Love Finds You in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin

by Pamela S. Meyers

  “He presumed the story was going to run when I asked for my education money.” She sniffed and took a handkerchief from her coat pocket. “He asked me to leave and then changed his tune because Mom was upset. Not him, mind you, just Mom.” Her lower lip quivered.

  Jack slid his arm across her shoulders and tugged her close, loving the lilac scent that came with her. He pressed her face into his shoulder. Dangerous territory, but the woman was distressed. “He probably meant it for both of them. Sometimes it’s hard for men to express their feelings.” If she only knew how true that was.

  “He had no trouble expressing himself when he told me to leave.” She turned, causing her cast to dig into his ribs, but he wasn’t moving for anything.

  Jack brought his hand to her chin and lifted her face until they looked eye to eye. He longed to feel her lips against his and imagined their softness.

  She stiffened.

  He pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  Was she thinking about Matthew? If the guy was waiting out there in California for her to arrive so they could marry, would she snuggle with another man? He needed to know the truth—now. “There’s something I want to ask—”

  She straightened. “We’ve got to get inside.” She slid over and grabbed her belongings.

  He yanked the keys from the ignition and opened his door. Sometimes he wished he’d never heard of California.

  Meg entered the auditorium ahead of Jack and scanned the seats. There were probably dozens of places to sit, but who could think after what happened in the car? She’d wanted him to kiss her in the worst way. But she couldn’t. She might not like Ginny all that much, but she refused to cooperate with Jack’s two-timing ways. Good thing she stayed strong and resisted temptation.

  “What about there?” Jack pointed to a pair of seats in the next-to-last row.

  Meg nodded, and he guided her with his hand burning a spot on her back like a branding iron. They squeezed past a couple sitting on the end and dropped into their seats.

  Meg pulled out her notebook and pencil while Jack did the same, his left arm brushing hers. A trail of goose bumps snaked up her arm. She cast him a sideways glance. He’d shed his coat and hat, tucking the fedora under his seat. Her gaze went to his lips. Lips that moments ago had been so close, she’d felt his breath. He probably was a good kisser. Not that she’d shared kisses with enough men to know what was good or bad.

  She faced the front. Movement flashed off to the side, and she turned.

  Fred Newman shuffled down the far aisle and took a seat several rows ahead, his eyes riveted in front of him. On the stage, Dad stared at Fred, his mouth cemented in a tight line. Dad shook his head and sat at a table with several others as the committee chairman’s call to order quieted the crowd.

  The chairman gave a prolonged welcome then introduced the architect and building contractor. Both men rambled on about facts most people already knew. Meg doodled on her notepad. The contractor sat to polite applause, and tension filled the air.

  The chairman came to the podium. “And now for the reason most of you are here. Louis Alden, our contest chairman, will make a very important announcement.”

  “They better not say they’re sticking with Northport again,” a man behind Meg muttered.

  Across the way, Fred moved to the edge of his seat, his jaw working like a cow chewing her cud.

  At the lectern, Dad cleared his throat. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” He grinned and scanned the crowd. “We have a name I think everyone will approve of.”

  Someone applauded and then others followed, the sound building like a wave.

  Dad sent an intense stare in Fred’s direction before looking at his notes. “We had an overwhelming ninety-eight entries, but only one stood out. The dictionary describes the chosen name as a coastal resort area, and that description aptly describes the building and its surroundings. With its exquisite bathhouse facilities and beautiful ballroom, there is no more appropriate name than the one chosen for our fine-looking structure.

  “In a few months, the summer sun will shine down on our beautiful new recreation building, which will henceforth be called…”

  He let his gaze travel the span of the auditorium.

  “The Riviera.”

  Everyone took a collective breath while Meg whispered the name and liked the sound.

  Dad held up an envelope. “This contains the twenty-five-dollar prize won by Mrs. Hobart Smith for her excellent submission. Is Mrs. Smith… ?”

  Meg gasped. Murmurs broke out in pockets around the large room. Dad asked again for Mrs. Smith to come forward.

