Lambert's Peace (18 page)

She was envisioning Saturdays on the beach just as her room phone rang. “Hello?”

“Taylor, it's Alex Cranston.”

She sank onto the bed. A nervous knot tightened in her middle. “I didn't expect to hear from you so soon.”

Were they turning her down already?

“I just called to see how you like your room.”

“It's very nice.” She chewed on her bottom lip.

“Well, you're our front-runner. They loved you.”

“That's good to hear.” She sat against the hotel bed's plump pillows.

“As far as the president is concerned, you're the one. I had to remind her we'd already scheduled interviews with the other candidates.”

Taylor smiled. “Pamela and I had a lot of common experiences and thoughts on how the finances should be run.”

“That's what she said. She can't imagine anyone fitting the bill as well as you do. But we still—”

“I know. Interview the other candidates.”

“Right. Have a good night. Order room service, watch a movie, and have a safe trip home. We'll send a car for you in the morning to take you to the airport.”

“Thank you, Alex, for all you've done for me.” When Taylor hung up, she thought she should jump for joy over Pamela's favor. Instead, she wandered back to the balcony feeling melancholy.

In the last few months, she'd gotten used to the safe comfort of being home. In the early morning, she would lie in bed praying and listening to her parents' morning routine.

“Grant, do you want coffee?”

Her mother's intonations were like Taylor's down comforter—soft and warm.

“Yes, Trixie. No cream this morning.”

Her father always answered from the top of the stairs while dressing for the day. Taylor knew because the clean scent of his aftershave perfumed the hall and seeped into her room under the door.

California—three thousand miles away and a six-hour plane ride.

She leaned on the balcony rail, longing to talk to someone. She thought of her friends in New York. Strange, how she'd lost touch with them so quickly. Except Reneé. Taylor sighed. This wasn't about Reneé or her friends in the city. It was about calling Will.

Whether she liked it or not, he'd taken up residence in her heart as her closest friend. She couldn't deny it any longer. He simply was her best friend.

With a decisive step across the room, she dug her cell phone from her purse and dialed. She shivered when he answered the phone.

“Hi, it's Taylor.”

Will was cutting the end of his apple pie a la mode when his cell phone jingled. “Will Adams.”

He did not expect to hear her voice on the other end. He dropped his fork and cut a glance at Ethan.

“So, you got the job?” he asked, running his hand through his hair.

“They liked me a lot.”

“I believe it.” He ignored the stab of disappointment. He was happy for her but sad for himself. “How's California?”

“Beautiful. The sunset is amazing. You'd love it here.”

“I bet I would.” Because she was there.

Taylor talked about her day with enthusiasm—the wonderful staff at Boswell Global, the funny story the president told during their interview, lunch at the cutest pizza place, and her hotel balcony overlooking the Coastal Highway.

“Sounds wonderful.”

“I don't think I can say no.” Taylor blurted the amount of her possible salary.

Will whistled.

“What? What's she saying?” Ethan whispered, poking Will's arm with his fork.

Will jerked away and swerved in the booth so Ethan couldn't hear. He felt vulnerable, as if his emotions might explode and spew all over the place.

“Hard to turn that down.”

“R–right.”

The conversation lulled. Will choked back a mountain of words, but how could he say again what he'd already said? Taylor had turned him down cold. “When will you know?”

“Week or so, I guess.”

Will managed one word. “Good.”

“They have more candidates to interview, but the president really wants to hire me.”

“He knows excellence when he sees it.”

Taylor laughed. “She. The president is a she. Pamela Carlton.”

“Ah, forgive me.” He faced forward again and reached for his fork.

“Oh, Will, I can see some kids playing on a basketball court.” Excitement buoyed her voice.

He cut a bite of pie. “Who's winning?”

“Hard to tell. There's a couple of kids playing. One is dribbling. Stops to shoot a three-pointer. He makes it.” Taylor cheered the unknown player, her voice vibrant.

“Well, maybe if I visit you in California, we can play one-on-one on that court.”

She didn't answer for a moment, then said, “I'd like that.”

“We'll miss you.” He had to say it. He wanted her to know. So, he masked his
I
with a we, but she knew.

