Daniel chuckled. “Nobody asked you.”
“Yeah, well, you’re getting my opinion anyway. You know, today’s celebrities are tomorrow’s has-beens. You need to get your byline back in the paper. This story Ed’s working on is a real—”
“I gotta run, Charley. It was nice talking to you.”
Before the receiver hit the cradle, Daniel heard his editor shouting, “Wait a minute, Rourke. I want—”
Click.
That felt good, he decided as he turned away from the telephone. Real good.
Daniel had worked for Charley Cooper almost from the moment he’d graduated from Boise State. He liked the crusty old coot, and he respected him. He would put Charley up against any newspaper editor in the world and be certain he’d come out on top. Charley had a nose for news, as the old saying went.
But Daniel was glad there were seventeen hundred miles between him and his editor. Otherwise, Charley would have him working the beat before nightfall.
Charley Cooper hated it when anybody told him, “No.”
Daniel whistled as he headed outside to mow the back lawn. As a kid, he’d hated this chore. He’d done just about anything to get out of it. Strange what a decade of living in apartments and condos—with nary a blade of grass in sight—could do to change a man’s mind.
With a quick, fluid motion, he pulled the cord to start the mower’s engine. It sputtered, then roared to life. Grinning, he pushed the old Toro toward the back fence, cutting a straight line through the thick green grass.
Of course, mowing the lawn was not the source of his high spirits. Those were due to Monica.
He hadn’t seen her since yesterday at church. She was swamped by things at the office, trying to get everything up and running after the burglary. But he’d talked to her on the phone this morning, and she’d agreed to go out with him on Friday night. An honest-to-goodness date. Just the two of them. With a bit of luck, the night would come with a full moon to help his cause along.
He hadn’t felt this way since he was twenty. If this was the real thing, if it was meant to last, then he didn’t want to let it slip away.
As he worked the mower around the trunk of a maple tree, he thought of Charley’s plea for him to return to Chicago. Strange. He didn’t feel the urge to get back. He knew it wasn’t because he disliked his work. He thrived on it. He was good at it.
He’d taken a total of three weeks vacation in all the years he’d been with the paper, and two of those were only because Kit had dragged him to the Caribbean. She’d threatened to do him bodily harm if he refused to go. But even as they’d sunned themselves on pristine beaches, he’d been thinking about work, chomping at the bit to get back.
Sure, he’d been burned out by the trial and the months it had taken him to write his book, but that wasn’t why he didn’t want to return to Chicago and his job. Monica was the reason for that. Monica and Heather. He needed to know how they were going to fit into his future.
How… Not if.
He stopped in midstride, then shut off the mower. The sudden quiet was deafening.
How… Not if.
He wasn’t wondering if he wanted Monica to be with him. He was only wondering how they could make it work. He wasn’t thinking about getting her into his bed. He was thinking about getting her into his life. Permanently.
Daniel Rourke had fallen in love, and he hadn’t seen it coming.
The receptionist gave Monica a particularly bright smile when she saw her get off the elevator. “Hi, Ms. Fletcher.” She plucked some slips of paper out of Monica’s message slot. “These are for you.”
“Thank you, Terri.” She glanced through them. “No call back from the insurance company?”
“Not yet. But there is something waiting on your desk that I think must be pretty important.” Before Monica could ask, she added, “I don’t know who it’s from.”
Hoping it wasn’t another problem she would have to deal with, she pushed open the glass door and headed for her office. She stopped when she saw her personal secretary seated on the floor in the file room.
Claudia Williams glanced up as Monica stepped into the small room. “I’d like to get my hands on the guys who did this.” Her tone left little doubt what she would do with the culprits if she caught them.
Monica nodded. “I know what you mean. But I’m amazed what you’ve managed to get done in one day.”
“I’m lucky. Most of the papers are easy to identify and get back in the right files.”
“Do you need me to bring someone in to help you?”
“I don’t think so,” Claudia answered as her gaze swept the stacks of papers all around her. “It would probably take longer to explain what I need than to do it myself.”
Monica understood that philosophy. It was one she often operated under herself. She also knew it could leave a person feeling overwhelmed and frustrated. “Okay, but let me know if you change your mind.”
“I will.”
She left the file room and continued toward her office, silently counting off the many things she needed to accomplish before the day was done. She was so far behind now. It didn’t help that she’d stayed at lunch with her mother longer than usual. But she was glad they’d had the chance to talk, to clear the air.
Monica opened the door to her office and strode toward her desk, once again glancing through the message forms in her hand. As she drew closer, she caught sight of something, looked up and came to a sudden halt.
A beautiful cut-glass vase stood in the center of her desk. Rising out of it was a bouquet of calla lilies. Her favorite flower in the world. Their showy spathes were white, pink, purple and yellow. Several of the flowers draped elegantly over the rim of the vase while others stood upright.
Monica’s heart tripped, and she caught her breath. She remembered distinctly the last time she’d been given a calla lily. It was the night she’d moved in with Daniel. They’d gone out to dinner, and he’d presented her with a corsage made of one pale pink calla lily. It was all he could afford. Now she was looking at a dozen of them in a single bouquet.
