And it didn’t stop with the one first call. Blodgett finally gave up trying to attend to his regular household duties and assumed residence in Gertrude’s office. He soon had a stack of messages piled up, and Emily had a headache.
“Mr. Blodgett, you have too many other things to do to be in here monitoring this ridiculous contraption all day long. Let me help.”
“Well, Miss Emily, Mr. Tate has given me particular instructions as to how to go on with this telephone machine. I daren’t shirk my duty to him and your uncle, you know. They’re depending on me.”
The old man looked very serious, and Emily’s soft heart stirred. She gave him her sweetest smile and said, “I’m sure that’s so, Mr. Blodgett. But you can teach me what to do, and then I can stay here and take messages. I can write my column from here, and read, and mend—why I can carry out my entire life from this office. You, on the other hand, cannot get anything done if you’re trapped in here except answer the telephone.”
Eventually she convinced Blodgett to relinquish telephone duties to her, but only after he grilled her long and hard on proper telephone etiquette and the approved method of taking notes. Emily was amazed at the growing number of requests for dachshund information spread out before her. Maybe her Uncle Ludwig was right all along, and people really would want his silly dogs.
It did not take her long, however, to realize that, were it not for Will Tate’s timely interference, her uncle’s dogs would have remained undiscovered. Every single caller referred to Will’s newspaper ads or to the colorful posters he’d had printed. To his other manifold virtues Emily unfortunately had to add a true genius for marketing.
The man was simply perfect, and she had been a fool to believe she could have lived with herself if she’d tricked him into marrying her. He was too good for her. The admission cost Emily a watery sniffle and a teary blot on the letter she was trying to answer in between phone calls.
Fortunately, the busy telephone did not allow her to slip further into melancholy. In between calls, she continued to answer letters to “Aunt Emily.” One of those letters startled her into a gasp.
“Dear Aunt Emily,” she read, “The advice you give me was good, but it didn’t work. My girl says she won’t marry me. I guess she don’t like me after all and my heart is broke. What do I do now?” It was signed, “Texas Lonesome.”
Oh, Lord. Emily supposed he felt he had to speak to her through her column since she had as much as run away from him yesterday.
It then occurred to her that this letter seemed to have arrived at the newspaper very quickly. She scanned it for a date and found none. Frowning, she considered the puzzling circumstance and decided he must have delivered the missive by hand to the newspaper office. Such things happened often.
Still, it was odd he hadn’t just brought the letter to her home. But no. Emily sighed. He seemed to delight in these sweet little letters. Another tear dripped down her cheek.
She penned her response from the depths of her soul. “Dear Texas Lonesome: I am so sorry you feel hurt by your lady’s rejection. Perhaps, dear friend, the lady feels she does not deserve such a very, very wonderful man. Please accept my deepest affection and all best wishes for your future. Perhaps, one day, you will find another lady to love.”
When she was through answering the letter, it was drenched with her tears, and she had to rewrite it on a clean piece of paper. Then she picked up his letter and peered at it for a long time. After a while, she grew even more puzzled.
Why, she wondered, did Will Tate’s so much less literate than he was in person? Thinking over her dealings with him, she acknowledged that he lapsed into bad grammar occasionally. But more often than not, he was a perfect gentleman, marvelously self-assured and grammatically correct. She wondered why such a discrepancy existed.
But as her concentration was constantly being shattered by the jarring ring of the telephone, Emily decided she’d just have to contemplate the enigma of Will Tate’s literacy another day. Besides, thinking about him only made her sad.
Her sadness took an abrupt tumble into anger when Clarence Pickering came into the office a few minutes later. His smile looked as though it had been painted onto his face, and it made Emily’s teeth clench.
“My aunt and uncle are gone to the country, Mr. Pickering, and I do not care to speak to you. Please go away.”
“Now, Miss Emily, you know I didn’t mean to upset you yesterday.” His smile was so sincere, Emily wanted to gag. “I just want to help you, my dear. I could be of great service to you and your family, you know. If you could just give me a small chance, Emily, dear, I’m sure I could make you happy.”
