Page 31 of You'll Find Out
“I don’t know. I’ve never really understood Dena, or her reasons. But she seems to think that it would be best for all concerned to sell Imagination to that Kennedy man.” Mara noticed June’s jawline tighten at the mention of Shane.
“And you?” Mara asked quietly. “What do you want?”
June hesitated a minute. “This was the Wilcox family’s lifeblood. Their way of life and their heritage. I . . . I would hate to see it sold to a stranger.” June’s voice had taken a firm, almost hateful tone that surprised Mara.
“Any decisions regarding the sale of Imagination will be put to the stockholders in the company, all of the members of the family. You know that, don’t you? Just because Angie and I own the largest block of stock doesn’t mean . . .”
The screen door banged shut, announcing Angie’s return to the kitchen. “Mommy! Grammie! Namath’s eyes are open!” the little girl squealed breathlessly. “Come see! Hurry!”
Mara laughed nervously as she dried her hands on a nearby towel. She was relieved to have a break in the intense conversation with her mother-in-law. She followed Angie and June out the door and onto the screened-in back porch that housed the more delicate hanging plants. It was already warm in the small enclosure, and aside from a slight breeze off of the mountains, the morning promised another hot day, despite June’s comments to the contrary. Just as Angie had announced, the largest of the gray kittens’ eyes were beginning to crack open.
“See, I told you,” Angie whispered in obvious delight as she held up the fat fluff of fur.
“That you did,” June agreed with a smile. “Now, tell me, what was that kitten’s name?”
“Namath,” Angie responded with a frown. “Mr. Kennedy gave himthatname.”
At the mention of Shane’s name, June visibly paled. For a moment Mara wondered if the older woman would collapse, but just as Mara placed a supporting hand under June’s elbow, the color came back into her cheeks.
“He . . . named the cats after football players?” June guessed with obvious distaste.
Mara nodded mutely while Angie chattered on about the kittens, pointing out O.J., Franco, and Bradshaw in turn. June was appalled, but didn’t attempt to cool Angie’s enthusiasm.
“Do you like O.J.?” Angie asked innocently.
“It’s . . . fine,” June managed, feebly, and Angie appeared satisfied with her grandmother’s approval.
“I liked Whiskers better,” the child mused, and June nodded her silent agreement.
“I have to get going to work now, honey . . . you be a good girl for Grammie, won’t you?”
Angie turned her attention away from the kittens long enough to give her mother a kiss on her cheek. Mara’s eyes caught June’s distracted gaze. “Are you up to handling her today?”
“Of course.”
“You’re sure?”
“Don’t worry,” June said with a sad smile. “We’ll get along just fine.” A genuine fondness lighted her tired, blue eyes.
* * *
The sadness that had stolen over her mother-in-law hung with Mara during the drive into Asheville, and although she mentally tried to shake off the depression, she failed. The warm morning sunshine, the smell of wildflowers, the pastoral view of horses grazing on the high plateau, nothing discouraged the feeling of melancholy that converged upon her. The only thoughts that touched her were worries about June’s health, Shane’s impatience, and Angie’s welfare. How in the world was she going to solve her dilemma and tell June that Shane was Angie’s father? And how would the little girl take the news? Would she understand? Could she?
The day was just beginning, and Mara found herself sighing as she opened the door to her office.
“Mrs. Wilcox!” a young female voice declared as Lynda came running up behind her. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stop him!”
“What? Lynda, what are you talking about?”
“Mr. Kennedy—the man who was in here Friday night . . .” The receptionist blushed with the memory of Friday afternoon and the reunion of her employer and the stranger.
Mara smiled with only a trace of impatience. “Yes?”
“He . . . well, he absolutely insisted . . .”
“Insisted upon what?”
“I told him it was irregular, that no one was allowed in your office—other than you—but he just started ordering me around, and . . . well . . .”