  Meg surveyed the seats. Had Violette been warned not to come?

  “Someone from the committee will contact Mrs. Smith tomorrow.” Dad peered at Fred Newman.

  Fred nodded his head, gave a slight salute, then sauntered out of the auditorium.

  Jack bent his head toward Meg. “Why is everyone so stirred up? I think it’s a wonderful name.”

  “Mrs. Smith is Violette Fenner.”

  His eyes widened. “The same lady who won the first contest?”

  “Bingo.”

  On stage, the chairman called a man to the podium to discuss budget numbers.

  “Gus is waiting to set up the Linotype. Let’s go.”

  Meg did double time to keep up with Jack’s long stride. By the time they reached his car, he’d rattled off the points they needed to make in the announcement. The piece would sit above the fold with the headline “It’s the Riviera.” The paragraph would say that the winning name was submitted by Mrs. Smith and not mention she was the previous prizewinner. And would Meg find the Webster’s and look up the word’s description?

  Gus set a green-tinted Coke bottle on his worktable and flashed a grin as Meg and Jack stepped into the office. “So what’s the good word?”

  “The Riviera,” Jack and Meg answered in unison. They looked at each other and laughed.

  Gus repeated the name. “I like it. Sounds classy.”

  “I agree.” Meg headed for a bookcase while Jack rolled a sheet of paper into his typewriter.

  “So who won the contest?” Gus ambled toward Composing.

  Meg caught Jack’s eye. “A Mrs. Hobart Smith. She wasn’t even there.”

  Gus chortled. “For twenty-five smackers, I’d show up. She must not need the money.”

  Meg one-armed the dictionary to her desk and flipped to the R’s. “I found the word, Jack.” Then her face heated and she glanced at Gus, relieved that he was busy with the Linotype and likely hadn’t noticed how she’d used Jack’s first name. “Mr. Wallace, let me know when you want me to read the description.”

  He looked up from his typing, and she almost dissolved at his crooked grin. “You can begin now, Miss Alden.”

  She glanced at the page. How had she ended up in the T’s? She flipped back and landed in the Q’s. “I had it a minute ago. Sorry.” Did he just chuckle? “It’s not funny,” she mouthed, finding the page.

  “You’re cute when you get flustered.”

  He’d whispered the words across the expanse between their desks, but she peeked at Gus anyway. The man had his back to them.

  “Ready when you are.”

  She read the description of “riviera” as her dad had earlier.

  Jack stopped typing. “Thanks. Got it.”

  She slammed the book shut. “I’ll go ahead and walk home.”

  He looked over at her, his eyes telegraphing concern. “It’s black as pitch out there. I’ll run you home.”

  “I’ll be okay. Lake Geneva isn’t Chicago.”

  He typed a few more words then ripped the paper out of the machine. “Article’s done.” He stood and called over his shoulder as he passed her, “Don’t you dare leave. That’s an order.”

  Meg saluted him and giggled. She hadn’t had this much fun in a long while.

  Like an unwanted guest, a wave of realization washed over her. In a few weeks
she’d board a westbound train, out of Jack’s life forever. But Ginny would still figure strongly in his world, and even if she and Jack didn’t end up together, Chicago was full of attractive women who would love a man like him.

  Jack returned from Composing, gathered up his hat and coat from where he’d tossed them on Lester’s desk, then took Meg by the arm and led her toward the outside. “Night, Gus.”

  In the car, Meg pressed herself against the door.

  Jack put the vehicle in motion. “If you sit any farther away, you’ll be on the running board. You okay?”

  Meg straightened. “I’m just tired.”

  Silence hung between them until Jack made a U-turn in front of her house and pulled up to the curb. He faced her and stretched his arm across the back of the seat. “Before I walk you to the door, I need to apologize for almost taking advantage of the situation and making a move to kiss you earlier. I had no right to do that given your plans for California.”

  “How does my moving affect whether you kiss me or not?”

