by Carol Rose
"How dare you do this?" Elinor stormed into the room after her brief hesitation, slapping the newspaper down on top of the litter of papers on his desk.
Cole leaned back in his chair, an amused gleam in his eyes. "Good morning to you, too, El."
"Do you think all you have to do is wave your checkbook and people will bow down to you?"
He looked at her a long moment without answering, his gaze lingering on her heated face.
"Well?" she burst out.
Getting up, Cole walked around the desk and closed his office door. "I assume," he commented, turning to face her, "that you're a little upset over the Whittier escrow account."
"Upset? I'm furious! How could you set this up and name me as trustee without asking me?"
"I thought you were the best person for the job." His eyes twinkled. "I can personally vouch for your incorruptibility."
Elinor felt her temperature rise. No man had ever gone further in corrupting her than Cole Whittier.
"Why don't you just call this escrow account a bribe?" she asked scornfully, trying to ignore the hyper beat of her heart.
The office was small, occupied by a desk and a few chairs. Cole leaned with his back against the door, so close to where she stood that her every breath drew in the clean smell of his soap.
"Now why," Cole murmured meditatively, "did I think you'd like the idea of a million-dollar escrow account set up for the citizens of Bayville?"
"You thought everyone would go weak in the knees at the possibility of getting their hands on all that money," she tossed back at him as he moved toward her.
"It would only be used in the unlikely event of a catastrophe at the plant," he mentioned, stopping less than a foot from where she stood.
"Don't be ridiculous," Elinor exclaimed, taking an involuntary step backward. "Cleaning up a toxic spill could take ten million, not to mention the irreparable harm to people's lives."
"The escrow account is a good-faith pledge," he murmured, his dark blue eyes roaming over her face with an avidity that unsettled her heart rate even further. "My plant presents no danger to the community."
"That may very well be," she said, trying to even her tone as she backed up another step. "But it's your attitude about money that's really the issue here."
"El," he said tiredly. "If I treasure money so much, why am I giving it away?"
She blinked, hesitating a moment. That particular angle hadn't occurred to her.
Cole smiled at her encouragingly as her brain raced furiously, wheels spinning in the mud for a minute before it engaged again.
"It sounds like a good bluff to me," she claimed, regaining her balance. "You say the money's there in the event of a catastrophe that won't happen. You just want to sway the people of Bayville with your money."
He was too close. Elinor considered sitting down in one of the uncomfortable-looking chairs in front of his desk. If she sat down, maybe he'd return to his chair behind the desk.
He might, however, choose to sit in the chair next to her, and then they'd be practically sitting in each other's laps. She decided to remain standing, fighting to stay focused on the conversation.
"I'm using my money to sway them by trying to assure them of my concern for their safety?" Cole asked, his voice dropping into the now-familiar velvet range.
Goosebumps shivered over her skin. Elinor swallowed as a sudden flash of heat shimmered through her body.
"If you really want to assure us of that, why don't you publish your safety record in the Sentinel?" she shot out, refusing to acknowledge her body's reaction to him.
Cole's gaze remained level on her face. "Is there anything that will make you trust me, El?"
She met his eyes, startled by a shadow of something in them. Wariness? Cole wasn't a cautious man. In the past she'd always gotten the impression that he enjoyed crossing swords with her.
Looking into his eyes at that moment, she'd have sworn he was sincere.
Sincerity is a salesman's best weapon. Her father's words flashed through her mind. He'd said them in some drunken fit of loquaciousness, intent on passing on his wisdom, she supposed.
"What will it take, Elinor, to make you trust me?" he asked again.
She couldn't let him do it. Couldn't let him take her poor, gullible heart without a fight.
"Bankruptcy?" she tossed back, determined not to let him see how shaken she was by the emotions raging between them.
Cole shook his head slowly. "I'd still be the same man, bankrupt or not."
"Maybe so," she admitted, the tang of sorrow flooding her. Men obsessed with money didn't stop being obsessed because they no longer had money. Both her father and grandfather had lost great wealth. It had changed neither for the better.
