Wysse offered a strained smile. “No harm done. But I’m sure you can understand that I have always wanted my business to pass to my sons, now my son. So we’ll forget we had this conversation, and I’ll wish you the best. See you back on the job?”
“Yessir, you will.” Until I can figure out a way to convince the bank to loan me the money I need. He would certainly like to do business with the old fellow, but if it came down to Wallace one day selling, Joe wouldn’t trust the ink the signature was signed with. No, if he couldn’t have a sale while the senior Mr. Wysse ran the show, he didn’t want it at all.
Joe felt like a dog skulking away with its tail tucked. He had to find the means to start his own company. And with the way he felt when he was around Victoria lately, he also needed to keep a sound distance between them. A woman meant nothing but trouble for his plans. Even one as out of this world as Victoria Banks.
He caught his lip between his teeth, mulling the truth. And the truth was he’d love nothing more than to let her be part of his plans if he had the financial means to take care of a wife. He couldn’t ask her to merely be a part of grand schemes that might never take place.
*
Victoria sprinted up the stairs, her hair flying in her face. At the top she stopped, caught her breath and sprinted to her room. She sat on the bed, longing to let go of her good upbringing and scream. She had agreed to a meeting with Wallace Wysse Jr. Ick. Why had she? Who was she fooling? He had mentioned that he had a question he wanted to ask Flo but needed to speak with Victoria first. Was he really going to propose? He didn’t act as if he even cared for Flo. And Victoria didn’t like him one smidge. Too pushy, too fresh. Still, he might want her advice. He had said as much. He might be planning to buy Flo a ring.
Oh, horsefeathers! She wasn’t going out with Joe; why not have dinner with Wallace? She slumped onto her bed. What had made her say yes? Maybe because Joe had been so cool lately. She’d thought after their talk the night of the storm that things would be different. That he might see her differently. Although he had been very up-front about the fact that his future company meant more to him than anything else. So she didn’t owe him any explanations about meeting Wallace. Where had that thought even come from? She didn’t owe him so much as a howdy. But still she felt guilty, as if she were somehow sneaking around.
Flo would be furious if she found out and thought this was a date, at least until she knew why Victoria had accepted the invitation. She only wanted Flo to be happy, and if this helped move things along, then so be it.
Victoria still didn’t understand what Flo saw in Wallace. Then again, Flo hadn’t ever been sensible when it came to men. She didn’t think enough of herself to be choosy. Well, Victoria was choosy. And she certainly wouldn’t let a man treat her the way Wallace treated Flo. But to each his own.
“Victoria? You upstairs getting ready, sweetie?”
“Yes, Mom. In my room. But I’m not busy. You need something?”
“Could you please come get your basket of clean clothes and put them away? They won’t jump in the drawers by themselves.”
“Yes, ma’am. In a minute.” Last thing she wanted to do was her laundry—a nap was all she really wanted. She’d been so tired lately, what with the recital and all. But chores had to be done. After all, she lived with her parents and that meant no free rides. How she desired her own place. She groaned. The dance studio had a ways to go before she considered herself in the black. Maybe next year once she opened the class up to even older students. Students whose mothers wouldn’t be hovering around analyzing her dance philosophy.
She jumped up quickly, too quickly, before stumbling down the stairs. Lugging the basket up, one step at a time, she had to stop halfway to catch her breath. She must be coming down with something. Never in her life had she been so thoroughly exhausted. She could beg off meeting Wallace. A phone call would do it. No, she had to be fair. No more misunderstandings like with Joe. Always think the best of people, right?
She took her time folding and arranging her clothes in the dresser. In no hurry to primp for the evening, she rested on the edge of the bed where eyes as dark as thick molasses filled her head. They smiled, they focused on her, they switched to standoffish in an instant. One second crinkling in the corners and warming her through and through, the next second, targeting a place far past her. A place where she wasn’t welcome.
