A Proper Wife

Devon winced at the magenta silk her mother had taken from one of the boxes.

“It’s...it’s fine, Mother. Did you hear what I said? I had a run-in with a rude customer and—”

“Well, it’s no loss. Selling perfume is no better than selling sweaters the way you did at Saks back home.”

“Selling isn’t glamorous, but it’s honest work.”

“Don’t you dare take that holier-than-thou tone with me!” Bettina swung toward her daughter, eyes flashing. “I worked hard to support us and don’t you forget it. Waiting on tables, cleaning up after people who thought they were better than me, scraping pennies to give you all the benefits so you could have the life that I’d dreamed of—and long before Gordon Kincaid came along to pay the bills, in case you’ve forgotten, miss.”

There had been more to it than that, Devon thought savagely. There’d been an endless string of men. Uncle Harry, and Uncle John, and Uncle Phil....

“I did what I had to do,” Bettina said, as if she’d read Devon’s thoughts, “and it was all for you.”

“I never asked for anything,” Devon said tightly.

“The sacrifices,” Bettina said, “the struggle...”

Devon shut her eyes. I won’t listen, she told herself fiercely, I won’t. She’d grown up on this litany, hearing about her mother’s hardships, of how she’d all but given up her own life for her daughter’s...

“Next, you’ll turn your back on me, same as your father did.”

The bitter accusation twisted, sharp as the blade of a knife, in Devon’s heart.

“You know I’d never do that, Mother.”

Bettina smiled. “Good girl!” She bent down, gave Devon a kiss that was actually a cheek-to-cheek caress, and then she looked at her watch. “Oh, look at the time! Come along, darling. Grandfather Kincaid is sending his car for us and we don’t want to be late. Put on something bright and pretty, for a change. And use some of my drops in your eyes, will you? You look as if you’ve been crying, for heaven’s sakes!”

It was better than looking as if you’d been socked in the jaw, Devon thought.

What on earth had made her think of that?

Whatever the reason, she was glad of it.

For the first time in hours, Devon smiled.

CHAPTER TWO

AT A few minutes past four every Friday afternoon, end-of-week celebrants from Wall Street’s financial offices began pouring out into the streets. Lounges and bars filled up with regulars intent on getting the weekend off to a quick start.

Ryan and Frank, who had made a ritual of toasting the week’s end together since their university days, snagged the last pair of empty leather stools at the mahogany bar at The Watering Hole and exchanged friendly greetings with Harry, the bartender.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Harry said. “The usual?”

“Yes,” Frank answered, but Ryan shook his head.

“I’ll have a Coke.”

“A Coke?” Frank said, lifting his eyebrows. “What’s the matter, pal? Did that dame’s right hook rattle your brain?”

Ryan touched his hand gingerly to his jaw. “It was a good shot,” he said grumpily. “Is there a mark?”

“A little shadow, maybe, right there—”

“Ouch!” Ryan drew a sharp breath just as the bartender put an ice-filled glass and an open bottle of Coke in front of him. He took an ice cube from the glass, wrapped it in his handkerchief and held it gently against his jaw. “Maybe this will help. I don’t really feel like trying to explain a lump on my jaw to my grandfather.”

“Ah,” Frank said, “now I get it. No booze because you’re making the long drive out to see the old man, right?”

“You’ve got it.” Ryan waggled his jaw carefully from side to side. “Can you believe that dame? She walks around, shows off damned near everything she’s got, then gets ticked off when a guy notices. Whatever happened to decorum?”