Lambert's Peace

by Rachel Hauck

  “Flowers.” Mom motioned to the dining room table.

  Taylor walked to the adjoining room where she found the most beautiful bouquet of red roses she’d ever seen. She reached for the card.

  Taylor, for the night I should have said yes.

  Love, Will

  She trembled as a geyser of emotions erupted from deep within. What? Will, no!

  Her eyes burned and her jaw tightened. Deep breaths held back the tears. She wouldn’t let go.

  “Who are they from, Taylor?” Mom called from the family room.

  “Will.”

  “Will?”

  “Yes, Mom.” She cleared the emotion from her voice. “Didn’t you say something about it being the day of Taylor? Did something else come for me?”

  Mom came around the corner. “You had a phone call from an Alex Cranston. I believe he said he was calling from California.” She handed Taylor a piece of paper.

  Taylor read Alex Cranston’s name and number written carefully in her mother’s perfect handwriting. Her heart raced. “Did he say anything else?”

  “He asked if you could call as soon as possible.”

  Taylor forced a smile as she folded the note in her hand. “I’ll call him on my cell.” She snatched up her car keys, the vase of roses, and the note with Alex Cranston’s number. “I’ll be back later.”

  fourteen

  Will watched her stride across the field. It didn’t seem right to him that a woman should look so beautiful and graceful wearing dingy old sweats.

  She stopped when she got to him. “Can I see you? Over here?” She motioned toward the cars.

  “Hello, Taylor.” Jordan jogged up to her private huddle with Will.

  “Hi, Jordan.” She gave him a slight hug. “Are you playing today?”

  He grinned. “Drafted by Creager.”

  She lifted her chin. “I see.” Looking around him, she scanned the opposing team. “Will, isn’t that your cousin Jeff?”

  Will nodded. “My cousin Elizabeth used to work at Creager. She drafted Jeff and her husband, Kavan, for their teams.” He pointed to a redheaded man standing next to Jeff.

  “Family against family? Should be interesting.” Then she turned to Jordan. “Will you excuse us?”

  “Sure.”

  She smiled and patted him on the arm. “Thanks.” Taylor turned to Will and motioned for him to follow her.

  “What’s up?” he asked, leaning in close when they stopped beside her car. His heart was smiling. Surely she saw the roses when she went home.

  She opened the passenger door, reached in, and pulled out the flowers. “I can’t accept these.” She shoved the vase at Will.

  His heart sank, but he kept his expression the same. “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t. We can’t undo the last ten years.”

  “No, but we can start over.”

  She shoved the flowers at him again. “My actions that night were a foolish romantic notion. Let’s not revisit it, shall we?”

  “I’m not taking the roses back, Taylor.” He stood with his feet apart, his arms crossed over his chest, one hand gripping the football.

  “I’m not accepting them.” She set the flowers on the ground and met his gaze, then placed her hands on her hips.

  He reacted. He pulled Taylor to him and kissed her. She pushed away at first then melted into his embrace.

  When he lifted his head, she muttered, “I wish you’d stop doing that.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “I guess it’s not the best way to communicate.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I love you.”

  She drew a shaky breath. “Then you definitely have to stop.”

  He hooked his finger under her chin and lifted her head. Looking into her eyes, he said, “Give us a chance.”

  She gripped his forearms. “Now is not the time, Will.”

  “It’s the perfect time.”

  Someone called from the field. “Hey, are you two going to play ball or kiss? We’re losing daylight.”

  “The timing isn’t perfect,” she said as she walked backward toward the field and away from him.

  He ducked his head, pressing his hand on the back of his neck, thinking. How should he respond to her determination? With more determination?

  As he jogged back to the field, he clung to the peace he harbored in his heart and Grandma’s advice. Let her know I love her. Don’t give up.

  “If you move to California, I don’t know what we’ll do without you, Taylor,” Mom said Saturday. She sat on the edge of the ottoman in the family room, her back straight, sewing squares together for a quilt.

