The Hostage Bride

by Janet Dailey

  “You work too much with facts and figures. Life isn’t a bunch of statistics. It’s feelings and emotions. You need reprogramming.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she promised without looking up from her work.

  When he’d left, Tamara let her fingers pause on the keys of the adding machine to stare at the door he had closed. Was she too realistic? She had to be. Life had to be faced squarely. No one was going to come along and miraculously sweep her problems away. It wasn’t a rose-colored world she lived in, but she had acquired the strength to carry her burden and didn’t object to the load. Eddie’s line of thinking led to self-pity. Nothing would be solved by that.

  However, it was true that she regretted the absence of a real friend. Over these last few years, the friendships she’d shared had withered away. It was understandable. A person had to devote time to friendships to keep them flourishing and growing, but she hadn’t been permitted that time. And the giving couldn’t be all on one side. She had accepted that fact without protest.

  Her gaze returned to the column of figures. Just for a second, her blood ran cold with fear at the thought of the impending merger. Tamara quelled the sensation of rising panic. There would be a rational solution. Nothing was ever as hopeless as it seemed. What was the worst that could happen?—she might lose her job. With her qualifications, she could easily obtain another position as a bookkeeper. To be fired was the worst that could happen, Tamara kept insisting to herself. Harold Stein would intervene in her behalf if anything worse was threatened.

  A glance at her watch started her fingers tapping out the numbers on the keys of the adding machine. But it was a quarter past five before she finished, which meant she had missed her bus and had to wait for the next one.

  Impatient to be home, her restless gaze didn’t notice the budding green of the trees on the Kansas City boulevard the bus took. The glinting rays of a lowering sun turned the water spewing from a stone fountain into a golden shower. It was something she saw but didn’t appreciate as she kept glancing at her watch and waiting for her corner to be reached.

  It was a two-block walk from the bus stop to the small, one-story house of stucco with green shutters at the windows. Tulips bobbed their heads as Tamara hurried up the steps to the door. The first blooms of the lilac bush near the house had begun to scent the air with their fragrance. There was a passing thought that her mother would appreciate a bouquet in her room before Tamara hurried inside the house.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Sadie,” she apologized the instant she saw the tall, broad-shouldered woman wearing brown slacks and a cardigan enter the living room. “It was after five before I got away from the office—then I missed my bus. I hope I haven’t made you late for anything.”

  “Gracious, no!” The woman dismissed the suggestion with a gruff laugh. “The only thing waiting for me at my apartment is the television set.”

  Tamara lowered her voice to ask, “How’s Mom?”

  A smile softened the angular features of the nurse’s face. “See for yourself.”

  Leaving her purse and jacket on an occasional table, she walked with light, quick steps to the archway Sadie Kent had just come through. Her spirits were lifted by the sight of the thin woman sitting in a cushioned armchair.

  “I don’t need to ask how you feel today, do I?” Her usually composed features became animated as she bent to kiss a pale cheek. “Hello, Mom.”

  “Hello. How was your day?” The words were said slowly and carefully to conceal the faint slur of her speech pattern.

  “Fine,” Tamara lied. “What did you do today?”

  “I watched my soap operas, but I am not going to bore you with their troubles.” A fragment of a smile curved at her mother’s mouth, but her muscles weren’t able to maintain it. Yet there was a definite twinkle in her eyes, blue like her daughter’s.

  Each day Tamara asked a similar question and always received a similar response that dismissed any discussion of her mother’s day. It had to be utterly boring to be confined in the four walls of one room, but it was typical of her mother not to complain. Only once had Tamara ever heard her mother cry out in protest. Then it had been a simple and poignant “Why?” when the doctor had informed her she had a debilitating disease that was slowly but surely killing her muscles. That had been three years and innumerable medical bills ago.

  With each passing day, Tamara had observed that as her mother grew weaker, her spirit grew stronger. It was impossible to pity someone who didn’t pity themselves. Her mother was a source of inspiration. As long as she didn’t wail in despair, neither could Tamara.

