Diana Palmer - To Have And To Hold

“Bill whom?” he echoed, both eyebrows arching, his dark eyes incredulous.

“Excuse me, E. F. McCallum was what I meant to say,” she replied. “Only his friends get to call him ‘Evenly Fried.’ It’s the McCallum Corporation. You may have heard of it.”

“I may have.” His eyes narrowed, studying her quietly. “You work for McCallum, do you? What does the old man look like?”

“He’s short and bald and has terminal acne,” she replied smartly. “And he doesn’t like his employees to be late. I am sorry about your car—but it’s your own fault, you should never drive past my house when I’m backing down my driveway.”

She turned and got back into her little car.

“Honey, from now on, I’ll head for the nearest ditch when I see you coming,” he replied in that deep, slow voice, but there was a hint of a smile on his swarthy face. “Watch where you’re going from now on. I don’t have time for these little eyecatching maneuvers of yours. I’ve already told you, you’re not my type,” he added deliberately, almost casually.

“You conceited, lily-livered son of a . . . ” she sputtered after him.

“Nice try, but flattery doesn’t move me either,” he replied quietly, not even pausing in his measured stride.

“Ooooooh!” she screamed. But he wasn’t listening.

Madeline spent her entire break grumbling about her new neighbor while Brenda tried not to laugh too hard.

“Looks like he’s getting you flapped. Is he good-looking? Married?” Brenda probed gently.

“He’s ancient,” came the hot reply. “Gray at the temples, big as a barn and he runs all over people. And if he’s married, it has to be to Saint Joan!”

Brenda laughed. “That bad, huh?” A thought came to her, and her eyes widened suddenly. “Oh, you haven’t heard the latest news yet! Guess who’s in town?”

“Charlton Heston!” she replied in mock pleasure.

“No, not Charlton Heston,” Brenda sighed. “McCallum!”

Madeline’s eyebrows arched. “McCallum? Here? Really? Where?”

Brenda laughed. “Nobody knows where. They say he’s taking some time off, though, so he won’t be around the office. His doctors are making him slow down, escape from business pressures. So he’s in town but not in town.”

“Oh.” That was vaguely disappointing. “If his health is that bad, he must be pretty old.”

“I hear his health is bad because he’s been pushing himself right over the edge. His wife and son were killed in an airplane crash a few years ago. They say he gives everything that’s in him to the corporation now . . . I guess he must be horribly lonely. All that money and power, and nobody to care about him. Poor old man.”

“Poor is right,” Madeline sighed. “Money can’t buy absolution. He must hate being alive. He must feel all kinds of guilt because they died and he didn’t.”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

“It doesn’t occur to most people,” she said in a husky whisper, with a smile that never touched her eyes.

Brenda clasped her hand warmly. “Phillip wouldn’t want you to feel guilt. Honey, he’d have been the last person . . . ”

“Please!” Madeline turned away, biting her lip to stem the rush of tears.

“Sorry. I thought . . . I mean, it’s been a year, going on two years . . . ”

She straightened and forced a smile to her lips. “And I should be getting over it. I know. I will. I’ve gone on living, haven’t I?”

Brenda’s gaze was piercing. “Have you? No dates in all that time, no social activities, no parties, no nothing. You work. You go home. You eat. You sleep. How long are you going to walk around dead?”

She felt her face going white. “I . . . I. . . .”

“This morning, for the first time in over a year, I saw you feel something,” Brenda persisted. “God love that neighbor of yours, honey, he’s breathed some life into you.”

Madeline stared at the toes of her shoes. “I hadn’t realized I’d been like that.” She smiled. “I guess you’re right, I really did feel something this morning. In court, I believe it’s called homicidal rage.”

“Been talking to Cousin Horace again?” Her friend laughed. “He’s still after the house, I guess?”

“With a vengeance.” Madeline shook her head. “Every time he calls, the first thing he asks is when am I going to marry somebody and let him inherit. Little does he know that I plan to die a spinster just to keep him from getting it.”

“I thought you liked the guy.”

“I do. He’s a good attorney and a nice man, and he’s the only first cousin I have left. But,” she added, “he does have this thing about money, and I don’t think he’s ever forgiven Uncle Henry and Aunt Charlotte for leaving everything to me. The clause about the house and property reverting to Horace when I marry was probably just to pacify him.

“Too bad first cousins can’t marry.”

Madeline made a face. “Yuuuch! If you’d ever seen Horace, you wouldn’t wish him on me!”

Brenda sighed. “I’d wish him on me. Do you know the last date I had was with a . . . ” and the conversation drifted back to Brenda’s favorite topic—her nonexistent love life.

The day seemed unusually long, and soon after Madeline got home the walls seemed to start closing in on her. She was vaguely restless, unsatisfied, and that had never happened before—not in recent years, anyway.

She left Cabbage curled up on a rug and went out the back door, barefoot, her mind on the tiny stream at the back of the property and how cool the water would feel. Dressed in white shorts and a lacy pink top, she made her way through the sparse woods, trying to walk carefully enough that the bark and pine needles and twigs didn’t rip the soles of her feet apart. Before she finally reached the bank of the cool little stream, she wished a hundred times that she’d worn sandals.

The stream was nestled in a green glade with wildflowers curling along the shady bank, and the water was sweet and cold and clear. She waded in it contentedly, careful not to splash water on her spotless shorts while she felt the rocks smooth and hard under her tender feet.

She closed her eyes on a sigh, feeling the wind in her face, hearing the murmur and gurgle of the water and the heavy thud and crackle of leaves as something came bounding towards her.

“Arrrrrff!”

Her eyes flew open at the loud bark as the Doberman came into the water with a mighty leap, and she screamed and slipped and fell with a great splash right into the water.

She glared furiously at the beast. He sat down in the water, eyeing her carelessly and watching her frantic efforts to sit up and smooth the wild fury of her hair.

“Urrrrrrr!” he purred, and seemed to grin, if dogs could.

“Oooooh!” she groaned angrily. “You great clumsy beast! Why can’t you stay at home and eat his steaks and push him into the water? Hmmm?”

He shook his wide black head, his sharp ears pricked as he enjoyed the water gurgling over his fur. “Ruff!” he replied, leaning forward with his long, thin nose as if to emphasize the playful bark.

With a sigh and a shake of her head, she relaxed in the stream and brought her knees up to wrap her arms around them. “Ruff to you, too, Charlie horse,” she murmured. “I hope you do realize that if that awful old man you live with catches us together, there’s going to be an awful scene? Oh, well.” She let her forehead rest on her arms. “All right, sit there. But do be quiet, okay?”

“Asssruth,” he said in a low bark.

“Nice puppy.” She reached out a slender hand and let him sniff it before she ran it over the sleek, silky fur over his eyes. He settled down in the stream beside her, and the water ran quietly around them both.