Make Time For Love

by Louise Clark

  Ava had been good enough to summon Faith to her office for a little ‘chat’, rather than chewing her out in the bullpen, but that small mercy was all she allowed. She reminded Faith that fixing computers was Cody Simpson’s job, not Faith’s. When Faith had tried to explain Cody’s position, Ava looked at her in a no-nonsense way and said simply that Faith must find a way to work with Cody.

  With a sigh Faith headed down the stairs, on her way to the kitchen. She loved her job, really she did, but there were times when she felt she would never fit in. Sooner or later Ava would notice that Faith wasn’t quite right for NIT’s new corporate culture, that she was a little odd. Then her job would be in jeopardy and the normal life she was trying to build would collapse around her.

  To ensure this didn’t happen Faith worked hard at being the best she could be. There were days, like today, when the strain took its toll. That was why she loved this old house. It was the place she felt free to be herself.

  It was also the bond that tied her to her eccentric and often annoying family.

  In the kitchen she crossed the tiled floor to the fridge, which stood on one side of the big room. Opening the door, she pulled out a bottle of spring water. She took a swig, then held the cold plastic against her flushed cheek. What was she going to do about Cody Simpson? The man was as impossible as he was gorgeous. He wasn’t going to rush down if she called, the way Sue Green did. He probably wouldn’t come down at all, making her do all the computer fixes. Yet if she spent the weeks of Sue’s recovery being the company computer troubleshooter she’d never get anything done.

  Look at today. The two hours she’d spent at Angela’s computer had snowballed, so that she ended up getting behind on her to-do list. That meant she was going to have to go in tomorrow to catch up. After all that had gone on today, she wanted to do nothing more than to have a quick dinner, then sit in front of the TV for an hour or so before she crawled into bed. Unfortunately she was expecting her mother and sister for dinner along with her most eccentric relative, Uncle Andrew.

  An hour and a half later, Faith, her sister Elizabeth, better known as Liz, and her mother Chloe were crowded around the circular oak table that filled the central portion of the big country kitchen staring dubiously at a freshly baked loaf of bread. The crust was a beautiful golden brown, the shape a perfect rectangle with a smoothly arched dome.

  “I’ve gone wrong somewhere.” A young looking fifty-six, Chloe poked at the loaf with her fingertip. Nothing happened. The bread was rock solid. “This will not do! I don’t have the option of producing dud loaves of bread. I’m going into a war zone—”

  “Perhaps you interfered with the rising process when you brought the dough from your place to mine,” Faith said.

  “I started late,” Chloe said. “There’s a lot to do to prepare before I go away. I lost track of time.” There wasn’t a hint of defensiveness in her voice. The statement was an observation, not an excuse.

  “Let someone else do the baking,” Liz suggested before she headed over to the counter. Like the other women, she boasted strong cheekbones and blond hair, but she lacked the long legs of her mother and sister.

  “The problem with these old cookbooks is that they aren’t precise. The recipes say things like ‘a pinch of salt,’ but how much is a pinch? Is it an eighth of a teaspoon? A sixteenth? Then there’s ‘a handful of nuts.’ What’s a handful? Your father’s handful? My handful? A child’s handful?”

  Faith made her hand into a fist and tapped on the loaf of bread with her knuckles. The solid ‘thunk’ could have come from a two-by-four. She flipped her long, golden hair behind one ear as she grinned at her mother. “I think it’s a process of trial and error, Mom. Anyway, you’ll be a visitor. No one will expect you to do the chores.”

  “Who knows what hardships Mary Byrne has had to endure? And since I must be with her always during my visit, I will have to endure them too.”

  Liz returned to the table, cutlery in her hand. “Faith, we’re using the good silver tonight, aren’t we?”

  Faith nodded. “We’ll use the bone china dishes too. You know Uncle Andrew, Liz. He loves to visit, but he’s not quite ready to accept twenty-first century manners.”

  “Not surprising,” said Chloe, a trifle tartly, still staring balefully at the loaf of bread, the symbol of her failure.

