“I think we can manage that.”
“All right!” Billie raised her arm and held her hand open. Jane hit it with her own, then paused for the high-five to be returned. “You’re the best.”
“Thank you. You’re somewhat of an exceptional child yourself.”
“I know.” Billie grinned, then ran from the room.
Jane pulled out sandwich fixings and the salad she’d been planning on having for herself. After spooning the lettuce and vegetable mixture into two bowls, she used raisins to make eyes, Chinese noodles for hair and a ribbon of honey-mustard dressing for a mouth. If the plate looked interesting enough, Billie often forgot that salad meant vegetables. It wasn’t that she didn’t like green food, it was more that she felt it was her job to protest eating them. Kids, Jane thought with affection and a flash of longing that she could have had four more just like Billie. It would have been a handful, but more than worth the effort. Her daughter brought her joy and fulfillment. She gave her all the love and—Crash!
“Billie?” Jane called as she wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked out of the kitchen. “I told you not to throw your ball inside. What have you broken?”
“Nothing.” But the small girl stood beside the living room coffee table and stared at the broken remains of what used to be a glass. “It slipped.”
“You didn’t throw your ball?”
Billie shuffled her feet. “Not really.”
Jane waited.
The girl sighed. “Yeah, Mom, I threw it.” Her shoulders slumped in a defeated gesture. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you for apologizing. However, sorry doesn’t replace the glass. We’ve been over this before. No ball throwing in the house.”
“I know.” The words came out as a whisper. “Here.” She held out her ball.
Jane took it.
“Where do you want me?” Billie asked.
“The hallway. Facing the back wall.”
Billie shuffled forward slowly, out of the living room, then down the hall until she reached the far wall. She sank to the floor and stared at the blank space. “How long?”
Jane glanced at her watch. “Ten minutes.”
Billie leaned her forehead against the wall. “I really didn’t mean to do it, Mom.”
“A time-out means no talking.”
“Sorry.”
Parenting was tough, Jane thought as she moved back into the kitchen and set the timer for ten minutes. The punishment hurt her as much as her daughter, but Billie wouldn’t believe that for about fifteen or twenty more years. After sweeping up the broken glass, she continued with the lunch. She finished the last sandwich when the timer went off. There was a shuffling noise in the hall.
Billie appeared at the doorway. Tears created two clean streaks down her freckled cheeks. Her lower lip thrust out as she swallowed.
Automatically Jane held out her arms. Billie flung herself against her mother and held on tightly. “I still love you,” Jane murmured against her hair. “You’ll always be my favorite girl.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Billie said, then hiccuped. “I didn’t mean to break anything.”
It was the stress of moving, Jane thought as she blinked away her own tears. Usually punishment didn’t faze Billie, except that she found the time-outs boring. But sometimes, like today, they affected her deeply. With her bubbly personality and outgoing nature, it was easy to forget that she was still just an eight-year-old little girl.
“Let’s forget about it and eat lunch. Okay?”
“Okay.” Billie raised herself up on tiptoe and gave her a salty kiss. “I love you, Mommy.”
“And I love you.”
Jane gave her a last squeeze and pushed her toward the table. Billie looked at the salad and then at her. A tentative smile tugged one corner of her mouth. “I’m not fooled by the clown face.”
“But you’ll eat it.”
Billie stuck a raisin in her mouth. “Maybe.”
Jane poured lemonade for both of them and chuckled. Despite the mishaps, parenting was worth it. She felt sorry for people who couldn’t have children in their lives. The ones who were infertile or never married or—
The pitcher slipped from her grasp and she barely caught it. What about the people who didn’t know they had children? Guilt swept over her; the strong wave threatened to pull her under.
Adam. He had a child he didn’t know about. Apparently Billie had already taken it upon herself to get better acquainted with her own father. Oh, please God, what was she supposed to do about the mess she’d made of everything? She had to tell him. And soon. But how? What would he say? What would Billie say? She preached that honesty was the best policy, but she’d told the biggest lie of all. What was she going to do now?
