by Francis Ray
Gordon didn—t like reprimanding his subordinates, but if he had to, he made sure they knew he didn—t want a repeat of the infraction that had caused his displeasure. Particularly if the cause was jealousy. Trying to get ahead in the competitive world of television was one thing; stepping on the back of a colleague or anyone else to get there was inexcusable.
Going back to his office, he took the stairs instead of the elevator. He usually did it to keep himself in shape. Today, he had to admit, he did it for an entirely different reason. He needed to work off some of the pent-up energy from sexual frustration, and to prove to himself that he could. Both reasons were tied to Camille Jacobs.
Annoyed with himself and Camille, Gordon sat behind his desk and started through the week—s schedule. He managed to work only because he had trained himself to multitask. You had to if you wanted to be in management.
He—d worked hard for his position and he liked what he did. He didn—t intend to let his personal life interfere in any way with his job. He—d always been able to compartmentalize his life. The only time he hadn—t was when his wife had been in the last stages of her cancer, and then, after her death while trying to reassure his children.
Gordon glanced at the picture in the polished wooden frame on his desk. Adrian and Adair with a sign between them that said, ALTHOUGH WE—RE AWAY YOU—LL ALWAYS BE IN OUR THOUGHTS. Gordon smiled and hoped they were thinking of him when the idea of having their tongues pierced came up. Shaking his head, he laid Tuesday—s schedule aside and picked up Wednesday—s. He had it together.
He kept that thought for the next five minutes before admitting to himself that he was trying so hard to convince himself because he hadn—t been able to compartmentalize Camille.
No woman had gotten to him the way she had. He admitted she was beautiful, but there was something else that drew him to her. And if he didn—t miss his guess, she felt the same way. She might choose to ignore her feelings or run from them, but he planned to do neither. Nor would he let her.
But she did have one valid point. How would Madison feel if she knew they were seeing each other? Although it wasn—t a fact yet, he had no doubt it would happen. He and Camille would be an item. It simply remained to be seen how long Camille could dodge the inevitable.
The corners of his mouth quirked. It had been years since he had tried to lay siege to a woman—s affection. He wondered if he was completely out of practice. He—d soon find out. First, he had to make sure their paths crossed again.
He didn—t have to think long to figure out that one avenue was her mother. Smiling, Gordon picked up the phone and called Julia Davis. If she was as smart as he thought, and she approved of him seeing her daughter, which he thought she did, he—d have the information he needed without even asking.
Five and a half minutes later Gordon hung up the phone feeling very satisfied. Camille was in Austin at a training meeting, but she would be back Friday for a black-tie fund-raiser affair for the Mary McCloud Be-thune House at the Anatole Hotel. Dinner and dancing, he mused as he leaned back in his chair. He—d better brush up on his dance steps. Camille was not getting away from him.
Madison arrived home later in the day with a growing respect for mothers with small children. She—d obtained permission from the service station to leave her car there, then called the car service she—d used in the past for guests on her show. Manda had gone to sleep in her car scat on the way to the salon, but had awakened just as Madison was being combed out. The baby had taken one look at the strange surroundings and people and let it be known she didn—t like it. They—d left immediately.
There had been no more tears since, but the threat of them gave Madison some anxious moments. However, once in the house, the tension in the baby—s body ebbed. Madison was finally starting to relax herself when she heard the phone ring.
“Hello,” she said, shifting the baby—s weight in her arms.
“Mrs. Reed, please,” requested a pleasant-sounding male voice.
“Speaking,” she said.
“Good morning, Mrs. Reed, this is Don Coggins with the Atlanta Herald. I was a great admirer of your husband—s work. He was one of the best.”
Madison frowned. He could be telling the truth or blowing smoke. Reporters often flattered you to catch you off-guard, then went for the jugular. She glanced down at Manda. “Yes. Thank you for the call, but I—m rather busy at the moment.”
“With the baby you have custody of, I bet. Her name is Manda, isn—t it?
“Yes,” Madison answered simply.
“That—s wonderful,” he said in a conversational tone. “I was thinking about doing a piece on the two of you. I could be there with a photographer tomorrow, if that—s convenient. The wonderful way you—ve channeled your grief into helping Manda is heartwarming. Your courage is commendable.”
At the moment Madison felt far from courageous, then she looked into Manda—s face. The smile of a moment ago was gone. She had picked up on Madison—s distress. She wouldn—t like being subjected to the probing stares of strangers, either. “Don—t worry, Manda.”
“Mrs. Reed?”
“I really have to go. I appreciate your kind words about Wes, but I feel that in Manda—s best interests, she should be kept out of the media.”
“But your agent Lou—”
“I—ve stated my wishes, Mr. Coggins. If you admired Wes as much as you say, you—ll respect his memory and find another story.”
“Others reporters might not be so reasonable,” he said, his tone threatening, then it softened to cajoling. “Wouldn—t it be best for all concerned if you did an interview and answered all the questions?”
“The questions anyone might ask are of no concern to me. Manda—s well-being is. Good-bye, Mr. Coggins. Have a nice day.” Madison hung up the phone, considered taking it off the hook, but instead went to her bedroom and turned on the answering machine. The phone rang almost immediately. The caller ID read: OUT OF AREA.