  “I think Uncle Andrew puts on all that old world charm,” Liz said. “Give him a t-shirt and jeans and he’d be just another good-looking guy.”

  “Not quite.” Resignation bound together with resentment sounded beneath Faith’s words. Uncle Andrew was not just an eccentric relative who lived in the area and liked to come to dinner, he was a man from the past. The year seventeen seventy-two, to be precise. And Faith was the reason he was able to move from his time into hers.

  Faith was a beacon. Her light shone brightly into the past and the future. In his own time, Andrew was a traveller, able to see the light and walk into it, and so into the future. The skill existed only within their family. Chloe was both a beacon and a traveller, but not all family members were endowed with the special talent. Liz was neither traveller or beacon.

  “Yeah, well—” Uncomfortable, Liz turned away. She began to lay the cutlery onto woven placemats. Opposite her, Chloe was hefting the loaf of bread up and down as if she was lifting weights. Liz shook her head. “You’re obsessing, Mom.”

  Chloe’s green eyes sparkled with annoyance. “I am an educated woman. I teach history at Harvard University. I am renowned in my field. Why is it impossible for me to successfully bake a loaf of bread?”

  “That’s why bread machines were invented, Mom,” Faith said as she rummaged in the fridge. “Let’s forget the homemade bread with dinner idea and concentrate on steak and salad instead. With winter over, but summer harvest not yet begun, Andrew always appreciates fresh meat and veggies. Bread is something he has aplenty.”

  “Why can’t I master a simple process, one my ancestors did without thinking? I’m an intelligent woman. I’m a good cook—”

  “That’s why you can be the one to barbecue the steaks, Mom,” Faith said, handing her mother a large packet of beautifully marbled beef.

  “Faith, didn’t you say you had a can of artichoke hearts?” Liz asked. “I thought I’d combine them with some of your spinach and make a dip for the corn chips.”

  “Check the pantry.” Faith drew spinach, butter lettuce, tomatoes, sweet peppers, and a cucumber out of the fridge.

  “Corn chips have transfats,” Chloe said gloomily as she pulled the plastic wrap off the disposable tray holding the prime rib steaks. “Andrew’s body is used to heavy doses of saturated fats in the meat he eats.” She plopped the well-marbled beef onto a plate. “We’re altering the man’s normal diet. We’re probably ensuring that he’ll die before his time.” She rubbed seasoning salt into the meat.

  Faith looked pointedly at the steak on which Chloe was now shaking a light coating of cayenne pepper. “You think heavy doses of spices are part of Uncle Andrew’s normal diet?”

  “He uses spices when he can get hold of them,” Chloe protested, wiping her hands on the bib apron she wore to protect her brightly patterned dress.

  “These are organic corn chips,” Liz said, busy with her dip. “They aren’t fried with hydrogenated oils. They’re baked. Uncle Andrew will be fine.”

  Chloe looked at her watch. “It’s six-thirty. When do you think he’s going to want dinner?”

  Faith cocked her head, listening. “I don’t hear the shower. He’s probably primping in the bathroom by now. He told me he wants to be home by eight o’clock, so why not aim for seven, Mom.”

  Liz shot her a questioning look. “That’s pretty early for Uncle Andrew to leave—usually when he has dinner with us he stays for a longer visit. What’s up?”

  “There’s a dance or something tonight and he thinks his new neighbors from Boston will be going.” Faith paused for effect, then added, “He wants to flirt with the daughter.”

>   “Oh,” said Chloe, sounding intrigued and wise at once.

  Liz laughed. “Do you think—”

  Faith nodded. The three Hamilton women stared at each other, eyes bright with amusement and anticipation.

  Liz said, “Oh, wow.”

  They were all laughing when a good-looking young man sauntered into the room. His long dark hair was damp, tied at the nape with a black velvet ribbon. The style should have looked effete, but with his muscular build he was able to carry off the fashion. Besides, it went with the black velvet breeches and fine linen shirt with the lace ruffles at the wrists.

  “Well met, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, kissing her cheek. She hadn’t yet arrived when he’d shown up earlier.