Billie glanced at her. “Aren’t you eating?”
“What?” Jane stared down at her full plate. “Of course.” She took a bite of her sandwich.
“What are we going to do until we can go swimming?” Billie asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, we can’t go in the water until our food has digested. We’ll get cramps and drown.” She made gagging noises and clutched her throat. “I’m drowning. Save me, save me. Ahhhgg!”
“We could walk around town.”
“Can we visit Charlene?”
“Not today.” Jane thought about those truckers due to arrive at any time. “Maybe we could—”
The idea popped into her mind fully formed. She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. She bit into her sandwich and chewed. It was wrong. No, not wrong. In fact she had every right to be there. It was, after all, a business.
“We need to go to the bank,” she said.
“Bor-ring.”
“I have to open a new checking account and we need to move your college fund out here.”
Billie sat up straight. “I have money?”
“For college.”
“Oh. But maybe I could—”
“No.”
“But you didn’t let me—”
“No.”
“What if I don’t want to go to college?”
Jane smiled sweetly. “Baseball scouts go to college games.” Billie nibbled on a Chinese noodle. “I’m going.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“Do I have to come with you to the bank?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s the bank?”
“In town.”
“Which one is it?”
“There’s only one. Barrington First National.”
Billie frowned. “That’s Adam’s name.”
“It’s his bank.”
*
“Here are the changes you requested, Mr. Barrington.”
Adam stared blankly at the folder.
“From the loan committee meeting on Monday,” his secretary reminded him patiently.
“Of course, Edna.” He took the offered pages and smiled. “I’ll look at them this afternoon.”
She raised her penciled eyebrows until they disappeared under the sprayed fringe of hair that curled to precisely the midpoint of her forehead. “When else?” she asked.
“What? Oh, the reports. Yes, I always read them on Friday afternoon. You’re right.” He glanced at his watch. “On time, as usual. Thank you.”
Edna’s narrow lips pursed together. Her heavy makeup and the fitted long narrow dresses and jackets she wore made her look like a time traveler from 1940. She’d been with him since he’d taken over the bank and with his father for who knows how many years before that.
“Are you feeling all right, Mr. Barrington?” she asked.
Despite the fact she’d known him since his diaper days, she always addressed him formally. After fifteen years, he’d given up trying to break through to her softer side. He’d begun to suspect she didn’t have one.
“I am a little scattered,” he admitted.
She nodded as if to agree. “You don’t want to talk about it, do you?” She asked the question because it
was polite, but her folded arms and the fact that she was inching toward his office door told him that she really didn’t want his confidences.
“No, Edna, I don’t.”
“Well, I’m here.” She smiled quickly and let it fade. “I’ll be at my desk, Mr. Barrington. If you’re sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Good.”
She ducked out before he could begin his confession. Adam grinned and turned in his chair to stare out the big window behind his desk. Green grass stretched out on this side of the building. The bank sat on a corner and backed up on the town square. Pecan trees, the oblong fruit just beginning to turn brown, provided shade. Several employees sat in the early afternoon sun, taking their lunch break outdoors.
Orchard was a long way from New York or Los Angeles or Chicago, the places where his university friends had gone after Harvard. At one time he’d thought about leaving for the big city. But his parents had died at the end of his freshman year while he was at Harvard. He’d been the oldest son, and the Barrington heir. With two young siblings to care for, a bank to keep in business and an eccentric aunt who needed as much supervision as she provided, there had been no room for dreams about moving somewhere else. He didn’t mind that his fate had been set when he was born, and sealed by the premature death of his parents. But sometimes he thought about what it would have been like if he’d been able to grow up at his own pace. The parties and social events of his freshman year had given way to extra classes and study. He’d graduated a semester early so that he could return home and take over the bank.
