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Men to Trust
Diana Palmer
Peggy Moreland
Kathie DeNosky
Boss Man
By
Diana Palmer
DIANA PALMER has a gift for telling the most sensual tales with charm and humour. With over forty million copies of her books in print, Diana Palmer is one of North America’s most beloved authors and considered one of the top ten romance writers in America.
Diana’s hobbies include gardening, archaeology, anthropology, iguanas, astronomy and music. She has been married to James Kyle for over twenty-five years and they have one son.
Chapter One
Violet Hardy sat at her desk and wondered why she’d ever taken this secretarial job in the first place. Her boss, Jacobsville, Texas, attorney Blake Kemp, didn’t appreciate her at all. She’d only been trying to keep him from dying of a premature heart attack by changing his regular coffee to decaf. For her pains, she’d been on the receiving end of the worst insult she could ever imagine, and from the one man in the world that she loved above all others. She knew her co-workers were as upset as she was. They’d been kindness itself. But nothing made up for the fact that Blake Kemp thought Violet was fat.
She looked down at her voluptuous body in a purple dress with a high neckline, frilly bodice and straight skirt, vaguely aware that the style did nothing for her. She would be wearing it today, of all days, when Kemp gave her that disapproving scrutiny. Her mother had tried to tell her, gently, that frills and big bosoms didn’t match. Worse, a tight-fitting skirt only emphasized those wide hips.
She’d been trying so hard to lose weight. She’d given up sweets, joined a gym, and worked hard at cooking regular and weight-conscious meals for herself and her elderly mother, who had a heart condition. Her father had died the year before of an apparent heart attack. But just lately there were rumors that her co-worker Libby Collins’s stepmother might be responsible for Mr. Hardy’s sudden death. Janet Collins had been suspected of poisoning an elderly man in a nursing home, and she’d taken Mr. Hardy for quite a sum of money before he died unexpectedly, just after being seen with her in a motel room. It had been too late for Mrs. Hardy to stop payment on the check, because she didn’t realize the money was missing until well after the funeral.
Violet and her mother had been devastated, not only by his loss, but by the disastrous financial condition he’d left behind. They’d lost their nest egg, their home, their car, everything. The woman who’d convinced Mr. Hardy to give her a quarter of a million dollars couldn’t be positively identified. And she’d run up accounts in department stores and even jewelry stores for which Mr. Hardy’s estate was suddenly responsible. Her mother had had the first stroke just after the funeral. Violet’s small, separate inheritance had been just enough to support them for a few months. But after it ran out, Violet had been forced to support them both. There had been a vacancy at Kemp’s office, working with Libby Collins and Mabel Henry. Fortunately, Violet had taken a business course in spite of her father’s disapproval. She’d never have to get a job, he’d said confidently.
It was nice working in Kemp’s office and she was a good secretary. But her boss didn’t appreciate her. Less today than ever before. She raged for five minutes, while her helpless co-workers listened and sympathized. She poured out her heart, including her feelings for her taciturn boss.
“Don’t take it so much to heart, dear,” Mabel said finally, sympathizing with her despair. “We all have bad days.”
“He thinks I’m fat,” Violet said miserably.
“He didn’t say anything.”
“Well, you know how he looked at me and what he insinuated,” Violet muttered, glaring down the hall.
Mabel grimaced. “He’s had a bad day.”
“So have I,” Violet said flatly.
Libby Collins patted her on the shoulder. “Buck up, Violet,” she said gently. “Just give it a couple of days and he’ll apologize. I’m sure he will.”
Violet wasn’t sure. In fact, she’d have bet money that an apology was the last thing on her boss’s mind.
“We’ll see,” she replied as she went back to her desk. But she didn’t believe it.
She pushed back her long dark hair and her blue eyes were tearful, although she was careful to conceal her hurt feelings. It was far worse than just his insinuation that she was overweight. She’d overheard Mabel and Libby whispering that the intercom had been on when Violet had poured out her heart to her co-workers after Kemp’s blistering attack over the decaffeinated coffee he’d been given. She was crazy about him. He’d heard that. How was she ever going to be able to face him again?
It was as bad as she feared. All day, he walked out to the front to meet clients, talk about appointments and get coffee. Every single time he walked in, he glared at Violet as if she were responsible for the seven deadly sins. She began to cringe when she heard his footsteps coming down the hall.
