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  “That,” Morgan said slowly, “might be quite a trick.”

  “Dad, he works for me, remember? I can get rid of him at any time.”

  “Don't bet on it, my dear.”

  “I own Thornquist Gear, darn it,” Letty retorted. “I can do as I wish.”

  Morgan grinned. “Spoken like a born corporate leader.”

  Letty was starting to feel insulted. “What's the matter, Dad? Don't you think I can learn to handle the company? As head of the reference department I've been managing people for several years.”

  “Running Thornquist Gear will not bear much of a resemblance to running the reference desk at Vellacott Library. Letty, you're as smart as they come. You can do anything you want. I always told you that and I meant it. All I'm trying to do is warn you that you've never come up against anyone quite like Blackstone before. Tread carefully around him until you know what you're doing.”

  Letty relaxed. “Okay.”

  “On the whole,” Morgan said, “I'm glad you've decided to give it a whirl. You need a major change in your life even more than I did, my dear. If nothing else, the move to Seattle will shake you out of your routine, expose you to new influences, and open up your world. If running Thornquist Gear doesn't suit you, you can always sell it to Blackstone in a year or so. In the meantime, the experience will be good for you. Just be careful.”

  “You're a fine one to talk. The changes I'm making are petty compared to the ones you've made, Dad.” Letty bit her lip. “I still can't quite believe I'm going to have a little brother.”

  Morgan raised his brows. “I knew we were going to get around to that sooner or later. You still haven't gotten over the shock of my marriage to Stephanie, either, have you?”

  “That's not true. I've adjusted to the idea,” Letty said, picking her words carefully. “But I'll admit that at times it still seems strange. Everything has happened so fast.”

  “At my age I can't afford to waste a lot of time,” Morgan said gently.

  “You're only fifty-three, Dad.”

  “Stephanie makes me feel thirty again.”

  Letty sighed. “I guess that says it all, doesn't it?”

  “Yes, my dear, it does.”

  “She's so unlike mother.”

  “Letty, your mother was a wonderful woman, and I loved her for nearly thirty good years. But she's gone, and I know she would have wanted me to be happy again.”

  “Yes, but with someone like Stephanie?” Letty broke off, horrified that she had gone too far.

  Morgan's brows drew together, forming a solid line above his sea green eyes. “Stephanie is my wife now, Letty. She is about to become the mother of my son. I can't force you to develop any real affection for her, but I can and will make certain you treat her with respect.”

  Guilt swamped Letty. “I'm sorry, Dad. You know I would never be rude to her. For your sake, I'm trying to think of her as a member of the family.”

  “Do that. Because she is a member of the family.”

  Letty lifted her chin. “You know what the real problem between Stephanie and me is?”

  “You think she's trying to take your mother's place.”

  “No, not at all. The truth is, she intimidates me.”

  Morgan narrowed his eyes in astonishment. “Intimidates you? What do you mean by that?”

  “It's hard to explain,” Letty admitted, wishing she had not even tried. “She's only eleven years older than me.”

  “You're not going to lecture me for having married a woman you think is too young for me, are you?”

  Letty shook her head. Stephanie was too young for her father, of course, but there was no sense pointing that out now. The deed was done. “No. What I'm trying to say is that although she's only a few years older than I am, she makes me feel unsophisticated.”

  “Unsophisticated?”

  Letty scowled. “Maybe that's not quite the right word. Unworldly. Gauche. Dad, she makes me feel like a small-town hick. Now do you understand?”

  Morgan's face softened. “I think so. If it's any consolation, she made me feel the same way at first. But underneath that glossy exterior is a charming, very genuine person. I want you to get to know the real Stephanie. I want you to be friends with her.”

  “I'm trying, Dad.”

  “I want you to try a little harder.”

  Letty eyed him. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “I want to ask a favor of you, Letty. Stephanie has signed up for a series of seminars dealing with pregnancy and infancy. I'd appreciate it if you'd accompany her to some of the classes. I think it would help if the two of you spent some time together.”