  “Because you and Matthew…”

  The man wasn’t making sense. “Matthew could care less who I kiss. He’s living in Minneapolis and engaged to be married.”

  Jack slumped against the seat. “Then who is Mattie?”

  “Mattie?” Meg frowned. “My girlfriend who used to work at the paper. She lives in Santa Monica.”

  “Mattie is a woman? I thought…well, when I heard your old boyfriend’s name was Matthew…”

  His words weren’t making sense. “Mattie’s real name is Matilda, but don’t ever tell her I told you that. She hates it.”

  “She’s a woman.”

  Meg gave a nervous laugh. “Last I checked. Her husband was on the crew building that big dam on the Colorado River. He was killed last year.”

  Even in the dark she could see his face clear enough to know that he was grinning. “Then you’re not planning to get married?”

  “Married? Hopefully someday, but not soon. Jack, this conversation is confusing me.”

  “Me too. Maybe someday I’ll explain.” He opened his door and climbed out.

  Meg chuckled. Whatever gave him the idea she was engaged? He sure sounded relieved that she was still unattached. Not that it changed anything. She was still moving, and he still had Ginny.

  Jack held her arm as they strolled to the door. She wished someone had remembered to turn on the porch light so she could see what was likely his red face. They took the two steps to the tiny porch and faced each other.

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I feel like an idiot. You kept saying ‘Mattie,’ and I thought it was your pet name for Matthew.”

  She giggled. “I’m glad you finally asked. But I don’t remember ever telling you Matthew’s name.”

  “You didn’t. Let’s just say I heard it from someone else who shall remain nameless.”

  She crossed her arms. “I can only think of two women who would tell you that. Either Helen or Emily. But I’m glad you were straightened out before you bought me a wedding gift.”

  “Me too. Very much,” he whispered then bent his head. “Since you’re not taken, I’d like to finish what I started before the meeting.”

  Stomach tingling, she stood on her toes and tilted her chin.

  The outside light flicked on, and they stepped apart.

  Jack chucked her under her chin. “Best we just say good night.”

  She reached for the door handle. “Right. See you tomorrow.”

  “Night, Meg. Sleep tight.”

  Her chin still tingling from his gentle touch, she waited until his tail-lights disappeared around the corner and then let go of a sigh. She stepped inside and shut the door.

  “I suppose you two have a story ready to break in the morning.”

  She faced her father. “Just a short announcement that the new name is the Riviera chosen by Mrs. Smith.” She stepped past him. “Not a single word about Mrs. Smith being the former Miss Fenner.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Mrs. Smith is Violette Fenner?”

  She studied his widened eyes, and relief washed over her. He didn’t know. “I really thought you knew. Can you tell me the truth about Fred now?”

  He released her arm. “There’s nothing to tell.” He turned and headed toward the kitchen.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “If you plan to attend Good Friday services this afternoon, I hope you’ll consider changing clothes.” Mom peered over her coffee cup and fastened her brown eyes on Meg.

  The Rice Krispies she’d swallowed lodged halfway down, feeling like a lump of dough. Meg looked down at her yellow print dress. She’d always loved Easter weekend, but what was she to do when God seemed to have deserted her? She raised her head. “I may have to work.”

  “Why? You’ve always had Good Friday afternoon off.” The lines around Mom’s mouth tightened. “I don’t like this, Meg.”

  “The paper is closed from noon till three like always, but I can’t afford to take the time off if I’m to get my research done.” Her words sounded hollow to her ears. She pushed her bowl away. “I can’t finish this.”

  “I’ll eat it, but I won’t let you go to work on an empty stomach. You can munch on toast while you walk.” Mom went to the counter and took two slices of bread from the bread box. She popped them into the toaster then turned. “What’s going on, Meg? You haven’t been yourself since Jack started at the paper.”

  Meg shrugged. “It has nothing to do with Jack. Like I said before, when I read the Bible, it seems dry and lifeless. When I pray, God doesn’t answer.”