His smile disgusted her. Before today, it would have made her insides ball up into a tight knot of despair. But today, she realized, there was the faint glimmering of hope on the horizon for her family. Thanks to Will Tate’s brilliant business mind, Emily almost dared hope her aunt and uncle might have a sound financial future after all.
“I’m sure you’re absolutely wrong, Mr. Pickering. Besides, your threats mean nothing to me any longer.”
“Threats? Why, I can’t imagine why you should even use the word, my dear. Threats, indeed.”
“Oh, you villain!” she cried. “I know your game, and it won’t work! You’ll never get me, and you’ll never get my aunt and uncle’s resources, either! My uncle’s dog business is—is booming. It’s positively booming. Why, just look at all these orders!”
Her hand swept over the desk, indicating the pile of messages she and Blodgett had taken. It was true most of the messages were merely requests for information, but Emily wasn’t about to let Pickering know that. Let him think they were actual orders. Then maybe he’d realize his suit—if it was a suit and not a prelude to a less savory proposition—was hopeless and leave her alone.
She was gratified when his sincere smile crinkled up into a disgruntled frown.
In fact, Pickering was so miffed he forgot to be suave for a moment. He snarled, “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah!” Emily hated the way Pickering made her forget propriety and use disgusting street cant.
“Well, I’d suggest you not place all your dependence on those dogs of your uncle’s, Emily, dear, because you never know what might happen to them.”
With those ominous words, Pickering turned and exited the office, leaving Emily to fume at his impudence and finger her uncle’s heavy glass paperweight. The idea she might fling it at his back entered her mind only to be rejected as too violent and unladylike. Still, the thought held great appeal. Another glance at the satisfying stack of messages, however, soothed her.
“You odious man,” she whispered to the empty space where Picking had just stood. “You just watch. I may never have Will Tate, but you’ll never get me. Never!”
# # #
Only later that night did it occur to Emily that Clarence Pickering might be evil enough to sabotage her uncle’s dogs
She had lived with Gustav and Helga for quite long enough to be able to distinguish differences among their various, nearly incessant barks. The dogs loved to bark. But about one-thirty in the morning, the piercing, high-pitched, keening yaps of a dachshund sounding an alarm penetrated Emily’s sleep-fogged brain. She sat up in her bed and rubbed her eyes.
Oh, dear Lord, what now, she wondered. As she tucked her feet into her slippers and donned her well-worn robe, shreds of Clarence Pickering’s parting words began to slink into her brain, very much as Clarence Pickering himself slinked. Emily frowned, suspicious.
“Now, I just wonder if that awful man is trying to hurt Gustav and Helga.”
The very idea infuriated her. Realizing neither one of the hard-of-hearing Blodgetts would be of any help to her, Emily quickly tied the belt to her robe, flung her tousled hair out of her face, and ran out of her room and down the big staircase. Pausing only to grab one of Uncle Ludwig’s stout German walking sticks, she dashed out to the back yard.
“Aha!” she cried when she spotted a shadowy fig
ure. It seemed to be trying to dodge the vicious fangs of the two frenzied hounds attempting to murder him from the feet up.
“Get them off me!”
It wasn’t Pickering, Emily realized, disgruntled, when she heard the man’s terrified wail. She’d hoped it would be, so she could hit him with her uncle’s heavy stick. Oh, well. She would just have to hit this person instead.
She advanced upon the intruder with a firm tread. He cowered in a corner, trying in vain to ward off the furious dachshunds.
“You’d better get out of here right now, mister, or you’ll be sorry.”
“Get them off me!” the man cried again.
Emily could tell the plea was torn from his gut, but she harbored no mercy in her heart for him.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing in our back yard, mister, but I do know you’re up to no good. Now get out!”
She swung Ludwig’s walking stick hard, catching the man’s ear with a vicious blow. He screamed.
