An Act of Love

by Brooke Hastings

  "That would be Roger," Randy guessed, thinking that she needed a scorecard to keep track of Linda's male friends.

  "Right. But you can relax because he's divorced. He's a producer and he lives in New York. He's terribly high-powered—he went to Massachusetts to relax for a couple of days. He needs to scout locations along the New England coast for a movie he's doing, and he asked me to come along. Naturally I said yes."

  "So what did Tom do? Leave?" Randy wondered if her sister had any feelings at all for the man. She'd liked him enough to meet him twice, so she must have.

  Linda shrugged. "To tell you the truth, Randy, it was never much of an affair. That first weekend I could tell how ambivalent he was, so I put him off. We didn't even share a room. He has a lot of problems and I think having an affair was a way of making himself feel more masculine, or of getting back at his wife. It wasn't really me he wanted. I only agreed to meet him this weekend because it was easier than arguing, but I wouldn't have gone if you hadn't told me about his brother-in-law. Anyway, he stayed around till Sunday and then left. I hope the owner didn't notice that I was still there with Roger—heaven only knows what she would have thought."

  "Ah, yes, Roger," Randy teased. "How long is he going to last?"

  She was surprised when Linda avoided a direct answer. "I want you to meet him, to find out what you think. Why don't I call to see if he can come up Thursday and take us both out to dinner?"

  Linda had never before solicited anyone's opinion of her boyfriends, and Randy was flattered to be asked. She was also pleased that her sister was showing some caution for a change. "I'd enjoy that," she said. "And when you're finished talking to Roger, can I phone Dad? He's probably convinced himself that I've either drowned in the lake or been eaten by a bear by now." She hesitated a moment. "Since I'm going up to New Hampshire in a few days anyway, do you think it would be dishonest of me to let him think I'm already there and that everything's been fine? Just so he won't worry?"

  "Knowing Dad, I would say that it's not only not dishonest, it's simple self-preservation," Linda joked. She winked at Randy and headed for the phone.

  Luke Griffin and William Dunne had managed to get through an hour-long meeting without either of them alluding to the subject that was on both their minds, but Luke supposed it couldn't continue much longer. He'd received a second hysterical phone call from his sister around lunchtime, and every protective instinct told him to do whatever was necessary to get Linda Franck out of his brother-in-law's life. But he wasn't fool enough to tackle the woman without first asking her father's permission.

  "I understand your reluctance to move on the problem in our Philadelphia store," Bill was saying, "but the profits aren't getting any better in the meantime."

  Luke realized that. "Let me wait till the six-month figures come in," he said. "I'll be on firmer ground then. I've shaken things up enough without starting to fire people, and the resentment…"

  "Right. I'm only offering advice, Luke, not giving you an order." Bill took a cigar out of a humidor on his desk, a signal to Luke that the formal part of their meeting was over. Luke knew what was coming next, even before Bill lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair. "How's your sister doing?" he asked.

  "Upset," Luke answered. First and foremost he wanted to avoid another argument. He'd behaved totally gracelessly the week before and was only grateful that Bill Dunne hadn't done anything more than throw him out of the office. "Her husband had to 'work' again last weekend," he explained, "but he left his coat at the inn where he stayed with your daughter and the owner called his house a few hours ago to say she'd mail it back." He shook his head. "I can't believe he was stupid enough to give them his home number."

  "Terrific." Bill muttered a curse underneath his breath as his eyes lit on the photograph on his desk. The picture showed the Dunne family at the beach, and Luke guessed it was about ten years old. The bikini-clad young woman on the right of Bill and Emily was obviously Linda, and Luke had to admit that she was delectable with her long blond hair and slender curves. Randy, in a one-piece suit to her parents' left, still had braces on her teeth and a bit too much baby fat. Luke knew she'd improved with age because he'd seen her diaper commercial on television, and he figured that if she lost ten or fifteen pounds she wouldn't be half-bad.

