Lambert's Peace (5 page)

Taylor nodded, pulling the tomato from her burger. “Good for you. What else have you been doing besides taking over the family business?”

“I ran for town council. Beat old Walter Burnett out of his seat.”

She grinned. “In general, ruling the world.”

“Keeps me out of trouble.” Will smiled. “What about Taylor Jo Hanson? How many worlds have you conquered?”

A sadness flicked across her eyes, and she concentrated too long on squirting ketchup over her fries. “Not many.”

He coughed. “I find that hard to believe.”

She jutted out her chin. “I quit.” The words came out like a one-two punch.
I quit
.

He glanced up, confused. “Quit what?” He furrowed his brow.

“I quit my job.”

“Really?” Will watched and waited, wondering if she would explain, but she didn't. “That doesn't sound like you. Quitting.”

Taylor squared her shoulders. “No, but sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do.”

“You're looking for a new job then?”

“I had an interview with a CPA firm in Charlotte a few days ago.” She wiped her hands with her napkin. “It went really well.”

The familiar “oh” of disappointment pinged in Will's heart. “Charlotte's a great city.”

“Yes, I know.” But Will knew in that instant he didn't want her to leave White Birch. He didn't have to think about it or ponder why. He just knew. “Taylor, do you think you might—”

“Taylor!” Tim Hanson rushed into the cafeteria. “I've been looking for you; we can see Dad now. Hi, Will.”

Will shook his hand. “Tim.”

Taylor stood, reaching for her handbag and slipping out of Will's coat. “Thanks for the burger.” She smiled. “And the coat.”

“Anytime.” He watched her walk away, the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat, making it hard to breathe.

Monday morning Taylor's cell phone woke her from a fitful sleep. Distorted dreams plagued her during the night, and she felt more tired now than she had before she went to bed.

Shouldn't have had that last cup of coffee
.

She stumbled out of bed and padded across her room to her dresser where her phone sat, hooked to the charger. “Hello.”

“Taylor Hanson, please.”

“Speaking.” Taylor rubbed her eyes with her fingers, squinting as a flood of morning light streamed through the opened blinds.

“Good morning. This is Gina Abernathy from Conrad & Associates.”

Taylor's eyes popped open. “Good morning.” She smoothed her hand on her pajama pants and looked out the window. It was a beautiful fall morning.

“You impressed our team, and we enjoyed meeting you.”

“Thank you. Conrad is an excellent organization.” The windowpane reflected Taylor's smile.

“We've filled the position you interviewed for, but we'll keep your résumé on file.”

“I see.” Taylor knew the routine from here. Thanks but no thanks. She'd done it to dozens of potential candidates at Blankenship & Burns.

She thanked Gina Abernathy, pressed END, and set the phone down. Shoving the window open, she welcomed the cold breeze against her face, cooling the heat of disappointment.

She thought she had that job. “Lord, now what?”

“Taylor?” Mom appeared in the doorway, her robe belted around her small frame. She looked tired. “You'll catch your death with that window open. Shut it. I can't have you collapsing on me, too.”

“Sorry.” She tugged on the window's frame. “The company in Charlotte called.”

Mom clasped her hands together and sat on the edge of the bed. “Well, I suppose you'll be leaving soon, then.”

“I didn't get the job.” Taylor fell against the windowsill.

Mom straightened the edge of her robe. “The Lord has something better for you, angel.”

Taylor sloughed over to the bed and fell back on her pillow. “I'm sure He does; I just wish I knew what.” She hated being suspended between her past and her future.

Mom patted Taylor's leg. “He'll let you know.”

“I have to believe He will; otherwise my stomach will stay knotted for the rest of my life.”

“I'm going to the hospital to make your Dad's 10:00 a.m. doctor's appointment. He's going to recommend a procedure.”

“I'll come later. I want to stay here. Pray. Call a few people. Look for leads.” She hadn't done any job searching over the weekend; she'd worried over Dad.

Mom stood. “Taylor, you've always accomplished whatever you wanted. You're our whiz kid.”

Some whiz kid. Besides, she hadn't gotten
everything
in life she wanted. Will came to mind. “Thank you, Mom. Kiss Dad for me.”

As her mom exited, Taylor closed her bedroom door, grabbed her Bible, and curled up on her bed with her fretful thoughts.

“Okay, Lord, I surrender it all to You. The Bible says, ‘be anxious for nothing,' but I need a job—the right job.”

She thought of Will's strong and peaceful countenance. “And I need peace, Lord.”

Will looked over his shoulder when a knock echoed outside his door. He smiled. “Grandpa, come in.”

Somberly, the Lambert patriarch entered, his hands in his jacket pockets. “Just came from seeing Grant.”

Harry trotted over to Grandpa, his tail wagging.

“I e-mailed the staff this morning to let them know what's going on.”

Grandpa jutted out his chin and began petting Harry's head, absently. “The doctor is recommending angioplasty.”

Will leaned back in his chair. “Angioplasty is less intrusive than open-heart surgery.”

“Trixie's relieved about it. She came in this morning with her hair and makeup done, wearing a suit with matching shoes and hat, all smiles for Grant.”

“I wouldn't expect anything less from her.”

“She's a rock on the outside, but I'm afraid she's putty on the inside. Your grandma took her for coffee to make sure she's doing well.”