By the end of the day, Tuesday, she knew she couldn’t stay with him anymore. It was too humiliating all the way around. She was going to have to leave.
Libby and Mabel noticed her unusual solemnity. It got worse when she pulled a typed sheet from her printer, got up, took a deep breath, and walked down the hall to Kemp’s office.
Seconds later, they heard him. “What the hell…?”
Violet came stalking back down the hall, red-faced and unnerved, with an enraged Kemp, minus his glasses, two steps behind, waving the sheet of paper at her back.
“You can’t give me one day’s notice!” he raged. “I have cases pending. You’re responsible for sorting them out and notifying the petitioners…!”
She whirled, eyes flashing. “All that information is in the computer, along with the phone numbers! Libby knows what to do, she’s had to help me keep track of your cases when I had to be home with Mother during her last stroke! Please don’t pretend it matters who’s doing the typing or making the phone calls, because I know it doesn’t matter to you! I’m going to work for Duke Wright!”
He was seething, but he went suddenly quiet. “Going over to the enemy, then, Miss Hardy?”
“Mr. Wright is less excitable than you are, sir, and he won’t rage about coffee. In fact,” she said audaciously, “he makes his own!”
He looked for a retort, couldn’t think up one, mashed his sensuous lips together, let out a word under his breath that could have had him up for charges of harassment, and stomped back down the hall still clutching the single sheet of paper. As an afterthought, he slammed his door.
Libby and Mabel tried not to laugh. Mr. Kemp had thrown two people out of the office onto the sidewalk in less than a month. His temper had gone from bad to worse, and poor Violet had caught the worst of it. Now she was leaving and it would be lonely without her. Sadly, Libby thought, her own workload had just doubled.
Violet apologized to her co-workers, but insisted that she couldn’t take the working situation anymore. At the end of the day, she closed down her computer, noting that Mabel and Libby were both out the door before she could get her things together. Libby had already agreed to come back as soon as she had a bite to eat and finish up two cases that Kemp was presenting the next day. Violet would have offered to do it; poor Libby had problems of her own with her horrible stepmother trying to sell the Collins house out from under Libby and her brother, Curt. But Libby insisted she didn’t mind.
Violet shouldered into her long sweater-jacket just as Kemp came stalking down the hall, still in a temper, his pale blue eyes flashing behind his glasses, his lean face taut with anger, his dark wavy hair slightly mussed in back from his restless fingers.
He stopped and glared at her. “I hope I’ve made my point about the coffee,” he said bluntly. “Have you reconsidered your impulsive resignation, by the way?”
She swallowed. He’d made his point about a lot of things. She drew herself up to her full height and faced him bravely. “I have not. I’ll be leaving as soon as you can get a replacement, Mr. Kemp.”
His eyebrows arched. “Running away, Miss Hardy?” he asked sarcastically.
“You can call it that if you like,” she replied.
His eyes glittered, angered all out of proportion by the reply. “In that case, you can consider this your last day and forget the measly notice. I’ll get Libby to finish your work and I’ll mail your two weeks’ pay to you. If that’s satisfactory.”
Her face felt tight and uncomfortable at the taunting question, but she stood her ground. “That will be fine, Mr. Kemp. Thank you.”
He glared at her. He was furious that he couldn’t get a rise out of her. “Very well. Your office key, please.”
She fumbled it off her key chain and handed it to him, careful not to let her fingers touch his. Her heart was going to break in two when the shock wore off. But she was too proud to let him see how devastated she was.
He stared down at her dark head of hair as she placed the key in his fingers. He felt an unfamiliar, uncomfortable surge of loss. He couldn’t understand why. He had little to do with women these days, although he was only thirty-six. He’d lost the woman he loved years ago and had never had any inclination to risk his heart again.
Violet, however, threatened his freedom. She had a sort of empathy with people that was disturbing. She was easily hurt. He could see that this was killing her, being tipped out of his office, out of his life. But he had to let her go. She’d already gotten too close. He never wanted to feel again the pain of having his heart ripped out with the loss of a woman. His fiancée had died. He was through with love. So Violet had to go.
It was for the best, he told himself firmly. She was only infatuated with him. She’d get over it. He thought of how much she’d lost in the past year: her father, her home, her whole way of life. Now she had her invalid mother to care for, a burden she shouldered without a word of complaint. Now she had no job. He winced as he sensed the pain she must be feeling.
