SAMPLE THE STORY BY READING CHAPTER ONE

Judy Hunter sat with her knees close together under the plain black A-line, her hands clasping the small black handbag nervously. Her long brown hair was gathered severely against her head, fashioned into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore owl glasses, dark-rimmed, that gave her the appearance of a prim old maid. From time to time she ran the tip of her tongue about her lips as her eyes took in her surroundings.

The walls were of wood, darkly stained, with here and there an oil painting to relieve their monotony. Above the paintings, tiny electric bulbs brought out the color of those pictures, their richness. A heavily upholstered leather divan was set against the far wall. End tables held twin Girard lamps, dimly glowing. Other chairs were scattered about in this reception room, of which she was the only occupant, saving the receptionist herself, a pretty blond with vivid coloring and clad in a shirt and sweater ensemble of pale blue. The blond girl ignored her, busily typing.

She was here on a legal matter; the letter in her handbag, which she had read a dozen times, assured her that it was to her advantage to come to the law offices of Parker, Perkins, Miller and Frentrup. Her Uncle Walter had died and left her his sole legatee, on a condition.

She remembered her uncle very well. She had not seen him for several years, he had lived in New Hampshire, had been retired a long time, and certainly had little enough to bequeath to her. The house, of course, and the land around it, and the letter had mentioned something about a bookstore; certainly, nothing else.

His pension and Social Security payments would have stopped on his death. Beyond this, he had nothing else.

Still, the sale of the house and its land, plus the bookstore, should net her a nice amount in these days of high real-estate values. And she could use any help she could get; the pay of a librarian wasn’t all that wonderful. She did not let herself think of anything beyond this. It was inconceivable that Uncle Walter had been a rich man.

Judy sighed, knowing a stab of pain and grief deep inside her. If only Bill had lived, instead of drowning in that accident off Block Island. They could have been married, with this inheritance. Always they had held off, for one reason or another. Although they had been unofficially engaged, Bill had never given her a ring; he claimed he wanted it to be a big diamond, and he could not afford such luxury.

Dear Bill, with his gray eyes that could melt so tenderly or blaze with anger, so sloppy in his casual clothes. They had been so much in love! She thought of the little dinners they had had in her place or his, the bottles of wine they had shared, the candles lighted for a more romantic setting. Strange, though. He had never so much as kissed her as she felt a woman should be kissed by the man who loved her. Always it had been on the cheek, or a mere peck on the lips. “When we’re married,” he had said, “it will be different; it isn’t fair to either of us, now.”

He had been so thoughtful. So dear, so sweet

Why, there was the time when...

“Miss Hunter.”

... when it had been snowing so hard and she had begged him to stay overnight at her tiny apartment— he could sleep on the divan, she would make it up for him—and he had refused, saying that it would be better if he went home, snow or not, and...

“Miss Hunter! Miss Hunter!”

The blond girl was standing before her, smiling

down at Her, though with a touch of impatience in her eyes. Judy started, jumped to her feet.

“I—I’m sorry. I was—”

“Daydreaming. Yes, I know. Mr. Miller will see you now, if you’re ready.”

“Of course.”

She went behind the receptionist through a heavy oak door and along a narrow hall where doors opened onto small offices in which girls were busily typing. There was a faint hush in these offices; other than for the clicking of typewriter keys, there was no sound. The shag carpeting that had been in the reception room was continued here along this hallway, where their footfalls made no sound.

The blond turned to the right. The offices here, Judy saw, were larger and more luxuriously furnished than those others, and men were sitting behind desks, reading from law books or dictating to secretaries. A particularly large room, wood paneled, was shelved from floor to ceiling and filled with books. The law library. Two young men sat at a long table, dozens of books piled about them as they scribbled unceasingly.

The blond went through a doorway. “This is Miss Hunter, sir.”

Judy found herself staring at a gray-haired man with horn-rimmed glasses, somewhere in his middle fifties. He rose to his feet and smiled at her, coming around the edge of his desk with hand outstretched. He wore a gray flannel suit, with striped tie and white shirt. Did all lawyers dress this drably? she wondered as she took his hand. But his smile was genuine as he welcomed her and gestured her to a chair.

“I must apologize for the delay, Miss Hunter. I’ve just received a phone call from Dave Carnegie. He’ll be right over.”

