?”

“I’m not married, Kurt, but where I come from, we treat marriage differently. I’m sorry. Please thank your mother for the dinner.” She asked to be excused and was glad she remembered how to say it in French.

Her nerves rioted throughout her body when she realized that Kurt was following her. She stopped at the top of the stairs and confronted him.

“Why are you following me up here, Kurt?”

“You won’t marry me, and you will leave tomorrow morning. Will you at least spend the night with me?”

She’d have panicked if he hadn’t spoken so gently, without belligerence.

“I don’t believe in casual…er…sex, Kurt.”

He studied her for a minute, and a look of pure pleasure settled on his face. “You needn’t worry. I assure you there’ll be nothing casual about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He released a long breath. “I’m sorry, too. What time do you want to leave tomorrow morning? We eat breakfast at six-thirty.”

She stifled a smile of relief because she didn’t want to encourage him. “As soon after breakfast as possible. The hotel must have worried that I didn’t get back there last night.”

From his facial expression, you’d have thought he saw a Martian. “They don’t care, as long as you or somebody pays the bill. We’ll leave here at seven-thirty. If you don’t mind riding in the truck, I’ll drive you down to Interlaken.”

“Thank you, Kurt. For…for everything.”

He shrugged. “Maybe next time I’ll get lucky.”

Veronica walked into her room at the Hotel Europa in Interlaken, so-called because of its position between two lakes. Excited about her adventure but relieved that it had ended without mishap, she got the notebook she’d bought in the hotel’s small store and began to write. Kurt hadn’t interested her, but during their ride down the mountain and through a narrow pass to Interlaken, she’d developed compassion for him. Eligible though he was—and handsome, if your taste ran to his type—he couldn’t find a woman he wanted who would agree to live with his family in the home whose foundation his great-grandfather had built and that he refused to leave. The worst of it, to Kurt’s way of thinking, was that his brother couldn’t marry until he did. She recorded the events of the previous two days and put the tablet aside.

Time to move on. She walked out on her tiny balcony and looked at Lake Thunersee nestled in the bosom of an endless flower-filled meadow beneath the Jungfraujoch Mountain on which she’d skied. Why couldn’t she have shared it with Schyler? Here, in the most beautiful place she’d ever been, she was alone. She shrugged it off, as she’d always done, packed, paid her bill and took a taxi to the station. The taxi driver assured her that if the United States was full of women who looked like her, it must be paradise for a man. She took that with the proverbial grain of salt, not bothering to disabuse him of his assumption; she was already learning that it wasn’t the place but the person who counted most.

Her hotel in Geneva faced the train station. She dropped her bags inside her room door, went to the phone and called American Express.

“Yes, Miss Overton, we have a message for you. We don’t open mail, so you’ll have to pick it up here.”

A feeling of dread stole over her, but she blew out a heavy breath, called Swissair and in four hours was on her way to Pickett. She was eating lunch on the plane before she remembered her mail at American Express. It didn’t matter; Papa was the only person who knew her whereabouts, and as much as he hated to write letters, something had to be seriously wrong.

A week after her return home, she sat on the edge of her mother’s bed and leaned forward so she could understand the muffled words. She couldn’t make sense of them, except for the last.

“…find him. Find your father…please find him. Sorry.”

Days later, the services over, she and her stepfather began adjusting to life without Esther Overton. Veronica hated to leave him, but he insisted that he’d be happy with his memories, because Esther would always be with him.

Shortly after her return to Baltimore, she made a luncheon date with Enid. She had to talk to someone other than her stepfather.

“If she told you to find your birth father, you’d better do that,” Enid said. “She had a reason.”

“But I grew up thinking he…he deserted us. She said so herself. I don’t want to find him. I spent my whole life detesting him.”

Enid was adamant. “Maybe she wanted to right a wrong. How do you know? If that’s the last thing she said, you’d better do it. Get a private detective.”

“I…I suppose you’re right. Anyway, I promised her I’d do it. Uh…How’s…uh…Mr. Henderson these days? Still rolling heads?”

Enid pushed her glasses up on her nose. Since she’d had her face lifted, the bridge of her once prominent nose was considerably smaller, and her glasses no longer stayed in place. Veronica wished she’d get a pair that fit her nose.

“Mr. Henderson called several times just after you left. At first, he thought I was lying when I said I didn’t know where you were and that you’d taken leave from the agency. Veronica, he was distressed. Have you two been together…I mean…Is anything going on with the two of you? His reaction wasn’t what I’d expect of someone who only knew you casually.”

Veronica shook her head, knowing that Enid’s sharp eyes wouldn’t miss her discomfort. “There’s nothing between us, Enid.”

“But there could be?”

“Better to say there could have been.”

“My Lord! And he knows that, too, doesn’t he?”

Veronica nodded. “So it seems. It’s been good talking with you. Let’s…let’s see each other often. Okay? I’ve gotta run back down to Pickett and get what information I can about my birth father. Call you when I get back.”

She passed Jenny’s corner on the way to her train but didn’t expect to see the woman on that rainy day.

Bright sunshine relieved the dreariness of her task as she sat in what had been her parents’ bedroom shuffling through the papers she’d found in the bottom drawer of her mother’s dresser. Tension gathered within her as she stared at the picture of a happy threesome—herself at about age two sitting on her birth father’s lap and her mother smiling up at them. She stared at the likeness of the man her mother had begged her to find. Now she at least knew what he looked like, and she realized that she resembled him. She put the picture aside and searched further. Satisfied that she had enough information, she took out the few items she needed and closed the drawer. Her stepfather didn’t seem to have touched anything in the room or to have slept in it since losing his wife.

She went back to Baltimore, hired a private detective and gave him the photo and other information about her father, including his status as a Vietnam veteran. Six weeks later, the detective informed her that he had found a man who acknowledged being her father and who offered as proof the birth dates of her and her mother and when and where he’d lived with them as a family.

“He lives with his adopted son in Tilghman, Maryland, on a little fishing peninsula. Has a great place a few steps from the Chesapeake Bay. Nice guy, too,” the detective informed her.

Her hackles shot up, and she could feel her bottom lip struggling to stay in place. How dare he desert his own child and adopt someone else’s? The bitter taste of bile formed on her tongue, and she couldn’t wait for the chance to tell the man who sired her how she detested him.

“Something wrong?” the detective asked. “Not to worry, Miss Overton. He’s an okay guy.”

She took control of herself. “No. No. Everything’s fine, and you’ve done a great job.”

She jotted down the address and telephone number that the detective gave her, paid him and turned a new page of her life.

It wasn’t a journey she’d ever thought she’d make, and she’d as soon not have to do it now, but she’d promised, and it couldn’t be done except in person. A travel agent reserved a room for her in the town’s only hotel. She rented a Taurus, packed enough for an overnight stay and set out for Tilghman. Ordinarily she tended to speed, but on that morning she lumbered along at forty miles an hour. Killing time, postponing the inevitable and annoying other drivers. She crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, took Highway 50 toward Easton and turned into Route 32, which took her along a winding two-lane highway past the yacht haven known as St. Michaels. From there to Tilghman, she could see the bay on either side of the winding route, but with the sharp and frequent curves of the road, she didn’t dare enjoy the view.

Tilghman’s quaint quietness took her aback. What kind of man would content himself to live in such a remote place, in the middle of a body of water known to be wild in a storm? She checked into the little wood-frame two-story hotel, and it embarrassed her that the innkeeper witnessed her astonishment at the attractiveness of the room.

“It’s lovely and bright,” she said in an effort to make amends. She asked the woman whether she knew her birth father.

“Of course. Everybody in this place knows everybody else. It’s walking distance, but you can drive if you want to. Keep on down the street ’til you see a traffic light, turn left and walk to the end of the road. That white brick house is the one you want. Take you about ten minutes walking.”

She talked herself out of going immediately. After all, he might not be at home on a Saturday morning. She got her copy of the book, Beyond Desire, and her gaze fell on the scene in which Marcus Hickson succumbed for the first time to Amanda Ross Hickson’s lure and kissed her in spite of himself. She didn’t want to read about any other woman’s passion in a man’s arms, so she flung the book aside. She’d seen a restaurant next door, went in and ordered a crab cake, but her stomach churned in anticipation of the coming confrontation with her father, and she couldn’t eat it.

