cubes in his glass, looking too much at home. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to excuse myself. Reuben just called. We have an emergency with one of our clients.”
“Oh, honey, why don’t you let him take care of it?” Beatrice turned to her husband. “Charles, talk to her.”
Charles simply shrugged and smiled up at his daughter. “I wish you could stay, dear. We don’t get to see you very often. Gracie hardly knows you.”
“Besides, I have chocolate cake that Francine made just for you,” Beatrice added, her voice taking on a petulant tone. “You know your father and I don’t eat that kind of thing.”
“I’m really sorry, Mom, and I’d love to have some cake but—”
“I’ll pack some up for you.” Beatrice slipped out of her chair, waving at the men to stay in their seats. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
Rachel surreptitiously eased the cuff of her shirt up to catch a glimpse of her watch. She had given herself enough time to say goodbye, but at this rate she would have to risk a speeding ticket to get to LaReese’s place on time. As she shrugged her shirt into place, she caught Eli watching her, a half smile tugging on his lips. She held his gaze as if challenging his humor, but he didn’t even blink, or look away. Rachel wasn’t used to that. Most men were intimidated by her. And she liked to keep it that way.
“I heard that you’ve been talking to LaReese Binet,” her father was saying.
Rachel pulled her attention back to her father, taken aback by his words. Had she spoken LaReese’s name aloud?
“Oh, don’t get all confidential on me,” Charles said with a huge laugh. “Phillip Thewlis told me at the fifteenth hole at the new golf course.” He frowned. “Or maybe it was the fourteenth. I remember he was working his way out of the sand trap and I believe that’s on the fifteenth—no, wait…”
Don’t tap your foot. Don’t fidget.
Charles snapped his fingers. “What am I thinking of—it was the twelfth hole.” He shook his head as if surprised at his own foolishness. “Phillip heard from LaReese’s beloved nephew that she was eager to redeem herself by giving away a bit of the money she inherited when her husband died.”
Rachel would hardly call 2.3 million dollars “a bit” of money. That’s why the personal hand holding. LaReese had been making noises about putting her money into other places, and right now the Noble Foundation needed dollars if they were going to be able to fulfill all the requests they had earmarked for funding.
“Can’t buy redemption, you know,” Charles said sadly.
“I would like to tell her that. God’s love and sacrifice are the greatest free gifts known, or unknown in many cases, to man.”
Impatience with her father’s sermonizing flashed through Rachel, and right behind it, shame. Her father was sincere in his faith. That she didn’t share it wasn’t his fault. In fact, there was the occasional moment when she wished she shared his trust in God.
She glanced at Eli, wondering if her father’s easy mention of God created discomfort in him as well.
He was looking down at his hands, his expression serious as he rubbed the fingers of one hand over the back of the other, again and again. It was then she noticed the long jagged scar that ran from the knuckle of his pinky to the base of his thumb. It was white and puckered, as if it had been poorly stitched. She wondered if he’d gotten it riding his motorcycle.
At that moment he looked up at her, giving her a languid look that she was sure most women would find a challenge. She just found it annoying.
“Here’s your cake, dear.” Beatrice held out a large foam container.
“This is half of it,” Rachel exclaimed, weighing it in her hand.
“Your father and I won’t eat it—you may as well take it home.”
“Looks like chocolate cake is on the menu for my next few meals.”
“Honey, no.” Beatrice frowned and was about to take it away from her.
“No, you don’t.” Rachel winked at her mother as she pulled the container out of reach. “Don’t worry. I’m just kidding. I’ll have a piece tonight and take the rest to work. I’m sure Reuben and Lorna will be fighting over it.”
“Just make sure you do that,” Beatrice warned. “Now give me a kiss and you better get going.”
Rachel gave her mother a quick hug and a kiss, then bent over to do the same with Charles and Gracie.
Before she left, Rachel risked a glance at Eli. Her cheeks warmed when his eyes snagged hers. He was fifty feet away, but even across that distance his gaze felt as real as a touch.
As she walked to her car she shook the feeling off. Basic chemistry. That was all. He was good looking; they were both single.
Only, she wasn’t looking. She thought she’d made that clear to her parents when she moved back here. Guess it was time for the classic mother-daughter chat. In reverse.
Rachel stifled a yawn as she opened the file of the next item on the agenda. The meeting last night with LaReese Binet had taken too long and yielded too little.
“And how are we sitting on the dream home program for the children’s hospital?” she asked Lorna as she glanced through the file. The Noble Foundation took care of some of the hospital’s fund-raising activities, and next to the annual celebrity dinner and ball, this was their premier fund-raiser.
“I’ve got the mock-ups done on the brochures.” Lorna Kirkpatrick laid the papers on the low cherry-wood table between them. “The construction company was concerned about the placement of the name and logo, so I modified it. I hope it’s what you want.”
Rachel glanced over the brochure, frowning as she leaned back in the leather couch. “This blue is too flat.” Rachel circled the block of color behind the lettering, “And I’d like this yellow intensified. I’ll call them and let them know.”
“Why don’t you let me take care of that?” Lorna said.
“Thanks, Lorna, but I know exactly what I want to see.” Lorna nodded, but Rachel could see she wasn’t happy with the decision.
“Anything else you want me to do for now?” Lorna asked.
“You can see how Zoe and Hamilton are doing with the fund-raising for Nagy’s golf tournament. See if they need some help.”
Rachel laid her the papers with the changes on them on her desk and turned to Reuben as Lorna left the office. He didn’t look as if he had spent most of last night over endless cups of coffee convincing a finicky, elderly lady to wait with her donation while they did some background work on her charity of the day. “I imagine it’s a bit early to expect anything from you, Reuben.”
“Au contraire.” Reuben bent over and pulled a sheaf of papers out of his leather briefcase. “This is rough for now, but I printed this off their Web site…” He handed them to her. “I did some phoning around and got this from a source.” More papers. “And I had a personal chat with the head
