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Swept Away

Swept Away
Gwynne Forster

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my husband who loves me and whom I love; to the memory of my father who gave me my first lesson in the meaning and power of a man’s love; and to my stepson who is so much like them both.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Veronica Overton walked with prideful steps into the executive ladies’ room on the fifth and top floor of the building that housed the agency, Child Placement and Assistance—CPAA—that she headed as executive director. In the three years that she’d been its chief, she’d developed the agency into a driving force on Baltimore’s notoriously depressed and blighted west side. When she went home to her co-op town house in upper-middle-class Owings Mills, just outside Baltimore proper each night, she could pride herself in the knowledge that she’d made it; she’d accomplished what millions strove to do. She’d reached the top of her profession before her thirty-third year, and by bringing integrity to everything she did, she’d won the respect and admiration of everyone who knew or knew about her. Veronica reached the entrance to the ladies’ lounge and stopped short.

“What do you know about that?” she heard a woman ask. “Her Highness, Lady Veronica, is flat on her backside. The invincible Miss Overton. Not even the governor can get her out of this one.”

Veronica recognized Mary Ann’s voice when she said, “Why’re you so happy about it? I think it’s a reflection on all of us. Somebody slipped up somewhere.”

“Yeah,” came the voice of Astrid Moore, the woman who had competed with Veronica for the position of executive director, “but Her Highness is the one who’ll burn for it. That man means business.”

Veronica rubbed her arms to relieve the sensation of burrs and thorns attacking her skin. Forgetting that the women thought themselves alone, she startled Astrid with a hand on her shoulder.

“What are you talking about? What’s happened that I don’t know about?”

Astrid’s glistening white teeth sparkled against her smooth dark skin. “You didn’t know? Schyler Henderson just held a news conference. Seems Natasha Wynn is missing from the foster home we placed her in, and he’s suing CPAA for negligence.”

Veronica couldn’t help bristling at the accusation, even as apprehension raced like blood through her body. “Negligence? He’s out of his mind. Some children run away from their own parents.”

“Yes,” Mary Ann said, stepping over to Veronica’s side in an unspoken gesture of support. “But Mr. Henderson said the home in which we placed Natasha is an unsuitable environment. You know what that means.”

“Do I ever!” Veronica wrinkled her nose against the sweet, sickening perfume that Astrid sprayed around her neck and ears. “Thanks for your loyalty, Astrid. Be sure I won’t forget it. Not ever,” she added with pointed sarcasm.

She inspected her light brown skin, combed her black, artificially straight hair, refreshed the lipstick that matched her dusty-rose raw-silk dress and walked out of the room head high and shoulders straight. People said she walked regally, but she felt anything but regal right then. A blast from Schyler Henderson and his Advocates for the Child (AFTC) people could topple her, destroy all that she’d done and sink her into professional disgrace.

She welcomed the sharp mid-March air that greeted her when she stepped out of the CPAA building. Winter had hung around longer than usual, and she tugged her street-length black shearling coat closer to her body. At the corner, she bought some roasted chestnuts from Franco, who told her proudly that he’d sent three children through college on what he made selling them. She believed him. Over twelve years, chestnuts at ten for a dollar fifty could have bought him a mansion.

The twenty-minute train ride home gave her just the time she needed to unwind after a hard day and to begin thinking of her other life. Her choral society, work with the shelters and her plan to help juveniles achieve more respect in their neighborhoods. She wanted to form them into groups of volunteers who would assist people in emergencies. As she entered the two-story brown brick structure, she couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride. It was hers, and she didn’t owe one penny on it.

After a light supper, she sipped ginger ale and watched the evening news. The Henderson man was everywhere, and his commanding presence and mesmerizing charisma seemed to have worked their magic on the reporters. Not one of them questioned his accusations; not one pointed out her contribution to the people in the area she served. Sickened by the media’s readiness to put her on trial, she flipped off the TV and set about planning her defense.

The next morning she sat in her office with her deputy, Enid Dupree, discussing the agency’s options. Enid didn’t believe they had the resources or the proof to combat AFTC. “Veronica, you know Henderson is formidable when he makes a case against you. Look at the way he managed that case against the boys’ club.”

Veronica sat forward. She’d forgotten that case. “But this agency is not culpable.”

Enid shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be. He believes in his soul that we’ve destroyed Natasha Wynn, and if you didn’t have anything more to go on than the evidence he cited to the press, you’d say he’s right.”

“I know he’s a heavyweight. Everybody around here knows about him and his crusades, but people say he’s honorable.”

“Somebody’s feeding him half-truths. I’d bet my new face on it.”

Veronica’s shoulders shook with her laughter. “You paid eight thousand dollars for that face. You mean you’re that sure we’ve got a stool pigeon in here?”

“You heard what he said at his news conference. He sounded as if he’d been reading our files.”

“Then he should have read the truth. That foster home has had a perfect record.” She gritted her teeth. “You wouldn’t believe how I’d like to get my hands on that man.”

Enid’s new face bloomed into a lusty female grin. “Me, too. Lord knows I would, and I wouldn’t be taking my hands off him anytime soon. Believe me, I’d—”

Veronica could hardly believe what she heard. Enid never talked about men unless discussing them professionally. “Wait a minute. Are you saying—?”

Enid didn’t bother to show any embarrassment at having raved about a man. “Haven’t you met the guy? If he doesn’t send your blood rushing the wrong way, you haven’t got any. I’m fifty-four, but just looking at that man from a distance of twenty feet made me pray.”

“Pray?”

“Yes, honey. If I hadn’t prayed for self-control, I’d have gone straight up to him and said or done something stupid.”

Thank God it wouldn’t be a jury trial, and with luck, the judge would be a forty-year-old ladies’ man. “I’ve seen him on TV, but I never got the impression that he was irresistible.”

“Same here, but Mr. Henderson in person is an all ’nother cut of cloth. Those eyes! And, Lord, that million dollar charisma. Whew!”

Veronica leaned back in her chair, picked up a pencil, twirled it, put it down and shuffled some of the papers on her desk. Restless and impatient. “All right. I get it. That only means I’ve got work to do and plenty of it. He’s used to getting his way, no doubt.”