“Quit procrastinating, girl,” she admonished herself, got into her car and drove to 37 Waters Edge. She parked and looked out at the bay. Beauty in every direction in which she looked. Leaning back in the driver’s seat, she contemplated the difference between her birth father’s evident life style and the condition in which she’d grown up. The big white brick bungalow with its red shutters and sweeping and well-tended lawn was beautiful and, she knew, costly. She thought of her life on Cook’s Road in Pickett, so named because so many of the women who lived there worked in private service as cooks. In the days of her youth, their house hadn’t been painted, and they couldn’t afford the seeds and tools with which to create a lovely lawn. Her stepfather had given them all that he could, had filled their lives with love, and had sacrificed so much in order that she could have a better life. She had never faulted him for their near-poverty. But when she looked at the wealth before her, she had to work hard at not hating the man she would soon meet.

She put the car in Park, got out and strolled up the winding walkway. She had to shake off the trepidation that almost made her turn back, but her fingers trembled nonetheless when she knocked on the door.

Chapter 3

Now who could that be? He put his felt-tipped pens in the holder he kept for that purpose, slipped his feet into his house shoes and took his time walking to the front door. He had to finish the design of his New Age cable TV channel descrambler before he went to bed that night, and he didn’t welcome an intrusion. He knew his dad wouldn’t go to the door, because he didn’t let anything, especially unexpected visitors, interfere with his work. The brass knocker tapped several more times, less patiently than before. He opened the door.

He stared. Something akin to hot metal plowed through his belly, and an indefinable gut-rearing sensation winded him as if he’d just run a mile. She stared back at him.

“What are you doing here?” they asked each other in unison.

“I live here,” he managed, groping for his sanity. Where had she come from and why was she here? But he didn’t ask her, because he didn’t trust his eyes.

“You…you live here?” She checked a piece of paper that she held in her left hand. “Is this 37 Waters Edge?”

A twinge of apprehension coursed through him. “Yes. This is number thirty-seven. Why are you here, Veronica?” His hope had already begun to dissolve into nothing, because he saw no affection in her manner, not so much as a smile. Rather, she seemed troubled, far more so than when they’d sparred in court. He didn’t like the aura of unhappiness that seemed to settle over her.

“Why are you here, Veronica?”

Her deep breath and eyes that suddenly glistened with unshed tears rocked him, but he waited, trying to ignore the pain that suffused his body, for he realized at last who she was. And he knew she wasn’t happy with what she’d discovered.

“I came to see Richard Henderson, my birth father. Don’t tell me; I’ve already guessed. You’re the son he adopted.”

He didn’t recognize his own voice, cracked and tired. “I’m Richard Henderson’s son.”

They stared at each other, stared for one poignant moment. As if she didn’t want to be reminded of the fire that had burned between them, she dropped her gaze. At that, he opened the door wider and beckoned her to enter.

“You’ve rattled my whole foundation,” he told her. “This takes some getting used to.”

She didn’t look at him but perused the foyer where they stood. “Tell me about it. Is my father home?”

Cue number two: she didn’t intend to be friendly.

Veronica closed her eyes as though in fervent prayer. “Are you related to Richard Henderson?”

Schyler backed up a few steps, symbolically distancing himself from her. “Related?” he asked, shaking his head as though denying the possibility. “By blood, you mean?”

She nodded, afraid of his answer, vaguely aware of a sense of foreboding. She didn’t want a relationship with Schyler Henderson, did she? So why was she afraid he’d say yes? And even if her heart skipped and hopped at the sight of him, even if her blood boiled thinking of him, wasn’t he the man who had self-righteously jimmied her world?

“Well?” she pressed him.

“Not to my knowledge,” he finally said. “He took me in when I needed him, and I’d give my life for him.” He closed the front door and began walking with her toward the rear of the house, but suddenly he stopped. “Why are you searching for him after all these years?”

His aura warmed her, but she didn’t want to respond to Schyler’s gentle but disconcerting charm and braced herself against it. “I promised my mother. The last words she said to me were ‘Find your father.’ Is he here?”

“Yes. But shouldn’t you have called to let him know you’d be here this afternoon? I doubt a man’s heart will stay a steady beat if he lays his gaze on a daughter he hasn’t seen in thirty years—suddenly and without warning.” His manner was gentle, but his voice stern, giving notice that he’d protect Richard Henderson from everything and everyone, including her.

He was right, but she’d acted partly on impulse. She’d also gotten the courage to do it and she didn’t believe in procrastination. Besides, if she’d asked for an appointment and waited for his reply, she could have gotten cold feet. Or, she’d reasoned, he could have refused to see her.

“I had no guarantee that he’d agree to see me,” she said, answering Schyler’s mild reprimand. “After all, he deserted us.”

His body stiffened, and the gray of his irises seemed to lighten as though glazed over with a coating of ice. She saw his jaw working and knew she’d angered him.

“I don’t believe it!” he spat out. “If you came here to cause my father distress, don’t fool yourself into thinking I’ll stand for it. I won’t!” He walked ahead of her. “My father’s back here.”

As they passed the dining room, her gaze took in the contemporary walnut furnishings and the crystal chandelier that dangled from the ceiling. She imagined that the beautiful carved breakfront contained fine linens, crystal, porcelain and silverware, and resentment of Richard Henderson threatened to choke off her breathing. She’d bet that chandelier cost more than her beloved stepfather made in months of grueling, back-breaking work.

She reflected on Schyler’s admonishment of minutes earlier. “I’ve seen the lion close up when he roared loudest; he can no longer frighten me, Mr. Henderson.”

She couldn’t let the pain she saw in his eyes soften her attitude. He’d had her father’s love; she hadn’t. Yet, something in her hurt for him, and because of him. He put a half-smile on his face, but it never reached his eyes, and she had to grasp her shoulder bag with both hands to prevent herself from reaching out to him. He opened the door to what appeared to be a small solarium. Sunny and homey with white rattan furniture and numerous green plants.

“Who was that at the door, Son?”

Son, indeed! For the first time in thirty years, she heard the voice of the man who’d sired her. And in spite of herself, excitement and anticipation shot through her.

How gentle his voice, she thought, when Schyler answered his father, and how solicitous. “Brace yourself, Dad,” he said, blocking her entrance to the room. “We knew she’d come sooner or later, and she’s here.” He stepped aside. “Come on in, Veronica.”

“Veronica? Veronica!” As she walked in, Richard Henderson bounded up from his desk and started toward her. “Veronica!” He pronounced the name as if it were sacred to him. “I despaired of ever setting my eyes on you again.”

He opened his arms to her, but she couldn’t walk into them, couldn’t make herself act the lie. She gave him as much as she could, extending her hand to him. After seconds during which tension crackled in the room and her blood pounded in her ears, he took her hand and held it, though only for a second.

He stepped back then, and she saw him as he was. Tall. Proud. Self-possessed. If she’d hurt him, he didn’t show it. “If you’re not glad to see me, Veronica, why have you come?”

She tried to shove aside the connection she’d instantly felt to him. An indefinable something that drew and held her, repositioning her center of gravity.

“I came because it was my mother’s last request of me. I promised her I’d find you.”

He gasped, held his head up and his flat belly seemed to jam itself against his backbone. He closed his eyes, large and almond shaped like hers. “Esther is dead? Your investigator didn’t mention it. She’s dead?”

She nodded, unwilling to believe the news would mean anything to him. “Just before my investigator located you.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Schyler move toward his father, but Richard walked over to the window, turned his back and gazed out. From the bend of his shoulders, she knew he’d gone there for privacy, to shield his emotions and to get a grip on them. She glanced at Schyler, but the dark expression that clouded his face as he gazed in the direction of his father gave her no comfort. She walked halfway to the window and paused, uncertain as to what to do. She thought she detected a quick, jerky movement of his shoulders as though a shudder had torn through him. But the man possessed dignity.

