One Special Christmas & Home for the Holidays (24 page)

“What I've seen here looks very good,” he said carefully, his eyes meeting hers as he handed back her list of credentials. “But most of what you've done is residential work, with the exception of a few small commercial jobs. Do you really think you're equipped to handle the Arts Center?”

“Yes,” she said steadily. “I realize we'll have to expand. I've been wanting to do that anyway, but I was waiting for the right commission to come along. And as for our ability to do the design itself, all I'm really asking for is a chance to give you some ideas. I won't even charge for spec time.”

“No one is asking you to work for free.”

“I'll do anything it takes to convince you that we can handle this job,” she said steadily, her gaze locked on his.

She wants this assignment so much, Nick realized with a sharp pang of sympathy. He knew what it felt like to be in that position. But earnestness didn't guarantee talent or results, he reminded himself.

“Suppose we take a look at the plans,” he suggested. “You've already seen the model, and I'll fill you in on the terrain.”

“I've already been to the site,” she informed him.

He looked at her in surprise. “You have?”

She nodded. “This morning. I knew where it was
from all the articles in the paper, so I went over there early and walked around a bit. But I had no idea what you have in mind architecturally, or even what direction you want the building to face, so I need to see the plans before I can talk intelligently about the landscaping.”

Nick nodded, impressed by her initiative. “Of course.” He unrolled one of the elevations, and for the next two hours they worked their way through the plans. Laura's questions were astute, and the preliminary ideas she voiced were intelligent, appropriate and interesting. She took extensive notes as they talked, and Nick couldn't help notice the enthusiastic sparkle in her lovely green eyes.

When the last of the elevations had been rerolled, Laura leaned back in her chair. “I'm impressed,” she said honestly. “It's a spectacular building, and I like the use of natural materials. This will lend itself beautifully to landscaping that features native plants and trees. I can just imagine the entrance in the spring if we do a design with dogwoods and azaleas and red-buds. And the reflecting pool in front could be flanked with gardens that feature seasonal flowers.” She paused thoughtfully, and then looked over at Nick. “Those are just preliminary thoughts, of course. I'd like to get some rough designs on paper and then meet with you again before you make a decision on your landscaper.”

Despite her calm, professional tone, Nick saw the strain around her mouth and eyes, and could sense the tenseness in her body as she waited for his answer. He had a totally illogical urge to reach over and smooth away the smudges under her lower lashes with his thumb, which he firmly stifled.

She's married, for heaven's sake, he chastised himself. Get a grip, pal. That's really not your style.

He cleared his throat and forced himself to glance away from those mesmerizing eyes. “That would be fine,” he said, gathering up the plans. “I'll have a set of prints run for you. When would you like to get together again?”

“How about a week from today?”

He looked up in surprise. “Will that give you enough time?”

She shrugged. “Enough to do some preliminary work. It won't be detailed, but it should be sufficient for you to decide whether you want my firm for this job.”

“All right. Should we try one o'clock again?”

“That will be fine.”

“And next time I promise to be punctual,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

She gave him a fleeting smile and then shrugged. “I enjoyed chatting with Jack. He's a nice guy.”

“Give me a minute and I'll have those copies made for you.”

By the time he returned, Laura had gathered up all of her material. He handed her the copies and she slipped them inside the portfolio, zipping it before extending her hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Sinclair. I appreciate the chance you're giving me.”

“It's my pleasure. I do have one favor to ask, though.”

“Yes?” she asked quizzically.

“Could we use first names? This Mr. and Mrs. business is too formal for me.”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

He smiled. “Good. Then I'll see you next week, Laura.”

 

Three nights later, the phone's persistent ringing finally penetrated Laura's awareness. She sat bent over the drawing board in a corner of her living room, working on the Regional Arts Center designs, and had no time for social calls. And it had to be a social call, she thought when a quick glance at her watch showed that it was after seven. So she ignored it and went back to work.

An hour and a half later, the doorbell rang. Laura looked up and sighed. She'd promised designs in a week with full knowledge that the commitment would appreciably lengthen her already long work days. But they were going to be even longer if she had too many interruptions.

The bell rang again, and this time the caller kept the button depressed. With a frown Laura slid off the stool where she'd been perched and, massaging her neck muscles with one hand, made her way to the door. Her eyes widened when she glanced through the peephole.

“Sam!” she said, swinging the door open. “This is a surprise! Come in.”

