by Arlene James
William sucked in a mortified breath. “Two months! Oh, god. I know my sister, and she’s—”
“Exactly what we need,” Paul interrupted smoothly. Exactly what I need, he amended silently. Without knowing it, Betina had given him the perfect excuse to continue seeing Cassidy Penno, and it was entirely legitimate.
He managed to avoid private conversation with Betina for the remainder of the evening, which was good, since his mind was working furiously on this costume ball idea. The more he thought of it, the more he wondered if Betina had any concept of what was involved here. It was too late to book any type of room for New Year’s Eve. Just the organization of such an undertaking could take weeks. What about food, decorations, invitations, transportation? Hotel rooms! He began to doubt that it was possible to get this thing together, but he kept that doubt to himself. Betina would be the one to have to call this off, and until she did, he would have plenty of excuses to meet with Cassidy. He’d see to that himself.
It was near midnight when the telephone rang, but all Cassidy had to do to answer it was roll over and lift the receiver. She hadn’t slept a wink. She kept wondering how the party had gone and if Paul was now formally engaged to Betina Lincoln. He hadn’t exactly said so, but Cassidy sensed that once he became formally engaged, their relationship, whatever it was, would end. She put the receiver to her ear and said, “Hello.”
“Cassidy?”
“Paul?”
“I know it’s late, but this is important.”
“It’s all right,” she said, reaching up to switch on the bedside lamp and struggling into a semisitting position. “What’s up?” She closed her eyes, anticipating the worst.
Instead of I can’t see you anymore he said, “I need your help.”
She opened her eyes and leaned forward to rest her forearms against her knees. Sunshine stretched at the foot of her bed and yawned before going into her imitation of a dead cat, lying on her side, legs thrust out stiffly. Cassidy said, “You know I’ll do anything I can.”
“Yes,” he said softly. “I’m counting on it.”
She cradled the telephone receiver in both hands. “So tell me what I can do.”
“I’m not exactly sure yet,” he said, “but I know it’s going to take lots of meetings to get it done.”
She dropped her legs flat on the bed. “I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”
He chuckled. “I got clobbered with the idea of a New Year’s Eve costume ball for Barclay Bakeries’ business associates tonight, and I more or less instructed your brother to set up a meeting with you to discuss the matter.”
“This New Year’s Eve?”
“I knew you’d grasp the significance of that little detail immediately.”
“Paul, I don’t think it can be done.”
“That’s Betina’s problem,” he told her. “I’m just helping out with the costumes.”
“Ah.” She finally got the message. He’d leaped at Betina’s preposterous suggestion as a legitimate means by which to continue seeing her. She was both relieved and worried. She had to ask. She took a deep breath and did it, “Paul, did you ask Betina to marry you again tonight?”
“Hell, no!”
Cassidy wilted back into a supine position, weak with relief. If he hadn’t asked, then Betina couldn’t have accepted, which meant that he wasn’t formally engaged—yet. “I really thought... That is, I expected... I mean, William said you were trying to win her back. I thought that was what tonight was all about.”
After a short silence, Paul said, “Cassidy, there isn’t a romance between Betina and me, not on my part, not on hers. Betina’s too smart for that. She knows that I don’t love her. I know that she doesn’t love me. No one’s trying to ‘win’ anyone.”
“But I think—” Cassidy bit her lip, uncertain that her thoughts would be welcome. She needn’t have worried.
“What? You think what, Cass?”
“I-I know you say that she doesn’t love you, Paul, but she must have some feeling for you. If all she wanted was money or influence or power, she has that in Barclay stock.”
“Yes, I know, but what she doesn’t have is full, legitimate entry into the family, and salve for her pride.”
“I can understand the first, I think,” she told him honestly, “but how does forcing you to marry her salve her pride?
“She set out to get me, Cass,” he said simply, “one way or another. All she wants now is just to know that I’ve accepted my fate and will make the best of it.”
Cassidy sighed. “My stars, Paul, that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“No, Cass,” came the soft reply, “the saddest thing is loving someone you can never have.”
She dared not say another word for fear that he would reveal she was his “someone”—or she would reveal that he was hers. But he was right. The sadness that filled her was bottomless and black. She said, “We need to try to get some sleep.”
“All right. Good night.”
“Good night, Paul.”
“I’ll see you soon?”
“See you soon,” she confirmed and hung up the phone.
Surprisingly, sleep came quickly this time. It stole in silently as she held the thought in her mind that it wasn’t over yet. They could be “more than friends” for a little while longer.
William turned off the cellular phone, folded it and gave it back to Paul. “Betina says about three hundred, and Gladys feels that she can have the invitations out in a matter of hours, once the details are nailed down.” He smiled self-deprecatingly, his way of saying that he told them so. “This new generation of computer printers are truly amazing.”
Paul grinned. “All right. We won’t worry about the invitations then. The details can wait a bit.” He looked to Cassidy. “Now, three hundred costumes, how big a problem is that?”
She bent her head over the computer printout spread across the countertop, distinctly aware of Paul’s proximity and William’s silent discomfort. “Not too much,” she mumbled, “providing I don’t take any more New Year’s reservations.”
