You’ll Find Out

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

T he weekend passed quickly for Mara . . . too quickly. Sunday had dawned hot and humid, and Mara had packed a picnic basket filled with fruit, wine, cheese, sourdough rolls, and ham. Shane had arrived promptly at ten and, after a friendly reunion with Angie and the four kittens, hurried Mara out the door and into the car. They had driven to Chimney Rock Park, southeast of Asheville, where they had hiked along the terraced trails to view Hickory Nut Gorge and Hickory Nut Falls, one of the highest waterfalls in eastern America. The clean, cascading water, the steep cliffs, and the lush, dense foliage seemed to take the heat off of the above average temperature. Although Shane had to carry Angie part of the way up to Chimney Rock, he hadn’t complained, and the awe on the little girl’s face as she gazed thousands of feet down the hazy, spectacular, seventy-five-mile view of the canyon and Lake Lure was worth the hot climb.

But when dusk had stolen over the Blue Ridge, Shane had taken Mara and Angie back home, and once again left for his hotel. After a long, hot day of enjoying his company, Mara felt strangely empty inside as she watched his car disappear down the driveway. Would it ever be possible for Shane to love her? Would they ever have a chance to build a normal family life, or would there always be a reminder of the past to haunt them and keep them apart? Was the love of a child great enough to conquer the barriers that had separated them? Where would they go from here? The questions, nagging and whirling in her weary mind, kept her awake for most of the night. When June came to the house the next morning to watch Angie, Mara could almost feel the cold, piercing blue gaze of her mother-in-law knifing through her thin layer of makeup and fresh blue, jersey print dress to see the effects of Mara’s turbulent emotions for Shane.

“Hi, Grammie,” Angie called from the kitchen table, where she was studiously attacking a stack of three pancakes and unknown gallons of blackberry syrup.

June’s drawn face broke into a smile at the sight of the little girl, who was nearly covered head to toe in purple smudges of syrup. “Goodness, Angie! Look at you. You’ll certainly need a bath this morning—” the older woman chuckled “—unless, of course, you plan on hiding under the porch all day with those kittens.”

Angie set her fork down and looked quizzically at her grandmother. The syrup on her face and hair made her look almost comical. “Oh, no. The kitties is not under the porch anymore,” she tried to explain. “Come on, Grammie. I show you.” Angie bounced out of her chair and hurried out the back door, which slammed behind her.

Mara cringed at the sound. “Just a minute,” she called to her daughter through the screen. “Why don’t you finish your breakfast, and then Grammie can go with you to see Southpaw?”

“I all done!” Angie asserted, her voice sounding more distant than just the back porch. She was obviously too distracted with the kittens to eat any more breakfast.

“Are you sure?” Mara asked, almost to herself, as she surveyed the barely touched breakfast. “You haven’t eaten much . . .”

Angie poked her head through the narrow opening of the screen door and hurried back into the kitchen. “I said I all done!” she reasserted.

“But you barely touched the pancakes.”

Angie puckered her lips in thought and then decided to ignore her mother. She took a swipe at her mouth with her napkin, as if, once and for all, to close the subject on breakfast, and then raced out the back door, leaving the half-eaten stack of pancakes to soak up the remainder of the syrup.

Mara didn’t feel up to battling with Angie so early in the morning after a restless night. Knowing that she was probably making a maternal error, she ignored Angie’s disobedience and ill manners and tried to still the throbbing near her temples. Her early morning headache seemed to be pounding more harshly against her skull.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Mara asked stiffly, seeing the worried expression in June’s eyes. Mara held the coffeepot in midair and avoided June’s direct gaze. Was it Mara’s imagination, or did June seem older and appear more troubled today than usual?

“I’ll get some later,” the older woman replied, and cast a furtive glance to the back porch. Angie was quiet, and June decided that the little girl was unlikely to interrupt, at least not during the next few minutes. She touched her neck hesitantly and nervously before she broke the silence that had been building between herself and her daughter-in-law.

“I saw Dena Saturday afternoon. She came and visited me,” June began, gauging Mara’s reaction.

“And how was she?” Mara asked, sipping her coffee and reaching for Angie’s dirty dishes.