She slumped against her pillows until she managed to banish Old Molasses Eyes from her mind. Mostly. If only he would let her know how he really felt. She’d spoken with him just once since the night of the recital. He had run into her at the five-and-dime as she waited for Flo to be finished with work. One small salute and a cursory greeting, and he’d strolled past with the hint of a smile, nothing more. Another time he’d waved from across the street, then walked briskly on. How had the boys said it when they were little? Girls had cooties? That’s how she felt around Joe, on and off as if she had cooties sometimes.
With a laugh, she moved to the vanity her father had built when she turned sixteen—no doubt another attempt to girlie-girl the ballplayer out of her—and sat on the padded chair. She ran a brush through her hair again and again, forcing the last tangle to flee. When in actuality she cared not one whit whether or not her hair had tangles in it. Did she want to look good for her meeting with Wallace? Not particularly. He’d asked the favor at a weak moment. Stinking weak moments. Maybe she’d simply pull her hair back and tie it with a ribbon.
“Better get a move on, Dolly,” her father shouted from downstairs. “Your gentleman friend will be here any minute.”
He’s not my gentleman friend. He’s not my anything.
She eyed the baseball prominently displayed on her dresser. If only… But why waste time whining about what might have been? She loved dancing, almost as much, yet when she thought of the women who played during the war, her mind instantly returned to the bases. The wind blowing over her cap as she stood on the mound, the windup, the pitch. Crack! A broken bat because the fabulous pitcher pitched a fastball. Nice dreaming.
Still, she might have been a Rockford Peach, or a Racine Belle. No, her parents would not have allowed that. Recently, she had heard rumors that Kalamazoo was considering a women’s team. At the very least, she’d go watch them once. A Michigan team. What a lark. She breathed in the sweetness of all her memories.
“Victoria, someone’s at the door.”
She huffed, “Coming.” Victoria threw a sweater over her blouse and slid her wool coat from the closet. Gloves? Where had she put them? Downstairs by the front door.
Her feet danced down the stairs, but before arriving at the bottom, she remembered herself and behaved. “Mr. Wysse. Nice to see you again.” Not really. But anything for a friend.
“I won’t be late, Dad.” She stepped into the cold with Wallace’s hand on her elbow to keep her from slipping on the icy walkway.
“Where are we going, Mr. Wysse?”
He smiled, and she had to admit he wasn’t bad looking when he wasn’t frowning.
He reached for her hand, but it made her feel uncomfortable. He ignored her hesitation as he laid on the charm and said, “Call me Wallace, please. I thought, perhaps, the Dusty Rose downtown. They have luscious steaks and homemade ice cream for dessert. Even in the winter, I can enjoy a bowl of their butter pecan.”
“We could just have coffee at the diner.”
“Nonsense, you’re doing me a favor. The least I can do is treat you to a decent dinner.” Did he think her mother shortchanged her?
He helped her into the car, but she breathed a sigh once he let go of her arm. There was something about him she simply did not cotton to. He said and did all the right things, but when push came to shove, her skin crawled around him. Like a snake. Thankfully, this would be the first and last meeting with him. If he didn’t get whatever answers he wanted, too bad.
Rather than start his car right away, he leaned back against the seat and stared at her. “You do realize th
is is one of the few 1942 Ford Super Deluxe coupes that was made before they stopped production, right?”
She squirmed until she couldn’t stand his gaze any longer. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know one auto from another, Wallace. Well, we’d better go. I have to be in by nine.”
Deflated like a burst balloon, he whined. “Nine?”
“The price one pays for living with one’s parents. I also have classes tomorrow. Besides, I wouldn’t want Florence to get the wrong idea.”
“I had thought we might take a ride after dinner. To talk. About Florence, that is.”
The look in his eyes unsettled her. There wouldn’t be any ride, and she was quite happy that she still lived at home where folks expected her at a certain time.