  Letty stared at him. “You want me to take a bunch of baby classes?”

  “For my sake, Letty. And for the sake of Matthew Christopher.”

  Two days later Letty found herself back in Seattle sitting next to Stephanie in a roomful of pregnant ladies. The speaker, Professor Harold Blanchford, was an expert on fetal development, and his subject was not without some interest. Letty noticed that Stephanie was sitting very erect in her chair, her attention focused completely on the talk. She was taking notes with military precision.

  “There is ample evidence,” Professor Blanchford said, “that the third trimester fetus hears and responds to auditory stimuli. There is also a great deal of data supporting the fact that newborns have a strong preference for their mothers' voices. This raises the interesting possibility that newborns respond to their mothers' voices for the simple reason that they have been listening to them for several weeks in the womb. Listening and remembering.”

  Being surrounded by pregnant ladies was making Letty feel strange. It was forcing her to deal with an issue she had spent a lot of time pushing aside lately. But the truth was, it was difficult to go on pretending that she would someday have a home and family of her own when confronted with this kind of reality.

  Letty knew that sooner or later she would have to face a few disturbing facts about her own prospects for marriage and children. The recent fiasco with Philip had brought home the realization that she might not ever be able to respond properly to a man.

  “Tests on newborns who have been exposed in utero to the sound of their mothers reading a story prove that the infant is capable of remembering the story after birth. The responses in our tests were conclusive.”

  Letty leaned over to whisper in Stephanie's ear. “Maybe you could read Matthew Christopher a cookbook before he's born. Turn him into a trained chef. Just think, he'd have marketable skill before he can even walk. We'll make a fortune on him.”

  Stephanie's pen never stopped moving, and she did not look up. “Please be quiet, Letty. I'm trying to concentrate.”

  “Sorry.” Letty slouched uncomfortably in her chair and gazed at Professor Blanchford. Something told her it was going to be a long afternoon. She was glad she'd be starting work at Thornquist Gear tomorrow. At least she would have an excuse for avoiding these afternoon classes with Stephanie.

  Unfortunately that still left all the evening classes Stephanie had scheduled.

  “Now, then,” Professor Blanchford intoned. “You will no doubt want to consider carefully what you read to your infants while they are in the womb. One must keep in mind that memory is functioning even at this early stage and it's up to you, the mother, to determine what your baby will recall after birth.”

  “Talk about putting pressure on poor Mom,” Letty murmured. “As if there isn't already enough at this point.”

  “Letty, please.” Stephanie scowled at her.

  Letty shut up.

  Fifteen minutes later the seminar was dismissed, much to Letty's relief. She watched Stephanie buy Professor Blanchford's book and set of tapes. There was clearly money in this baby class business.

  “What did you think of it?” Stephanie put on her sunglasses as she led the way back out to the car.

  “Very impressive research.” Letty searched for something more to add. “Are you going to read to Matt
hew Christopher?”

  “Definitely. We'll start with Shakespeare.”

  “I bet he would prefer Road and Track.”

  Stephanie was not amused. “And I think we'll try music, too. Mozart or Vivaldi would probably be best.”

  Letty managed to restrain herself from suggesting a heavy metal group. “Should be interesting to see if he hums at birth,” she muttered under her breath.

  Fortunately Stephanie didn't overhear the remark. “I can't wait to tell Morgan how well it went today.” She slid behind the wheel of her red Porsche. “He'll be pleased.”

  Letty climbed into the passenger seat and carefully fastened her belt. “I imagine so.”

  “Your father is as happy about this pregnancy as I am, Letty.” Stephanie eased the Porsche out of the parking slot.

  “Yes.” Letty wished desperately for some light, intelligent conversation. Her mind went blank. “Yes, he certainly seems to be thrilled.”

  “I feel extraordinarily lucky to have met Morgan.”

