LITMIR.BIZ

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really happened to your foot?” Dillon asked.

      Richard sighed and hobbled over to the edge of the frilly-lace-covered bed of the hotel and sat. While they waited for someone to climb the old-fashioned staircase to get his luggage he said, “I told you. I fell.”

      “The rest of the story,” Dillon prodded.

      Richard allowed his head to drop back. Staring at the stucco ceiling, he debated how best to answer. His eyes wandered to the cherry-wood posters that were draped with a thin see-through lacy thing and thought this was definitely a room for a girl. Even the chairs and tables had lacy stuff on them. He wasn’t going to miss the decor at all.

      “I decided to go to a special midnight service at one of the local churches,” he finally said, returning his gaze to his friend.

      Both eyebrows shot up as Dillon stared. “Really?”

      Richard nodded and shifted on the down-filled bedspread. “No one knows me here. I wouldn’t be hounded.”

      Dillon shook his head. “You are hounded back in New York because of the places you go, my friend. If you’d find a smaller church, like mine, or avoid—”

      “Like my father would allow that?” Richard interrupted. “I am the business’s future,” he said wearily. “I have to go to all of those functions whenever I’m home.” He’d been through this with Dillon too many times to count.

      Dillon shook his head. “You should talk to your father, tell him you’re not happy doing this.”

      Richard sighed. “What else would I do? I’ve trained for this my entire life.”

      He didn’t like the sympathetic look his friend shot him. Talking about his accident, although he knew his friend was going to rib him, was better than dealing with that look. So, taking a breath he said, “I was running late and hurrying toward the church when this woman came rushing out and knocked me flat.”

      It took Dillon a moment to change gears. When he did, his jaw dropped. Slowly a half smile curved his lips. Disbelief filled his eyes. “A woman did this?” He motioned toward Richard’s foot.

      There it was. He’d had it now. Richard nodded, glancing out the window. A weak sun shone through the white lacy curtains, indicating that there was still the possibility of snow. “Yeah. She’d forgotten her purse in her truck and was hurrying to get it. It was dark out and I guess she didn’t see me.”

      “Didn’t see you?” he parroted, laughter filling his voice. “A woman didn’t notice you? She was driving a truck?” Dillon’s voice rose.

      Restrained no more, his laughter burst into the room, filling every silent corner as it reverberated off the walls. Throwing his head back, he dropped his other foot to the floor and guffawed loud and long.

      “It’s not that humorous, dear fellow,” Richard murmured.

      His accent only sent Dillon into a fresh round of laughter. “Obviously it is, if you’ve lapsed back into that British brogue.”

      “I’m Irish,” Richard reminded him, irked that Dillon was getting such a kick out of this.

      “Let me guess, five foot ten inches, two hundred pounds of muscle, and her name is Frieda. She wears jeans and a flannel shirt, chews tobacco and looks as mean as a coyote fighting over his newest meal?”

      Unruffled by this latest round of insults from his friend, Richard smiled. “You’d be wrong in your guess.”

      “Oh yeah?” Dillon challenged.

      A knock at the door interrupted them. Thank goodness.

      “Get that,” Richard interjected, ignoring the question in Dillon’s voice.

      Dillon rose and opened the door to the bellhop. Young, no more than twenty, the boy had outgrown the outfit he wore. The sleeves and pants were both just a tad too short and a bit too tight. However, what he lacked in the uniform, he certainly made up with the smile he gave them.

      “Ready to go?” he drawled.

      “Can you put these in the silver Lexus out front?” Dillon asked.

      “Yes, sir,” the boy answered. He quickly and quietly started gathering Richard’s luggage, full of as much energy as a young man could be who was out making a living at a job he enjoyed. Where had Richard’s energy for his job gone lately?

      Turning back to Richard, Dillon said, “So, when do I get to know where you’re moving?”

      Richard pushed himself up onto his good leg. Today he wore his own pair of khakis with a long-sleeved white shirt. A loose tweed sports jacket finished out his outfit. Slipping on his tanned overcoat, he left it unbuckled and unbuttoned as he grabbed his crutches. “Since you’re driving me there, I suppose you can know now.”

      Adjusting the crutches, he matched his gait to the swing of the metal devices as he maneuvered his way out the door. “There’s a tiny shop two blocks from the mall that is renting out a flat.”

      “Wow. That’s close.”

      Richard nodded. “Quite. I plan to reside there in peace for at least the next four weeks until this foot heals. Then I’ll return to work.”

      Dillon fell in beside his friend. “Four weeks. What about the grand opening of the store?”

      Richard frowned. “We can push it off for a month if we must. Maybe plan it for Valentine’s Day. After all, that would be a great time for the opening.”

      “You know, you’re right.” Dillon’s mind clicked into motion. “We could do a huge campaign and build up to the grand opening targeting Valentine’s Day. Of course, we don’t want to forget to play up that this is the one hundredth store in America. I’m sure we could pull a lot of people from Amarillo and maybe even the Fort Worth and Dallas area if the advertising campaign were big enough. But that’s your department. I have some ideas for inside the store. I think you’re going to enjoy what I have planned.”

      Richard nodded. “I’ll be glad to look it over, but do me a favor.”

      “What’s that?” Dillon asked as they approached the stairs.

      Richard turned slightly and oh-so-carefully began descending. “I don’t want to discuss business when I’m around anyone else. I want four weeks of rest, pure and simple. I want only to experience life in this little town and have time to recuperate.”

      “From Linda,” Dillon said knowingly.

      “Not just from Linda, but from society.”

      His fiancée of four years had left him six months ago. He’d found out she was leaving him by the announcement in the New York Times about her upcoming marriage—to someone else.

      He was embarrassed to admit he’d been so busy that he hadn’t even realized the woman he’d agreed to marry four years earlier had fallen for another man. That still smarted.

      Since then, however, he’d been taking stock of his life. The store was all he’d ever had, all he ever would have. He’d been so caught up in the business, he realized now, that he and Linda hadn’t really had a conventional relationship. He’d met her at a few parties. His father, he now understood, had manipulated things so he and Linda were together—with Linda’s full support—and it had just seemed natural to ask her to marry him. It had been just like a business merger. She was a society woman and knew how things worked. He was going to be in that type of spotlight. He’d thought, sure, why not.

      He knew when he read the announcement and felt only embarrassment that he hadn’t really loved Linda. She was manipulative and only wanted what his father had promised her—a name and place in society.

      But that incident had gotten Richard to thinking about life. Church last night had been part of the new leaf he was going to turn over. He had decided that he had to get back to basics to find out just who and what he was.

      God

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