  These last few months, her mother’s condition had deteriorated rapidly, as the doctor had warned them it would. She couldn’t even do the simplest things for herself anymore, which was why Tamara had employed a nurse to stay with her mother while she was working.

  The endless treatments, the drugs, Sadie’s salary, the doctor’s bill had long ago exhausted their meager savings. The house was mortgaged to the full extent of its worth. Even the inheritance her mother had received eight months ago from some distant relative was gone. Three months ago, Tamara had been at her wits end, not knowing which way to turn, until a solution had presented itself to her. She would have to come up with another answer now, but she had been given intelligence as well as beauty. She was confident she would find it—somehow.

  She pushed that problem aside for the time being. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving, Mom. Is there anything special you’d like for dinner tonight?”

  “A steak, medium rare. A baked potato, heaping with sour cream. And a slice of cheesecake,” her mother ordered in her carefully concise voice.

  “One steak, ground and medium rare, coming up,” Tamara joked. It had been so long since the grocery budget had been able to buy a steak that Tamara doubted if she recalled what one would taste like. Hamburger and stew meat was about the only beef she purchased, balanced by fish and chicken. “First, I’m going to change clothes.”

  “Relax awhile first. You don’t have to rush right out to the kitchen to fix supper,” her mother insisted.

  But Tamara just smiled. She returned to the living room as Sadie was about to leave. “Thanks for staying late,” Tamara offered.

  “You don’t have to thank me. Nurses are supposed to become involved with their patients, but you know how fond I’ve grown of your mother. I would stay with her for nothing.” Sadie brushed away the gratitude.

  “I hope the day never comes when I might have to ask you to do that.” There was a painful tightening of her throat.

  Sadie clicked her tongue. “Keep your chin up,” she instructed sharply.

  With a quick smile, Tamara obediently lifted it an inch. “See you in the morning.”

  When the nurse had left, Tamara went to her bedroom to change into a pair of brushed denims and a long-sleeved sweater of cinnamon velour. She had managed to keep her wardrobe fairly up-to-date by paying regular visits to the bargain counters and garage sales. Ingenuity and a skillful needle and thread were usually all she required to hide material flaws or adapt a dress to the latest style. She shook her hair free of its coil to fall with leonine thickness about her shoulders. It changed her image from cool efficiency to one of earthy sensuality, but Tamara was unconscious that the transformation was in any way startling.

  While the hamburgers were cooking on the grill, she helped her mother back into the bed and went back to the kitchen to prepare the tray. It was simple fare, consisting of the hamburger patty, mashed potatoes, Jell-O salad, and creamed peas. Tamara set her plate aside to keep the food warmed while she carried the tray in to her mother and sat on the edge of the bed to feed her, since her coordination was such that she could no longer feed herself.

  “Tell me what happened at the office today,” her mother requested between bites.

  Tamara hesitated, then decided it might be wise to lay some groundwork for what might become an eventuality. “Mr. Stein stopped by my office
this afternoon to tell me that the company is going to merge with Taylor Business Machines.”

  Her mother looked at her in surprise. “When?”

  “The end of the month, I guess.” She carefully schooled her expression to conceal her inner trepidations. “It came as a complete surprise to me, too. I knew Mr. Stein wasn’t happy about running the company,” she admitted as she spooned peas into her mother’s mouth. “To be truthful, he isn’t very good at it. He never even hinted that he was considering a move of this kind.”

  “Will it mean a promotion for you?”

  “It could.” A faint smile touched Tamara’s mouth. Leave it to her mother to find something good. “Or it might mean I won’t have a job. The new management might sweep me out when they take over.”

  “Do you think so?” her mother frowned.

  “It’s possible. But I’m not worried about it if they do,” Tamara insisted. “There is always a column in the classifieds filled with openings for experienced bookkeepers. I won’t have any trouble finding work.”

  “That’s true.” There was a pause before she asked, “When will you know?”

  “Not for a while. Probably not until next month.”