  Letty nodded, her eyes on the street as Stephanie zipped the Porsche out of the parking lot. It would be nice to be able to handle a racy car like this with Stephanie's skill, she thought wistfully.

  “Are you quite certain things are over between you and this Philip Dixon?” Stephanie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I don't blame you,” Stephanie continued, pitching her voice to be heard above the sounds of the street. “I divorced my first husband because I found out he was having an affair with his secretary. I knew then and there I did not want him to father any child of mine. A marriage must be founded on trust.”

  “I agree.”

  “Morgan is so very different from Grayson,” Stephanie said. “I knew the minute I met him that he would make an excellent father.”

  “Is that the reason you married him?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Letty was appalled. She closed her eyes, wishing desperately she could recall the question. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

  “It's all right.” Stephanie sounded amused rather than affronted. “To be perfectly truthful with you, the fact that Morgan was good father material was far more important to me than any other single factor. At least in the beginning. But now that I've gotten to know him better, I've come to realize that he has any number of other wonderful qualities.”

  Letty's hands clenched in her lap. She glanced across the seat, unable to read Stephanie's expression because of her blue-mirrored sunglasses. “Stephanie, I know I have no business asking this, but do you really love my father?”

  “Of course.” Stephanie smiled serenely and tooled the Porsche into the parking lot of a supermarket. “But I would not be surprised if your definition of love is somewhat different from my own. I hope you don't mind if we stop here for a minute. I'm out of feta cheese and salsa.”

  “No, I don't mind.”

  Much later that night Letty lay in bed and listened to the murmur of voices drifting in through the open window. Her father and Stephanie had not yet retired for the night. They were still sitting out on the glass-enclosed deck overlooking the city lights and Elliott Bay. Letty could not see them, but she could hear their low-voiced conversation.

  “Do you think she'll stay in Seattle, Morgan?”

  “I don't know. But she needs the change. The worst thing she could do right now is go back to Vellacott.”

  “You may be right. I feel sorry for her. She seems a little lost, if you know what I mean. Maybe breaking off her engagement bothered her more than she's willing to admit.”

  “She's strong. She'll bounce back fast enough. It's nice of you to be so concerned about her, Stephanie.”

  “She's your daughter. Naturally I'm concerned about her.” There was a short silence, and then Stephanie added, “I don't think she fully accepts or understands our relationship yet, though.”

  “Give her time.”

  There was another period of silence. Letty turned onto her side and curled up. Then she heard Stephanie's voice again.

  “The class was wonderful today, Morgan. I'll be starting a new auditory stimulation routine for Matthew Christopher tomorrow.”

  Morgan chuckled. “It won't be much longer and you'll be able to talk to him face to face.”

  “Two more months.”

  Letty heard the expectant hope and satisfaction in Stephanie's voice, but she also detected something else, a note of tension. She thought of the intense way Stephanie had taken down everything Professor Blanchford had said that afternoon. It was as if she had been afraid of missing a single word.

  Afraid. Yes, Letty suddenly realized. That was the right word. Afraid. But that conclusion made no sense. Stephanie was the most unflappable, most coolly controlled woman she had ever met.

  “I'll have to check on that Italian crib we ordered,” Morgan said. “It should be in by now.”

  “I called the artist who's doing the mobile that will hang over the crib. He said it was almost ready. He chose botanical subjects as his motif.”

  Letty listened to the soft voices for a while longer. The bottom line, she decided, was that she felt like an outsider in her father's home.

  It was definitely time to move out. She would start looking for an apartment right away.

  Tomorrow she would be sitting in the president's office at Thornquist Gear. That thought sent a jolt of euphoria through Letty. Her new life was waiting for her to take command.

  Joel studied the printout that lay on his desk. Everything looked solid. All the little ducks were lined up in a row waiting for him to fire the howitzers. Copeland Marine Industries was so much dead meat ready to start rotting in the fields.

