Marianne K. Martin - Love in the Balance Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  To Jo

  for her courage and love

  Acknowledgments

  If in fact an aptitude for written expression is in the genes, then I must give credit and recognition to my grandmother, whom I barely knew. Margaret Nickerson Martin, poet and artist, explained it perfectly when she wrote:Out of the evening dusk

  there drifts the poet’s song,

  singing because he must ...

  knowing the night is long.

  One

  Precisely at two-fifteen, there was a knock on the open door of Connie’s office.

  “Excuse me,” came the voice from the doorway. “I didn’t see a secretary. Are you Ms. Bradford?”

  Connie Bradford responded absently, finishing the last column of numbers before looking up. When she did, her eyes lifted to a vision in pastel green waiting in her doorway, a woman plucked straight from the sands of a sun-drenched California beach.

  “If you’re Katrina Hollander, I am. But if you’re a sales representative, I am the secretary.” The smile that greeted her, gleaming white against the golden tan face, was as warm and genuine as the handshake. “A new department title brings sales reps out of the woodwork,” Connie offered with a polite smile. She motioned to the buttoned leather chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat, Ms. Hollander.”

  “Please, everyone calls me Kasey.”

  While her newest client eased gracefully into the chair before her, Connie mused at how far from her expectation this attractive blond in a linen suit was. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “Ice water would be perfect.”

  Connie Bradford moved on steady heels from behind the large mahogany desk, aware that her client was now making observations of her new accountant. She offered the glass, as her own eyes slipped down the shapely legs draped with natural ease at the knee. Her resulting smile was a private response—a rebuttal to the ill-based, genderbiased logic of the man in her life. “A woman in the trades,” predicted Greg Morse, “has gotta be a dyke.” Yet she suspected that were he meeting Ms. Hollander right now, his eyes staring boldly down the blouseless vee of her jacket, his predictable little mind would be groping frantically for the first cliché of a come-on he could find. A sad testament to the origin of his theory.

  “Not what you expected?”

  Caught in her observation, Connie locked onto eyes as intensely blue as a clear summer sky.

  “Me,” Kasey explained. “I’m not what you expected.”

  Connie retreated to the high-back chair behind her desk. “Not exactly. How did you come to own a renovation company?”

  Kasey looked as if she were studying Connie’s model-worthy features and smiled. “Maybe the same way a woman like you became an accountant.”

  “A woman like me watched her father’s company fail because he didn’t get sound financial advice when he needed it.” Continued eye contact challenged Connie’s sharp, defensive edge. Her tone softened, but remained businesslike. “This department represents a personal goal, to be able to offer the vast professional services of a large firm to the small independent business-owner like yourself. We’ve succeeded in keeping the cost down and have tailored our services to fit the specific needs of a small company.” Her voice now carried a distinctly more personal tone. “I’m sure you’ve worked hard to accomplish what you have in the past two years. I’d like to do all I can to ensure that your company will be flourishing five years from now.”

  “That’s something we would both like. I have to admit, a business degree didn’t do much to ensure it. Experience, I’ve found, is proving to be the better teacher.”

  “It looks to me,” Connie motioned to the folder on her desk, “as though you’ve made wise decisions—undertaking projects a small company could finish on time, growing gradually, investing in good turnaround homes.” She finally relaxed in her chair and offered a smile. “In fact, you’re doing fine.”

  “Then why am I about to give you my hard-earned profits?”

  “You tell me.”

  A gleam of a smile brightened Kasey’s face. “Because I’m a mathematical moron.”

  Connie Bradford, eyes twinkling with amusement, laughed for the first time, the easy, light laugh usually reserved for longtime friends.

  “I’m serious,” Kasey said, eyes dancing along with her half-turned smile. “Just the thought of an audit sends me into numerical shock. If you can spare me from that, I won’t begrudge one penny of your fee.”

  It seemed her client wasn’t so much sarcastic as she was honest, an attribute to be admired. “I’ll certainly do my best. First, though, I’ll need you to fill out the information on these forms. It will only take a few minutes.” As she spoke, she deftly aligned the edges of the papers, slipping them neatly under the clip of the clipboard. “I realize your schedule is tight. If I find I need anything else, we can take care of it by phone.”

  She opened the folder of another client, intending to work as she waited, but found her attention returning to the woman across the desk. The intrigue, no doubt, had everything to do with the apparent contradictions between this woman and her career. A business inherited from a father? A husband? Would I have even thought twice about her sexuality, had Greg not made his observations? Greg’s outdated, illogical quandaries both irritated her and forced her to waste time and effort ridding her mind of them. Intuitively, her own client had to remind her—she herself was a woman working in a man’s world. Is it any wonder that I need to be free of such incongruities? Free of Greg, and free of a mistake of a relationship that should have been terminated long ago.

