The Lyon Legacy

by Peg Sutherland

  “That’s so sad.” Leslie’s heart went out to him. “I feel sorry for the grandmother, but I’m sure you did the right thing.”

  “Yeah, well...” He took a swallow of his drink. “Cornelia’s got more money than sense—enough to buy a lot of lawyers if she decides to make a fight of it.”

  “I have a feeling you’re a very good father.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I try, but I’ve got to admit Cornelia’s right about one thing. Cory does need a mother. Failing that, Cornelia thinks a grandmother is the next best thing.”

  “Your mother-in-law would have a hard time winning custody if Cory had a mother. Have you considered marrying again?”

  He looked grim. “I’ve considered it, but not favorably. Marriage is not my favorite institution, in case you hadn’t read between the lines. My marriage was not exactly made in heaven. We loved each other—at first, anyway—but ambition and...other things got in the way.”

  “Her ambition?” Leslie guessed. Her second glass of wine was making her braver.

  “That’s right.” His level gaze didn’t falter.

  “So you’ll never marry again, despite the obvious benefits to a man in your situation.”

  “Never say never.” His mouth tilted up in an adorably crooked grin. “Cory needs a mother, with or without her grandmother causing trouble, but I definitely don’t need another wife. I got carried away once by love—or lust, moonshine, whatever you want to call it—and I don’t intend to let that happen again. I can’t imagine any woman would settle for less.”

  “You...might be surprised.”

  “Anything’s possible. If I could find a woman who’d love my daughter without driving me crazy in the bargain...” He shrugged. “I’m loosin’ my grip here, talking to you like this, but the holidays always seem to make me a little desperate.”

  How well she knew that feeling. “M-maybe there’s a way,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MICHAEL GAZED AT HER quizzically. Leslie Lyon was an intelligent woman, but the solution to this particular problem didn’t exist.

  She licked her lips and drew a shallow, nervous breath. Although they’d been conversing easily up to this point, she didn’t seem able to meet his gaze now.

  Still looking down, she mumbled something unintelligible.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “I said—” she looked up and met his eyes “—what about me?”

  “What about you?”

  “I like children. I love children.”

  Shocked, he said, “Are you talking marriage?”

  She flinched as if the m-word startled her. “I guess m-maybe I am. It would make your position stronger with Cory’s grandmother and the law, in the event of a c-custody battle.”

  He stared at her, mouth open in astonishment, while she rushed on nervously.

  “And it would also shield you from p-predatory females like Kate.” She looked positively indignant when she added that.

  She was trying to help him, in a sense offering herself as a solution. He simply couldn’t believe she’d settle for so little. But then, he’d never imagined this self-effacing woman could look so fiercely determined, either. Perhaps he’d misjudged her.

  He gave a low chuckle meant to diffuse an increasingly tense situation. “That might solve my problem, but I can’t see that there’s anything in it for you.”

  “Do you consider survival ‘anything’? Because that’s what’s in it for me.”

  She’d caught him by surprise and he said, “I’m afraid you lost me there.”

  She sighed. “I don’t think I’ll s-survive my family’s extravagant plans for the anniversary celebration without someone I can count on to help me through,” she said in a trembling voice. “You saw me at the press conference. If you hadn’t been there—”

  “I didn’t really do anything,” he interrupted. “You’re the one who mastered the fear.”

  She shook her head. “Michael, I was ready to turn and run until I saw you. You seemed to know exactly what I was going through and somehow you g-gave me strength to muddle through.”

  “You didn’t muddle, Leslie. You gave a beautiful speech.”

  “Not beautiful...but with you pulling me along, I at least got through it without breaking into tears or running from the room. My s-stammer...”

  “I’d never noticed it before,” he admitted. “Does it only hit when you have to speak in public?”

  “It h-hits me when I’m n-nervous.” She shrugged and raised an eyebrow. “Like now. This is the first t-time I’ve ever proposed marriage to anybody.”

  Her sense of humor was reasserting itself, thank God. “You didn’t exactly do that,” he said. “As I recall, I’m the one who actually mentioned the word, but I—”

  “Please don’t go on,” she interrupted quickly. “I see I’ve embarrassed us both. It’s too ridiculous to consider.” She gave him a strained smile. “It must be the wine.”

  “I hope not I’d like to think it was a sincere gesture of friendship.”

  “That, too.”

  “Don’t give it another thought, then. I know it was just an impulsive gesture on your part. After all, you have a life of your own.”

  “Not really.” She looked at him, then turned anguished brown eyes away. “There hasn’t been anyone special in my life for a very long time. You wouldn’t be depriving me of anything.”

  “I can’t believe that. You’re young and well-educated and pretty—”

  “I’m thirty years old, thirty pounds overweight and plain as an old sh-shoe. I will accept well-educated, however.”

  “Leslie...” He smiled and reached out without thinking to pick up her hand from the table between them. Her flesh was icy and he chafed her fingers lightly. “Somewhere along the line, your self-confidence got stepped on in a big way. I’ve never known anyone with so much going for her who had so little grasp of the obvious.”