She reached for the small white envelope lying on the desk beside the vase. With trembling fingers, she opened the flap and drew out the card.
To Monica, it read, for giving us the summer.
“Oh, Daniel.”
He’d remembered. After all these years, he’d remembered about the calla lilies. He’d given her this beautiful bouquet and a summer.
If only she knew what lay beyond September.
She sank onto a nearby chair. She was a coward, she admitted to herself. She’d kept her heart, her emotions, safely under wraps for years. Now she was being asked to set them free, to see what might develop.
And she was afraid.
Afraid because she wanted more than a summer. She wanted beyond September.
She wanted it all—and she was afraid God would say no.
If Daniel had opened the door and found the President of the United States standing on his front stoop, he couldn’t have been more surprised.
“Hello, Daniel,” Ellen Fletcher greeted him, her voice quivering slightly. “I hope I haven’t come at a bad time.”
He glanced down at his sweat-stained tank top, then back at Monica’s mother. “No, I just finished cutting the grass.” He pushed open the storm door. “Come on in.”
“Thank you.”
“Make yourself at home,” he told her, motioning toward the living room. “I need a minute to wash up.” He hurried toward the bathroom.
While his thoughts churned in his head, wondering what had brought Ellen to his house, he quickly peeled off his shirt. Then he ran water in the sink and freshened up the best he could before donning a clean T-shirt. He was back to the living room before more than five minutes had passed.
Ellen Fletcher sat on the sofa, looking anything but “at home.” She was perched on the edge of the couch, her hands clasped together and resting on her knees.
When she saw him,
she forced a tiny smile and gave a nervous laugh. “I suppose you wonder why I’ve come.”
“I’m a bit curious, Mrs. Fletcher.” An understatement. He sat opposite her in a faded overstuffed chair.
“Well…” She paused, drew a deep breath, then continued, “It’s about Monica and Heather, of course.”
If she was about to warn him off, she wasn’t going to be pleased with what he said to her in return.
“I…I came to apologize. And to ask your forgiveness.”
His surprise must have shown on his face.
She smiled again, this one self-deprecating. “I can see you didn’t expect that from me.”
“No, ma’am, I didn’t.”
“Parents want only what’s best for their children. When you called…when I told you Monica didn’t want to talk to you all those years ago, it wasn’t the truth. I didn’t tell her you called. I…I thought I was protecting her from being hurt more than she already had been. But I was wrong. You and she should have had the chance to work things out between you. It wasn’t up to me.”
Daniel nodded. He’d suspected, since talking to Monica, that Ellen had lied to him in that phone conversation. Now that the older woman had confirmed it, he expected to feel anger, but it didn’t come. He supposed because he’d already taken a good hard look at what sort of person he’d been back then and hadn’t found a sterling, faultless character looking back at him.
Ellen stood. “I want you to know I’ll not interfere again, Daniel. You have my word on it.”
He rose from the chair. “I’m glad of that. And, if it helps any, I don’t hold the past against you.”
“Thank you,” she replied softly, and her face revealed the depth of her relief.
“Mrs. Fletcher, it’s probably I who should be thanking you. You and your husband have had a hand in making Heather into the kind of girl she is. I’d like to think I would’ve been around to help out if I’d known I had a daughter. But it’s her mother and you and Mr. Fletcher who get the credit for how Heather’s turned out. She’s one terrific kid.”
Ellen tilted her head slightly to one side. “You’ve changed.”
“Time’ll do that to a guy.”
“Not always for the better.”
“I suppose not.”
“But it has you. For the better, I mean.”
He shrugged, not sure what to say to that.
“I’m glad I came.” Her smile was more genuine this time. “I expect I’ll be seeing you again.”
He returned her smile, saying warmly, “I hope you’re right, Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Call me Ellen. You’re not a college boy anymore.”
There was a lot of meaning behind those simple words, and Daniel was surprised by how much this woman’s approval meant to him, now that he had it.
He followed her to the door and watched as she descended the steps and made her way down the walk. It wasn’t until she’d gotten into her car and started the engine that he closed the door.
As he turned around, he wondered if Monica had known her mother was coming to see him. He wondered if he should tell her Ellen had been there.
The phone rang, interrupting his musings, and he went to answer it. “Hello.”
“Hello, Daniel.”
“Monica.” He grinned. “I was just thinking about you.”
“I got the flowers. Calla lilies. They’re so beautiful.”
Like you.
“You couldn’t possibly know how much they mean to me.”
“I’m glad.” He held the receiver to his ear with his left hand and cradled the mouthpiece with his right, wishing the same hands could be holding and cradling Monica instead.
“It’s been years since a man sent me flowers.” Her voice was husky.
“Then this town is full of idiots.”
She laughed softly. “Thank you for saying so.”
“Only saying what’s true.”
She didn’t reply.
He cleared his throat. He thought it better to change the subject before he said too much. “Are things improving at the office? You getting it all organized again?”