She thought of Cole chasing success his entire life and ending up like her grandfather somewhere down the line. Empty and disconnected from loved ones.
"I don't think there's any way to change what's between us," Elinor said, keeping her voice steady. "But you might try playing it straight with the town."
Cole's eyes darkened, and she recognized his anger as he reached for her, his hands closing around her upper arms. "I've never been anything but straight with the people of Bayville."
"Cole . . ." she protested, suddenly weak as he pulled her against him.
"We're going to sort this out, Elinor," he promised, his mouth inches away from hers.
The deep, drugging scent of him filled her senses, heat radiating from the nearness of his body. Elinor felt her chin tilt up in mute, involuntary invitation.
A thundering knock reverberated on the door. Immediately, the door banged open.
Elinor froze as Cole glanced over his shoulder, his arms tightening when she instinctively tried to pull away.
"Cole!" Mayor Stephens burst into the room, stopping abruptly at the sight of Elinor in Cole's arms. "My God, boy. I didn't mean to interrupt anything."
"Then you might want to wait till your knock is answered," Cole mentioned with admirable restraint.
He loosened his grip as Elinor squirmed in his arms, her face warm with embarrassment. By stepping away quickly, she managed to evade his grasp altogether when Cole would have tucked her against his side.
"I'm sorry, Cole." The mayor winked lasciviously, a chuckle shaking his well-padded body. "I didn't know you had such a pretty little visitor so early this morning."
It was too much for Elinor. "I've got to go," she mumbled, dodging Cole's reach for her as she slipped past the mayor's bulky form.
"Elinor!"
She didn't even turn around, speeding down the hall as she prayed that Cole wouldn't embarrass them both by following her.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. She met with clients, rescued misplaced payroll data and tried once again to explain to Minnie Gray that she really could trust the "save" function on her computer.
Lunch got preempted by an emergency that called her away from the last emergency. By three o'clock, Elinor finally managed to wind up the last of it and head back to her car. She wanted nothing more than to escape to her office and delve into the new accounting program that Dave Higgens had bought on the home shopping network. At least it might amuse her.
She reached her car, her arm aching from carrying her briefcase. Plunking the case down, Elinor dug through it to find her car keys. Straightening, she inserted the key in the car door . . . and froze.
On the driver's seat of her car rested a single rose, its pale golden petals just unfurling. Beside the rose lay a scroll of papers tied up with a gold ribbon.
Elinor pulled the key out of the lock and tested the door. It was locked, just as she remembered leaving it.
Fingers trembling, she unlocked the door and reached in, lifting the fragile flower to her cheek. A deep, clinging scent drifted up to enthrall her. She held the flower, staring down at the scroll.
A few seconds later, curiosity compelled her to tug the ribbon loose. The papers sprang open in her hands.
&n
bsp; Safety reports on all of Whittier Incorporated's seven manufacturing plants.
Cole lifted the coffee cup and set it back down. It had been twenty-four hours since Elinor had found his peace offering.
The silence was getting hard to take. By his best estimate, she should have volleyed back a shot by now. He moved the coffee cup aside in disgust. The art of negotiating had always been his long suit. Until Elinor. Nowadays his nerves of steel seemed more like steel wool. Then again, he'd never contemplated marriage before.
The woman left him feeling itchy and unsettled. He wasn't accustomed to failure, but that wasn't the biggest blow. Apparently, he was losing more than his shirt on this one.
The phone rang, drawing his attention back to his makeshift office. He'd accepted the mayor's offer of office space more out of politics than anything else.
Cole stretched an arm out to snag the receiver just as the phone rang again.
"Whittier."
"Sir?" Brinkman's voice seemed tentative.
"Yes." Cole leaned back in his chair. He'd almost forgotten. Today was Elinor's deadline. Brinkman must have heard from her. "What's the word, Brinkman?"
"It's not good, sir." The broker sounded disgusted.