Judy stared. “Who’s Dave Carnegie?”

The older man smiled. “He’s mentioned in your uncle’s will.” A troubled look touched his face as he frowned very faintly. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t know him?”

She shook her head. “I’m not trying to tell you, Mr. Miller, I am telling you. I’ve never heard of the man in my life.”

Judy hesitated. David Carnegie, David Carnegie. Somewhere, recently, she had heard that name, or seen it But where? She racked her brain, trying to remember. What was it about that name that had made such an impression on her? She could not recall. Still, she was perfectly sure she had never met or even seen this David Carnegie.

Mr. Miller sat down. He pursed his lips and shook his head slowly back and forth. “I’m surprised at this development, I must admit. I was under the impression you knew David. Though to be sure, he didn’t say as much when we last spoke.”

Judy drew a deep breath, her hands unconsciously tightening on her handbag. “I always thought that lawyers spoke clearly and lucidly, Mr. Miller. I must say you’re not doing this at all. Or perhaps it’s my own stupidity. But I’m not following you, not at all.”

He laughed, then sobered. “I can’t say I blame you. Lawyers don’t always speak as lucidly as you seem to think, Miss Hunter. They talk gobbledygook quite often, sometimes even as a matter of course. However, I’ll endeavor to clear up this difficulty just as soon as possible.

“It involves your uncle’s will, first of all. In it, he—” He broke off as a knock sounded on the door.

The blond girl came in ahead of a tall man with tawny hair, wide shoulders, and dressed in a bold plaid suit with green vest, striped shirt, and solid green tie. He had an outdoorsy look about him, with his heavily tanned skin, and the look of faraway places in his blue eyes. He walked like an athlete, Judy thought.

Dave Carnegie? The man she ought to know and didn’t?

He crossed the room and leaned over the desk;

shaking the older man’s hand. Then he turned to Judy where she sat with stiff back, eyes wide behind her owl glasses.

“So you’re Judy Hunter,” he said softly, and smiled, showing very white teeth.

“And you’re this mysterious Dave Carnegie.”

He chuckled. “I’m not as mysterious as all that.”

The older man interrupted. “What Miss Hunter is saying is that she’s never met you, doesn’t know who you are. It presents a difficulty, Dave.”

Dave never took his eyes off her as he said, “No difficulty at all, Jim. Introduce us. Then she’ll know me and I’ll know her.”

Mr. Miller said, “Miss Hunter, this is Mr. Carnegie. Mr. Carnegie, meet Miss Hunter. Dave, Judy.”

Judy extended her hand. “Glad to know you,” she said.

There was laughter in his blue eyes. “You’re not glad at all,” he accused. “And I can’t say I blame you. You don’t know the first thing about me. But I am glad to meet you. Very glad. Because I know something about you.”

He turned, sat down in an easy chair that matched the one where Judy sat, and extended his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. For some reason she could not put a finger on, Judy resented his easy airs, his attitude of being completely at ease. She scowled at him, then turned away to look at James Miller.

“You sent me a letter asking me to come here to listen to my uncle’s will, Mr. Miller. I gather that Mr. Carnegie plays a part in it. May I learn at long last what part that is?”

“Well spoken, Miss Hunter,” agreed Dave Carnegie. “So let’s get to the nitty-gritty, Jim. Bring out the will and let’s hear it.”

Judy arched her eyebrows. “You sound as though you know the will and its contents, Mr. Carnegie.”

He looked surprised. “But of course I do. I read a copy of it years ago.”

She stared at him blankly. Resentment surged inside her, so that she was forced to increase her grip on her handbag to keep from snapping at him. She would not see this arrogant young man after today—at least, she hoped not!—so she could well afford to be patient with him until she had heard just what it was her Uncle Walter had left her.

“Then I'm the only one in the dark,” she said. Her eyes went from Dave Carnegie to the older man, who sat watching them both with the chagrin clear to see on his face.

“The will, Jim,” Dave said gently.

“Ah, yes. Of course.”

He opened a folder, drew out a will-back to which were stapled two sheets of typewritten legal paper. Judy saw the fancily scrolled Last Will and Testament on the will-back, and typewritten words beneath it.