“Concerned.”

Mara’s throat tightened convulsively, and she unconsciously bit at her lower lip as she deposited the dishes into the sink and turned on the water. “Concerned? About what?”

“You for one,” June replied, cautiously.

“Anything else?”

“The company.” June’s graying eyebrows drew together, and she hesitated for a moment, as if what she was about to say might be unpleasant. “She seems to think that you’re being bullheaded about selling Imagination Toys.”

Mara smiled grimly to herself as she placed the few dishes into the dishwasher. “I know that,” she admitted, drying her hands on a nearby cotton towel and turning to face her mother-in-law. “But you have to understand that I want the company to make it, and I think that it can. Selling now would be a mistake, I’m sure of it,” she stated, with more conviction than she actually felt. “Right now, with the company losing money, we couldn’t get a decent price for Imagination, even if we did want to sell. But if we could just turn the company around, to at the very least a breakeven point, the price we could ask would be substantially higher.”

June seemed to relax a little as she pulled her ivory knit sweater more closely over her thin shoulders. “Chilly in here, isn’t it?” she observed in a distracted voice, and then, as if suddenly remembering the train of the conversation, she snapped back to the subject at hand. “Well, Mara, I’m glad to hear that you’re not anxious to sell Imagination,” she offered. “I know it’s a big job, running an unprofitable business in the middle of a recession, and sometimes I worry that you’re working too hard, but the toy company is part of the Wilcox heritage. From my husband Curtis’s grandfather down to Angie . . .” Mara felt her heart stop at the mention of Angie’s link in Peter’s family. June hesitated only slightly. “I know that Dena would like to sell the company lock, stock, and barrel,” June stated through thinned lips.

After readjusting her sweater, the older woman sat down at the table and didn’t argue when Mara placed a cup of black coffee and the sugar bowl on the table within arm’s reach. After taking an experimental sip of the scalding brew, June smiled faintly and continued.

“It’s really not Dena’s fault, you know?”

“What isn’t?”

“Her attitude toward you.”

Mara tried to shrug off the insinuations, but June would have none of it.

“Don’t try to hide it from me, Mara. I know my own daughter, and I realize that she has never been fond of you . . . not since the beginning.” Mara drew in a steadying breath. The subject of the bitterness that existed between herself and Dena had never been brought out into the open. It was as if under the cover of Southern civility, the unacknowledged problem would somehow disappear. As close as Mara was to June, she never expected that June would ever admit she knew of the animosity that existed between Peter’s sister and his wife.

“She’s always felt a little inferior, you know,” June conceded, “and I suppose she has every right to feel that way. Curtis made no bones about the fact that he wanted a son to carry on the family business, and Curtis could never quite hide his disappointment that Dena wasn’t a boy. Not that he didn’t love her, you understand. But, well, it’s different between a father and daughter than it is with a son.” June smiled sadly into her coffee cup. When she lifted her faded blue eyes to meet Mara’s interested gaze, Mara noticed a genuine pain and empathy in the older woman’s eyes.

“I guess that I should have tried to patch things up between father and daughter, but I thought that as Dena grew up the situation might change. I should have known better, you know. Curtis and Dena were so much alike, from their red hair to their hot tempers! Anyway, when Peter came along, five years later, Curtis was delirious that he finally had his ‘son.’ Dena couldn’t help but feel left out, and slighted.” June sighed. “I realize that now, with women’s liberation and everything else, things have changed, and that today it’s not so important to have that first-born son. But then, Curtis never really accepted his daughter as anything but the second child, although she was his first. And even if she did have the temperament to manage the business, he would never have given her the chance!”

June seemed tired and weary. “You don’t have to explain all of this to me,” Mara whispered, touching the frail woman’s shoulder.

“Oh, but I do!” June responded viciously, and inadvertently spilled some of the coffee, sloshing it onto the saucer. “I know that Dena, well, she comes across a little catty sometimes, but I want you to know that it’s really not a personal vendetta against you.”

“I know that,” Mara admitted. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t help it. She’s caused a lot of trouble for you in the past, but I think it’s because she’s felt left out. First from her father’s attention, and now from what she sees as her rightful inheritance. It didn’t help, you know, when Bruce broke off the engagement after learning that she wouldn’t inherit the bulk of Imagination Toys.”