*
Joe tugged the tie away from his throat until the knot relaxed. Then he sliced another piece of the juicy beef. Dusty Rose had the best roast beef dinner in town. And reasonable. Not that he didn’t cook, and cook well, but every now and then he liked to have a home-cooked meal, and the cooking here lived up to Mom’s apple pie. Speaking of which, he’d finish his meal tonight with pie and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. His mouth watered. His mom sure had made great pie.
Oh, how he missed the folks.
Moments like this offered a glimpse into the past. His parents, his brother, a life with a happy family. Then the accident and all of that ended. One minute his parents had left their club meeting, the next a truck had run them off the road. He could still recall the raw pain of losing them.
He swallowed over the clump of food in his throat. Nothing stayed the same forever. Happy came and went like anything else. A solid business was the only sure thing a man could count on, and Joe planned to have his own company sooner rather than later. That meant sticking to his decision to have the business established before the girl. But if he waited too long, he could lose her.
There it was again. Why couldn’t he dash her from his mind? The two times they’d seen each other since the storm, he’d done his best to put aside any ideas she might have about him. And it did him good as well to remember what his goals were. Dating would be unfair. He had little to offer other than a house that needed a lot of elbow grease.
Well, no sense dwelling on that now. He attacked his plate again. The honey-glazed carrots melted on his tongue. And the dark brown gravy over the potatoes, sheer delight. With a wife, he’d have home-cooked food every night. The ability to make a delicious pie would be a must.
He’d also have mountains of responsibility. Certainly a child or two. And without enough money, he’d struggle to take care of them. No, he didn’t need complications. Just a plan. He’d count his pennies until he started the company. And then he’d count them even more.
Joe finished his dinner and looked up as car lights shone through the window. Other hungry pilgrims out in the cold arriving to warm their insides. They’d find plenty to eat here.
A couple of minutes later, the door blew open along with a blast of icy air and a small dusting of snow. A man and woman entered. The woman turned…glanced over. Victoria. And Wallace Wysse.
“Check, please!”
*
Victoria’s cheeks warmed when she glimpsed Joe sitting at a table toward the back. His gaze locked on to hers for the briefest of seconds. Of all the places Wallace had decided to come for their meeting. Had he planned this? No, no one would be that unkind.
“Joe, old man. How goes it?” Wallace shouted all the way to the back.
Joe’s face zinged red at the mention of his name, but he nodded, then returned to his food, frowning into the plate. The waitress passed by, dropping a tab by his hand after which he immediately stood, laid money on the table and headed for the door. He had to pass right by them, and Victoria shivered at his closeness.
“Wysse, Victoria. Roast beef is especially good tonight. Have a nice evening.”
Right to the point, no sentimental platitudes. Mortified, Victoria moved aside. Her feet nearly galloped after the waitress, who guided them to a table away from the door.
“Will this do?”
“Perfect,” Victoria said.
Wallace, of course, had to be contrary. “I had thought closer to the door.”
But Victoria wasn’t known for shyness. “If you don’t mind. It’s a little warmer over here.” She tugged her sweater closer around her shoulders to prove the point.
“Of course. I hadn’t thought of that.” He patted the sweater on her arm, his touch causing her to pull away, and he couldn’t help noticing. “Did seeing Mr. Huntington upset you? I’m sorry if it did. We could always go elsewhere. Nothing carved in granite says we have to stay here.”
“Not at all. He and I have known each other since we were children. We’re friends.”
“I thought perhaps—”
“Just friends.” She walked toward the seats and sat down.
His gaze narrowed as if trying to discern more, but at last, he let it go. The plump waitress with a tag that said Carmen had joined them and waited while they perused the menu. “Then why don’t we order? I was thinking a nice, juicy steak.”
Carmen smiled. “That’s delicious, but our country chicken with dumplings is the specialty today, and very good. Falls right off the bones. And the dumplings are, pardon the cliché, light as feathers.”
Victoria smiled. “Ooh, that sounds wonderful. I’ll have your chicken with dumplings, please. And a glass of milk.” She put her hand out. “And maybe applesauce? That sounds good.”