  “Same as you always did, Mom,” Taylor said, waiting for Dad to move a rook or pawn. “Dad, are you going to make a move?”

  He glanced up from the chessboard. “You cannot rush genius.”

  Taylor laughed and relaxed against the back of her chair. “I’ve been wanting a job like this one for a long time. I can’t believe I’m even getting a shot at Boswell Global.”

  “California is so far away,” Mom lamented.

  “I’ll come home on vacations. You all can visit me in California. It’ll be great.”

  The phone rang. Taylor volunteered to answer since her dad was still contemplating his move and Mom had blocks of material on her lap.

  “Taylor, it’s Jordan.”

  “Hey.” She moved to the living room with the cordless. The fragrance of Will’s roses wafted in from the dining room. He’d refused to take them back, so Taylor brought them home with her.

  “I enjoyed our date the other night.”

  “It was a nice night. But, Jordan, I—”

  “I ran into Mia again,” he interrupted, “and we started talking, and well, we’ve had dinner together every night this week.”

  Taylor bit her lips, trying not to laugh. Jordan and Mia? They were perfect for each other. “That’s great.”

  “It looks like you and Will still have a thing for each other anyway.”

  “No,” she protested. “No, we are just friends.”

  Jordan snorted. “I saw that kiss, Taylor. Will’s mind is made up.”

  “It doesn’t matter what Will wants.”

  Jordan chuckled. “Did you tell him that?”

  Taylor sat on the sofa, a Lambert’s Furniture classic piece. “As a matter of fact, I did. Besides, I have a job opportunity in California.”

  “Really? Then go for it, if that’s what you want.” Taylor pressed her hand over her eyes. “It’s what I want.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  “I will. Good luck with Mia.”

  “I’ll send you a wedding invitation.”

  She made a face at the phone. “You think it will come to that?”

  “I think so.” They talked for a few more minutes and exchanged e-mail addresses.

  When she hung up and replaced the phone on the cradle, Tim, Dana, and the kids walked through the door.

  “The boys thought Grandpa needed an ice cream sundae,” Tim said, unloading ice cream, whipped cream, several sauces, peanuts, chocolate, and cherries.

  “Wow,” Taylor said, hugging her nephews, praising them for their choice of desserts. Mom hurried about the kitchen, setting bowls and spoons on the counter.

  Claire put on a CD, and the quiet house came alive with the melodies of a family.

  Dad, however, remained poised over his chess pieces, calculating his next move. Laughing, Taylor coaxed him from his chair.

  “You can’t keep company with the chessboard when your grandsons were kind enough to bring over ice cream.”

  He stretched and patted his belly. “I guess ice cream would hit the spot.” He high-fived his grandsons. “You boys always did know how to treat your old pop.”

  Taylor watched, her heart beating to the rhythm of the family’s voices and laughter. This, she thought, this I will miss.

  A half hour later, Tim sat in Taylor’s chair opposing Dad in chess, who
had yet to make his genius move.

  Quentin and Jarred watched a movie in the living room, and Taylor sat at the dining table with Mom, Dana, and Claire.

  Taylor realized for the first time in a long time, anxiety wasn’t wheedling her into worrying. She felt the Lord’s assurance. He would work out the details of her life.

  “Okay, I can’t take it anymore,” Dana said. “Where did you get these roses, Mom? They are beautiful.” She stood and leaned toward the bouquet, sniffing. “So fragrant.”

  “Will sent them to Taylor.”

  Claire’s mouth dropped open. She grabbed Taylor’s arm. “Oh, wow. Are you in love or what?”

  “No, I’m not in love.”

  “Oh, Taylor, please,” Dana said. “You and Will Adams are meant for each other.”

  “What? How so?”

  The women talked at once. “You’re perfect for each other.”

  “He’s quiet, you’re loud.”

  “I am not loud,” Taylor protested.

