On Temporary Terms. Janice Maynard
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you know.”
“If I’m not mistaken, you told him to give you time to think about it.”
“I did.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know if I want to go out with him.”
“Liar.”
“Excuse me!” Abby said, affronted.
“Of course you want to go out with him. But you’re scared.”
“Oh.” That much was true. “I’m fifteen pounds overweight, Lara.”
“Not every guy wants a stick figure. He liked what he saw. And besides, you’re a beautiful woman, whether you believe it or not.”
Easy for Lara to say. She was the epitome of the perfect female. If she weren’t so wonderful, Abby would be compelled to hate her on sight. “Well, it’s a moot point, because he hasn’t gotten back to me, and I honestly don’t think I have the guts to call him.”
“Let’s look at this objectively, honey. How often do new men wander into town?”
“Almost never.”
“And when they do, how often are they young, hot and available?”
“Almost never.”
“And when one of them is young, hot and available, how often is he the decent type who loves his grandma and is willing to sacrifice his own happiness for hers?”
“You’re making him sound like a cross between Robin Hood and James Bond. I’m pretty sure Duncan Stewart just wants to get laid.”
“That’s what all men want. It wouldn’t hurt you either.”
“Lara!”
“You’re staring down the barrel at thirty. Then it’ll be thirty-five and forty. All the good men will be gone. You’ve got a live one on the hook, Abby. Don’t toss him back.”
“That’s the most sexually regressive, ridiculous speech I’ve ever heard.”
“You know I’m right.”
“I don’t see you fishing.”
“Maybe if I had a charming Scotsman asking me out, I would be.”
“I don’t know. He’s arrogant and rich and snarky. Probably hasn’t had to work for anything in his life.”
“Text him. Right now. Tell him yes.”
“You’re bullying me.”
“Correction. I’m encouraging you. There’s a difference.”
Abby picked up her cell phone, her stomach churning. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Do it, Abby.”
Without warning, her cell phone dinged. She was so startled, she almost dropped it. The words on the screen left no doubt about the sender.
Have I given ye enough time, lass? Dinner Tuesday? Pick you up at 6?
“It’s him, Lara.” She held out the phone. “He must have been serious.”
Lara read the text and beamed. “Of course he was serious. The man has good taste. Text him back. Hurry.”
Hands shaking, Abby pecked out a reply...
Two conditions. We don’t call it a date. And you let me tell you about the offer on your grandmother’s business...
She hit Send and sighed. “I’m not finishing the rest of that dessert. Do you think I can lose ten pounds by Tuesday?”
Lara handed her a fork. “Eat the damn cheesecake. You’re perfect just the way you are. If Duncan Stewart doesn’t agree, he’s an idiot.”
* * *
Duncan had fallen into a routine of sorts. It wasn’t familiar, and it wasn’t home, but for the moment, it was workable. His grandmother liked to sleep later in her old age. Since Duncan was up early every day, he headed into town and opened up the office before anyone else arrived. He liked having a chance to look over things unobserved.
He was definitely the new kid on the block. All the staff had been cordial and helpful, but he guessed they were wondering if anyone would be getting the ax. That wasn’t his plan at all. Stewart Properties appeared to be thriving. It was up to him to make sure that success continued.
The company comprised two equally profitable arms—mountain cabin construction and mountain cabin rentals. Isobel and Geoffrey had capitalized on a tourist market in its infancy decades ago, and had built their reputation bit by bit. The main office had been located in Candlewick since the beginning, but satellite offices operated in Asheville and several other spots within a hundred-mile radius.
In a little over a week’s time, Duncan had learned the basics of daily operations. He had already spotted the invaluable employees and the ones who might be potential problems. Because his training and degrees were in finance, he wasn’t concerned about the accounting practices. Where he would have to pay attention was in the actual design and building modules.
Because his grandmother was determined to maintain her involvement in the day-to-day operations, he went back up the mountain each morning around eleven and picked her up at the palatial wood-and-stone home she and her husband had built for themselves. It was far too big for an elderly widow. It was even too big with Duncan in the house. But Isobel wanted to stay, so the status quo remained.
After a shared lunch in town, Duncan deferred to Isobel’s decisions and insights about the various company decisions. Her mind was as sharp as it ever had been. Her stamina, however, was less reliable. Some days, she made it until closing time at five. Other times, someone was drafted to take her home at three.
This particular Tuesday was a good day. Duncan and Isobel had spent several hours going over potential new architectural plans for a series of cabins to be built on land they had recently acquired. Other, somewhat dated, house plans were being culled.
At last, Isobel closed the final folder and tapped it with a gnarled finger. “These new ones are going to be very popular. You mark my words.”
Duncan scrubbed his hands across his scalp and yawned, standing up when she did. “I believe you, Granny. You’re the boss.”
Isobel reached for his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “Thank you, my boy. Thank you for everything you’ve done for an old woman. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
He hugged her, glad she couldn’t see how much he had struggled with the decision to uproot his life. “I love you, Granny. You looked after Brody and me when we were lost boys after Mom and Dad divorced. I owe you for that, even if for nothing else. Besides, I’m enjoying myself.”
And it was true. He was. He hadn’t expected to, not at all, so the rush of adrenaline in the midst of new challenges was a bonus.
When they released each other and stepped back, he grinned. “I suppose I should tell you. I have a date tonight. Don’t wait up for me.”
The old woman’s eyes sparkled, and she chortled with glee. “Do tell, boy. Anybody I know?”
“Abby Hartmann? She’s at the law firm where you sent me to sign the new will.”
“Ah, yes. Abby.” Isobel’s brows narrowed. “Abby is a nice young woman.”
“Why do I get the impression you don’t approve?”
“Abby hasn’t had an easy life. She deserves to be treated well.”
“I wasna’ planning on beating her, Granny.”
“Don’t be sassy, boy. You know what I mean. I’d not want you to trifle with her affections.”
“She