Love Is Patient and A Heart's Refuge (24 page)

Becky tapped her pencil against her lip as she studied the mock-up in front of her. This new issue of
Going West
had a sharper edge. The headlines were punchier, the pictures bolder.

It was still a shock to see huge blocks of ads cutting into the articles and marching down the sides of pages. Rick and his sales staff had been busy little beavers to garner this much extra advertising in such a short while.

“It’s definitely moving in the direction you’re headed,” she said, hoping her words sounded more encouraging than she felt.

“When will we be moving away from the stock photos?” Cliff asked, his chair creaking out his annoyance.

“When we start to pull out of our overdraft.”

“Which will happen when?”

Thankfully Rick ignored Cliff’s belligerence. “It will take a few issues. I’m pinning a lot on our October issue.” Rick threw Becky a sidelong glance. “Becky and I are going to be covering the Triple Bar J Western Ride and we’ll get you some photos you can work with.”

“But those photos won’t work for fall.”

“We’re not going to be as seasonal as we would like, but it’s an interesting topic and I’m hoping we’ll get some great pictures,” Becky said, frowning a warning
at Cliff. Looked like she was going to have another hand-holding session with him after this meeting.

“Who’s going to be taking those?” Cliff asked, his voice a study in peevishness.

“I will,” Rick said. “And the article is as much about the ride as an advertorial for the Triple Bar J,” Rick continued.

The heavy silence that followed his comment said more than any complaint or protest could have.

Becky flipped to another page in the binder, past Gavin’s article, the sound swishing through the quiet. “You’ve done a good job with the layout,” Becky said to Cliff, her small peace offering. “It has an energy the other issues didn’t.”

“Thanks, Becks.” Cliff accepted her praise with a crooked grin. “I put this new column you gave me opposite Gavin’s, like you suggested.”

“What column?” Rick flipped the page, as well, frowning.

Becky rocked lightly in her chair to cover her sudden flip of nerves. “We had to hold back the article slated for that page. It didn’t fit in size and content. I had to make a last-minute decision on this column. Might turn it into a regular.”

“‘Runaround Sue’?” Rick’s tone didn’t bode well. “Who is she and why isn’t there a picture with the byline?”

“Sue prefers to remain anonymous for now. And I respect that.”

Rick glanced down at the article and heaved a sigh as he started reading aloud. “‘He’s a man with a mission,’” Rick read. “‘With single-minded attention he
tears down the road, accelerator pushed to the limit, unafraid of what the journey might bring him. He dares all challenges and laughs at danger. He has youth. He has energy.’” Rick paused at the paragraph break. “‘He has his father’s truck.’” Rick looked up from the binder, shaking his head. “What is this about and why wasn’t I consulted?”

Because you’d probably have vetoed it.

“When Cliff showed me the mock-ups I realized we would either have to split the original article twice or come up with something shorter. I figured this would work better. It’s light and balances Gavin’s column.” Becky paused and delivered her strongest shot. “And Sue is doing this gratis for now.” Which was a small point given the declining financial situation.

Rick jerked his chin toward her. “I don’t know if I like the direction. Family humor?”

“Light humor,” Becky corrected. “A kind of positive note to lighten things up a bit. Everyone likes to smile. Chuckle a little.”

Rick blew out a sigh and caught his lower lip between his teeth. He wasn’t pleased, but Becky knew that any change at this stage would cause expensive delays.

“We’ll run it for now,” he conceded, slapping the binder shut. “The rest looks great, everyone. Good job. Let’s get this to the printer.”

In the shuffle to leave, Becky winked at Cliff, thankful for Rick’s sudden affirmation.

“Becky, I need to talk to you before you leave,” Rick said as Becky got up.

She sank back into her chair, stifling a groan. While she waited for Cliff to leave, she managed not to tap her fingers on the arm of the chair or swing her foot in impatience. She had a meeting at the church in fifteen minutes.

Rick waited by his desk until the door closed behind the last person. Once again he perched on the edge of his desk. Once again he crossed his arms over his chest.

“A quick note to let me know what you were doing with this ‘Runaround Sue’ would have been in order here.”

She knew he was right, but she also knew it would have been an uphill battle to convince him to run it. Apologizing took less time than asking permission.

“I’m sorry,” she said, holding his steady gaze. “You’re right.”

Rick’s eyes took on an inward look. “Why won’t you tell me who Sue is?”

Becky released the tension in her shoulders with a slow “what can I do?” shrug. “She prefers to remain anonymous.”

“As well, I gave you Gavin’s next four columns. I think you could afford me the same courtesy.”

“I’ll get them to you as soon as she gets them to me.” She pulled the binder close and scooted to the edge of her chair. “Is that all?”