“I don’t care if it hurts, you horrid saboteur! You just get out of here. And after you get out, you just go tell Clarence Pickering he can’t win by theft or violence, either. What did you think you were going to do here, anyway? Kidnap the dogs? Kill them?”
The possibility that Pickering had sent someone to do away with her uncle’s beloved pets fueled Emily’s fury. Again and again she swung the stick, connecting with various parts of the man’s anatomy.
The interloper, attacked on all fronts, finally lurched away from the corner. He shoved hard at Emily, causing her to lose her balance and back up. With Gustav firmly attached to his ankle and Helga in hot pursuit, the man made a mad scramble for the back wall.
“Emily!”
A shot rang out. Emily heard the interloper’s bellow of pain right before he disappeared over the wall, leaving Gustav behind bearing a shredded green-and-red plaid trouser cuff in his teeth as a proud trophy. She whirled around to find Will Tate charging toward her, his pistol smoking.
“Damn! Must have only winged him.”
The adrenaline thrumming through Emily’s body made it difficult for her to sort out the images and emotions hurtling around inside her. She dimly perceived Will Tate must have come to aid her in thwarting the trespasser, but she didn’t understand how he got here.
“Mr. Tate?” Her breath came in ragged gasps and her bosom heaved under the hand she pressed to it.
“Are you all right, Emily?” Will grabbed her by her arms and squeezed her.
He peered down at her with such loving concern, Emily could only stare up at him for a moment, her brain a whirl of confusion. Uncle Ludwig’s walking stick dropped from her numb fingers onto Gustav’s head, making him yelp.
“I’m all right.” Emily’s voice was no more than a feathery whisper.
“Oh, God, Emily darling, I was so afraid when I saw you out here, fighting that man off.”
The fact that the poor man had been cowering from the dachshunds’ attack and Emily’s deftly wielded weapon had apparently slipped Will’s mind. He threw propriety to the wind and clasped his beloved to his chest.
Emily didn’t mind. Her thoughts whirled in mad confusion. Who was the intruder? What was Will doing here? How could anything feel more wonderful than his arms felt around her right now? She felt his heart thunder like stampeding cattle in his breast, and knew fear for her safety had caused the tumult. The knowledge created a surge of triumph within her. She flung her arms around his waist and squeezed him tight.
“Oh, Will,” she whispered. “Oh, Will, my darling.”
“Come inside, Emily, sweetheart. It’s cold out here.”
Will scooped her up and carried her toward the back door. Neither one of them thought about Ludwig’s walking stick. It had been discovered by Gustav and Helga, each of whom grabbed an end and began to gnaw with delight.
“Oh, Will,” Emily sighed once more.
She nestled her head on his shoulder, feeling overwhelmed by the absolute bliss of being cared for. Emily had not been cared for in a long, long time, if ever. She had been doing all the caring for others. It felt like heaven to relinquish her heavy load of responsibility for a moment or two and give herself up to this strong, brave man who loved her.
Will carried Emily into the parlor and sat down with her on his lap. He didn’t give two hoots about whether or not his conduct might be considered improper.
Emily sighed rapturously. Her arms slid to Will’s shoulders, and she melted against his strength with a surrender so sweet, she could almost taste it.
So could Will.
“Lord, Emily, when I heard that racket, I thought for sure Pickering had sneaked in here and was trying to kill the dogs.”
“So did I, Will. But it wasn’t Pickering.” Emily sounded almost grumpy about it.
“Well, I’ll bet you anything he was behind it.”
“Oh, I know it, Will. I’m sure of it. I think it was that creature who works for him.”
Neither of them spoke for another minute or two. Their hearts had calmed down some and soon seemed to beat in a harmonic duet as timeless as life itself. Emily tucked her head under Will’s chin, and he rested his chin on her soft, tumbling curls. They were as comfortable as if they’d been created for one another at the beginning of time.
When Emily spoke, the peace was not disturbed. Her voice fit into the companionable silence perfectly, as though flowing into a space designed just for it.
“I was so surprised to see you, Will. How on earth did you come to be here?”
