Daddy's Choice

Carol glanced at John, whose expression said, He’s trying, isn’t he?

Carol looked back at Kirkland, who was waiting tensely, his tall frame motionless.

“All right!” Carol said, throwing up her hands.

John grinned, and Kirkland permitted himself a half smile, his light eyes warming just a little.

“Why do I feel that I’ve just been outgunned?” Carol said wearily.

“Not ungunned,” John said. “Merely enlightened. You’ll make a tidy profit on the house once it’s renovated, even with the costs of the work deducted.”

“John, I understand that,” Carol said, holding up her hand. “But my concern at the moment is having a quiet place to study during the summer, not becoming a real estate profiteer.”

“I’ll do everything I can to help you study,” Kirkland said evenly, and Carol looked at him again.

It seemed that he meant it.

Carol nodded resignedly.

“Can you two shake on it?” John said genially, obviously relieved that he wouldn’t have to take legal steps to resolve their differences.

Kirkland extended his hand, and Carol reached out to grasp it. His palm was callused and work-hardened, but large and warm. Her fingers disappeared into it and then he relaxed his grip. She snatched her hand back hastily.

There was an awkward silence, then John said briskly, “Well, I’m glad we were able to come to terms on this. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get home—my wife will probably carve me up with the roast.”

Kirkland shook hands with John, glanced once more at Carol and said, “I’ll be back at your house at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow, then,” and left.

John packed his briefcase as he said, “Wait just a moment, Carol, I’ll walk out with you.”

Carol paused as he punched a button on his phone and then picked up his keys. She walked beside him as they left his office and he stopped to lock his door before proceeding down the steps that led to the street.

“How are you getting along, Carol?” John said. “You must miss your dad.”

“I do, but I’ve been so busy I don’t think his absence has really sunk in yet. Since I was away at school I really didn’t see him much, just talked to him on the phone.”

“Ever hear from Gloria?” John asked warily.

Carol shook her head. “She’s afraid that I’m going to contest the bequests to her in my father’s will, but I don’t plan to do that. She can keep whatever he gave her as long as I never have to see her again.”

“No love lost there, I take it.”

Carol shrugged. “When I saw that she was depositing my father’s money in a bank account with her name on it, I was not favorably impressed.”

John nodded. “I think that’s why he never told me about his renovation of the cottage. He was afraid I would attempt to talk him out of it.”

“Why?”

John glanced at her nervously.

“Tell me,” Carol said levelly.

John shrugged. “I think he planned to give the place to Gloria once it was redone. He just happened to die before he changed the provision in his will that left the cottage to you.”

Carol was silent.

“I’m sorry,” John said gently, “but I thought you should know in case she comes sniffing around, offering up witnesses to testify about his intent to give it to her.”

“Are there any?”

John shrugged. “Who knows? But I don’t think she’ll get anywhere. Any judge in the world would determine that she has already been well compensated for her period of ‘companionship.’ If she does file a complaint I don’t think it’s likely to get past a preliminary hearing. I just wanted you to be prepared for the possibility.”

Carol nodded. She wasn’t worried about Gloria; all Gloria wanted was money, and so more money would make her go away. Carol was much more concerned about passing the bar exam.

They had reached John’s car, a green BMW sports car, and as he unlocked it he said, “Why don’t you come home with me and join us for dinner? Beth would love to see you.”

“Thanks, John, but I’d like to get back to Strathmere. I still have unpacking to do and I want to be ready to hit the books early tomorrow.”

“Okay, but you have to give me a rain check.”

“I will.”

John tossed his briefcase onto the passenger seat of his car and slid under the wheel. As he started the car Carol said suddenly, “John, what do you know about this Taylor Kirkland?”

The older man squinted up at her as he adjusted his seat belt. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, he’s going to be on my property every day all summer, isn’t he?” she replied obliquely.

John thought a moment. “He’s a local boy, quiet, minds his own business. He built that construction company up all by himself from what I hear. His father was a fisherman. I don’t know many other personal details, but in business Kirkland has a reputation for being quite fair and aboveboard. That’s why I was surprised when he gave you trouble.”

