The Hope Chest

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  “Dear God. Did you see which way he went?”

  “Struck off across the lawns in the direction of Dorsey Manor. He walked here, Lady Amanda,” he called as she dashed for the door, “and only left a few minutes ago. You should be able to catch him.”

  Clutching the box to her chest, Amanda sprinted down the flagstone steps. There, in the distance, just disappearing into the copse of elms, she saw him. Tossing propriety to the winds, she hiked up her skirts and ran as if rabid dogs nipped at her heels. Several minutes later, chest heaving, heart pounding, lungs burning, she arrived at the copse of elms. Onward she ran, until after what felt like an eternity she finally saw him up ahead.

  “Maxwell!”

  He turned, and when he saw her, he walked back toward her. She didn’t stop running until she skidded to a halt in front of him. She sucked several breaths into her screaming lungs then managed to gasp out, “You left.”

  “Yes.”

  “I know what you overheard, but—”

  “Then surely you know why I had to leave.”

  “No, no, you don’t understand. My father is going to sever the arrangement with Lord Abbott—”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “And I will not be disowned—”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Father will give his blessing—”

  “Provided I am able to convince him of my worth and sincerity. Yes, I know. I heard.”

  She simply stared, utterly at sea. “Then why on earth did you leave?”

  He shook his head. “It seems the intelligent woman I fell in love with has been replaced with a slack-jawed individual who does not understand plain English.” He reached out and grasped her shoulders. “I left to fetch the Dorsey diamond ring. At eight carats it’s dreadfully ostentatious, but I suspect your mother will be duly impressed. There’s also a matching choker, bracelet and ear bobs. Been in the family for generations. I’ll bring them along as well, just for good measure.”

  “Good measure for what?”

  “My dearest Amanda, I am going to make my claim official. When I go see your father, it will be with a proper engagement ring and all the trappings. I intend to fight for what I want, and I’ve no intention of going into battle unprepared.”

  Understanding dawned and Amanda drew her first easy breath since she’d entered the foyer. “You left in order to fetch me an engagement ring?”

  “Correct.”

  “And you were going to come back?”

  “Most definitely. Bearing scads of gaudy diamonds in order to impress my future in-laws.”

  Amanda threw her free arm around his neck and pressed as close to him as the box between them would allow. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

  “You have not,” he replied in a very put-upon tone. “And I must tell you I’m feeling very neglected.”

  “I love you.”

  “Ah. Much better. I love you, too.” He kissed her in that magical, toe-curling way of his, draining all the strength from her knees.

  “And now, let’s continue to Dorsey Manor to fetch your engagement ring,” he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, then urging her along at a brisk pace.

  “Are you always in this much of a hurry?” Amanda teased, “or do I just bring it out in you?”

  He stopped, pulled her into his arms, and gently kissed her. “My darling Amanda, it will take me a lifetime to show you and tell you all that you bring out in me.”

  Amanda hugged to her chest the box that had brought them together and filled them with hope for the future. “My darling Maxwell, how very fortunate we are that we’ll have that lifetime together.”

  TODAY’S SECRETS

  Julie Kenner

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT IS MY GREAT PLEASURE to introduce a man who needs no introduction—my son, Ryan Kinsey, the new president of Kinsey Applied Sciences.

  Ryan let the words echo through his head, the pleasure from his new position marred only by the words his father had whispered on his way to the microphone: Don’t disappoint me, boy.

  Ryan grimaced. He wasn’t about to disappoint. He knew better than anyone the extent of his father’s wrath. More than that, he knew how much was riding on his leadership of the company. Kinsey Applied Sciences had made a name for itself in the transportation and communications industries under his father’s direction, and it had just about killed Albert Kinsey to retire. But Doc Boorman’s orders had been strict, and Albert might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t fool enough to risk his life simply to stay at the helm of the company.

  Now, at the postannouncement party, Albert was circulating, sharing old stories with new friends, and letting old friends know of his plans to head off to the south of France the following morning for some doctor-prescribed sun and relaxation. Not to mention undertaking certain treatments that weren’t yet approved by the FDA.

