A Tutelarius Love

A Tutelarius Love

Linda Louise Rigsbee

Copyright © 2018, Linda Louise Rigsbee

Smashwords Edition

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Prologue

The airplane trip to Arkansas seemed like an opportunity to catch up on reading, but his mind kept drifting away from the book. Ahead of him lay four weeks of uncharted business. He’d never done anything like this and felt uncomfortable about it. He felt most comfortable in the outdoors, but who could earn a living tromping through the mountains? He had invested so much already. It was probably safe to say the rest of his life depended heavily on how he handled things from this point on. Everything he did and said during this endeavor would be under scrutiny.

He felt inside his jacket again. The information on the cabin was in his inside pocket. Ordinarily he’d feel guilty about deception, but in this case the ends did justify the means. She’d eventually find out but right now she needed the help...even if she didn’t see it that way. Those who loved her did. Regardless, he had given his word and no matter how it came out, there was no turning back at this point.

He glanced up and met the verde gaze of the redhead again. Something about the way she impulsively returned his smile and then diffidently looked away tugged at his heart. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was very attractive. The freckles sprinkled over that upturned nose gave her a youthful look, though he guessed her to be nearer his age.

He tried to focus on the book again, but after a few minutes something compelled him to look at her. She was watching him again. The intensity in her gaze faltered and she looked away again. One word crossed his mind – lonely. Was she, and would she be willing to spend a little time with a stranger? He would have more spare time in the next few weeks than he had ever had on a job.

What was he thinking? To her, he was a complete stranger.

He closed the book and gazed out the window. There was nothing to see at this altitude, but he wasn’t seeing anything in the book anyway. Maybe the loneliness he saw in her eyes was merely a reflection. He hadn’t realized how important a mother could be in a grown man’s life until she died last year. It seemed that recently all his father talked about was his days in the service. Maybe that was his way of coping with the loss of his wife. He hated to leave his father, but it was time to move on. It was time for him to make his own mark on the world...settle down with some nice girl and raise a family like his father had. That was a tall order for a man who didn’t even have a steady girlfriend. The truth was; he hadn’t been all that interested in any he’d met so far. His father was right. He was too selective. What he wanted was a woman with yesterday’s morals and today’s savvy; someone both passionate and honorable.

Unable to resist one last look, he found the girl talking to the lady in the seat beside her. Did they know each other? Not that it mattered.

The girl glanced up and found him watching her again. His interest was obvious, so he merely smiled. Her smile was sweet and a little shy. The idea that a woman as poised as she was could be shy was amusing.

He sighed and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. Maybe someone would come along and make him forget about the things he thought a woman should be. Right now he’d best focus on the job ahead and forget about things like that.

CHAPTER 1

Megan tossed the ashes, tray and all, into the trash can beside her desk. The copper tray hit the bottom of the can with a loud clatter, spewing ashes into the stale office air. The acrid smell of cigarette ashes burned her nose and brought tears to her eyes. She stifled a sneeze with an index finger under her nose and gave Mr. O’Hara a disgusted look.

I can hardly wait until they ban those filthy things, she snapped. "Why anyone would cultivate that nasty habit is a mystery to me. It yellows their teeth, makes their breath smell like an ash tray, and ruins their health. Can you believe he drug out that box of cancer sticks while we were discussing the sale of natural foods? I..."

The burning returned with a vengeance, expelling her breath in an uncontrollable sneeze. She snatched a tissue from the jeweled box on her desk and buried her nose into its softness.

Mr. O’Hara seized the opportunity to speak.

He asked if he could smoke. Why didn’t you say no?

She blew her nose and threw the tissue in the trash. He was already lighting up when he asked. What could I do without making a scene in front of our customers?

Allergy was a small part of her frustration, and the cigarette issue was nothing more than a smoke screen. Mr. O'Hara would have to be a fool not to know that something had been eating at her for the last few months - and Mr. O’Hara didn’t become a tycoon by being a fool. If she had an ounce of courage, she’d tell him now and get it over with. But fear of seeing disappointment in the eyes of her mentor kept her silent.

Mr. O’Hara was pacing like a caged lion. He ran a powerful hand through thick hair that still held a touch of red. Did he suspect her problem? Maybe now was the time to discuss it with him. She sank into the softness of her leather chair. Where to begin? It was bound to break his heart.

His commanding voice broke through her thoughts.

Why did you have that fancy ash tray on your desk if you didn’t want anyone to smoke?

She glanced up sharply, but his terse tone and sober expression were belied by the twinkle in those gray-green eyes.

"Maybe you should put it on my desk," he concluded, folding muscular arms across his chest and gazing down at her fondly.

She lifted a stack of papers and straightened them with a sharp rap on her mahogany desktop, deliberately ignoring his empty invitation.

I don’t care if people smoke, but I wish they’d respect the fact that I don’t want to smoke. If they can figure a way to smoke without getting it in my eyes and lungs, they can smoke themselves to death for all I care.

Maybe you should have told him that. I’m sure he would have found it more amusing than the look on your face.

She stared at him. Was it that obvious?

It was to me, but... He shrugged and turned his palms up. Who cares? It certainly didn’t stop him from puffing away.

She made a face. I know. I think the smoke bothered Mr. Louden too. It seems counterproductive to have people like that representing us. How can he establish authenticity selling health products while he’s smoking those things? She fanned the air with her hand. Look at this room.