  “You both love sports. You both love the Lord.”

  “You’re best friends.”

  Finally, Taylor stopped them. “Fine,” Taylor said with a slap of her hand on the table. “But we are not getting together. Period.”

  Dana laughed and pointed at her sister-in-law. “I’ll be singing at your wedding before this time next year.”

  Taylor spread her arms and chimed, “Wonderful. I’d love that, but Will won’t be the groom.”

  “We’ll see,” said Dana. “We’ll see.”

  Wednesday afternoon Will sat in the conference room with Bobby, Markie, and Taylor reviewing the HBS installation schedule.

  “It’s tight. We have a lot to get done in eight weeks.” Will looked up from Taylor’s project plan.

  “With year-end coming up,” Taylor started, “I recommend converting over to HBS in January. Start the new fiscal year on the new system. Only transfer the data you need and keep the old system in maintenance mode.”

  “We still have to move account and billing records forward,” Markie said. “But I’m eager to get the staff trained.”

  “I need to get the sales team in here for training on the contact management system,” Bobby said.

  Taylor smiled. “They’ll love it. It will increase their sales.”

  “That’s what I want to hear.” Bobby slapped his hands on the table.

  Taylor motioned to Markie. “You need to get a data dump from the old system so HBS can get to work on the conversion program. We can’t do anything without the account records and inventory data.”

  Markie nodded, typing on her computer. “Will, I might need your help with that,” she said.

  “No problem.”

  After the meeting, Taylor stopped Will outside his office door. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Sure.” He stepped aside for her to enter his office. Things had been distant and cool between them since his impetuous kiss on the football field. He apologized Sunday after church and kept his distance in the office.

  While he hated the strain between them, Will planned to relentlessly pursue her.

  “What can I do for you?” He motioned to the chair by his desk, but she remained standing.

  Hands clasped in front of her, she looked at him, her gaze seeming unfocused. “I have a job interview next week in California. I leave Monday, fly back Wednesday.”

  Will kicked out his chair and sat. “I see.” This news definitely put a kink in his plan.

  “It’s an amazing company, Boswell Global. They are an emerging dot-com. They need a new CFO.”

  “You don’t have to convince me.” He picked up a short blue pen lying on his desk and began clicking it, on and off, on and off.

  She bristled. “I’m not convincing you. I just wanted to let you know.”

  “Taylor, if this opportunity means so much to you, then—” He jammed the pen into a holder.

  “It does. But I wanted you to know I will finish what I started here.”

  “If you have to go, then you have to go. We didn’t contract you for any length of time.” His hands gripped the arms of his chair.

  She narrowed her gaze. “I don’t want to abandon the job.”

  “Look, we got a great deal on the business system, thanks to you. Markie has the project plan. I run a multimillion dollar company; I think I can manage the installation.”

  She bristled. “Of course, I didn’t meant to imply you couldn’t handle the install, Will. But you contracted me for my expertise and … “

  She was fishing, Will decided. If she chose not to go to California, she’d have to come up with a better reason than the new business system.

  She stared down into the manufacturing plant. “I’ll probably wait until after Christmas to move.”

  “If you get the job.”

  She snapped her head around. “Yes, if I get the job.”

  He walked over to her. “It’d be great to have you around for the holidays.”

  She stared again at the crew below. “I haven’t been around for many holidays lately. Claire and the boys are getting older. Daddy’s scare made me think how much family time I’ve missed. I’d really like to be home for this Christmas.”

  “You don’t have to convince me.”

  She whipped around. “I’m not trying to convince you. I’m just saying …” She sat in the vacant chair. “What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  She stared at her hands and asked softly, “About the job. About me moving to California.”

  He slipped his hands in his pockets and peered into her face. “You always get what you want.”

  She stared straight into his eyes. “Not always.”

  “Now’s your chance.”

  fifteen

  Sunday evening Taylor packed an overnight tote and zipped her best suit into a garment bag.

