One More Chance

by Ruth Jean Dale

  In the suddenly strained silence, Helen Burton's soft voice rang clear as a bell, "Well, thank heavens! I've been waiting twenty years for that to happen!"

  "And then Mr. Burton looked at me, and he looked down at the cane, and he looked at Mrs. Burton, and he said, 'Helen, what are you trying to tell me'?"

  Juliana collapsed with laughter, falling back against the plush desk chair. Barbara, seated across the broad expanse of mahogany, responded with a strained smile.

  Juliana wiped tears from her eyes. "After that Mr. Burton was a changed man. Every time he'd start to get excited, Mrs. Burton would give that broken cane a significant look and he'd straighten right up."

  "This doesn't exactly sound like your cup of tea."

  Juliana overlooked the other woman's critical tone and spoke mildly. "Too true. I'm not even entirely sure what they want."

  "You'll find out, soon enough. Everybody wants something."

  Juliana had never heard that chilly note in Barbara's voice before, lacking even a trace of the little-girl phoniness. "I'm sorry. You're here on business. What can I do for you?"

  Barbara's lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. "You can clear up a nasty rumor."

  Juliana caught her breath. Surely the word wasn't already out about her and Ben. But that was ridiculous— even if anyone had heard, it couldn't exactly be classified as a "nasty rumor." She shook off her momentary dismay. "Sure," she said. "What have you heard?"

  "That the Holmes property is about to sell for a hundred thousand dollars."

  "The what?"

  Barbara gave an inelegant snort. "Don't be coy. I'm talking about Edna and Henry Holmes—or I should say, Edna Holmes, now that Henry's dead. On Orange Tree Terrace?"

  "Oh, sure." Juliana knew the property—an old falling-down frame house, but valuable land in a good area. "A hundred thousand? Boy, that's dirt cheap around there. What's the deal?"

  "You ought to know. Charlie Gresham is the agent and you're his broker." Barbara clutched her purse and stood up. Her voice rang with self-righteous indignation. "I've known you a long time, Juliana, and nothing you do should surprise me. You've stolen clients from me, you've stolen listings from me, and you've lied to me. But I didn't think even you would stoop low enough to steal from a seventy-five year old widow."

  "What are you talking about?" Aghast, Juliana stared at the other woman.

  "Charlie Gresham is a sleeze and you knew it when you let him come in here. He's convinced that poor confused old lady that he's got her the deal of the century and it's at least fifty thousand less than it should be. And just guess who the buyer is?"

  "Why, I don't—"

  "Charlie's brother!"

  "Wait a minute, wait a minute." Juliana held up her hands in appeal. "You must be mistaken. Who told you all this?"

  "She did!" Barbara's outrage knew no bounds; she literally quivered with it. "Mrs. Holmes was sitting next to me at the Hair Today Boutique yesterday and I overheard her talking to the beautician. Poor old lady thinks Charlie can walk on water, but some of us know different, don't we?"

  Barbara took a stiff step toward the door. "I know you're disappointed that you're out of the running for the Real Estate Star award, but your office is still in the picture for most transactions. Well, Juliana Robinson, this isn't a transaction." Barbara took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring. "This," she announced in ringing tones, "is doing deals. Your father must be turning over in his grave!"

  Juliana felt as if she'd tumbled into a nightmare. She sat at her desk, her heart pounding painfully and her mind whirling as Barbara stalked to the door. She tossed a last outraged glance over her shoulder and made her exit in a huff, slamming the door.

  Seconds later Stella opened the door and stuck her head inside. "What's the matter with Babs?" she asked.

  "Stella, do you know anything about Charlie Gresham and an offer or a listing on the Holmes property?"

  "Sure." Stella approached the desk. "Don't you remember?"

  Juliana felt sick to her stomach. Apparently she had condoned Charlie's bid to take advantage of the widow Holmes. "Is Charlie out there now?"

  Stella nodded. "He's about to write the contract for that deal, Juliana."

  "That's what he thinks." Juliana clenched her teeth and braced her hands on the arms of her chair. "Ask Mr. Gresham to come in here, please."