Laughter spilled out of the woman sitting beside her desk. “If he told me what his ‘way’ was, I’d see that he got it.”

At Veronica’s icy stare, Enid threw up her hands. “Just kidding. Just kidding. See you later.”

Veronica watched her leave. She trusted Enid, but she didn’t care to do battle with a male heartthrob. Competence she could handle, but she didn’t relish being the generator for a man’s ego trip. She read and reread the information in Natasha’s file. The agency hadn’t made a single mistake with the girl. Who knew why an eleven-year-old would run away. A sudden chill stole into her. A child wouldn’t run away from a warm, loving and happy home, would she? If indeed that was what had happened. Lord forbid Natasha had been a victim of foul play.

She mused over the problem and, on impulse, asked her secretary for Schyler Henderson’s phone number. She couldn’t plan if she didn’t know precisely what the charges were.

“Schyler Henderson. Good morning.”

His warm, caressing tones gave her a mental picture of a perfectly proportioned male lying supine on a bed of dewy grass with a warm breeze kissing his bare skin. She reined in her thoughts.

“Hello, Mr. Henderson. This is Veronica Overton.”

“What may I do for you, Ms. Overton?”

So he didn’t engage in small talk. She held the receiver away and stared at it. She respected professionalism. She told him she’d learned of his charges through the media.

“It seems to me that if you were seriously concerned about our placement practices, you would at least have spoken with me before you made your public grandstand.”

“I considered it, but since I didn’t know you or how you operated, I decided against it.”

“Well, I want you to know that I had no idea Natasha wasn’t in that home until one of my staff told me about your press conference.”

“Ms. Overton, that home is unsuitable. The child has disappeared, and no amount of discussion will change that. The only way we’ll stop this…these tragedies is nip them at the source.”

“That home has served more than a dozen children over the years without one unpleasant incident. Furthermore, my agency has an impeccable record, and we provide the only service of its kind to West Baltimore. If you destroy us, what can you put in our place?”

“I’m not out to destroy your agency. We need it; you and that agency have been a good thing for this community. But we must protect and preserve every child, every little life, Ms. Overton. No mistake is tolerable. My aim is to make sure that our children get the best possible service. From the information available to me, it appears that Natasha Wynn didn’t get that so, much as I’d rather not move against you, I have to do what I believe is right.”

Schyler hung up, got the file and read it through again, assuring himself that he hadn’t misrepresented the woman or her agency. Still, an uneasy feeling settled in him. He’d never met her, but he knew her reputation and he was loathe to sully it. Women, and especially African-American women, had a hard enough time getting executive jobs and receiving the support they needed after they got them. He didn’t want to knock her down, but when he remembered his own travails in first one foster home and then another, he had to stay his course for the child’s sake. He called the district attorney’s office to lodge his complaint.

Brian Atwood answered the phone. “Man, Overton has a spotless record. You asking me to dethrone that icon?”

Schyler sat down, put his feet on his desk, crossed his ankles and leaned back in his swivel chair. “I know who she is, and I don’t want to hurt her, but it’s my job to act when a child is endangered.” He could imagine that he’d worried Brian, the coward of their college class.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, man. She’s rock solid.”

Fishing with Brian could be fun, but working with him tried his patience. “Was rock solid. I’m sending the file over by messenger.”

“Okay,” Brian said, a tad slowly, Schyler thought. “I’ll get back to you.”

Three hours later, Schyler lifted the receiver hoping his caller was not Veronica Overton and breathed deeply in relief when he heard Brian’s voice. “What do you think?”

Brian didn’t hesitate. “I’ll check this out and if I find cause, I’ll bring charges.”

A week later, AFTC’s charges against Veronica’s agency were aired in Family Court.

Schyler strode into court, certain of his grounds but unhappy about the damage he might inflict on a woman of commanding stature and singular achievement. She had rescued Child Placement and Assistance from irrelevancy and made it a force in the community. He knew about her, had heard her on radio and seen her on television, but he’d never met her. A half-smile settled around his mouth. She always sounded so correct, perfect, like Miss Betts, his fourth-grade teacher. He hadn’t liked Miss Betts, he recalled, because she never gave him credit for what he did. Sometimes, he wished she could see him now. He’d grin at her and show her his thumbs up sign, the way he always did when she was mean to him. He laughed to himself, because he knew he was procrastinating. Much as he hated it, he had to present this case.

He walked away from his side of the aisle, greeted an acquaintance and shook hands with him, still postponing the inevitable. Then he sat at the table provided for him and looked across the narrow aisle that separated him from Veronica Overton, intending to bow graciously, and did a double take. Right straight to the marrow of his bones. An arrow with his name on it. She’d looked at him and his heart had taken off and sped unerringly to her. Get ahold of yourself, man. This spelled trouble, because she’d reacted to him as surely as he had to her. Quickly, he focused his attention on the papers in front of him. She’d been looking at him again and had diverted her gaze when he caught her at it. He ran his fingers through the thick black wavy hair that disputed the purity of his African heritage. Now, what was that all about?

Veronica glanced up just as the tall, distinguished-looking man entered the far side of the chamber. Schyler Henderson. A giant of a man. At least six feet five inches tall, though trim as an athlete. She’d never realized he was so tall and, for reasons she refused to examine, imagined that he’d dwarf her five feet ten inches. Not that she wouldn’t like it; she enjoyed being with a man who made her feel soft and feminine. She settled her gaze on him. She wouldn’t say he was a knockout, but…He looked at someone in front of her, smiled, and long strides brought him to within a few feet of where she sat. His smile claimed his whole face as he shook hands with the man before going to the table reserved for him and sitting down.

The bottom dropped out of her belly, and she knew what Enid meant about blood flowing backward. She stared at his back while something leaped within her, quickening her insides. She couldn’t move her gaze from him. He sat alone, without a lawyer, leaning back, as relaxed as a marathon runner at the end of a race. She brought herself under control and breathed. Lord, she’d never seen such eyes.

The judge called the proceedings to order, and Brian Atwood read the charges. She marveled at her ability to sit quietly through it. Her agency’s lawyer refuted the charges, and she strummed her fingers on her knee. Such a waste of time and money. It hadn’t occurred to her that Schyler would be the one to argue on behalf of Advocates for the Child. She bristled at the assurance with which he read the brief he’d written as a friend of the court.