The slim, fashionably dressed woman on the other side sauntered over the doorway and glanced around. “Have you had your phone fixed yet?”

“My phone?” Laura asked blankly, shutting and bolting the door.

“Well, it must be out of order. I keep calling, and it just keeps ringing. And you're obviously here.”

“Oh.” Laura's face flooded with color. “Sorry,” she said apologetically. “I just didn't pick up. I'm on a deadline for what could be the commission that will finally put Taylor Landscaping on the map, and I just don't have time for anything else until next week.”

“Including food?” Sam asked.

“I've been eating,” she hedged.

“What did you have for dinner?”

“Well, I haven't had dinner yet,” Laura admitted.

As Sam pointedly glanced at her watch, her shoulder-length red hair swung across her face. “May I ask at just what hour you plan to dine?”

“When I get hungry.”

“You're not hungry yet? You must have had a big lunch,” Sam persisted.

“Not exactly.” Suddenly Laura realized she felt ravenous. She'd eaten only an apple for lunch, and that had been hours ago. As enticing smells emanated from the brown sack that Sam held Laura felt her empty stomach growl.

“You wouldn't want to share some Chinese with me, would you?” Sam asked, waving the bag under Laura's nose.

Laura grinned. “I could probably be persuaded. Why are you eating so late?”

“I was showing a house and my clients had to poke into every nook and cranny.”

“Well, I'm glad you decided to share your dinner with me,” Laura admitted as Sam opened cartons and doled out Mongolian beef and cashew chicken, with healthy servings of rice. “Although I never have understood this mothering complex you have,” Laura teased. Sam certainly didn't look like the nurturing type, but
she watched over Laura like a mother hen. “Not that I'm complaining, you understand. But I really can take care of myself,” Laura mumbled around a mouthful of food.

“Right,” Sam said with mild sarcasm. “That's why you don't eat right and work such long hours.”

“Getting a business off the ground isn't easy, Sam,” Laura said, spearing a piece of green onion. “Mmm, this is delicious,” she said with a smile, closing her eyes. “Anyway, right now I don't care if I have to stay up every night until two in the morning for the next week. It will be worth it.”

“Is that when you've been going to bed?” Sam asked. “How long can you keep up this pace?”

“As long as it takes. Sam, this could be it! You know the new Regional Arts Center that's going to be built?”

“Yeah, I've read about it in the paper.”

“Well, I may get a shot at doing the landscaping!”

“No kidding!” Sam said, duly impressed. “How did this come about?”

Laura explained briefly, concluding with the day she'd met Nick Sinclair at the job site. “Although I haven't yet figured out how he knew where I was,” she said with a frown.

“I think maybe I can enlighten you on that,” Sam said slowly.

Laura looked at her in surprise. “You can?”

She nodded. “Uh-huh. When I stopped by your office the other morning to drop off the book you loaned me, the phone rang and I just answered it automatically. That was the guy's name—Nick Sinclair. He asked for
Mr.
Taylor and didn't seem to take my amusement too
kindly. Anyway, your job schedule was right there, and I didn't think it would hurt to give him the address. You know,” she said thoughtfully, “he was pretty heavy-handed, but he did have a really intriguing voice. What does he look like?”

Laura frowned. “I don't know,” she said with a shrug. “He's attractive enough, I guess. Mid to late thirties, pretty tall, dark hair, high cheekbones, brown eyes. But to be honest, Sam, I've been so intimidated the two times we've met it's everything I can do to speak coherently let alone take inventory. After all, we didn't exactly get off to a good start,” she said, a touch of irony in her voice.

“Hmm” was all Sam said.

“What does that mean?” Laura asked suspiciously.

Sam shrugged. “Nothing. But do me a favor, kiddo. Next time, take inventory.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” she asked with an exasperated sigh.

“Sam, for all I know the man is married! Besides, we've been over this before,” Laura warned.

“Yes, and I still haven't changed my mind. After all, it's been nearly ten years, for Pete's sake! You could do with some male companionship.”

“I can do
without
it,” she said emphatically.

Sam sighed dramatically. “I wish you would at least make an effort. Is this guy nice?”

Laura frowned. “He wasn't the first time we met. He was arrogant and rude, and when he found out I was the owner his shock was almost comical.”

“Well, after all, the man had just been doused with a hose,” Sam reminded her.

“That's no excuse,” Laura said.

