“I’ll read it if I get a chance,” he told Peggy, flipping through the file, noting dates that went back to when he was a boy.
“Mr. Cooper always—”
“Mr. Cooper isn’t running this business any longer,” Aaron reminded her impatiently. “It’s time for modernization.”
She drew herself up and practically sniffed. “Modern isn’t always better.”
“It’s necessary if you want your neighbors to have jobs in ten years.” His tone was unnecessarily sharp, but he was tired of her attitude. It felt like a lifetime since he’d returned to Cooperton—five nonstop months of trying to fix problems before they became critical and having his methods questioned. If it wasn’t Peggy, it was somebody else.
“Fine. If you want modern, you can have my resignation. It will be on your desk by the end of the day.”
“That isn’t what I said, but I would appreciate your support, rather than attempts to stuff my grandfather’s methods down my throat,” he returned bluntly, gesturing with the thick file she’d given him. “You have a wealth of knowledge about Cooper Industries and could be a valuable asset to me, but you need to accept that I’m in charge now, not George Cooper.”
Peggy turned on her heel and slammed the door. He didn’t know if it was to write a letter of resignation or return to work, and at the moment he didn’t care.
The company belonged to him now; his grandfather had signed it over when he retired...not that it was worth much any longer aside from the property it owned. What puzzled Aaron was where the company profits had gone for the past thirty years. Nothing had been reinvested in the business—there was a modest account for emergency repairs and that was all. Grandfather had subsidized the company cafeteria for a decade, yet that wasn’t enough to explain things, either.
Granted, the company profits represented the only compensation Aaron himself would receive. It had been the same for his grandfather, but his grandparents’ personal needs weren’t extravagant. They could have afforded to keep the factory updated and still have plenty. Of course, his grandparents might have saved the money or given it to various causes, such as the restoration of Cooperton City Hall...though in the end it would have been kinder to keep the business viable.
Pain pulsing in his temples, Aaron sat down at his computer.
He needed to let his father and Eliza know about the attorney’s letter, but how did you tell someone their daughter no longer wanted to be their daughter? Even Spence might get a momentary ripple in his peace of mind over that.
Still, it was just a letter; no legal action had been filed. He could put off telling Spence and Eliza until he’d spoken to Melanie. And Eliza was probably out of touch, anyhow. She’d sent an email about trekking to a remote game preserve where there wouldn’t be a signal for her cell, though she’d provided a satellite phone number for “absolute emergencies.”
He didn’t think she’d consider something like this an emergency. Very little bothered Eliza, and she’d probably dismiss it as a bid for attention...the way he had when Melanie asked to move in with her friend.
Aaron fished the crumpled note from the attorney out of his pocket and smoothed the paper. Yet as he reviewed the careful legal language, his ire began to rise again—if Skylar didn’t have anything to do with this scheme, how had Melanie come up with it?
* * *
SKYLAR HURRIED HER employees through cleanup and sent them on their way so she could get a private moment with Karin and Melanie when they arrived.
The girls were settled at their favorite table by the time Greg and the others had gone. Skylar took a tray out and set it down. “Karin, please go inside for a few minutes. I need to talk with Melanie.”
Karin set her mouth stubbornly.
“Please let her stay,” Melanie pleaded. Her eyes were terrified.
Skylar sat down. “All right. I had a visit from your brother earlier. He was upset about a letter he received from a lawyer this afternoon.”
“H-how upset?”
Livid.
Yet Skylar suspected Aaron had mostly been angry with her, rather than his sister.
“He’s concerned,” she said carefully.
“Why did he talk to you, Mom?” Karin asked. “Mr. Newman didn’t say where Melanie wanted to live in his letter. I mean, it’s with us, of course, and I guess we should have asked first, but I was sure you’d want Mellie.”
“Is it okay?” Melanie’s eyes were big and anxious, and Skylar saw the fear that she wasn’t really wanted...again.
Damn.
“I told Aaron that you were welcome to move in with us.”
The sixteen-year-old’s shoulders sagged in sudden relief, and her eyes were bright with tears. “Thank you, Mrs. Gibson. I’ll be good, I promise.”
Skylar squeezed her hand. “I’m not worried about that, but it isn’t that simple.”
“It should be,” Karin asserted.
“Karin, Melanie is underage and she has parents and other family who care about her,” Skylar said slowly. “And, Melanie, I don’t understand why you didn’t talk to your brother before contacting a lawyer.”
“I did. Last Saturday before the carnival. I asked him if I could live with you and Karin, but he wouldn’t even think about it.”
Skylar hid her dismay. She sympathized with the lonely teenager, yet all of this was stressing an already-difficult situation. It was a miracle Aaron hadn’t confronted her before, especially after getting his nose out of joint over the lawn-mower incident.
Honestly, why did men refuse to read directions?
Skylar had laughed when she saw Aaron yanking on that lawn mower cord, but he hadn’t looked ridiculous, he’d looked sexy. When he ditched his suit and wore jeans and a shirt like a mere mortal instead of a CEO, he was so attractive he made a woman think irrational things. She pushed the image away; Aaron Hollister’s sex appeal was the last thing she ought to be thinking about.