Mara felt herself cringe as she remembered how upset Dena had been when her flaky lawyer fiancé had jilted her only months before the wedding had been planned.

“What do you think I should do about Dena?” Mara asked, feeling that June had recounted the painful memories with a purpose in mind.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really understood Dena, or her reasons. But she seems to think that it would be best for all concerned to sell Imagination to that Kennedy man.” Mara noticed June’s jawline tighten at the mention of Shane.

“And you?” Mara asked quietly. “What do you want?”

June hesitated a minute. “This was the Wilcox family’s lifeblood. Their way of life and their heritage. I . . . I would hate to see it sold to a stranger.” June’s voice had taken a firm, almost hateful tone that surprised Mara.

“Any decisions regarding the sale of Imagination will be put to the stockholders in the company, all of the members of the family. You know that, don’t you? Just because Angie and I own the largest block of stock doesn’t mean . . .”

The screen door banged shut, announcing Angie’s return to the kitchen. “Mommy! Grammie! Namath’s eyes are open!” the little girl squealed breathlessly. “Come see! Hurry!”

Mara laughed nervously as she dried her hands on a nearby towel. She was relieved to have a break in the intense conversation with her mother-in-law. She followed Angie and June out the door and onto the screened-in back porch that housed the more delicate hanging plants. It was already warm in the small enclosure, and aside from a slight breeze off of the mountains, the morning promised another hot day, despite June’s comments to the contrary. Just as Angie had announced, the largest of the gray kittens’ eyes were beginning to crack open.

“See, I told you,” Angie whispered in obvious delight as she held up the fat fluff of fur.

“That you did,” June agreed with a smile. “Now, tell me, what was that kitten’s name?”

“Namath,” Angie responded with a frown. “Mr. Kennedy gave him that name.”

At the mention of Shane’s name, June visibly paled. For a moment Mara wondered if the older woman would collapse, but just as Mara placed a supporting hand under June’s elbow, the color came back into her cheeks.

“He . . . named the cats after football players?” June guessed with obvious distaste.

Mara nodded mutely while Angie chattered on about the kittens, pointing out O.J., Franco, and Bradshaw in turn. June was appalled, but didn’t attempt to cool Angie’s enthusiasm.

“Do you like O.J.?” Angie asked innocently.

“It’s . . . fine,” June managed, feebly, and Angie appeared satisfied with her grandmother’s approval.

“I liked Whiskers better,” the child mused, and June nodded her silent agreement.

“I have to get going to work now, honey . . . you be a good girl for Grammie, won’t you?”

Angie turned her attention away from the kittens long enough to give her mother a kiss on her cheek. Mara’s eyes caught June’s distracted gaze. “Are you up to handling her today?”

“Of course.”

“You’re sure?”

“Don’t worry,” June said with a sad smile. “We’ll get along just fine.” A genuine fondness lighted her tired, blue eyes.

* * *

The sadness that had stolen over her mother-in-law hung with Mara during the drive into Asheville, and although she mentally tried to shake off the depression, she failed. The warm morning sunshine, the smell of wildflowers, the pastoral view of horses grazing on the high plateau, nothing discouraged the feeling of melancholy that converged upon her. The only thoughts that touched her were worries about June’s health, Shane’s impatience, and Angie’s welfare. How in the world was she going to solve her dilemma and tell June that Shane was Angie’s father? And how would the little girl take the news? Would she understand? Could she?

The day was just beginning, and Mara found herself sighing as she opened the door to her office.

“Mrs. Wilcox!” a young female voice declared as Lynda came running up behind her. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stop him!”

“What? Lynda, what are you talking about?”

“Mr. Kennedy—the man who was in here Friday night . . .” The receptionist blushed with the memory of Friday afternoon and the reunion of her employer and the stranger.

Mara smiled with only a trace of impatience. “Yes?”

“He . . . well, he absolutely insisted . . .”

“Insisted upon what?”

“I told him it was irregular, that no one was allowed in your office—other than you—but he just started ordering me around, and . . . well . . .”