“Milk!” Wallace’s eyes widened. “Not too daring, eh?”
Carmen, glasses teetering on the end of her nose, tapped her pencil on the pad. “The chicken is wonderful, miss. I’m sure you’ll enjoy—”
“Thank you.” Wallace waved her away. The woman might have been a fly brushed off a piecrust. “If you’ll give us a minute.”
She raised an eyebrow, gazed at Victoria with a look that asked her permission to leave. Victoria nodded and smiled. “Thank you for the suggestion.”
Wallace placed his fingers over her hand and she pulled away. “I planned to treat you to the best. I thought—”
“And I thought you would want me to order what I like.” She wrung the napkin in her hands for a second, feeling her eyebrows knit together, but she could give as good as she got, and tonight would be no different. They weren’t here to argue over food, just for a meeting about Flo.
“I can see I should have ordered for both of us.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Women can be so indecisive with what they actually want.” His gaze drifted across the room, landing on the seat Joe had occupied just seconds before.
Victoria licked her lips as all the muscles in her face tightened. “Wallace, this isn’t working. I found you terribly rude to that woman. She was just trying to be nice. Simply doing her job. And now you’re being incredibly patronizing to me.”
“She was butting in.”
“No, she was offering a suggestion. And one I was grateful for.”
He jerked his hand to his lap. “I’m sorry. I wanted to make this a night on the town for you. But it seems seeing that Huntington fellow has spoiled it all.”
“We aren’t out for a night on the town. You said you needed to ask me about something where Florence is concerned. Now you act as if we’re on a date. That couldn’t be further from the truth. And Joe had nothing to do with this. The problem seems to be your attitude. You are rude to people. You were rude to Flo at the recital, and you were unkind toward Joe. I honestly am not sure why I agreed to this meeting knowing that, but I did. I apologize. It seems the two of us have very little in common. And for the life of me, I don’t see why you need to talk to me about Flo. You and she should discuss your own problems.”
His face had turned almost purple and Victoria thought it best to stop talking. The waitress had continued to step farther and farther away and was now practically in the kitchen. Victoria had made a scene. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to
embarrass you, but this was a foolhardy idea,” she said in a low voice.
“I’m not used to being treated like this, Victoria. I would think you’d be pleased to have the son of Wysse and Sons take you to dinner. After all…” He raised his eyebrows and struck a pose in the chair across from her.
“After all what?”
“Well, you aren’t exactly a teenager. How many other men are knocking at your door?” He continued to smirk.
He did not just say that, did he? She jumped to her feet. “You are incredible.” Did he think he was a prize catch or something? Well, not on her line, he wasn’t. She’d throw him back in. Too small. At least in integrity. “I was very clear this is not a date. And I’m so grateful for that fact. You would be the last person in the world who—”
The door opened and Joe stepped back in. He checked the coatrack by the door and then walked toward the back. “Hey, Carmen. Did I leave my hat here?”
The waitress stepped around the counter, hat in hand, as Victoria rumpled her napkin and plopped it on the table. Carmen lifted the hat and said, “Here you go, Mr. Huntington. I thought I should put it away, just in case.”
“Carmen, I’ve told you to call me Joe. You make me feel like an old man calling me mister.”
“All right, Mr. Hunting—Joe.” She smiled. “Try and remember your hat next time. I feel like your mother picking up after you.”
Wallace winced at Joe’s familiarity with the waitress and raised his voice to Victoria. “He fits right in, doesn’t he?” He made a disagreeable face. “With the help and all.”
“I think I’d like to go home, Mr. Wysse.” Her hands rested on either side of her hips.
“Well, I came to eat. You might as well order. Chicken, if that’s all you want. And milk, remember? And if you aren’t going to eat, then just sit until I’m finished.”
Victoria huffed as Joe and the waitress moved past her. Victoria laid a hand on the woman’s arm. “Miss, I’m sorry to be a bother, but would you mind terribly if I used your phone?”
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