“Did you tell Aaron I’d already given permission for you to move in with us?”
“Uh...” Melanie looked scared again. “I kind of did. I didn’t mean it the way it came out and tried to say that I hadn’t asked yet, but it got mixed up when he said no, and then I didn’t think it would matter. I’m really sorry. I’ll tell him right away.”
“All right.” Skylar couldn’t bring herself to scold the teen. “Is your lawyer willing to talk to your brother?” Somebody needed to check the attorney out and make sure everything was aboveboard. Aaron was the logical person as his sister’s temporary guardian.
“I don’t want Aaron talking to Mr. Newman,” Melanie answered, flustered. “But you can. Mr. Newman asked who he could speak to, and I told him you and nobody else.”
“They just talk on the phone,” Karin volunteered. “His office is on Main Street. He’s new.”
That made Skylar feel better, but she still thought someone should meet the man face-to-face and make sure he wasn’t taking advantage of a kid.
And...well, if he was legit, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone to call in case Aaron tried to get custody of Karin.
She told the girls to eat their snacks and went inside to call the attorney. His secretary said he was available at four o’clock, so she bundled Melanie and Karin into the truck to run them home.
Mr. Newman’s office was upstairs in one of the 1910-era buildings on city hall square, with twelve-foot-high ceilings covered by decorative pressed tin. The ice-cream-and-sandwich parlor on the first floor was a favorite with young and old, yet the cheerful din below couldn’t be heard as Skylar stepped into the front office and introduced herself.
“Hello, Mrs. Gibson. Go right in,” his secretary invited her with a smile.
The lawyer stood as Skylar walked inside and stuck out his hand. “Hello, I’m Jeremy Newman. I’ve wanted to meet Karin�
��s mother—your daughter is a very determined young lady.”
“Unfortunately I can’t return the compliment. Today is the first I’ve heard of their scheme, Mr. Newman.”
He chuckled. “I suspected they were acting on their own. Please have a seat. And call me Jeremy.”
Skylar sat down and studied the lawyer. He was blond, tanned, and had an easygoing smile and boyish eagerness that make him look more like a Southern California surfer than an attorney. On his third finger he wore a broad wedding band that looked shiny and new, the way her husband’s ring had looked in the first months of their marriage.
“In the first place,” Jeremy said, “let me assure you that I have not, and will not, meet with Melanie alone. If it becomes necessary to see her in person, my secretary will be present. Or you, if Melanie agrees.”
“I’ll make sure she understands that,” Skylar murmured.
“Excellent. Now, I take client/attorney confidentiality very seriously, but she’s given permission for us to speak.”
“In that case, I want to know what you hoped to accomplish with that letter.”
The lawyer leaned forward in his chair. “A change. Melanie is two years older than your daughter, has traveled extensively, comes from very affluent circumstances, and yet she’s far less self-assured. She desperately wants a place to call home and people who show how much they care about her. It’s enough to question if her mother and father are blind, or truly aren’t concerned for their child’s emotional welfare.”
“Be careful,” Skylar warned. “S. S. Hollister is one of the wealthiest men in the country, and his ex-wife is the daughter of a prominent New York senator who could be our next president.”
Jeremy shrugged. “Correspondence from me isn’t going to intimidate either one of them, but it could push them into trying harder.”
Knowing what she did about S. S. Hollister, Skylar doubted the aging playboy would change his ways. Melanie’s mother could be another matter. From the teenager’s stories it sounded as if Eliza Tremont had been more involved with her daughter’s life before she remarried. If she woke up and made the choice to be a mother, it would be best for Melanie, though it might mean she would have to live elsewhere.
A twinge of worry went through Skylar.
The two girls had become such fast friends, who knew what the “best” thing was? They were both dealing with serious issues and felt alienated from other kids. If they hadn’t met at the preschool term mixer the principal hosted every August, they probably would have still gravitated together in a school as small as Cooperton High.
“What about the parent–child divorce?” Skylar asked.
The lawyer grinned engagingly. “Got your attention, didn’t it? I think it was your daughter’s idea. My specialty isn’t family law, but I’ll help Melanie file to be an emancipated minor if she insists. However, I’ll tell you what I told her—I don’t believe she has the maturity and confidence yet to make adult decisions, and a judge is likely to recognize it, as well.”
“And pursuing emancipation could alienate her further from her family,” Skylar said.
“Precisely. Besides, a judge may look at it this way—Melanie’s physical needs are generously met, she is always left in the care of responsible adults, her trust fund ensures a future of her choosing and she sees her parents nearly as often as a child in boarding school. What’s more, Melanie acknowledges they love her. And to be honest, I’m personally not partial to legal action between a child and parent except when there’s abuse.”
“Maybe you should have studied family counseling instead of becoming an attorney.”
“You could be right, except I like having the law in my pocket when everything else fails. And sometimes the threat of legal action is just as effective as anything you could do in court. An attorney’s letterhead can be impressive.”
Skylar recalled Aaron’s angry face. “You didn’t impress Aaron Hollister—you pissed him off. He raced over with a full head of steam, blaming me.”
“My letter didn’t mention you or your daughter.”