Turning back toward his desk, he picked up the report Edna had left him. He knew he was driving his staff crazy. In the last few days he’d wandered around in a fog, upsetting a routine they’d all grown used to. He knew the cause—as much as he hated to admit the fact that he couldn’t drive her from his mind as easily as he’d driven her from his house.
Jane.
He stared at a portrait of his father hanging on the opposite wall. “Did Mom ever give you this much trouble?” he asked quietly. Not that Jane was troubling him, he amended quickly. He barely thought about her at all. And when he did, it was with completely justified anger and indignation. He hadn’t forgiven her for her childish behavior and the damage she’d done all those years ago. In fact…
Adam shook his head. He was a lousy liar. Always had been. It was his damn Southern upbringing. Too much talk about being a gentleman and the dance lessons they’d made him attend between football practices. He grinned as he remembered Charlene’s discussion with Billie about charm school. The girl had been adamant in her refusal, and her mother had backed her up. He wondered if Billie would stay a tomboy long or if the pressure of society would force her to conform. Just this morning, she’d regaled him with stories about her quest for the perfect curve ball. He’d informed her that he hoped she found one that didn’t destroy windows.
She’d wrinkled her nose at him. The quick gesture, a mirror of what Jane had done when he’d teased her, had made his resolve to forget falter. Billie had slipped past his guard too easily as well, he thought. With a little help.
On Monday, the morning after—He refused to think about kissing Jane, he told himself firmly. It hadn’t meant anything. It had been a flash of temper or an attempt to prove to her that she couldn’t affect him. He hadn’t kissed her because he’d wanted to. After what she’d done, she was lucky he hadn’t run her out of town. Showing up after all this time, with no warning. He didn’t care, of course. She meant nothing to him now. He wanted—
Stop thinking about her, he commanded himself. Billie. That was safe. He recalled last Monday morning. He’d been drinking his morning coffee. Charlene had found Billie lurking outside his back door.
“I wanted to say hi to Adam,” she’d said. He’d put down his paper, not sure if he welcomed the interruption or not.
“Adam has a very rigid schedule in the morning,” Charlene had answered. “He doesn’t like to be disturbed.” She laughed then and held open the door. “Go right in.”
He’d been cursed, he thought, toying with the engraved letter opener that had been his grandfather’s. Cursed to endure the women in his life. Charlene. God, someone could write a book about her. And now Billie. A four-foot-nothing bundle of energy who had already wormed her way into his life. She was funny and intriguing as hell. But not as intriguing as Jane.
He pulled out his right-hand drawer and glanced at the brochure lying on top. The neighboring town sponsored a Triple-A baseball team. They were home for the next couple of weeks. Maybe he could get tickets and take Billie. She’d like that. And if her mother wanted to tag along…
Adam slammed the drawer shut. Was he crazy? He didn’t want to see Jane. And even if he did, hadn’t he learned his lesson? The woman had publicly humiliated him. The only emotion left was anger, and even that didn’t matter. He refused to feel anything else. He couldn’t. It cost too much.
But the rage, so easily tapped into over the weekend, had faded with the passing week. It became harder and harder to focus on the past and what she had done and not wonder what had drawn her back to Orchard. Why now? Why here? He sensed some secret behind her carefully worded explanations. Had she returned for absolution? A second chance?
He shook his head. Not that. She hadn’t cared enough the first time. Why the hell would he think she’d want to try again? And if she did—he picked up the letter opener and stared at the engraving—he wasn’t fool enough to get his heart broken a second time. He wasn’t interested in Jane Southwick. Not now. Not ever.
Adam rose from his desk and walked to his door. After pulling it open, he stepped into the hallway. To his left were the rest of the offices, the supply cabinet and the lunch room that was only used in the winter. To the right was the bank. A couple of people stood in line. Old man Grayson and his wife hovered by the safety deposit box cage, waiting to get inside. Every couple of weeks or so, they took their box into one of the private cubbyholes and spent a few minutes with their personal treasures. For as long as he could remember, they’d been coming here. He’d give a sizable chunk of his estate to know exactly what was in the box. As a kid, he and his friends had speculated about everything from stolen gold to body parts.
