You don’t know if he’s really like that, Wendy reminded herself. He’d had a shock; naturally he was suspicious. He’d been perfectly charming a moment ago. Of course, then he’d been expecting her to be a client, not a spot of personal trouble.
What am I doing? she thought in panic. She was giving away the most important things she possessed – a child more valuable to her than life itself, and her ethical standards as well.
A promise was a promise, and she’d been wrong to act so quickly. She’d assumed that Marissa was mistaken, that no grandparent could be anything but loving and nurturing to a darling like Rory. But she didn’t know the Burgesses. Marissa had known them – and with her dying breath she had begged.
“Miss?” His voice was sharp now. “What did you say your name was?”
There were worse things for a child than lack of money. Besides, Wendy had a little time before the situation really became critical. There would be a way; there would be another job. They’d make it – somehow.
“Where are you calling from?”
Wendy ignored him. She watched idly as Jed turned off the lights in his office and headed for the door. Jed was obviously distressed, but he wasn’t making noises about disowning his kids just because things were going to be tough for a while. The Landers family would make do, as families always had.
And Wendy could do that too. For Rory’s sake. She and Rory were a family, now.
“Never mind,” she said crisply. “I’ve obviously made a mistake. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
He was saying something when she hung up on him. She didn’t know what it was, and she didn’t care.
*****
In the next week Wendy sent out a blizzard of resumes and took a precious personal day off so she could make the rounds of all the companies in Phoenix which might be in need of a mid-level marketing executive.
Nothing came of it immediately, of course. She was competing with not only the usual applicants but the entire department which had been laid off with her, and naturally other companies were not going to jump to hire anyone until they’d looked over the whole field.
But it would work out, she told herself. She was good at her job, and her education was impeccable. If only she had a little more money in reserve, so she didn’t have to worry as she waited for something to come along... But it was too late to think about that.
Her mood lifted each evening, of course, when she picked Rory up from the sitter’s. There was something very ego-soothing about a baby who turned into a bundle of energy at the mere sight of her, laughing and babbling and cooing and flailing her arms and legs like a windmill in an effort to be held an instant sooner. The child really was getting to be a delight.
But in the long nights, when Rory was asleep and Wendy was too exhausted to rest, things weren’t quite so clear and straightforward. She had just a few more days to work, and her last paycheck would be smaller than usual because she’d made arrangements to pay their health insurance in advance. Her savings would let them survive for a month, maybe two if she was very careful, while she looked intensively for another job in her field. But if she hadn’t been successful by then, she’d have to take whatever work came along just to feed the two of them.
And if sometimes in the dead of night she thought of Samuel Burgess, and the first few moments of that conversation – when his warm, soft voice had made her start to think that Marissa had been wrong about her father – she didn’t let her mind dwell on him for long. She’d made one mistake, and she wasn’t about to make another.
She had a job interview set up for Thursday afternoon, and Jed Landers had told her to slip out of the office early. It hardly mattered, now that their work was done and the final liquidation was underway. She had come to work in her best suit – the rust-colored one she’d bought early in the fall because it picked up the mahogany highlights in her hair – and she’d caught her hair up in a french braid. She looked pleasant and professional, but not too sleek; looking like a clothes horse left a bad impression with some interviewers.
She was checking her leather portfolio to be certain everything was at hand when she noticed a man standing at the department’s secretary’s desk.
He was about thirty, she guessed, and not bad-looking, though he appeared to be the arrogant sort – or perhaps that was just his eyebrows, dark brown and heavy and drawn together at the moment in a frown. His hair was surprisingly light, considering the shade of his eyebrows – brown, with blond streaks which spoke of hours on a beach or perhaps under a sun lamp. He was certainly put together well. He was lean and tall, and his dark gray suit had obviously not seen the inside of an ordinary department store. His shirt was blindingly white, and she’d bet his tie was silk and his briefcase the best and most delicate leather.
She didn’t recognize him as a representative of any of the companies they usually dealt with. In her experience, he was too well-dressed to be a government sort, which left the probability he was one of the attorneys involved in the bankruptcy. In any case, it was nothing to do with her, and she turned back to her portfolio just as the secretary stood up and pointed to Wendy’s cubicle.
Her heart missed a beat. But only, she told herself, because his business – whatever it was – was apt to make her late for her interview. She muttered a couple of words under her breath and started to stuff her portfolio back in the drawer. Then she reconsidered and left it on the blotter. She had Jed’s permission to leave early, and surely at this late date no one could blame her for not feeling much loyalty to the company.
The man crossed the room without hurry and paused in the opening which passed for a door.
Wendy picked up a note pad and pushed it into her portfolio. She didn’t look up. “I’m so sorry, but I’m just on my way out of the office. Someone else can help you.”
“I’m afraid not, Miss Miller.”
Her hands froze on the portfolio, and she thought, illogically, that he sounded different in person, without fifteen hundred miles of telephone wire between them.
No. That couldn’t be. She slowly raised her head to look at him, reminding herself that this man couldn’t possibly be Samuel Burgess. He probably didn’t sound anything like him, either – not really. It was only a trick of the mind.