"She turned it down?"
"Actually, sir, we've hit a snag and she's not going to give us an answer for another few weeks."
"What snag?" Cole frowned as his fingers tightened on the receiver. The longer this thing dragged out, the harder it would be to pull off.
"The old man died this morning."
"What?" Cole bolted in his chair. "Daniel Prescott died?"
"Yes, sir. I just got a call from the old man's servant." Brinkman's voice was laced with nothing more than irritation. "It looks like we're going to have to give the granddaughter a few days to bury the old guy."
"I'll get back to you, Brinkman." Cole reached for his jacket. "Don't do anything. Don't bother Ms. Prescott in any way."
"Of course not," Brinkman said, sounding aggrieved. "I do have some finesse."
"Good," Cole responded before hanging up.
Rushing out of the office, he pulled on his jacket as he went.
Elinor had come back to Bayville to be close to her last living relative. And now Daniel Prescott was dead.
Cole knew his presence might be more of an irritant to her, but there was no way he was going to let Elinor deal with this alone.
He drove through the familiar streets, lined with tall live oaks that filtered the afternoon sun, his mind struggling to grasp the reality. Daniel was dead. Even though he'd known the old man was in ill health and had witnessed his attempt a few days ago to make peace with the past, it still didn't seem possible.
Leaving the blacktopped road, Cole turned up the drive to Oakleigh without hesitation. He knew Elinor would be there.
He rounded the long driveway and pulled up in the old carriage yard next to a late-model car he didn't recognize.
The old plantation house looked worn and sad in the waning afternoon light. Silent and abiding, it seemed untouched by human misfortune.
Cole walked across the uneven turf to the steps, wondering in what condition Daniel had left his affairs. Would Elinor be overwhelmed with the debts of her grandfather's untidy life? More importantly, would she let Cole help her with it?
The front door stood open, revealing the great empty hall. Cole stepped inside, his gaze drawn to the right, to Daniel's room. From the hall, he could see the curtains drawn back and the windows thrown open as if the room had been scrubbed clean.
On the other side of the hall, Cole heard voices from the study. The door opened then and he saw Elinor inside, her face somber and intent as she conferred with Charlie. Her eyes never lifted from his face, and Cole knew that she hadn't realized he was there.
The old man said something in a low voice and Elinor nodded several times. When she turned back and addressed someone else in the room, Charlie stepped out, shutting the door behind him.
"Mr. Cole," the old man said, his step firm and his face empty as he crossed the dull, marble floor.
"I'm sorry, Charlie." Cole reached out, grasping Charlie's strong, thin one in his.
"He was a tiresome, worn-out old man with a wicked temper," Charlie said, his dark brown eyes damp. "The devil will have too much trouble with him to keep him long."
A low laugh rippled out of Cole, his grip tightening on the older man's hand. "You're probably right, Charlie. You're probably right."
"Miss Elinor's in there with the undertaker makin' die funeral arrangements. He's promised her to have Mr. Prescott ready for the funeral tomorrow afternoon."
"I'm sure it will be a relief to get everything taken care of," Cole responded.
"Yes, sir. It will. And there's lots to take care of. Miss Elinor's hands are full."
"Don't worry about Elinor," Cole said. "I'll stay and walk her home."
"You do that." Charlie nodded. "I have some things to do."
After Charlie left, Cole strolled through the open doorway onto Oakleigh Is gallery. An ancient bench sat to one side of the door, its once-white paint now grayed and flaking.
Brushing off the surface grime, Cole sat down on the bench to wait for Elinor. The deep gallery possessed a shaded coolness that he remembered from younger days. Its comfort seeped into him as the shadows from the great columns slowly crept across the gallery's stone floor.
Eventually, he heard a door open inside the house, and recognized Elinor's voice as she walked the undertaker to the door.
"Yes, I believe we discussed everything." Her pleasant tone was unfailingly polite.
"I'm sure it will be a lovely service," another voice said in a deeply reassuring manner.