A flash of movement by the front door caught his attention. He turned. And drew in a sharp breath. It was as if his thoughts had conjured her from thin air.
Jane held the door open for her daughter. Billie skipped in and looked around. Adam slipped behind one of the old-fashioned pillars, then cursed himself for being a coward. This was his bank, dammit. He had every right to be here. But he stayed where he was and watched them.
Like Edna, Jane was a throwback to another time. While she didn’t wear the heavy makeup his secretary favored, she’d never fully embraced the concept of wearing pants or shorts. A white T-shirt, with a V front that made him wonder what happened when she bent over, covered her upper body. A flowing skirt in a feminine print fluttered around her thighs and fell to mid-calf. The long hair that, years before, had haunted his thoughts until his hands ached to touch it and his body had throbbed for hers, had been tied back. No braid this time, but a ponytail that swung with each step.
She looked young, he thought. Innocent. Incapable of the deception she had committed. For the first time he allowed himself to wonder why. Why had she left him? Why couldn’t he forget her? In the nine years she’d been gone, he’d managed to push her to the back of his mind. She’d been home less than a week, and she haunted every moment of his day. He must exorcise this ghost from his life, he told himself grimly. There wasn’t room for her anymore.
Chapter Seven
Jane glanced around the bank and sighed with relief. No Adam. Funny how at the house, the decision to go see him had sounded like such a good idea. Yet the reality of coming face-to-face with the person who would least like to see her made her squirm.
She glanced around at the old-fashioned lobby. Not that much had changed.
On one side of the building stood the teller windows, on the other, the desks for the various departments. The marble floor had been imported from Italy and would outlast the town. The walls looked like they’d received a recent coat of paint, and the woodwork gleamed from constant care. Everything was exactly as she remembered. Even the old couple waiting by the safety deposit box cage looked as if they’d stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Going Banking, she thought, giving the imaginary artwork a title, then giggling nervously. Beside her Billie danced from one foot to the other.
“This place is cool,” Billie said, her loud voice drifting up to the arched ceiling and echoing.
“Shh,” Jane warned, before her daughter could exercise her vocal cords in a serious way. “People are trying to do business here. No talking.”
“You’re talking,” Billie pointed out.
Jane prayed for patience. Taking a deep breath, she located the desk with the New Accounts plaque and headed that way.
The woman behind the desk looked up and smiled. Then her smile faded, and a faint frown appeared between her eyebrows. Jane struggled to put a name to the semifamiliar face. Oh, no. Old Miss Yarns. She’d taught Jane’s fourth-grade Sunday School class and had been stern with her requirements and free with her discipline.
“Jane? Jane Southwick?” Miss Yarns rose to her feet and held out her hand. “It has been several years, has it not?”
“Yes, Miss Yarns.” The walls of this old institution would probably crack and fall if Miss Yarns used a contraction, Jane thought. “Nine. Years.” She grabbed Billie’s hand and drew her closer, as much for protection as to be polite. “My daughter, Belle Charlene.”
Billie glared at her mother. “Billie,” she said, then smiled. “I bet you can slide real good on this floor, huh?” she said, staring at the marble tiles. “You ever take your shoes off and—”
“No.” Miss Yarns blanched and resumed her seat. “I had heard you were back in town, Jane. Do you want to open an account with Barrington First National?”
No, Miss Yarns, I came over to New Accounts because of the stimulating company. “Yes,” she said demurely, sitting in one of the cloth-covered chairs in front of the woman’s desk and pointing to tell Billie to do the same. “I have an account in San Francisco that I’ve closed.” She slipped her purse off her shoulder and onto her lap, then pulled out a cashier’s check.
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