Some Kind of Wonderful

by Debbie Macomber

  “Sir?”

  “Contact Lovin as soon as possible and give him an ultimatum. Either I’ll call in the loan—immediately—or he sends me his daughter.” He picked up the file. “I believe her name is Judy…Yes, here it is. Judy.”

  Avery’s pad dropped to the carpet. Flustered, he bent to retrieve the paper, and in the process lost his pen, which rolled under McFarland’s desk. Hastily, he rescued them both and, with nervous, jerky movements, reclaimed his place. “Sir, I think I misunderstood you.”

  “Your hearing is fine.”

  “But…sir?”

  “Naturally there will be a number of guarantees on my part. We can discuss those at a later date.”

  “Sir, such a…Why, it’s unheard of—I mean, no man in his right mind—”

  “I agree it’s a bit unorthodox.”

  “A…bit? But surely…sir?” Avery stuttered.

  Watching, McFarland found him highly amusing. The man had turned three shades of red, each deeper than the one before. A full minute passed and he’d opened his mouth twice, closed it an equal number of times, and opened it again. Yet he said nothing further.

  “What about the young lady? She may have a few objections,” Avery finally managed.

  “I’m confident that she will.”

  “But…”

  “We’ll keep her busy with whatever it is women like to do. I suppose she could redecorate the downstairs. When I tire of her, I’ll set her free. Don’t look so concerned, Avery. I’ve yet to allow my baser instincts to control me.”

  “Sir, I didn’t mean to imply…It’s just that…”

  “I understand.” McFarland was growing bored with this. “Let me know when he gives you his decision.”

  “Right away, sir.” But Avery looked as if he would prefer a trip to the dentist.

  —

  Judy returned home from work that afternoon weary in both body and spirit. She smiled at Bently, who took her coat and purse.

  “Is my father home?” Judy asked, eager to settle this matter between them. If he felt as strongly as he had that morning about her job at the day-care center, then she’d do as he requested.

  “Mr. Lovin is still at the office, Miss Judy.”

  Judy checked her watch, surprised that her father was this late. He was almost always home an hour or so before her. “I’ll wait for him in the study,” Judy said. Something was worrying him; Judy was positive. Whatever the problem was, Judy yearned to assure him that she’d help in any way possible. If it meant leaving the day-care center, then she would, but she was happy working with the children. Surely he wanted her to be happy. Being a success shouldn’t be judged by how much money one happened to make. Contentment was the most important factor, and she was sure that someone as wise and considerate as her father would agree.

  “In the study, Miss? Very good. Shall I bring you tea?”

  “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  He bowed slightly and turned away.

  Judy entered the library, which was connected to her father’s study by huge sliding doors. She chose to wait among the leather-bound volumes and settled into the soft armchair, slipped off her pumps, and rested her feet on the ottoman, crossing them at the ankles. The portrait of her mother hanging over the marble fireplace smiled down on her. Judy would sometimes sneak into the room and talk with her mother. On occasion, she could’ve sworn Georgia’s eyes had moved. That was silly, of course, and Judy had long ago accepted that her mother was gone and the portrait was exactly that—a likeness of a lovely woman and nothing more.

  Judy stared up at her now. “I can’t imagine what got into Father this morning.”

  The soft, loving eyes appeared to caress Judy and plead with her to be patient.

  “I’ve never known him to be in such an unreasonable and foul mood.”

  Her mother’s look asked her to be more understanding, and Judy quickly glanced away. “All right, all right,” she grumbled. “I’ll be more patient.”

  Bently came into the study, carrying a silver tray. “Shall I pour?”

  “I’ll do it,” she answered with a smile. She reached for the pot. “Bently?”

  “Yes, Miss?” He turned back to her.

  “Whatever happened to the Riordan sculpture that was on Father’s desk?” The small bronze statue was a prized piece that her father had always loved.

  “I…don’t really know, Miss.”

  “Did Father move it to his office?”