  "Listen to me, Luke," Bill continued. "I wish I could promise you that it would solve matters if I talked to Linda, but I can't be sure it would. If she's really infatuated with your brother-in-law she might not listen. But in all fairness to Lin, you have to admit that your brother-in-law wasn't exactly dragged kicking and screaming into this business."

  Bill was only partially right, but Luke had more sense than to point out that Tom had no track record as an adulterer whereas Linda was an old pro. "Would you mind if I went up to Cambridge to talk to her?" he asked.

  "In person?" Bill smiled, looking as though he thought it would be a waste of time. "You're welcome to try. In fact, I wish you luck." He paused, then drawled, "But I should warn you that more than one man has found my daughter rather irresistible, Luke."

  "I'll keep it in mind." Luke looked at the picture again, thinking that he could well believe it. Perhaps talking to the woman was the wrong approach, a thought that suggested an alternate plan. After a few moments of thought he said casually, "I may need to take a couple of days off."

  Whatever comment Bill Dunne might have made was lost in the buzz of his intercom. Pat put through only the most important calls when Bill was in a meeting, so Luke automatically started to get up to leave. But before he was halfway out of his chair Bill waved him back down.

  "Speak up, honey," he said into the phone. "It's a bad connection."

  Bill's next few questions—"How's the weather up there? When are you coming home? Are you sure you're okay?"—told Luke that he was talking to his daughter Miranda. He'd heard via the secretarial grapevine that Miranda Dunne was in New Hampshire for a couple of weeks. He'd also heard that she was sorely displeased with her father for suggesting that Luke would be a suitable husband. Luke himself didn't take Bill's efforts in that direction seriously; the girl was much too young for him, in terms of both years and experience.

  Bill, having satisfied himself that Randy was alive and well, held out the phone to Luke. "Why don't you say hello?" he suggested.

  Luke, unable to resist milking the moment for all it was worth, asked Bill to switch on the speaker so that both of them could listen in. Then, in the most suavely charming tone he could muster, he drawled, "Miranda, this is Luke Griffin. I hope you're enjoying yourself in New Hampshire. I'm looking forward to meeting you when you get back."

  He wondered if she would freeze up the line from New Hampshire to New York, but all that came back was a girlish simper. "Luke who? I'm sorry, but do I know who you are?"

  Luke choked back laughter. "You know exactly who I am, but I'll tell you anyway," he said. "I'm the new vice president for Branch Operations, and I'll be your boss when you start work at C & D." He couldn't stop himself from adding, "Which I hope will be very soon, Miranda. Your father's told me all about you and I plan to work very closely with you."

  The explosion he half-anticipated never came. Instead Randy gushed back, "How exciting! I'm sure you'll teach me everything you know."

  Luke glanced at Bill, who looked mildly disapproving, and said outrageously, "You can count on it, sweetheart."

  Several seconds of silence followed this statement. Finally Randy answered curtly, "Please say goodbye to my father for me, Mr. Griffin. My three minutes are almost up." She hung up before either man could get out a word.

  "You shouldn't have teased her that way," Bill said, replacing the receiver. "She obviously took you seriously and she's annoyed with you."

  The pang of guilt Luke felt didn't last very long. "Don't worry, Bill," he said with a wink. "I can handle your daughter without any problems." But as he got up to leave he wondered whether his claim applied to the older daughter as well as the younger one.r />
  Three days later, much to Linda's amusement, Randy was still muttering about how pompous and arrogant Luke Griffin was. Part of the problem was that she'd had too much time to think about the man. By the time the first day of waiting for deliveries drew to a close, Linda was restless to the point of insanity— Randy's insanity. Randy finally ordered her sister out to shop or visit friends while she herself stayed in the apartment. For the next two days Linda had flitted in and out of the house while Randy spent her time reading or unpacking cartons. She was truly awed by the number of stores Linda had ordered from, and by now was nodding weakly whenever a trucker asked for Mrs. Franck, signing Linda's name to the delivery slips quite automatically.