  She tried to couch her questions to Charlie in as unthreatening a manner as possible, but he wasn't buying it. The burly agent fidgeted while he heard her out and then exploded.

  "Damn it to hell, you knew what was going on as well as I did," he shouted, jumping to his feet. His blue and green checkered jacket flapped around his ample middle as he paced the floor in front of her desk. "You're in this for the bucks, same as I am, and you take 'em where you can find 'em. Don't pull any sanctimonious B.S. on me at this late date."

  Juliana pressed the heels of her palms to her throbbing head. "Goodbye, Charlie," she said, astonished to hear her voice come out strong and steady. "Our association is at an end."

  "Oh, yeah?" He leaned across the desk, bracing his hands on the polished wood. "You're the one told us to pull out all the stops so we won't be standing there with egg on our faces at awards time. Besides, I just got married and I can't afford to let any live ones get away. We'll see—"

  The telephone's ring intruded and Juliana grabbed for the receiver.

  "It's Ben Ware," Stella announced.

  Relief flooded through Juliana. "Oh, yes, put him on."

  "No, I mean he's here."

  The door opened simultaneously with Stella's words and Ben stood there, a question on his face. He wore the omnipresent Levi's and a white T-shirt that strained to cover his broad shoulders and powerful torso. His smile faded as he took in the scene before him.

  Juliana drew strength from the very sight of him. She swung her gaze back to Charlie. "I said goodbye."

  Charlie thrust out his fleshy lower lip and for a moment it looked as if he'd resume the argument. But Ben walked forward to stand beside Juliana, his eyes chips of blue ice. The odds had suddenly changed, along with Charlie's expectations, apparently. He straightened, his lip curling.

  Ben cleared his throat, an ominous sound in the hushed room. Without another word, Charlie pivoted toward the door.

  Juliana held herself stiffly erect while he stalked from the room. As the door closed, she collapsed into Ben's arms, hanging on tight.

  He stroked her hair with one hand. "Easy, honey. Want to tell me what that was all about?"

  "Yes." She gulped a deep breath and straightened. "Only later, okay? I have to sort this out in my mind first."

  "Whatever you say." He gazed at her, his expression solemn. "I missed you. Do you mind me dropping in like this?"

  "No. Oh, no!" She rose on tiptoe and brushed a light kiss across his mouth. "I was never so glad to see anyone in my life."

  He caught her chin with tender fingers. "Me, neither," he said. "Any chance I'll see you tonight? This time I'm looking for the definitive answer."

  "About the same as the chance the sun'll set in the west."

  And when he kissed her, the chances seemed even better than that.

  Juliana walked into her kitchen to find Paige opening a diet soda. She looked up and grinned as if there'd never been a cross word between them. "So you went back to the office today. Good for you."

  "I went back, but it wasn't all that good." Juliana opened the refrigerator and peered inside.

  Paige nodded. "Okay, that takes care of your day. Now let's talk about your night."

  Juliana pulled out a pitcher of orange juice and closed the refrigerator door. "Whatever do you mean?" she asked primly.

  "Give me a break, Mom. I know you spent the night with Ben."

  Juliana's jaw dropped and she stared at her daughter, shocked to the core. "W-why I… it… you don't… uhh, we—"

  Paige laughed. "Don't look so shocked. Mother. I think it's great. I think he's great. If you want to marr
y him, you have my permission."

  "Marry! Nobody's talking marry. Where on earth do you get these ideas?" The very word flustered Juliana, who scarcely needed any more jolts. Moving jerkily, she pulled down a juice glass from a shelf.

  Paige winked broadly. "I understand," she said solemnly. "Are you going to move in with him or is he moving in here?"

  "Are you crazy?" Juliana splashed juice over the rim of the glass. "Nobody's moving anywhere." And then she saw her daughter's face and realized the little brat was teasing. She'd fallen for it. Was that a guilty conscience or what? "Paige, let's be serious for a minute."

  Instantly alert, the girl's expression became guarded and a little remote. "Do we have to? I have a date in a few minutes."