Mr. O’Hara glanced around the hazy room and quirked a silver brow. Looks like you’ve got an open window somewhere.

Today she was in no mood to enjoy his offbeat brand of humor. When she shot him a warning glance he chuckled.

Henry is a good salesman and you know it. I’ve never seen you carry on so much about someone smoking. Has he done something else to upset you?

Of course not. Her answer came swift and positive. The last thing she wanted to do was get Henry into trouble with his boss. She might derive some pleasure out of seeing him squirm under the thumb of one of his victims, but he was a good salesman and he deserved credit for that much. In any case, even if Henry had offended her personally, she wouldn’t have run to Daddy about it.

She sighed. You’re right. I’m making a mountain out of a molehill. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.

Mr. O’Hara stooped and removed the copper ashtray from the trashcan. I’ll put this on the table outside your door. Maybe he’ll take the hint next time. He winked. In the meantime, you’d better calm down. If you let such minor things upset you, you’ll have a stroke before you reach twenty-five.

He was joking, of course. Tonight her parents were throwing her a twenty-fifth birthday party. She let out a long breath and slumped in her chair. Tonight she would tell him. She couldn’t hide it much longer anyway. Even now he probably suspected.

Mr. O’Hara slid a leg over the corner of her desk and folded his arms across his chest. "Now, tell me what’s really bothering you. Are you getting cold feet?"

She straightened in her chair, her face growing warm. No...well, yes...in a way.

Now was the perfect opportunity to get it off her chest, and yet, all she could do was stutter.

He leaned forward and patted her shoulder. Don’t worry. Everybody gets a little nervous as the wedding date approaches. Marriage is a big step. Which reminds me; have you set a date yet?

She absently plucked at a thread on the hem of her skirt, avoiding his eager gaze.

Not yet.

What’s he waiting for?

She glanced up and tried to look determined. What’s the rush?

For a moment he held her gaze, his expression unreadable. Finally he slid his leg off the desk and resumed the pacing; his hands shoved deep into his pockets. After a few moments of silence, he stopped and stared at her again.

You seem...restless lately.

Restless was exactly the way she felt. Again he had the door open, waiting for her to confess. Again she sidestepped that issue and lunged into another.

I’m twenty-five years old and you’re still fussing over me. I feel like I’ve been on my first solo flight for the last three years, but I can’t seem to get my wheels off the runway.

He grimaced. That again? You earned this job. I didn’t hand it to you because you’re my daughter. You’re the best advertising executive this company has ever had. Have a little faith in yourself.

The diversion was successful, but the new subject was almost as sensitive. Lately she had been wondering if she could have landed such a job without his help. His secretary had certainly been acting like she hadn't thought so. She shook her head.

Tell Clarissa that.

His expression became stern. I’ve told Clarissa. She doesn’t seem to be as concerned about the idea as you are. I think you’re imagining things.

It was pointless to argue the matter. Maybe it was merely a personality conflict with his secretary. Regardless, Clarissa’s sugar coated barbs hit their mark all too often. Of course, Clarissa was careful about what she said in front of the boss. Mr. O’Hara wouldn’t tolerate discord in the office.

She shrugged. Maybe you’re right. I shouldn’t blame my rebellious moods on other people. I need to get my act together and take charge of my life.

Mr. O’Hara sighed and nodded. What you need is a husband. Once you’re married...

His remark punctured a hole in her thin armor and she exploded, slamming the papers onto her desktop so hard that one of the pages floated to the floor.

Why? she snarled. To provide you with an heir...or to keep me in line?

His expression never changed. He stooped and retrieved the page, carefully placing it on top of the stack before he met her gaze. Probably counting to ten...something she should have tried. When he finally spoke, his voice was controlled.

You could do a lot worse than Denton. He’s already an important figure in the state of California. His gaze probed at the remote areas of her mind. Some say he’s bound for governor, maybe even the presidency.

She nibbled on her lower lip. She could hardly point a finger at him for being an opportunist. All those things had impressed her as well - at first. At first she had been infatuated with Denton, but in the last year she had learned a lot about him. Enough to know his proposal of marriage was purely business. Enough to know their marriage would be a mistake. But how could she tell her father? He would be crushed. And so she sidestepped the issue again.

You’re beginning to sound like Denton. Do you think money and title are the only reasons to marry?

He frowned. Of course not. You two have a lot in common.

"A lot in common? She gasped. Dad, the only thing Denton and I have in common is that we’re both Homo sapiens."

He shook his head, his gaze taking on a wizened look. I can see what you’re leading up to. Before you do something you’ll regret, why don’t you take some time off and relax? Get away from all of this. Go out to the beach and soak up some sun. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard and it’s all catching up with you.

She made a face again. All I get out of a day at the beach any more is more freckles.

He grinned. They look cute sprinkled over that little turned up nose. People with green eyes and red hair are supposed to have freckles.

Oh Dad, I’m not a little girl any more. I can’t run to the beach every time something isn’t going my way.

He heaved a sigh and threw his hands into the air in defeat. At the door he paused with his hand on the knob, his tone once again authoritative. Take some time off. That’s an order.

Time off work wasn’t going to solve her problem. What about the Louden account? She shot back at him