He turned and smiled at her. “At least you’ve come. I’d like us to get acquainted. Would you…would you…spend the night?”

She wasn’t prepared for a love-in, not after years of resenting this man who had rejected her, only to welcome another man’s child into his home and his heart.

“Thanks, but I’m staying at that little white, two-story hotel on Front Street. It doesn’t seem to have a name,” she told him, “and I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

Richard made a pyramid of his long fingers, propped up his chin and scrutinized her. She had the feeling that he judged her and found her wanting. But what could he expect from the daughter he’d left thirty years earlier?

He gazed steadily into her eyes. “If Esther told you to find me, what did she want me—or you, for that matter—to know?”

She’d wondered about that but couldn’t guess a convincing answer. “I…I don’t know. She didn’t get a chance to tell me.”

He knocked his right fist into his left palm as she’d seen Schyler do while he tried to sway the judge against her. “I see. In that case, we’ll have to spend enough time together to figure out what was left unsaid. So stay for dinner.”

A command if she’d ever heard one, and her good sense told her to obey it. She glanced at Schyler, who’d said nothing during her exchanges with his father. His guarded expression told her that she’d displeased him and that she was on her own.

“My housekeeper is usually here on Saturdays,” Richard explained, “but she’s at a church outing today. The food will be edible, though, because I cook about as well as anybody, and I’ve taught Schyler to do the same.”

He shifted his glance to Schyler. “Son, why don’t you show Veronica our little village while I get the meal together? We eat at six-thirty, Veronica.”

“Well I—”

Schyler had her by the arm. She didn’t think she’d find his fingerprints on her flesh, but he had certainly touched her with gentler fingers in the past.

“Finish your writing, Dad. There’s plenty of time before dinner. I’ll entertain her.”

He ushered her into the living room and pointed to a brown leather recliner. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Dark colors didn’t do a thing for her, and her green suit would die against brown. Feeling wayward and, in a way, trapped, she ignored his suggestion and sat on the huge cream-colored sofa.

“Thanks, but I’ll sit over here.”

He stood several feet away looking at her. And saying nothing. She resisted crossing her knee, or swinging her foot, or pulling her hair. And she was damned if she’d rub her nose. When she could no longer stand this scrutiny, she blurted out, “Are you being rude deliberately?”

His shrug was slow, nonchalant. “If I were, you’d probably know it, considering what an expert you are at it.”

She knew she deserved the reprimand, for she’d hurt Richard Henderson when she didn’t return his warm greeting. But she couldn’t explain it to Schyler, couldn’t expose herself by telling him what her youth had been compared to his.

Instead, she defended herself. “I’m honest, Mr. Henderson, and I’m not good at pretense. I was as gracious as I could be.”

He dug the toe of his house shoe into the broadloom carpet. “Yes. I suppose you were. But that’s not saying much. Did you plan to hurt him? Did you come here to get revenge for something he doesn’t seem to remember?”

She could feel her shoulders sag with a heavy weight that seemed to shroud her body. Weary in spirit. She knew it wasn’t the kind of fatigue that a tub of hot water could soak away. It seeped into her marrow and nearly brought tears to her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she replied, trying honestly to understand her motive. “I don’t believe I planned anything. This is a trial for you and for him, but what do you think this visit is doing to me? I looked at him, and for the first time, I saw myself. My eyes, hair, coloring, face and height. It’s as though I didn’t know myself until now. Don’t you think this is a shock for me? That it hurts? No. You’re too busy judging me. Both of you.”

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers, sat down with his legs spread wide apart and gazed steadily at her. After what she figured was a full minute, he rested his left ankle on his right knee and leaned back in the chair.

“And how do you think I feel, Veronica? You’ve taken up permanent residence in my head. A woman who turned me around. A woman who detests my dad and with whom I’ve had a rough legal battle. A woman who probably blames me for having done my job as honestly and competently as I knew how. But the worst of it is the fire between us, a fire so hot not even our attitudes toward each other can put it out.”

She jerked forward, ready to deny it, even as the woman in her yearned to touch him and to feel his hands hot on her flesh.

He waved a disparaging hand. “I don’t need your agreement on this. I’m thirty-six years old, and I know when a woman is attracted to me. We both felt that…” He threw up his hands as if in surrender. “Chemistry or whatever the minute we met.”

She opened her mouth to disown it and to accuse him of arrogance, but dancing lights suddenly twinkled in his eyes and a smile played loosely around his mouth, knocking her off balance. Her heart shimmied, frenzied, like a demon possessed, and in spite of herself, her hand clutched at her chest.

“Don’t worry,” he soothed, “the way things are going, I expect fate intends to keep a lot of distance between us. A pity, though. We could have danced one hell of a dance.”

She leaned forward, disappointment chilling her to the bone, yet fascinated with his cool acceptance that he wanted what he wasn’t likely to get or even to pursue. “How can you say that when we’ve never even tried to be friends?”

He flexed his shoulders in a quick shrug and strummed his fingers on the wide arm of the recliner. “Certain people can’t begin with a friendship.” Shivers coursed through her as desire blazed briefly in his gray-eyed gaze.

He shrugged again, seeming to downplay the importance of what he said and of what he’d felt. “With us…too many obstacles. Too many and too big when we met and even stronger ones now.”

“Right. The main one being all that energy you expended trying to get me convicted of a crime I didn’t commit.”

He flinched, and a stricken expression flashed over his face. Then he laid back his shoulders and looked her in the eye. She had to hand it to him; the man ruled his emotions.

“Do you want to reopen that matter? The judge dismissed the case for lack of evidence, vindicating you. Let’s bury it, shall we?”

She couldn’t believe he’d said it. “Don’t you realize you torpedoed my career? Let’s bury it, you say.” She snapped her finger. “Simple as that.”

He leaned forward, his eyes beseeching her. “I’m not callous, Veronica. I just can’t see the use of continuing the argument. If I’ve caused you any damage, you know I’m sorry, and I’ll do anything I can to repair it.”

She gave him the benefit of her sweetest smile. “A guy thing, huh? If you don’t see a reason, there isn’t one.”

His gray eyes widened in surprise. “Good grief, is that the way I come across to you?”

Don’t let him snow you, girl, she told herself, when crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Just cut it right out.” She slammed her hand across her mouth when she realized she’d spoken those words aloud.

Caught out, she jumped to her feet. “I’ll…I think I’ll see what’s going on in the kitchen.” She didn’t know why she’d said that; she didn’t want to be alone with her father because she didn’t know what to say to him.

Schyler saved her. “Uh-uh. Dad hates to have anybody in that kitchen with him when he’s cooking.”

She sat down. Trapped. She had to get out of there. Away from him and his mesmeric eyes and seductive smile. “In that case, I think I’ll go for a walk. You must have something you’d rather be doing.”

His teasing grin and the sparkles in his eyes couldn’t be taken for anything but frank deviltry. “Not another single thing,” he said and placed his right hand over his heart. “Just keeping you company, and it’s my pleasure.”

No sooner had he said it than Richard appeared in the door of the living room. “There you two are. I know you wanted to finish that descrambler, Son. So I appreciate your taking the time to get to know Veronica, because that’s important to me.”

As Richard looked from one to the other, Schyler put up his hands, palms out, in surrender. “Okay, so I lied. Truce?”

“I won’t ask what that was about,” Richard said and left them alone.

She didn’t realize her demeanor had changed until Schyler frowned. “How can you dislike him so much when you don’t even know him?” he asked her. “Is he kind, warm, gracious, honest and decent? Is he? Does he pay his debts, and does he help people who can’t do for themselves? Does he? You can’t answer, and that means you can’t judge him.”

She wanted to erase the pain reflected in his eyes, to hold him and…For a quick moment, her gaze went toward the ceiling. A father she’d been taught to despise inextricably tied to a man whose smile made her head swim and whose every gesture made her long for the feel of his arms hard around her. A man who made her dream dreams that kept her blushing for days. If she was being punished, she’d like to know what she’d done to deserve it. She wished her ambiguous feelings toward him would sort themselves out, that she could either despise Schyler Henderson and dismiss him from her life or let herself feel what her heart and body longed to experience. And while her conflicting feelings battled with each other, she searched for a gentle reply. Truthful, yet without the verbal tentacles that could pierce the heart.