“No matter what CPAA’s reputation is, it cannot be allowed to endanger our children. The tragedy of Natasha Wynn has sullied the commendable reputation that this agency established during the previous three years. But saving a hundred children does not excuse the loss of one.”

Angry at him as Veronica was, he fascinated her. And thrilled her. She watched, spellbound, as he strolled from one end of the bench to the other, a consummate actor.

He spread his hands as though helpless. “Of course, Your Honor, we can pat them on the back and say, now you be good little boys and girls and don’t do this anymore. Sure, and we could be right back here a month, two, three or a year from now with another tragedy.” He looked over at her and smiled. “We wouldn’t want that, Your Honor.” To her surprise, he called her to the stand.

Veronica took the stand. “Thank you for the opportunity to speak on my behalf, Mr. Henderson. Not many of us can claim to have achieved perfection in every aspect of our lives as you so obviously have, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t blow my own horn and let the agency’s record speak for itself.”

She could see that she’d stung him, but he was only momentarily nonplussed. “When we’re dealing with people’s lives, we’d better be perfect,” he replied, his tone gentle and his manner respectful.

She refused to allow him the last word. “Since you know that, Mr. Henderson, I’d think you’d have gotten your facts straight before you took an action that could destroy my life.”

A look of distress flashed across his countenance, and she got a sense that he regretted the entire affair, but he quickly replaced it with an expression of confidence and asked the judge for a ruling against CPAA.

The judge, apparently having heard enough, announced that he’d render a decision within ten days and dismissed them.

Veronica marched out of the chamber, head high, without a glance in Schyler’s direction. He’d had the temerity to accuse her agency. She couldn’t think of any torture good enough for him. As the crisp March air hit her face, enlivening her skin, invigorating her, his long shadow paired with hers, and she didn’t doubt that he’d maneuvered it so that they’d leave the building together.

She didn’t look at him. Deliberately. She didn’t want any of his magnetism, though it seemed to radiate from him even when she wasn’t looking at him. “I’m surprised you’d care for my company, Mr. Henderson. It taxes my credulity to think you’d allow yourself to be seen with such an irresponsible person as me, a menace to the well-being of Baltimore’s children. Sure you haven’t mistaken me for someone else?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This isn’t personal, Ms. Overton. I’ve admired your work, but this tragedy requires restitution.”

She stopped walking and looked up at him. “And you don’t care who pays. Is that it? You don’t even know that there is a tragedy. She’s missing, but for all you know she could be safe. Where there’s no body, there’s no murder; any detective will tell you that. Make a name for yourself at somebody else’s expense, please.”

He faced her, towering over her, either unable or not caring to hide the sensual awareness making itself known through the prisms of his remarkable gray eyes. “I’m not a crusader, Ms. Overton. I’m trying to protect children because they can’t do that for themselves. I’d never set out to hurt you. You…you’re…” He looked into the distance, protecting his thoughts, and when he looked back at her, she couldn’t mistake the compassion his eyes conveyed for anything but what it was. He did dislike hurting her.

He stared down at her, his gaze unfathomable. A half-smile formed around his sensuous mouth. Then he winked. “See you next week.” And he was gone.

Schyler’s steps slowed when he approached the restaurant where he’d told Brian they could meet for lunch, as his mind grappled with the enigma that was Veronica Overton. Once there, he ordered a hamburger with french fries, coleslaw and a dill pickle, and a chocolate sundae for dessert.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Brian asked, as he watched Schyler pick at his food.

“I don’t know. I just don’t feel that spurt of adrenaline, that excitement that I usually get on a case. I don’t feel like making the kill. Maybe I ought to turn this job over to somebody else and stick to engineering.”

“This doesn’t surprise me. It’s a real bummer. The woman’s standing in the community didn’t happen accidentally. She had to work her tail off for it, man. You’re going to make yourself a bunch of enemies.”

“I know, but I can’t help it. When I became head of Advocates for the Child, I took an oath to pursue vigorously every case in which a child had been put at risk. It’s my job, and I have to do it, but I…” He rubbed his forehead. “You don’t know how I hate the thought of jeopardizing that woman’s career.”

“Well fasten your seat belt, man. I’ve got some news for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Those foster parents have separated. I got it when I called my office just before you walked in here. You can’t lose this one.”

“Separated after twenty-three years? What about?”

“Seems she’s tired of doing everything in the house while he comes home at night, buries his face in a book or newspaper and cultivates his mind. She’s mad as hell and she’s not taking it anymore.”

Brian’s laughter grated on his ears. He didn’t find it amusing. “That doesn’t make it a bad home for a child.”

“Does if they argued about it a lot.”

Schyler nodded. “If the man’s such a lost cause, how’d she stand him for twenty-three years?” He finished his chocolate sundae. “Gotta go, man. See you in court.”

He hailed a taxi to his office at Branch Signal Corporation, where he worked as chief of electrical design. An engineer by profession, he’d gotten a law degree so that he could help underprivileged people, particularly children, who otherwise wouldn’t get competent counseling. He didn’t charge for his services to AFTC, and although he represented the foundation, he didn’t practice law.

He went to his drafting table and began working on a method of tapping electric energy in summer when it was cheapest and storing it for use in winter when it became more expensive. He was too disconcerted to work. Something…everything about that case bothered him. He walked over to the window and looked down at the crowds scurrying along Calvert Street like ants after sugar. He’d gotten one good look at her, and she’d poleaxed him. In all his thirty-six years, no woman had done to him what she did without trying. He wondered how he’d had the presence of mind not to stare at her. He lifted his left shoulder in a quick shrug. She wasn’t immune to him either. But he suspected she had the strength to put aside whatever she felt, to ignore it and him. Too bad. He’d give anything if he’d met her in more favorable circumstances.

Veronica walked into Enid’s office without knocking, something she never did with any of her employees. Allowing a person privacy was essential to good relations. She dropped into the chair nearest the door and, in a gesture uncharacteristic of her, folded her hands and dropped them into her lap.

“For goodness sake,” Enid exclaimed, “what happened? Don’t tell me he…he…Good Lord, I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me out of going to that trial with you.”

Enid got up from her desk and walked over to her boss. “What? Did the judge rule against us?”