Rick stroked his chin with his thumb, his lips flirting with a smile. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re hiding something?”

“Because you don’t trust people.”

Becky slapped her fingers to her mouth as if to stop them, but it was too late. The words were out, hanging between them like a taunt.

“Maybe I’ve had reason not to,” he said before she had a chance to apologize.

His abrupt turn away from her was a classic signal for her to leave and time was ticking. But in his words Becky caught the vaguest hint of sorrow.

“Why not?” She asked the question quietly, hoping to offset the callousness of her previous comment.

Rick glanced back over his shoulder, as if surprised she was still there. He held her curious gaze a moment. “Trust is a relationship,” he said finally.

“I’m sure moving around all the time doesn’t help you build relationships.”

“It suits me.”

“And what if you meet someone special? Don’t you think you’ll want to settle down then?”

Rick shrugged, his charming smile back in place. “Hasn’t happened yet, so I don’t need to make that kind of decision, do I?”

“But you might.”

“I doubt it. Most women like their men to put down roots. I can’t think of any reason I’d want to do that.”

Becky thought of his empty Day-Timer and his lack of connections. A quick glance around his office reinforced that. Nelson had had pictures of his family and holidays decorating most of the walls and jostling for space on his desk. Her own office held pictures of nieces, nephews, brothers, sisters, parents, friends. She was running out of room on the bulletin board for more photos.

Rick’s desk held only papers and the walls were still bare. Not a photograph or snapshot in sight.

She felt a flash of pity and sorrow.

“I hope you change your mind someday,” she said as she got up. “I believe we all need a place to call home.”

Rick held her gaze a moment, his blue eyes delving deep into hers as if searching out her secrets. “And why do you care, Rebecca Ellison?”

She couldn’t look away, and as the moment lengthened, an indistinct emotion shifted deep within Becky and she felt herself softening toward him. “Because I believe you are also a child of God.”

Rick laughed, cynicism edging the sound. “I’m nobody’s child, Becky. Least of all God’s.”

And of all the things he said, that was the saddest of all.

“B
efore I leave, I thought I’d get you the rest of the mail,” Trixie said, dropping a bundle of opened letters onto Becky’s desk. Becky flipped through them with one hand while she ate her sandwich with the other. She had spent the entire day running around and had just come into the office to answer a few phone messages and chase down a couple of articles for the next issue. Somewhere in all of the mess that was turning out to be her evening, she had to find a chance to work on another “Runaround Sue” column and get to a meeting with the youth pastor.

“The magazine has only been out a week. We’ve never gotten this kind of response before,” Becky mumbled, wiping the crumbs with the cuff of her shirt.

“Most of them are from businesses. Most of them look handwritten.” Trixie pursed her lips. “I sorted them into positive and negative but overall, I’d say not good.”

Becky skimmed the first one, mentally separating
herself from the anger spilling out on the pages. Countless times her father had told her not to take the letters personally. She tried, but she had a long ways to go before harsh words didn’t give her a clench in the pit of her stomach and a desire to go running to the writer to apologize for anything that might have caused offense.

“Has Rick seen these?”

“He’s at a Rotary Club meeting. Didn’t think he’d be back at the office tonight.”

“I guess I’ll wade through these then, once I’m done working on this profile.” She was also going to have to phone the church and tell the youth pastor she wouldn’t be making the meeting tonight. Which also meant she wouldn’t have time to work on her book proposal. She pushed down a beat of resentment. Work was taking up too much time. And most of the work was thanks to Rick. “Thanks, Trixie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You sure you don’t want any help?”

Becky shook her head and finished her sandwich in one bite. “There’s not really a lot you can do, but thanks.”

“See you tomorrow then.” Trixie left, and the silence that followed her was a blessing.

Hours later Becky pushed herself away from her desk and stretched her arms above her head with a yawn. The pieces were edited and she had chosen some of the more articulate letters for print in the magazine. That most of them were negative was not her problem.

“Runaround Sue” had proven surprisingly easy to write. Now, at nine o’clock at night, her day was officially over.

She switched off her computer and reveled in the
quiet. During the day, the office was a hive of voices and telephones and keyboards clacking. The silence that enveloped her was a relief. A chance to let her busy mind slow down and empty out.

Tomorrow would bring another set of last-minute disasters and changes and juggling finances, but for now her day was over.

She glanced out the window of her office at the setting sun and stifled a moment of frustration. During the short days of winter she looked forward to the longer daylight hours of summer. But now that they’d come, she spent most of them inside. She’d had also only a few hours last week to work on her latest book but all she had to show for it was two more pages of drivel. She was never going to get it done if Rick kept piling on the work.