  "You know we do. About last night…" Juliana finally said what she'd been steeling herself to say all day long. "I. was wrong. I reacted out of habit. If you really, truly, want to be a nurse—" she swallowed hard and forced herself to total capitulation "—I'll support you all the way."

  "Do you mean it?" Paige gave her mother a wary look. "That's almost too easy, Mom."

  "Not for me it isn't," Juliana corrected grimly. "I only ask that you wait until after you get back from Europe this summer before making your final decision."

  Paige relaxed with an audible sigh. "That's reasonable. But this isn't just another crazy idea so don't get your hopes up—"

  "I won't. I promise, I won't." Juliana's heart swelled with love as she looked at her beautiful daughter. Impulsively she added, "I love you, sugar. I only want you to be happy."

  "Now there's a switch." Paige paused at the doorway. "Not the part about loving me—I love you, too. But the 'happy' part… always before, you've said you only want what's best for me. Do I sense a subtle change here?"

  "We can but hope." Juliana spoke flippantly, but she couldn't help thinking about it after Paige had gone to get ready for her date.

  Happiness or what's best. Chocolate cake or liver. Ben or the whole wide world.

  No contest.

  They stood on the balcony, breathing the sweet night air. Clutching the sheet more tightly around her, Juliana turned her head to look at Ben, outlined by the lights from inside the house. He wore only an old pair of denim cutoffs that exposed his heavily muscled thighs and sleekly tapering knees and calves. When he turned toward her, the washboard rippling of his torso stood out boldly.

  But she mustn't think of that now. Desperately she tried to work up the courage to tell him about Barbara, about Charlie and Mrs. Holmes. Unfortunately, when that was done Juliana would also have to tell Ben about herself.

  She could swear on a stack of Bibles that she didn't remember a thing about the transaction in question, but that didn't excuse her. As the broker, she was legally and morally responsible.

  Furthermore, she felt duty bound to admit to Ben that she'd bent the rules in the past—nothing illegal and nothing too immoral. Or at least, she didn't think so. After much soul searching, she still wasn't entirely sure. Her confidence had been too severely shaken.

  Ben came up behind her and kissed her shoulder. "You're tense," he murmured, sliding his arms around her waist.

  "Am I?" She flexed her shoulder blades against him. She'd arrived more than an hour ago and he'd enticed her directly into the bedroom—admittedly, without complaint or resistance on her part. Their lovemaking had been wonderful, even racked with guilt as she was.

  "I think you missed me." He nuzzled the curve of her shoulder and she felt the damp flick of his tongue. His hands covered her breasts and squeezed gently. "Move in with me, Juli."

  She groaned and closed her eyes. "Then neither of us would ever get anything done. The a-avocados would shrivel up—"

  "To hell with avocados."

  "And the Burtons would never find anyone to figure out what their problem is, let alone solve it."

  He put his hands on her bare shoulders and turned her toward him. "I'm serious," he said in his husky voice.

  "I know you are," she said miserably. She drew a shaky breath. "After I say what I'm about to say, you may change your mind."

  She sat at the kitchen table, the sheet draped around her. Filled with melancholy, she watched him make a pot of tea, his movements relaxed and easy. Even in her current state of depression she found herself admiring the sleek brown skin of his torso and the muscled strength of his legs.

  He placed two mugs on the table, the strings and tags of the tea bags flopping. He sat down across from her and gave her a quizzical look.

  So she told him. About Charlie Gresham and the widow Holmes, about Barbara's accusations and Stella's corroboration. She told it all, without once looking at him.

  When she had finished, he spoke without inflection. "So Barbara all but called you a crook and you took it."

  She didn't know how to defend herself. "Can you blame me? There are great gaps in my memory. Even when I do remember something, I don't trust it so I'm constantly trying to check."

  "This is one you don't have to check."

  Her head jerked up. "Why not?"

  "Because I already did. I talked to Stella."

  Juliana groaned. "Then you know I was all set to help Charlie Gresham cheat a poor widow."

  "I know nothing of the kind." His face hardened to bronze. In the fluorescent lighting, his hair gleamed with shades of silver and gold.

