LITMIR.BIZ

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this got something to do with that women’s refuge you mentioned earlier?”

      “Yes, it does,” Amanda said. “So often women don’t have the skill or knowledge to support themselves and their children when their husband leaves them or passes away. I want to provide a place where they can live while they get on their feet and learn how to provide for their children.”

      Nick just stared at her. Good Lord, who was this woman—this Amanda Van Patton? Where had she been all his life?

      “That’s an incredible idea,” he finally managed to say.

      “Thank you.” She smiled softly, and Nick’s heart melted a little.

      For the first time, he wondered what would have happened to his own family if things had been different when his father died. What if he’d been a boy, unable to take over the family business? Would his mother have known what to do? Where would she have gotten the help and guidance she needed to provide for their family?

      “So, when are you starting this project?” Nick asked.

      “As soon as I raise the money.”

      “What about your uncle Philip? He’d support your cause.”

      “I don’t want to ask him,” Amanda said. “It’s a losing proposition, never intended to show a dime of profit. I can’t expect him to spend his own money on it. Besides, I’d like the community to get involved, to realize what’s happening and take part in solving the problem.”

      “That’s a tall order.”

      She sat a little straighter on the seat and gave him a brisk nod. “I have a plan.”

      He grinned. “Really?”

      “I plan to stage a number of events for San Francisco’s wealthy families to raise awareness of the situation and drum up support. Once I’ve secured the funds, I’ll start on the refuge,” Amanda said. “I need a building large enough to accommodate women and their children. It will require a kitchen, sitting rooms, a playroom for the children, and a place where they can receive medical care. I’ll also require space so the women can receive training for the jobs they’ll need to eventually become self-reliant. I want a safe location near schools, parks and churches.”

      She paused and blushed slightly. “Well, that’s my plan.”

      “It sounds more like your passion,” Nick said.

      She considered his words. “You could be right.”

      “Any other passions?” Nick inquired, not sure why he’d asked such a leading question, yet anxious to hear her answer.

      “Of course,” she said simply. “But you’ll have to figure those out for yourself.”

      “I warn you, I do love a challenge.”

      Amanda smiled and gestured out the window. “So, Mr. Tour Guide, what’s that building over there?”

      Nick had instructed the driver to take them through Los Angeles and give Amanda a look at the city. He pointed out the building where he had an office, then the shops along Wilshire Boulevard, which were bustling with people, delivery wagons, trolley cars and carriages. Gradually, the driver headed east, also on Nick’s instructions, until the city faded into farmland.

      Amanda leaned closer to the window, gazing at the open fields dotted with an occasional farmhouse. “Perhaps now is a good time to ask where you’re taking me.”

      “I want to show you my passion. My latest project,” he explained, waving his hand toward the window. “The Whitney project, I’m calling it, named after the man who owned the majority of the land.”

      The carriage drew to a stop. Nick exited first, then helped Amanda to the ground.

      Miles of farmland spread out around them, rimmed by a range of rugged mountains. Nearby was a dilapidated farmhouse—its roof blown off, windows smashed—shaded by a towering oak.

      The driver handed a wicker hamper and blanket to Nick, then flicked the reins.

      “Where is he going?” Amanda asked, watching the carriage drive away.

      “Taking the team down to the creek for water.”

      Amanda glanced around at the vast openness, the isolation. “So we’re out here alone?”

      Nick nodded. “Just the two of us…and our passions.”

      Chapter Six

      “Come here, let me show you.” Nick dropped the wicker hamper and blanket under the tree, and took Amanda’s elbow.

      “This is the Whitney farm?” Amanda asked, walking alongside him.

      “Most of it. Ezra Whitney owned the acreage to the north, and his son owned that to the south. It belongs to me now.” Nick gestured to the old farmhouse. “This portion here in the middle will be mine shortly.”

      “It’s not part of the Whitney farm?”

      “No, it belongs to another farmer,” Nick said. “It’s been abandoned for years, as you can see by the condition of the place. We’re tracking down the owner now, arranging for the purchase of the land.”

      Amanda looked up at Nick. “What if he won’t sell?”

      “Oh, he’ll sell, all right,” Nick told her. “He’ll jump at the chance to unload this land.”

      “It seems like you’re taking quite a chance,” she said.

      Nick shook his head. “This tract of land is perfect. I’ll have it, one way or another.”

      Amanda gazed around. “There must be a hundred acres.”

      “Just about.”

      “What do you plan to do with it?”

      Nick stopped for a moment and surveyed the area. “I’m going to build a factory.”

      “My goodness. That’s very ambitious,” Amanda said. “What are you going to manufacture?”

      “Electrical parts,” Nick said, and started walking again. “Light switches and fixtures, sockets, wiring, bulbs. Everything needed to provide electricity to the public.”

      “That’s a very progressive idea.”

      “It’s the future.” Nick pointed across the field. “The main building will go right here. Come on, I’ll show you.”

      They crossed the field as Nick explained the layout of the factory complex, pointing and gesturing. Amanda asked questions—intelligent questions—that pleased him no end.

      As he explained the reason for the placement of the warehouses, he realized he couldn’t think of another woman he’d bring out here to look at his factory site—not even his mother or sister. But having Amanda here with him seemed the most natural thing in the world. He couldn’t imagine not having her here, not telling her about his project.

      “Has the architect finished the plans?” Amanda asked as they walked toward the old farmhouse again.

      “Almost.” Nick grinned. “I keep thinking of new things I’d like to add.”

      “When will the factory open?”

      “Early next year,” Nick said. “I’m projecting it will turn a profit within two years.”

      “Two years?” she asked, her eyes wide.

      He grinned. “I like to think long-term.”

      “I guess you do.”

      “Hungry?” Nick asked as they reached the shade of the oak tree. He gestured to the hamper. “I had the cooks prepare something for us. No easy task, with all the wedding preparations

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