Second Time Around

by Nancy Moser

  A response stuck in his throat.

  She took a few steps away from him, her arms crossed. “In fact, I think this would be a good time to clear up some of the plans you’ve made for our wedding.”

  “What are you talking about? There’s little to discuss. I’m taking care of everything.”

  “You’re taking care. Not we. Always you.”

  “I’m just trying to do things right. I have connections. And your father has given me free reign—”

  “My father sees you as the son he never had—and always wanted.”

  “That’s a bad thing?”

  “It is if you’re the invisible daughter.”

  A headache loomed. “Your father is laying down big bucks to give us the kind of wedding we want.”

  “You want. You’ve never asked me.”

  “Are you picking a fight with me?”

  She took a step toward him. “What are you going to do? Hit me?”

  What? “Millie. You don’t want to do this.” He’d never hit her. Ever. He wouldn’t hit a woman.

  He saw a flicker of doubt on her face before she raised her chin defiantly. “I’m tired of this conspiracy between you and my father, trying to control me.”

  She’d never objected before. In fact, Millie’s agreeable nature was one of the things David loved about her. She was a good woman, and an obedient daughter. She was a woman who knew where she belonged in the scheme of things. She’d make the perfect wife.

  She continued her ranting, not needing him to goad her on. “I am sick of you acting as if you know me, taking care of every detail. You’re loving me to death. You’re smothering me, David. I have opinions. I have dreams. And if we’re going to get married—”

  The “if” got his attention. “What do you mean, ‘if’?”

  She crossed to the door. “I’m not sure marriage is a good idea. For me to go directly from my parents’ home to yours…”

  “But where else would you go?”

  “I could get my own apartment. Live alone awhile.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, your father and I have an agreement.”

  Her laugh was bitter. “A business agreement. He wants you to take over his construction business as the son he never had. I’m merely part of the benefits package.”

  “That’s not true.” Not completely true. He moved toward her, his arms outstretched. “I love you, Millie. I adore you.”

  She spoke under her breath. “You want to possess me.”

  He stopped short of touching her. “You’re exaggerating again.”

  She glared at him. It was a look he’d never seen before. And it scared him.

  How had they gotten to this point? He tried to backtrack. “Millie, dear, let’s calm down. Don’t ruin the weekend I planned.”

  “You planned! You planned! Where was I in this planning?”

  “Right where you should be. By my side.”

  She laughed again. “Or two steps behind you.” She opened the door. “I have to get some air. Alone.”

  She slammed the door, leaving David staring at it. How dare she say these things after all he’d done for her? If it wasn’t for him planning the wedding—showing some good taste—they’d be having a tacky affair that would not speak well of his business. Her father’s business. Mariner Construction’s image. She was a sweet girl, but it really would behoove her to realize his talent in such things.

  He turned around and looked at the chair by the fireplace. He would settle in and wait for her. It wouldn’t take her long to realize what a fool she’d been.

  He took a step toward the chair when suddenly, the flash of an image invaded his mind and stopped him cold. The image of a car hurling off a cliff. A two-tone Calypso and Burma green car.

  Ridiculous.

  Or was it?

  He whipped around to the dresser. His keys were gone!

  He ran downstairs, burst through the front door, and down the porch steps. Millie was in the car, but she’d flooded it. He ran toward her through the rain. She saw him and her face contorted in panic. She fumbled for the lock, but he got to the door and yanked it open.

  “Leave me alone, David! Let me go!”

  Rain pelted them, as well as the car’s interior. He reached across, pushed her hand aside, and took the keys. She stared at her empty hand. Her shoulders dropped. She let out a breath. Good. She’d realized her foolishness.

  He pulled her from the car, relieved to be able to close the door against the rain. Logic said they should run, but David sensed Millie had no run left in her. He practically had to carry her up the front walk. “Now, now. I don’t know why you got yourself so worked up. Enough of this nonsense. Where were you going to drive anyway? As you said, it’s raining. It’s dangerous. You have no business being on the road. You could have been killed.”

  Her voice was a whisper. “I could have hurt your precious car.”

  As they reached the steps, Millie raised her face to the rain, forcing them to stop. What was she doing? “Come on, Millie. Don’t be stupid. You’ll catch your death.”

  She looked at him as if he’d said something profound, then lowered her head and let him lead her inside.

  “There. All cozy warm.” David gave Millie’s covers one final tuck. He placed his arms as posts on either side of her and leaned close. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. People don’t get cold feet seven months before the wedding.”

  Her eyes sparked. “So there’s a rule for that, too?”

  He let it go. He didn’t want to upset her again. “If you’re a good girl and go right to sleep, I won’t even tell your father.”

  She turned on her side, ruining all his hard tucking-in work. “Good night, David. Make sure the door’s locked on your way out.”

  He retrieved an afghan from the foot of the bed and moved to a chair by the window. “I’m not going out.”

  She bolted upright. “What?”