“It’s best not to pry, Schyler—if I may call you that. There’s a well of hurt and misery that you apparently know nothing about. I don’t know anything about it, either, only what I’ve been told, what I had drilled into me ever since I’ve known myself. You said you’re not callous. Neither am I. Don’t dig deep. It’s enough that one of us carries the burden.”

He reached across the three feet of space that separated them and grasped her hand. “Don’t make that mistake, Veronica. All three of us feel the pain. Tell me why you’ve taken a three-month leave from CPAA and why you’ve hinted you might not return to your job.”

She shared with him her reasons for downplaying the importance of a job that had consumed all of her energies, thought and passion for the previous five years. Her proving ground. The place where she’d taught herself that she could do whatever she set herself to do and do it well. Her chest went out and her shoulders back.

“I had to get away from there, to find myself. I’d done a lot of things, covered a lot of miles and garnered my share of laurels, but…” she faced him fully, wanting him to understand what she’d never told anyone “…but I’d never lived. Never wrestled with a relationship slipping through my fingers, never argued and gossiped with girlfriends, never opened my arms wide and let the breeze blow me wherever it would.”

“Back up a minute,” he said, and she had the impression that he was putting events into their proper perspective. “That case wasn’t the only reason why you decided your office can get along without you for three months?? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Some of my reasoning was bound up with that, the fact that after so much acclaim, the community that I had served so selflessly could forget so quickly.”

“What do you mean, people forgot?”

She waved a hand in disdain. “Not one reporter asked me for an interview when that case was closed in my favor.”

His sharp whistle sliced through the room. “I never dreamed.”

“It’s okay now. I learned a lot from that.”

“So you went to Europe. Then what?” he asked.

“I think I’ve done more living in the weeks since I left CPAA than in the previous thirty-two years and five months of my life.”

He leaned toward her, an animated expression on his face, and squeezed her fingers. “You did something you always wanted to do?”

The mere memory of those few exhilarating days eased the harsh feelings that had beset her since she’d stepped across Richard Henderson’s threshold.

She nodded eagerly. “Yes. Oh, yes. I skied the slopes of the Jungfraujoch, hiked alone through the mountain terrain, spent the night with hospitable strangers and got a proposal of marriage from their six-foot-four-inch tall, blond and handsome elder son. Every single second of it exhilarated me. Free. Almost a part of nature. I’ll never forget it.”

Schyler felt her fingers soft and warm in his hand. He’d held them for all of five minutes, and she’d let him. He focused on her words. “A proposal? You sure you’re telling all of this?”

When had he last seen a woman wrinkle her nose in pure wickedness? He braced himself. Maybe she wasn’t as straitlaced as he’d thought.

“All except…uh…his…er request after I turned him down.”

“Wait a minute! Don’t tell me…you—”

She interrupted him, snatching her hand from his as she did so. “You think I’m crazy? The man was a gentleman. He asked. I said no to that, too, and he didn’t press me.”

Schyler let himself breathe. “I would have been surprised if your answer had been different.” He rubbed his chin, reflecting on some of his own temptations. “But when we’re under stress—and you certainly were—we sometime behave out of character.”

A softness seemed to envelop her. He wouldn’t have associated shyness with her, but he sensed it in her changed demeanor and saw it in her lowered gaze. Long lashes, half an inch of them, hid her large, almond-shaped black eyes—so much like his father’s—from him.

“Your eyes must be the most beautiful I’ve ever looked at. It’s a wonder they don’t get you into trouble. Every time you blink, it’s as if you’re flirting.”

She managed to look at something beyond his back. “I’ve been told that.”

Right then he made up his mind to get to know Veronica Overton. He’d seen her regal in her professional armor and arrogant with his father, but the woman before him at that moment was sweet and feminine. If he dug deeper…He stood and it seemed natural to reach for her hand. He did, and she grasped it.

“Come help me set the table for dinner. I can tell from the rattling in the kitchen that he’ll have it ready in five or six minutes.”

Being with her gave him a good feeling, he realized, but he didn’t fool himself. No woman would ever be important to him unless she showed genuine affection for his father. He eyed her as they set the table, and he liked the way she went about it. Unhurried. Self-assured. She might well have been in her own home. At the thought, his belly tightened, and whispers of air skittered through the hairs on his forearms and the backs of his hands, teasing his nerves. Warning him. No you don’t, man, he told himself. Don’t go there! Don’t you even think it. But an image of her in his home, belonging there, and filling it with warmth flitted through his mind.

He shook his head symbolically, getting his mind straight. “You could grow on a guy.”

She whirled around, her face wreathed in the warmest smile he’d ever seen on her. “Think so?”

“Yeah. You think you could handle it?”

Now she was flirting with him. He walked over to the china cabinet where she stood twirling a linen napkin. She grinned at him. “No doubt about it. I can catch anything you can pitch.”

He looked at her hands propped against her hips and couldn’t help laughing. “Anytime you want a demonstration, be glad to oblige you. I like a woman with guts, and you’ve got plenty.”

“Hmmm. You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

So she liked to challenge! Fine with him; he enjoyed a good jostle, and he saw in her a worthy opponent. “I’d better be. A tongue-tied lawyer and an insecure engineer might as well not leave home.”

She worried her bottom lip. “Engineer?”

“Yeah. That’s the other hat I wear.”

He yielded to the temptation to pull the strands of hair dangling in front of her left ear lobe, tugging on them much as he would have on the rope of a bell. “I’m confident. Yes,” he said recalling her comment. “You’re not lacking self-confidence yourself.” He watched her tuck the errant strands behind her ear and marveled at her ability to look over his shoulder at some object past him, but not into his eyes.

“A little boy in my second-grade class used to do that, pull my hair, I mean.” She still didn’t look at him.

He stepped closer to her. “If you don’t look at me, I’ll disappear. Is that what you think? You have to deal with me, Veronica, and I’m here to tell you it won’t be child’s play, either. Believe me!”

She looked at him, her long lashes sweeping up from her cheeks, and her expression was one of mild defiance. Figuring her out could be a full-time job. “I’m equal to the task, Schyler, so let’s not waste time outdoing each other.”

He had to force the smile, because he liked her too much. Or he would, if it wasn’t for her attitude toward his father. Wanting her had never bothered him too much; he could deal with that. But to like a woman who heated your loins every time you looked at her…He let out a harsh breath. Straighten out your head, man.

She might like the truth, and she might not, but anything short of straight talk could take him where he didn’t want to go.

“Look, Veronica,” he said, pronouncing her name slowly to emphasize the importance of his words. “I’ve watched a lot of animals square off, but except for a mother guarding her young, they were never male and female. So don’t count on a big fight between us to cool things off. It isn’t going to happen.”

Her hand went to that unruly hair hanging over her ear, and when she spun it around her index finger, he knew she was stalling for time. Thinking. She had plenty of patience with herself. Good. He liked that, so he waited.

“You know, Schyler,” she said at last, “you’ve been talking out of both sides of your mouth. The right side says maybe, and the other yells, ‘Don’t even think it.’ Doesn’t matter, though, since I probably won’t be around when you get it straightened out.”

Her mocking tone set off the sparks that tripped his ego, but he reeled it in. He made it a point to control his reactions to such deliberate provocations as the one she’d just thrown at him. He was his own man, and if he accepted every gauntlet, he’d get bandied around like a hockey puck.

He smiled as best he could, though he knew it barely touched his lips. “I see you like to fence,” he said, glad for the presence of mind not to say what he was thinking. “Remember that a clever swordsman knows his opponent’s strengths and weaknesses before he agrees to duel.”

“Well, I’m glad to see the two of you getting along,” Richard said as he placed a platter of food on the dining room table, ending their game of taking each other’s measure.

