work for Duke Wright, but it had been a lie to save face.
“Going to the gym tonight?” her mother asked when she reappeared and rifled through the DVD stack for the movie she wanted.
“Not tonight,” Violet replied with a smile. Maybe never again, she was thinking. What use was it to revamp herself when she’d never see Mr. Kemp again, anyway?
Later, she cried herself to sleep, hating her own show of weakness. Fortunately, nobody else would see it. By dawn, she was up and dressed, her makeup on, her resolve firm. She was going to get a new job. She had skills. She was a hard worker. She would be an asset to any prospective employer. She told herself these things firmly, because her ego was badly hurt. She’d show Mr. Kemp. She could get a job anywhere!
Actually, that wasn’t quite the case. Jacobsville was a small town. There weren’t that many office jobs available, because most people lucky enough to get them worked in the same place until they retired.
There was one hope. Duke Wright, a local rancher who had a real verbal war going with Mr. Kemp, couldn’t keep a secretary. He was hard, cold, and demanding. At least one secretary had left his employment in tears. His wife had left him, along with their young son, and filed for divorce. He consistently refused to sign the final papers, which had led to a furious confrontation between himself and Blake Kemp. The fistfight escalated until Chief of Police Cash Grier had to step in and break it up. Duke threw a punch at Cash, missed the chief and landed in jail. There was certainly no love lost between Duke Wright and Blake Kemp.
With that idea in mind, and gathering up her courage, she phoned him from home the next morning while her mother was still asleep.
His deep voice was easily recognizable the instant he spoke.
“Mr.…Mr. Wright? It’s Violet Hardy,” she stammered.
There was a surprised pause. “Yes, Miss Hardy?” he replied.
“I was wondering if you needed any secretarial help right now,” she blurted out, embarrassed almost to tears just to ask the question.
There was another pause and then a chuckle. “Have you and Kemp parted ways?” he asked at once.
She felt her cheeks redden. “In fact, yes, we have,” she said flatly. “I quit.”
“Great!”
“Ex-excuse me?” she stammered, surprised.
“I can’t get a secretary who doesn’t see me as a matrimonial prospect,” he told her.
“I certainly won’t,” she replied without thinking. “Uh, sorry!”
“Don’t apologize. How soon can you get out here?”
“Fifteen minutes,” she said brightly.
“You’re hired. Come in right away. Be sure and tell Kemp who you’re working for, will you?” he added. “It would make my day!”
She laughed. “Yes, sir. And thank you very much! I’ll work hard, I’ll do overtime, anything you want! Well, within reason.”
“No need to worry, I’m off women for life,” he said in a rough tone. “See you soon, Violet.”
He hung up before she could reply. She had a job! She didn’t have to tell her mother she was out of work and they wouldn’t be able to afford rent payments and her car payment and food. It was such a relief that she sat staring at the phone blankly until she remembered that she had to go to work.
“I’ll be home just after five, Mama,” she told her mother gently, bending to kiss her forehead. It felt clammy. She frowned, standing erect. “Are you okay?”
Her mother opened pale blue eyes and managed a smile. “Just a little headache, darling, certainly nothing to worry about. I’d tell you. Honest.”
Violet relaxed, but only a little. She loved her mother. Mrs. Hardy was the only person in the whole world who loved her. She had frequent unspoken terrors about losing her. It was scary.
“I’m okay!” her mother emphasized.
“You stay in bed today and don’t get up and start trying to do cordon bleu in the kitchen. Okay?”
Mrs. Hardy reached out and caught Violet’s hand. “I don’t want to be a burden on you, darling,” she said softly. “That was never what I intended.”
“You can’t help having a bad heart,” she insisted.
“I wish I could. Your father might still be alive, if he hadn’t been forced to…to go to another woman…for—” She broke off, tears brightening her eyes.
“Mama, you can’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t help,” Violet told her, privately thinking that if she’d been married to the same man for twenty-five years and he had a stroke, she certainly wouldn’t be running around on him while he was fighting just to stay alive. Her father hadn’t really loved her mother, and it showed to everybody except Mrs. Hardy. The older woman was forever doing things to help other people. Until her illness, she’d always been active in the community, baking for fund-raising sales, working in her church group, taking food to bereaved families—anything she could do. Her father, a very successful Certified Public Accountant, went to work and came home and watched television. He had no sense of compassion. In fact, his mind was forever on himself, and what he needed. He and Violet had never been close, although he hadn’t been a bad father, in his way.
But she couldn’t say all that to her mother. Instead she bent and kissed her mother’s temple again. “I love you. It’s no burden to take care of you. And I mean that,” she added, smiling.
“You tell that Mr. Kemp that I’m very proud he gave you the job. I don’t know what we’d have done…”
Violet sat down beside her mother. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”
“You’re getting married?” the older woman asked hopefully, with bright eyes and a smile. “He’s finally realized you’re in love with him?!”
“He’s realized it,” Violet said, tight-lipped. “And he said I’d get over it quicker if I was working for somebody else.”
Her mother’s jaw fell. “And he seemed like such a nice man!” she exclaimed.
She held the other woman’s hand hard. “I’ve got a new job,” she said at once, before her mother could start worrying. “I’m going to start this morning.” She smiled. “It’s going to be great!”
“Start where? Working for whom?”
“Duke Wright.”
Her mother’s thin eyebrows arched and a twinkle came into her eyes. “He doesn’t like Mr. Kemp.”
“And vice versa,” Violet stated firmly. “It will pay just as well as Mr. Kemp did,” she added, mentally crossing her fingers, “and he won’t complain about how I make coffee.”
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Hardy asked.
Violet cleared