  He sat, draping the afghan around his legs. “I’ll sleep here tonight.”

  “No! I mean, there’s no need.”

  “I want you to feel safe and secure.”

  She hesitated, then managed a smile. “I’m… I’m fine. You paid for two rooms. It would be a waste of money for you to stay here.”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  She looked toward the door, then back at him. “But people will talk.”

  He conceded the point. “Yes, they might. But you know what they’ll say?”

  “No.”

  “They’ll say that David Stancowsky is a good fiancé who is willing to sacrifice his own comfort to be near his dear Millie. To make sure she feels loved.”

  She stared at the space between them a few moments, then fell back into the covers, pulling them to her chin.

  He stood. “Would you like me to tuck you in again?”

  She shook her head.

  He sat back in the chair. Her wish was his command.

  Eight

  No temptation has seized you

  except what is common to man.

  1 Corinthians 10:13

  Present-Day Montebello

  Toby Bjornson’s hand shook as he dialed the number. He hadn’t slept well for two nights. The first night was spent making a decision. The next morning he’d called in sick and spent most of that day as well as the night hustling up enough nerve to go through with it.

  He couldn’t wait any longer. Laney was only going to be gone a week on that Time Lottery thing. He had a lot to do before she came back.

  A woman answered, “WKRB, your leading news station. How may I help you?”

  “I…” He cleared his throat. “I need to speak to Diane Madison.”

  “Pertaining to what, please?”
>
  “Laney… Lane Holloway. I have information.”

  Her voice changed, sounding wary. “Ms. Madison is in a meeting. May I take a message?”

  “I need to talk to her. Now. She’ll want to talk to me.”

  “And why is that?”

  He took a fresh breath. “Because I’m Toby. Lane Holloway’s Toby.”

  A pause. Then, “Hold, please.”

  Toby laughed. This was going to be great.

  Atlanta

  Reporters and more reporters, all wanting to talk to him, Yardley Pruitt. It was very flattering, even if they only wanted to talk to him because his daughter was a Time Lottery winner. Why not take advantage of it? There should be some perk for being her father. He hadn’t talked to any of them yet but had spent last evening working up a statement, a press release that detailed their strong father-daughter relationship and explained how he, as a single father, had been the driving force in Vanessa’s life. He’d even managed to insert a mention of his business, Fidelity Mutual Bank.

  Ready to leave for work, he pulled the living-room curtain to the side and scoped out the front of the house. There were four reporters gathered near the row of oak trees that lined the street, or rather, three reporters and a TV cameraman. Yardley could easily go into the garage, get in his car, and back out without speaking to them. Or… he could exit through the front door and walk around to the garage. “Mr. Pruitt! Mr. Pruitt! Can we ask you a few questions?”

  Then, as the essence of graciousness, he would slip in his statement as if he was always this eloquent first thing in the morning. Perfect. He hadn’t gotten where he was without learning how to commandeer a moment. He was a master commander.

  He straightened his tie, took up his briefcase and keys, and exited the house through the front. Once outside, he turned his back to the street in order to lock the dead bolt, giving the reporters time to reach him. Photos against the majesty of his home would be ideal.

  The reporters did not disappoint but ran close, shouting their questions. “Mr. Pruitt! Mr. Pruitt! Can we ask you a few questions?” Had he pegged it, or what?

  He turned around and feigned a surprised look, then let it change to one of dignified cooperation. “Of course. I suppose I can spare a few minutes.”

  A pretty blond spoke into a microphone. “Your daughter went back to 1976 in order to spend time with your ex-wife, Dorian Pruitt Cleese. She must have been quite an amazing woman for Vanessa to use her one chance at the Time Lottery to visit her. Can you tell us about her and why your daughter did not have contact with her all these years?”

  Yardley found himself tongue-tied. They wanted to talk about Dorian?

  When he didn’t answer, another reporter asked, “Records indicate that your ex-wife recently passed away. And she’d remarried years ago—though her second husband is no longer living. Did you go to the funeral?”

  “No comment.” He turned his back on them, fumbled the key in the lock, and escaped inside the house.

  This was not what he had in mind. Not at all.

  It was all Vanessa’s fault.

  Kansas City

  Mac watched Toby Bjornson on the small TV in his office. This was not good. Not good at all. It was a blessing when they went to commercial.

  A moment later, Wriggens stormed in. He pointed at the TV. “You saw?”

  “I saw.”

  “What hole did he crawl out of?”

  “When Lane said his name at the press conference, I knew this was a possibility.”

  “Which is another point I’d like to talk to you about. I really would have liked to be consulted about her telling the press one decision while telling us something different.”

  “It was a last-minute request. I didn’t have time to consult you.

  “You didn’t make time.”