Schyler didn’t want his father to think they’d come to terms, because they hadn’t and probably never would. Only mutual passion united them, and they both had the strength to ignore that.

“We were setting the table, Dad.”

Richard nodded slowly, as one trying to accept the inevitable. “I’ll get the rice and salad. What do you want to drink, Veronica?”

Schyler couldn’t help relaxing when she replied, “Water or white wine with club soda in it,” because his father didn’t hold “drinkerds,” as he called them, in high regard.

Richard returned with the remainder of the meal and lit the huge, five-inch-thick candle that graced the center of the table. He sat between his daughter and his son and held out a hand to each of them. Schyler wondered if the hand Veronica held gave her the same sense of security and well-being that his father’s hand had always given him.

Richard bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, we thank you for this food, and on this special occasion, we thank you for each other. I had decided, Lord, that you weren’t listening to me all these years, but it seems that you were. It’s not exactly as I had hoped and prayed it would be, but she’s here with me. You’ve given us a second chance, an opportunity to erase the hurt and the pain of these thirty years. But with your help and me trying all I know how, I know I can’t miss. I’m accepting this second chance for which I do thank you. Amen.”

Schyler glanced first at his father, who was reaching for the dish of rice, and then at Veronica, who’d glued her gaze to their father. If they could get through the meal in peace, he’d be grateful.

“Have some rice,” Richard said to Veronica, as though he ate with her every day. “You can’t eat shish kebab without rice.”

Schyler thought his heart had stopped beating. Would she accept the dish his father held out to her?

“Nobody has to beg me to eat rice,” she said and held out her plate for him to serve her. “Saffron rice, at that. What kind of meat is it?”

He had to control his heavy release of breath or they would both know he’d feared her response.

Richard served her a large helping and laid two skewers of shish kebabs on it with pleasure so obvious that Schyler ached for him.

“It’s lean, tender pork, slices of sage sausage, mushrooms, onions and green peppers. And I marinated the meat in my special sauce all day.” He watched as she sampled it.

“Hmmm. This is fabulous.” A smile of pure contentment covered her face as she glanced up at her father. “I’m telling you, this is great.”

Schyler said a silent prayer of thanks, and he could see the hope written on his father’s face. He wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t move too fast or hope for too much. But how could he prick that fragile balloon of optimism? Veronica’s behavior was probably nothing more than good manners. The test was yet to come.

Veronica listened to the man she’d learned by age four to dislike say a prayer of thanks that he had been reunited with her, and she heard him express his hope and faith for a future in which she was a part. Her heart constricted at the sound of his words, and she’d never been more torn in her life. But when he passed her the rice, gazing into her eyes with a look that was part challenge and part prayer, he touched her deeply in an indefinable but life-giving spot. From the corner of her eye, she read on Schyler’s face a dread, even a fear that she would refuse the food her father held out to her. I’ve got decent manners, I’m hungry and I love rice, she told herself, handing him her plate.

And she was glad she did. She saw Schyler take a deep breath, close his eyes and let the air pour out of him. And for a second, Richard raised his eyes skyward before looking at her with a smile of delight on his face.

“You’re one terrific cook,” she told him and meant it.

“I like to cook,” he said, savoring morsels of meat and mushrooms. “That’s when I do my best thinking.” He glanced at his watch. “Schyler, it’s still light for another hour or so. Could you give her a tour of our little village? I’ll have the kitchen cleaned by the time you get back, and we can have dessert.”

Veronica looked at Schyler. “You don’t clean up when he cooks?” She shook her head. “Shame. Shame.”

Schyler’s eyebrows shot up with such speed that she knew she’d suggested the unthinkable. “Me? Clean up after he cooks? You’re joking. He cleans up his own mess, and when I cook, I do the same. Ready to go? The bay is spectacular about now.”

She settled into the passenger seat of Schyler’s cream-colored Buick Le Sabre, big and comfortable like the man who’s driving it, she found herself thinking. He backed out of the garage and headed for Front Street, and all she could see as he drove through the little village were white buildings.

“Is there an ordinance in this town that requires all the buildings to be white?” she asked.

“I don’t think so. This place is the bedrock of tradition, so it’s probably just copycatting. I think I’ll check that.”

“I can’t imagine growing up here, though I suspect it was more fun than where I lived, considering you’ve got the Chesapeake Bay at your doorstep.”

So she intended to keep their conversation impersonal, did she? All right. He was known for his patience. “The Seafarers Museum is our biggest attraction. Back in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, this region was a pirate’s playground. They came to replenish their supplies and to ply their contraband goods. Of course, there was a great deal of legal trade as well. Spanish galleons used to take refuge in the bay from those powerful Atlantic storms. So we have a phenomenal cache of treasures from ships that were sunk in these parts. Maybe I’ll take you through the museum next time, but right now I want you to see the sunset over the bay.” He turned the car south, swung down Waters Edge to the bay and parked at the edge of the beach.

He looked down at her feet. “At least you’ve got on low-heeled shoes.”

He got out and headed around to her side of the car, but she opened the door before he reached it.

“Why didn’t I know you’d do that?” he asked.

She favored him with her sweetest smile. “Simple. Because you’re not omniscient. That’s supposed to be the Lord’s specialty.”

He stopped, stuck his hands in his pants pockets, emphasizing his broad chest and flat belly, rocked back on his heels and did what could only be described as a slow burn.

“I get angry about twice every couple of years, Veronica, but you’ve nearly shoved me to it twice this day. Try not to give vent to your sharp tongue and remind yourself what it feels like to hurt.” Before she could answer, he took her arm, walked along the narrow beach and paused. “Veronica Overton, the executive, is a far cry from the woman I’m looking at.”

She didn’t mind the comment; in a way, it was accurate. On the nose. “When I was that woman, I hadn’t skied the slopes of the Jungfraujoch, and I hadn’t hiked alone for miles over flower-strewn meadows in the lap of the Swiss Alps. Imagine being the only person for miles and miles around with God’s blue sky, towering white snow-capped mountains and flowers of every color for company. Not a puff of wind, and air as fresh as new life. It was truly a rebirth. So you’re right. I’m different, and I hope I stay that way. I’m not chasing fame or success, and I’m no longer hell-bent on becoming Secretary of Welfare. I don’t even give a snap about any of it. I’m myself. Free. I mean free!”

His stare didn’t make her uncomfortable, because she knew he was seeing her with new vision. “And you were yourself before,” she heard him say under the edge of his breath. He turned toward the water and stopped as though frozen in time. “Look! Would you just look at that?”

She followed his gaze to the long red rays that streaked across the rolling water, fanning out from the huge red globe that moved slowly downward against a navy blue and gray sky. At her gasp, he moved closer to her, and for the first time, the feel of his arm around her waist sent powerful shivers of sensual awareness plowing through her. Helpless to prevent her tremors and realizing that he was well aware of her reaction to his touch, she made herself look at him to brazen it out, as if trembling for him were of no consequence.

But he denied her that avenue of escape. “Months ago, when you were the consummate executive, I as much as told you we’d have to deal with this. Don’t count on its going away by itself and of its own accord. The chemistry between us is strong enough to cause an explosion, and nothing will make me believe you don’t know that.”

“I’m not going there right now, Schyler. That isn’t something that bears discussion.”

“Oh sure. If you talked about it, that would make it a fact,” he said. “Well, discuss it or not, whatever hooks men and women has its claws in us.” He laughed a deep tension releasing growl. “No point in worrying until it gets unruly.”

She stepped out of his encircling warmth and walked along beside him swinging her arms. The sun dipped into the Chesapeake Bay, and she couldn’t help reaching for him, clutching his sleeve.

“Schyler. That was…It was so beautiful. I don’t think I ever saw anything to match it.”

He took her hand and sat on a log that had rested in its spot so long that the elements had bleached it. “I love to sit here and look out at the bay. You should see it in the moonlight when the stars almost blanket the sky. I’ve spent hours thinking and dreaming right in this spot. Did you have a special spot where you fought your fears, dreamed dreams and plotted your future?”