Mara pushed open the door to her office and saw the object of Lynda’s dismay seated regally behind Mara’s desk, pen in hand, running through a stack of ledgers.

“It’s all right,” Mara stated stiffly to the confused receptionist. “Mr. Kennedy has my permission to be in my office . . . and . . . er . . . see any documents that he wishes.”

Relief flooded the girl’s features. “Thank goodness,” she murmured as she hustled down the hallway back to her desk.

Mara felt her temper heating and braced herself against the closed door to the office before she confronted Shane.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she inquired, eyeing him suspiciously. “You have Lynda half out of her mind with worry that she’s done something wrong.”

Shane tossed the ledger he had been studying onto the desk top. “What?” His attention was finally focused on Mara.

“I said that Lynda has strict orders not to allow anyone in here without my permission. I’m surprised that you got away with it—much less bribed the accounting department out of the bookkeeping ledgers.”

“I like to get to work early. I didn’t know when you would get in, and I didn’t want to wait.” Once again he looked down at the stack of manila-colored ledger cards. A scowl creased his dark brows.

“So you just decided to take over my office . . .”

“For the time being.”

Mara was becoming exasperated and found it difficult to hide the fact. She crossed the room, tossed her purse into a nearby closet, and marched over to the desk. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing,” Mara suggested, and stood near him.

Perhaps it was her condescending tone of voice that galled him, but whatever it was, he picked up a stack of ledgers and waved them in the air arrogantly. “How can you possibly expect to run a company this way?” he charged, his black eyes igniting.

“What do you mean—what are you talking about?” Mara asked, stunned.

“I mean that I don’t know how you can expect to compete effectively in the marketplace when you’re working under such burdensome and antiquated systems in the office. It’s no wonder that Imagination is in the red!”

“I guess I’m just a little overwhelmed by all of this,” Mara stated, motioning to the stacks of records that covered her desk, “but I don’t understand a word you’re saying.” She couldn’t hide the hint of sarcasm and anger that tinged her words.

“What I’m saying is that you’re trying to dig a well with a teaspoon . . .” The confusion and smoldering indignation in her gaze begged him to continue. “What I’m trying to say is this—Toys are a big business, and in a recessive economy any toy company, Imagination included, has to be not only innovative but also technologically advanced. You can’t be so bogged down with paperwork that you’re ineffective.”

“You’re saying that Imagination needs to modernize?” she guessed.

“Right.”

“And . . . I suppose you think that the first step would be to purchase a computer?”

“You need the accuracy and speed that only a computer will give you . . .”

“What I don’t need is someone, especially an owner of a computer company, to tell me how to spend money that I don’t have!”

“You can’t afford not to invest.”

“Spoken like a true salesman,” she quipped curtly.

“I’m serious, Mara. How many people do you have working in your accounting department, aside from Hammel?”

“Three.”

“And the combined salaries and benefits total over thirty thousand dollars annually?” he guessed.

Mara nodded thoughtfully.

“A good microcomputer would cost you less than a third of that and would supply you with reports on inventory, financial statements, product costs . . .”

“Save your breath.” She fell into a nearby chair. “I’ve heard it all before. It’s just that I haven’t had the time or money to convert to a computer. No matter what you say, it’s an expensive investment.”

“I don’t see that you have much of a choice.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you want my assistance, I’m going to insist upon it. There’s no way that I’ll invest in a company that doesn’t have an effective way of keeping track of inventory and product costs or effectiveness of advertising and sales promotion. This is the age of computer technology, Mara, and you can’t expect to run a competitive company the way it was run ninety years ago—”

“Wait a minute,” Mara said, interrupting him. She held her palms outward, as if to push aside any more of his arguments. “You’re getting the cart before the horse. Before you make any further decisions about the company, don’t you think it would be a good idea to tell me exactly what you have in mind, in terms of investing in Imagination?”

A grim smile cracked his features. “Fair enough.”

“Well?” she asked anxiously, and pushed aside the impulse to bite at her lower lip. Instead she studied the sharp planes of his rugged face, his thick black eyebrows, his brooding lower lip that protruded slightly, and the thin shadow of a beard that appeared even in the morning. In a dark blue business suit, striking burgundy tie, and crisp, white shirt, he bore an arrogant but somehow intriguingly masculine presence. He tapped his lips thoughtfully with a pencil as he spoke.

