Love

by Sherryl Woods

  * * *

  The expression on Dana’s face made Jason very nervous.

  “Okay, spill it,” he said finally, sensing that he was about to pay for his impetuous early-morning promise to give her anything she wanted. “What’s up?”

  “I was talking to Harriet just now,” she began slowly.

  “Harriet?” he repeated blankly. “You’ve been conspiring with my secretary?”

  “I wouldn’t call it conspiring and don’t look so stunned. She’s really very nice.”

  “Harriet?”

  “Will you stop it and listen? She told me about this part-time job, in the mailroom.”

  “You have a job,” he said tightly. He was not going to encourage her to take a second job, just so she could afford to move into a fancier place of her own that much sooner. Besides, she barely had enough time to sleep as it was—especially when she was occupying his bed, which was where he intended she stay.

  “Not for me,” she said patiently.

  Suddenly he realized why she looked so nervous. “Oh, no,” he said, coming out from behind his desk. “I will not give your brother a job.”

  She laced her hands behind his neck and gave him an imploring look. “It’s just a part-time messenger job. He could come in after school, earn a little of his own money, learn about accepting responsibility—it would be perfect. How much trouble could he possibly get into?”

  Jason eased away from her and raked his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t think straight when she had her arms around him like that, and this situation definitely called for straight thinking.

  “You’re asking this about a boy who a few short weeks ago was ready to go into business selling stolen goods. The same boy who was thrown out of school last week for pulling a knife on a classmate. The same kid who’s this close—” he held up fingers a scant inch apart “—this close to getting into a gang that mugs people for kicks.”

  Dana remained undaunted by the facts. It was one of her more endearing and infuriating qualities.

  “Just look how he’s blossoming now that he’s out of that environment. He’s already taking his studies more seriously with Mrs. Willis there to tutor him. Haven’t you ever made a mistake?” she demanded. “Or is the difference that Hallorans have enough money to cover up any little indiscretions they might make?”

  “This isn’t about money or family.”

  “No. It’s about second chances.”

  The whisper-soft tone of her voice was persuasive. The look in her eyes could have converted sinner to saint. Jason sighed.

  “He won’t do it.”

  “He will,” she said, throwing her arms around him. She gave him a tantalizing peck on the cheek. “I’ll call and tell him to come over this afternoon. Thank you, Jason. You won’t regret it.”

  He already did. The mere thought of that little punk on the loose at Halloran Industries made him shudder. It was one thing to have Sammy living in his house, where Mrs. Willis could keep her stern eye on him and only Jason would have to pay for any of his royal screwups. It was another thing entirely to inflict him on the family business. What sort of magic was this woman working, Jason wondered, that would make him even consider such an idea?

  On the other hand, he thought slowly, maybe Dana was right. Maybe this was an opportunity, a challenge. The one thing he and Dana argued about more than anything else was her brother. Maybe by taking one giant leap of faith in Sammy, he could eliminate the bone of contention between them and further cement a relationship that was coming to mean everything to him.

  One look at Sammy’s sullen expression a few hours later and Jason wasn’t so sure. Whatever progress they’d made at home seemed to have been lost. He wondered if Sammy viewed this as punishment, rather than a chance.

  After a cursory nod, Sammy sprawled in the chair across from Jason and regarded him with open hostility. His attitude improved only slightly when he turned his attention to the computer, the fax machine and the calculator. Jason could practically see the larcenous wheels spinning in his head.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he warned in a low voice.

  Sammy looked startled. “Hey, I was just checkin’ the place out.”

  “I’m sure you were. However, if one item in this office moves by so much as an inch, I will know where to look. Do we understand each other?”

  Sammy shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What am I gonna do?”

  “It’s a messenger job. You’ll see that the mail is picked up from the offices, sorted and distributed. Once in a while you might be asked to take something into town.”

  “How? You plannin’ to loan me your car?”

  “No. I’m planning to give you bus fare.”

  “What’s this job pay?”

  Jason named the minimum wage figure.

  “You’re kiddin’ me, right?”

  “I’m not kidding you.”

  “I could make more than that busing tables in some dive.”

  “Maybe. Is that something you’re interested in doing? I have a couple of friends who own restaurants.”

  Sammy seemed startled by Jason’s willingness to give him a choice. “I thought this was a done deal. Now I get it. You’re just doing my sister a favor—again. The minute I screw up, I’m out, right? If you can pawn me off on one of your friends, you won’t need to mess with me at all and you’ll still be square with Dana.”

  It was a long speech for Sammy. To Jason’s surprise, he realized that there was an edge of real hurt in the boy’s voice. Jason wondered how many times people had made snap decisions about Sammy, had promised him something only to yank it away again.

  “Sammy, let’s back up a minute. Do you really want a job?”

  Sammy shrugged. “Dana works too hard. I should help out.”

  “That’s an admirable attitude. Now, if you really had a choice, if you could do anything in the world you wanted to, what would it be?”

  Sammy rolled his eyes. “I’m just a kid.”

  “You’re sixteen years old. You’re almost a man. Surely you’ve thought about what you’d like to do when you get out of school.”

  “Not really.”