Suddenly, she didn’t want to share that part of his life with him, and she couldn’t tell him about the times when her only toys were the stories she told herself. Not about the things and places she imagined when, as a small girl, she’d sat on the back porch of her parents’ modest home and tried to count the stars. Not when she’d talked to the owl that hooted nearby and cried a child’s pain when the bird didn’t respond. Schyler had lived in luxury by comparison, a luxury that was rightfully hers. She pulled her hand from his and jumped up from his precious log.

“What is it? What’s the matter, Veronica?”

“Nothing. It’s…Nothing. I…have to go. That’s all.”

He stood, and she swung away from him, fearing his touch. As she moved, she felt her right leg come out from under her, but as quickly, he grabbed her, breaking her fall, and a burst of heat skittered through her body when she realized his fingers were splayed across her right breast. Warm. Delicious. Arousing. She wanted him to caress her, to…She needed him to tighten his hold on her and love her. His breathing deepened, and she heard him suck in air. He didn’t move his hand, but he had to know it was there, where he wanted it to be. The thought kicked her pulse into overdrive and heat spiraled through her veins. Desire quickened her body and, as though he willed it, she raised her eyes and gazed into his—heated pools of blatant need, of hot undiluted want.

She should move, get out of his way. She had to…

“I’m not forcing you to stand here,” he said, his voice low. Guttural.

She wanted to move, but he kept looking at her like that, making her belly churn until her body wanted him to…to…“I’ve…I’ve got to—”

He didn’t spare her. “If you don’t want my mouth on you, say so. Right now.”

She stared into his fiery eyes, glittering pools of unbridled desire, and told herself to run while she still owned herself. At her hesitance, he lowered his head, tightened his grip on her body and stroked her breast possessively, as if he owned it.

“Part your lips for me, take me in and get what you want.” She told herself not to open her mouth, but her disobedient tongue danced around its edges and dampened her lips. She heard him suck in his breath in anticipation.

“Schyler. I…I’m—”

His mouth came down on hers, and frissons of heat pelted her feminine center. Her arms went around him and tightened, and his tongue plunged into her mouth with an expertise that shocked her and sent her blood racing like a wildfire out of control. His hands roamed her body, stroking, teasing, possessing, seducing. Making her his own. Beads of perspiration dampened her forehead, her nerve ends curled like lamb’s hair and the strength went out of her knees, but still he kissed her. She felt his lips tremble, but that didn’t stop him. No longer caring about the consequences, she grasped the back of his head and sucked on his tongue, feasting on it, loving him, taking all he offered. She gave no thought to his pagan groan as his hand squeezed, pinched and caressed her breast; she only wanted, needed his loving. He wrapped her tightly to him, taking her will and her energy, and she slumped in his arms.

They held each other, silently, unable to move and unwilling to articulate what they truly felt.

At last she got breath enough and sense enough to speak. “Schyler, this is…we can’t…I mean…Schyler, I don’t know, I—”

“Shhh. I know I took it too far, but I needed the feel of you in my arms. Badly.” He blew out a mass of air. “I didn’t dream it could be like this.”

He took her hand and started walking toward the car. “I hate to drop something that stirs me the way you do, but you’re going to force me to let it go.” He flexed his shoulders in a quick shrug. “And that may be for the best. But hell, it sticks in my craw like cracked glass.”

She didn’t attempt to coat the truth. “You’re right. We have to let it go, because it spells nothing for us but misery.”

He wanted more. “Will you admit, as I do, that under better circumstances, we…we…might have made memorable music together?”

She noticed that when he said it, he grinned as though savoring a delightful thought. And she knew she should be as honest as he, but no other man had exposed her naked need as he’d done, and she felt too vulnerable and finessed her reply.

“You’re attractive in many ways, Schyler. I respond to that.”

He laughed aloud. “I don’t suppose I had a right to expect more. We’d better get back. Dad’s got that chocolate soufflé ready by now.”

She gulped. “Chocolate soufflé? He can make that?”

“Yeah,” he said in a voice tinged with pride. “And does every time he cooks dinner.”

Her eyes widened. “Why?”

His laughter wrapped around her like a blanket of contentment. “Veronica, I love chocolate. I would eat chocolate soup, chocolate bread, chocolate anything for as long as anybody would give it to me or I could get it for myself. Dad humors me. I expect he’s tired of it. Every dessert cooked in that house has chocolate in it, and a lot of it.”

She couldn’t believe it. “He spoiled you.”

They reached the car, and he opened the door for her. “Yes, he spoiled me. When he met me, I was almost ten years old and couldn’t remember ever having heard the word love directed at me. He knew that.”

There it was again, and it would always be there, looming like a gallows between them. Her joviality was gone.

“Dad’s going to enjoy impressing you with his soufflé.”

His words penetrated her conscious thought only vaguely. Growing up, she hadn’t known chocolate soufflé existed and didn’t get a taste of chocolate unless one of her schoolmates shared a piece of candy with her. Her mother and stepfather hadn’t been able to afford the luxury of chocolate. But the man who’d given her the seed of life had lavished it on a child he didn’t sire, catering to that child’s need and whims. Bitterness simmered within her, rising like bile on her tongue, eating away the rapport she had achieved with Schyler and her father. The hurt came back with the strength of a gale-force storm, beating back the passion that Schyler had dragged from the very bowels of her being.

“I don’t think so,” she said, almost absentmindedly. “I’d better be going. Be seeing you.” She wanted to run, but controlled the urge and walked as rapidly as she could, leaving him standing there. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

Chapter 4

With his feet glued in their tracks, Schyler watched Veronica go. He could call her or with his longer legs he could catch her. He did neither. What good would it do? He just stood there. One minute she’d been locked to him body and soul, fire and spirit, giving him all the sweetness a man could want—her heat and passion and the promise of her body. No point in thinking about the pain that seared through him as she practically galloped out of sight. He’d had pain before, and he’d feel it again. That didn’t bother him; he knew he could handle it. But when had a woman stood toe-to-toe with him, taking his passion and demanding that he take hers and give her more of himself in even greater measure? He wanted the ultimate experience with her. Even as he stood there in the dying daylight, everything in him down to the recesses of his loins wanted him to go after her and have her for his own. But he doubted he’d ever release himself within her. And maybe it was for the best; if he went that route, she’d own him, and from where he stood, he couldn’t see a future for them.

He glared at the stars that mocked him with their hollow, twinkling promises. The water lapped loudly at the cove nearby, reminding him of his loneliness. He’d been hearing that same noise for twenty-six years, and for generations to come, his descendants—if he had any—would know its steady, sometimes soothing, sometimes disquieting rhythm. He’d wanted her to share it with him. He flexed his right shoulder in a quick shrug. A relationship with her was hopeless, had been from the minute he’d first looked into her wide, long-lashed eyes.

He knew now that the prospect of their being more than adversaries—in court or out—had just plummeted to nil. He had only to mention his father’s name and her passion for him disappeared like smoke in a windstorm. And what could he do about it? He loved his father. He picked up a stone, sent it skipping across the water and headed back to his car. So what? He’d known plenty of disappointments. He shook his head as he unlocked the car. He wouldn’t lie to himself. This one was a Goliath. She was in him, and he knew she’d stay there. But what the hell! It wouldn’t kill him.

“Where’s Veronica?” Richard asked him when he walked into the house.

He never lied to his father, and he wouldn’t do it then. “I’m sorry, Dad. She decided not to come back.”

Richard stared at him, obviously speechless. “Did you have an argument?”

He heard the dread in his father’s voice and knew that he anticipated the truth. “No, we didn’t.”

“Then what happened?”

He had to tell him sometime, to let his father know the circumstances under which he’d first met Veronica, and he’d better do it right then. He sat in the brown leather recliner, leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Dad, I didn’t meet Veronica for the first time this afternoon. I—”

Richard dropped into the nearest chair and leaned forward. “You knew her? And you never told me?”

“I knew her, yes, But I didn’t know she was your daughter until I opened the front door for her this afternoon.”

He described his acquaintance with Veronica, told his father about Veronica’s extended leave from her high-profile job and of the part he’d played in it.