“It’s for the best,” he muttered uncomfortably.
She looked up at him, her blue eyes tragic in her rounded face. “It is?”
His jaw tautened. “You’re confused about your feelings. You’re only infatuated, Violet,” he said as kindly as he could, watching her face flush violently. “It isn’t love eternal, and there are eligible men elsewhere. You’ll get over it.”
Her lips actually trembled as she tried to find a comeback to that devastating revelation. She’d been afraid he’d overheard her confession of love, now she knew he had. His words made her feel like sinking into the floor. It was the worst humiliation she could ever remember feeling in her life. He couldn’t possibly have made his own feelings any clearer.
“Yes, sir,” she bit off, turning away. “I’ll get over it.”
She picked up her bits and pieces and moved toward the door. Predictably, he went to open it for her, a gentleman to the bitter end.
“Thank you,” she choked, her eyes averted.
“Are you certain that Duke Wright will hire you?” he asked abruptly.
She didn’t even look at him. “What do you care, Mr. Kemp?” she asked in a dull, miserable tone. “I’m out of your hair.”
She walked toward her car with her heart around her ankles. Behind her, a tall man stood watching, brooding, as she walked out of his life.
She’d forgotten the cake. She’d promised to drop it by the Hart ranch for Tess, but it was still sitting in Kemp’s office. She no longer had a key, and she’d rather have died than phoned him to let her in to get the cake. He’d think it was a ruse, so that she could see him again.
She stopped by the bakery instead and got another cake. Luckily for her, Tess didn’t want a message on it, just the cake. She stopped by the Hart ranch property at Tess and Cag’s enormous house and handed it off to their housekeeper, with a beaming smile that never reached her eyes. Then she went home.
Her mother was lying on the sofa, watching the last of her soap operas. “Hello, sweetheart,” she said, smiling. “Did you have a nice day?”
“Very nice,” Violet lied, smiling back. “How about you?”
“I’ve done very well. I made supper!”
“Mama, you aren’t supposed to exert yourself,” Violet protested, gritting her teeth.
“Cooking isn’t exertion. I do love it so,” the older woman replied, her blue eyes that were so like Violet’s sparkling with pleasure. Her hair was silver now, short and wavy. She lay on the sofa in an old gown and housecoat, her feet in socks. Nights were still chilly, even though it was April.
“Want to eat in here on trays?” Violet offered.
“That would be lovely. We can watch the news.”
Violet grimaced. “Not the news,” she groaned. “Something pleasant!”
“Then what would you like to watch? We’ve got lots of DVDs,” her mother added.
Violet named a comedy about a crocodile who ate people living around a lake.
Her mother gave her an odd look. “My, my. Usually when you want to watch that one, you’ve had an argument with Mr. Kemp.” She was fishing.
Violet cleared her throat. “We did have a little tiff,” she confessed, not daring to tell her mother that the family breadwinner was temporarily out of work.
“It will all blow over,” Mrs. Hardy promised. “He’s a difficult man, I imagine, but he’s been very kind to us. Why, when I had to go to the hospital last time, he drove you there and even sat with you until they got me over the crisis.”
“Yes, I know,” Violet replied, without adding that Mr. Kemp would do that for anybody. It didn’t mean anything, except that he had a kind heart.
“And then there was that huge basket of fruit he sent us at Christmas.” The older woman was still talking.
Violet was on her way to her bedroom to change into jeans and a sweatshirt. She wondered how she was going to get another job without naming Mr. Kemp as a reference. He might give her one. She just hated having to ask him to. She’d told her co-workers, and Kemp, that she was going to work for Duke Wright, but it had been a lie to save face.
“Going to the gym tonight?” her mother asked when she reappeared and rifled through the DVD stack for the movie she wanted.
“Not tonight,” Violet replied with a smile. Maybe never again, she was thinking. What use was it to revamp herself when she’d never see Mr. Kemp again, anyway?
Later, she cried herself to sleep, hating her own show of weakness. Fortunately, nobody else would see it. By dawn, she was up and dressed, her makeup on, her resolve firm. She was going to get a new job. She had skills. She was a hard worker. She would be an asset to any prospective employer. She told herself these things firmly, because her ego was badly hurt. She’d show Mr. Kemp. She could get a job anywhere!