So it has started.
Sitting down on the bed, Madison pulled her cell phone out of her purse, dialed. Her call promptly went into voice mail. Not discouraged, she hung up and tried again. Voice mail. The fourth time he picked up.
“Yeah?” Zachary barked.
Madison jumped. Manda—s eyes widened.
He was speaking again almost immediately. “Listen, I—m sorry I snapped at you. There—s no excuse, but I was trying to finish an inspection under an old house. How can I help you?”
“I didn—t mean to disturb you,” Madison finally said.
“Madison, what—s the matter?” he asked, walking a short distance from the eagle eye of the elderly woman who owned the three-story house in need of major renovations if it was to be around for another seventy-five years. “Do you need me to come over?”
Once again Zachary had put her needs ahead of his job. No matter how unfair it was for her to compare, she couldn—t imagine Wes ever thinking about leaving a project he was working on because she needed him. He hadn—t the day she had lost their child.
She—d tried to tell him she was feeling off. She couldn—t put her finger on the cause, she had just known something was wrong. He—d patted her on the head and told her not to worry, then left for his interview in New York with a Jamaican drug lord. As was his practice, Wes had turned his cell phone off so he wouldn—t be disturbed while doing the interview.
By the time the interview was over and he—d turned the phone back on, five hours had passed and Madison was out of surgery. Wes received an Emmy nomination for his investigative report.
“I—m on my way,” Zachary said when she remained silent. “I—m in Forney and it—ll take at least forty-five minutes to get there.”
“No,” she finally managed to say. “I—m—we—re all right. A reporter called from the Atlanta Herald. He got a little pushy, that—s all.”
“I—d like to push my fist in his face for upsetting you,” Zachary said, his voice a low growl.
Madiso
n felt a pleasant flutter in her chest. She—d never had a man who wanted to champion her before. The idea was strange and very appealing. “J took care of it, but it—s not going to stop. The calls will keep coming.”
“Hmm,” he said. “You—ll handle them.”
She leaned her head against Manda—s. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Anytime,” he said, with a smile in his voice.
Madison felt her own mouth curve into a smile. “I—d better let you get back to work.”
“Sorry about before. You did right to keep on calling. I—d turn off the voice mail, but—”
“You—d spend the day answering the phone instead of getting anything done. I understand. I—m just glad you—re there when I need you.”
“About time you realized I—m not going anywhere.”
Madison felt the weight of his words unfurl softly inside her. “Goodbye.” Turning the phone—s ringer off, she pulled back the duvet and stretched across the bed with Manda tucked beside her. The baby rubbed her eye with one chubby hand, clutching her teething ring in the other.
“I—m not going to leave you, Manda,” Maciison whispered. “You—re safe. I—m not going to leave you.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Madison realized she had spoken the truth. There had been enough upheavals in the baby—s short life. Madison wouldn—t put her through any more. And … perhaps they did need each other.
Placing a protective arm around the baby, Madison pulled her even closer, intending to rest just for a moment. Just before she drifted off to sleep she remembered Zachary—s last words and smiled.
“I—m not going anywhere.”
NINETEEN
WHEN ZACHARY FINALLY FREED himself from two demanding clients it was six-thirty in the evening. He wasn—t happy about the lateness of his arrival at Madison—s house. After her phone call he—d planned on being there earlier. True, he had competent people working for him, but there were certain responsibilities he couldn—t pass on. The owners of homes starting in the high six figures expected the owner of the company to show up if there was a question or concern. In the past he hadn—t minded. Now, he had to keep reminding himself that they had a right to his time.
His first sight of Madison had relieved some of the tension nipping at his heels since her call, but not all. She—d explained about having to leave her car and they—d gone to retrieve it.
Returning to the house, at Zachary—s suggestion, they listened to the messages on her answering machine. There were ten in all. Two from telemarketers and eight from the print media or TV stations. Madison pushed ERASE and left the machine on.
“You might want to monitor them in case the call is important.”
Madison sighed and folded her arms. “I—ve already decided to do just that. I—d better go check on dinner. It—s time lor Manda to eat. She had a late lunch so we—re a little behind.”
“I—ll feed her then take her outside to the swing.” Holding a babbling Manda, Zachary followed Madison out of the room.
“She—d like that,” Madison answered, continuing down the hall.
Watching Madison closely, Zachary followed her back into the kitchen. She seemed preoccupied and it was more than the reporters. He didn—t know if that boded bad or good. Rather than try to guess what was on her mind and put his foot in his mouth again, he decided to wait.
And wait he did, through Manda—s dinner and her playtime. Instead of joining them as he had hoped, Madison remained inside. Returning later with a sleepy Manda, he saw Madison setting the kitchen table. “I didn—t mean to keep you from dinner.”
She glanced up as she placed a bright red oversized plate on a placemat. “You—re not. I hope you—ll join me. Meat loaf, cabbage, cornbread. I felt like eating something different.”
Comfort food, Zachary thought. “Thanks. I—ll put Manda down and come back to help.”
