Free Leslie LaFoy by Jacksons Way Page A

been so much easier to talk about. The coward's way was avoidance, though, and so she gave him the plain truth as dispassionately as she could, determined that he never know how big the knots were in her stomach. “I've been discreetly selling some of my mother's personal property, as well as household items we neither need nor want.”
    “How long have you been doing this?”
    “Six months.”
    “And how much longer do you think you can keep doing it?”
    “Perhaps another six, depending on the availability of buyers and the prices I can get from them.”
    “And at the end of six months or the absence of buyers—whichever comes first—what are you going to do? Have you given that any thought?”
    “Then I don't see that I'll have any choice but to begin liquidating some of the less profitable company assets,” she answered, giving him the answer she always used to reassure herself. But even as she uttered the words, she realized that her circumstances had changed so drastically that the strategy was no longer possible.
    “Or at least that was my thinking when I actually owned them,” she amended, unable to hide her resentment. “Now that I don't, I really have no idea what course to take. I'm sure something will present itself; it always does.” In her mind's eye, she saw a battered wagon heading west into the sunset, a wind-beaten version of herself urging a pair of raw-boned oxen to take just one more step before dying. Damn William Lindsay MacPhaull. Damn him and his black-hearted minion, Jackson Stennett.
    “How does Richard Patterson pay his way? I can see by the books that he hasn't taken a salary in over a year.”
    Lindsay swallowed back her anger and forced dispassion into her voice and demeanor. “Richard has made some investments of his own over the years. I don't know precisely what they are, but they're apparently providing a sufficient enough return that he hasn't needed his salary from the MacPhaull Company. I've insisted, though, that we keep track of the money due him so that he can be paid in full when the Panic ends.”
    “How long has he been managing the company? Since Billy hightailed it for Texas?”
    “Even before that; years before I was born. As I recall the story, my father hired Richard before Agatha and Henry were born.”
    “And so he's been riding along, doing his job out of a sense of loyalty to the company?”
    She looked over her shoulder at him. As he had when questioning Ben, he leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. As she had countless times already that afternoon, she tried to see Richard sitting in his wheeled chair behind the desk instead of Jackson Stennett and couldn't. Angry with herself for the betrayal, she answered, “I think, Mr. Stennett, that it's more a case of Richard feeling a sense of obligation to my welfare.”
    His gaze slipped downward to meet hers. “What about Henry's and Agatha's welfare?”
    “Richard and I have a long-standing difference of opinion in that regard,” she admitted, looking back out at the street, her heart racing at the intensity of his attention. “Richard's frequently argued that they expect too much and give nothing in return. I, on the other hand, have issues of conscience with which to contend. They are my brother and sister.”
    “What say do they have in the company affairs?”
    “None,” she answered crisply. “It's as they prefer it. And to be perfectly honest, it's a blessing that they don't want to be involved. As Richard is fond of saying, neither one of them has the sense God gave a goose. On the one or two occasions when Henry made an effort to be a businessman …” She shook her head and quietly sighed. “The Todasca Canal Company is one of his projects. You've seen the report on its current status.”
    “Do either of them have personal investments to provide separate income, like Richard?”
    “Not that I'm aware of.” She felt rather than saw his gaze leave her, and her pulse began