  Mom studied her with watery eyes, and an ache filled Meg’s chest. She jumped up and quickstepped across the room, wrapping her arms around her mother. “The research can wait. I’ll meet you at church.”

  Mom returned the hug. “I hope you’re doing this to please God, not me. Scripture tells us He’s the same yesterday, today, and forever.”

  Meg looked her mother in the eyes. “I know what the Bible says, but when I trusted Him to give me the desires of my heart, He didn’t come through.”

  The toast popped up, and Mom spread butter and jam on the slices. She wrapped them in waxed paper and handed them to Meg. “Maybe your desires need changing.”

  Meg turned away. “I’ll see you at church.”

  Wearing her three-year-old navy suit and carrying her toast, which by now was cold, Meg headed down Main Street. Wasn’t it God who gave her the ability to write and the desire to be a reporter? Why would He do that just to block the opportunities for her success? She’d attend church, but her heart wouldn’t be in it. She unwrapped the toast and forced it down. To not do so would be wasteful.

  Meg studied her notes from the previous day’s interview with Violette Smith. The two-time winner said she hadn’t expected to win but was grateful because of the money. Violette doubted they would attend the grand opening since they didn’t dance, and that was the end of that. No feature article like Meg had hoped. She checked her watch. Almost eleven thirty. She’d come back after church and rough up the beginnings of the news article summarizing the contest outcome.

  Her telephone rang, and she reached for the receiver. Probably Mom, making sure she was still planning on attending the service.

  “This is Fred Newman. I’m ready to talk.”

  Her heart racing, she lowered her voice. “When?”

  “Two o’clock at my house.”

  “Today’s Good Friday.”

  “So? Haven’t been to church since I buried my wife and son.”

  Fred had been married? Had his family died in an accident? No wonder he was so crotchety. “I can’t be there until after three.”

  “Too late.”

  She’d promised Mom, but this was important. “If I can find a ride, I’ll come.” A stabbing pain penetrated her conscience.

  He harrumphed. “I don’t suppose you’ll get a lift with everyone in church. Meet me by the statue in Flat Iron Park at two.”

/>   Tension eased out of her shoulders. The Flat Iron Park statue was only a couple blocks’ walk. “I can come at three-thirty,” she said, her voice firm.

  “Two o’clock or nothing.”

  Meg winced. Her morning conversation with Mom echoed in her ears. She should decline. Maybe she could attend the service at noon and slip out at one thirty. “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

  She hung up as Jack ambled over. “What time do you plan to leave for the service?”

  She stared into his ardent face. His excitement over church when hers had ebbed continually challenged her, but surely he’d understand. “Soon, but I’ll have to slip out early.” She grinned. “Guess who called?”

  He cocked his head. “Who? Mattie? The Examiner?”

  Meg glanced around the nearly empty office. Only Emily remained. She lowered her voice. “Fred Newman wants to meet at Flat Iron Park at two. He’s ready to talk.”

  “On Good Friday?”

  “He said he doesn’t care because he doesn’t go to church.”

  “Maybe if he went, he’d change his attitude.” Jack’s jaw muscle throbbed against his cheek. “Couldn’t you reschedule?”

  “I tried, but he said it was two o’clock or nothing.”

  He crossed his arms. “He’s baiting you. Don’t go.”

  Meg flew to her feet and pressed her fist on her desk, leaning on her arm. “And miss what might be a break in our story? I’m surprised you’d say that, newsman that you are.”

  “And newsman that I am, I recognize a trap when I see one.” His voice reverberated in the air.

  “I don’t believe you.” She matched his raised voice and then some.

  “I’m ordering you not to go. I’ll see you at church.” Eyes sparking, Jack turned and strode to his office.

  Meg glared at his closed door as heat crept up her neck. How dare he shout orders at her. She glanced at Emily and caught the girl’s wide-eyed stare before she turned away.

  Meg cleaned off her desk then stared once more at Jack’s closed door. She heaved a sigh then walked to the entrance. “I’m leaving, Emily. Have a happy Easter.”