“What about the second time you met?” Sam persisted.

Laura shrugged. “He seems to be a good architect. The plans for the Arts Center are very impressive.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Why don't I just give up? Laura, was he nice?”

Laura remembered the way he'd patiently looked at all the material she'd brought, and then spent two hours explaining the plans, finally agreeing to let her have a shot at the job. But she also remembered the way she felt around him—intimidated and uncertain. “He makes me nervous,” she said.

“Well, it's a start,” Sam said optimistically.

Laura smiled and shook her head, reaching for a fortune cookie. “Don't get your hopes up,” she said, breaking it open.

Sam watched her friend's face turn slightly pink as she read the slip of paper. “What does it say?” she asked curiously.

In reply, Laura crumpled the paper between her fingers. “These things are stupid,” she said.

“What does it say?” Sam repeated.

Laura sighed. “If I tell you, will you promise not to make any comments?”

“Sure.”

Laura looked at her friend skeptically, and then read, “His heart was yours from the moment you met.”

Sam didn't say a word. She just smiled.

T
he harmonies of the string quartet could barely be heard above the voices of the crowd, driven under the large tent by a sudden June shower. Nick, alone for a moment, grimaced as he adjusted his bow tie. The late-afternoon air felt unusually muggy and warm, even for St. Louis, and his glass was almost empty. Not that he could stomach much more of the bubbly champagne being served, anyway. Maybe he could find something more thirst quenching if he made a search, he thought halfheartedly. But it didn't seem worth the effort of fighting his way through the dense crowd. Besides, he preferred to remain on the sidelines for the moment. The ground-breaking party for the Arts Center had brought out all of the “beautiful” people, the wealthy St. Louisans who could be counted on as patrons for anything arts related. He'd said hello to all the right people and smiled for the photographers, and now all he wanted to do was go home, shed his tux and relax. It had been a long week. Despite the festive surroundings, his spirits felt as flat as the residue of champagne in his glass.

It was odd, really, that he wasn't in a more upbeat mood. His plans had been given enthusiastic praise in the press, and the ground-breaking party today for the project he'd worked so hard to win should have left him filled with excitement and energy. Instead, he was suddenly bone weary.

Nick's gaze swept over the crowd once more and, with a sudden jolt, he realized that, unconsciously, he was doing what he'd been doing ever since he'd arrived—searching for Laura. That realization also revealed the surprising reason for his glum mood—he had needed her presence to make this party a success.

Nick frowned, honest enough to admit the truth but still taken aback by it. He readily acknowledged that he enjoyed Laura's company. Ever since he'd awarded Taylor Landscaping the job two months ago, he'd seen her regularly as she more fully developed her plans and brought them to the office for his approval. He had grown to look forward to their meetings, to respect her intensity and creativity, and to experience a sense of satisfaction every time he elicited one of her rare smiles. And
rare
was an appropriate word, he thought grimly, shoving his free hand into the pocket of his slacks. She worked too hard. He'd suspected as much at their first encounter, and the suspicion had been confirmed at subsequent meetings. Not that she ever complained. It was more subtle than that. Like the time he'd asked if he could keep the designs and review them after his full day of meetings, and she'd assured him she could just stop by on her way home from the office that evening about eight to pick them up.

But why wasn't she here today? He knew she'd been
invited, and she deserved a party after the work she'd put into this project. A chance to get out of her customary jeans and— Suddenly his thoughts were arrested by a startling possibility. Maybe she didn't have anything to wear to a black-tie occasion! He knew she operated on a shoestring, and it was conceivable that her budget was too tight to allow for frivolities like cocktail dresses. He still had no idea what her husband did for a living, although he obviously wasn't involved in the landscaping business. Maybe he was ill, or out of work, leaving Laura to carry the burden of support.

“Nick! Here you are! Just wanted to say congratulations again on an outstanding job. I've heard nothing but compliments from everyone who's looked at the model.”

The familiar voice brought Nick back to reality, and he turned to smile at George Thompson. “Thank you. It's been a great party.”

“All except for the weather. But it's brightening up now. Well, enjoy yourself. I'll see you soon, Nick.”

The fickle weather had, indeed, changed once again. Rays of sun peeped through the clouds, and the guests began to make their way out of the tent. Nick breathed a sigh of relief as the crowd thinned and his eyes began to scan the gathering again, this time hoping to spot a waiter with a fresh tray of something other than champagne.