  “Hey there, Andrew.” Liz returned the kiss, then stood back to gave him a visual once over. “I hear you’re going to a party tonight.”

  He nodded, smiling a wolf-grin of anticipation. “All the landowning families in Lexington plan to attend. I will be the best dressed there. Thanks,” he added, “to Faith’s bathing accommodations and cleaning facilities.”

  Chloe stiffened. She shot her daughter an accusatory look. “You took Andrew’s suit to the dry cleaners?”

  “He dropped it off last week.” Faith met her mother’s gaze with defiantly raised eyebrows.

  “I have been planning this evening for some time,” Andrew said. There was a gleam in his eyes that suggested he wasn’t about to be stopped.

  Chloe rinsed her hands in the sink and dried them in an agitated way. “You know we cannot interfere!”

  Faith put her hands up, palm forward. “Look, Mom, I didn’t think it would hurt. I mean, I feed Uncle Andrew most Fridays and he washes with my cranberry soap when he showers. Where do I draw the line?”

  Chloe stared at her eldest daughter from beneath her brows, a look she’d perfected when the girls were small and needed to be disciplined. Then she relented. Shrugging, she said, “Balancing past and present is an art, not a science. You must do what you think is right.”

  Uncle Andrew smiled broadly. “I am much relieved to hear you say that, Madam.”

  Chloe shot him a fierce look. “You,” she said, wagging her finger at him, “are not to lead my daughter into mischief.”

  Andrew inspected the fall of lace at his wrist the way a man wearing French cuffs might check the set of his cufflink. “You may depend upon me, Madam.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Liz.

  Uncle Andrew laughed.

  Chloe said stiffly, “I certainly hope so, Andrew.”

  Faith sighed. “This is all way too complicated.”

  Chapter 3

  “I’m late!” Chloe Hamilton breezed into Faith’s office, a small cubicle that boasted a window overlooking the parking lot and a solid panel door that closed it off from the action in the bullpen and gave Faith a privacy she valued greatly.

  Faith logged off her computer. “Only by an hour, Mom.”

  “I’m sorry, honey!” Her hair drawn back in a smooth bun that exposed the lovely bones of her face, Chloe was dressed in a tailored jacket and floor-length skirt in subdued grey wool. Though the clothes were a far cry from her usual choice of vivid colors, the costume could do little to hide the energy that radiated from her.

  Faith hugged her, loving the warmth and life that was so much a part of her mother. “Come on, let’s get going. I’m starved and I know you’ve got a deadline to keep.” She slipped a light jacket from a hook on the back of her door. “When does your flight for Washington leave?”

  “At four o’clock,” Chloe said as they walked through the bullpen to the exit.

  “That means you’ll get into Washington at rush hour. Lucky you. It will probably take longer for you to get downtown than to fly in from Boston,” Faith said as they emerged from the NIT suite.

  “Probably. Thank heavens I’m not taking any luggage. That would really hold me up. Still, I’ve got plenty of time. Mary Byrne has promised to join me at the special place at eight o’clock. I think I’ll have dinner at a nice restaurant before I meet her.”

  They walked down the corridor toward the lobby. “You know, Mom, I’m not comfortable with you going to DC for this trip. What happens if there’s a problem? What if Mary Byrne isn’t there? Or there’s a pile up on the highway and traffic backs up so that you can’t make your meeting on time? What do you do then?”

  “I get a hotel for the night and then I try again the next day. It’s all been arranged, Faith. Trust me!”

  Easy to say. Chloe was travelling back into the past to Washington during the Civil War years. She would be completely out of touch, reliant on their ancestor from that time to protect her. Anything could happen and there was nothing Faith could do to stop it.

  They reached the lobby. It was a small area, hardly more than a widening of the hallway. On one wall were two utilitarian elevators and an open stairway that led to the second floor. Between the elevator doors was a signboard identifying the building’s tenants. “I do, Mom. It’s just that—”

  Footsteps sounded on the staircase. Faith closed her mouth on what she’d planned to say as a male figure emerged from the upper level, running lightly down the stairs. Seeing the two women he hesitated briefly, then he flashed a grin and said, “Hi.”