  “A true-blue miracle, huh?” Edward asked, grabbing the chair opposite Ryan, twisting it around and straddling it. Ryan winced. He’d sat like that a few times during his teenage years, but he’d stopped after his father had threatened to ground him for a decade. The eldest Kinsey son did not sit like a sailor. It simply wasn’t done.

  Apparently, though, the old man’s wrath hadn’t reached the younger Kinsey kids. The baby, Edward, got away with murder.

  Ryan squinted at his brother, trying to focus on his words. “A miracle,” he repeated. “What’s that?”

  “That Pop’s actually going to leave you in charge. It’s unthinkable. Unprecedented. Absolutely unbelievable.”

  Ryan shook his head, grinning. “Yeah, well, don’t go overboard there with the vote of confidence little brother.”

  Edward had been taking a sip of his beer, but now he snorted, holding out a hand as he tried not to choke. “Give me some credit, Ryan. You’re not the part I’m amazed at. I mean, hell, your qualifications are awesome. Chemical and aeronautical engineering, physics, biotech. Is there any area of science you don’t have some expertise in?”

  “Botany,” Ryan replied dryly. “And I’m not much up on paleontology, either. At least, not more than I’ve learned from reading to Gizmo over the years,” he added, referring to his older sister Margaret’s five-year-old son Gerald who, for reasons no one could recall, got nicknamed Gizmo one summer. And it had stuck.

  “My point,” said Edward, not missing a beat, “is that you’re more than qualified to run the company. I just can’t believe that dad is actually going to let you.”

  “Well, that remains to be seen.” Ryan took a sip of his own beer, swallowing the drink along with the hard truth. “He’s still CEO and the board is in his pocket. He can countermand my decisions. You know it as well as I do.”

  Edward just stared at him like Ryan had grown two heads.

  “What?”

  “When did you turn dense, big brother? He’s heading to France. He’s taking treatments. Have you talked to Boorman? Dad’s going to be too zonked to pay attention to what’s going on here. This place is yours for the next two months. Longer, if dad’s treatments need to be repeated.” He tilted his head up slightly, his eyes focused on something above Ryan’s head. “Don’t you agree, Meg?”

  “Absolutely,” Margaret said, pulling out the last chair and sitting down. Ryan noticed the way she primly crossed her ankles, and he stifled a smile. Margaret was the oldest girl, and they’d shared a lot of the same “lessons” at their father’s hand.

  “You have free rein,” she said. “You can institute new policies. Make new and exciting advances in science. Leap tall buildings in a single bound.”

  Ryan snorted, his sister’s sense of humor amusing him as always.

  “Of course,” Meg continued, “if anything isn’t totally perfect when Dad returns, you can pretty much kiss your ass goodbye.”

  “Thanks,” Ryan said. “Love you, too, babe.”

  She laughed. “You know it’s true.”

  He did know it, actually. Ryan had studied scienc
e because he loved the way things worked. He wanted to invent things, to foster change, to make the world a better more exciting place. Instead, he was holding down his father’s fort, forbidden to do anything to rock the boat and possibly upset the little empire Albert Kinsey had built. A total crock, but it was the life Ryan chose. Don’t disappoint me. Sure, Dad. Wouldn’t dream of it.

  He shook off the melancholy and smiled up at his sister. Margaret wasn’t being mean-spirited. She was just announcing the facts, like someone might announce the weather.

  “By all rights,” he said, “it should be you. You’re just as qualified as I am.”

  “Not entirely,” she said. “I’m missing one very important component.” She gazed pointedly at his crotch.

  “He’s an idiot,” Ryan said. “We all know it.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “But I consider myself lucky. I can go work for someone else without causing a major family crisis. You boys are stuck with the man.”

  “The lady has a point,” Edward said.