Will’s gentle chuckle settled over them like an eiderdown quilt.
“Pickering came over today when your uncle and I were making plans. I think he’s worried our business is going to be a success and spoil his rotten scheme to profit by your aunt and uncle’s financial ruin. I decided it might be worthwhile to keep an eye on things.”
“I can’t stand that awful man. He’s so evil.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, my love. Your aunt has taken up with a real villain in Pickering. He’s known as ‘The Vulture’ in some circles here in San Francisco. I suppose you can guess the reason.”
“Yes.” The word was a little sigh.
“I won’t let it happen, Emily. I swear to you I won’t. That’s why I was here tonight.”
“So you—you were actually guarding our house?” The idea brought tears to Emily’s eyes, and she had to sniff them back.
“Yes. I didn’t want anything to happen to the dogs, Emily. Or to you.”
“Oh, Will.”
It was a few moments before Emily could speak again. She dabbed her moist eyes with Will’s tie.
“Pickering came by again this afternoon, Will, when I was taking telephone messages. I bragged about the business, and I guess it worried him.”
Will pulled back slightly and peered at Emily in surprise. “You mean people are calling already?”
“Oh, my, yes, Will. There must be a hundred messages, all from people who either read your ads or saw your posters. They all want information about Uncle Ludwig’s dogs. Uncle Ludwig says your posters are going to do for dachshunds what Mr. Gibson’s drawings have done for the New American Woman.”
As he tucked Emily’s head under his chin once more, Will’s heart soared in triumph. “I knew we could do it, Emily, but I had no idea it would happen so fast. I hope the new dogs arrive from Germany soon.”
“Oh, Will, it’s not ‘we,’ and you know it. It’s you. You’re the one. If Uncle Ludwig’s dogs are a success, it will be due to you and you alone.”
“Aw, Emily.”
“It’s true. Uncle Ludwig is a dear, dear man, but you must admit he’s a—well, a little eccentric. And you of all people must know he has no business sense. It’s you, Will. You’re the one.”
Silence fell once more between them, a silence as sweet and warm as hot cocoa on a snowy winter’s evening.
“And I think it may be time to start thinking about puppies from Helga and Gustav again, too, Will.�
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Emily’s head was still tucked demurely under his chin, so Will didn’t see her blush, but he felt it. For some reason, he had become exquisitely sensitive to every single flutter of emotion emanating from his Emily. He squeezed her tight.
“She’s gone into heat again?”
“I think so. At least Gustav was—was very attentive to her this afternoon.”
Will squeezed her again, loving the way she got embarrassed about these things. Thinking about Gustav’s interest in Helga caused his mind to veer into a direction he recognized as being dangerous. But it was too late. Already, now that the danger posed by the intruder was past and their initial reactions had settled, he was becoming uncomfortably aware of the delightful bundle of femininity he cradled on his lap.
In an effort to get his mind away from baser matters, he said, “You were very brave, Emily, to tackle that man alone.”
“Well, I wanted to protect Gustav and Helga. Uncle Ludwig would be heartbroken if anything happened to them, you know. He worships those dogs.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know what was going on at first. Their barking woke me up, and I just had time to slip into my robe and slippers and grab Uncle Ludwig’s walking stick.”
“The man might have been armed, Emily. You took an awful chance.”
The mere thought of what might have happened to her if the trespasser had carried a gun made Will wrap her up more snugly. The effort brought her soft bottom into even closer contact with his already turgid body. It was only with great effort that he suppressed his groan.
When Emily’s arms tightened around his neck, Will did groan. He could feel her breasts, ill disguised under her well-worn robe and nightie, pressing against him, her nipples puckered tight and piercing through their layers of fabric like two sharp pebbles.
Emily knew she should leave Will’s lap at once, but she couldn’t have moved if she wanted to—which she didn’t.
Her soft sigh pierced Will’s senses like a knife. “You’re—you’re wearing your nightgown, Emily.” Will didn’t know why he said that.
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