His eyes had completed only part of their circuit when they were arrested by a tantalizing view. A woman was seated in the far corner of the tent, angled sideways. Her body was blocked from his view by a tuxedoed figure, but her crossed legs were clearly revealed under a fashionably short black skirt. His appreciative gaze
wandered leisurely up their shapely length, his thirst forgotten for the moment. This was the most enjoyable part of the event so far, he thought with a wry smile.

Suddenly the legs uncrossed and the woman rose. She now stood totally hidden from his view by the man in the tuxedo, and Nick shook his head ruefully. So much for that pleasant interlude, he thought.

He was just about to go in search of a drink when he saw the woman attempt to move out from behind the man, only to have him take her arm and forcibly restrain her, backing her even farther into the corner.

Nick frowned. He didn't fancy himself a Sir Galahad, and besides, most women today were quite capable of taking care of themselves in situations like this. His intrusion could only cause unpleasantness. The man was probably her husband or, even worse, someone very important who it would not be wise to offend. Yet he was unwilling to leave the woman unassisted if she actually needed help.

Nick hesitated uncertainly. He watched the woman make another attempt to walk away, moving to one side. The glimpse he caught of her face made the swallow of champagne catch in his throat, and he almost choked as he stared in disbelief. It was Laura!

No wonder he hadn't noticed her earlier, he thought. She wore a black crepe cocktail dress, with double spaghetti straps held in place by rhinestone clips on the straight-cut bodice. The dress gently hugged her figure, ending well above her knees. She was gorgeous, Nick thought, stunned. Loose and full, her hair fell in soft, shimmering waves against the creamy expanse of her exposed shoulders. Her subtle makeup enhanced her picture-perfect features and wide eyes. She looked chic
and sophisticated and polished, and she seemed as comfortable here as she did on a construction site.

Nick's perusal was abruptly interrupted as Laura made yet another futile attempt to extricate herself from the man's grasp. His indecision evaporated and he surged forward, adeptly maneuvering his way through the crowd, his eyes never leaving her face. She looked pale, and though poised and obviously trying her best to be polite, he also saw that a trace of fear lurked in her eyes. His stomach tightened into a hard knot, and as a waiter passed, he removed two glasses of champagne from the tray, never stopping his advance.

“Laura! I've been looking everywhere for you. I finally found the champagne,” he greeted her, forcing a pleasant, conversational tone into his voice.

Laura's eyes flew to his, and he could see the relief flood through them. “Thanks, Nick. I wondered where you went.” Her voice sounded a bit unsteady, but she took his lead gamely. His hand brushed hers as he offered her the champagne, and he noted that her fingers felt icy as she took the glass, holding it with both hands.

The fortyish, balding man looked from Nick to Laura, his flushed face indicating that he'd had his share of the freely flowing champagne. “You two are together? Sorry. Why didn't you say so?” he mumbled, his hands dropping to his sides. Nick saw the red mark his grip had left on Laura's arm and his jaw tightened. “I think I'll go find some more champagne,” the man said, glancing around fuzzily.

“Maybe you've had enough,” Nick suggested curtly, but the man had already turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Laura carefully set her champagne glass down on the table next to her and took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“I didn't do much.” He watched her closely, aware that she was deeply upset.

“Well, your timing was perfect,” she replied, a forced lightness in her tone. She reached for her purse, unsnapped the clasp and retrieved a mirror. “I think I'm about to lose an earring,” she said, buying herself some time while she regained her composure. She reached up and tightened the already secure rhinestone clip.

She was putting on a good show, Nick thought. But he wasn't fooled. He could hear the strain in her voice and he could see the unsteadiness of her hands. “Maybe you should drink this,” he suggested quietly, picking up her glass of champagne.

She looked at it distastefully and shook her head. “No, thanks.”

He glanced in the direction of her “admirer.”

“I guess I don't blame you.”

She shrugged. “I don't have anything against moderate drinking,” she said. “But I have no tolerance for abuse.” Her eyes dropped to the silver filigreed mirror in her hands, and she played with it nervously before setting it on the table. She took a deep breath, and when she spoke again there was a husky uncertainty in her voice. “I do appreciate your help, Nick. I—I'm not very good at handling those kinds of situations.”

“You shouldn't have to be,” he said, with an edge to his voice that made her look up in surprise. “No woman should.”