James Miller began to read: “Know all men by these presents that I, Walter Kenneth Hunter, of the town of Morstead, County of Cheshire and State of New Hampshire, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, do make, publish and declare this to be my last will and testament, hereby revoking all wills by me at any time heretofore made.

“First, I direct my executor hereinafter named to pay all my funeral expenses, administration expenses of my estate, including inheritance and succession taxes, state or federal, which may be occasioned by the passage of or succession to any interest in my estate under the terms of this instrument, and all my just debts.

“Second, All the rest, residue and remainder of my estate, both real and personal, of whatsoever kind and character and wheresoever situated, I give, devise and bequeath to my beloved niece, Judith Ellen Hunter, to be hers absolutely and forever, upon the condition that she marry David Morgan Carnegie, the son of my very dear friend, Septimus Carnegie.

“Third—”

Judy leaped to her feet, staring from the lawyer to

David Carnegie where he sat relaxed and at ease in the leather easy chair. She opened her mouth, then closed it.

After a single glance at her angry face, the lawyer went on. “Third, in the event that my niece Judith Ellen Hunter refuse to marry the aforementioned David Morgan Carnegie, or in the event that she predecease me, then and in that event, I give, devise and bequeath all my property, both real and personal, to any charity designated by my executor.

“Fourth, in the event that David Morgan Carnegie predecease my niece, Judith Ellen Hunter, before this marriage takes place, I hereby give, devise and bequeath all my property, both real and personal, to my niece Judith Ellen Hunter, to be hers absolutely and forever.

“Fifth, I hereby appoint my lawyer and great personal friend, James Miller, to be Executor of this my last will and testament, and I direct that he shall not be required to post bond.

“In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and seal et cetera, et cetera.”

And Judy exploded. “This is the most ridiculous thing I—I’ve ever heard of! My uncle must have been out of his mind! Why, I never laid eyes on this—this man,” and here her hand waved wildly at the smiling David Carnegie, “before today. It’s absolutely unthinkable!”

“You can contest the probate, of course,” Dave said gently. “Though I don’t think you’d get very far. The condition doesn’t violate any provisions of the Constitution, nor any local laws. Nor is the condition against any public policy.”

His smile infuriated her. “I don’t say it does any of those things, but I absolutely refuse to marry you. That’s final. If I don’t get my uncle’s property, I’m not really out anything. I never expected him to leave me anything, anyhow.” .

“That’s stupid,” Dave said.

Her Hands balled into fists. She wanted to hurl herself at him, to wipe that confident smile off his lips with a well-directed slap or blow. She fought down her anger, though her face was flushed and her eyes blazed furiously.

“St-stupid, am I?”

“I didn’t say you were stupid. I was talking about your attitude.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Plenty. You can change your attitude.”

“Well, I don’t intend to.”

The older man was making distressed sounds, rising to his feet and waving his hands at them placatingly. “Please, please. I must insist on more quiet. We can discuss this in a reasonable manner, I feel certain.”

“I can,” Dave said.

Judy snarled, “Oh, can you? Well, I can be just as easygoing as you, David Morgan Carnegie.”

She sat down and crossed her legs. His eyes went to her legs; her skirt was up but she refused to pluck at it Let him look, if he wanted. Little good it was going to do him. She even managed to plaster a smile on her lips.

“Now then,” she stated firmly. “Is such a condition valid?”

“It has been held so,” Miller told her. “It’s a conditional will, of course, but the fact that a testator— someone who makes a will—intends a condition to take effect before disposing of his property has been upheld by our law courts. I refer you to the case of Barber versus Barber. Also, any condition calculated to induce a beneficiary to marry a certain person has been held not against public policy. I refer you here to the case of In re Liberman. This is New York law.”

Judy was sobered, but she nodded.

“Very well, then. I can’t fight the will. And I won’t marry this—this fortune hunter! So I might as well go home.”

Her lips quivered. She had not expected to inherit anything from Uncle Walter, but to learn that her only relative would impose such a contingency on her was unbearable. The fact that Dave Carnegie was smiling at her in very friendly fashion didn’t add to her peace of mind.

Dave said softly, “May I make a suggestion?”

She glowered at him. “What sort of suggestion?”