He had braced one hand against the back of a chair and was leaning on it. “Our conversation was interrupted,” he said levelly. “I’ve come a long way to finish it.”
“You’re not Marissa’s father,” she said irrationally. But his eyes were almost the same color – a bit deeper blue than Marissa’s had been, perhaps, and without the dark ring around the iris.
“No. I’m her brother.”
“But I talked to…”
“You asked for Samuel Burgess. Since my father’s retirement, I’m the only one of that name at the Burgess Group, so the call automatically came to me. What’s the matter, Miss Miller? Would you have been more comfortable dealing with an old man? Did you think he might be starting to lose his faculties and would be easier to persuade?”
“I didn’t–”
“And what did you want to persuade him to do, anyway? I’m afraid I didn’t give you much of a chance to make your demands, but I’m all ears now.”
She bent over the portfolio again. Her hands were shaking. She’d starve herself to death before she’d expose Rory – precious, helpless little Rory – to this sharp and sarcastic man.
“Nothing,” she said. “No demands. No requests. No favors. I told you – I made a mistake.”
There was a second’s pause. His voice was almost casual. “So there’s no baby?”
“No.” She picked up the portfolio and stepped around the end of her desk. But the cubicle was narrow, and he was blocking her path to the opening.
“That’s a monumental error, I’d say,” he mused. “And a rather strange one, too. The people at your apartment complex told me there’s a baby.”
She hadn’t given an instant’s thought to how he had traced
her to the office, or what he had already known about her before he came, and she had to scramble for an answer. “I meant, she’s not Marissa’s baby. She’s mine.”
Another pause, and then he said levelly, “So the Burgesses have nothing to do with it.”
Wendy looked him straight in the eye. “Absolutely nothing.”
He seemed to relax a little.
She had expected that sort of reaction – relief, perhaps, that there were no loose ends to his sister’s life after all. No wonder Marissa hadn’t wanted her family to raise her baby! Wendy was glad he wasn’t going to push it farther. Still, the easy way he’d passed over Rory’s existence, without even bothering to check it for himself, stung a little, and her voice was thick. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Burgess...”
Trying to push past him was like attempting to shove a building out of the way. “Just to satisfy my curiosity, Miss Miller, were you intending to sell the baby to my father, or were you simply trying out a spot of blackmail?”
“Neither,” she snapped. “I told you, the baby’s mine. And I’m doing just fine – I have no need to extort money from anyone.”
He smiled a little. There wasn’t much humor in the expression, and the momentary flicker of white teeth had a threatening edge. “Then why did you make that phone call?”
She could almost feel the net closing in around her. She turned her back on him and closed her eyes in pain. There had to be a way, an explanation which would get her out of this spot.
“If she’s really your baby, Miss Miller...” he began suggestively.
The silence stretched out until Wendy’s nerves were raw. “What?” Her voice cracked.
“Then you won’t mind letting me see her. I’m a great admirer of babies. You might even say I’m a connoisseur.”
Wendy minded. She was uneasily aware that anyone who saw that child and compared Rory’s coloring with her own would have serious questions about the child’s parentage. The eyes alone – Rory’s clear blue, Wendy’s deep golden brown – would cast doubt on the whole idea.
He went on relentlessly. “Shall we say, eight o’clock, your apartment?”
She swallowed hard. “She’ll be in bed.” Maybe, if he didn’t see Rory’s eyes...
But this man was no fool, and he would not settle for a casual inspection.
“Then you can wake her, can’t you?” He picked up his briefcase. “And Miss Miller... Don’t try to vanish.”
She put her chin up. “I wouldn’t think of it. I have nothing to hide.”
The corner of his mouth quirked once more, as if he was ever so slightly amused. “Not only would it make you look very guilty,” he said gently, “it wouldn’t accomplish anything. I’ve hunted you down once. If I have to, I’ll do it again.”
CHAPTER TWO
Wendy stayed beside her desk, spine rigid, until he was out of sight. Then she sagged into her chair.
How had he found her? She’d given her name on the telephone that day, but he hadn’t seemed to hear it. And though he had asked where she was calling from, she hadn’t told him – though she supposed Phoenix would have seemed a logical place to start looking.
Oh, what did it matter? The fact was he had found her, and now she had to deal with the reality.
She considered cancelling her interview, because heaven knew she wasn’t in the best frame of mind for it. But her financial situation was desperate enough as it was. If there was any chance of actually getting a job, she couldn’t afford to let it pass.
In any case, she couldn’t do anything between now and eight o’clock to change the facts. She obviously couldn’t make Rory look more like her. And if she sat around for the next few hours and wondered what Marissa’s brother was likely to think or say or do, she’d simply drive herself nuts. She might as well do something positive with her time.
Marissa’s brother. Why hadn’t the woman ever mentioned him? She could at least have warned Wendy about that forceful attitude of his, and the air of always getting his own way. If Wendy had known what she might be dealing with…
But of course Marissa hadn’t anticipated the problem. She hadn’t expected to die. And just knowing of her brother’s existence – or even his arrogance – wouldn’t have made any difference to Wendy at all. No warning could have prepared her for the way he seemed to take up all the space in the room and raise the temperature by about ten degrees. She’d never experienced anything like it. No wonder her brain hadn’t been functioning quite right.
