“The bank manager you’re so fond of is a leftover from the eighteenth century. They can’t make marriage a criteria for getting a bank loan. It’s got to be against the law.”
Agnes brightened considerably. “But marriage would be a lovely idea, don’t you think?”
“Mother, I don’t need a husband. And certainly not a husband for the sole reason of qualifying for a loan.”
“Husbands are nice for other reasons, dear. You really should find yourself a good man who could be a father to Tyler—”
“It seems to me we’ve had this conversation before, Mother. Tyler is getting along just fine, thank you. And so am I.” Joanna certainly didn’t want to saddle any man with the responsibility for her admittedly eccentric mother, or with the burden of raising a ten-year-old son he hadn’t fathered.
Not that there were many eligible men in the small Sierra-foothills town of Twain Harte. And most of those who were unmarried wore big belt buckles, hadn’t read a book or newspaper since they dropped out of high school and drove pickups with gun racks across the back window. Hardly Joanna’s idea of the perfect companion. She’d worked too hard getting her teaching credentials to ignore the importance of an education.
She dropped the soggy paper towels into a plastic wastebasket under the sink. “I was going to run an ad for the rental space this weekend but I’ve got to go to a teachers-training session in Sacramento on Monday and Tuesday. I’d hate not being here if we get any calls.”
“I could take care of them, dear.”
Joanna gauged her mother’s lucidity. Today was one of her purple days—she wore a purple blouse, purple flowered skirt and a matching purple turban. The gray hair peeking out from beneath the turban had a distinctly purple tinge. Joanna sighed. Her mother seemed quite within her normal range.
“If you’re sure,” Joanna agreed hesitantly. In order to have any bargaining power at all with the bank, she needed to get the three empty offices and oversize garage rented and producing income. Then she would have another talk with Wally Petersen in the hope of getting the loan she so desperately needed.
Placing the watering can on the counter, Agnes said reassuringly, “Leave it to me, dear. Of course I’ll let you handle the final negotiations when the time comes. Meanwhile, I can answer their questions over the phone and tell them what a fine building it is. Right on the highway. A prime business location.”
Handy to the landlord, too, since it was only a half block from Joanna’s house.
She glanced at her watch. As usual, she was running late to pick up Tyler from Pop Warner football practice. “Okay, if you’re sure.” From her purse she retrieved a piece of paper. “Here’s the ad I want to run. Could you call the paper for me?”
“I’d be happy to, dear. I may even add a few words of my own—a little something to encourage more interest in the property.”
“No, Mother. Please don’t. Just the way I’ve written it will be fine.”
Joanna didn’t at all care for the Cheshire-cat grin that stole over her mother’s face. But Tyler was waiting. The husband and wife co-coaching her son’s team got very upset with parents who weren’t prompt, and they took their irritation out on the boys. Or maybe it was just another excuse for the couple to argue. Too bad no other parents had volunteered to help out the team.
Wrapping the ornate pen-and-pencil set he’d never used in a sheet of the Sunday-morning paper, Kris. topher Slavik placed it in a cardboard box. If the set hadn’t been personally engraved, he wouldn’t have bothered taking it with him. There was little in the office he was vacating that he would need.
Picking up his empty coffee mug from the desk, he smiled. The product of the complicated mathematical formula decorating the cup, when laboriously computed, equaled zero. It was an in-house joke among the hackers at NCC—Nanosoft Computerware Corporation.
Chad Harris, his business partner and friend, stormed into the office and marched across the plush carpeting. Though he was normally impeccably dressed, his silk paisley tie was now askew and the collar of his button-down shirt was open.
“I can’t believe you’re actually going through with this farcem,” he complained.
“I’ve been putting all the plans together for a year so the transition would go smoothly. I don’t know why it’s such a surprise to everyone now.”
“I swear, Kris, I think you’ve developed a brain virus. You’re too young to retire.”
“Thirty-one strikes me as the perfect age.” Though it was a year later than he had wanted. On his thirtieth birthday, Kris had realized he’d missed a lot of things in his life. It had been a startling revelation, so shocking it was only because of loyalty to his partner and their employees that he hadn’t simply walked away from the business.
“But look at the future of NCC,” Chad argued, as he had for the last several months. “Our stock has nearly doubled in the last five years, and with this new operating system we just introduced, it’s going to skyrocket.”
Kris smiled smugly. “All the more reason why I feel free to leave. I have complete confidence my shares of stock are doubly secure with you managing the company. Besides, we’ve both got more money than we’ll ever be able to spend.”
“That’s not the point. We’ve got software concepts on the drawing board that will turn the whole industry on its ear in the next fifteen years. Don’t you want to be a part of that?”
Kris considered his partner’s question for a moment. The possibility was tempting. But no, that effort wouldn’t fill the void he’d sensed was troubling him. “I think there are some other things I’d like to try.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure.”
Chad threw up his arms in frustration. “You’re crazy, man, but I guess it’s your life. Just try nót to forget your going-away lunch this afternoon.”
“I won’t.”
Eyeing him critically, Chad said, “It might have been nice if you’d managed to wear something respectable today.”
Kris checked his old jeans and T-shirt. They were both clean, which struck him as respectable enough. “Look at it this way, Muddy. If I’d dressed up, the staff wouldn’t be able to tell us apart.”
Chad grimaced, fully aware his dark hair and naturally bronzed skin were in stark contrast to Kris’s fairer complexion. Muttering something about ignorant white eyes, he retreated from the office.
Chuckling to himself, Kris resumed his packing.
As he wrapped the mug he’d been holding in a sheet of newspaper, a want ad in the Office Space for Rent section caught his eye. Studying the advertisement, he sat down in his leather chair and tipped back until the springs creaked. He placed his feet on top of the desk, his old running shoes looking markedly decrepit against the dark, rich mahogany. The ad certainly posed an interesting marketing concept, with an unusual opportunity.
He had been wondering what an unemployed thirty-one-year-old should do with all of his spare time. The ad had provided him with an intriguing answer, one he was surprisingly eager to pursue.
In spite of heavy traffic, Joanna made it back to Twain Harte late Tuesday afternoon before dinnertime.
She found Tyler sprawled on the couch in the living room and gave him a big hug. His face was streaked with dirt, his blond hair—a shade lighter than her own—was matted to his head and he smelled of little-boy sweat.
“I missed you, tiger,” she said, her heart swelling with so much love for her son she