Mack squeezed his fist so tightly his knuckles cracked. Winnie was more than capable, as she’d already shown him. It wouldn’t surprise him if she came back with an article better than what Emil wrote. His prose had to be edited for lazy verbs and empty adjectives.
The mental image of Emil and Winnie working diligently on a story, their heads bent close together, made Mack want to vomit. Emil would flatter her quick wit until she was gracing him with her enchanting smile. And once Emil discovered she was a widow, he wouldn’t be able to resist the voluptuous beauty. What man could? What was worse, given Emil’s history with women, he would succeed in his efforts.
Damn it all to hell.
“I’ll go.”
Everyone’s head swiveled toward him, and he was almost certain the surprise on their faces mirrored his own. Since when did he make exceptions to his rigid schedule? And hadn’t hejustdecided he was better off without Winnie? The woman had tied him up in knots, unable to see which way was up. But now that the words were out, he didn’t take them back. His surprise had already blossomed into a fierce desire to see his mission through.
“No, I need you to wrap up the factory fire story and prepare the layout for Friday’s edition,” Horace said.
“The story was finished this morning, and Friday’s edition is almost complete. Emil can put the finishing touches on it, can’t you?”
“That sounds good to me—”
“I said no.”
Mack seethed at the dismissal, but he acquiesced, and his mother nodded approvingly. The conversation turned to the latest questionable changes in the neighborhood, but Mack did not participate.
His thoughts were consumed with Winnie—her unflagging tenacity, her zest for knowledge, her indomitable spirit that clutched him by the throat and refused to let go. His clothes were suddenly too tight, his skin lit on fire from within. He passed a hand over his brow in a daze, a huff of laughter rising to his lips.
Only Winnie West could inspire such unsettling sensations in him.
Only she could make him eager for more.
The dinner gong rang, and as everyone rose to their feet, a plan burst to fruition in Mack’s mind. He excused himself to use the facilities, leaving Horace to escort his sister to the dining room. He ambled down the hall until he was out of sight, and then exited the back door and hurried to the garage. Ducking inside, he found his uncle’s driver polishing headlights.
They greeted each other warmly. The aging employee had been with the family for two decades. He’d even given Mack a few clandestine driving lessons when he was young and earned a fair share of his now salt and pepper hair. Mack found a scrap of old newspaper on the garage shelves and quickly scribbled a message.
“Deliver this to the telegram office, will you, Newton? I’m afraid you’ll have to go on foot.”
“Gladly. Shouldn’t take more than a half-hour.”
Mack handed him the scrap, along with a small bill of thanks. “Use it to pay for the telegram. The change is for your trouble.”
Newton bobbed his head. “Thank you, sir.”
Mack clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.”
He made it to the dining room just as the first course was served. His mother glowered at his lateness, but his pretty apology mollified her. For the rest of the meal, he was on his best behavior, not willing to risk drawing attention to himself for any reason.
As a white chocolate mousse with raspberries was served, the butler entered the dining room carrying a piece of paper on a silver tray. Horace wiped his mouth and took the paper, scanning it quickly.
“Horace, you know I don’t like when you conduct business at the table,” Alma admonished.
“It’s a telegram from your sister-in-law.”
“Jenny? What on earth does she want?”
Horace read the telegram aloud. “Urgent. JD ill. Come at once.”
Alma’s mouth puckered. “She’s always so dramatic. Last time it was barely a cold, and I was stuck in that tiny town for over a week.”
The “last time” his mother had visited Jenny was over five years ago, much to their mutual displeasure. Mack had heard the story from both angles at least once a year ever since. But the unpleasantness had at least one positive outcome. It put an end to his mother’s objections to his visits since she'd rather pawn that responsibility off on anyone but herself.
Mack infused his voice with concern. “What if it isn’t a scare? We’re the only family she has.”
“I can’t spare Alma, not with the dinner party for the First Hill Garden Society scheduled next week,” Horace said.