“You—ll come back and sit down.” Madison put the flatware on the table, then came across the room to smile at a sleepy Manda. “She—s already had her bath and her nightgown is on her bed. Can you handle it?”
“A cinch since she—s almost asleep,” he said with a grin. Madison smiled back up at him and his heart pounded. Abruptly he turned away. “Be back in a jiffy.”
Madison watched him go and wondered about the strange look that had come over his face, then dismissed it. It was probably just her own nervousness. By the time she had put the serving dishes on the table, Zachary had returned. He held the chair out for her, then bowed his head to bless their food. Zachary was definitely old-fashioned in the nicest ways.
“So, why were you under an old house?” she asked, filling his glass with iced tea.
“Thanks.” He spread his napkin. “Since I restored the house I live in, I—ve started to gain a bit of a reputation. Mrs. Rice—s family has lived in the house for three generations. She—s eighty-five, and sharp as a tack. Her children and grandchildren have no interest in a house in the country, but she doesn—t want it to fall down or be torn down after she—s gone. I—m considering buying it and restoring it.”
“I love old houses.” She piled food high on his plate. “I—ve always wanted to live in a two-story.”
Zachary—s brow furrowed as he accepted the plate she handed him. Had Wes known? Probably, Zachary thought. Wes tended to indulge himself rather than others. But that had been the way his parents raised him. They had led him to believe what he wanted far outweighed the needs or desires of others. He—d been taught to equate possessions with love. Caring about Wes would have been impossible if Zachary hadn—t known his background.
“Hers is three-story with pinewood floors, a mahogany staircase, and double windows that wrap around the house. Despite the disrepair, the house is structurally sound. I—ll take you to see it if she sells it to me.”
“I—d like that.” She took a sip of her iced tea. “When will you know?”
“She said she—d call this week. Unlike Mrs. Otis, Mrs. Rice can make a decision and stick to it.” He took a bite of meatloaf and nodded his head appreciatively. “This is good.”
“Thanks.”
“That—s why I was late. Mrs. Otis now thinks she wants rose marble in the guest bath instead of black. Mr. Otis promised to keep her away until the house is finished.”
“Do you think he can?” She sprinkled croutons on her green salad.
“He—s crazy about her, so I have my doubts.” He picked up a cornbread muffin. “She can twist him around her little finger.”
“That—s the way it should be,” Madison said, with only a slight wistful-ness in her voice. She caught Zachary—s concerned look and rushed on to say, “From what you said, your mother and stepfather are the same way. How did they meet?”
He smiled in remembrance. “A leaky roof brought them together. April showers may bring spring flowers, but it also brings misery to a family with a leaking roof and no money for repair. Mama worked at the university and attended classes there in the evening while I stayed at a center on campus for the children of students.”
The bread was forgotten in his large hand. “She—d just finished her sophomore year in college when I was born. It took her three more years to get her degree in English. Another three for her master—s. She did it all without help from anyone. By the time she finished she was bogged down in debt from student loans and all the other bills. After she got pregnant with me, her parents wanted nothing to do with her. They didn—t change their mind after I was born.”
There was no bitterness in his voice. It was as if he was telling someone—s else story. Madison couldn—t imagine what it would have been like not to have the support of her large, extended family while she was growing up.
She—d always known she was loved and wanted, known that she had people she could turn to. It was only as an adult that foolish pride, then concern about her mother—s health had kept her from being truthful about her troubled marriage. But if she had, she knew with certainty that her f
amily would have been there for her.
“Mama had managed to buy a house, and coming home from work one afternoon she saw Jim working on the roof of a house in the neighborhood and stopped to ask if he—d come and give her an estimate.” A slow smile kicked up the corners of Zachary—s mouth. “To this day she still says that she almost didn—t stop because she had no idea how she—d pay for it, but it had rained the night before and we had to set out every pot we had in the house to catch the water. She was desperate.”
“So he fixed the roof?”
“More than the roof; he fixed Mama—s heart.” Pensive, Zachary stared across the table at Madison. “Her heart was probably just as worn and in need of repair. The man who fathered me was long gone by then. Jim was good for her, for us. His parents were the same way. They accepted us from the first. So did his brothers and sisters.” His mouth tightened. “The people who should have loved me didn—t.”
“Their loss,” Madison said, feeling sorry for the little boy wanting to be loved and not understanding why he wasn—t.
“Yeah, but growing up I always wondered what was wrong with me. Then in the third grade I found out from an older boy in my school the reason my grandparents wanted nothing to do with me. Why I didn—t have a father around like most of the other kids.” His face became shadowed.
Without thought, Madison reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “If you still believe that, you—re not the man I—ve grown to depend on these past weeks.”
His head came up. His large hand turned, clasping hers gently. “No. I don—t believe it. Being loved by my mother, Jim, and his family helped. Even when I started acting up as a teenager and was angry with everything and everyone, especially Mama and Jim, I knew deep down they loved me.”
“Yes, being loved helps.” Feeling heat radiating from their clasped hands and a strangeness she didn—t understand, Madison pulled her hand free, then took another sip of tea to ease her suddenly dry throat. “I want to discuss Manda with you.”