How could Veronica tell a woman who was her subordinate what Schyler Henderson had done to her? That her common sense didn’t function when she was close to him? That he was the Greek God Apollo incarnate? Well, maybe he wasn’t, but what difference did it make? If he had invited her to lunch, she would probably have gone with him.

“Did he?” she heard Enid ask in a voice that had become plaintive.

She straightened up. “No. No. It’s not that. His Honor decided to make us wait ten more days.” She rose from the chair, patted Enid on her arm and left. In her own office, she prowled around for a few minutes; then she shook her body as if divesting her clothes of chaff and her shoes of loose soil. On top of that sex-charged aura, he was a gentleman. He’d indicted the agency, but he hadn’t said a word against her personally. And he’d been sorry, almost apologetic about that. He’s a man I could spend a lot of time with and be happy doing it. If only I’d met him in more favorable circumstances. But she hadn’t, and she’d better stop thinking about him.

Before the week’s end, however, Veronica’s thoughts of Schyler were not filled with longing for him. Natasha Wynn had been apprehended, wan and emaciated while stealing food in a supermarket, and AFTC had indicted her as the head of the agency.

Enraged, she phoned Schyler. “What’s the meaning of this? Are you trying to destroy me? Why are you persecuting me?”

His long silence only served to heighten her annoyance. Finally he gave her an answer different from what she would have expected, all things considered.

“Ms. Overton, I am not your attorney, but I will give you some good advice. Please don’t appeal to my good nature. I have one, yes. But I place my responsibilities above my personal feelings.”

Her bottom lip dropped. She held the phone away and stared at the receiver. Talk about chutzpah! “Your personal feelings? Where do they come in?”

He let her have another pause. “You’re old enough to know the answer to that question. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you in court next Monday. And be prepared, because I’m duty bound to get a conviction in this case, though I may have come to hate the thought, and I’m warning you that you’re in trouble.”

“Wait a minute. I don’t know the answer to that question, and if you do, I wish you’d let me in on it.”

He expelled a long breath, and she imagined that he closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “I tell myself the truth,” he said, “even if I don’t mention it to anybody but me. You were right there with me when it happened, so you know what I’m talking about. But don’t let that lull you into complacency about this court case.”

So he acknowledged the electricity between them, felt it and would still do what he regarded as the noble thing. If she hadn’t been facing the fight of her life, she’d admire him for it.

“One doesn’t expect protection from one’s avowed executioner. Better look closely at your motives, Mr. Henderson. See you in court.”

She hung up, her nerves rioting through her flesh, making a mockery of her cool manner. The case against CPAA hadn’t been settled, and now AFTC had indicted her. That indictment was a death knell that filled her head with dislike for Schyler Henderson. Yet, his eyes, his smile, his masculine bearing raised havoc with her feminine soul. The moist telltale of desire dampened her pores, and her heart stampeded like horses charging out of a corral. She dropped her head into her hands as her warring emotions pitted her against herself.

The day of decision arrived, but before the judge ruled on the case against CPAA, Schyler presented to the judge his agency’s case against Veronica herself. Once more, she refused to answer questions but, instead, challenged Schyler and AFTC.

“My record is my defense. The whole of Baltimore, Maryland, knows what I’ve contributed to this community. Whose sins are you demanding that I pay for?”

Schyler knew that the effect of the blow she’d landed had to be mirrored in his face, telling her that she’d touched a nerve.

“I’m not being personal, so would you please try to resist it?” he said, deciding against a return thrust.

She countered his every point, fencing as skillfully as Errol Flynn or the great Olympians of the past. And he wanted her to destroy his arguments, prayed that she would, though he did nothing to help her. After she’d been on the stand for about an hour, Schyler conferred with the district attorney, who then asked the judge for a bench consultation, saying he wanted to withdraw the charges, that he could not aptly substantiate them.

Schyler knew without doubt that only once before in his life had he experienced such an overwhelming sense of relief. He’d finally lost a case, but he couldn’t be happier. AFTC would make certain that Natasha Wynn received all the support she needed, but her two weeks of pain on the streets of Baltimore had taught her and all concerned a lesson. Him, too, and maybe he’d needed it. He went out to face the reporters who crowded around him, their bulbs flashing and notepads bobbing in the air as they shouted for his attention. He was the man of the moment.

Over their heads, he saw Veronica walk out undisturbed. A fierce pain gnawed at his belly; her wings had been clipped, and he and AFTC had engineered it. Their intentions had been good, but as his father had told him dozens of times, the highway to hell was paved with good intentions. He watched her for as long as he could see her, her head high and chin up, and fought the urge to wade through that sea of reporters and take her into his arms.

Veronica made her way back to the office, called a staff meeting, gave them the outcome of the trial, packed her briefcase and left. Several blocks from the train station, at the corner of Reisterstown Road and Bock Avenue, she crossed the street to where she knew she’d find Jenny with her shopping cart full of useless things.

“You here early today, Ronnie.” Jenny claimed the gap between her front teeth made it impossible for her to say “Veronica.” “Ain’t a bit like you. You not sick, I hope.”

In spirit, maybe. “I’m all right, Jenny. Thanks. I have a few things to do at home.”

Jenny squinted at the sun and sucked in her cheeks. “I been sitting here every day it didn’t rain for the last almost two years, and this the first time you ever had anything to do at home. Well, I ain’t much to offer help, but ifn’ you need any prayers, you just let me know.” She rolled her eyes skyward. “He don’t always answer mine for me, but when I prays for other people, he do.”

Veronica pressed a few bills into Jenny’s hand. “Thanks, friend. I’ll take all the prayers I can get.”

“I sure do thank you, Ronnie. I know I’ll get something to eat every evening, ’cause somebody from Mica’s Restaurant across the way always brings me some fried lake trout and cornbread and collards. What you give me, I uses to buy soap, toothpaste, aspirins and things like that. I could use another blanket this winter.”

“I’ll make sure you get one. If you’d just go see that social worker, we might be able to get you a place to stay.”

She’d given up hope of getting Jenny off the street. What had begun as a solution to the loss of her apartment had become a matter of psychological dysfunction. Jenny no longer seemed to want a home; she had become inured to her hardships and accepted them as her way of life.