Yawning, she snagged her sweater off the back of her chair and threaded her arms through the sleeves. She had dressed up today—her favorite pink shirt and denim skirt—for one of her meetings. She had also vaguely hoped that Rick could see that she didn’t always wear jeans and T-shirts. But he had been gone all day.

The click of the back door opening was like a shot scattering panic through her body.

Footsteps down the hallway, easy, measured, sent her heart thumping against her ribs. Who was here this time of the night? What did they want?

“Is that you, Becky?”

Relief made Becky sag against her chair.

“Yes, it is, Rick. Come on in.”

The door opened and Rick stood framed by the door
way, his eyes flicking over her office, as if making sure. “I thought you had a meeting tonight?”

“I skipped it to work on this. What are you doing out?”

“My Jeep broke down a few blocks from here.” Rick stepped into her office, pulled his tie off and tucked it into his pocket. He ran his hands through his neatly combed hair and completed his transformation from stiff businessman to Rick. “My cell phone died so I thought I’d call from the office.”

“There’s no garage open this time of night. But I could give you a ride home if you want.”

Rick shrugged. “No need to go out of your way.”

“I truly don’t mind.” She flashed him a faint smile, then got up from behind the desk.

“There’s no rush. You can finish up.”

Becky glanced back at the papers on her desk, feeling a flicker of shock. Her “Runaround Sue” column lay on top of the pile. “I’m pretty much done here,” she said, shuffling the papers to hide the evidence. “It’s too late to be thinking anyway.”

Ten minutes later Becky pulled up in front of an apartment block in a newer part of town and sighed lightly as she put her car in gear.

“I remember when all this was wide-open fields.” Becky stacked her hands on the steering wheel and rested her chin on them. “That’s the trouble with time. It moves and changes things.”

“You’d sooner things stay the same.”

Becky gave a light shrug. “I’m sentimental. I’ll admit it.” She turned to Rick, who was sitting slightly askew in his seat watching her. The streetlights above put his
face in intriguing shadows, creating a soft intimacy. “Bad habit.”

“It can cause a lot of disappointment.” He tilted his head to one side, his slow smile shifting his expression. “But you seem like a person who can rise above it.”

“I try. I don’t always succeed. I’m only human.”

“And now you’ve got me to deal with.”

“It’s been an interesting ride, I’ll say,” she said carefully.

Rick’s smile grew. “Diplomatic of you. But speaking of ride, I need to finalize plans for the trail ride. I’ve got the information in my apartment. Do you have a few moments to come up?”

Fifteen minutes ago Becky had been bone weary, wanting nothing more than home, a hot bath and a cup of hot chocolate. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t feel that tired anymore.

“Sure.” She turned off the engine and slipped out the door into the cool night air, following Rick up the walk and into the building.

Rick unlocked the door of his apartment and let her in.

“The apartment came furnished, so I can’t take any credit or blame for how it looks,” he said as he stood aside to let her in.

“It looks fine,” Becky said, taking in the minimal furniture, the complete lack of any personal touches. It was just like his office. No photographs, no paintings, posters or anything that expressed who he was.

Sort of like his Day-Timer.

Becky couldn’t help but think of her own room and her hotchpotch decorating style. Fans and kites and
plants and bowls and cloths hung on walls or were scattered wherever she saw a bare spot that needed a little cheering up. And pictures—family members, friends, fellow workers, people from church, her youth group—all tacked in glorious disarray on a huge bulletin board.

Rick pulled a folder out of a desk drawer and laid it on the table. “I’ve got all the information right here. Dates of departure and arrival. Also, a general idea of what Triple Bar J is looking for in terms of coverage.”

“Wow. A file folder for a trail ride.” She quashed a smile at own her flippant comment.

“Okay, enough about my personal management style. It works for me.” Rick gave her a crooked grin and she felt a moment of accord. “So, will you be able to go?”

“Not sure yet. Things aren’t looking really great.”

“Try. I’d like you to come.” He held her gaze, his expression softening.

“Okay.”

“Do you want a cup of coffee or something like that? Believe it or not, I actually have stuff like that in my house. Cookies, too.”

Her first instinct was to say no, she didn’t really have time. But the very bareness of his kitchen, the starkness of the rest of the apartment made her relent. She doubted he had much of a social life apart from work.

“That’d be nice. If you have tea, I’d love a cup. I’m not much of a coffee drinker.”

“Tea, it is. Flavored, herbal or regular?”

“Wow. A choice.” She laughed. “Surprise me.”

“I’ll try.” As he got up, Rick flashed her another grin and Becky felt another flicker of response.

A few moments later he brought out a tray holding a pot of tea, two mugs and a plate of cookies. He cleared a space among the papers and set it down.