“Why don’t we go down' to the coffee shop and have a cup or two? Talk a little.” He held up his hand as she opened her mouth. “In a friendly way, I mean. With no screaming, no insults, no losing of our tempers.”

Oooooh! He was the most irritating, irrational man she had ever known. If he expected her to fall into his arms after he soft-soaped her, he had another think coming! He was probably out to get her inheritance, share in it.

“Just coffee, and maybe a cigarette or two, and talk,” he went on, very gently. “I know this has been a shock to you. I’m sorry about that. But I didn’t write your uncle’s will.”.

She had to give him that, Judy reflected, she must try to be fair about all this. Drat Uncle Walter! What had the man been thinking of, to put her in such a position? But she would not cry. She refused to let the tears come, to take refuge behind them, as she was sure this fortune hunter expected.

She said, “I suppose we could do that.”

“Good. There’s no reason why we can’t talk this over, just the two of us.”

“It won’t do you any good,” she snapped.

His hand waved her remark aside. “Of course not But try it. What do you have to lose?”

“All right, all right. I could use a cigarette and a cup of coffee right now.”

“The treat’s on me.” He smiled.

“Oh, no. It’s Dutch treat.”

He shrugged and turned to Miller, who was watching them with his distress easy to read in his face.

His hand was toying with the will, lifting it and shifting it about on the desktop as though it were really the hot potato it seemed to be.

“Back in an hour, Jim? That OK?”

“Fine, fine. I have a bill of particulars to dictate, anyhow. It’ll keep me busy.” The older man looked at Judy. “We are your friends, my dear. Nobody is trying to rob you, or put one over on you. I’ve known your uncle a long time; he was a hardheaded businessman. I am sure he had a good reason for putting that condition in his will.”

“Did he? I can’t think of any.”

Dave put his hand on her elbow, turning her gently. “Let’s go get that coffee. And maybe a cheese Danish.” His mention of the pastry reminded Judy that she had not eaten breakfast today, she had been too anxious to get to these law offices and learn about that condition in Uncle Walter’s will. Well, now she knew. And the man beside her, who was holding her elbow so gently as they strolled along the hall floor toward the elevator, was the cause of all her troubles.

Resentfully, she drew her arm from his clasp and walked beside him without so much as a glance in his direction. If it hadn’t been for this—this David Carnegie, she would be an heiress in her own right. Not that she would inherit a vast fortune—that house in New Hampshire and the bookstore weren’t worth very much. Still!

“Hey,” he said.

Startled, she turned and met his blue eyes, seeing the smile and the friendliness in them. “There’s no need to treat me like a pariah,” he told her, “I’m not your enemy. On the contrary. Why don’t you pretend we’ve just met, that I'm a customer at your library, or whatever it is you call the people who come to ask your advice? You wouldn’t carry a chip on your shoulder where they’re concerned, would you?”

She found that she was smiling. She could hardly help but smile, he seemed so perturbed by her attitude.

Judy discovered that she liked his sort of craggy face with its outdoors tan and the manner in which his tawny hair framed it. His lips were rather wide—didn’t that indicate a generous nature?—and pleasant enough.

Her hand came up to touch her glasses, adjust them.

She blurted out, “You must think I’m some kind of nut.”

“I think you’re a very nice young lady who’s had something of a shock.”

“I’m not nice at all. I’ve been absolutely horrible!”

“Hey, now. Let’s not quarrel about that.”

How he did it, she wasn’t quite sure, but he had both of her hands in his, and was holding them. For another reason she couldn’t understand, her heart started thumping and her knees felt suddenly weak. But this was ridiculous. In another moment, she’d be blubbering on his shoulder.

She almost pulled away, but restrained the impulse. None of this was his fault; in a way he was only trying to help her out. I must stop acting like a spoiled brat, she scolded herself.

Aloud she murmured, “We won’t quarrel. I'm not blaming you for any of this. It’s all my uncle’s fault.”

He nodded. “That’s better. Friends?”

“Friends.”

They waited for the elevator in a cloud of unease. At least, she felt uneasy, though he seemed to be relaxed and comfortable.

David asked, “Do you like your work at the library?”

“Well enough. It’s a job, and a good one. I'm a great reader, and it’s a friendly place to be.”

She chattered on about the books, the readers, the people who came into the library. She told him about one retired man whom she had come to know who had read every book in the library at least once, and was on the second go-round.

