Thoroughly Modern Amanda

by Susan Macatee

  Table of Contents

  Thoroughly Modern Amanda

  Copyright

  Praise for Susan Macatee

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Thoroughly Modern Amanda

  by

  Susan Macatee

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Thoroughly Modern Amanda

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Susan Macatee

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First American Rose Edition, 2012

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-586-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Susan Macatee

  ERIN’S REBEL

  Finalist, Ancient City Romance Authors

  2010 Reader’s Choice Award, paranormal category

  “I love historical romances and Susan Macatee did a beautiful job with this one.”

  ~Night Owl Reviews (4.5 Hearts)

  “I loved the author’s gentle hand with detail, her convincing touch with romance, and the twists and turns that she creates before a thoroughly satisfying ending…This book’s well worth keeping on my shelf.”

  ~WRDF Reviews

  “Recommended read for paranormal and historical romance readers or if you simply enjoy a good love story.”

  ~ParaNormal Romance

  “ERIN’S REBEL is rich in history and mystery.”

  ~TwoLips Reviews (4 Lips)

  ~~*~~

  CONFEDERATE ROSE

  1st place, First Coast Romance Writers

  2010 Beacon Contest for Published Authors,

  historical category

  2nd place, 2010 New England Reader’s

  Choice Bean Pot Award, historical category

  “If you like romance wrapped in the conflicts of the Civil War you will definitely enjoy this book.”

  ~You Gotta Read Reviews

  “CONFEDERATE ROSE is a magnificent work of fiction…I highly recommend this charming historical.”

  ~Blue Ribbon Reviews at Romance Junkies

  Dedication

  To my new granddaughter, Arabella. May your imagination soar as you grow and always stay as sweet as you are now.

  And to my husband...always encouraging and proud, even if he doesn't completely understand my compulsion to write.

  Chapter One

  Carver, Pennsylvania

  April 4, 1881

  Amanda Montgomery paced the main office of The Carver Weekly. For the past three months, she’d held a position of feature writer and office assistant at the small town newspaper.

  Stepping toward the supervising editor’s office, she scowled through the glass-topped door at the massive mahogany desk where Mr. Randolph Norwood worked. Pushing the door open, she slipped inside, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She propped her hands on her hips and scanned the empty room.

  Ten minutes before, his secretary had left a message that Randolph summoned her to discuss her latest assignment. She’d told the woman she’d be there as soon as possible but needed to complete the finishing touches on her last assignment. And now she was here; Randolph wasn’t.

  Twice this week, she’d caught him flirting with his secretary, Miss Carson, a buxom dark-haired beauty. Randolph assured Amanda the exchange was entirely innocent. He considered the woman an excellent secretary and nothing more.

  Amanda pulled the door closed. Her heavy skirts swished along the hardwood floor as she paced, her eye on the office door.

  I should just leave and allow him to wonder where I am.

  She stepped toward the door, her hand outstretched, but thought better of it. If she wasn’t here when he arrived, he might accuse her of slacking and send her home.

  She’d first met Randolph at the home of one of her father’s associates during a dinner party. His stories of working as a supervising editor for the weekly paper intrigued her. Even as a child, she’d dreamed of being a writer, like her stepmother.

  After learning of her interest, Randolph offered her a job as a reporter on the condition she allow him to court her. He was handsome and attentive, and she’d accepted his offer on the spot, excited to have an actual job outside of the home. Her father actually approved, believing Randolph a desirable suitor for his only daughter, although her stepmother had reservations about the man’s intentions.

  Amanda slid her hand over the smooth desktop, wondering how it would feel to be a supervisor in charge of writers. If she were giving out the assignments, she wouldn’t relegate the women writers to fluff features of women’s groups and church socials. She’d make sure everyone who worked here had an equal chance. Her stepmother always told her, though men and women had their differences, both sexes had the same capabilities and talents.

  She eyed the closed door again. Lifting her chin, she stepped around the desk, pulled out the chair, and settled into it. With an audible sigh of pleasure, she leaned back and surveyed the papers on the desk surface. A pad caught her eye. Leaning forward, she squinted to make out the scrawled handwriting—Miss Montgomery, interview Mrs. Grenshaw about the items needed for the Carver church social bake sale this coming Sunday.

  She grasped the pad.

  How dare he? He’d promised her an interview with the newly elected councilman, Mr. Ernest Pryor.

  Her face heated in humiliation. He’d all but sworn the meaty assignment was hers.

  The door creaked. She dropped the pad and rose from the chair, smoothing her skirts. Miss Carson’s heart shaped face appeared, her dark brows lifting.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Montgomery!” She stepped into the office, a stack of papers in her arms. “Mr. Norwood was delayed. He’ll be along soon.”

  Amanda nodded. “Should I leave and come back?”