Actually, that wasn’t quite the case. Jacobsville was a small town. There weren’t that many office jobs available, because most people lucky enough to get them worked in the same place until they retired.
There was one hope. Duke Wright, a local rancher who had a real verbal war going with Mr. Kemp, couldn’t keep a secretary. He was hard, cold, and demanding. At least one secretary had left his employment in tears. His wife had left him, along with their young son, and filed for divorce. He consistently refused to sign the final papers, which had led to a furious confrontation between himself and Blake Kemp. The fistfight escalated until Chief of Police Cash Grier had to step in and break it up. Duke threw a punch at Cash, missed the chief and landed in jail. There was certainly no love lost between Duke Wright and Blake Kemp.
With that idea in mind, and gathering up her courage, she phoned him from home the next morning while her mother was still asleep.
His deep voice was easily recognizable the instant he spoke.
“Mr.…Mr. Wright? It’s Violet Hardy,” she stammered.
There was a surprised pause. “Yes, Miss Hardy?” he replied.
“I was wondering if you needed any secretarial help right now,” she blurted out, embarrassed almost to tears just to ask the question.
There was another pause and then a chuckle. “Have you and Kemp parted ways?” he asked at once.
She felt her cheeks redden. “In fact, yes, we have,” she said flatly. “I quit.”
“Great!”
“Ex-excuse me?” she stammered, surprised.
“I can’t get a secretary who doesn’t see me as a matrimonial prospect,” he told her.
“I certainly won’t,” she replied without thinking. “Uh, sorry!”
“Don’t apologize. How soon can you get out here?”
“Fifteen minutes,” she said brightly.
“You’re hired. Come in right away. Be sure and tell Kemp who you’re working for, will you?” he added. “It would make my day!”
She laughed. “Yes, sir. And thank you very much! I’ll work hard, I’ll do overtime, anything you want! Well, within reason.”
“No need to worry, I’m off women for life,” he said in a rough tone. “See you soon, Violet.”
He hung up before she could reply. She had a job! She didn’t have to tell her mother she was out of work and they wouldn’t be able to afford rent payments and her car payment and food. It was such a relief that she sat staring at the phone blankly until she remembered that she had to go to work.
“I’ll be home just after five, Mama,” she told her mother gently, bending to kiss her forehead. It felt clammy. She frowned, standing erect. “Are you okay?”
Her mother opened pale blue eyes and managed a smile. “Just a little headache, darling, certainly nothing to worry about. I’d tell you. Honest.”
Violet relaxed, but only a little. She loved her mother. Mrs. Hardy was the only person in the whole world who loved her. She had frequent unspoken terrors about losing her. It was scary.
“I’m okay!” her mother emphasized.
“You stay in bed today and don’t get up and start trying to do cordon bleu in the kitchen. Okay?”
Mrs. Hardy reached out and caught Violet’s hand. “I don’t want to be a burden on you, darling,” she said softly. “That was never what I intended.”
“You can’t help having a bad heart,” she insisted.
“I wish I could. Your father might still be alive, if he hadn’t been forced to…to go to another woman…for—” She broke off, tears brightening her eyes.
“Mama, you can’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t help,” Violet told her, privately thinking that if she’d been married to the same man for twenty-five years and he had a stroke, she certainly wouldn’t be running around on him while he was fighting just to stay alive. Her father hadn’t really loved her mother, and it showed to everybody except Mrs. Hardy. The older woman was forever doing things to help other people. Until her illness, she’d always been active in the community, baking for fund-raising sales, working in her church group, taking food to bereaved families—anything she could do. Her father, a very successful Certified Public Accountant, went to work and came home and watched television. He had no sense of compassion. In fact, his mind was forever on himself, and what he needed. He and Violet had never been close, although he hadn’t been a bad father, in his way.
But she couldn’t say all that to her mother. Instead she bent and kissed her mother’s temple again. “I love you. It’s no burden to take care of you. And I mean that,” she added, smiling.
“You tell that Mr. Kemp that I’m very proud he gave you the job. I don’t know what we’d have done…”
Violet sat down beside her mother. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”
“You’re getting married?” the older woman asked hopefully, with bright eyes and a smile. “He’s finally realized you’re in love with him?!”
“He’s realized it,” Violet said, tight-lipped. “And he said I’d get over it quicker if I was working for somebody else.”
Her mother’s jaw fell. “And he seemed like such a nice man!” she exclaimed.