She was thinking about that when the interviewer called her name, and she stumbled over her own feet on her way into his office. The interview went downhill from there, and by the time it was finished, her only emotion was profound gratitude that it was over and now she could go pick up Rory and get her regular dose of infant adoration.
Rory, however, was tear-drenched and in no mood for smiling. “What’s the matter, darling?” Wendy asked as she cuddled the baby close.
“She’s been fussy all day,” Carrie said. “I think she might be cutting a tooth.”
“So early?”
Carrie shrugged. “She’s a bit young, but there’s a little swelling in her gum.”
Wendy put her fingertip into the baby’s mouth to check for herself, and Rory clamped down on it and gnawed as if the pressure felt good. “I see what you mean,” Wendy said wryly.
“You might pick up a teething ring so you have it on hand.”
Wendy went a few blocks out of her way in order to stop at a discount drugstore. Ordinarily she would have chosen the shop right on her route, but now every penny was going to count.
She tossed the gel-filled ring into the freezer to chill, took off Rory’s sweater, and put the baby down on a blanket in the middle of the bedroom floor so she could change from her suit into jeans and a cotton sweater. Wendy had learned the hard way why dry-cleaners loved babies. From now on, every item that entered her wardrobe was going to have to be washable.
Rory announced in no uncertain terms that she’d noticed supper was running late, and she didn’t approve. Still barefoot, Wendy scooped her up and headed for the nursery. Every piece of clothing Rory owned needed washing, and if she could take the first load down to the laundry room before she fed the baby, she might manage to be done before midnight.
But one look at Rory’s face told her the laundry would have to wait at least till after her bottle, so Wendy settled into the rocking chair. Once the baby’s initial hunger was satisfied, with the warm milk soothing the ache in her gum, she was contented and again ready to gurgle and play.
Wendy felt her own mood lighten a little in response. Don’t borrow trouble, she told herself. Maybe the Burgess creature wouldn’t show up after all.
Rory was more interested in blowing bubbles with her cereal than in eating it, and she managed to spread it so far that a bath was the only answer. Wendy was just drying the child’s hair – and feeling distinctly grubby herself – when the doorbell rang. The baby twisted around on the changing table, trying to locate the sound.
Wendy said, “Just stay still for another minute and you can see for yourself who’s out there. Though I don’t promise you’ll be thrilled with the results.”
Rory grinned at her and tossed her rattle off the table.
The bell had rung twice more – the last time long and impatiently – before Wendy reached the door. The man in the hallway looked her over slowly, from disheveled hair trailing in wisps from a tired french braid to bare toes twisting in the carpet. One dark eyebrow went up slightly.
Wendy wanted to hit him. So what if she looked a bit harried at the moment? The baby was clean and dry and contented; nobody could possibly say Rory was neglected!
Eventually he seemed satisfied with his inspection of Wendy and turned to study the baby. Rory stared back, wide-eyed and somber, and then ducked her head into Wendy’s shoulder.
“A little shy, is she?” he asked.
“Oh, she likes the people I like,” Wendy said before she thought.
She bit her tongue hard as he stared at her, and then started over. “She seems to be cutting a tooth, so she’s a bit off-color today.”
The baby peered at him, her face still mostly hidden in Wendy’s sweater. He reached into the pocket of his trench coat and drew out a set of keys, big ones made of brightly colored plastic. He dangled them casually a foot from Rory’s face, and said, “Hello, there, sprout. I believe I’m your Uncle Mack.”
Wendy had known, of course, that he wasn’t likely to accept her story, but the words came as a blow nonetheless – and a surprise. “Mack?” she repeated. “I thought you said your name was–”
“Samuel MacKenzie Burgess,” he said calmly. “It’s a tradition in the Burgess family to name oldest sons after their fathers.”
“It would be,” Wendy muttered.
He smiled a little.
Rory took a left-handed swipe at the keys and missed. Mack Burgess moved them a little closer, but he was still watching Wendy.
“However, the confusion caused by having two Samuels in the house would be unbearable,” he went on. “Calling me Sammy would have worked till I was old enough to object, I suppose, or Little Sam – except I’ve been taller than my father since I turned sixteen. All in all I think my mother’s solution was a better one. Make her maiden name my middle one, and use it from the beginning.”
Rory pushed herself away from Wendy’s shoulder and reached for the keys. She finally got her fist around one of them, and Mack released the toy and slipped both hands under the baby’s arms.
Wendy let her go. She could hardly treat the child as the rope in a tug-of-war. But she felt incredibly empty, lonely, and cold.
He’d said he was a connoisseur when it came to babies, and he’d been right, she thought bitterly. That had been one of the slickest maneuvers Wendy had ever seen. Absorbed in her new treasure, Rory didn’t even seem to notice that she’d been moved. And it had been pretty smooth of him to chat about names to distract Wendy and kill a bit of time till he could get hold of the baby.
The Only Solution Page 2