“Yes ma’am. I’m goin’ down to the shelter and get cleaned up, and I’m goin’ to see her. Yes ma’am, I sure am.”

Veronica waved her goodbye and struck out for the train station.

At home, Veronica watched Schyler on the local news channel, transfixed by the smooth manner in which he made it seem as though all parties to the litigation had won. Won? She’d had the carpet yanked from under her. She flipped off the television and took out her knitting, hoping to settle her nerves with the rhythmic movements of her fingers, and at the same time, to make some headway on the two dozen mittens and caps that she gave every Christmas to children at the homeless shelter. Schyler’s hazel eyes winked at her and refused to be banished from her mind’s eye. Reluctantly, she answered the telephone, hoping that the caller wasn’t from the media.

“Hello.”

“Veronica, I just saw Schyler Henderson’s press conference,” her stepfather said. “I hope the man will leave you in peace now. He can say what a great agency you’re running, but if he thought so, why did he do this to you? I feel like calling him and giving him a piece of my mind.”

She couldn’t help smiling. Sam Overton never failed to support her. Time and again he’d proved his boundless faith in her, and she loved him without reservation. “He was trying to make amends as best he could. I can’t deny that the case has done some damage, but the agency will survive, because nothing exists that can replace it.”

“All right, but what about all those awards the city and state have given to you and to the agency? They can forget about what you’ve done for that city?” She could imagine him snapping his fingers when he said, “Just like that? It’s sickening.”

“Don’t worry, Papa, I’ll be fine.”

“Then what’re you doing home this time of day? I couldn’t believe it when Enid told me you’d gone home.”

“Best place to clean out my mind. I was in no mood to console the sixty-seven employees who’d be drifting into my office for assurance that they still had jobs. How’s Mama?”

“Pretty good today. She’s asleep right now. Don’t worry, Veronica. As long as you do your best, you can hold your head up. You’re competent. Nobody can take that from you.”

“Thanks, Papa, but right now I don’t have much enthusiasm for service to the public.”

“It’ll come back. Looks like we’ve both met our Hendersons.”

“What do you mean?”

“Long story, child. There was one in my life once, and he won, too. But only for a little while. So chin up.”

“Thanks, Papa. Love you. Give Mama a hug.”

“You know I will. Talk to you later.”

She went back to her knitting, more tranquil now, musing over her stepfather’s comment that he, too, had met his Henderson. But if she knew Sam Overton, he’d said as much on the subject as he ever would. She searched for a solution to foster care but couldn’t think of a workable alternative. Still, something had to be done. Restless, she put her knitting aside, went to the Steinway grand in her living room and began to practice a song that her choral group had chosen for its next performance. But after half an hour she gave it up, went out on her back porch and sat there, looking at the ripening of spring, trying to count her blessings.

Schyler had been home twenty minutes when the phone rang. He lifted the receiver, knowing instinctively that the caller was his father.

“You didn’t call to let me know how the case went,” Richard Henderson said to his son. Not accusing; he didn’t do that. He merely stated the facts.

“I didn’t have anything to rejoice about. I lost, but I’m not sorry.”

He could imagine that his father, knowing how he hated to lose even the most trite argument, raised his antennae.

“Why not?”

“Instead of answering my question, she asked me if I wasn’t demanding that she pay for someone else’s sins. Dad, that thing cut me to the quick. Maybe I was. I…I just don’t know.”

“Don’t punish yourself for nothing, Son. You said the case had merit. You questioning your judgment?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. The case against the agency made more sense than the one against her.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “For the life of me, I don’t know why I went after her like that…like a lion after a gazelle. She…she’s…”

“I see. You liked her. You more than liked her, you bent over backward not to let your feelings get in the way, and you think you overdid it. Right?”

Arrow-straight as always, Richard couldn’t have put it plainer. Schyler rubbed his square chin and released a breath of frustration. “Something like that but, well, that’s history now. Our paths won’t cross again unless we meet at a conference, a fund-raiser or a civic meeting.”

He rubbed his chin, reflecting on what could have been. Too bad. Rotten, lousy timing. This woman had gotten to him in ways that he couldn’t have imagined. And right then, he didn’t want to examine his feelings, a mélange of almost everything a man could feel for a woman. Almost. Something remained that he’d never given to any woman. But if he got to know her…

“Would it help to call her and tell her you’re sorry, or maybe that you’re glad things worked out as they did?”

He didn’t believe in putting Band-Aids on life-threatening wounds. He’d take his medicine. “I don’t think that’ll help, but you’re right. I ought to do something to restore her status in the public’s eyes. I’ll call a news conference. That’s how it got started.”

His father’s low growl of a laugh had always comforted him in an odd way. “You going to eat crow?” Richard asked when he finally stopped laughing.

Schyler didn’t catch anything amusing. “Don’t like the stuff. No way. I’ll fix it, though.”

Veronica flicked on the television in her office, leaned against her desk and watched Schyler tell the press that his complaints against CPAA and Veronica were not substantiated and reminded them that the case had been thrown out of court. When hours passed and not a single reporter had telephoned to get her reaction to the press conference Schyler had called to exonerate her, she knew the damage to her and the agency exceeded what she’d imagined. She was no longer good news copy, and she said as much to her deputy.

Enid tried without success to camouflage her disheartened mood. “When a man drops an egg, he thinks his only problem is cleaning up the mess. Does he stop to deal with the fact that there is no longer an egg?”

It surprised her that she didn’t want to hear him vilified. “Don’t you think he tried to repair the damage?”

Enid sucked air through her teeth hard and long. “Not in my opinion. He should have come right out and said he made a mistake in bringing the charges, that he was wrong and next time he’d see to it that his assistants did a better job of getting the facts.”

Visions of his eyes glistening with heat for her flashed through Veronica’s mind, and she remembered his words: “You were right there with me.” He’d wanted her and hadn’t tried to hide it, and he had known that she reciprocated what he felt.

Veronica leaned back in her chair, folded her hands behind her head, crossed her knees and pondered Enid’s attack on Schyler. She thought for a few minutes before answering. “You’re forgetting that the girl was missing, he didn’t know where she was and, when she surfaced on a charge of stealing food she was a shell of her former self. His crime was in caring too much.”