“Aaron and I don’t get along well—he doesn’t approve of my hamburger stand as a hangout for his sister, though we’re closed by the time they arrive and all they do is study together. The girls know how he feels, but apparently Melanie still asked if she could live with us. When he refused, they called you.”
Jeremy Newman’s eyes narrowed, and Skylar got the feeling he was a lot tougher than his laid-back appearance suggested. “Interesting. In light of what I’ve heard about Mr. Hollister’s relationship with his employees, he may not be the best guardian for a sensitive adolescent.”
Curiously, Skylar felt a fleeting impulse to defend Aaron. He was making questionable personnel decisions at Cooper Industries, and she herself had criticized his efforts with Melanie, but parenting was tough, and he’d gotten thrown into the deep end without any preparation.
“According to Melanie, she almost ended up in boarding school this year before Aaron agreed to take her. She hates the idea, so it’s hard to say what’s best,” Skylar said noncommittally. “Anyhow, it’s getting late and I need to get dinner ready. I may need to... That is...thank you for meeting with me.”
“You’re welcome.”
They shook hands again and Skylar hurried out. At least the lawyer appeared straightforward and concerned. She’d been on the verge of telling him that Aaron was Karin’s biological father, only to change her mind. It wasn’t the right time, and she could always call him later if she needed legal advice.
Karin would have to be told someday, but with Jimmie gone, Skylar wanted to wait until she was old enough to handle it.
* * *
AARON CAME TO an inescapable conclusion over a sleepless night—he owed Skylar an apology. She had good reason to think he was a maniac the way he’d accused her of every crime under the sun.
She still got to him.
And as much as he wanted to keep seeing her as the rebel who’d broken every rule in the book, the image of a hardworking, outspoken Skylar kept intruding. She was a far cry from the women he’d dated over the years, but that was a good thing.... He couldn’t see them working so hard and still being the kind of mother that Melanie envied her friend for having.
Hell, Skylar was a member of the city council. She ran a business. She had a fresh-faced kid who was far more likely to ask for an ice cream than to sneak a shot of whiskey. And Melanie had made a point of saying she’d gotten an A on her history paper because of Skylar’s help.
Aaron dropped Melanie at the library and drove to the address that he’d found in the phone book for the Gibsons. It was a comfortable-looking place, possibly an old farmhouse, located on a larger lot than most of the surrounding homes. Nobody answered when he rang the bell and he glanced around, noting the yard-waste recycle barrel on the driveway and Skylar’s truck parked on the street.
She had to be there.
He followed a flagstone path on the north side of the house and peered through the open gate. Skylar’s back was to him as she knelt, spreading dark wood mulch around a cluster of ferns. The snug fit of her denims made Aaron’s mouth go dry.
Living with a teenager had put a serious crimp in his social life, yet he suspected Skylar would affect him, regardless. If anything, her figure had improved since they were teenagers, and back then every boy at Cooperton High had been hot to get into her jeans.
“Uh...hello,” he called.
Skylar turned her head and regarded him without smiling. “Here to throw more accusations at me?”
“I came to apologize. I’m sorry for the way I acted.”
“Yeah, right.”
Obviously, she wasn’t going to make it easy. Aaron stepped past the corner of the house and looked around in surprise. The landscaping in front was nice, but this was a masterpiece—p
rivate, artfully simple, with a water feature that flowed over native rock slabs into a natural-looking pool. It was as if he’d stumbled across a mountain stream in a forest clearing. Even the deck was largely concealed by native bushes and ferns.
A flash of silver came from the large, shaded pool and Aaron walked over, expecting to see brightly colored koi in the water. Instead there were long, brownish fish, occasionally flipping their iridescent bellies to the sky.
“Those are rainbow trout,” he exclaimed, kneeling to look closer. “This yard is extraordinary—you should be a landscape architect.”
“Why? Because flipping hamburgers is too common?” Skylar got to her feet and lifted a bucket with hand tools sticking from it. “By the way, this is private property, not a public park.”
“Are you going to have me arrested for trespassing?”
“No, but only because it would upset Melanie.”
She walked to an opposite gate and he followed. Between the house and the detached garage was a vegetable plot, with tomatoes still turning red in the lingering summerlike autumn weather.
“I had no idea you were such a gardener. This must take hours every day to keep up,” he mused.
“Not really, it’s low maintenance wherever possible. I need to get out here a couple of times a week during the summer, but I don’t mind. Gardening helps clear your head.”
“Maybe, but I hated yard work when I was kid. Raking, weeding, watering—it was endless around my grandparents’ house, and they were fanatics about everything being exactly so.”
“You mean the Coopers didn’t hire people to do that?”
“Nope. The only thing I didn’t do was the mowing. My grandparents felt children should be seen and not heard, and had to be taught the value of hard work by doing chores. Lots of them. I can’t tell you how many times I heard my grandfather declare that idle hands were the devil’s playground, but I didn’t see him out there raking leaves.”
Skylar lifted an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting you were abused?”
The question took Aaron aback. “Of course not. But they went overboard sometimes, and were distant and authoritarian.”
Winning Over Skylar Page 13