  Black hair, blue eyes, muscles in all the right places, Faith knew that her mother would approve of Cody Simpson as a man. She might even consider him prime son-in-law material. That made Faith uneasy, because Cody was not only the sort of man she avoided socially, but he was the worst kind of coworker. Angela’s computer had broken down twice since she had gone up to his office to ask for his help and twice he hadn’t responded. She’d had to risk raising Ava Taylor’s ire by fixing the machine herself.

  “Hi,” she said back, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice the reserve in her voice and question her on it.

  He swept Faith with a look that catalogued every part of her, from head-to-toe. “Nice day, isn’t it?” Then he deliberately looked from Faith to Chloe, his eyebrows raised.

  Very much aware that the slacks she was wearing did little to minimize her height and that her blond hair had started to stray from the restraints that kept it in a tight chignon, Faith wished she knew some way of escape. She didn’t want to introduce Cody to her mother, who she knew would be intrigued by him. She also knew Cody expected to be introduced and that he wouldn’t understand why a casual, ‘Cody this is my mother, Chloe. Mom, this is Cody Simpson,’ left her frozen in terror. Each and every one of the good manners drilled into her from the time she was tiny was actively demanding she make the simple introduction. Every survival instinct was fighting back, just as intensely, telling her that she’d be a fool to open that door, even a crack.

  She swallowed hard, avoided Cody’s eyes, ignored the surprised curiosity emanating from her mother, and said, “Yup.”

  Cody raised his brows, then shrugged. “See you later, then.”

  “Sure,” Faith said, hoping she wasn’t blushing.

  Cody nodded and headed off toward the NIT offices. Faith shoved open the door.

  Outside Chloe said cheerfully, “What a gorgeous male. Who is he?”

  Faith shrugged. “Our new systems guy. He lives upstairs so we hardly ever see him.”

  “You know him then?”

  Faith debated telling her mother about the battle she and Cody were having, then decided now was not the time. She shook her head. “Not really.” A wash of heat told her that now she really was blushing.

  Chloe didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did, because she laughed and said, “Well from his expression I think this Cody Simpson would very much like to know you better. Much better.”

  “Mom!”

  Chloe chuckled again. “You may not want to admit it, my beautiful daughter, but you have had boys falling over themselves trying to get you to notice them since you were five years old. This one is no different.”

  Faith shot her mother a sideways look as they headed toward The Sandwich
Hut, a favorite hangout for the NIT staff. “Mom, I was a wallflower in school. Liz was the one the boys all fell over themselves trying to attract. Remember? Let’s talk about something else.”

  Chloe paid no attention. “Not so! I saw what you would not, my darling daughter. You scared those boys off. Males look at the package. If they like it, they probe further. If they don’t they move on. Your package is very nice, Faith. You have beautiful skin, gorgeous long, blonde hair, and beautiful grey-green eyes a man could drown in—”

  Faith squared her shoulders as she stared straight ahead. “I am so not comfortable with this conversation.”

  “With you, men look, then they want to sample,” Chloe continued, mischievous amusement now coloring her voice. “It’s not until you’ve snapped or growled at them a few times that they decide, nice as the wrapping is, it’s too much like work to discover what’s inside. That’s why they abandon the effort.”

  “I’m not a package, Mother! I’m a person and deserve to be treated as one.”

  “Oh, don’t give me the feminist line! I’m a child of the ’60s, remember? I was a pioneer in the feminist movement. I’ve lived the feminist philosophy. That doesn’t stop me from realizing that sex motivates all of us, but it motivates men differently than women. That gorgeous male animal we just spoke to is intrigued by your package. Play your cards right and he might want to tear off the wrappings to see what lies beneath.”

  The Sandwich Hut loomed, growing closer with each step. Faith groaned. “Mom, could we talk about something else when we get to the restaurant? Just in case someone from work happens to be there. Or comes in while we’re eating. I don’t really want to become the latest hot topic in the office gossip mill.”