  Pen resting loosely between her gracefully extended fingers, Kasey read the forms intently. Light played in reflective green on a diamond nested in white gold on her left hand. Rings adorned the right hand as well, but that one on the left represented exactly the relationship that had thus far eluded Connie Bradford’s own life. A successful bridging of the intimacy gap between a man and a woman. Lovers experiencing a yearning between kindred souls, friendship, satisfying sex. Greg Morse need never have applied.

  Connie’s concentration flitted over the unconnecting statistics of another client, but quickly returned to Kasey Hollander. Although he would never admit he was wrong, Greg would have to admit she was beautiful. She had the look of a Greek goddess, with makeup that Mother Nature herself must have brushed across her cheeks and touched petal-pink upon her lips. She was a woman who seemingly has it all: knockout looks, the drive and intelligence to run her own company, and a man special enough that she wants to spend the rest of her life with him. Some dreams must come true.

  Kasey made a last check over the forms be
fore standing to smooth green linen over her hip. “I think that’s everything,” she said, handing Connie the clipboard. “Am I in ‘good hands,’ as they say?”

  Connie slipped her hand once again into the warm firm grip. “You just do what you do best, and I’ll do the same.” She accepted an appreciative smile and added, “As soon as the papers are ready to sign, I’ll give you a call.”

  Two

  Her new client’s schedule was even worse than her own schedule at the end of the month. Connie called for directions to the job site and decided to take the papers to her personally. She arrived in front of the ancient two-story house at about noon, expecting Kasey to be taking a lunch break. As she got out of the car a young man, dressed only in a pair of painter’s pants, emerged to retrieve something from the truck in the driveway.

  “Is Kasey around?” she called.

  “Yeah, follow me,” he said, watching as Connie closed the distance across the yard.

  He was a handsome man, lean and road-construction brown, with sandy hair pulled off his shoulders with a thick rubber band. Paintsplattered pants hung magically at his hips. Instead of following him inside to find Kasey painting woodwork, they walked around to the side of the house where a scaffold, looking very much like an adult Erector set, stretched sixteen feet to the roofline.

  It was one of those summer days where the humidity challenged the mercury for highest honors. Only thirty seconds out of the airconditioning, and Connie’s slacks clung stubbornly to her thighs. She wondered how anyone could work in this all day.

  “Hey, Kasey,” he yelled, his face tilted to the sky.

  “Hey, Troy,” came a voice from atop the scaffold.

  “Somebody here to see you,” he yelled. Then with a smile he headed back to work.

  Shading her eyes from the sun, Connie spotted a head of short golden hair appearing over the edge of the platform. “Hi. I thought you’d be taking a lunch break.”

  “It’s easier to eat up here.”

  “Show me how to get up there, and I’ll bring the papers up,” Connie offered, wondering if that was really possible.

  “How many scaffolds have you climbed lately?” Kasey asked from her perch.

  “None.”

  “I’ll be right down,” she laughed. With the agility of a monkey, Kasey climbed over the side and down an extension ladder tied to the end of the scaffold.

  This could not be the same woman who had sat in her office in a skirt and heels. Sun-kissed muscles, larger than she had ever seen on a woman, flexed and glistened noticeably in the sunlight as Kasey neared the ground. The outline of a sports bra was the last remaining dry spot left on the gray tank top. Faded cotton shorts were soaked dark red with perspiration.

  “It must be ten degrees cooler down here,” Kasey remarked, reaching for a towel hanging near the bottom of the scaffold. She passed the towel swiftly over her face and neck and chest. “Would you have really tried to climb this?”

  “I think so. I’m no sissy.”

  “Another one of your services?” Kasey smiled again.

  “You surprise me.”

  ‘“And you amaze me,” Connie returned. “You actually do this work yourself.”

  Kasey looked directly into her eyes. “My looks are deceptive. “

  “Yes, they are.” She pulled her eyes from the deep blue magnetism. “Well, here are the forms. Just read them over and sign at the Xs.”

  Connie wondered anew about this interesting woman. She looked considerably younger than her thirty-five years. Could the man in the painter’s pants be her partner in business and love?

  “This is a tremendous relief for me,” she said, signing the last form. “Do you have a few minutes? I’ll take you through and show you what we’re doing here if you’d like.”

  “I’d love to.”

  They wandered through the old house, Kasey explaining where they had changed things and what still needed to be done in each room. “We had to widen the stairway all the way up to meet the thirty-six-inch code and shore up sagging beams in the middle here. But she’s worth it. This house is over a hundred years old and in good shape for such an old gal.”

  She watched the face of this woman, with all her knowledge of a man’s world, and marveled. It was apparent how much she loved her work, restoring her grand old lady. And although Connie truly believed that a woman could do anything a man could· do, it still surprised her that such a woman would look like Kasey Hollander.