  “Anyway, I didn’t come to talk about your fabulous new position. I came to see if you guys wanted to come with me and Jerry to The Bedroom.”

  Edward’s brows lifted. “Excuse me?”

  “Ha, ha,” Margaret said. “It’s a dance club. We’ve got a sitter tonight, and we want to go out. And it would be a fun way to celebrate Ryan’s promotion.”

  “Sure,” Edward said. “I’m in.”

  “Great. Ryan?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. He’d never been big on the club scene, and the idea of going now, with his brother and sister, really lacked appeal. “We corporate presidents don’t do the club-hopping thing.”

  Meg rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Ryan. It’ll be fun. Maybe you’ll even meet someone.”

  “Oh, that’s a rich enticement.”

  “I’m serious. You need to get out more.”

  “Maybe,” Ryan conceded. “But I seriously doubt that the love of my life is waiting for me on a dance floor.”

  “Why not? I met Jerry at a club.”

  Ryan considered a snappy retort, but the truth was he thought Jerry was a great guy. “I don’t need to find her now, anyway. I need to concentrate on running the company.”

  Meg put on her puppy dog face. “Come on, Ryan. Come out with us. I promise you won’t meet the love of your life.”

  “You just said I’d meet a woman.”

  “Sure,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “But not a relationship girl. Just a fling girl. You could use a fling. You’re too tense. You need some female interaction.”

  Ryan just shook his head, not quite able to keep the smile off his face.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “I should be taping this. Because I’ll bet millions that this isn’t the kind of advice I’ll ever hear you giving Gizmo.”

  “Absolutely not,” she said, her eyes dancing. “I’m not about to morally corrupt my child. But my brother…” She waved a dismissive hand. “I figure your morals are shot to hell already anyway.”

  Ryan met Edward’s eyes and they both laughed.

  “She’s got your number,” Edward said.

  “Come on,” Meg urged. She closed her hand over his wrist. “Tonight’s a celebration. Live a little.”

  Ryan could think of better ways to celebrate his new position than going to a dance club with drunken yuppies and a bass so loud you couldn’t hear yourself think. But he couldn’t think of anything better than celebrating with his brother and sister.

  And the funny thing was, as they stood up and headed out the door together, Ryan realized that he was actually looking forward to the evening. He hadn’t been clubbing in forever. Why not have some fun? Burn off some stress?

  And if he met a woman who wanted to move from the dance floor to his bed…well, that wouldn’t be bad either.

  MADAM ROMANA leaned forward, Marty’s hand clasped in her own. The tent was dim, the only light coming from the glowing orb on the small round table. The greenish glow cast eerie shadows on Madam’s face, making her jowls seem longer and her kohl-rimmed eyes huge and spooky.

  Madam traced her fingertip over Marty’s palm, then closed her eyes and muttered unintelligibly to herself. Marty fought the urge to yank her hand back, shooting a withering look in her cousin’s direction. Ben just flashed a sheepish grin and shrugged.

  Marty sighed and let her hand stay put. Ben’s wife, Allison, had arranged this shindig for Ben’s thirty-fifth birthday, including the psychic “entertainment.” So Marty supposed that the least she could do was be entertained.

  “The future,” the psychic murmured, “mysticism…fate…yes, fate.” Those wide, earnest eyes met Marty’s scornful ones. “I see great things in you. Great things.” She yanked Marty’s hand forward, pulling Marty half onto the table as she pressed Marty’s hand against her breast. “Yes,” she whispered. And then, “Yes! I see it clearly. You will make a difference in the world. Your mark. Something…” She swayed a bit, her gaze drifting to the corners of the darkened room. “It is unclear. The signs are not there. But while I cannot say what, I can tell you with certainty that you will. My dear, you will have an impact.”

  Marty gasped as a cold chill seemed to trill up her spine. She jerked her hand away, casting her gaze down to hide the tears that had welled in her eyes, brought on by the wave of potent memories of her mother.

  “My dear?”