“Very domesticated,” Becky said, taking the cup he handed her. “I confess I wouldn’t have been surprised if you brought out instant coffee in tin cans.”

“A habit I picked up. Grandpa was a tea connoisseur.” Rick set the plate of cookies in front of her. “The boarding school I went to served tea at night. British roots I suspect. When I traveled I found the tea to be more dependable than the coffee.”

“Did you like boarding school?”

“Not particularly, but I never knew different. When Mom died, boarding school was the best alternative for Grandpa Colson.” That his words were delivered without any emotion tugged at the motherly part of Becky’s heart. She pictured a lost little boy of seven, heading off to a strange place, all alone.

“Did he miss you?”

Rick’s laugh was without humor. “I think he waved me off each Monday with a huge sigh of relief.”

“I understand Grandpa Colson once made my own grandmother’s heart go pit-a-pat. Do you have any pictures of him?”

“No. He wasn’t big on photos.”

“Must be genetic.” Becky glanced around his bare apartment walls. “I kind of thought a photographer would at least have some pictures on the wall.”

“Most of my stuff is in boxes. I never stayed in one place long enough to hang things up.”

He stated the information casually, but Becky sensed
a touch of melancholy in his voice. Or maybe her own sentimental nature imagined it.

“So not even a photo album?”

“I have one I’ve compiled of trips I’ve made that I usually take with me in case I want to add to it.”

“Can I see it?”

Rick held her gaze as if trying to see past her question. Then with a light shrug, he pushed himself back from the table, got up and walked over to a box that sat beside his couch.

“If it’s too much trouble…” Becky suddenly felt as if she were snooping.

“No. It’s right here.” Rick crouched down and flipped through the box’s contents and pulled out a small worn album. He brushed the cover before he handed it to Becky.

Becky opened it up to a picture of an older man sketching a giggling young girl and her solemn older brother. “Where is this?”

“Paris. Montmartre. A bit cliché, but it was my first trip.” Rick stayed beside her, his one hand leaning on the table beside the book as Becky turned the pages. His suit coat hung open and his closeness created a curious mixture of discomfort and allure.

“That next one is Mathematician’s Square close to Sorbonne.”

“No Eiffel Tower?” Becky teased, hoping to find a balance to her seesawing emotions.

“I was trying already then to establish myself as an individual,” Rick said with a light laugh. He pulled a chair close and sat down beside her, and allure, for the moment, won.

The pictures changed in composition as she went. From traditional camera angles and European settings, Rick had moved to more far-flung locations, experimenting with light and color as he went. A few striking shots taken in Africa were in black and white, others in sepia tones. Children and families featured in many of the shots.

“I knew you traveled a lot. I never realized how much.” As Becky turned the pages, she felt as if she was transported to other, exotic worlds.

“Have you ever traveled?”

Becky shook her head as she turned the page to a picture of a crowded, narrow street. “I’ve never had the opportunity.”

“You don’t have opportunities, you take them.”

Which sounded suspiciously like his comment about finding time to write. “Maybe someday. I have to confess, though, it seems like a waste of money.”

“Traveling isn’t something selfish. It can have a purpose.”

Becky glanced sidelong at him intrigued by his comment, but he was looking at the album. “And what was your purpose?”

Rick shrugged, glancing up at her. “My articles.” He got up and walked around to where he was sitting before, and Becky wondered if she had scared him away. “I made good money doing them. Showing people like you, who don’t like to travel, what the world is like.”

“I didn’t say I don’t like to travel.” As she closed the album, she noticed a picture tucked away at the back.

It was of a woman holding a young boy on her lap, both of them laughing up at the camera. Becky stopped and looked at it more closely. “Is this you?”

“And my mother.”

“Did your dad take it?”

Rick shook his head, toying with his mug. “She always told me a friend took them. I didn’t know my father.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Becky said softly.

Rick’s sent a curious smile her way. “You don’t have to pity me. There are many people in this world who haven’t had a third of what I’ve had.”

“Not pity, but I feel bad that you have so few relationships in your life.”

A veil dropped over Rick’s expression. “I believe you mean that.”

Becky couldn’t look away and found she didn’t want to. As their eyes held, she could almost feel a softening in him. “I do. People shouldn’t be alone.”

Rick blinked, then a peculiar look drifted over his face. “I’m not alone now.” His voice had grown quiet, deeper, and he leaned a little closer, his index finger lightly caressing her hand.

“That sounds an awful lot like a pickup line, Rick,” Becky said, hoping she sounded more nonchalant than she felt. In spite of her brief annoyance at his convenient sidestep into insincere patter, she couldn’t stop a responding frisson of attraction at his touch.

Rick slipped his fingers inside the palm of her hand as he shrugged. “It probably is.”

“So why did you use it? Was I getting too close?”