  She gave a breathless little laugh and her fingers convulsed around his. “I don’t know how you do it, Michael. You can say outrageous things like that and somehow manage to sound sincere.”

  “I am sincere.”

  “All right, we’ll let that go for the moment. I just want you to understand I value our f-friendship and hope I haven’t messed it up.”

  “You haven’t. It’s just that...” He quirked one eyebrow. “A marriage of convenience to the boss’s daughter? Don’t you think that might make me look a tad opportunistic?”

  “Only if I’m such a dog that absolutely nobody can see any other reason you’d choose me,” she shot back, color washing over her cheeks. “In which case I—”

  “Another round here?” The waitress appeared at their table.

  Michael shook his head. “Not for me. Leslie?” He released her hand and sat back again.

  “I think I’d like dessert,” she said quickly. “Do you mind, Michael?”

  “Not at all. I’ll join you.” Although he didn’t want to. He wanted to be alone to try to figure out what had happened here tonight. Because the idea, crazy as it was, had a certain appeal....

  “Crème brûlée,” Leslie told the waitress, “and a cup of coffee, please.”

  Michael ordered bread pudding, a popular New Orleans dessert, and coffee. When they were once more alone, he said, “So why are you so nervous about public speaking? Seems to me that someone with your bloodline...” Then he stopped, disconcerted, realizing belatedly how daunting it would be to have the Voice of Dixie in the family.

  LESLIE HAD NEVER SPOKEN to anyone about these things. Just thinking about doing so now made her squirm. But if she could get up the nerve to all but offer herself to this fantastic man, she could surely manage to answer his questions.

  “I’m not really a Lyon,” she began. “Did you know that? So it’s not a matter of bloodline. I’ve had the stammer for as long as I can remember. My parents...well, André’s my stepfather. I never knew my real father. Anyway, my parents took me to a
ll kinds of specialists and the answer was always the same—leave her alone and she’ll grow out of it.” She curved her lips in a wry smile. “My mother is constitutionally unable to leave anything alone, unfortunately.”

  “She is a powerhouse,” Michael agreed diplomatically.

  “And she means well,” Leslie added quietly. “But it was hard for her to see a child she loved floundering the way I did. Plus I was...Grandmère called me pleasingly plump, but it didn’t please me. I was also shy—a triple threat.”

  She looked at him helplessly. “In short, I was a mess—but I was a smart mess. I worked hard and made good grades in school and I minded my manners. But every time I had to speak to more than two people at a time, I stammered or, even worse, froze up entirely.”

  He shook his head. “Poor you.”

  The waitress arrived with their desserts, giving her time to compose herself to go on. Picking up her spoon, she stared down with distaste at the creamy custard topped with caramel. For the first time within memory, a sweet did not appeal to her.

  Instead of eating, she talked. “By the time I got to high school, I had pretty much learned to avoid speaking in class through mastery of the art of the meaningful nod.”

  “I’m afraid that’s a new one to me.” Michael paused with his spoon buried in the puffy bread pudding.

  “The meaningful nod?” She gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “That’s when the teacher would ask a question and look in my direction, at which point I would frown, give a meaningful nod and start writing with such concentration that she’d be loathe to disturb such a significant moment and would call on someone else. When I had to speak in class, I’d start stammering or blank out totally and sometimes it would take me days to recover.”

  Michael smiled in sympathy. “Then look how far you’ve come. When you spoke at the news conference, you didn’t show any more nervousness than most people would.”

  “Because of you,” she said. “You got me through that, whether you realize it or not. But you haven’t heard the worst of it yet.” She paused, then added, “Am T boring you?”

  “Not at all.” He lifted the coffee cup and sipped, his attention never wavering.

  Somehow that attention felt like encouragement, which was crazy when she thought about it. Usually the slightest attention from an attractive man was enough to make her stroke out. With Michael, her reactions were entirely different. He seemed to give her confidence she’d never had before.

  “There were a lot of little things,” she said, “but two stand out. The first was a fourth-grade spelling bee. There were only three of us left—me, Billy Cooper and René Mettier. I’d been fumbling with my words but eventually getting them right. Then the teacher gave me an easy word—garage. I started out okay—g-a-r-a—but I just couldn’t say that second g, couldn’t force it out. I was stammering and starting over and praying that a lightning bolt would strike me dead. Billy got impatient and said, ‘Shoot, she doesn’t even know what a garage is!’ He started laughing, and then everybody was laughing—at me.”

  All those old feelings were as strong as if the spelling bee had happened yesterday, instead of twenty years ago. “I started crying,” she said, her voice low and pained. “The upshot was, Billy got thrown out of school for three days and while he was on suspension he wrecked his bike and broke his leg, and everybody said it was my fault.”

  “And you believed them,” Michael guessed.

  “I did then. Of course now that I’m all grown-up...” She gave a cynical little laugh.

  “Now that you’re all grown-up you know better—with your head but not your heart.”

  “Yes, but there was worse to come. I won an essay contest in high school. I was so proud—until they said I’d have to read it aloud at the honors assembly at the end of the year. When Grandpère heard, he announced he wanted to come hear me. When the school heard he was coming, they insisted he sit on the stage with the other dignitaries. I was mortified.”