Enid rolled her eyes skyward, crossed and uncrossed her ankles. “If you say so. I don’t know what we’re going to do, though. Fund-raising’s going to be a problem.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll think of something. Right now, I need a change of scenery.”

Chapter 2

At home later that day, she walked around her elegant town house. She picked up a paperweight and stared at it. For the past five years she’d done nothing but work. CPAA had been her whole world. She thought of what she’d done with her life and what she hadn’t done. As a child, she’d had such promise, gifted in music and art. But she’d chosen the safe way, a career that would enable her to make a good living and help her parents. She’d done that. Renovated their home, refurnished it and eased their lives. But her dreams were still that, dreams. She’d never swum in the Pacific; stood before the Taj Mahal; skied on a mountain top; gazed at the Mona Lisa; flirted with a handsome Egyptian; and she’d never sung Billie Holiday songs in a jazz club.

She might have made a difference in the lives of a few people, but in the world? Not at all. And what could she show for her thirty-two years? A busted career. And the misfortune to have met, in a battle that had ruined her, the one man who had made her fantasize about love in his arms. A picture of herself in her high school cap and gown mocked her from the top of her piano. Oh, what hope and what naiveté. She’d had the world on a string then. But a decade and a half later, she still didn’t have the nest, children and love that she craved, and she’d lived a life of adventure only in her dreams.

Her thoughts went back to her childhood, filled with love and her parents’ caring. But it had encompassed only a few short years. Study and work were about all she had ever known: work for food and clothing; study for the scholarships that would take her to the next level. And when she finally reached the top, staying there had consumed all of her time and energy. She had never known a man’s love, never enjoyed a carefree vacation, never spent hours chatting with friends. She hadn’t lived, only worked and struggled. And what had it brought her? She wanted to taste life, to do the things about which she had always fantasized, and to shed her affected aura of ultraconservatism.

The next morning she called Enid to her office as soon as she got there. “Sit down and brace yourself. I’m taking leave from the agency. Then I’ll decide whether to remain.”

Enid’s mouth opened wide in a wordless exclamation of horror, and Veronica could see that she’d shocked the woman.

“You’re not serious! Veronica, don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for. Wait a few months until all this settles. I know you’ve—”

“I’ve spent the night thinking about it, and I need to get away from here, at least for a while.”

Enid leaned forward, her suddenly sallow complexion a testament to her sorrow. “Is it Henderson? I know he’s sorry, and I know he cares about what happened and about you, or he wouldn’t have called that press conference and tried to make amends.”

Veronica’s heart fluttered wildly. Then, something sprang to life within her, like a jonquil popping through the earth in spring or a song leaping to life in her mind, but she controlled her response to it. “That was gracious of him. Maybe he cares, and maybe guilt drove him to do it. I don’t know, and if I change my plan of action because of him, then what? I wish him well, but today is my last day in this office. I have three months of leave stored up, and I’m taking it. If I decide not to continue working here, I’ll give notice.” She called a staff meeting, locked her desk and left.

On her way home, she stopped by Jenny’s corner and handed the woman an envelope of bills.

Jenny peered into the large brown envelope, closed it and looked at Veronica. “You hit the lottery, Ronnie, or is this the last time I ever gon’ see you?”

A tinge of guilt struggled with the wave of sadness that overtook her. She hadn’t thought of Jenny as a dependent but as someone she helped, a friend, even. Now she understood that the woman depended on her. She looked at Jenny’s shopping cart of things that only she valued and fought back tears. She couldn’t even invite her to a nearby restaurant for a cup of coffee because she wouldn’t be allowed in with her “things.”

Resigned, she forced a smile. “I’m taking a three-month leave, Jenny. If I get back before that, I’ll drop by to see you. That little change in that envelope ought to keep you until I get back. I’d…I’d better run for my train.”

Jenny put the envelope in her coat pocket and secured the pocket with two safety pins. “You know I thank you. You know it. I…I hope you finds what you lookin’ for, Ronnie. Somethin’s wrong sure as my name’s Jenny, but you needn’t worry none. Anybody with a heart big as yours is always gonna be blessed. I ain’t even gonna worry ’bout you. Go on now, and get your train.”

Veronica hesitated, saw the tears in Jenny’s eyes, turned and rushed across the street. Jenny wouldn’t want to be seen crying.

She spent the next day storing her valuables and securing her house. Then she packed her bags, put them in the foyer, stuffed a few things in a small suitcase and left for her parents’ home in Pickett, North Carolina.

As she’d expected, her stepfather was not pleased about her plans. “How can you just walk away from what you devoted your entire adult life to? It bothers me seeing you this way, like you don’t care what happens. Stay here with us for a while and get yourself together.”

“I’m taking some leave I’ve got coming to me, Papa. When that’s up, I’ll have to make a final decision about the job.”

“That’s better, but don’t walk away from it like you could get another one just because you asked for it.”

She looked into her stepfather’s sad eyes and knew that for the first time in her life she was going to ignore his advice, to disobey him, and she hurt—not for herself, but for the man who had sacrificed so much for her. But she drew a measure of contentment from her mother’s words, telling her that she should always be true to herself.

“Your papa means well, and he’s even right. But if you feel you have to find what’s missing in your life, honey, do it now. Right now when you’re free, when it won’t affect anyone but you. Don’t compromise on important things.” Veronica noticed that she released a long, labored breath. “And always be sure of what you feel.” She patted Veronica’s hand. “I’ll be so glad when spring comes.”

After supper, Veronica sat alone on the back porch. As a child, she’d spent many lonely hours on the porch of their old house, knowing the world around her and dreaming of the universe that she had yet to discover. She’d known the approaching automobiles by the sound of their motors and the screech of their tires, knew the neighbor who chopped wood by the rhythmic noise of his ax, recognized every dog by its bark. She had loved the old porch and had given every splintered slab of wood its own name and its own story, had imagined them as ships that took her to special places. An only child, she’d spent most of her childhood alone while her parents worked at whatever jobs they could find. She glanced around at the lovely porch furniture, the yellow brick walls, and the yellow curtains that blew out of the kitchen windows. For the last four years, she had enabled her parents to live comfortably, and she would see that they always did, but she had to follow her dream. An early spring breeze whistled around her, and she tugged her woolen sweater closer, gazed up at the sky illumined with millions of stars and thought about Schyler. If only…A shudder passed through her. Too late for that.