Paul frowned and leaned forward, craning his neck to bring his head close to hers. “I don’t want you to pass up business.”
“Well,” she said, straightening to put a bit of distance between them, “I could take a few racks on consignment, maybe. The problem is, I’d have to take what I could get, and chances are it would all be of a theme, something ordered for a play, a period piece.”
“Period piece,” Paul mused.
Cassidy nodded, and suddenly she had it, the solution to their problems. She clapped her hands together. “That’s it!”
Paul looked up, while William lurched forward in concern. She could almost read his thoughts. What goofy thing was his sister about to propose now and into how much trouble was it going to get him? How appalled he would be to discover her feelings for Paul. She tried to concentrate on the issue at hand. “What we need,” she said, “is a theme of our own.”
Paul rested on one elbow and thought about it. “You could take a consignment of costumes in the theme we choose. That would take out a lot of the guesswork, wouldn’t it?”
“That’s right, and it would simplify matters of decoration, too. Think about it, a Roman courtyard or... an Old West saloon, maybe.”
“I like that,” Paul said. “But what kind of space would something like that require, and where are we going to find it on such short notice?”
William spoke up, apparently as much to his own surprise as anyone’s. “What about the old factory?”
Paul’s gaze snapped around. Cassidy watched the idea grow on him. “You know, that’s not such a bad idea.” He looked at Cassidy, explaining, “We’re going to tear it down to make way for a new state-of-the-art distribution center, but not because the building is unsound. It’s old, and frankly it’s ugly, but it’s huge and empty and safe.”
Cassidy shrugged. “Sounds good to me, but shouldn’t you ch
eck it out with Betina?”
Paul tapped his chin with a forefinger, thinking. “Let’s nail down this theme thing, first. Ideas anyone?”
After several minutes of brainstorming, William suggested that it ought to be something to do with the business, and suddenly Cassidy felt the brush of inspiration again. “Paul, who founded Barclay Bakeries?”
“My great-grandfather, in 1902. Why?”
“Because it makes sense to go back to the beginning, doesn’t it?”
“Back to the beginning?” William echoed. “But our new focus is the future. You’ve said so, countless times yourself, Paul. Five years from now, Barclay will be not only the predominant local and regional producer of fine wholesale baked goods but the national leader as well. Isn’t that the point?”
“You’re absolutely right, Will,” Paul mused. “Barclay is poised on the brink of a whole new era.” He turned a look of profound respect on Cassidy, saying, “What better time to look back at our beginnings? Dallas, 1902.”
“You know,” Cassidy said, excitement ringing through her voice, “I’ll bet we could hire some students from the university art and drama departments to help us develop decorative sets. Do you have any old pictures of the business?”
“Do I! The office halls are lined with them.”
“We might even make more use of those drama students,” she murmured, thinking that she had to talk to Tony—and start looking for period costumes and organize theme development and make lists of everything and—No, those were Betina’s jobs.
“Wouldn’t it be good,” William said tentatively, “if we could somehow tell the story of the development of Barclay Bakeries? How we started, how we’ve grown, where we’re going...”
Cassidy’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, my goodness! We could do a little play.” She pointed at Paul. “You could be your great-grandfather.”
Paul’s face was animated. She could see the ideas flickering behind the light in his eyes. Suddenly he leaned forward, seized her head in both hands and dragged her toward him to kiss her hard on the mouth. “You’re brilliant!”
Despite the thrill of spontaneous affection, Cassidy felt William’s shock and disapproval like a wave of cold air. She smiled at Paul but cut her eyes sideways slightly. She saw understanding flash in Paul’s eyes the instant before he turned his bight smile on William. “You’re both brilliant!” he exclaimed, throwing an arm around William’s neck in a kind of combination hug and hammerlock. “The brilliant Pennos!” Paul laughed, but Cassidy caught the worry that flickered across her brother’s face before he gave in to the smile expected of him, and she had to wonder just how ill that boded for her. But then, how much worse did it get than a broken heart, and what else, really, could she expect in the end?
She got part of her answer the next evening when William showed up at her house, agitated and sharp-tongued. “This is all your fault!” he told her. “You’re going to cost me my job, I know it!”
“What are you talking about?”
“The idea is to bring Paul and Betina closer together, not drive a wedge between them!”
Cassidy closed her eyes and took a deep breath before urging William into the low armchair in her small living room. It was purple brocade, and he had long ago proclaimed it hideous, but it was the most comfortable seat in the house. Sitting on the end of the imaginatively draped and fringed sofa, she switched on the Tiffany-style table lamp. “Now tell me what’s happened.”
Sunshine came into the room and rubbed herself against William’s ankle. He gave her a nervous kick that sent her leaping into Cassidy’s lap. “It’s Paul,” he said miserably. “He’s paying more attention to this ball than he is to Betina, and she’s dumped the decorations on him in retaliation!”
Cassidy sat back and folded her arms, Sunshine curling up in her lap. “How is that my fault?”
William sent her a hard look. “Don’t play coy with me, Cassidy Jane Penno. I don’t know how you’ve done it, but you’ve given Paul...ideas.”