Elinor stepped through the doorway, her back to Cole as she ushered the funeral director out.
A small, nattily attired man, he took her proffered hand with reverence. "Miss Prescott, I wish to offer once again my deepest sympathy. Your grandfather was a tremendously important man to our community. His loss will be greatly felt."
She seemed to hesitate before shaking his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Lebow. I'm sure my grandfather would appreciate your kind words."
The older man bowed slightly then before assuring her there was no need to escort him to his car.
Cole watched Elinor silently as she remained standing by the door, her hand raised in final farewell to the funeral director.
"Your grandfather would have despised Lebow's 'kind' words," Cole remarked.
Elinor started when she heard his voice. She pivoted around, staring at him without expression.
He smiled. "I've been waiting to take you home."
~~~********~~~
Seven
They walked in silence, the only sound made by the damp sighing of last year's fallen leaves beneath their feet and the hum of honey bees among the shrubs. Cole strolled along, not prying into Elinor's abstraction.
The sunlight fell through the sheltering trees in long bars of gold, filtering through the leaves with shifting beams. Cole watched the play of light on Elinor's chestnut hair, setting the golden strands afire.
This path would forever evoke her presence for him, he knew. The sweet scent of honeysuckle sifted up to him, no more captivating than the scent of her in his arms.
"The hardest thing about Grandfather's death," Elinor said at last, her face troubled, "is that so few people will actually grieve for him."
"Charlie will," Cole offered even though he knew what she meant. Daniel Prescott hadn't endeared himself to many people. Old Charlie had lived his life taking care of Daniel. That kind of investment left its mark, even if you didn't particularly like a person.
"Yes," she agreed, reaching to tug a leaf off a nearby shrub. "But who other than Charlie and me?"
She sighed deeply when Cole didn't immediately answer. "Do you know that in the two years I lived here, my grandfather only really talked to me once?"
"The other day when I was here?" Cole guessed, feeling both sad
ness and anger that Daniel had ignored Elinor's love.
"Yes, that was the only time he actually seemed to see me as a person," she confirmed, her voice unhappy. "You know, Cole, I feel as if I should grieve his loss and miss him. But what I feel most is sad for what might have been."
"That's only natural." Cole shrugged. "You tried to be there for him, but he wouldn't allow it."
"I know." Her face was shadowed. "But it doesn't seem right to grieve for a selfish reason."
"You don't have a selfish bone in your body, El."
She glanced up at him. "Yes, I do. Grandfather's death leaves me feeling ... rootless, disconnected. My mother's parents both died before I knew them. They had no other children. Grandfather was the only family I have."
"I know," Cole said softly. He reached for her hand, weaving his fingers with hers.
"So here I am mourning my solitary state," she said, "when I should be grieving my grandfather."
"El, that's only natural," he insisted rationally. "You can't manufacture feelings you don't have."
"Maybe," she acknowledged with a sigh. "But I wish I'd tried harder to reach him."
They fell silent, Cole battling with an insane desire to strangle a dead man. Elinor's guilt made no sense. She'd done more for the old man than most people would. Certainly, more than Daniel's own son.
But then, Elinor was making it a point not to live by Jeffrey's example.
She felt alone, she'd said. Disconnected. Cole drew in a deep breath, looking up into the canopy of trees that stretched overhead. The word jarred in his head—disconnected.
Walking here beside her, Cole had never felt more connected to anyone in his life. And he was achingly aware that when she knew the truth about Oakleigh's buyer, she might never speak to him again.
Their steps brought them to the last corner in the path. The cottage was just up the walk.
When they reached the steps, Cole stopped abruptly, tugging Elinor to a halt beside him. She looked up in surprise, her hazel eyes clouded with emotion.
"El . . ." He gathered her into his arms. "You aren't alone."
He lowered his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss, a soft whisper of reassurance that ignored the flare of passion inside him. She didn't resist, but just stood in his arms, seeming to absorb his touch without question.