“It’s better now that Claudia’s here. She’s an organizational whiz. I’m amazed by what she’s accomplished in one day.”
“I’d be glad to come down and help if there’s anything I could do.”
She hesitated, then answered, “That’s sweet of you, Daniel.”
“But?”
“But it isn’t necessary.”
“Not ready to answer people’s questions about what I’m doing there?”
“I guess that sums it up.”
“Okay. Just wanted to help.”
Softly she said, “I know, Daniel, and it means a lot to me. Truly it does. I want you to know that.”
He wondered if he should tell her he loved her. But caution stopped him. Until he resolved the matter of faith in his own mind and heart, he felt certain she wouldn’t welcome a declaration of love.
“Heather misses you,” she said.
“I miss her, too. Is she over being mad at me?”
“She never has been one to hold a grudge. Of course she’s over it.”
An idea occurred to him. “When’s her last day of school?”
“This Friday.”
“Listen, you need time off to relax, and I want to spend more time with the two of you. How about the three of us take the weekend and go up into the mountains? We could leave first thing Saturday morning and come back on Monday.”
“Monday? But I—”
He interrupted her argument, guessing what she was going to say. “You’re the boss, Monica. You can take a day off if you want it.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Daniel. It’s awfully short notice and I—”
He wasn’t about to give up yet. “Sweetheart, I promised myself I was going to take advantage of the Idaho wilderness while I was home. Camping. Fishing. Hiking. The weather’s supposed to stay unseasonably warm through the weekend. I’ve got all the equipment we would need right here in the basement. There’s a big tent for you two and a pup tent for me. We’ll go to a public campground so there’s no question of impropriety. I can take the sleeping bags to the dry cleaners before five o’clock today, and we’ll have them back by Friday. What d’you say?”
“It’s been years since I went camping. I never was much of a Girl Scout.”
He wished he was with her right now. He’d hold her in his arms and give her a long, slow kiss and help her make up her mind. “It’s okay. I was a very good Boy Scout. Always prepared, you know. I’ll take care of you.”
Another hesitation, then, “Promise?”
“Yeah. I promise.” He wasn’t talking about camping any longer.
He wondered if she knew that.
Chapter Ten
Monica didn’t know if she was more nervous about her Friday night date with Daniel or the camping trip that weekend. It was easy to understand why she’d accepted his invitation for dinner, but she still couldn’t figure out how he’d convinced her to take off for the mountains. She’d never been keen on roughing it, especially this early in the year when the Idaho nights could drop into the frigid thirties or lower.
She shivered.
Heather, on the other hand, was overjoyed by the planned excursion with her dad. She talked to him on the phone every night, and then she relayed the entire conversation to her mom. She packed and unpacked and packed again the things she thought she should take with her. Heather’s excitement was so palpable, it was contagious. Even Monica began to wonder if the trip might turn out to be fun.
On Friday, she left work early and went to pick up Heather at school. She parked her minivan on the street and got out to wait on the sidewalk. The sun was warm and the sky was a perfect shade of blue. The air had a certain luscious smell of summer in it. She almost felt like a kid on the last day of school herself.
When the final bell rang, the kids poured from the building, laughing and shouting, book bags and
backpacks filled to overflowing. It took Heather only a moment to see her mother. She raised an arm and waved, then she shouted goodbyes to some friends and raced across the school parking lot. She arrived, panting and grinning.
“Summer!” she exclaimed, the single word expressing her jubilation.
Monica smiled as she gave her daughter a hug. “Summer,” she echoed.
Still holding her mom around the waist, Heather looked up. “I told Mary we were going camping, and she was real jealous. She wanted me to ask her to come, too. I could tell. But I told her this was just for me and my dad. And you, too.” She stepped away from Monica and tossed her bag into the minivan. “I wish it was tomorrow already.”
“It will be before you know it.”
They drove home, Heather keeping up a steady stream of talk about her friends and what their plans were for the summer break. Mary Stover was going to take riding lessons. Billy Parker was going to stay with his aunt and uncle in Canada for two whole months. The Wilson twins were going to Disneyland. Julie Kent’s mom was expecting a baby in a couple of weeks, so Julie had been taking babysitting classes at the local Y.
When Monica’s gentle questions brought Heather around to talking about herself, it became obvious the only thing that mattered to her this summer was spending time with her dad.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go to scout camp,” Heather said out of the blue, a frown furrowing her brow. “It’ll be getting close to the time Dad’s going back to Chicago. Maybe I should stay home and be with him more.”
A tiny catch in her heart made it difficult for Monica to speak. “He wouldn’t want you to change your plans, honey.”
Heather glanced over just as Monica pulled the van into the driveway. “Do you think he might decide to stay in Boise? To live here?”
The dying of the engine seemed to mimic the feeling in Monica’s heart. “Your dad’s got to return to his job, Heather. He’s a very important man, and his work—” She stopped abruptly, finishing the sentence to herself alone. And his work is more important to him than anything else. It always has been.
Oh, how she wished it wasn’t true.
Another Chance to Love You Page 11