“I told you before, that I had no intention of giving Imagination the benefit of my assistance without something in return. And since you refuse to sell out to me, I’m willing to invest in the company.”

“How?”

“I’ve done some research. You don’t own a majority interest.”

Mara’s stomach tightened. “That’s true,” she admitted.

“However, I know that it’s impossible to buy up enough shares of the company to take over. For one reason, June Wilcox would never sell her interest to me.”

“That’s probably true, too.”

“So I’ve decided to buy up as many shares as the family is willing to sell to me—and then I’ll offer to loan the toy company some money, at prime interest rates, for the purchase of some necessary pieces of equipment.”

“Such as a computer from Delta Electronics?”

“For starters, yes.” Mara stiffened. “Along with some equipment to start converting the factory.”

“Into what?”

“An assembly line for computer components. The reason I want a part of Imagination so badly is that I want to start a new line of video games that would, for the most part, be built in Atlanta. The components, partially assembled, would be sent up here to be used for the inner workings of video games and small learning devices for educational toys.”

“Can’t you do all of that from Atlanta?” Mara asked, wondering aloud. “Do you really need Imagination?”

“Let’s face it. Other than what I’ve read, I know very little about toy manufacturing and sales. On the other hand, Imagination has a sizable list of sales outlets; it has, for the most part, a reputation for making durable, reliable products and a fair amount of name recognition. Besides which,” he added in a more ominous tone of voice, “you need me more than I need you.”

“You’re that sure of yourself?”

Shane leaned back in the desk chair and cradled his head in his palms, rumpling his black hair. “I know that you’ve had your share of bad luck, whether it was deserved or not.”

“Deserved?”

“Face it, Mara. Much of Imagination’s problems stem from the fact that for the past ten years, ever since Peter took over the company, profits have plummeted—aside from the one shining spot in the past few years—those funny-looking plastic dolls from that hit space movie.”

“Interplanetary Connection,” Mara said with a sigh, knowing that although she hated to admit it, Shane was right.

Shane seemed to sense her change in mood, and the look of defeat that paled her intense blue eyes made him feel inwardly guilty, as if he had been the cause of all of her problems.

“I understand that the movie production company has decided upon another manufacturer to handle the toy products for the movie sequel.”

“That’s right,” Mara said, avoiding his gaze and looking out the large window at the towering Blue Ridge mountains in the distance.

“Why?”

Mara tightened her lips and swiveled to meet his inquiring gaze. “Several reasons,” she began. “First of all, the production company didn’t like the packaging, which I told them we would change, at our expense. Then they were unhappy with the advertising campaign, and I agreed that we would use an independent firm of their choosing.”

“Then what was the problem?”

“It has something to do with a few of the more exotic extraterrestrial beings from the sequel. It seems they’re much more intricate than the aliens in Interplanetary Connection, and the production company feels that a more malleable plastic for the action figures would make them appear more lifelike.’ ‘

“And you disagree?”

Mara shook her head and pursed her lips pensively as her dark, honey-colored brows drew inward over her eyes. Thoughtfully, she clasped her hands together and tapped her chin. “No, I’m willing to go along with just about anything Solar Productions wants, but unfortunately the competition seems to have cornered the market on soft plastic; at least they can produce the action figures much more cheaply than we can.”

“And just who is the competition?”

“It’s all confidential, of course, and Solar Productions won’t tell us, but my guess is it’s San Franciscan Toys, a rather new company from California. They seem to have a budget that NASA would envy, and the right marketing skills to sell even the cheapest, most shoddily made toys, such as . . . that Lolly doll that Angie is so fond of.”

Shane’s face relaxed at the mention of his child. “And how is she this morning?”

“Just fine and still enthralled with the kittens.”

There was a pause in the conversation, and the smile left Shane’s eyes. “Did you see June this morning?” he asked, almost under his breath.

“Yes.”

“And were you able to tell her that I’m Angie’s real father?”