The right hand Richard raised when Schyler began to talk stayed where it was. Frozenlike. He parted his lips as if to speak but didn’t make a sound, merely shook his head as though denying the possibility of what Schyler’s words implied. Schyler wondered about his father’s thoughts while the man he loved so dearly stared at him for long minutes. Without warning, he slumped in the chair.

Schyler lunged out of the recliner and rushed to his father. “You all right?”

“No, I’m not.” The words struggled up from Richard’s throat as if they’d had to pull themselves out of him. He sat up straight. “Did you…did you tell…is that all of it?”

He went back to the recliner and sat there. “I’m not sure you want to hear all of this, but if I tell you everything now, you’ll know where you stand with her.”

“Go ahead. I can take it.”

Schyler ran the tips of his fingers back and forth against his chin. Pensive. He didn’t like revealing his most private feelings to another man, not even if that man was his father. But his father deserved any truth that might comfort him.

“I fell for her hook, line and sinker the minute I laid eyes on her, and nothing that’s happened since has abated it one iota.”

He imagined his father’s whistle could be heard half a block away. “And you went ahead with that case against her?”

“Worse. I brought the second suit two weeks later.” He leaned back, locked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. “She’s a fighter. Man, does that woman have a set of guts. She’s not afraid of anybody or anything. If those daggers she pitched at me while she was on that witness stand had been real, I’d be pushing up daisies this minute.”

He could sense the tension easing out of his father when Richard laughed and admiration for his daughter flashed in his eyes.

“Gave you what for, did she?”

“You could say that.”

Richard made a pyramid of his hands, bracing his index fingers against his chin. “The two of you were managing to be pleasant up to the time you left here, though I suppose that was for my sake. What happened out there on that beach?”

Schyler let out a long, heavy breath, sat forward and dropped his head in his hands. After a minute, he sat up and looked at his father. “Up to then, I’d never touched her. Out there, I did, and what we felt hit both of us like a volcanic eruption. Then…well, I got to talking about you, and…” He threw up his hands. “It’s over before it started. At least as far as I’m concerned, that’s the beginning and the end of it. It never stood a chance anyway.”

Richard shook his head as if in wonder at the incredulity, the seeming otherworldliness of events that had governed his relationship with his daughter almost since her birth. He looked at the son who had filled his empty life and given him a reason for living. A reason to set goals and to work hard to achieve them. He had to find a way to communicate to Schyler the folly of giving up, of fooling yourself into believing you could do without anyone who could do without you, but he had to tread softly. Schyler was, after all, a grown man and proud of his independence.

“I see you’ve resigned yourself to living without her,” he said, measuring his words as carefully as he could. “I did that once, and I’ve regretted it every day since. Not anymore. My daughter and I will come to terms. Good terms. I don’t doubt it for a second. You think you’re young, strong and invincible, that you’re bigger than anything that can happen to you. But you wait until this thing starts eating away at your guts, slicing through your innards like acid, dulling your senses. Wait till every woman you look at—white, black, Asian or brown—looks just like her. You haven’t been miserable, Son. You haven’t hurt so badly you wanted to die. Just pray to God it all gets straightened out.” He grasped mentally at the breath that seemed to have escaped his lungs. “Do you know where she lives?”

His flesh crawled. He’d never known how his father had suffered. He’d grown up wanting to be like him, to do everything his father did. He’d even chosen his father’s profession of engineering. But he didn’t want for himself what his father had just described. Yet, he didn’t see how it could be avoided.

“I can easily find out where she lives,” he said. “Tell me, do you know why she resents you?”

Richard massaged his forehead with the fingers of his left hand. “I can only guess that Esther concocted some trumped-up explanation for why we weren’t together. And whatever she said didn’t make me look good but covered up for her.”

Schyler restrained the whistle pushing at his lips. “It must have been a pretty strong indictment.”

“It had to be to cover up for…Maybe some day when it doesn’t hurt any longer, I’ll tell you all of it. But I can’t stand to rehash it now.”

“You mean…After so many years, you—”

Richard interrupted him. “Yes, it hurts. If I can bring Veronica into my life, that will help, but nothing will ever erase the…” He slapped both his knees with his palms. “The soufflé is first-class tonight. How about some?”

How could his father possibly smile after the gut-wrenching tale he’d just told? “You bet,” Schyler said, trying to keep his voice light. “Don’t you get tired of chocolate?”

Richard’s grin eased over his face and settled in his eyes, eyes that now reminded Schyler of Veronica. “Me? Haven’t you figured it out? You’ve forced so much of it on me that I’ve gotten where I have to have my daily chocolate fix.”

They laughed, stood and walked arm in arm to the kitchen. Each faced a battle: Richard intended to win his. If he didn’t, Schyler and Veronica wouldn’t stand a chance. But Schyler had resigned himself to what he considered the hopelessness of a meaningful relationship with Veronica, and moved his mind on to other things.

As Veronica walked, her steps slowed and her energy seemed to dissipate. She leaned against a lamppost and tried to collect her wits. What had made her do it? Run from him like that? The hold Schyler had on her and the way he’d demonstrated it…No. She had to be honest with herself. That wasn’t the reason. She’d met a man different from the one her mother had told her about. A man set in a very different mold. And she could have liked him. A lot, too. But for thirty years he’d been a monster, someone she detested, and she couldn’t shove that aside or wash it away just because he cooked the best rice she’d ever tasted. She knew she’d wounded him when she didn’t go back for his prized soufflé, and she’d hurt Schyler, too. Her spirit crumpled when she realized that she envied Schyler her father’s love, his pampering and the status a successful father gave his children. She didn’t like admitting it, because she’d always considered jealousy beneath her, believed it robbed a person of common sense and dignity. She pulled herself away from the post and walked on. Richard Henderson didn’t add up. He was an enigma that she knew she’d never figure out without being around Schyler, and she couldn’t risk that danger. She had no intention of letting herself become involved with Schyler.

She got in her car and realized she hadn’t locked it. There was something to be said for a village the size of Tilghman, she mused, but she’d be leaving it come morning. Maybe for good.

Several days later she found herself in Baltimore, back in her old territory lunching with Enid.

“So tell me about this fling you had over in Europe. Meet any hunks?”

Veronica let her gaze roam around Wilma’s Blue Moon Restaurant, reflecting on the hours she’d spent at that same table discussing CPAA’s business with Enid and others of her staff and marveled that she didn’t miss it.

She decided to tease Enid. “I didn’t see anything but hunks. If you’re looking for one who’s different, go over and take your pick. Of course, you might have to take their ideas about women right along with them. I had a fling, but it was an affair with freedom, you might say. Me and Mother Nature all alone. It was incredible.”

Enid cocked her head to one side. “Then why’d you come back so soon? If I’d been in your shoes, girl, the people in this town wouldn’t know where I made my last tracks. They don’t deserve you.”

Months ago such a compliment would have pleased her, but now she shrugged it off. “That’s behind me, Enid.” She told her friend about her mother but nothing more.

“Seen Mr. Henderson since you’ve been back?”

Had she ever! “I knew you’d ask that. Anything new with him?” She hoped Enid wouldn’t catch her evasion. “Who’s he after now?”

Enid’s dreamy-eyed expression brought a sheen of perspiration to Veronica’s forearms. Was what she felt for Schyler merely the usual reaction of the average woman? His regular due?

“Girl, I wish he was after me,” she heard Enid say.

She didn’t want to watch Enid drool over Schyler Henderson. She sipped the last of her coffee, gave Enid and Wilma the tiny porcelain Swiss yodelers she’d bought for them in Interlaken and bade her friend goodbye.

“Let me know where you’ll be, honey,” Enid said.

Veronica wrote her name, address and phone number on a piece of paper. “In case it’s been erased from your computer, here it is, but be careful who gets hold of it.” She started off, turned back and hugged her friend. “See you.”

Enid ducked her head, but Veronica had seen her tears. “Don’t worry about me, Enid. I’ll be all right. But there’s so much I haven’t done, seen and felt, things that I’ve dreamed of since childhood. Now may be my only chance to live fully. To the hilt. And I’m not letting it slip by. I’ll stay in touch.”