  As they neared an upstairs room, they could clearly hear the sound of a male voice happily singing along with a radio. If Troy felt any embarrassment at their presence, it wasn’t at all noticeable. He hammed the last of the song over Kasey’s extended fist and took a bow. Connie clapped. With a smile, he pointed to Kasey. “There’s the singer.”

  “Never mind,” Kasey returned. “Come on, Connie. This guy’s got to get back to work.”

  The last room they entered, sported a beautifully retrofitted closet full of shelves, drawers, and pullouts. “Wow, this is great!” Connie exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted something like this in my closet. I’ve never taken the time to find the right prefab unit—you know, the ones they sell ready to put together. This is beautiful. What great ideas.”

  “Thanks. I’ll build you one if you’d like. You’ll just have to decide what fits your needs.”

  “With your schedule? When would you ever have time?”

  “Sunday. Well, actually not this Sunday; I’ll be at the cabin. Next Sunday I could.”

  “I don’t even care how much you charge. It would be worth almost any amount to finally have that mess organized,” offered Connie excitedly.

  “Give me directions and I’ll come by this week to get dimensions. Give me a call and let me know what night.”

  Three

  Infatuation was nothing new. Kasey Hollander had certainly been infatuated with a few women in her life, and more than a few had been infatuated with her. No harm in that, she thought, as long as I can identity what it is. Just never mistake it for love, she reminded herself, pulling up in front of the address Connie had given her. She was tired, bone weary actually. However long and hard she needed to work to meet a deadline or to stay on schedule, she would. So why was she here, making an impossible schedule all but inhuman? There was no other explanation for it. She was fascinated by this woman. And Kasey knew from experience, the best way to get over it was to get better acquainted. The result would be one of two things, a nonsexual friendship or no relationship at all. And that, she decided, would be fine. She was no longer a teenager. As enjoyable as the feelings of infatuation could be, they had no place in her life anymore. Getting down to reality as quickly as possible saved not only time but a lot of wasted emotion as well. So, Ms. Bradford, she mused with a knock on the door, let’s see what you’re all about.

  Almost immediately, she was face-to-face with the vision that had kept her company for the past twenty hours. This time, though, she was dressed in perfect professional contradiction—shorts and an oversize T-shirt. Amazing how quickly weariness disappears at the sight of a beautiful woman smiling at you. “I’m sorry it’s so late,” Kasey apologized.

  “No problem. I’m a night person. I’m on my second wind. I’ll get you something to drink. Ice water? Or would you prefer something else?”

  “Ice water, thanks.” She sat on the couch and looked around at what she could see of the immaculate little ranch-style home. Not a speck of dust anywhere, everything in its place. Something like what her own house would look like if it wasn’t a construction zone, she chuckled to herself.

  “I should drink more water too, as hot as it’s been,” admitted Connie. “I do better on the days I run.”

  “Where do you run?”

  “I circle the neighborhood and run down through Breckenridge Park and back, as long as I have daylight. Otherwise, I stay in the residential areas. A woman was raped in the park last year, so I’m more careful. Do you run?”

  “I us
ed to. It’s been quite a while. Like a lot of things in my life, it’s been replaced by a schedule that aches for breathing room.”

  “I am in dire want of a running partner. Maybe we could run together. What do you think?”

  “I usually work past dark,” returned Kasey, surprised at how quickly this woman was befriending her. Not that she was complaining, mind you.

  “I have an idea,” Connie suggested enthusiastically. “I’ll change at work and drive over to your job site. We’ll do a quick run, and then you could go back to work.”

  Kasey laughed, “You’re a taskmaster.”

  “Come on, try it. Maybe the break would be good for you.”

  “Okay, okay. But let’s wait a couple of weeks.”

  “I’ll be there the Monday after next.”

  Kasey shook her head. She didn’t even like to run. So, why am I suddenly agreeing to do something I don’t like, with someone I don’t know? In a matter of minutes, she had gone from client to running partner. She looked at Connie’s smile. Hooked, that quickly, despite a distinct sense of straightness about the woman. A sort of friendly naiveté that wasn’t as concrete as pictures with a boyfriend or a man’s name tossed casually into conversation, but it was there nonetheless. No, this can progress in only one direction—physical attraction totally ignored. She would share of herself only what was necessary. Not an easy friendship, but it still seemed reasonably feasible. “I think we’d better get that closet measured.”

  “Follow me.”

  Kasey picked up her notebook and followed Connie into the bedroom. The closet was empty, its contents piled neatly on the floor and bed. Kasey immediately went to work, measuring and making notes. She made suggestions based on what would be stored there, and a detailed drawing soon made the ideas visible. “Will this handle it?”

  “Perfectly. I can’t wait to finally get this organized.”

  “I’ll be here about eight o’clock Sunday morning. It’ll take all day.”