Love and War

by Peg Sutherland

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IN A TOWN THAT NEEDED a break from the depressing lack of progress on the mystery of the Ingalls F and M fire, the gossip about Mag Murphy and Clarence Stirling became a welcome diversion.

  Annabelle Scanlon’s childhood memories became more vivid and more poignant with each retelling. “I never will forget how that poor child trembled, hesitated about even trying on that wedding dress. As if she knew what was to come.”

  Marge Phelps hung out at the diner more than she had in months, dishing up her version of the story with each helping of her famous hamburgers or apple pie.

  “Magdalena Halston was a spoiled, pampered girl,” she recalled with perfect clarity for anyone willing to listen—and that included almost everyone in Tyler. “She chased him till he caught her, and when she had him she didn’t want him anymore. Game over. That simple.”

  According to Marge, Mag had called the whole thing off on a whim, because she’d suddenly realized married women didn’t enjoy the whirl of parties unmarried girls were invited to. No one asked how Marge knew any of this, since she would’ve barely been out of training pants at the time.

  Phil Wocheck, who had definitely been around at the time, recalled it another way. “For the parents, this was a business arrangement. These two young people, they were so in love. Yet everywhere they turned, the talk was of business and money. Soon, who believes in love any longer?”

  Phil said he knew for a certainty that the couple had made a pact to stay away from the showy wedding their parents had planned, an event supposedly to cement the contract between their families. Mag and Clarence had plotted to run away and marry quietly, he declared, but their furious parents put a stop to the elopement.

  More than one well-informed senior citizen in Tyler confirmed the story that young, naive Clarence had been lured into the web of the flirtatious Margaret Ingalls, notorious for her parties and her young male playthings. But even there no one could agree on exactly how that story concluded. Some claimed Margaret Ingalls herself had marched into the church and disrupted the ceremony when the minister asked if anyone knew of a reason why Clarence and Mag should not be joined in holy matrimony. Some said Mag had heard the truth and threatened to blow both guilty parties to Kingdom Come with a shotgun from what was then Halston-Stirling Hardware. Yet another version said Clarence spent the morning of the wedding waiting in a rowboat on Timber Lake for Margaret Ingalls, who had promised to run away with him. She never showed, of course. But she had accomplished her purpose.

  Sandy even checked the morgue at the Tyler Citizen, hoping the official version would shed some light on all the rumors. But the yellowed clippings disappointed her. Emma Finklebaum’s reporting turned out to be a very circumspect recitation of the dry details. The wedding had been postponed. No one was blamed. No mention was made of infidelities or coercive parents or tears in the church.

  Of course, there were also a dozen versions of what had happened to the Halston-Stirling business partnerships. Everyone was a villain in one version or another.

  All Sandy knew was that she hoped something else would happen soon to divert all the busybodies’ attention. She also hoped that no one would begin to wonder if history might be repeating itself. No one except for herself, that is.

  Sandy’s inner turmoil, plus the gossip raging through Tyler, wasn’t helping her relationship with Drew one bit.

  Tension had continued to build between them the morning after the kiss. Sandy had driven to work in an emotional uproar, unsure how to behave when she next laid eyes on Drew. She hadn’t had to wonder for long. He was waiting in her office, lounging in a chair, long legs stretched out in front of him. She had to step over them to get to her desk. She hadn’t been certain her knees were steady enough to manage the maneuver, since she was quivering all over, inside and out.

  He didn’t say a word and neither did she. Leaving her office door ajar, she made it safely to her own chair, which left her well protected, at least theoretically, by the barrier of her desk. He was smiling, one of those warm and winning smiles that made her want to trust him with her grandmother’s pearls—and other things equally valuable.

  Why hadn’t someone warned her it could be so easy to fall for a Boy Scout?

  She stopped herself. She hadn’t fallen for him, exactly. Wanting someone, even madly and desperately, did not constitute falling for him. Falling for someone was serious. And that was not what was happening here.

  “Good morning.” The way he said it turned the words into an intimate caress.

  “Stop it,” she said, lowering her voice to make sure it didn’t carry into the corridor.

  His smile transformed into a grin, as if he were a Boy Scout with a prank to play.

  “Ah, good,” he said. “You are feeling guilty this morning. I was afraid you’d handle this with your usual cool aplomb. I was afraid I’d be the only one feeling like a high school freshman with a crush on the English teacher.”

  “This is not appropriate,” Sandy replied, hearing the prissy indignation in her voice and hating it.

  “Lighten up, Sandy. I only wanted to let you know that I have no intention of bringing this into the office.”

  She opened her mouth but discovered she had no idea how to respond. That was her real problem. She hadn’t been able to resolve the conflict between what she wanted to happen and what she knew should happen. Did she begin a surreptitious relationship with a co-worker, knowing the folly of it, knowing how easily that could jeopardize her position here at Yes! Yogurt? Did she launch into this knowing full well nothing could come of it, given the bitterness of the family feud separating them? She’d hoped for a day’s reprieve, even a few hours more to figure out what should happen next.

  Naturally, here was Drew Stirling, in her face first thing, with everything all figured out.