  “That’s quite enough,” she whispered, keeping a tight rein on her emotions. When she was certain she could look up without revealing too much, she did, focusing her sharp gaze on Ben.

  “I’m so sorry to have disturbed you, my dear.” The paint on the charlatan’s face seemed to crack as she frowned. “Sometimes our destiny is difficult to accept.”

  Marty couldn’t answer. She was too rattled by the woman’s words. She pushed back her chair and stumbled out of the tent, blinking against the fading sunlight as she looked around, trying to find some quiet corner to sit down and think.

  She found a place behind the tent, a small plastic stool that Allison had probably left after gardening. Marty sank gratefully onto it, her fingers automatically plucking at the soft petals of the perky daisies blooming nearby. Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned to find Ben, his expression one of deep repentance.

  “I’m sorry, Marty. I wouldn’t have dragged you into the tent if I’d known you’d hate it so much. Allison just hired the woman on a lark. I figured you’d think it was a hoot.”

  She wanted to yell and scream and say that conjuring memories of her mom wasn’t a “hoot.” But Ben would never, ever do anything to hurt her, and so she held her tongue. She even managed a wan smile. “It’s okay. It’s just—I mean, she just caught me off guard.”

  He blinked at that. “Marty, she’s a hack fortune-teller. You don’t believe in that crap, do you?”

  “Not her. What she said. You will make an impact. That’s exactly what my mom used to say to me. Every night. For my whole life. It was like our little bedtime ritual. Only for her, it wasn’t a ritual. She meant it. She always had absolute confidence in me.”

  “Oh, Marty.” Ben’s voice held a wealth of sadness. “God, I had no idea. I mean—”

  She held up a hand. “No, no, Ben. It’s not your fault. I’m just too sensitive, I guess.”

  “You’re allowed. It’s only been three months.”

  Marty blinked back fresh tears, remembering that day when her mother had quit fighting and simply let the cancer take her. “Do you know my father didn’t even go to her funeral? ‘Business commitments,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t get away.’ What a crock.”

  “Your father’s a strange bird,” Ben said, which was, to Marty, one of the bigger understatements of all time.

  “He’s a complete ass,” Marty said. “But he’s a brilliant one.” She plucked the daisy, then methodically started tugging the petals off. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me. She plucked the last petal
, then held it up for Ben to see. “He loves me not.”

  Ben’s features hardened. “Like you said, he’s an ass. But your mom adored you.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “And rightly so.”

  She offered him a watery smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be all melancholy on your birthday. It’s just—”

  “What the psychic said. Sure. It would’ve thrown me for a loop, too.”

  “I’m sure it was just a coincidence. I mean, that’s what you tell people who go see psychics, right? That they’re going to have some huge impact on the world.”

  “I guess so.”

  “My mom really believed it, though.”

  Ben studied her. “But you don’t?”

  Marty shrugged. She’d loved her mother absolutely, but sometimes Angela Chamberlain’s optimism had been even more than Marty could take. “That’s my dad’s department.” Harold Chamberlain was a former NASA scientist, now head of his own company that focused exclusively on space travel and the technology related to it. When she was younger—back when Marty’s grades in math and science had still been decent—Harold had waxed poetic about how his daughter would one day join him at the helm of the company, Allied International Technology. Together, he said, they would change the world.

  When Marty’s left-brain grades sank to just above passing, he’d backed off of that dream. But it wasn’t until she’d decided to be a journalist like her mother that her father had turned nasty. “Do you know he actually told me that I’d never amount to something. Never make a difference in the world. That all I was destined to do was be a fly on the wall and write about other people doing interesting things?”

  Ben snorted. “More evidence your father’s an idiot. You do make a difference. Everyone makes a difference.”

  “A butterfly flaps its wings in China and you get a hurricane in Florida? You buy that stuff?”

  “Maybe. But I was thinking more along the lines of Jimmy Stewart and old man Potter,” he said.

  “It’s a Wonderful Life? Great movie. But somehow, I don’t really think it’s relevant to my life.”