“I thought about it,” Mara admitted, “but I just couldn’t. She looked so . . . tired this morning, I didn’t want to risk it.”

“If the woman is so damned unwell, why do you let her stay with Angie? There could be an accident of some kind. Aren’t you afraid for her?”

Mara rubbed her temples furiously. “Of course I’m concerned,” she snapped back.

“Well?”

“Have you considered the alternatives? With my irregular hours, a preschool is out of the question. And as for a private sitter, I’ve never been able to find one that would give Angie the same care and love that June gives her. There are no alternatives. June is the best choice. Besides which, being with Angie is good for her.”

As Shane rolled his dark eyes expressively toward the ceiling, the door to the office swung open and Dena slid into the room. She began talking before noticing Shane behind the desk. “I waited for ten minutes, and then I realized that you had probably forgotten our . . .” she stopped in midsentence, her green eyes taking in the tall man sitting behind Mara’s desk and the crackle of tension in the air. It didn’t take a genius to guess that she had walked smack-dab into the middle of an argument. . . and from the looks of it, a personal one. Dena stopped short of the desk and adjusted the bulging folder under her left arm.

“Oh, Dena,” Mara cried, slapping her palm against her forehead. “I forgot all about our meeting . . .” And then, shaking her head at her own stupidity, she added, “Excuse me . . . I don’t believe you’ve met Shane Kennedy,” Mara apologized as Shane rose from his chair and offered his hand to Dena.

“Pleased to meet you,” Dena drawled in her sweetest southern accent, placing her small palm in Shane’s.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Shane countered, his dark eyes twinkling to add reinforcement to his words.

Mara watched the exchange between Shane and Dena with curiosity. What kind of game were they playing with each other? Dena smiled demurely, and let her hand slide out of Shane’s grasp.

“Would you like to postpone our meeting again?” Dena asked Mara. The smile never left her voice, nor her glittering green eyes. Her burnished hair was coiffed attractively to fall in curly tangles to her shoulders and her sleek Halston original knit suit hugged her body possessively. Dena looked every bit the professional advertising executive.

“What meeting?” Shane asked. “I hope I didn’t interrupt any of your plans . . .” The phrase sounded innocent and natural enough, but Mara found it hard to ignore the intensity of his words or his gaze.

“Mara and I were supposed to go over the advertising budget,” Dena quipped, sitting down on the couch opposite the large, glass window and crossing her slim legs with practiced elegance.

“Perhaps we should talk about the budget later . . .” Mara proposed anxiously. Why did she feel it much better to keep Dena and Shane apart? The two of them together, for some unfathomable reason, seemed entirely too threatening.

Dena ignored Mara. “Shane Kennedy,” she mused aloud, pursing her petulant wet lips. “You’re the man interested in purchasing the toy company?”

“I was.”

“No longer?” Dena pouted, tossing Mara a barely concealed look of disappointment.

Shane slid down in his chair and settled on his lower spine. “Mrs. Wilcox refuses to sell.”

Dena’s eyes narrowed just a fraction, and for a moment, her well-placed smile faltered. But gathering all of her professional aplomb, she begrudgingly said nothing about Mara’s decision.

Shane answered the questions in Dena’s eyes. “Mara has persuaded me to take an alternative position with the company . . . that is, if the board of directors approves.”

“Alternative position?” Dena repeated innocently. Only Mara noticed the hardening of her sister-in-law’s determined chin.

“I’m considering purchasing shares of the company and making a loan that would enable Imagination to continue its operation.”

“Kind of you,” Dena murmured, a bit sarcastically. She was reappraising Shane—sizing him up. There was something about him that was more disturbing than his evident male virility . . . an uneasy haunting familiarity . . . that kept nagging at her. What was it about him that bothered her so? Nervously she toyed with her pen as she watched him. “What’s in this for you, Mr. Kennedy?” she asked, and Mara felt herself stiffen. Up until this point, Dena had held onto the pretense of being a competent, interested shareholder. But there was a relentless persistence in the redhead’s eyes that unnerved Mara.

“Call me Shane,” he responded with a pleasant smile. “Don’t worry . . . Dena—” he used her first name cautiously, but she nodded politely as he did so “—this isn’t a one-sided endeavor. Delta Electronics will profit admirably from the venture.”

