Free Leslie LaFoy by Jacksons Way Page B

to slow in the long moment of silence hanging between them.
    “I'd like for you to invite Henry to dinner tomorrow night. And make sure Agatha will be there, too.”
    Oh, dear God. He had no idea what he was truly suggesting. She gripped the windowsill in an effort to steady her nerves as her heartbeat roared in her ears. “A family dinner is not a good idea.”
    “Good idea or not, it's the best way to go about telling them that their fortunes have changed.”
    “You can't force me to extend the invitations,” she countered angrily.
    “No, sure can't,” he drawled. “But you can either have them over to dinner so they can be told in person, or I'll dictate a letter to Ben and have it delivered through the post. The choice of how they hear the news is up to you. But hear it they will.”
    Lindsay closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten. How she hated him for the way he backed her into corners, for how he appeared to give her a choice when there really was none at all. Staring out at the street again, she asked through clenched teeth, “Shall I include Edith and the children in the invitation?”
    “Edith, yes, but not the children. I suspect that things are going to be said that children probably shouldn't hear.”
    That children shouldn't hear?
She
didn't want to hear the things that would be said. “Mr. Stennett,” she began, turning away from the window.
    “Will you please stop calling me Mr. Stennett?” he interrupted, abruptly rising from the chair. “My name is Jackson. Shorten it to Jack, if you like.”
    She watched him step around the desk and begin to pace the width of the office, his hands stuffed deep into his trouser pockets. She'd point out later the ramifications of addressing him by his Christian name. At the moment, she had more pressing concerns.
    “I realize that the company assets are yours to do with as you please,” she said, “but I ask that you take into consideration the fact that Henry and Agatha have absolutely no ability to make a living on their own. They have no skills of any sort. If you were to cut them off from MacPhaull income, they'd be destitute within a mere thirty days. Please have a conscience and remember that Henry does have a wife and three children.”
    “How old is Henry?”
    “Forty,” she replied crisply, seeing the direction he intended to go and resenting the inherent soundness of it.
    “Agatha is thirty-eight. And in the event that you weren't paying attention in the carriage, I'm twenty-five.”
    “And if I were to cut you off from MacPhaull income, what would you do?”
    Probably die somewhere on a godforsaken piece of prairie.
The idea was too full of hopelessness and self-pity and she rebelled against it. “I've developed a sufficient number of business relationships over the years that I could prevail on the kindness of someone for employment as a manager,” she countered defiantly. “I'd find a modest home to purchase and take Mrs. Beechum with me. I'll do quite well on my own. You needn't strain your conscience on my behalf.”
    He stopped his pacing and considered her, his head tilted to the side. One corner of his smile quirked up. “How is it that you turned out to be so independent, while Henry and Agatha didn't?”
    “That's a puzzle whose solution has always eluded Richard,” she supplied, deliberately sidestepping the issue. “If you should happen upon the answer, I'm sure he'd love to hear it.”
    His smile faded. “The odds are that he's not going to get better, you know,” he said gently. “I've seen this before. He'll likely just lie there in that bed, fading a little bit every day until he and everyone else is praying for the end to come.”
    Her throat closed, leaving her able only to nod in mute agreement and understanding of the only real certainty that lay ahead.
    “Does he have any family?” Stennett asked softly.
    Lindsay swallowed and forced words past the bruised and aching tightness. “None that I know of. If he