Sonya Harrison, blond, slender and at least five-foot-ten, wore enough jewelry to decorate Manhattan for Christmas. Her smile was brittle. "Mitch said you'd be here six weeks."
Laura looked directly into her eyes and tried to assure her her position wasn't in jeopardy. "I want to help you run the store smoothly until Dad returns. There won't be any major changes and I'll probably be in the office more often than on the floor with you."
"I thought Mitch was in charge."
This wasn't going to be easy on any front. "I hope to take some of the burden from Mitch so he can concentrate on the Harrisburg store and his exhibition. I've worked in the jewelry business on my own for six years, Sonya. I've been around it all my life. Of course, if I have questions, I'll check with Mitch. But I'm sure you and I can handle the daily routine without bothering him. Don't you?"
"I guess." The blond's brown eyes sought Mitch's.
He was absorbing the exchange patiently as if taking bets with himself on how it would go. He nodded. "Laura will be working with you. I'll have the final word."
He asserted a quiet authority that challenged Laura to make unilateral decisions. If she did, there'd be hell to pay. But she'd learned in the past paying the devil was better than losing her self respect. She unbuttoned her poncho, shrugged it off, and slung it over her arm. "I imagine my father will have the final word when he's able. I'm going to toss my coat into the office then look around the store more closely to get a feel for the merchandise. Or would you prefer to show me the records on the computer first?"
Mitch's face was impassive. "Take your time. I have work to do. The more you understand what we display, the more of it you'll be able to sell." He headed for the office.
Laura's temperature rose. He'd better learn right now she was going to be more than a glorified sales clerk. If her father wanted that, he could hire someone temporarily and Laura could stay at the house with Mandy. She followed Mitch, ready to do battle.
He had flicked on the computer. When he heard her step into the office, the flap of her coat onto a wooden surface, he parked in the swivel chair and faced her. "Do you think we should hire someone to help with repairs and sizing? Ray was doing all of that here."
"You're asking my opinion?"
Mitch rubbed his hand across the back of his neck as if he was tired. "Laura, put your hackles down. I'm hoping you can be of help. But I do have the final say. Now can we cooperate on that level?"
Suddenly she realized how much responsibility was resting on his shoulders. He didn't complain about it, he simply took care of it. That was nice. Doug had made decisions but procrastinated when it was one he didn't want to deal with or when it interfered with life's more exciting dimensions. She'd taken care of details like calling the plumber and getting the cars repaired. Mitch wouldn't shove off on someone else something he didn't want to do.
"I'd rather cooperate than lock horns. You have a stubborn streak three miles wide." And an unnerving affect on me.
She thought he'd be irritated, but his lips twitched. "And you don't?"
She suppressed a grin. "Of course not. I simply have a mind of my own."
Before he could make a smart comeback, she asked, "Would it be easier to send repairs to an independent?"
The depth and changing moods of his eyes fascinated her as he gave the idea some thought. "If it wasn't the Christmas season, I'd take them to the Harrisburg store. But we're backed up as it is and it will only get worse."
Laura looked at Mitch's face, admiring its planes and angles...its character. "Dad knew a Mr. Johnson who had his own store in the east end. Maybe he'd help us."
"He retired last year. But he might be bored by now. I'll call him. That's a good suggestion."
She beamed. His approval was important to her. She didn't want it to be, but it was. And as before, when she thought about her reaction to him, she felt a wave of an elusive emotion. She couldn't put her finger on it yet, but it made her uncomfortable. It was unusual for her not to be able to pinpoint her emotions. That only added to her unease.
She lifted her hand in an "I'll be back" wave and quickly went into the store area.
The whisper of Laura's slacks as she walked tempted Mitch to watch her leave. Since when had his hearing picked up a sound that soft? He sank back into the chair and stretched his legs out in front of him, staring at his toes instead. Was Mrs. Sanders good intentioned or sly? A well-meaning meddler or a manipulator? Somehow, she seemed to turn every situation to her advantage. That nettled him. Because he didn't always come out on top? On top. Damn, would he like to...