The next morning she kissed her parents goodbye. “I’ll be in Europe for a while, Papa. Write me in care of American Express.”

She went back to Owings Mills, got the bags she’d left in her foyer and took a Swissair flight to Switzerland.

“I’m going to do everything I always wanted to do and see the things I’ve longed to see,” she promised herself as her Swiss guide helped her strap on her ski boots.

“You’ve only had two lessons, and you’ve done pretty well, miss, but you’re not skilled enough to go chasing down these mountains by yourself,” Tomass, her German-Swiss guide cautioned her.

Emboldened by her early success and invigorated by the calm, crisp mountain air, she felt as if she could soar over the snow-covered peaks that surrounded her.

“I’ll be careful, Tomass. Promise.”

He finished lacing her boots and towered over her, reminding her of Schyler. “If you respect these mountains, they’ll respect you. Some champion skiers have gotten careless or cocky and breathed their last breath right here.”

They compromised. She bought another hour of his time, and they skied together, her cares falling away like discarded clothing as they flew with the wind at her back.

“We’d better call it quits,” he said, two hours later. “Be sure to get a hot tub, because every bone you’ve got will be screaming.” At the chalet she thanked him, returned the rented skis and set out for a hike across the lush, green valley.

Beauty as far as she could see. She hadn’t known that the Alps, the grand mountain range of Europe that stretched from Italy through France and Switzerland to Austria, was of such imposing grandeur, so spectacular a feast for the eyes. She walked briskly, marveling at herself and the world around her, hardly able to believe she’d just skied on the Jungfraujoch, that rugged prize of the Swiss Alps that stood 11,333 feet at its peak and where skiers had challenged nature for over 850 years. At its foot nestled Grindelwald, arguably one of the most scenic places on earth. She gaped, spellbound, when her eyes first beheld it. Then she turned away from the awe-inspiring scene of snow-covered mountain, green valley and alpine roses that perfumed the air, wanting to banish the desire to have Schyler Henderson hold her hand as she stood there. She took a deep breath and quickened her strides through the meadow, enjoying a feeling of spiritual renewal.

Bewitched by the scenery, she lost track of time and place. Against the majestic white peaks, wildflowers of every color littered the fields, putting to shame the Ricola television advertisements.

“Guten Tag, Fraulein. Where you headed?”

She hadn’t seen the man as she strolled along deep in thought. “Hello. Where’m I going? Well…nowhere special. I’m just walking.”

The tall, blue-eyed blond gazed at her with frank appreciation of what he saw. “It gets dark early in these mountains. Where you staying? There’s no lodging anywhere near here.”

She noticed that he said it matter-of-fact-like, as though her situation were hopeless. “I’m staying at a hotel in Interlaken.”

“Interlaken? You’re at least a three-hour trek from there. You’d better come with me.”

Go with this stranger? She didn’t think so. She smiled her best I’m-in-charge smile. “Thanks, but I’ll get there okay.”

She didn’t fool him. “By morning you could be covered with snow. You don’t know these mountains, miss. You’d better come with me.”

He started to walk away and tendrils of fear unfurled through every molecule of her body. Suppose he was right. “Wait. Where are you—?”

His piercing eyes, as blue as the clearest sky, didn’t smile when he said, “Home. My parents will put you up. There’s no moon tonight, so I have to get there before dark. Nothing to fear. So come.”

He walked on, so she followed him, and followed, and followed until she thought her knees would crack.

“How…how much farther is it? I’m winded.”

He pointed to a distant light, the only other sign of life for as far as she could see. “Another couple of kilometers or so. Come along now.”

Another two miles. She stifled a groan and geared up her strength. When at last she stumbled into the two-story, unpainted chalet with its sloping roof and windows lined with boxes of blooming geraniums, she felt as if she hadn’t an ounce of energy left.

“Papa,” her rescuer told the older man who greeted them at the door, “she’s lost, so she’s staying the night.”

Words were exchanged in German, and for a while she wondered if the old man would let her stay. But he smiled, shook hands with her, and switching to French, asked her name. When she told him, he welcomed her and called his wife, from whom she received another welcome. Veronica followed the woman up the rustic stairs to a cheerful room. She’d never seen so many handmade quilts, hand-embroidered sheets and pillowcases as were stacked on shelving in the room. She thanked the woman and dropped into the nearest chair.

“Nous prendrons le dîner dans quelque minutes,” the woman said, as though anyone who didn’t speak German would speak French. “We eat in a few minutes.” Veronica followed the woman to the bathroom, which was clearly the only one in the house, for a woman’s shower cap hung on the same hook as a man’s razor strop and razor. She hadn’t known that men still used them. Glad for the chance to refresh herself, she did so as best she could. She went back to her room, and a short time later, heard a knock on her door.

“Miss Overton, we’re ready to eat.”

She opened the door, and he stared down at her. “My name is Kurt.”

He left her standing there and headed down the stairs, giving her no choice but to follow. As soon as she got to a bookstore that carried English titles, she intended to read about the Swiss culture. Unless she was missing a beat, the status of Swiss women was not too high. In the dining room, whose centerpiece was an enormous stone fireplace over which hung a rifle, several oil-filled lanterns and a large, noisy cuckoo clock, Kurt’s parents and a man she assumed was his brother sat at the table waiting for them. Kurt’s father said grace, a long soulful-sounding supplication in German. Then he introduced her to his other son, Jon. The family ate without conversation of any kind, limited their words to requests for the meat, or the bread or whatever else was wanted. They drank wine with their dinner, but she declined, thinking it best to face the night with a clear head. After the meal, the woman of the house refused Veronica’s offer to help clean up, but Veronica wasn’t certain that she was expected to sit around the fire with the men.

Kurt’s father lit his pipe and cleared his throat. “You understand French perfectly?” he asked her in French.

She told him she knew what was being said.

“Good,” he replied in French, “my son Kurt needs a woman, and he likes you. Not many women want to live out here, because it’s too harsh. But we have a good farm, and we live well. We want you to stay.”