  Tamara didn’t mention her employer’s assurance that she would be guaranteed a job. There were certain things he didn’t know. Just as there were certain things she didn’t tell her mother, because she didn’t want her worrying—especially about their finances. Her mother still believed there was a little left from the inheritance she had received. She didn’t know Tamara had already gone through almost twice that sum, paying the various bills they owed.

  Her salary and the money she earned typing nights didn’t cover the mortgage payment on the house, the utilities, Sadie’s wages, and the groceries. But Tamara pretended to her mother that it did, with a little left over to pay toward the medical expenses. It eased her mother’s mind, and Tamara didn’t want her worrying about something she couldn’t help.

  “I feel very guilty sometimes,” her mother declared with an unexpected sadness in her usually cheerful expression. This statement took Tamara by surprise and the forkful of meat was stopped halfway to her mother’s mouth. “You are missing so many of the joys of being young because of me.”

  “Mother, please.” There was a lump in her throat that she had to swallow before she could continue. “I’m not complaining. I have the rest of my life to date, go to parties and dances.” She left unspoken that she might have only a few months more with her mother, the disease was progressing so rapidly.

  “I have been very blessed to have you.”

  Tears sprang into Tamara’s eyes and she turned her head to hide them from her mother. “I certainly hope so,” she declared, attempting to joke her way out of the very emotional moment.

  “You are conceited.” Her mother laughed as Tamara’s remark achieved the desired result.

  Chapter Two

  “It’s going to be a beautiful day.” Adam Slater sighed wistfully as he gazed out the window of the car. “I wish I were spending it on the golf course.”

  Bick Rutledge let his gaze slide from the flow of traffic to lazily rest on the accountant’s profile. “Instead of going over Signet’s books with Stein’s spinsterish paragon he keeps raving about.”

  “You sound skeptical of her ability. All the balance sheets and statements I saw looked like they were drawn up by a highly skilled professional,” Adam remarked with a questioning look.

  “Maybe. I’m just doubtful if Stein knows a good employee from a bad one. The company has been stagnant the last year and a half. It hasn’t shown any growth since his brother died. With those patents he owns, the business should have exploded. I don’t think Stein knows what he has.”

  “Had,” Adam corrected. “You own them now. And you didn’t tell him what they were worth.”

  “Stein got what he wanted. So did we.” Bick shrugged without a trace of guilt at the bargain he’d obtained.

  “Are you really going to keep his business going?” Adam studied the man behind the wheel.

  “For the time being. It will serve to handle our overflow while we weed out their employees.”

  “You promised Stein you’d keep everyone for a year,” Adam reminded him.

  “I’ll keep the good ones for a year, or longer. The bad ones will probably find the working conditions not to their liking and voluntarily quit.” His amused glance was knowingly shrewd.

  “How long have we known each other? Seventeen years, is it?” Adam answered his own question. “We roomed together at college, so I guess that must be right. Who would ever have thought back then that I’d be working for you someday?”

  “I wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t the best,” Bick stated, and slowed the car to turn into the parking lot of the Signet Company.

  “I know that,” Adam declared with a half-laugh. “I don’t mind working for you, but I’d sure as hell hate to do business with you.”

  “You make me sound like a villain.” His mouth quirked.

  “Not that. I just could never be as detached as you are in dealing with people … on a business level, that is,” he qualified the statement.

  Bick knew what Adam meant. Usually he kept the people he employed at a distance, rarely socializing with them. Because of their previous friendship, he permitted his guard to relax sometimes in Adam’s company, but never completely. Bick had learned quickly that employees tended to take advantage of friendships. So while he maintained a loose comradeship, part of him stayed aloof and wary.

  He’d been born at the top, inheriting the majority block of company shares from his mother. Even if he hadn’t, Bick knew he would have sought the position. The challenge of it was ample compensation for the loneliness of command that accompanied it. Bick didn’t consider himself to be an autocratic ruler. He was equally capable of joking and drinking with his men as he was giving them orders.