  Late Thursday afternoon Linda came tearing into the apartment at twice her normal speed and handed Randy a small velvet box. "This is for helping with the apartment," she said. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

  Randy opened up the box. Inside, nestled in navy satin, was a delicately filigreed gold cross. "It's beautiful, Lin," she said. "But you didn't have to…"

  "I wanted to. Do you like it?"

  "I love it." Randy, deeply touched, hooked the chain around her neck. "Is it an antique?"

  Linda nodded. "I found it in a shop in Boston. I spent most of the day looking." She gave Randy a quick hug and then ran off to the bathroom, calling over her shoulder, "Roger will be here in less than an hour. I need to wash my hair. I can't keep him waiting."

  Up till now, keeping a date waiting had never troubled Linda in the least. Randy went off to the bedroom to change, thinking that her sister must be totally smitten with the man.

  When the doorbell rang Linda and Randy were standing in the kitchen, sharing a glass of wine. Randy waited while Linda answered the door, but apparently there was no lingering hello kiss, because Linda came back almost immediately with a smiling, dark-haired man in tow. He was about average height and a little stocky, but extremely attractive in a tough, New York City sort of way. Only the lines around his eyes and mouth revealed his age, which Randy guessed was close to forty. Unlike Linda's first two husbands, he didn't look like the type of man anyone could push around.

  They shook hands, silently taking each other's measure. "The likeness is incredible," Roger finally stated, "considering the four-year age difference." He frowned, looking a bit puzzled. "Are you sure we haven't run into each other, Randy? Lin mentioned that you're an actress. Maybe you tried out for one of my films?"

  Randy hadn't, but she knew why Roger thought so. "You probably recognize me from the commercial I did—Sweetheart Diapers. Except I was twenty pounds heavier then and looked like a whale."

  Linda rolled her eyes. "You looked a little plump." Turning to Roger, she added, "Randy's appetite is a family legend. That might be the reason why she's been on a diet for fourteen years." She held up her hand to forestall the obvious comment. "Don't even ask why she's so thin now. It's personal."

  The comment made Randy uncomfortable, but Roger tactfully changed the subject to his latest movie and started to usher them out to the car. They had dinner at a Boston restaurant, and with each course Randy was more impressed with the man. As Linda had mentioned, Roger Bennett was divorced, and his two teenaged children lived with their mother during the summer and stayed with him during the school year. Randy liked his steady, confident style and the way that he gently put Linda in her place when she tried to wheedle him into making a change in his itinerary to suit some sudden whim of hers. He was perfectly charming to Randy, asking about her acting experience and telling her that if she ever changed her mind about working for C & D all she had to do was knock on his door and he'd introduce her to all the right people. Of whom he was one, of course.

  She felt so thoroughly at ease with him that later, over after-dinner drinks in the living room, she found herself asking him if he knew Sean Raley.

  He was quicker than she'd expected him to be. "I've met him," he said. "Is he the one who cost you those twenty-odd pounds?"

  Randy admitted that he was, and could have hugged Roger for his tactful, matter-of-fact response. "You aren't the first and you won't be the last, Randy. Raley has enough charm and sex appeal to have turned some of the most sensible heads in Hollywood, so don't let it bother you. I hear he's up for the lead in a new series, by the way. But no big loss to you—he's too busy loving himself to love anyone else."

  Roger spent the night on the sofabed in the guest room. He and Linda planned to get an early start the next morning because Roger had several appointments to keep, but unfortunately for Linda she overslept. While Randy made Roger breakfast Linda hurriedly dressed and packed, dumping out her purse to exchange it for a chic imported handbag, throwing clothing into her suitcase, grabbing her cosmetics and toiletries and dumping them into a carry-all. When Randy came into the bedroom and noticed her harried sister surrounded by total chaos she shook her head in amazement.

  "I told you, I can't keep Roger waiting," Linda said breathlessly. "He'll leave without me."

  She finished packing just as Roger poked his head in the door. Linda gave Randy a quick kiss and then picked up her cases. "Thanks again, Randy. Call me when you're back in New York." To Randy's surprise, Roger ignored her outstretched hand in favor of her cheek. "I've enjoyed meeting you," he said as he kissed her goodbye. "When you get back to New York I may give your father some competition for your services."