Her heart landed in the pit of her stomach. When she could close her mouth, she said the first words that came to her mind. “I wouldn’t think of living with a man I wasn’t married to.”

Since the old man didn’t understand English, Kurt replied. “I’d take you for my wife, if that’s what you want.”

Stunned, she felt as if her brain had shut down. He couldn’t be serious. She looked at him. He meant what he’d said. They had already entered the twenty-first century, and this guy spoke of getting married as if that were the same as shelling a peanut. One thing was certain: she’d better not laugh.

“I’m sorry,” she managed at last, “but I can’t do that.”

She couldn’t believe the disappointment that registered on his face. “You’re already married?”

“I’m not married, Kurt, but where I come from, we treat marriage differently. I’m sorry. Please thank your mother for the dinner.” She asked to be excused and was glad she remembered how to say it in French.

Her nerves rioted throughout her body when she realized that Kurt was following her. She stopped at the top of the stairs and confronted him.

“Why are you following me up here, Kurt?”

“You won’t marry me, and you will leave tomorrow morning. Will you at least spend the night with me?”

She’d have panicked if he hadn’t spoken so gently, without belligerence.

“I don’t believe in casual…er…sex, Kurt.”

He studied her for a minute, and a look of pure pleasure settled on his face. “You needn’t worry. I assure you there’ll be nothing casual about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He released a long breath. “I’m sorry, too. What time do you want to leave tomorrow morning? We eat breakfast at six-thirty.”

She stifled a smile of relief because she didn’t want to encourage him. “As soon after breakfast as possible. The hotel must have worried that I didn’t get back there last night.”

From his facial expression, you’d have thought he saw a Martian. “They don’t care, as long as you or somebody pays the bill. We’ll leave here at seven-thirty. If you don’t mind riding in the truck, I’ll drive you down to Interlaken.”

“Thank you, Kurt. For…for everything.”

He shrugged. “Maybe next time I’ll get lucky.”

Veronica walked into her room at the Hotel Europa in Interlaken, so-called because of its position between two lakes. Excited about her adventure but relieved that it had ended without mishap, she got the notebook she’d bought in the hotel’s small store and began to write. Kurt hadn’t interested her, but during their ride down the mountain and through a narrow pass to Interlaken, she’d developed compassion for him. Eligible though he was—and handsome, if your taste ran to his type—he couldn’t find a woman he wanted who would agree to live with his family in the home whose foundation his great-grandfather had built and that he refused to leave. The worst of it, to Kurt’s way of thinking, was that his brother couldn’t marry until he did. She recorded the events of the previous two days and put the tablet aside.

Time to move on. She walked out on her tiny balcony and looked at Lake Thunersee nestled in the bosom of an endless flower-filled meadow beneath the Jungfraujoch Mountain on which she’d skied. Why couldn’t she have shared it with Schyler? Here, in the most beautiful place she’d ever been, she was alone. She shrugged it off, as she’d always done, packed, paid her bill and took a taxi to the station. The taxi driver assured her that if the United States was full of women who looked like her, it must be paradise for a man. She took that with the proverbial grain of salt, not bothering to disabuse him of his assumption; she was already learning that it wasn’t the place but the person who counted most.

Her hotel in Geneva faced the train station. She dropped her bags inside her room door, went to the phone and called American Express.

“Yes, Miss Overton, we have a message for you. We don’t open mail, so you’ll have to pick it up here.”

A feeling of dread stole over her, but she blew out a heavy breath, called Swissair and in four hours was on her way to Pickett. She was eating lunch on the plane before she remembered her mail at American Express. It didn’t matter; Papa was the only person who knew her whereabouts, and as much as he hated to write letters, something had to be seriously wrong.

A week after her return home, she sat on the edge of her mother’s bed and leaned forward so she could understand the muffled words. She couldn’t make sense of them, except for the last.

“…find him. Find your father…please find him. Sorry.”

Days later, the services over, she and her stepfather began adjusting to life without Esther Overton. Veronica hated to leave him, but he insisted that he’d be happy with his memories, because Esther would always be with him.

Shortly after her return to Baltimore, she made a luncheon date with Enid. She had to talk to someone other than her stepfather.

“If she told you to find your birth father, you’d better do that,” Enid said. “She had a reason.”

“But I grew up thinking he…he deserted us. She said so herself. I don’t want to find him. I spent my whole life detesting him.”

Enid was adamant. “Maybe she wanted to right a wrong. How do you know? If that’s the last thing she said, you’d better do it. Get a private detective.”

“I…I suppose you’re right. Anyway, I promised her I’d do it. Uh…How’s…uh…Mr. Henderson these days? Still rolling heads?”

Enid pushed her glasses up on her nose. Since she’d had her face lifted, the bridge of her once prominent nose was considerably smaller, and her glasses no longer stayed in place. Veronica wished she’d get a pair that fit her nose.

“Mr. Henderson called several times just after you left. At first, he thought I was lying when I said I didn’t know where you were and that you’d taken leave from the agency. Veronica, he was distressed. Have you two been together…I mean…Is anything going on with the two of you? His reaction wasn’t what I’d expect of someone who only knew you casually.”

Veronica shook her head, knowing that Enid’s sharp eyes wouldn’t miss her discomfort. “There’s nothing between us, Enid.”

“But there could be?”

“Better to say there could have been.”

“My Lord! And he knows that, too, doesn’t he?”

Veronica nodded. “So it seems. It’s been good talking with you. Let’s…let’s see each other often. Okay? I’ve gotta run back down to Pickett and get what information I can about my birth father. Call you when I get back.”

She passed Jenny’s corner on the way to her train but didn’t expect to see the woman on that rainy day.

Bright sunshine relieved the dreariness of her task as she sat in what had been her parents’ bedroom shuffling through the papers she’d found in the bottom drawer of her mother’s dresser. Tension gathered within her as she stared at the picture of a happy threesome—herself at about age two sitting on her birth father’s lap and her mother smiling up at them. She stared at the likeness of the man her mother had begged her to find. Now she at least knew what he looked like, and she realized that she resembled him. She put the picture aside and searched further. Satisfied that she had enough information, she took out the few items she needed and closed the drawer. Her stepfather didn’t seem to have touched anything in the room or to have slept in it since losing his wife.