  “What exactly does that mean?” she asked, stalling.

  He didn’t move a muscle. He remained sprawled in the chair, relaxed and comfortable. Maybe office flings were nothing new for him. Like grandfather, like grandson.

  “It means whatever happens between us out there has nothing to do with our work. The two don’t have to cross over.”

  She stared at him, baffled. He was either naive or in serious denial. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Thirty.” Okay, she was beginning to regain some control here. This was just another negotiation, and she was catching a glimmer of her goal. She had to put a stop to this, and now. Yes, that was the best plan. The only plan. “You’re thirty years old and you honestly believe we can have a personal relationship outside this building and still conduct ourselves impersonally inside? Don’t you think it’s time to give up the fairy tales, Drew?”

  Her words didn’t faze him. He grinned back at her. “Well, I’m a pro. How about you?”

  Sandy told herself anger wouldn’t solve a thing. “Are you thinking with your brain, or with some more...volatile part of your anatomy?”

  He sat up then and his grin vanished. Good. She’d hit her target. “If I thought sex was all this is about I wouldn’t have a bit of trouble turning my back on it. If you were nothing but the prospect of a hot tumble, this wouldn’t be worth the bother. But there’s something more than that going on here and you know it. So don’t pretend this is something you’re above, Sandy. It won’t fly.”

  The safe footing upon which her moral indignation rested melted out from under Sandy. This was not a man who would let her get away with games or manipulation or even self-deception. Which made this whole thing just that much more complicated.

  Sighing, she said as much. “Don’t you see? That just makes it harder?”

  His face relaxed. “I know that. But we don’t have to have all the answers to all the problems today. All we have to do today is agree that whatever this is, it won’t foll
ow us through the doors of Yes! Yogurt.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “It’s not as complicated as you want to make it,” he countered.

  “What about our grandparents?”

  “That’s them. This is us. It doesn’t have to be the same thing.”

  She stared at him, wanting to believe in the simple sincerity she saw in his pale gray eyes. How tempting the notion that she could show up here every day, be the consummate professional, then walk out the door and into his arms. The fantasy of a grand passion, intensified by the need for secrecy from both family and co-workers, beckoned, delicious as only a taboo could be.

  Resisting the temptation, she shook her head. “I don’t need this, Drew. Britt and Jake don’t deserve it, either. I am a pro. How about you?”

  Then, before she had the chance to weaken, she turned and walked away from him.

  Her bold assertion didn’t last long, however. She could maintain the facade when he was there in front of her, tempting but forbidden. But when she was alone with her thoughts, her turmoil continued. Eventually, her silence fed the problem, which became so big she found herself dialing Ginny Luckawicz’s apartment in Atlanta.

  Maybe, she thought, Gin could tell her what to do. Hadn’t Gin always come through before?

  Sandy wondered if she only imagined the strain in her former mentor’s voice when the woman answered. But she was relieved when Gin’s old enthusiasm returned at the sound of Sandy’s voice.

  “Gosh, it feels like a year instead of a month!” Gin said. “How’s it going? Have you taken over the company yet?”

  Sandy laughed, wondered if the other woman could tell that laughing was as hard for her as it sounded for Gin. “It’s slow going,” she admitted. “But it’s great being around Britt and Jake again.”

  “And the other fellow? The sales VP? How’s he turning out?”

  Grateful Gin couldn’t see the expression on her face, Sandy said, “Fine. No problem. How are you?”

  The silence continued a beat too long. “I guess you didn’t call for the cleaned-up version, did you?”

  Sandy’s heart plummeted. “Not as long as we’re friends, Gin.”

  “You’re sure you can stand the heat? I wouldn’t say my name is poison in this business, but I understand they’re looking for my mug shot to include in the newest Webster’s, under arsenic.”

  Sandy knew precisely the expression Gin’s face would twist itself into with that wry statement. She listened as Gin described all that had happened since she’d been asked to hand in her resignation at International Baking. After twenty years in the industry, she knew plenty of colleagues and friends to turn to when she needed a job. But virtually all of them had listened to her, smiled politely and promised to get back to her as soon as something came up. These days, Gin said, most of them were out when she phoned. Few got around to returning her calls.

  “I’m thinking of leaving Atlanta,” she confessed. “I was thinking Austin might be a good place to start over. What do you think?”

  Sandy didn’t want to ask the question, but she couldn’t stop herself. “But what about Ted? Can’t he help? You couldn’t leave Ted, could you? After all this?”

  Gin’s laughter sounded bitter. “Ted? He was the first one to stop returning my calls. Take it from me, Sandy, if you’re looking for a way to wreck your life, an office affair is the shortest route.”

  Sandy hung up without mentioning Drew. She didn’t have to. She had all the advice she needed without saying a word. This craziness could go no further. The only thing she didn’t know was how to stop feeling the way she’d felt since she and Drew had kissed. Being near him yet keeping her emotional distance was becoming a virtual impossibility. They were thrown together constantly. They worked together to hire and train a team to complete her market research. They met with a designer who was implementing some of Sandy’s ideas for an updated logo and signage, which would be needed ASAP for the new outlet facility. They sat down frequently with the contractor who was making the necessary structural changes in the store.