  “Where are we going to start our tour?” Adam asked when Bick parked the car in a stall reserved for visitors.

  “Might as well look over the sales department first. Hank’s already seen it, but I’ll be expected to put in my appearance there,” he murmured dryly.

  As he stepped out of the car, a transit bus pulled away from the corner. His attention was automatically transferred to the slim blond, who had obviously just gotten off the bus and was walking toward the main entrance. By the time Adam joined him, the girl was ahead of them. A whipping wind was plastering her blue cotton skirt to the back of her legs, suggestively outlining the slender curve of her hips. Bick would have been less than honest if he didn’t admit to liking what he saw.

  Her steps slowed as she appeared to be looking through her purse for something. They had nearly overtaken her when she dropped a set of keys onto the sidewalk and stooped to pick them up. As she straightened, the silk shawl that had been draped around her shoulders slipped to the ground. Bick reached for it before the summer wind could sweep it away.

  When she turned around, he felt his senses stir. She was a stunning creature—such blue eyes—and he’d bet his wallet the pale blond of her hair wasn’t the result of a bleach bottle. Her lips started to part in a smile of gratitude, then stopped. As she took the shawl from his outstretched hand, Bick let it trail through his fingers when he released it. Somehow he knew her skin would be just as smooth beneath those clothes.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He liked her voice—a low, silken sound. Bick knew he was staring, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He inclined his head in brief acknowledgment of her words, but she was already turning to open the door. He was too late to open it for her, and followed her through before it closed.

  “Excuse me, miss.” She stopped when he spoke and turned hesitantly to face him. Out of the corner of his eyes, Bick saw the glass-walled partition and the assortment of office machines beyond it, but he deliberately ignored it. “Which way is the sales department?”

  “Right through that door
.” She pointed to the glassed area, a set of keys jingling in her hand when she did.

  His gaze ran admiringly over her, noting the thrusting firmness of her breasts and the nipped-in slimness of her waist. “What is your name?” When his gaze returned to her face, it encountered an impenetrable wall of reserve. Her studied indifference immediately intrigued him even more.

  “I’m sure you’ll find someone to help you if you step through those doors.” She coolly ignored his question and pivoted on a slim heel to walk away.

  Adam exhaled a long breath beside him. “I never thought I’d live to see the day you would get the brush-off, Bick,” he murmured, then added to himself, “I wonder if I should tell Peggy that I finally met her.”

  “Met who?” Bick dragged his gaze away from the retreating figure to let it narrow on the head of his accounting staff.

  “Oh … uh.” Adam faltered as he realized he’d spoken aloud. “Peggy made me take a quiz that was in this magazine,” he explained, referring to his wife. “One of the questions asked if I had ever been unfaithful. I assured her that I hadn’t, because I’d never met a woman who had ever tempted me. But that one”—he glanced down the hallway where the blond had disappeared—“could lead me astray.”

  “Forget it,” Bick stated.

  “Why?” Adam smiled at him curiously.

  “Because if she goes out with anybody, it’s going to be me.” But as he said the half-joking sentence, Bick knew that he meant it.

  “I thought you … uh … made it a rule never to—”

  “You just saw the exception,” Bick interrupted, his voice smooth and calmly determined.

  Adam stared at him, then shook his head in a vaguely incredulous fashion. “You aren’t joking.”

  “I rarely joke about something I want.” A lazy, crooked smile slanted his mouth.

  “And you always get what you want, don’t you?” Adam seemed to marvel at the realization.

  “My grandfather gave me a piece of advice a long time ago. He said, ‘If you want to cross the street, cross it. If someone stands in your way, walk around them. If you can’t walk around them and you can’t persuade them to move out of your way, walk over them. But if you’ve made up your mind to cross the street, don’t let anyone stop you.’ In practice, it isn’t as ruthless as it sounds,” Bick concluded in a wry tone because of Adam’s apprehensive expression. “Come on.” He walked to the glass sales door. “Let’s get all these business formalities over with.”