She held the other woman’s hand hard. “I’ve got a new job,” she said at once, before her mother could start worrying. “I’m going to start this morning.” She smiled. “It’s going to be great!”
“Start where? Working for whom?”
“Duke Wright.”
Her mother’s thin eyebrows arched and a twinkle came into her eyes. “He doesn’t like Mr. Kemp.”
“And vice versa,” Violet stated firmly. “It will pay just as well as Mr. Kemp did,” she added, mentally crossing her fingers, “and he won’t complain about how I make coffee.”
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Hardy asked.
Violet cleared her throat. “Never mind, Mama. It’s going to be fine. I like Mr. Wright.”
Mrs. Hardy pressed her hand again. “If you say so. I’m sorry, darling. I know how you feel about Mr. Kemp.”
“Since he doesn’t feel the same way, it’s for the best if I don’t go on working there and eating my heart out over him,” Violet said realistically. “I daresay I’ll find other company, someone who doesn’t think I’m too fat…” She stopped at once and flushed.
Her mother looked furious. “You are not fat! I can’t believe Mr. Kemp had the audacity to say something like that to you!”
“He didn’t,” Violet replied at once. “He just…insinuated it.” She sighed. “He’s right. I am fat. But I’m trying so hard to lose weight!”
Her mother held her hand tighter. “Listen to me, darling,” she said softly. “A man who really cares about you isn’t going to dwell on what he considers faults. Your father used that same argument to me,” she added unexpectedly. “He actually said that he went to that other woman because she was slender and well-groomed.”
“He…did?”
She grimaced. “I should have told you. Your father never loved me, Violet. He was in love with my best friend and she married somebody else. He married me to get even with her. He wanted a divorce two months later, but I was pregnant with you, and in those days, people really gossiped about men who walked out on a pregnant wife. So we stayed together and tried to make a home for you. Looking back,” she said wearily, lying back down on her pillows, “perhaps I made a mistake. You don’t know what a good marriage is, do you? Your father and I hardly ever did anything together, even when you were little.”
Violet pushed back her mother’s disheveled hair. “I love you very much,” she told her parent. “I think you’re wonderful. So do a lot of other people. It was my father’s loss if he couldn’t see how special you were.”
“At least I have you” came the soft reply, with a smile. “I love you, too, darling.”
Violet fought tears. “Now I really have to go,” she said. “I can’t afford to lose my new job before I start it!”
Her mother laughed. “You be careful!”
“I’ll drive under the speed limit,” she promised.
“Mr. Wright isn’t married now, is he?” Mrs. Hardy wondered.
“Yes, he is. He refused to sign the final divorce papers.” She laughed. “That’s why he had the fight with Mr. Kemp.”
“Is it spite, do you think, or does he still love her?”
“Everybody thinks he still loves her, but she’s making a fortune working as a lawyer in New York City and she doesn’t want to come back here.”
“They have a little boy. Doesn’t she think his father has any right to see the child?”
“They’re still arguing about custody.”
“What a pity.”
“People should think hard about having children,” Violet said with conviction, “and they shouldn’t ever be accidents.”
“That’s just what I’ve always said,” Mrs. Hardy replied. “Have a good day, darling.”
“You, too. The phone’s right here and I’m going to write down Mr. Wright’s number in case you need me.” She penciled it on the pad next to the phone, smiled, and went to get her purse.
Duke Wright lived in a huge white Victorian house. Local gossip said that his wife had wanted it since she was a child, living in a poor section of Jacobsville. She’d married Duke right out of high school and started to college after the honeymoon was over. College had opened a new world to her eyes. She’d decided to study law, and Duke stood by and let her have her way, sure that she’d never want to leave Jacobsville. But she got a taste of city life when she went on to law school in San Antonio, and she decided to work in a law firm there.
Nobody understood exactly why they decided to have a child in her first year as a practicing estate lawyer. She didn’t seem happy about it, although she had the child. But a live-in nurse had to be employed because Mrs. Wright spent more and more time at the office. Then, two years ago, she’d been offered a position in a well-known law firm in New York City and she’d jumped at the chance. Duke had argued, cajoled, threatened, to try to get her to turn it down. Nothing worked. In a fit of rage, she moved out, with their son, and filed for divorce. Duke had fought it tooth and nail. Just this month, she’d presented him with divorce papers, demanding his signature, which also required him to remit full custody of his five-year-old son to her. He’d gone wild.