  He should have felt more of a sense of satisfaction, he thought. He had waited long enough to bring down Victor Copeland. Fifteen years, to be exact. In another month the business would be over and done.

  So why was he feeling edgy today? Joel got up and went to stand at his office window. His problem was the impending arrival of Letty Thornquist, and he knew it. She would be here tomorrow, expecting to take over the presidential suite.

  Presidential suite—the term was a joke. Thornquist Gear had never had much use for a president's office. It had never had a president who spent any time at his desk. The only thing Charlie had ever done while seated at his desk was tie flies.

  Four stories below Joel the sales floor of the downtown branch of Thornquist Gear hummed with activity. The summer camping season was over and the ski season was about to begin. The annual run on ski boots was already starting.

  Ten years ago Thornquist Gear had occupied one tiny shop on First Avenue. Today the company leased half a block of office space and had retail outlets on the east side and down in Portland.

  The first two floors of the downtown store were retail, and the two upper floors housed Accounting, Marketing and other operations. Joel still got a surge of pride and deep satisfaction every time he walked through the front door of Thornquist Gear.

  First Avenue was busy, as usual. From his window Joel could see one Thai restaurant, a sexy lingerie shop, a take-out deli that featured Mediterranean cuisine, one adult theater, and a pawnshop. Facing the building that housed Thornquist was a fine old hotel that dated back to the turn of the century. It had recently been gutted and converted into upscale condominiums.

  Joel watched as a plane came in over Elliott Bay. The slice of water he could see from his window was the color of steel under a gray sky. There was rain on the way, according to the forecast. Some people had a tough time with the continual gloom of Seattle. They moved to the city and ended up leaving six months later because they couldn't take the clouds and endless mist.

  Joel wondered hopefully if Letty would be driven off by long periods of overcast skies. It would certainly make the task of persuading her to sell out to him easier if she was.

  With his luck she would find the rain romantic.

  Behind him his secretary's firm, no-nonsense voice sounded on the intercom.
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  “Mr. Blackstone, there's a call for you on line two. Manford from Marketing. He says it's important.”

  Joel turned toward the desk. “Thanks, Mrs. Sedgewick. I've got it. By the way, Mrs. Sedgewick?”

  “Yes, Mr. Blackstone?”

  “How is Ms. Thornquist's office coming along?”

  “Should be ready by tomorrow, sir. And I've finally lined up a secretary for her. Arthur Bigley from Accounting.” Mrs. Sedgewick paused meaningfully. “I believe he is exactly what you were looking for. And he is thrilled with his sudden and unexpected promotion.”

  “Good. Send him in here for a few minutes, will you? I want to brief him personally on his new responsibilities.”

  “I understand, Mr. Blackstone.”

  “Fine.” Joel punched a button. “Blackstone here. What's the problem, Cal?”

  “We've got to make some decisions on the thrust of the new ad campaign before we get the agency on line. I can't hold things up much longer or we'll start missing some deadlines. We need your approval on the contract, Joel.”

  “All right. Let me take one more look at it this weekend. Schedule a meeting for Monday morning.”

  “Right.” Cal cleared his throat. “Uh, shall I include Ms. Thornquist?”

  “There's no need to bother her with this kind of thing during her first week here,” Joel said smoothly. “She'll have enough on her hands just getting the feel of the place.”

  “Sure. Monday morning, then. I'll talk to your secretary.”

  Joel hung up the phone and sat fiddling with a pen for a few minutes. He was normally much more decisive about things than he had been on the matter of this new ad campaign. The trouble was that while he knew what he wanted to accomplish, he was unsure of how to reach the goal.

  During the past ten years he had built up Thornquist Gear using traditional approaches in the marketplace. He understood the kind of people who lived in the Pacific Northwest. His family had lived in Washington for three generations. Joel knew instinctively how to target the basic market.

  With the new campaign he would be taking some chances. The idea was to appeal to people who had no more than a nodding acquaintance with the wonders of the magnificent countryside that surrounded them.