“I guess he’s just determined to follow through on the contract my father signed,” Carol said glumly.

“You can’t blame Kirkland for that.”

“But I’d really like to,” Carol said, grinning, and they both laughed.

“Sure you won’t take me up on that offer of dinner?” John asked, glancing at his watch.

Carol realized that she was detaining him. “No, go ahead. And thanks for your help.”

“Call me if you need anything else,” John said, and shut his car door. Carol stepped back as he glided out of his parking space and then pulled out of the lot.

Carol walked toward her father’s car—his used backup model; Gloria hadn’t come after it because she was doubtless more satisfied with the new foreign sports sedan she had received. Carol was just getting into the driver’s seat, warm from sitting in the late afternoon sun, when a wave of dizziness came over her. She had to lean forward with her head on her crossed arms, hands gripping the steering wheel for support.

How long had it been since she’d eaten? She realized with alarm that supper the night before had been her most recent meal. She’d been in such a snit over her unwanted visitors all day that she’d forgotten about food.

The dizziness passed and she lifted her head. She knew from experience that she couldn’t drive back safely unless she had something to eat, and John’s car was now out of sight. She glanced across the street at a restaurant she’d been in with her father several times. Like John’s office, it was housed in a restored Victorian-style home. The first-floor rooms of the old house had been converted into a large dining salon. Usually the place required reservations but she was probably early enough on a weeknight to just walk in and be seated. She stood gingerly, then relocked her car and went across the street.

She was right. The dining room was only half full and she was given a secluded table near the back. She had just picked up the menu when a masculine voice next to her said, “Are you following me?”

Two

Carol turned abruptly and saw Tay Kirkland standing at her elbow. His tie was off, his jacket over his arm, and his open collar exposed a matte expanse of brown throat. When she looked startled at his remark, he smiled slightly and she realized that he was joking.

“I thought you’d be taking off with John,” he added.

“No, he was going home and I didn’t want to intrude. But I started to feel a little shaky when I got into my car and thought I’d better come over here for dinner.”

“Didn’t eat today?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Too upset about the big bad construction crew invading your domain?” he asked archly.

Carol gazed at him in exasperation. “You may think my concern is ridiculous, Mr. Kirkland, but if you’ve ever tried to study with hammering and drilling surrounding you in stereophonic sound, you would know that it’s not.”

“Please call me Tay. And I’ve never been big on studying, but I can imagine that the kind of noise my outfit makes doesn’t exactly aid concentration.”

Carol said nothing. It was nice of him to be understanding now that he was getting what he wanted.

“I’d like to explain myself better than I did in John’s office if you’ll give me a chance. Do you mind if I join you for a minute?” he asked.

Carol hesitated, and he saw it.

“Never mind,” he said quietly, and turned to go.

Before she knew what she was doing, Carol had leaned forward and placed her hand on his wrist. He froze and looked down at her inquiringly.

“Please stay,” she said, then regretted her impulse when his eyes locked with hers, searching and very blue. His candid examination made her feel coltish, uncertain, and she was relieved when he pulled out a chair for himself at her table.

“Okay to sit?” he asked.

She nodded.

He settled in across from her and folded his arms in front of him. With his height and broad shoulders he dominated the small round table as if he were sitting in a child’s playhouse.

“I wanted to explain to you why I took such a hard line with your contract,” he said.

“I think you already did that.”

“Not completely. When I first started this business ten years ago, I got burned by quite a few people who backed out of their deals after I had ordered all the materials and hired the men for the jobs.”

“So you’ve said,” Carol observed impatiently. Why was he cornering her like this just to repeat himself?

He shook his head, holding up his hand. “Let me finish, there’s more. I have to think about my future business. In my industry, if you get a reputation for caving in when the client changes his mind, you’re in trouble. You have all sorts of people ordering up work and then backing out when they decide to pay for their daughter’s shotgun wedding or Junior’s braces or a trip to the Bahamas instead.”