To look at him, though, Violet thought, he seemed very self-possessed and confident. He was tall and bronzed with a strong face, square chin, deep-set dark eyes and blondish-brown hair which he wore conventionally cut. He had the physique of a rodeo star, which he’d been before his father’s untimely death and his switch from cowboy to cattle baron. He ran purebred red angus cattle, well-known in cattle circles for their pedigree. He had all the scientific equipment necessary for a prosperous operation, including high-tech methods of genetic breeding, artificial insemination, embryo transplantation, cross-breeding for leanness, low birth weight and daily weight gain ratio, as well as expert feed formulation. He had the most modern sort of operation, right down to lagoon management and forage improvement. He had the most modern computers money could buy, and customized software to keep up with his cattle. But his newest operation was organic ham and bacon that he raised on his ranch and marketed over the Internet.
Violet was staggered at the high-tech equipment in the office he maintained on his sprawling ranch outside town.
“Intimidated?” he drawled, smiling. “Don’t worry. It’s easier to use than it looks.”
“Can you operate it all?” she asked, surprised.
He shrugged. “With the average duration of secretarial assistance around here, I have to be able to do things myself,” he said heavily. He gave her a long look and stuck his lean hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Violet, I’m not an easy boss,” he confessed. “I have moods and rages, and sometimes I blow up when things upset me. You’ll need nerves of steel to last long here. So I won’t blame you if you have reservations.”
Her eyebrows arched. “I worked for Blake Kemp for over a year.”
He chuckled, understanding her very well. “They say he’s worse than me,” he agreed. “Okay. If you’re game, we’ll give it two weeks. After that, you can decide if it’s worth the money. That’s another thing,” he added, smiling. “I pay better than Kemp.” He named a figure that made Violet look shocked. He nodded. “That’s to make it worth the aggravation. Come on, and I’ll show you around the equipment.”
It was fascinating. She’d never seen anything like the tangle of spreadsheets and software that ran his empire. Even the feed was mixed by computer.
“Not that you’ll have to concern yourself with the organic pork operation,” he added quickly. “I have three employees who do nothing except that. But these figures—” he indicated the spreadsheet “—are urgent. They have to be maintained on a daily basis.”
“All of them?” she exclaimed, seeing hours and hours of overtime in statistics before her.
“Not by hand,” he replied. “All the cowboys are computer literate, even the old-timers. They feed the information into handheld computers and send it to the mainframe by internal modem, right from the pastures,” he told her.
She just shook her head. “It’s incredible,” she replied. “I hope I’m smart enough to learn all this, Mr. Wright.”
He smiled approvingly. “There’s nothing I appreciate more than modesty, Miss Hardy,” he replied. “You’ll do fine. Ready to get started?” “Yes, sir!” she replied.
It was a short day, mainly because she was so busy trying to learn the basics of Duke Wright’s agricultural programs. She liked him. He might have a bad reputation, and she knew he could be hard to get along with, but he had saving graces.
She managed not to think about Mr. Kemp all afternoon, until she got home.
Her mother smiled at her from the sofa, where she was watching her daily soap operas. “Well, how did it go?” she asked.
“I like it!” Violet told her with a big smile. “I really do. I think I’m going to work out just fine. And, besides that, I’m going to be making a lot more money. Mama, we might even be able to afford a dishwasher!”
Mrs. Hardy sighed. “That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?”
Violet kicked off her shoes and sat down in the recliner next to the sofa. “I’m so tired! I’m just going to rest for a minute and then I’ll see about supper.”
“We could have chili and hot dogs.”
Violet chuckled. “We could have a nice salad and bread sticks,” she said, thinking of the calories.
“Whatever you like, dear. Oh, by the way, Mr. Kemp came by a few minutes ago.”
Violet’s world came crashing down around her ears. She’d hoped to not even hear his name, at least for another few days.
“What did he want?” she asked her mother.
The older woman picked up a white envelope. “To give you this.” She handed it to Violet, who sat staring at it.
“Well,” she murmured. “I guess it’s my final pay.”
Mrs. Hardy muted the television set. “Why not open it and see?”
Violet didn’t want to, but her mother looked expectant. She tore open the envelope and extracted a check and a letter. With her breath in her throat, she slowly unfolded it.