  Sandy was spending more time with Drew Stirling than with anyone else. And each moment seemed to stretch into eternity, an agony of feeling either humiliated by her own weakness or exhilarated by his closeness. She wavered between wanting to forget what had happened between them and wanting it to happen all over again.

  Except that wasn’t entirely accurate. She didn’t want it to happen again. What she wanted was to pick up where that night had left off. Instead of halting with that one heart-stopping kiss, she wanted more.

  She wanted Drew for her lover.

  But that wasn’t an option, especially not after his crazy assertion that this thing between them wasn’t about sex. The implication being that there might be some kind of emotional thing going on here.

  Well, the sex business Sandy might have been able to handle. But anything more, forget it. Look what falling in love had done to Gin Luckawicz. DREW SUPPOSED that Sandy had made her bold declaration about being a pro easily enough. He wondered if backing it up had been harder.

  For himself, he knew being near her, having to make decisions and think on his feet with her only an arm’s length away, was beginning to take its toll on his sanity.

  When he was supposed to be looking at artist’s renderings, he was considering instead the curve of her lips and, yes, damn his sorry, sex-obsessed male hide, the swell of her breasts beneath one of those sedate yet sensuous silk blouses she wore every damn day.

  At least, thank heavens, she wore her skirts to her knees, ever demure, ever the professional. No thigh-skimming, skintight skirts for Ms. Alexandra Murphy. So he had no alluring display of slender thigh to tempt him.

  In fact, if she had been that type he might’ve had no problem to begin with. He’d worked with plenty like that without turning a hair. A woman who flaunted it didn’t push any of his buttons.

  Buttons. Tiny, silk-covered buttons. He contemplated them as he and Sandy pored over the preliminary results of the market research she had initiated. Pondered how easily they would slip free of their buttonholes, revealing the tailored satin camisole he imagined lay beneath. Satin the color of chilled champagne, against her tawny flesh.

  Sandy was not a peekaboo-lace kind of person, Drew had determined.

  He kicked himself for that. For degenerating into adolescent activities like fantasizing about her in her lingerie. She would have his scalp if she knew. He was a man out of control. A man whose thoughts were no longer his own. A man driven by passion.

  He liked the sound of that.

  The worst part was having to bottle it up. He had no one he could talk to about this.

  “Something troubling you?” Jake asked one afternoon as they made a walk-through of manufacturing. “You seem preoccupied by something.”

  Drew had to squelch his instinct to confess. His cousin had long been his best friend. And being secretive wasn’t part of Drew’s nature. But even though he felt he could confide in Jake, he knew that wouldn’t be fair to Sandy. She deserved her privacy.

  “No.”

  Jake grunted. “You wouldn’t make much of a poker player.”

  “I know.”

  Drew tried pointing out a problem with the milking machines that might slow them down in their new plans to step up production. Jake made a note and they discussed a couple of possible solutions. Then they headed back to the car.

  “So?” Jake said. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know.” Drew sighed, searching for something plausible, something with a nugget of truth in it. “Maybe it’s all the changes. Things are happening awfully fast.”

  Jake studied his face, and Drew hoped his expression passed muster.

  “You sure that’s it?”

  “Sure I’m sure.”

 
“Know what Britt said?”

  Drew didn’t bother to reply. He knew he’d hear it anyway.

  “She thinks it’s got something to do with Sandy.”

  Drew tried to imagine how he would want to look if he had just drawn a straight flush and didn’t want anyone else to know. That was the expression he tried for. The poker face everyone said he didn’t have.

  “Well, maybe so,” he said. “After all, she’s the one behind all the change.”

  “I don’t think that’s what Britt meant.”

  Drew tried to stare his cousin down, then decided he really didn’t want Jake to say it aloud anyway. “Britt’s a daydreamer.”

  “Britt knows people.”

  “Britt’s a romantic.”

  Jake stared at him and a slow grin spread across his face. “Britt knows people,” he repeated, then didn’t say another word all the way back to headquarters.

  Drew had much the same conversation with his grandfather a few days later.

  “You might as well speak up, son,” Clarence said. “Something is disturbing you. It’s written all over your face.”

  “I know, I know,” Drew said, by now peeved with his inability to develop an inscrutable visage, the lack of which was clearly his most serious shortcoming.

  “It’s that Murphy woman, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. No! Of course not.”

  Clarence chuckled. “Playing you good, is she?”

  “It’s not like that, Grandpa.” Drew was growing tired of this refrain and suspected it sounded as weak to his grandfather as it did to him.

  “She will operate this way, you know. Precisely as her grandmother did. I could predict this perfectly.”

  “You’re way off base.”

  “First she runs hot, then she runs cold. A little kiss, perhaps, followed by a complete retreat. You’re probably in the retreat stage. That’s always problematic. Never mind, son. She’ll move into the next stage soon.” Clarence smoothed the scarf he had knotted at his throat and tucked it into his jacket. “That come-hither look is so effective. Steel yourself, my boy. Steel yourself!”