  “That must be it.”

  “He’d never sell it.” Judy was convinced of that. The Alice Riordan original had been a Christmas gift from her mother a few months before she died.

  “I’m sure he didn’t,” the butler concurred and then excused himself.

  Now that she considered it, she realized there were other things missing from the house—a vase here and there, a painting that had disappeared. Judy hadn’t given the matter much thought, but now she found it odd. Either her father had moved them to another location for safekeeping or they’d simply vanished into thin air. Even to entertain the notion that the staff would steal them was unthinkable. Bently, Cook, and Anne had been with the Lovins for years.

  Judy poured her tea and added a squeeze of fresh lemon. Bently had been thoughtful enough to bring two extra cups so that when her father and David arrived, they could have tea as well.

  She must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing Judy heard was the sound of gruff male voices. The door between the two rooms had been closed, but she could hear the raised impatient voices of her father and brother as clearly as if they were in the library with her.

  Judy sat upright and rubbed the stiffness from the back of her neck. She was about to interrupt her father and brother and cajole them into a cup of tea, but something held her back. Perhaps it was the emotion she recognized in their voices—the anger, the outrage, the frustration. Judy paid little attention to the business; that was her brother and father’s domain. But it was apparent that something was dreadfully wrong.

  “You can’t mean you actually sold the Riordan?” David’s astonished voice echoed off the paneled walls.

  “Do you think I wanted to?” Charles Lovin said, and the agony in his voice nearly caused her heart to stop. “I was desperate for the money.”

  “But, Father—”

  “You can’t say anything to me that I haven’t told myself a thousand times.”

  “What else?” David sounded worried and grim.

  “Everything I could.”

  The announcement was followed by a shocked gasp, but Judy didn’t know if it had come from her throat or her brother’s.

  “Everything?” David repeated, his voice choked.

  “As much as possible without losing this house…and it still wasn’t enough.”

  “What about Bently and the others?”

  “They’ll have to be let go.”

  “But, Father—”

  “There’s no other way,” he cried. “As it is, we’re still millions short.”

  Judy didn’t know what was happening, but this had to be a nightmare. Reality could never be this cruel. Her father was selling everything they owned? In addition to this estate, they owned homes all over the world. There were securities, bonds, properties, investments…Their family wealth went back for generations.

  A fist slammed against the desk. “Why would McFarland call in the loan?”

  “Who knows why that beast would do anything? He’s ruined better men than me.”

  “For what reason?”

  Her father paused. “Perhaps he enjoys it. God knows I’ve been enough of a challenge for him. From what I’ve been able to learn about the man, he has no conscience. He’s a nobody,” he said bitterly. The next words were smothered, as though her father had buried his face in his hands. “…something I didn’t tell you…something you should know…McFarland wants our Beauty.”

  “What?” David shouted.

  Judy bolted upright, her back rig
id. It was apparent that they weren’t aware she was in the other room.

  “I heard from his business manager today. Avery Anderson spoke for McFarland and stated that either we come up with the amount of the loan plus the accumulated interest or send Judy to St. Steven’s.”

  “St. Steven’s?”

  “That’s the name of his private island.”

  “What does he want with…her?”

  “Only God knows.” The suffering in her father’s voice ripped at Judy’s heart. “He swears he won’t abuse her in any way, and that she’ll have free run of the island, but…”

  “Oh Dad.” David must have slumped into a chair. “So you had to decide between a business that’s been in our family for four generations and your daughter?”

  “Those were exactly my choices.”

  “What…did you tell him?”

  “You don’t want to hear what I said to that man.”

  “No,” David whispered, “I don’t suppose I do.”

  “We have no option,” Charles Lovin said through gritted teeth. “McFarland wins. I won’t have Judy subjected to that beast.” Despair weighed down his words.

  Numb, her whole body trembling, Judy leaned back in the chair. Lovingly she ran her hand over the soft brown leather. This chair, like so much of what they owned, had been part of a heritage that had been in their family for generations. Soon it would all be lost to them.