  “Any kid would be mortified.”

  “But not any kid has the Voice of Dixie for a grandpa. Somehow I let him and everybody else prop me up to the point where I thought maybe I really could do what they all expected of me. I mean, I was just reading, not talking, for goodness’ sake.”

  He groaned. “I think I see where this is going.”

  “Yes, well—” she stared past him at the twinkling holiday lights scalloped around the bar “—when the time came, I froze. With what seemed like a million faces staring at me...” She gasped for air as if it were happening all over again. “Grandpère came to my rescue. He took my speech from my hand and said I had a sore throat, and he’d read it for me. I swear to God, he made that little essay about good citizenship sound like the Gettysburg Address, he was so magnificent.

  “Afterward everyone rushed up to say how wonderful he was and how sorry they were I had a sore throat, but we all knew that wasn’t true. I was a washout, plain and simple. Later Grandpère told me he’d frozen once on air, but I didn’t believe him. He was just trying to make me feel better.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “Of course not. I get stage fright, but I’m not stupid.”

  “No, Leslie, you’re not.” He put his spoon beside his empty dessert dish. “But sometimes you talk like you are.”

  “Michael!” She couldn’t believe he’d said such a thing to her.

  “I stand by my statement. You have so much going for you, but you consistently focus on this one...problem. None of us is perfect.”

  “Some of us are closer than others,” she said wryly, thinking that he was about as close as it was possible to get.

  He looked thoroughly exasperated. “You’re a hard woman to reason with,” he complained. “Your mind’s made up and you won’t be confused by the facts.” He slid from the booth and held out his hand. “Let’s compromise. How about a dance?”

  Until that moment, she hadn’t even realized that a three-piece combo was playing Christmas carols at dance tempo on the far side of the room. As much as she longed to be in his arms, she demurred.

  “I’m not a very good dancer,” she said. “Maybe we should just talk.”

  “Not a good dancer my...Aunt Alice.” He grabbed for her hand and pulled her out of the booth. “We need a break and this is it. Afterward...we’ll talk.”

  She didn’t dare ask what about.

  BEING IN HIS ARMS was paradise. Although she felt awkward at first, he was easy to follow. His touch was firm and confident, although more impersonal than she’d have liked. Still, she hoped the music would go on forever.

  Her dance skills improved rapidly as he led her around the small floor. He was an excellent dancer but no better than she’d expected. Michael did everything well, including lead her through steps she’d never tried before until she was breathless.

  “That was wonderful,” she said as they walked back to the booth.

  “Yes, it was fun.”

  “Would you have time...I mean, I wouldn’t mind another cup of coffee.”

  “I’m sorry.” He gave her a grave look, his head tilting to one side. “I promised Mrs. Simms I wouldn’t be late.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment made her shoulders droop. “Is Mrs. Simms your baby-sitter?”

  “Yes. At least we can sit down until the check comes.”

  Strangely satisfied, she resumed her seat. As busy as the place was, getting the check might take some time. “About Mrs. Simms...”

  “She’s housekeeper, child-care provider and substitute grandma. She’s wonderful with Cory.”

  “Then why don’t you sound happy?”

  “Because I may lose her to her own family—but let’s not talk about that.” He leaned back against the padded booth. “Tell me exactly what you’re going to be doing for the WDIX anniversary.”

  She made a face. “Charlotte should be the one writing the official history of WDIX and the family, but she wouldn’t even talk about it.”

  “Your sister?”
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  “That’s right. Charlotte’s a newspaper reporter in Colorado. Mama and Grandmère wanted her to come back home to help out, but she’s as stubborn as they are. They’ll be lucky if she shows up for any of the events.”

  “Will you be working at the station, then?”

  “Part of the time.”

  “Check!” The waitress slapped it on the table without slowing down.

  Michael pulled out his wallet. “I’ve enjoyed this, Leslie,”

  “Me, too.” Was that the signal that the evening was over? Wasn’t he going to bring up the little matter of marriage? Apparently not.

  HE COULD SEE HER fretting. Retrieving their raincoats, he held hers out and she backed into it, her tension almost palpable.

  Other patrons brushed past on their way to the door. For a moment at least, they were alone in the entryway.

  “Michael...” She turned, belting her raincoat as she did. A tiny frown marred her smooth forehead. “Uh, what we talked about earlier...”

  He shrugged into his own coat, thinking this might be a good time to lighten the mood. “You mean about your sister?”

  She shook her head. “No, about—”

  “Your spelling troubles?”

  She gave a rueful little laugh. Silky brown curls escaped from the decorative combs holding her hair behind her ears and soft strands framed her face. She seemed much more relaxed than when they’d arrived; prettier, too.

  “You know what about.” Her gaze dropped to the floor.

  He touched her elbows and she looked up sharply. “Of course I know what,” he agreed. “It was a kind and generous suggestion, Leslie, and only a very special woman would have made it.”

  “Special or stupid?”

  “What’s stupid about wanting to help a friend? I am your friend, I hope.”