  Miss Carson shook her head, sending her carefully arranged bun bobbing. “Oh, no. You can wait here. I’ll tell him I let you in.”

  Amanda shrugged. “I guess I’ll have a seat then.” She settled back in Norwood’s chair.

  Miss Carson’s lips pursed, but she nodded. “I’ll be just outside and alert Mr. Norwood when he returns.”

  After the secretary closed the door, Amanda grinned.

  She occupied her time sifting through the papers layered on Norwood’s desk. Catching sight of the assignment he’d promised her, she noted Glen Bradshaw’s name on the top of the sheet.

  The weasel. Bradshaw had joined the paper’s staff two weeks ago and already had his eyes set on Amanda’s job. No wonder she’d
been relegated to the church social assignment. When Randolph returned, she’d have it out with him. He couldn’t make promises and break them just because she was a woman.

  She propped her elbow on the desk and rested her chin in her hand. Deep in thought, she glanced up when the door opened and Norwood strode into the room.

  His brow furrowed. Apparently Miss Carson had warned him of Amanda’s presence.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Amanda.” He hastened around the desk to her side, reaching for her hand. “I was held up.”

  Amanda didn’t rise but slid the chair back, shifting beyond his reach. She tapped her fingertips on the desk top. “So I surmised.”

  “If you would please?” His lips thinned to a straight line beneath his thin mustache, as he motioned to his chair.

  “Oh, of course.” Amanda held her lips firm in an effort not to break out in a broad smile.

  He adjusted his tie and motioned to the chair opposite his desk as he settled into his seat.

  She lifted her skirts, catching his downward gaze. He obviously hoped to catch a glimpse of her ankles. She sat and arranged her skirts so she was decently covered, trying to suppress a laugh.

  After biting her lip, she leaned forward. “What did you want to see me about?”

  He shuffled papers, the tick in his cheek working. “I was forced to change your assignment.”

  “Oh?” Amanda glanced at her hands folded in her lap, trying not to betray her anger. She didn’t want him to know she’d been snooping.

  “Mr. Bradshaw is unable to meet with Mrs. Grenshaw on her time table, so I switched your assignment over to him, and you can take his.”

  Amanda stood, her face heating. “Randolph, how could you give away my assignment?”

  “I told you…” he sputtered.

  “Not a good enough explanation.” She stepped to his desk, propping her hands on a stack of papers. “You gave him my assignment because he’s a man.”

  “Not true.” His face colored. “If he was able to meet with Mrs. Grenshaw—”

  “He didn’t want to meet with Mrs. Grenshaw!” Amanda pointed a finger at Randolph. “He refused to take the assignment and demanded another.”

  “How did you know…?” Randolph’s dark eyes widened. “You tricked me!”

  Amanda straightened her spine and folded her arms across her chest. “Because you lied to me.”

  “My love…” He stood, reaching for her. “I can’t appear to show you favoritism just because we’re courting.”

  Amanda turned her back to him. “I can remedy that.”

  He stepped to her side. His hands slid around her waist and shoulder as he guided her back to the chair. “You don’t mean what I think you do.”

  “What I mean is, we should stop courting, then you won’t be showing me favoritism. I’ll be just another employee.”

  “Amanda, please…” He kneeled on the floor beside the chair and grasped her hands. “I care too deeply for you to allow it to end. And I know you like working here.”

  “But if you can’t treat me fairly, I’d be better off working elsewhere.” She drew her hands from his and turned away.

  Randolph sighed and stood. He glanced toward the door, obviously hoping his other employees hadn’t caught him groveling. “I don’t want you to be angry with me. In fact, I have a surprise for you.”

  Amanda shrugged. Though intrigued, she didn’t want to let on that he’d snagged her attention.

  “After we close the office tonight, I’ll take you to dinner, and then I’ll show you my surprise.”

  “I don’t know.” Amanda glanced at her hands. “My father would be upset if we don’t have a chaperone.” She looked up. “Or would we?”

  “Amanda…” He sighed. “I care a great deal about you and would never harm or compromise you.” He stepped close and lifted her chin. His dark eyes held hers. “It’s a present…for you.”

  “But must we wait until after dinner to see it?” She frowned.

  “I promise you, it will be well worth the wait.”

  ****

  Carver, Pennsylvania

  Present Day

  Jack Lawton brushed aside a food wrapper from last night’s meal and stepped from his shabby compact to survey the dilapidated Victorian house.

  “Hey, dude,” a male voice called. “Be right with you.”

  Jack stared at the porch where a young man with long, sandy-colored hair and a goatee stood, leaning over the railing. This couldn’t possibly be the new owner. He had to be a younger brother or son of the man he’d spoken to on the phone.