  And only she could prevent it from happening.

  Chapter 2

  Judy’s hand tightened around the suitcase handle as she stood on the deserted dock. The powerboat that had brought her to St. Steven’s roared away behind her. She refused to look back, afraid that if she did, her courage would abandon her.

  The island was a tropical paradise—blue skies, soft breezes, pristine beaches, and crystal-clear water. Huge palm trees bordered the beach, swaying gently. The scent of magnolias and orchids wafted invitingly toward her.

  A tall man Judy guessed to be in his late forties approached her. He wore a crisp black suit that revealed the width of his muscular shoulders. His steps made deep indentations in the wet sand.

  She’d brought only one suitcase, packing light with the prayer that her stay would be a brief one. The single piece of luggage now felt ten times heavier than it had when she’d left New York that morning.

  Her father had driven her to the airport, where McFarland’s private jet was waiting to take her to a secluded airstrip. From there, she was told, it would be a short boat trip to the island. Tears had glistened in her father’s faded blue eyes. He’d hardly spoken, and when the moment came for Judy to leave, he’d hugged her so tightly she hadn’t been able to breathe.

  “Good-bye, Judy.” His whispered words had been strangled by emotion. “If he hurts you…”

  “He won’t,” she assured him. “I’ll be fine—and back home so soon you won’t even know I’ve been gone.”

  A pinched look had come over his face, and he’d whispered, “I’ll know. Every minute you’re away, I’ll know.”

  Leaving her family hadn’t been easy for Judy, especially when she felt as though she was being ripped from their arms.

  After innocently eavesdropping on her father and David’s conversation, Judy had openly confronted them. She would go to McFarland and they could do nothing to stop her. Her stubborn determination had stunned them both. But she’d refused to hear their arguments and had simply gone about packing. Within twenty-four hours she was on her way to St. Steven’s.

  She was here now, outwardly calm and mentally prepared to do whatever she must.

  “Ms. Lovin?” the man asked politely, meeting her at the end of the pier.

  Judy nodded, momentarily unable to find her voice.

  “We’ve been expecting you.” He reached for her suitcase, taking it from her hand. “Come with me, please.”

  Judy followed the stranger. He led her into the nearby trees to a cart that reminded her of something she’d seen on the golf course. Only this one was far more powerful and surged ahead at the turn of a key.

  When they came upon the house, Judy’s breath was trapped in her lungs. It was the most magnificent place she’d ever seen. Built on the edge of a cliff, it was nestled in foliage and adorned with pillars and balconies. Tropical vines climbed the exterior walls, twisting upward.

  “This way,” the man said, standing on the walkway that led into the grand house.

  Judy climbed out of the cart and followed him through the massive doors. In the marble entryway she was met by a short, thin man. She identified him immediately as McFarland’s business manager, the man she’d heard her father mention. He looked like an Avery, she thought—efficient, intelligent…bookish.

  “Ms. Lovin,” he greeted her with an embarrassed smile. “I trust your journey was a pleasant one.”

  “Most pleasant.” She returned his smile, although her knees felt like tapioca pudding. “You must be Mr. Anderson.”

  If he was surprised that she knew his name, he didn’t reveal it. “Your rooms are ready if you’d like to freshen up before dinner.”

  “Please.”

  He rang a bell and a maid appeared as though by magic. The woman’s gaze didn’t meet Judy’s as she silently escorted her up the stairs. The maid held open a pair of double doors, and Judy walked into a parlorlike room complete with fireplace, television, bookshelves, and two sofas. Off the parlor was a bedroom so enchanting Judy stared in amazement at the elegant pastel colors. The view of the ocean from the balcony was magnificent. She stood at the railing, the wind whipping her hair about her face, and saw a swimming pool and a tennis court. To her far right, she located another building that she assumed must be the stables. Her heart gladdened. She’d been riding almost from the time she could walk and loved horses. Her cage was indeed a gilded one.