  "But you said—" Helplessly she spread her hands palms up.

  Ben let out his breath in an explosive sigh, the muscles of his chest bunching as he leaned forward in his chair. "You're mighty damned eager to believe the worst. You don't have a very high opinion of yourself, do you."

  "Why, I—" How could she? It sounded like an open and shut case. "Stella herself said I knew about the deal."

  "Yes, but she never said you understood it. When I spoke to her after you left today, she realized that she'd been asking you to make decisions and offer guidance long before you were able to handle it. She's as upset about all this as you are—only she's mad as hell at herself, not at you."

  Juliana reached for her cup, her hands trembling so badly that tea slopped over the rim. She snatched her hands back and dried them on the sheet. "I honestly don't remember anything about Mrs. Holmes or her property."

  "I believe you," he said.

  "How can you, when I'm not sure I believe myself?" She twisted the corners of the sheet into a knot. "I know I've never been a Pollyanna in business—"

  "Or anything else," he inserted.

  She glared at him. "This is serious, damn it. I know my reputation. I like—liked to think of myself as tough but honest. Now all of a sudden I have to wonder… Is this the kind of thing I did all the time? Maybe I can't remember because I don't want to remember. How can I be sure? How can you be sure?"

  He leaned forward, propping an elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand. "I'm sure," he said flatly.

  She banged both fists down on the table, hard. The cup jumped and tea sprayed out, but she didn't even look at it. "But how can you believe in me?"

  He didn't react to her anger and frustration. Instead he smiled. "Because I want to," he said simply. "That's what it always comes down to, in the end. The evidence against you is purely circumstantial—the jury could go either way. So I believe in you because I choose to."

  Time stood still as she stared into his eyes, looking for the bait, the hook. She didn't realize she was crying until she could no longer see him through the tears.

  He leaned across the table and picked up her hand. Her fingers tightened convulsively around his, and he let her cry.

  Finally she swallowed hard and dabbed at her eyes with one corner of the sheet. "Thanks," she said, her voice husky. "I'm not used to having someone else believe in me more strongly than I do myself."

  "Not a bad feeling, though."

  "A wonderful feeling." She drew a shuddering breath. "I'm glad that's out in the open. I feel like I'm copping a plea, though. Between Charlie and Barbara—"

&n
bsp; "Forget them. Juli, you've got to consider motives. Barbara hates your guts and always has, according to Stella. Even if Barbara believes everything she says, she's putting her own spin on it. Why shouldn't you do the same?" He gave her a mock-ferocious glare and tightened his hold on her hand. "As for Charlie, Stella said you took him in over your own best judgment because he was desperate. You were trying to do a good deed, Juli. Stella says you did a lot of nice things for people, you just weren't comfortable about letting anyone—"

  He stiffened and looked toward the door with a frown.

  "What is it?" she asked, instantly alarmed.

  He cocked his head for a few seconds and listened, then . shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. Sounded like a car engine there for a minute. But nobody comes up here, especially at this time of night. Where was I?"

  "Something about Stella."

  "Oh, yeah. You know how they say no man's a hero to his valet? I think it's equally true that no woman's a hero— make that heroine—to her secretary. Nobody knows you better professionally than Stella, and she's your biggest booster."

  Again he hesitated. This time he listened for a second or two and then surged to his feet, fists clenching at his sides as he faced the door.

  Juliana's heart plunged and she shrank back in her chair, clutching the sheet more tightly around her breasts. She wasn't afraid in a physical sense; she had absolute confidence in Ben's ability to protect her.

  But she was very much afraid in every other sense. The thought of being discovered half-naked in the middle of the night in a man's kitchen practically sent her into a swoon.

  Someone was definitely out there. The doorknob turned and the door began to swing open. Ben stepped forward, wrapped his fingers around the edge of the door and slammed it wide with such force that it banged against the wall and bounced back again to hit him in the shoulder, a blow he shrugged off.

  "Oh!" A middle-aged woman stood on the step, one hand at her throat, her lips parted in astonishment. For a moment she stared into Ben's face, and then her glance slipped past him to settle on Juliana.