He slapped his hand on the chair's arm so hard his palm stung. More than once this morning he'd had to direct his attention away from the rise and fall of Laura's breasts under the fuschia and turquoise sweater. The turquoise wool slacks had pleats and plenty of material but still managed to show her curves too well.
And that hair. It seemed to draw the sunlight to it, making her complexion as delicate as the porcelain in the store. So was he upset with her because she could look fabulous in a brown gunny sack or because he couldn't keep his mind from picturing what was underneath? Both. He'd even taken a wrong turn driving to the store.
"Distraction, thy name is Laura," he muttered tersely.
It wasn't simply her looks. It was something more basic. Something about her personality that made him feel he lacked...he wasn't sure what. But something vital. Emotions stirred, alarming him because they were unfamiliar.
He pulled his legs in and sat up straight. He wanted to keep a careful distance from her because he still didn't know if he could depend on anything she said or did. He had to protect Ray. He had to protect his own investment. He had to protect more than that. When he was close to her, he couldn't think straight. He wanted to kiss her.
Sheer craziness, Riley. Keep alert. Track what she says and does. Examine her motives. Call her on her mistakes. And never underestimate her. That could be fatal.
***
With a cautious look, Sonya had given Laura the keys to the display cases. Perusing each one, she glanced up with a ready smile when a customer came into the store. She felt at home in this environment, sure of herself. Handling the gold, watching its buttery glow under the lights and the sparkle of precious gems thrilled her. She saved the case with the sapphires for last because she enjoyed them the most.
She lifted out a velvet tray and stared at the rings with longing. Jewelry was beautiful, but she loved handling it more than owning it. Except for the sapphires. Sometime, when Mandy was older, their finances in good shape...
Choosing a ring with fifteen, deep brilliant-cut sapphires in an S shape, she slipped it on her finger. Too big for the fourth digit, she switched it to the middle finger and pushed it on. It was tight, but splendid.
She jumped when a voice behind her asked, "Sampling the inventory?"
Mitch's chin almost touched her shoulder as he leaned toward her. The hairs on her neck stood at attention. Oh, Lord. Every time he got this close, she felt like jumping out of her skin. She was quickly discovering Mitch wasn't a "type." Mitch was Mitch. How she ever had the audacity to approach him the way she had last night, she'd never know.
Gulping in a draft of air, she blurted, "Wouldn't I like to! Sapphires are the most mysterious yet the most practical. Can you imagine them surrounding a blue topaz? The Caribbean surrounded by midnight sky."
He seemed surprised by her suggestion. "Maybe you should think about designing."
She shook her head and backed away a few inches. "No, I don't have the imagination. I just know what I like. And I like this ring too much to wear it any longer."
When she tried to slip it off, it wouldn't budge. She gave Mitch a sheepish smile. "I might have to keep it."
His long stare judged her before his words. "Don't you think before you act? We always size a customer before we try to slip a ring on her finger. You should know better."
She twisted the ring around but only succeeded in making her
finger red and swollen. "I get excited around jewelry. I merely wanted to see how it looked."
"Well, now you see. And now it's stuck. How inconvenient."
They'd been friendly in the office. Sort of. What had happened to make him suspicious again? Doubts and misconceptions shadowed his eyes. Did he think she'd keep the ring? That she'd done this on purpose? Wise enough to know nothing she could say would change his mind, she decided only her actions in the next six weeks would prove she could be trusted, that she wouldn't manipulate him or the circumstances for her own benefit.
"This isn't a major catastrophe, Mitch. Don't you keep lotion nearby for situations like this?"
"I've never had to--"
She pointed to the shelf below the cash register. "Maybe Sonya does. That looks like lotion."
With a speculative look, he stooped to retrieve the plastic bottle and handed it to her.