“Hmm . . .” was her unsure response.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get busy,” Shane admitted. “Mara, first I’ll need an office with a telephone. Then, I want all of these ledgers transferred to that office. Oh, and I’ll need space for the terminal . . .” He ran his finger thoughtfully along his jawline.

“Anything else?” Mara asked sarcastically.

“Yes.” His fingers snapped decisively. “Arrange for a board meeting sometime this week, if possible, and I’ll have a written proposal for all of the members of the board.”

Mara felt the muscles in her back stiffen. He was so efficient, so damned efficient. There was an unquestionable air of authority and businesslike demand to all of his movements.

“You can use Stewart Callison’s office,” Mara stated, reaching for a stack of the ledgers and holding the door open with her foot. “He’s on vacation and won’t be back until the middle of September. If you’re still here when he returns, we’ll rearrange everything, I suppose.”

Shane reached for a pile of his paperwork and his briefcase, and followed Mara down a long, white hallway to the small cubicle that was Stewart’s office. If he thought the accommodations confining, he didn’t complain, but stacked his work neatly on a corner of the desk.

It took several trips to carry all of the ledgers to Shane’s office. When at last Mara’s office was once again her own, she was surprised to find Dena still sitting, half-draped across the small leather divan.

“Let’s go over the budget right now,” Mara suggested, finally dropping into her rightful chair behind the desk. She pulled a file from her drawer and spread it on the desktop.

“Can it wait?” Dena asked, distractedly.

“But I thought . . .”

Dena made a dismissive gesture. “The budget can wait. What I want to know is why you insist on being bullheaded about Kennedy’s offer to buy out Imagination?”

“I explained all of that before.”

“Wasn’t his offer high enough?”

“We never even got down to dollar signs.”

“Then you didn’t give the man a chance!” Dena accused viciously.

“Listen, Dena. I told you before, I’m not interested in selling. At least, not now. Shane’s made a very interesting counterproposal that he intends to present to the shareholders. If the majority accepts his terms, then perhaps Imagination will still be able to pull out of this slump.”

“And if not? What then, Mara?” Dena cut in, her temper rising angrily. “Then we’ll be in debt to Kennedy, along with a list of other creditors as long as my arm. What good will he have done us?”

Mara listened patiently, the only evidence of her anger being the silent drumming of her fingers against the empty coffee cup on her desk.

“Why don’t you just give up, for God’s sake? You were never cut out to run this company, and by now, even you should be able to see it. Ever since you took over, the losses have increased to the point of no return. Take your chance while it’s offered; sell the whole damned company and be rid of it! Parceling off a few shares to Kennedy and having him loan us some more funds is only forestalling the inevitable.”

“You’re suggesting that I take the money and run?”

“In so many words, I guess so.”

“Why? Why are you so anxious to get out of the company? If you don’t like being a part of it, why don’t you just sell your shares to Shane and be done with it?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Dena countered.

“What do you mean?”

“You’d like to be rid of me. I know that I’ve been a thorn in your side, and really, I haven’t meant to be,” Dena persisted. “But it galls me to no end that you . . . someone who really isn’t related to anyone in the family. . . is running Imagination.”

“Dena,” Mara began, choosing her words carefully. “I understand why you resent me. And I know that you feel that you should have inherited the bulk of the company stock, as you were your father’s first born, but—”

“Stop the theatrics, Mara,” Dena commanded, rising from her insolent position on the couch. “And don’t bother to try and convince me that you’re doing the ‘right thing’ for either me, my mother, or your kid by carrying out Peter’s wishes. The whole thing doesn’t wash with me, not one little bit,” Dena announced, bitterly.

“Dena—”

“Don’t start with me, Mara,” Dena persisted, rising up from the couch to look down her nose at her sister-in-law. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s all or nothing with this company.”

She turned on her heel to go, but Mara’s voice arrested her. “Just give it a chance,” Mara suggested wearily.

“Not on your life!” With her final retort, Dena marched regally out of the office and quietly closed the door behind her.

Mara gritted her teeth and quietly attempted to calm herself. The next two weeks were not going to be easy by any means.