  “What is your best subject?”

  “Math, I guess. I like English, too. I get good grades on all my essays.”

  There was no mistaking the faint spark of enthusiasm. Sammy tried hard to maintain his distant, nonchalant attitude, but Jason detected the slight shift in his mood from boredom to interest.

  “What if we rethink this job situation a little, then? How about working three hours after school? You spend the first two hours taking care of the mail. Then during the last hour each day we’ll let you spend some time in different departments around here. You could start in accounting, maybe spend some time with me in marketing, helping me with some writing I have to do. If you’re interested, I’m sure my grandfather would be happy to teach you about the manufacturing process, too.”

  “We’re still talkin’ that minimum-wage stuff, though, right?”

  Jason grinned. “At first. But if you catch on quickly in any of the departments and want to move up, we’ll talk about a salary increase then.”

  “I suppose that would be okay.”

  His tone was lukewarm, but there was a rare spark of excitement in Sammy’s eyes.

  “You’ll start tomorrow?”

  “Why not,” Sammy said, then added with studied nonchalance, “I got an hour to kill now, if there’s somethin’ you want me to do.”

  “I’ll have Harriet take you down to personnel and you can fill out some forms. Then, if you still have some time, I’ll show you around.”

  He buzzed for Harriet, then watched Sammy leave with her. To his astonishment, the boy actually seemed to be walking a little taller. Jason heard Dana’s greeting in the outer office, then the quick rush of questions about how the interview went.

  “No problem,” Sammy said, his tone cocky.
“I’m a tough negotiator, sis. You’re lookin’ at one top-notch executive trainee.”

  Jason was still chuckling when Dana stepped into his office, her eyes sparkling.

  “Executive trainee?” she said. “I thought you were having trouble with the concept of messenger.”

  “Actually Sammy was having more trouble with that than I was. Minimum wage did not appeal to him. We compromised. He still gets minimum wage, but he’ll rotate through the departments so he’ll get a little experience in various things. Who knows, maybe he’ll find his niche.” He regarded her hopefully. “Do you suppose there’s any chance we could talk him into a more normal haircut before my father sees him?”

  Dana chuckled at the wistfulness in his voice. “I doubt it. You know, Jason Halloran, you’re not nearly as tough as you like to pretend to be.”

  “Oh, but I am,” he said. “I intend to make the person who got me into this pay.”

  “Pay how?”

  He reached for her hand and tugged her closer. “Like this,” he said softly and pulled her into his arms. “I think for a few more kisses like this, I might be willing to make Sammy head of marketing.”

  LOVE

  Chapter Twelve

  For a man who’d always been determinedly grounded in reality, Jason had developed a surprisingly fanciful habit of imagining Dana’s voice whenever he started feeling lonely. This morning, however, he was certain that for once it was not his imagination playing tricks on him. They didn’t have an appointment, but he was willing to swear she was in his outer office. He poked his head out and discovered her in the midst of what looked like a very conspiratorial group—Sammy, an astonishingly lighthearted Harriet and his grandfather. Brandon looked like the sassy cat who’d just swallowed the canary.

  “What kind of trouble are you all getting into out here?” Jason demanded. “And why wasn’t I included?”

  Four moderately guilty faces turned in his direction. Brandon was quickest on his feet. He’d had years of experience twisting tricky situations to his own advantage.

  “You can’t possibly begrudge an old man a little time with your girl,” he said. “However, if you’re jealous, you can come along. We’re about to go on a tour of the plant.”

  “Harriet has worked here for the past twenty years. She’s seen every nook and cranny of the place,” Jason reminded him. “And Dana saw the plant from top to bottom just a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Not through my eyes. You probably did one of those wham-bang tours that barely touched the tip of the iceberg.”

  “I did leave out all the nostalgia,” Jason admitted, grinning at him. His grandfather was clearly in his element, relishing the prospect of an attentive audience. Jason turned to Dana and her brother, who was slouched on a corner of Harriet’s desk twisting paper clips out of shape. “I hope you know what you’re in for. His version could take hours.”

  “You could come along,” Dana coaxed. “Maybe it would improve your skills as a tour guide—add a little color. Tours could become a great marketing device. Dozens of little fifth-graders parading through here every day. Just imagine.”

  Jason shuddered at the thought. But he’d discovered lately that when Dana got that impish look on her face, he found it impossible to refuse her anything. His intentions to reform and become a dutiful company official flew out the window. He forgot all about the stack of work on his desk. Maybe, if he got lucky, he could sneak a kiss behind one of the giant looms.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “Just imagine.”

  Draping an arm around Dana’s shoulder, he gestured to Brandon. “Lead on, Granddad.”

  Jason listened with tolerant amusement as his grandfather launched into a family history that started back in England before the turn of the century. Dana and even Sammy listened raptly as Brandon talked about his grandfather’s textile mill in England and his struggle to build a name for himself.

  “His son, my father, had bigger dreams. He’d heard there was newer, faster equipment to be had in America and he had a spirit of adventure. He came to this country with little money in his pocket and a lot of desire. His uncles had been here for years, working for one of the mills that had been around for decades. It was founded by a competitor of Francis Cabot Lowell right around 1816, 1820. In those early years most of the country’s wholesale wool trade was handled right out of Boston.