Cassidy rolled her eyes. “The only ideas I’ve given Paul are the kind he’s paying me for. I do have some expertise, you know.”
“In costumes!” he exclaimed. “You don’t know anything about balls!”
“I know about theme and decor and staging. I can help with this. Paul knows it, why don’t you?”
“There’s something strange going on here, Cassidy! Paul shouldn’t know you as well as he seems to!”
Cassidy looked away. “Don’t be absurd. We’ve already worked together once. Of course. he knows me.”
“But he seems to like you.”
Her mouth fell open. “Is that such a shock? Can’t you imagine anyone liking your dopey little sister?”
William had the good grace to look ashamed for a moment. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“For your information, William, lots of people like me.”
“But Paul’s confidence in you developed so quickly!” he argued.
She shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “We just hit it off, that’s all.”
He studied her for a long moment. She could feel his light green eyes boring holes into her head. He slid to the edge of the chair and said earnestly, “He’s taken, Cassidy. You understand that, don’t you?”
Startled, she may have given away a little more than she intended. “Not yet.”
Alarm sent William to his feet. “You can’t honestly think that you have a chance with him!”
She felt the color drain from her face. “I didn’t say that.”
William went down into a crouch in front of her. “Listen to me, Cassidy,” he said in the voice that she recognized as his caring-big-brother tone. “You can’t compete with Betina Lincoln. She’s a sophisticated, savvy woman, a tall, willowy blonde built to make a man’s mouth water. And she knows how to use what she’s got to her best advantage. She’ll never let you—or any other woman—take Paul away from her.”
Cassidy wanted to tell him that Betina Lincoln didn’t have Paul...yet. She wanted to say that Paul Spencer was already half in love with her, Cassidy Penno. But she knew that, ultimately, William was right. She was just a friendly face who had appeared at the right time amid the chaos of Paul’s life. In the end he would marry Betina because he had to, because he was expected to, and probably because deep down, his pride aside, he really wanted to. Cassidy ignored the pain she felt. She had learned how so long ago that it was almost automatic, as was the reassurance she sought to give her brother. That, too, she had learned to do. It was her chief role in the family, giving reassurance, accepting criticism and disappointment, disseminating the collective unease. She put a hand to her hair and smiled with manufactured amusement.
“For heaven’s sake, William, you can’t think I’d pit myself against a woman like Betina Lincoln! All I’m trying to do is make a living. It’s the same with you.”
Some of the worry lines eased out of his forehead. “You’re quite right. My livelihood is tied to Paul Spencer in no uncertain terms.”
“Exactly,” she said, lifting her hands in innocent agreement. “Paul Spencer is a source of income for both of us, only temporarily for me, of course. But as a small business woman, I have to take income where I find it, you know. And I have you to thank for sending Paul Spencer to me.”
William’s gaze turned inward pensively. “Hmm, I suppose it could work out for the best, properly handled.”
“And just think,” she added persuasively, “how grateful Paul’s bound to be when your connections provide him the solutions to his problems.”
William’s eyes narrowed as if he were gauging Paul’s gratitude in advance. “It could happen. Just remember that we can’t afford to alienate Betina in the process.”
We? Cassidy thought, but she kept her mouth closed and her expression neutral. William pushed up to his full height and stroked his chin in thought. Finally he turned his attention down to Cassidy. “What we have to do, sister dear, is find a way to make Betina the star of the ev
ening.”
Cassidy squelched a flash of resentment and nodded obediently. The last thing she wanted to do was shine a spotlight on Betina Lincoln, but if it was necessary to put William’s fears to rest—and if it made Paul’s life easier in the bargain... She lifted her chin, unaware that she was rising yet again to meet another of the challenges so often set for her by her family—at her own expense. As usual.
William’s face took on a cagey look. “Do you know,” he said, “I think we should try our hand at writing a play, you and I. Yes, yes, I think that’s the ticket.” He popped down on the sofa next to Cassidy and smiled in a supremely selfsatisfied way. “I happen to know quite a lot about the history of Barclay Bakeries, you know, and with your knowledge of the theater, we ought to be able to craft a sufficiently impressive piece.”
“Don’t you think Paul ought to make these decisions?” Cassidy asked.
“He’s already given the idea his endorsement,” Paul pointed out. “The person we really have to please is Betina.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
He leaned forward eagerly. “It’s very simple, really. We write the part of Paul’s great-grandmother with Betina in mind, you know, the classic woman behind the great man.” He paused thoughtfully, eyes narrowing. “Actually, it wouldn’t be stretching the truth. I mean, they were a team, you know. He was the creative genius. They were his recipes, after all, but she was a baker, too, and she believed in him totally. I’m told that she worked by his side every step of the way.”
Did Betina believe in Paul? Cassidy wondered. She ought to. Given the complete control that he deserved, Paul would undoubtedly lead Barclay Bakeries to the number one spot in the nation. He deserved the chance to prove himself, and apparently only marriage to Betina Lincoln would give him that chance. She didn’t stop to think that it was not, strictly speaking, up to her to see to it that Paul got his chance. She only knew, instinctively, that she was going to do everything possible to make it happen. The wheels of her mind were already turning.