  “Dinner will be in fifteen minutes,” the maid informed her.

  “Thank you,” Judy responded. She squared her shoulders and her heart pounded faster. Soon she’d be meeting the infamous McFarland—the man her father called the Beast.

  But Judy was wrong. When she descended the stairs, armed with questions to which she was determined to find answers, she learned, to her dismay, that she’d be dining alone.

  Mr. Anderson lived in a small house on the island and had departed for the day. McFarland had sent his regrets, but business prevailed. His brief note indicated that he was looking forward to meeting her in the morning.

  The dining room table was set for eight with a service of the finest bone china. The butler seated Judy at one end. The servants brought in course after course, their footsteps echoing in the silent room. Each course was delectable, but Judy ate little. Afterward, she returned to her room.

  Her sleep was fitful as questions interrupted her dreams. She wondered if McFarland was playing some kind of psychological game meant to intimidate her. If he was, then she’d fallen an unwilling victim to it. She didn’t know much about John McFarland. He was rarely if ever seen in public, and she’d been unable to locate any photos of him on any website. Her father insisted he was arrogant, impudent, insolent, unorthodox, and—perhaps the worst insult—beastly.

  What a strange place this is, she thought tiredly, staring up at the darkened ceiling. The house was built in a paradise of sun and sea, and yet a chill pervaded her bones.

  —

  By six, she couldn’t bear to stay in bed any longer. Throwing back the covers, she rose and decided to head for the stables. She yearned to ride, to exorcise the fears that plagued her.

  The house was like a tomb—silent, dark, somber—as Judy crept down the stairs. The front door opened easily, and she slipped outside. The sun was rising, cloaking the island in golden threads of light.

  At a noise behind her, she twisted around. A stranger on horseback was approaching her slowly. Even from a distance, Judy noticed that he sat tall and straight in the saddle. He wore a cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes.

  She hesitated. No doubt he was
a security guard, and from the way he regarded her, he was either looking for trouble or expecting it.

  “Good morning,” she called out tentatively.

  He touched the brim of his hat in greeting. “Is there a problem?” His voice was deep and resonant.

  “A…problem? No, of course not.”

  His finely shaped mouth curved with amusement as he studied her from head to foot.

  Not knowing what else to do, Judy returned his look, staring into those compelling blue eyes. She thought for a moment that he was silently laughing at her, and she clenched her fists. Hot color climbed up her neck, invading her cheeks. “It’s a beautiful morning.”

  “Were you thinking of going for a walk?” He shifted his weight in the saddle, and at the sound of creaking leather, Judy realized that he was dismounting. He took a step toward her.

  Before she could stop herself, Judy stepped back in retreat. “No…I was going to the stables. McFarland said I could go anyplace I wanted on the island and…I thought I’d have someone choose a horse for me. Of course, I could saddle it myself.”

  Bold blue eyes looked straight into hers. “I frighten you?”

  “No…that’s ridiculous.” She felt like a stuttering fool. He didn’t frighten her as much as he enthralled her. He radiated a dark energy with his brooding eyes and tall, lean build.

  He grinned at her response, and the movement crinkled the lines around his eyes and creased his bronze cheeks. “Relax, I’m not going to pounce on you.”

  She stiffened. “I didn’t think you would.” Surely the help respected McFarland’s guests—if she could call herself that.

  “I’ll walk you to the stables.” He reached for the reins, and the huge black horse followed obediently behind.

  “Have you been on the island long?” she managed shakily and attempted to smile.

  “Three years.”

  She nodded, clasping her hands tightly in front of her. This was the first person she’d had the opportunity to speak with, and she wanted to find out as much as she could about McFarland before actually meeting him. In her mind she’d conjured up several pictures, none of them pleasant. She knew he had to be an unhappy, lonely man. Old, decrepit, cantankerous. “What’s he like?”