  “Anyway, James and the uncles pooled their money and bought the plant. The equipment wasn’t as up-to-date as some, but they knew where to go in England and Scotland for the best wool, and pretty soon they developed a reputation for the finest fabric. That was the start of Halloran Industries.

  “Nowadays, this place is something of a dinosaur. Most of the big mills from before the turn of the century went south. We decided to stay right here. We were never interested in quantity or in producing cheap material. We’ve concentrated on making the best.”

  He plucked up a handful of soft gray hairs and showed them to Sammy. “You know what this is?”

  “Looks like a bunch of old hairs to me.”

  “Expensive old hairs. Here, feel them. Feel how soft they are. That’s cashmere, son. It comes from Himalayan goats in Tibet. We blend this with wool to make some of the winter fabric.”

  He led Sammy to another loom. “Now you watch this. It used to be done completely by hand. Just imagine that. All that spinning and weaving took days just to get enough material to make a coat or a dress.”

  Jason watched in astonishment as Sammy’s expression turned from boredom to fascination. He seemed to be hanging on Brandon’s words. Brandon seemed equally delighted to find someone who’d actually listen to all his old stories with rapt attention. How had they so easily found the rapport he’d had to struggle for? Maybe it was because his grandfather was genuinely accepting of other people, flaws and all.

  “I thought most textile manufacturers specialized,” Dana said. “Halloran Industries does woolen fabrics, silks and cottons. Isn’t that more expensive?”

  “Sure,” Brandon agreed. “But remember what I said. We wanted to do quality, not quantity. The decision to diversify goes back to my father. The truth of the matter was he was fascinated by the techniques. Every time he’d see a piece of fabric that intrigued him, he’d set out to learn how it was made. He even traveled to the Far East to learn more about silkworms.”

  “I’ve been trying to convince Granddad and Dad for ages that we ought to concentrate on one specialty,” Jason said. “Then Granddad goes off on one of his vacation trips and, just like his father, he comes home with some ancient French woodblocks for printing cotton and we add a new line. It’s not cost-effective.”

  Brandon shrugged. “If I wanted to manufacture the material for cheap bed linens, I’d have gone south years ago and set up shop near a cotton field. Top designers and decorators come here when they want something rare and spectacular for their finest customers. We’ll work to order, match a dye to suit the customer. Few places can afford to do that.”

  “We can’t afford to do that,” Jason countered.

  Brandon chuckled. “You sound more like your father every day.”

  Jason couldn’t help grinning back at him. “Now that is a depressing thought.”

  Sammy had wandered over to a bale of Sea Island cotton waiting to be processed. “This stuff actually turns into material?” he asked, his expression incredulous. “Like my shirt or somethin’?”

  Brandon studied Sammy’s faded plaid shirt and said, “Maybe not that shirt, but you’ve got the idea. First it’s carded, then it goes through three more steps before we spin it.” He showed him the stages, leading up to the final woven material. “Feel the difference between ours and yours. It’s all in the thread count.” He scowled at Jason. “Can’t seem to make some people understand the importance of that.”

  He moved across an aisle. “Now look over here. We’re handprinting it. I found these woodblocks at a mill that was closing in France last year after four centuries. What do you thi
nk of that?”

  “Awesome,” Sammy said. “Tell me again about the wool. Where’s that place the sheep come from?”

  The two of them went off together, Brandon responding animatedly to Sammy’s rapid-fire questions.

  Jason watched them go with something akin to wonder spreading through him. “I think Granddad has finally met a soul mate. Dad and I have always been more fascinated with the business end of things. Granddad just loves the product. He inherited that obsession with the textiles themselves from his father and who knows how many generations before him.”

  Suddenly he realized that Dana was barely listening. She was scribbling rapidly on the notepad she’d carried during the tour.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Some of this information might be helpful when we design that new campaign, don’t you think?”

  “You’re probably right, but this minute I’m much more fascinated with these silk threads you’ve got caught in your hair.” He reached up to brush away strands of pale pink silk. “Did you tangle with a silkworm somewhere along the way?”

  “Actually I was peeking under something to see how the machinery worked.”

  “Can I see your notes?” he said, holding out his hand. “They must be fascinating.”

  Dana handed him the notebook. A half dozen pages had scrawled notes on them, but what Jason found incredible were the sketches. “These are amazing.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I can’t believe you did them in just the little bit of time Granddad spent in each area. We could use these in the next brochure instead of photographs. Let’s go back to my office and rough out an overall design, while the idea’s still fresh.”

  As they walked back to his office, Jason was astounded at his mounting excitement. He couldn’t help but be struck by the change in his attitude, the sense of fulfillment he suddenly felt. Whether it was having Dana at the office or simply having her in his life, those days of boredom and dissatisfaction seemed like a distant nightmare. Maybe it was simply a matter of seeing his world through fresh, unjaded eyes. Or perhaps it was simply finding a focus. At any rate, for the first time in his life he truly felt a part of something bigger than his own selfish interests.