Laura squeezed a small dab of the pink liquid into her palm, applied it to her finger, gave the ring a twist, and slid it off.
Her gaze and Mitch's caught, and his expression shook her. There was primordial desire there that stopped her breath because she felt it too. But she could see he resented feeling it and that made him sharp. "I know you're an intelligent woman, Laura. But from what I've heard, your judgment takes second place to your impetuous nature."
Her patience melted like a snowflake on a hot iron. "Have you always lived your life with a step by step plan? Hasn't anything ever thrown it off?"
"My father's binges threw it off plenty. So did Carey's escapades. But I always managed to get it back on track."
She heard pride, but she also heard grief. She hadn't meant to remind him of days better forgotten. The sadness on his face squeezed her heart until she felt it too. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and make it go away.
Softly, she said, "Being on track doesn't have to mean being bored, or not having fun."
"I've never been bored."
"Have you ever had fun?"
"Of course."
"When?"
His eyes were shuttered to keep her from seeing too much. "My first ride on a roller coaster."
"That's it?"
"Of course not."
"Well? What else?"
He gave her a menacing look but answered her question. "Horseback riding."
"And how long's it been since you've done that?"
"Laura--"
"How long?"
He rifled his hand through his hair. "About two years."
She shook her head in exasperation. "Do you have fun at Christmas?"
"It's pleasant."
"What do you do?"
He appeared ready to wring her neck as he stepped closer, "Last year Mom made dinner and your dad joined us."
He smelled of wind and fall and everything basic, earthy and male. Curiosity pushed her to keep at him. "Did you sing carols, trim a tree, play in the snow?"
"We're adults, Laura. We ate dinner and spent time talking. The inquisition is now over. My free time isn't the issue, your judgment is. Make sure you use it wisely when you're in this store."
She saluted sharply. "Yes, sir. As soon as I wipe off this ring and put it away, you can introduce me to your records. If your program is as rigid as your life, it'll be simple to learn."
He gripped her elbow firmly. "Laura..."
She gazed down at his fingers--long fingers that were stern yet gentle as if he was afraid she'd snap if he pressed too hard. Knowing she was dabbling with the dangerous but unable to resist, she flashed him a smile as dazzling as the sapphire ring on her hand. "Careful. Sonya's watching. We wouldn't want to start any rumors, would we?"
His answer was a fake smile as he glanced at the assistant manager and released Laura's arm. "The program is fairly easy and not open to misinterpretation. Maybe you can learn something from it."
As clearly as she knew her name, Laura realized nothing would be easy with Mitch--not work, not the subject of her father, not the time they'd spend together. They were attracted to each other, fighting it, neither of them knowing exactly why. This might be the most interesting six weeks of her life.
***
Saturday morning Laura frowned at the computer monitor. She'd become familiar with the numbers, the lists, the inventory. She'd analyzed the projected sales for December, also looking at profits for the year at both stores. She was surprised at what she'd found. The York store was falling behind. It was making a profit but not like Harrisburg. Automatically she'd asked herself what to do about it.
Watching the clientele had helped. They were older, steady customers who'd been coming to the store for years. She'd also examined the Christmas ad campaign--what there was of it. That was another problem. She'd bet that sapphire ring out there that Mitch's ad campaign included special publicity about his exhibition and brought in all age groups. She'd also bet his ads were more comprehensive year round. Had he looked at the differences in profit margins? Had he discussed sales techniques with her dad? Neither of them even had a website. In this day that was a necessary part of PR as far as she was concerned.
Ideas began clicking. November and December were the months to pick up new customers. If the store offered something unique, a service--Ladies' night, Men's night, a new line to pique interest like some of the chains had. She'd have to talk to Mitch about it with a clear head, without being distracted by the tension between them.
"Are you ready?" Mitch asked, sticking his head into the office.
Sure, not be distracted. Fat chance when his voice echoed through her and his appearance accelerated her heart rate. "Did Dad call?"