  With Linda gone, Randy showered and then dressed, putting on shorts and a tee shirt. She was still wearing the gold cross, which she slipped inside the shirt. She spent the morning straightening up the house, especially the disaster-hit bedroom. Discarded clothing was strewn all over and Linda's everyday purse was still on the floor, its former contents scattered beneath clothing or under the bed. As Randy picked up the pieces, she noticed that Linda had taken her change purse but left behind her leather credit card case, which also contained her driver's license. Randy tossed the case and Linda's brush into the purse along with an extra pair of sunglasses, two pens, miscellaneous cosmetics and some loose money, and left it on the bed.

  At lunchtime she fixed herself a sandwich and iced tea and was putting the dishes into the dishwasher when the doorbell rang. Obviously the dinette set, she thought.

  She opened the door to see a tall, solidly-built man with wavy brown hair and dark brown eyes standing before her. He was dressed in dark gray slacks and a striped charcoal and white shirt, and carried a clipboard. He didn't look like a furniture mover to Randy, but she nonetheless asked politely, "You've come with the table and chairs?"

  Something about him made her uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the fine scar running down his right cheek, or the hard look in his eyes, but his answer was ordinary enough. "No. I have a telegram for Mrs. Linda Franck." He held out the clipboard.

  Randy knew only that Linda was on her way up the coast of Massachusetts, but told herself that the sensible thing to do was to sign for the telegram, open it up and see if it were urgent enough to bother tracking down her sister. No doubt Roger's office would have some idea of his whereabouts.

  She took the pen the man held out, only half-aware that he'd entered the apartment and closed the door behind him. She was absorbed in wondering about the telegram as she scrawled Linda's name in the space provided and then reached for the envelope the man was holding. The last thing she remembered thinking was that he looked no more like a messenger than a furniture mover. A hand came up, held something over her face, and she collapsed onto the floor.

  Chapter Three

  Randy woke up feeling dry-mouthed and confused. It took her a few moments to realize that someone had strapped her into a seat on a small airplane, but then she jerked her head up and looked to her left at the pilot—the man with the alleged "telegram". Although she was frightened, she was not so panicked that she didn't notice how attractive he was. He had a cleft chin, moody brown eyes and blond streaks in his brown hair. The scar on his cheek didn't detract from his looks; on the contrary, when taken tog
ether with his slightly irregular nose, it gave his handsome face an intimidating, macho overtone. Randy wondered how many fights he'd gotten into in his time, and shuddered.

  Any thoughts she might have had about doing something foolish vanished with her quick inspection of him. Not only did he look as tough as reinforced concrete, he was big—several inches over six feet and probably close to two hundred pounds. At the moment he was smiling a thin-lipped, amused smile at Randy, as if he found her frightened scrutiny of him highly satisfying.

  She remembered collapsing near the front door of the apartment. Obviously the man thought she was Linda, but it made no difference. If he'd kidnapped her for ransom one sister was as good as the other. The smooth operation had all the earmarks of a professional job, and Randy tried to find something positive about that. If he did this kind of thing for a living, he wouldn't be stupid enough to risk a murder charge.

  Some small part of her was detached enough to admire her acting ability when she forced down her fear and said coolly, "How long is it going to take you to reach my father and get your money?"

  He lazed back in his seat. "I'm in no particular hurry, Mrs. Franck." His gaze dropped to her sandaled feet and traveled up her body, lingering on her breasts before continuing to her pale face and tangled hair, where it remained. She'd been wearing shorts and a tee shirt when she answered the door, but now she was dressed in blue jeans and a knit blouse. The blouse was Linda's, and clingingly revealing, especially since Randy hadn't bothered with a bra that morning.

  The longer he stared at her the more uncomfortable she became. She swallowed to moisten her throat, but it really didn't help. "Please," she said, "may I have some water?"