“I didn’t order the work. My father did.”

“I understand that, but from my perspective it’s the same thing. I have to enforce my contracts or the accumulated costs, over time, will drive me out of business. I’m growing, but I’m not that big a company yet and I can’t afford to absorb the losses the way a national outfit could. It’s simple economics.”

Carol said nothing.

“Do you see my point at all?” he asked wearily, a slight note of pleading in his voice making her look at him more closely.

“Do business with a national outfit?” she suggested, and he grinned, breaking the tension.

“They like to enforce their contracts, too, and they can afford to hire people like you to make sure they do.”

“Nobody’s going to be hiring me unless I pass the bar,” Carol muttered.

“You will.”

She glanced at him, one eyebrow arched. “You’re a soothsayer?”

“I recognize determination when I see it,” he replied. “I’d hate to be one of the bar examiners if they turn you down.”

Carol smiled.

“So are we okay? No snits, no pouts, no grudges?”

“I never pout,” she said.

“I don’t imagine you do. An Uzi would be more your style.”

“You make me sound quite formidable, Mr. Kirkland.”

“I asked you to call me Tay.”

“All right, Tay. No snits and no pouts, I promise.”

He nodded. “Good.”

Carol studied him as he sat across from her. Was it possible he was really concerned that she would be angry with him? Or was he merely worried that she might interfere further with his renovations if he didn’t placate her now?

“I’ll do a great job and your place will be worth a fortune when I’m finished,” he added, and Carol had to smile again.

Kirkland might be quiet, as John had said, but she had to be careful of the man facing her across the snowy restaurant tablecloth.

He was just too attractive to have on the premises every day.

As if reading her thoughts, Kirkland pushed back his chair and stood.

“I guess I’ll be going,” he said.

“Would you like to stay and join me?” Carol asked, and she felt him measuring her expression, as if deciding whether her invitation was motivated by mere politeness.

“I hate to eat alone,” she added, and that seemed to make the decision for him.

“All right,” he said, and sat again, dropping his jacket on the chair next to him.

“Have you been here before?” Carol asked.

He nodded.

“What’s good?”

“The clam chowder is excellent, seafood’s the specialty. The swordfish and the trout almondine are usually top-notch.”

He sounded like a man who spent a lot of time in restaurants.

The waiter, who had been watching them during their earlier conversation, seemed relieved that Carol’s companion had decided to stay and materialized at Tay’s side.

“Are you ready to order?” he asked.

Tay looked at Carol. “I haven’t given you much of a chance to look at the menu,” he said.

“That’s all right, I’ll take your suggestion,” Carol replied. She turned to the waiter and said, “A bowl of the clam chowder and the grilled swordfish, please.”

He nodded, scribbling. “White or red chowder?” he said.

Carol looked at Tay.

“Red,” he advised. “And I’ll have the same. With the baby vegetables and a bottle of the house chablis.”

The waiter disappeared and Tay selected a breadstick from the basket on the table.

“Do you often forget to eat all day?” he asked Carol, biting into the stick, which snapped under the assault of his teeth.

“Not often. It’s a bad idea when you have low blood sugar. Everything tends to get a little hazy around the edges.”

“I could never forget to eat,” he said, smiling. “My stomach always reminds me.”

“It happens only when I get really preoccupied. I passed out during exams once, right after civil procedure. The instructor was mortified, he thought I had fainted because I was afraid I’d failed the test. I had to tell him that I’d been studying so hard I’d skipped breakfast and lunch.”

“I guess I should be flattered that I’m as much of a distraction as a civil procedure exam,” Tay said lazily.

Carol met his eyes, then looked away.

“What is civil procedure, anyway?”

“Torture. Sheer, maddening torture. It’s all confusing cases and decisions about who can bring a case, where it should be brought, if it has enough merit to be heard, on and on and on. It’s the Waterloo of the first year of law school and everybody dreads it.”

“I’ll bet you got an A,” he said, polishing off his breadstick.

Carol glanced at him, startled.

