Free His Precious Inheritance (Inspirational Historical Romance) by Dorothy Clark

Taking Miss Gordon home had been a mistake...one that, in spite of his better sense, he would willingly make again.
    * * *
    The radiant warmth of the late-afternoon sun chased the damp chill from the editorial room. Clarice leaned the umbrella she had brought with her in the corner by her desk and removed her wrap.
    “I didn’t expect you to return today, Miss Gordon.”
    She spun about. Charles Thornberg stood in the doorway to the composing room a sheet of paper in his hand. She took a breath to calm her racing pulse. “There is still almost two hours until quitting time and the storm has passed.”
    He nodded, glanced toward the umbrella. “I see you don’t intend to be caught unprepared by a rainstorm again.”
    Was he displeased with losing work time by walking her home? Had she ruined her hope of being employed as a columnist on the Journal? She hastened to assure him it would not happen again. “Once was forgivable. Twice would be shoddy carelessness.”
    “And you would not be guilty of such a thing.”
    Father’s quick hand taught me the folly of that.
She turned and draped her wrap over the chair. “I learned when very young it was not wise to make the same mistake twice.”
    “Mr. Thornberg, sir!”
Footsteps pounded on the stairs. A young boy burst into the room, braced his hands on his knees and sucked in a long breath.
    Charles Thornberg pivoted and hurried toward the boy. “What is it, son?”
    “Fire...sir...”
    The breathy gasps drew her forward. Perhaps—
    “
Fire! Where?
What is burning?”
    “Steamers...at the dock...”
    “Carry on, Miss Gordon!” Charles threw the paper he held toward his desk and clattered down the stairs, the boy close on his heels.
    She ran to the front window, peered down—Charles Thornberg and the boy burst from the building and ran down the street. She clenched her hands and started back toward the table holding the piles of letters.
Carry on, Miss Gordon.
Charles Thornberg would probably have had her come along if she were a
man
. Carry on, indeed!
    The paper Charles had thrown had missed his desk. She scooped it up off the floor and scanned the report beneath Boyd Willard’s name. It was about a proposed public water system the city council had discussed at their last meeting. A dull, colorless report. Some descriptions of the councilmen’s attitudes would have brought it alive...
    She sighed, carried the paper into the composing room and glanced over the partially finished layout for the next edition resting on the tables. Where was he going to— There. No. The report was too small for the empty space on the large piece of white paper. There was a sizable gap left. She glanced over her shoulder at the page layout on the table behind her. It couldn’t go there. That page was finished.
    Fillers!
    She riffled through the items in the basket, frowned and sorted through them again. None of them were large enough to fill the gaping space. Perhaps two... Yes. If she slid the paper holding the report on the council meeting down a bit and added a filler at the top and another at the bottom. Or she could move the item at the top of the page over, put the report in its place and change that filler... Her fingers flew over the piece of white paper, rearranging the layout. A smile curved her lips. Perfect! But she’d best put them back as they had been and get to work, lest Mr. Thornberg find out she had—
    “Miss Gordon? Where are you?”
    She gave a guilty start at the impatient hail and hurried into the editorial room. The clerk from the office downstairs stood on the stairs peering over the railing. He looked irritated. “What is it, Mr. Warren?”
    “I need you to come down to the office.” The man turned and headed back down the stairs.
    “Wait, Mr. Warren! What—” She swallowed the rest of the question as he disappeared from view, shot a look at the composing tables, then lifted her hems and followed after him to the office. She’d arrange the page