  “What do you think, Mom, taupe or black pumps?” Taylor walked into her parents’ room with a sample of each pair.

  Mom didn’t look up from the chaise lounge where she sat with her sewing. “What color is your suit?”

  “Dark red.”

  “Pants or skirt?”

  “Skirt.”

  Mom set her sewing aside and motioned to see the shoes. “Black,” she said after a short inspection.

  “Really? I like the taupe.” Taylor examined the shoes under the light. Who was she to question the impeccable Trixie Hanson? She’d wear the black.

  “Are you sure this move is right for you, Taylor?” Mom asked, picking up her quilting pieces again.

  “Y–yes.” Her answer didn’t sound as confident as she wanted. “How can I turn such an opportunity down?”

  From the library, Taylor heard the rustle of her father’s newspaper. He came through the door a second later.

  “Well, how much does the opportunity cost?” He settled on the chaise with Mom.

  Taylor sat on the edge of the bed, dropping the shoes to the floor. “What do you mean?”

  Dad examined a square of gingham. “If you want this position, you go to California and win it. Let Boswell see the excellent abilities of Taylor Jo Hanson. But think about what it will cost you in time and relationships.”

  She regarded him, half of her bare foot in the taupe pump. “I’ve calculated the cost, Dad.” She slipped her foot the rest of the way into the shoe. She did like them better.

  “Mom, I’m going with the taupe.” She shoved her other foot into the black pump and stood.

  “Your choice, Taylor.”

  “I don’t think you have, Taylor,” Dad said, firm and low. “Don’t go to California if there is the remotest chance that you are in love with Will.”

  Taylor whirled around. “In love with him? He’s a friend, period.”

  She walked toward the floor-length mirror to check out the shoes.

  Oh, pain. She kicked off both shoes, remembering now why the soles were barely worn on the taupe pair. They pinched her toes.

  “I’m we
aring the black.” She picked up her shoes, grimacing at the taupe.

  Trixie laughed softly. “I had a pair of taupe shoes that hurt my feet, too. But I loved them.”

  “Taylor,” Dad said as she started to leave.

  “What, Daddy?” She held up the black pump. “Maybe I should wear my beige suit.”

  Mom glanced up. “No, it will make you look too pale. Let me look at your wardrobe.”

  Trixie went past Taylor into her bedroom.

  Dad finished his thought. “You won’t get another chance at Will. So, pray about it long and hard.”

  Heat picked its way across her cheeks and down her neck. “I hear you, but I don’t think it changes anything.”

  He came over to her and rested his hand on her arm. “I’ve watched you over the years, Taylor. There’s more to the story than you’re telling your mom and me.”

  She stared at the floor. “It’s over. Forgotten.”

  “You left town like your hair was on fire. And if I remember right, you were in love with him.”

  “Correct. Were—was.”

  “You’re a grown woman, Taylor, and I’ve seen you make some excellent decisions. Make sure this California job is the Lord’s leading, not you running away from the ghost of summers past.”

  She lifted her head and jutted out her chin. “I am praying, Dad.”

  “All right. Just know that if you move to California, Will won’t be single and waiting when you come home again.”

  She jutted out her chin. “So you’ve said.”

  Dad embraced her. “I love you, and I would like nothing more than for the Lord to bless you with a godly husband.”

  Taylor batted away tears. “Me, too. Better see what Mom’s picking out.”

  In her room, Mom coordinated the perfect suit and shoes. Taylor stood back, shaking her head. “Perfect. How come you didn’t pass your gift of style to me, Mom?”

  “I did.”

  “Right. I wouldn’t have thought to put that rose-colored jacket with those chocolate slacks.”

  “You have style, Taylor. It shows in the way you wear your hair and the way you carry yourself. It shows in the way you do your job and live life. I wish I had your gusto.”

  “Gusto?” Taylor repeated. That was not a Trixie Hanson word.