“Did you?” he said.

She sighed. “Yes.”

He chuckled, the low, throaty sound drifting across the table toward her as the waiter brought their appetizers.

Carol picked up her spoon and Tay watched her reaction as she tasted the soup.

“Very good,” she said.

“Not too spicy?”

“No, it’s fine.”

They ate in silence for a while, and when Carol’s bowl was almost empty he said, “Feeling better?”

“Much.”

“I think you need someone to take care of you,” he said quietly.

“I’m doing just fine,” Carol replied firmly. “Lots of people skip meals, it doesn’t mean they need a keeper.”

He let that pass, pouring them both a glass of wine when the waiter brought the bottle.

“I hope you like this, it’s actually much better than some of the big label stuff,” he said, saluting her with the glass.

Carol sipped hers obediently and nodded.

“Did you spend all your summers down here when you were a kid?” Tay asked, watching her.

“From the time my father bought the house, yes.”

“I don’t remember you,” he said, as if he should.

“A few years is an unbridgeable gulf between kids,” Carol replied.

“But not between adults,” he observed.

The busboy cleared the table and shortly afterward the waiter brought the main course. Tay speared a tiny carrot with a tine of his fork and said, “How do they get these things so small? Are they shrunken or something?”

“Beats me. They must grow that way, like Bonsai trees. The fish is delicious.”

“I’m glad you like it. Maybe this experience will encourage you to eat regularly. I can’t have you passing out on the sidewalk in front of my construction crew.”

“I shouldn’t have told you that story,” Carol muttered, and he chuckled.

Carol stared at him, riveted in spite of herself, then took another sip of her wine.

“Do you like living at the seashore all year ‘round?” she asked.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Well, I should think it might be dismal in the winter—gray ocean, gray skies, empty beaches.”

“Spoken like a true summer person,” he said dryly. “Actually, the beach in winter is very nice.”

“If you’re an Eskimo.”

“If you like peace and quiet, as you supposedly do.”

Carol paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. He had scored a point off her without even trying.

“I only meant that the image of a deserted and windswept beach is a lonely one,” Carol said quietly.

“For landscape artists, maybe. But I like the isolation, it helps me to think. When the tourists flood in over the Memorial Day weekend I always want to head for the hills. At least Strathmere is off the beaten path, I could never stand living in one of the big towns that turn into a Mardi Gras every summer.”

“Don’t like the Ferris wheels and coin toss booths, eh?”

“I avoid all amusement parks,” he said. “Have you ever noticed that people do things on vacation they would never do at home?”

“You mean toting around the boardwalk souvenirs, the funny hats and the giant blue teddy bears?” Carol asked.

“And who are the merrymakers? Drunken teenagers in wrecked cars and middle-aged tire salesmen in hula skirts,” he said.

Carol giggled. “You don’t paint a very pretty picture of the summer visitors. I was one of them, you know.”

“I’m sure you weren’t one of the worst. You had a home here and stayed the whole season. The worst of them blow in for a week or two, stay soused the entire time, then leave a trail of litter behind on the beach and a trail of beer cans on the way out of town.”

The waiter approached and said, “Is everything all right?”

“You can take this, I’m done,” Carol said.

“Do you want anything else?” Tay asked.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Coffee, dessert?” the waiter said.

“Just coffee for me,” Carol replied.

Tay nodded in agreement. Carol felt as if she were on a date, with Tay directing the action, even though their meeting had been a coincidence.

“Do you like what you do?” Carol asked as Tay picked up the bottle and tipped it to top off her glass.

Carol covered it. “I have to drive,” she said.

He replaced the bottle in its stand. “Construction?” he said.

“Yes.”

He nodded. “I like working with my hands, and it’s very satisfying to see the completed job and know I was responsible for it. I can drive up any street in Strathmere and see how my efforts have improved or redone the old houses, in some cases even saved them from collapsing.”

“I see.”

“Do you feel that way about the law?”

She hesitated before answering. “The law is malleable. It can be a force for good, but it can also be used in negative ways.”