“The fiction books, that is. I'm sure he doesn’t delve into psychology and higher mathematics.”

By the time they were moving into the coffee shop, she felt very much more relaxed. She could laugh with him, even argue about some trades the Mets had made. He stood while she slid onto the booth seat, then sat across from her. When a waitress came with the menus, he waved them away and ordered two cheese Danish and two cups of coffee.

“Is that all right?” he asked.

“Of course. I think a cheese Danish would hit the spot right about now.”

David talked about inconsequential things, the break in the weather, the prospect of a few sunny days after all the early summer rain, the possibility that oil prices might go up, and the latest bestseller on The New York Times book list.

When the cheese Danish came, Judy bit into it with gusto. It was fresh, delicious. And the coffee tasted super. I ought not to be enjoying this so much, she reflected. This man across from me who makes me feel so comfortable is just after whatever money Uncle Walter left me.

Glumly she reflected that the only way she could get that money—if there was any—was by marrying him. This she was not about to do.

“Another coffee?” he asked, reaching into a jacket pocket for cigarettes.

He offered her one, lighted it for her.

Then he said, “You’d be very silly not to marry me, you know.” He held up his hand to forestall the burst of indignation that was shaping itself in her throat. “Wait, wait. Don’t put that chip back on your shoulder. Just hear me out.”

He smiled with his eyes as well as his lips, she noted. He was really a lot better looking than Bill had been. Poor Bill! She shivered, thinking on the manner of his death in Long Island Sound, how he must have struggled before going down. Tears came into her eyes.

“Hey, now. Don’t cry, either. I’m not all that bad.”

“It isn’t you,” she whispered.

“Love somebody else, do you?” His face became grave. “Ouch. I never thought of that angle. Stupid of me. A pretty girl like you, I should have known.”

She shook her head, forcing herself to be calm. “There isn’t anybody else. There was, but he’s dead. And I’m not at all pretty.”

Judy found herself telling him about Bill Evans, how they had met in the library when she first came to work there, how they had gone out to dinner and the movies, how an affection had grown between them.

“He wanted to marry me, but kept putting it off because he didn’t have enough money. He wanted to get me a ring, but he claimed he couldn’t afford it But we were engaged. Unofficially, that is.”

She was surprised to find herself saying this last bit of information almost defiantly, as though she didn’t expect him to believe her. David Carnegie listened quietly, nodding sympathetically from time to time. His grave face encouraged her confidence, she found, and when she was done, he put his hand out to clasp hers.

“I’m sorry. No wonder you were disturbed when you learned about that condition in your uncle’s will. Right now, nobody could replace your Bill. It was silly of me even to think of helping you.”

Judy opened her eyes wide. “Helping me?”

“Well, of course. You can’t get that inheritance without marrying me. I’m heart-free, always have been. I thought I’d be doing you a good turn.”

She was speechless. “A good turn,” she repeated. “Wrong words, I can see that.” He grinned. “How would you put it, then?”

“You’re a fortune hunter,” she exclaimed.

He sat up straighter, his smile fading. Anger touched his cheeks with a flush. Then he exhaled slowly, tilted his head sideways, and said, “So that’s what’s been eating at you.”

He lighted another cigarette after offering Judy one, which she refused. He ordered another cup of coffee. Then David said, “Look. There are agreements we can enter into, whereby I relinquish all right to your money, while you’re alive. I’m not sure whether I can relinquish all right to share in your estate should you die; I know you can’t do it in New York. The surviving spouse gets it all—unless there are children, who get two-thirds and the spouse one-third—if you should die without making a will. I suppose New Hampshire law is something like that. Anyhow, that needn’t bother you, if you don’t intend to live in New Hampshire.”

“It certainly won’t bother me, because I don’t intend to marry you.”

David shook his head. “Why cut off your nose to spite your face, girl?” He lifted his hand, held it palm up, facing her indignant face. “Will you relax? You’re a regular firecracker.

“Just listen to me a moment. You stand to inherit about thirty to fifty thousand dollars, as nearly as I can make out.”

Judy said between her teeth, “So you checked up on the house and the bookstore? You know their value?” David sighed. “I did some investigation for you.” A mote of laughter came into his eyes. “After all, I felt I was doing it for my wife-to-be.”