"Yep. He can't wait to get home. Discharge papers are signed. He just needs our chauffeur service." Mitch's smile was free and wide. Ray's recovery meant a lot to him.
Laura was concerned. "He seemed anxious last night. As if he's afraid to come home. But he insisted he didn't want a private duty nurse."
Mitch's smile faded but his expression was still relaxed. "I think he's more concerned he won't recover as fast as he wants to. He was delighted by Mandy's visit."
"She's a little afraid of him."
Mitch shrugged. "He's a stranger."
Laura switched off the computer and stood. "So were you but that didn't stop her from being curious and friendly."
"What do you think the problem is? Maybe it was the hospital setting."
"I hope that's all. Sometimes I feel like I'm watching her too carefully, looking for signs of withdrawal again. If she misses George and Anne too much, we might have to-- Never mind. I'm worrying too much."
"I've heard that's a parent's prerogative." A partial smile chased away his seriousness.
Laura crossed to the old fashioned clothes rack and took her poncho from a hook, trying not to be apprehensive about bringing her father home. They hadn't been together in that house for six years.
"What's wrong?"
For someone who seemed to close off his feelings, Mitch certainly was aware of hers. She suspected he was still analyzing her--or at least attempting to. If she evaded him, he'd think she was hiding something.
She groped for an explanation that wouldn't put disapproval back in his eyes, but gave it up when she found approval and honesty didn't always go together. Slipping on the poncho, she said, "Dad's not easy to live with under the best of terms." When Mitch started to speak, she stopped him. "You asked me what was wrong. I'm worried. I don't want to upset him. But just being in the house with him brings back memories, some I'd rather forget. He and I have to establish a new relationship. I'm not sure either of us is ready for it."
Mitch stuffed his hands in his front trouser pockets. "Can I say something now?"
"Not if you're going to tell me I'm the one who has to make all the concessions." She stood silently waiting.
His blue eyes darkened and she couldn't understand their message. It didn't seem to matter because he turned his back on her. "Let's go."
***
As Mitch helped her fathe
r into his house, Laura felt like crying. She should have realized she'd be a fifth wheel. The only time her father had paid attention to her after her mother died was when she'd gotten into trouble. He'd thought grounding or cutting off her allowance or forbidding her to see her friends would solve the problems. He'd never realized she wanted his love, his time, and his attention.
Why should he be any different just because he'd had bypass surgery? While she was growing up, he'd used his work to close her out. Now he could use Mitch and the years in which they hadn't talked to keep her at a distance. Was she wrong not to have made further attempts to resolve their differences? Possibly. But her letters had been returned unopened the first year. It had hurt too much to be rejected over and over.
Her father had looked to Mitch at the hospital to help him into the wheelchair, to pick up the suitcase, to drive him home. Laura had sat in the back seat, trying to make conversation, but not doing much better than the weather, something they had thoroughly discussed on each of her visits.
Nora met them at the door and ushered Ray into the living room, motioning toward the wing chair. "Would you like to go to your room and rest? I'll bring lunch up to you. Mitch and I discussed the diet your doctor gave you. I made chicken salad with low fat dressing."
Ray gave Nora a wan smile. "To keep you from running up and down the stairs, I think I'll stay in the housekeeper's quarters." He looked at Mitch. "The sofa in there opens up. Could you sleep there a few nights in case I need something?"
Laura could see her father was scared and uncertain about being home. She wanted to hug him, comfort him, tell him he'd live a long, happy life. But he was looking to Mitch for help, not her. She glanced at Mandy sitting on the sofa, watching everything with wide eyes, and felt very much like her daughter looked--awkward, unsure, wondering what came next.
Making an attempt to help, Laura offered, "I can help Nora, Dad, if you want to stay in your room. The bed's probably more comfortable. We could put a bell--"
"Ray can probably relax better down here," Mitch interrupted. "He'd have his own living room and TV and the kitchen right outside. I think his idea is a good one."
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