She was taken aback by the vehemence of his tone, given that she'd labeled him a male chauvinist. “Yes,
well, it sounds good in theory.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Look, Nick, I think I'm going to head home. It's been a long day.”

“Did you work all day?”

She nodded. “Up until about three hours ago.”

“That hardly looks like your usual work attire,” he said, hoping that the warmth of his smile would ease some of the tension he sensed in her body. “If I may say so, you look stunning.”

“Well, you didn't expect me to come in my jeans, did you?” she asked, unexpectedly pleased by his compliment. When he didn't reply, her eyes widened in disbelief. “Or did you?”

“No, of course not,” he said quickly. He didn't tell her that he thought she might have stayed away due to lack of appropriate attire rather than lack of taste. “It's just that I've never seen you wear anything but work clothes.”

She tilted her chin up slightly, and there was a touch of defensiveness in her voice when she spoke. “Jeans and overalls suit my job. This outfit would hardly be appropriate at a construction site. I don't have an office job, Nick. And I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

Nick frowned at her misinterpretation of his remark. “I realize that,” he said quietly. “I didn't mean to offend you, Laura. My comment was meant as a compliment, not a criticism.”

Laura looked at him, lost for a moment in the depth of his eyes. What else did he realize? she wondered. Did he realize that for some unaccountable reason her heart was hammering in her chest? Did he realize that her breathing had become slightly erratic? And did he realize that neither of those reactions was a result of her
unpleasant encounter? Distractedly she pushed the hair back from her face. “I've really got to be going,” she said, retrieving her purse from the chair at her side.

“Are you here alone?” Nick asked in surprise.

“Yes.”

“Well, can I at least walk you to your car?”

“I'm fine, really. But thanks for the offer. Good night, Nick.”

He hesitated, reluctant to let her leave alone, knowing he couldn't stop her. When Laura looked at him curiously, he found his voice. “Good night, Laura.”

He watched her thread her way through the thinning crowd, frustrated by his inability to…to what? he wondered. He'd done all that was necessary by helping her out of an offensive situation. Yet he felt she'd needed something more, something he couldn't give. She'd seemed unaccountably shaken by the encounter, and he doubted whether she'd fully recovered. Certainly it had been unpleasant, but there'd been no real danger. Yet he'd caught the glimmer of fear in her eyes, of vulnerability. He wished she had at least let him walk her to her car. And where was her husband? he wondered, suddenly angry. She did have one. Or at least he assumed she did. Yet she always seemed so alone.

He continued to stare pensively into the crowd long after she'd disappeared from sight. Only when he realized that the majority of guests had departed did he rouse himself to do the same. It was time to call it a day.

Nick turned to set his glass on the table, and his eyes fell on Laura's silver mirror, obviously forgotten in her haste to depart. He picked it up and weighed it thoughtfully in his hand, turning it over to examine it
more closely. It looked quite old, perhaps a family heir-loom, he mused. He'd have to call Laura immediately and let her know it was safe. Hopefully he could reach her even before she realized it was missing. She'd had enough stress for one day, he thought, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

And then an idea slowly took form in his mind. Why not drop it off on his way home? That way he could assure himself that she had gotten home all right and, perhaps in the process, meet the elusive Mr. Taylor.

Nick slipped the mirror into the pocket of his jacket and turned to go, only to find a board member at his elbow. His patience was stretched to the breaking point by the time he could tactfully disengage himself from a discussion of the importance of art to the St. Louis community. Then it took another ten minutes to find a phone directory so he could look up Laura's address. With a frustrated sigh, he glanced at his watch. Seven o'clock. Laura was probably home by now. He
could
just call and let her know he had the mirror, he told himself. There was no urgency about returning it. But somehow that wasn't good enough. He
wanted
to go. And he wasn't going to waste time analyzing the reasons why.

 

Laura stirred the spaghetti sauce, raising the spoon to her lips for a taste. Perfect, she thought with a satisfied smile. But then, Grandmother's recipe never failed. It was one of those things you could always count on. And there weren't a lot of them in this world, she mused, her smile fading. There was her faith, of course. It had been her anchor in the difficult years of her marriage and the struggle for survival that followed. Her trust in
the Lord was stable, sure and strong, and even in her darkest hours, it had offered her hope and comfort. The Lord had always stretched out his hand to steady her when she felt most shaky and lost. Yes, she could count on her faith.