“We? You and Harry.”

He grinned. “Yes.”

“Well, I'll let you go. Thanks for listening.”

“Is that all?”

“I guess so.”

Will pressed END and placed the phone into the holster clipped to his belt. “That was Taylor,” he said.

Ethan eyed him. “I gathered.”

Will shoved his plate aside, missing Taylor more each minute.

Thanksgiving Eve, Taylor tossed and turned, trying to sleep, her mind troubled by a myriad of anxious thoughts.

She prayed intermittently, meditating on the peace of Jesus. Her interview in California seemed like years ago.

Since she'd returned to White Birch and Lambert's Furniture, she'd been working fourteen hours a day. The data conversion to the HBS system aggravated her, and today had been especially trying.

In the morning, she'd battled technical problems with the test database. In the afternoon, she and Markie ran a test conversion, and all the fields were populated with the wrong information. Then, just before leaving for the night, she and Markie ran into a snag with the accounts receivable modules, and she feared they didn't work the way HBS promised.

Taylor sat up in bed and glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. She reached for her bedside lamp.

The crash course she'd gotten from the installation team generated more questions than answers. And when they flew through the instructions on how to connect to the test and live databases, Taylor's notes began to look like ancient Chinese.

If I wasn't connected to the right database, then the system settings would be wrong
. She sat with her arms on her knees. She felt lost on this one and feared she was letting Will down.

She slipped out of bed and changed into a pair of jeans and a university sweatshirt. She had to fix the problem. She tied on her running shoes.

The office was closed Thursday and Friday for the holiday, so she'd have the place to herself all weekend if she wanted to work.

Maybe Will didn't count on her long-term, but she wanted to complete the job with excellence. She'd dealt with new installations before, and the amount of overlooked details could be staggering.

Tiptoeing downstairs, Taylor picked up her purse and grabbed her coat.

Under a blanket of night, White Birch slept.

Maintenance crews had hung Christmas decorations yesterday afternoon and the front windows of Main Street shops twinkled with tiny white lights.

Suspending her thoughts for a moment, Taylor imagined she lived in a land far, far away where love conquered all and hearts were never broken.

She decided she must be longing for heaven. The idea touched her soul with peace as she passed White Birch Community Church and steered toward Lambert's Furniture.

She parked by the side office door, punched in her security code on the keypad, and dashed upstairs to her office.

Within fifteen minutes, she'd found the problem with her settings and had successfully run a partial test of the data conversion.

She clapped her hands and did a little jig around her desk. Still wide-awake, she thought she might as well work on modifying reports before going home.

Footfalls echoed from the hallway. Taylor rose slowly from her chair, angling to see beyond her door, a cold feeling washing over her.

Will couldn't sleep. He checked his bedside clock for the tenth time in the last half hour. After midnight. With a sigh, he stepped out of bed and wandered past the sleeping dog to the window.

In the moon's pale light, he surveyed his yard, half in the moon's glow, half falling into shadow.

“It's Thanksgiving and I'm fretting.” He clicked on a light and reached for his Bible.

The words from Philippians 4:6 reminded him that the Lord watched over him.

He repeated the verse out loud. “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God.”

Will paced the width of his bedroom. His day had been so fragmented by meetings, phone calls, interviews for a new administrator in accounting, plus a production meeting with Grandpa and Grant, that he felt burdened by the unattended details on his desk.

He stopped pacing and muttered to no one, “Might as well get dressed and go to the office.”

As he pulled up to Lambert's Furniture, he expected to see a dark building, but the corner office glowed with a low, white light. Will smiled. Taylor.

“Wonder what she's doing here.” He punched in his security code and bounded up the stairs.

Taylor's heart beat so fast she had to draw hard to breathe. She looked around for something to use as a weapon.

“Settle down, Taylor Jo, the building is secure.” She checked her watch. Who could be there at twelve thirty in the morning?

The steps drew closer. She blurted, “Hello?”

Will's handsome form came through her doorway. “What are you doing here?”

Taylor slapped her hand over her heart. “Oh, it's you.”

Will grinned. “I've got to stop scaring you.”

“Yes, you do.” Taylor sat down in her desk chair. “What are
you
doing here?”