  Unzipping his hooded sweat jacket, Jack exposed his T-shirt. He’d decided to meet Shane Bradley in casual clothes to provide a workmanlike appearance. Once he got to work on the renovations, he wouldn’t exactly be showing up in a suit or even sports jacket. If he got the job.

  Six months before, he’d been set to start renovations for Mrs. Grayson, a widow who had lived alone but had a nest egg of money socked away from her late husband’s business. She’d lived in the house since she was a girl and wanted to restore it to its former splendor. She’d met with Jack, stuffing him with tea and cakes, gushing over his ideas for her home. She’d then led him on tour of the small, quaint house. He’d marveled at all the antiques she’d acquired, including a silver-framed tintype photograph of a beautiful young woman with soulful eyes. The old woman claimed she was an ancestor who once lived in the house in the late nineteenth century.

  Jack stepped up the walk to shake hands with Bradley. “I’m glad you agreed to meet with me here. I’m sorry about your grandmother. She seemed like a great lady.”

  Bradley shrugged. The oversized white T-shirt he wore billowed out over his slim figure. He didn’t look like he was old enough to be out of high school.

  The young man scratched his goatee and waved his other arm toward the house. “This place is a dump. I just want to get rid of it.” He waggled his light-colored brows. “Now, if you wanted to buy it, I’d give you a good price.”

  Jack’s blood heated at the offer. If only he had the money for a down payment, but his present finances wouldn’t permit him to move out of the small studio he paid a fortune to rent, leaving him little money for anything else. This job would’ve given him the impetus to consider starting a business of his own—on the side, of course, until he built up a decent clientele.

  He’d spent hours drawing pictures, helped Mrs. Grayson pick out colors, and now wished the house belonged to him. What he wouldn’t give to own a beautiful old home. But his plans had gone to shit when Mrs. Grayson suffered a massive heart attack and died on the spot. Although his boss now had Jack and his crew working on the renovation of a supermarket, his heart wasn’t in his current job. But he needed the money.

  He sighed. “I wish I could. This is a beautiful, old house, and if you didn’t want to live here, you’d still make out renting or even selling it after renovations. You’d fetch top price, I’m sure.”

  He glanced toward the car in the driveway. A shabby old compact much like what Jack drove. But maybe his grandma had left him a pile of cash along with the house, so he could afford renovations. All Jack could do was hope.

  Bradley shook his head. “I want to sell and get out now. My band has a gig on the west coast next month, and I need cash to live on. You know how it is.”

  The young man caught Jack’s gaze. He knew exactly how it was in this economy to make ends meet, but to let this house go for near nothing galled him.

  “You know, it’ll take time to sell this, even as a handyman special.”

  “I don’t plan to sell it, man.” Bradley turned toward the open window. “I’m selling the land. Already have a potential buyer. They plan to demolish this place and build three new homes.”

  Jack’s blood chilled. “It’s going to be demolished?”

  “Grandma left me enough cash, and I made more selling a lot of her stuff. The place is cleaned out and ready for the demo team. The new owner already has it
set up.”

  “It’s already sold?” Jack’s heart sank. This trip had obviously been for nothing. The kid had already decided the grand old home’s fate.

  “Settlement’s next week. Once I get my money, I don’t give a shit what happens to it. I’ll be living on the west coast.”

  “I see.” Jack swallowed. “Would you mind if I had a last look around? I put in a lot of work planning the renovation.”

  Bradley shrugged. “Sure, dude. Take your time.” He waved Jack through the door.

  His footsteps echoed on the empty wood floors of the foyer and living room. When he’d been here last, the place had been furnished with a room sized wool rug and antique furniture befitting the surroundings. Lamps on end tables had glowed softly as he and Mrs. Grayson looked over his drawings and ideas for the house.

  Now, it was empty. Everything had been stripped, including the glass chandelier from the dining area. He glanced along the empty wall toward the staircase. A silver frame caught his attention. He strode toward the bottom step. The woman’s wide eyes seemed fixed on him, her full lips slightly parted.

  Jack turned back toward Bradley, who stood behind him. A frown creased the young man’s forehead. “Must have missed this one.”

  Jack glanced up the staircase. All of the other photographs were gone. The only evidence they’d been here, rectangles of lighter color along the peeling striped wallpaper. He turned back to the photo, transfixed by the image.

  “What do you plan to do with it?” Jack asked.

  Bradley shrugged. “What I did with all the others. I sold the frames for scrap and threw the pictures away.”

  “Threw them away?” Jack’s blood heated. “Don’t you have any family who would want them?”

  Bradley shook his head. “My folks died two years ago in a car accident. I live with my uncle—my mother’s brother—and he doesn’t want all this junk.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your parents. You’re an only child, I take it.”

  The young man nodded.

  Jack glanced at the photo again. Although likely only his imagination, the young woman’s gaze seemed to follow him. Almost as if she begged him to take the photo.