“I guess that means you have to be careful.”

“Yes, it does. You have to be careful about what type of law you practice and which cases you choose.”

Their coffee came, and they sipped it as Tay asked, “Does that mean you won’t be representing any Mafia dons?”

Carol smiled. “It seems unlikely.”

“Embezzling bankers?”

“They can usually afford the experienced, high-priced practitioners. That’s not me.”

“Deserting husbands, deadbeat dads, Wall Street tax evaders?” he suggested.

“I can see you have the same impression of lawyers as you do of summer visitors,” Carol said, laughing.

He shrugged. “Your profession hasn’t been getting very good press for a long time.”

“That’s true, but it doesn’t mean all lawyers are creeps.”

“You certainly don’t look like a creep,” he said mildly.

Carol glanced toward the entrance of the dining room and saw that a line had formed there. She also noticed that the waiter was hovering anxiously.

“I really have enjoyed this, Tay, but I have to go,” Carol said, putting down her cup. “Could you call for the check and then—”

“The check is mine,” he said, interrupting her firmly. “I’ll see you out to your car.”

He settled the bill and they left the restaurant, the soft evening air embracing them as they emerged into it.

“Nice night,” Tay observed, taking Carol’s arm to guide her across the street.

“I have always loved a summer dusk,” Carol replied. “Of course, it does take some of the sparkle out of it when you consider that more car accidents occur at this time of day than any other.”

Tay laughed; when she looked at him he was shaking his head.

“That’s the sort of thing a lawyer would know,” he said.

“Or an insurance adjuster. It’s something about the change in perspective, drivers have difficulty dealing with the diminishing daylight. It’s actually safer to drive in full dark.”

“I’ll bear it in mind, Ralph Nader,” he said.

They reached her car and he waited while she unlocked it and got in, starting the motor and turning on the lights.

“Thanks for letting me join you for dinner,” he said quietly.

“Thanks for the dinner.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.” Carol watched him walk out of the lot, saw the way his bright hair caught the light from the street lamp, noted the flexing of his muscles as he shouldered briskly into his coat. She finally dragged her eyes away.

She almost wished she had not had dinner with him. He wasn’t just her nemesis anymore, he was a person now, a person with a sense of humor and a point of view.

And a very distracting presence.

What she didn’t need now, she thought again as she started her car, was a distraction.

And Taylor Kirkland promised to be a powerful one.

Tay unlocked the door of his truck, realized that he was wearing his jacket again, and took it off to toss it in the back. As he inserted the key into the ignition he thought about the new summer resident on Schoolhouse Lane in Strathmere.

Carol Lansing was an unexpected and problematic development.

He liked her already; he liked her too much, and he was concerned that his compromise with her would slow his work schedule. But it was either make the deal or have her tie him up in the courts. Or raise Cain every time one of his workmen dropped a hammer. His infallible charm routine didn’t seem to work too well on her, either; at dinner she had seemed to be as smart and aware as she was pretty. He only hoped she’d stay inside the house and study, as she’d said. The last thing he needed was a curvaceous brunette in a bikini parading past his men while they were trying to work.

And while he was trying to work.

He was already having difficulty putting her out of his mind.

He turned the key in the ignition and gunned the motor.

Carol was up, showered and dressed when Kirkland Construction descended on her the next morning. As she waited for her friend Jane, who had gone to law school with her and lived nearby in Stone Harbor, to arrive for a study session, the crew muffled the windows and sealed the doors before they set to work. The effect was peculiar: instead of loud and insistent pounding filling the house, the noise now sounded like distant thunder. Carol tried to ignore it and assembled her note cards and books on the kitchen table, rising to let Jane into the house when her knock came at the front door.

“What is going on here?” Jane said breathlessly as she entered the cottage and looked around wonderingly. “Are you experimenting with plutonium? This place is sealed off like a murder scene.”

“It’s a long story,” Carol replied wearily.

“Well, you’d better tell me, I’m just bursting with curiosity,” Jane said as she dumped her backpack on a chair.