  And your point is…? Mac returned the subject to the issue at hand. He turned his back on the TV, facing Wriggens head-on. “Toby’s coming forward could be a plus if—”

  Wriggens’s laugh was not kind. “He’s a loser. He’s a construction peon. Probably makes five bucks an hour, and face it, clean shirt or no clean shirt, he’s a prime candidate for a makeover on one of those TV shows. Dirt-bucket was the description that came to mind.”

  It was apt.

  Wriggens began to pace in front of Mac’s desk. “The man’s an opportunist, plain and simple, grabbing his fifteen minutes of fame at the expense of our good image.”

  “We had those types last year,” Mac said. “Phoebe’s husband, Cheryl’s mother…”

  Wriggens handily ignored him. “This moron is trouble. Professing his undying love for his ‘Laney,’ offering all sorts of juicy details about their life back in Minnesota? I expect her lawyers to call any minute.”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  “Yeah? He says they were engaged.”

  Mac shook his head. “I don’t believe that’s true. I think Lane would have mentioned that. He’s got to be lying.”

  “Big surprise. But the trouble is, with Lane gone, he has free reign with her life. He can do and say what he wants.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “I had a more explosive way of expressing my concern, but yes, ‘oh dear.’ He could cause major damage in a week.”

  Mac rocked in his chair, trying to think. “Yet maybe… since it’s so obvious he’s a cretin… no one will believe anything he says. They’ll see him for what he is.”

  “And love him for it. Mac, face it. The American dream has evolved into every person having a right to bring others down to their level. He’s a working man, an everyday Joe—below an everyday Joe, if you ask me—but I’m not sure the public will make the distinction. He’s a man who once was in love with a megastar. She rose to high heights and he was left behind. Woe is he.”

  That was how Toby was playing it: Lane left him behind; he got the shaft.

  “And it was all Hollywood’s fault.” Wriggens raised a finger. “Never take the blame for anything, Mac. It’s always someone else’s fault. Personal accountability has become a four-letter word.”

  “Playing the blame game has become a national pastime.”

  “On that we do agree. And I especially like the part where he said he will be making himself available to Lane if she comes back. She went into the past to rekindle their love, and if she comes back, he’s ready, willing, and able to throw himself at her feet. Or in her bed.”

  “But she didn’t go back to be with him. She went back to skip the audition.”

  “The press doesn’t know that. Toby doesn’t know that.”

  Mac didn’t know what to say.

  Wriggens stopped pacing. “Fix it, Mac. ASAP.”

  “How? The damage is done.”

  “Find Toby. Get him to lay low and shut up.”

  “I repeat, how?”

  Wriggens turned toward the door. “Make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

  Where was Don Corleone when he needed him?

  Malibu

  “What the—?”

  Brandy couldn’t believe the throng of reporters that was camped in Lane’s driveway.

  Her husband hesitated at the street. “You want me to pull in?

  She wasn’t sure. “Why are they here? Lane’s gone for a week. Why are they staking out her house?”

  “You’re asking me to explain the workings of the media mind?” He pointed. “They’ve seen us. Do we take the defensive or offensive?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Well… I’ve always wanted to be offensive.”

  “Oh you. Go for it.”

  He revved the engine, making her feel as if their car were a bull getting ready to charge. “Here we go!” He pulled into the driveway and the reporters scattered, makin
g room while craning to see who they were.

  Randy turned off the car. “Let me get out first and come around to get you.”

  “Gladly.”

  As soon as he exited, they pummeled him with questions. He said nothing but helped her out, placing her under his protective wing.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What relation are you to Lane?”

  “Who are you?”

  That last question was repeated at least a dozen times. As soon as Randy had the front door unlocked, as soon as Brandy’s means of escape was secure, she turned to the reporters. “Who am I? I’m your worst nightmare if you do anything to harm the property or the reputation of Lane Holloway.”

  She closed the door on them, her heart pumping.

  Randy clapped. “You didn’t need me.”

  “I always need you. And never forget it.”

  Randy looked around and she realized it had been awhile since he’d been here. “Which bedroom are we painting?” he asked.

  “Hers.” Brandy led the way to the back of the house. “She’s had the paint and supplies for months, but getting a contractor in here who isn’t overly gaga, or one who doesn’t capitalize on the fact they worked on Lane Holloway’s home, is impossible.”

  “Who’s saying I won’t capitalize on it? Maybe I want to grab the spotlight like that Toby guy.”

  “I never did like Toby. Not really. He may have been slightly cute in 1987, but he was also an annoying little ferret.” In Lane’s bedroom, Brandy moved to open the blinds on the French doors leading to the balcony but, remembering the press, thought better of it. She flipped on all the lamps.

  “Not much light to work,” Randy said.

  “But enough?”

  He shrugged. “Where’s the paint?”

  She’d get to that. First, Brandy wrapped her arms around his neck. “Giving up your day for me… have I told you how much I adore you?”

  “Not today.” He accepted her kiss and gave her a few extra in return.

  Reluctantly, she let go and surveyed the room. “Lane will be so surprised.”