“I grabbed a bite with Taylor Friday night at the hospital. She seemed to be taking it well.”

Grandpa raised a brow. “Ole Taylor—”

Will sat forward. “Don't get any ideas.”

“Me?” Grandpa pointed to himself. “I'm already married. You are the one who needs to be getting some ideas.”

“Not so sure Taylor wants me having ideas about her.”

“Aha, is she the one?”

“The one what?”

Grandpa chuckled. “The one you've been waiting for all this time.”

Will focused on his computer. “Don't you have someplace to go?” he asked, glancing back at his grandfather.

Grandpa rubbed his chin then said, “No, I've got all morning to hang around here.”

Will waved toward the door. “Then go bug Ethan or something.”

His grandfather chuckled again.

“What about me?” Ethan walked into the office and plopped into the chair across from Will's desk. Harry left Grandpa and plopped his chin on Ethan's knee.

Grandpa spoke first. “We were just talking about—”

“Nothing.” Will eyed Grandpa.

“Good,” Ethan said, scratching Harry behind the ears. “We need to talk about Grant's replacement until he's back on his feet.”

“Hire me.”

Will and Ethan stared at their grandfather.

“I'm available and could fill in for a few weeks. I did start this company, after all. I know most of the crew and the procedures.”

Ethan looked at Will. “He's got a point.”

Will regarded his grandfather. “I don't know.”

Ethan stood. Harry retreated to his corner and curled up on his bed. “He's perfect, Will. Grandpa, you're hired.”

Will grinned. “Fine.” He pointed at the older Lambert. “But don't be bugging me about … stuff.”

“Taylor?” Grandpa asked.

“What's this?” Ethan prodded, leaning on the edge of Will's desk.

“Taylor's back in town,” Grandpa said.

“I know. Julie said she saw her the other night at Italian Hills. Will, is there something starting up again with—”

Will leapt to his feet. “Stop.” He looked at Ethan. “Taylor quit her job in New York. But she interviewed in Charlotte and will probably be moving there soon.”

“She didn't get the job,” Grandpa said like a seasoned anchorman.

Will stared at him, his hands on his hips. “How do you know?”

Grandpa walked toward the door and motioned to Ethan. “Better show me around the production floor, refresh my memory.”

Will shook his head as he watched them leave. Grandpa stepped back and stuck his head in the doorway. “Why don't you call her and find out?”

Will sat down, hard. Grandpa had a way of pushing his buttons. All the right ones. For a few minutes he pondered calling Taylor, and just as he reached for the phone, it rang.

“Will Adams.”

“Hi, it's Taylor.” Her voice reminded him of velvet.

He cleared his throat. “How are you?”

“Fine, all things considered.” She chuckled.

“Tough week?”

“Tough couple of weeks.”

Will leaned back in his chair. “I'm sorry.”

She laughed. “It's not your fault.”

“No, I guess not.” He loved Taylor's forthrightness.

“Daddy is scheduled for angioplasty tomorrow. He's going down to Manchester tonight.”

“Grandpa told me,” he said, wondering if she'd tell him about Charlotte.

She sighed. “Dad's in good spirits and other than his arteries, he's in good health.”

Will prodded her more. “Everything else going okay?”

“If I said, I might give in and cry.”

“A good cry never hurt anyone.”

She laughed. “Moving on … Thanks for being there Friday for Mom and me.”

“Not a problem. Tell your dad Grandpa's filling in for him.”

“He was already telling the doctor he needed to be back to work next week.”

Will grinned. “Sounds like your pop.”

“Yeah, well Trixie the Terrible is on the scene, and Dad won't be back to work until she says so. She's insisting he use up some vacation.”

Will laughed. “He has a lot of time banked. Tell him to relax, burn up some vacation, and heal.”

“I will.”

Then, as suddenly as the conversation started, it ended. Will wanted to ask about her job but hesitated. Too personal. If she wanted him to know about Charlotte, she would tell him.

Then he had an idea. “You still owe me pizza.”

“Right, I do.”

“You'll be with your dad tonight and tomorrow. So—”

“I'll be home tomorrow night by eight.” Her tone sounded promising.

“Say eight thirty? Meet you at Giuseppe's.”

“I'd like that.”

“See you then.”

Taylor ladled soup into bowls and flipped the grilled cheese sandwiches on the griddle. Mom dropped ice into the glasses on the table with a
clink-clink
and filled them with iced tea.

“Tim, you want one or two sandwiches?” Taylor called.

“Two,” Tim answered from the living room, where he was arranging kindling in the fireplace. “Mom, where'd Dad put the matches?”

“Oh, he uses one of those long lighter things. Look in the end table drawer.” Trixie motioned in the air with her slender hand.

“Dad looked good tonight,” Taylor said, reflecting on their trip to the hospital in Manchester where Grant had been transported. He had a nice private room.

Tim came around the corner. “It's still hard to imagine Dad in that hospital bed.”

Mom fluttered around the kitchen, opening and closing doors without retrieving anything. “Well now, he'll be just fine. Just fine.”

Taylor handed Tim a plate and a bowl. “Dr. Elliot said the surgeon in Manchester is one of the best.” She touched her mother's arm. “Dad will come through with flying colors.”

Trixie's lips quivered when she smiled. “He is in good health otherwise, isn't he?”