Enid nodded and walked away.

Veronica stopped in Kmart, bought a jumbo-size umbrella with a long handle and headed for the train to Owings Mills. When she reached the train station, she crossed Reisterstown Road and turned the corner.

“Ronnie! Ronnie! I knowed you’d come back. I just knowed it. I missed you a whole lot, Ronnie. People don’t talk to me when they past here. I ’preciate every single penny people gives me. Lord knows I do. But you don’t throw money at me like you was ’fraid to touch me, Ronnie. You comes to me and hands it to me and talks with me. While you was gone, weeks went by and nobody said a word to me lessen I went to buy something. And then they didn’t say nothin’ if they could help it.”

The woman’s anguish drifted through her like a throbbing ache, for she had never before heard Jenny complain or even show dissatisfaction with her predicament. Yet, she couldn’t get Jenny to motivate herself enough to receive real assistance.

“You don’t belong out here,” she told her. “I told you I’d help you get a place if you’ll only fill out that form I gave you.”

“I’m gon’ do that, Ronnie. Honest. I just dreads them slammin’ them doors in my face.”

Veronica stepped closer and patted Jenny’s shoulder. “If you’ll trust me, that won’t happen. Here’s something for you.” She handed her the umbrella. “This will keep you dry, and it’s good for shade, too.”

Jenny’s wide grin lit up her face. She grabbed the umbrella and ran her fingers up and down it, feeling it, caressing it. “So pretty, Ronnie. And it’s new. Brand-new. Well, can you beat that? I don’t know when I last had anything that hadn’t been throwed away. Real new. Well, I declare.”

Such a small thing, that umbrella. Jenny’s pleasure in it humbled her. She folded some bills and handed them to the woman.

“Oh, no, Ronnie. You keep that.” She patted her coat pocket, still secured with the two safety pins. “I still got some of what you gave me before you left. I’ll let you know when I run out. You know I thank you, don’t you, Ronnie?”

Veronica nodded. “See you next time, and you fill out that form.”

“I hope you ain’t out here in the middle of the day ’cause you sick or somethin’.”

Veronica couldn’t help smiling with pleasure at Jenny’s concern for her. “Nothing like that. I’m on leave.” She looked at her watch. “I have to get my train. Bye now.”

“Bye and thanks. I’m gonna fill out the paper. You hear?”

Veronica walked into the town house that she’d worked so hard to get and in which she’d always taken such pride. Sunlight streamed through the living room’s large bay window, its brilliance giving the room an added cheerfulness and an elegance that complimented her achievements and her personality. For a minute she let herself glory in it, but a few seconds later the picture of Jenny on the corner with her shopping cart of junk and her joyous acceptance of the one new thing she’d had in years undercut her pride in her home and her possessions.

Discomfited, she wandered through the house, flicked on the television to a Senate debate, sucked her teeth in disgust at the hypocritical posturing and shut if off. She turned on the radio, and a Mozart concerto flowed around her. Her favorite, but not on that morning. Schyler. Schyler. If only she didn’t care. She walked into the kitchen and looked out of the window and at a blue jay flitting from limb to limb on her prized cherry tree. She couldn’t help remembering the soul-searing trek over the meadow in the Swiss Alps.

Schyler. Schyler. She didn’t want to go to the singing group that she loved; didn’t feel like knitting the mittens and caps that she always created as Christmas gifts for homeless children; and she couldn’t work up an interest in the state’s foster care system. She wanted what she couldn’t have. She wanted that wild, hot, unearthly feeling she’d gotten when he had her in his arms. If only she could feel his hands, his lips, his body…Oh Lord, what was wrong with her!

Without thinking, she did as she’d always done when she stood at a precipice and needed balance. She called her stepfather.

His voice blessed her with the solace that he’d always represented in her life. “I was hoping you’d call, Veronica. I don’t like not knowing where you are.”

“I’m home.”

“Good. I know you’re upset about your mama being gone and all that, but she’s better off now, and we have to be glad for that.”

“I’m handling it, Papa. What about you?”

“I’m doing fine. When are you going back to work? When I called Enid, she said you had three months’ leave to use up. That doesn’t make sense. You can lose a lot in three months, including your job.”

She didn’t want to distress him. He’d think she didn’t appreciate her blessing. And besides, she wanted him to know she’d always be there to help him if he needed it. “I haven’t had a vacation in years, Papa, and that trip to Europe just whetted my appetite.”

He knew her so well that he probably suspected she wasn’t telling all, but she knew he wouldn’t pressure her to share a problem before she was ready. He had so many ways of communicating his love for her, and it came to her now in his softened voice and gentle concern.

“Well, get some rest, and you be careful roaming around all by yourself. Come see me when you can. I’ll be praying for you.”

She pushed back the threatening tears, though there was no sorrow in them. Just an overwhelming love. “Thanks, Papa. You know I will.”

She waited for him to say goodbye, but he hadn’t finished. “If you’re running from something, girl, you might as well stand still and face it, cause it’ll catch you anyway. I can testify to that. And if you’re trying to find something, look inside yourself first. It’s there, baby. You just need the courage to take it.”

How had he read her so accurately? “I know, Papa. I know. Here’s my cell phone number in case you lost it. You can reach me wherever I am in the country. Love you, Papa.”

“You’re my heart, Veronica. Always have been. Always will be.”

Nothing had changed, but she felt a lot better. She phoned Hertz for a rental car, got out some maps and sat down to figure out where next to satisfy her wanderlust. The following morning she packed a few essentials along with her Buddy Guy, George Strait and Leontyne Price cassettes, her knitting bag, six cans of ginger ale and a supply of Butterfingers. She laughed at her taste in music. Blues, country and opera, not to mention the jazz and chamber music and other classical morsels that she wasn’t taking along. She went back into the house and got a couple of Billie Holiday cassettes, in case she stayed away more than a few days and began to miss them. She looked at the beloved house that she once hated to leave for any reason, shook her head at the changes in her, got in the Mercury Cougar and headed for the Adirondack Mountains.

Dusk had begun to settle over the tiny hamlet of Indian Lake when she turned into Geandreau’s Cabins, a group of furnished, red clapboard cabins on Highway 28 facing Adirondack Lake. The brochure promised scenic beauty and only nature for company, if one wanted that. Here and there, houses predating the Revolutionary War proudly displayed their plaques of authenticity and stood arrogantly, as it were, among the youthful and less imposing school, church, tiny post office, hardware store and Giant supermarket. What did the villages do for entertainment or for intellectual stimulation? An eerie quiet. Solitude.

She quickly learned that if she wanted that, she’d have to insist on it. At supper in the nearby café, a stranger joined her as soon she sat down.

“You’re not from ’round here,” the old man said. “Staying long?”

She remembered that she was in a small town, tried not to show impatience and made herself smile. “A few days.”

“Ain’t much to do here ’cept swim and go canoeing. Fish don’t never bite no more; weeds suck up the oxygen in the lake.”

Not according to her knowledge of chemistry; like all other lakes, that one was nothing more than a combination of oxygen and hydrogen. She let the old man have his wisdom. “That so?”

“Sure thing,” he said. “If yer husband wants to go fishing, I can take him down to the Indian Lake in the morning. They bites down there. No charge. Just friendly. I likes the company.”

She supposed if she lived in a tiny place like Indian Lake, she’d be expected to have a husband. “I’m not married.”

He peered at her as if to make sure his eyes hadn’t fooled him. “Where you from?”

She told him, and watched him shake his head, seemingly in dismay. “No wonder. Them city fellows don’t know a woman when they sees one. You better get started. Raising young’ uns ain’t easy when you get older. Takes more energy than you got. Get yerself a good man ’fore you too old to find one.” He looked closely at her. “You got one, ain’t you?”

What could she say? There was someone who could fill her life with all it lacked, all she desired, but he was just another of her dreams.

“There is someone, but I have no hope for an enduring relationship with him.”

The old man cocked an eyebrow and rubbed the gray stubble that grew from his jaw. “He ain’t married or engaged, is he?”

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