Judy scowled, but when she met those blue eyes with her own brown ones, she found she was beginning to giggle. If he were a rogue, he was a lighthearted one. She sighed and waved her hands.

“All right, all right. You did it for me.”

“The house and grounds are worth maybe forty or forty-five thousand dollars, if you can find the right purchaser. The house is old but well-built, and there are about a hundred acres or so of good farmland.” He made a face. “If you can get five thousand for the bookstore, grab it. It isn’t worth that much, even.”

Judy frowned thoughtfully. “I hadn’t known Uncle Walter owned a bookstore. He didn’t, last time I was up to spend a few days with him. The only bookstore I knew about was called—what was it now? The Bookend, or some such thing. It was run by some old man who went about clad in rags, or so it seemed.”

“That’s the one. The Book Ends.”

“And my uncle owned it?”

“The old man who owned it left it to him in his will. It’s all legal and aboveboard.”

Judy murmured, “Fifty thousand dollars.”

“It isn’t any fortune, but properly invested in bonds or even a well-paying stock it could bring you in an income of about four thousand a year. Isn’t that worth some annoyance?” The laughter was in his eyes again. July exclaimed, “But marriage! I—I just couldn’t.”

“It would be only a legal ceremony, over in a few minutes. Then you can go your way and I’ll go mine.”

She stared at him. Again, indignation flared in her. She found herself exclaiming, “Isn’t anything sacred to you? But of course not! You’re a huckster, that’s all. Say ‘I do’ before a justice of the peace and have done with it.”

Very gently, he said, “I’m not getting a penny out of all this, remember. I’ll draw up a disclaimer and sign it for you. You can put it, together with the marriage license, in tissue paper and forget all about me.”

His hand stopped the words she was framing in her mind. “Wouldn’t an arrangement like that be worth fifty thousand dollars to you? After all, you aren’t rich. You could use that money.”

“I suppose you investigated me, along with the property?” she asked, the words like icicles dripping from her lips.

David shrugged. “I looked you up, I visited the library where you worked. I saw you were reasonably attractive.”

“Oh! The nerve, the utter gall of—”

“I also did a little checking up on your financial status,” he went on, ignoring her outburst, “and found that your salary and two thousand dollars in the bank are about the sum total of your worldly wealth.”

Judy could only stare at him. I am beyond words, she told herself. She was flushed with anger, her cheeks were burning, but she counseled restraint, even as every atom of her body told her to leap to her feet and march right out of the coffee shop and David Carnegie’s life.

“Well?” he asked as she sat rigid, glaring at him. “There will be no ties between us. You can keep yourself sacrosanct for your Bill. I won’t so much as put a finger on you. Unless, naturally, you decide you want your wifely privileges.”

This time she did jump up, as much as she could in the booth, and reached for her handbag. Her lips were a thin line, her eyes were brilliant with fury. David leaned back in his bench and shook his head at her.

“Too impulsive. Much too impulsive. You must be one of these women to whom money is a dirty word. I’ve heard of them but, frankly, I’ve never yet met one. Fifty thousand dollars, properly invested...His words trailed off.

Judy sat down. With all her willpower, she sought to keep emotion out of her voice. “I won’t deny that’s a lot of money. It’s a lot to me, anyhow. But marriage!”

“It’s only a legal ceremony. As a matter of fact, you can divorce me after a time—if you really want to do such a foolish thing, that is—and go your way with four thousand dollars a year added to your income. Or you could take a trip to Europe. Or buy a new car. Or—”

“I know what I could do with the money,” she exclaimed.

Her hand tightened on the handbag she still held. Very slowly she withdrew her fingers, folded her hands. She looked at him calculatingly. He was handsome enough, in that craggy way. He wore clothes well. He seemed well-to-do, but that was probably a pose. As a fortune hunter, he—but no. He said he would sign some sort of paper saying he would not claim any of her money. If he did that and all she had to do was say “I do” before a justice of the peace, for fifty thousand dollars ... well. It might not be treason to Bill Evans at all. There would be no love between them, of course. He had said as much.

“Did you really mean it?” she wondered. “About not wanting to—to act the part of husband?”

The flush was on her cheeks again. What must he think of me, in this day and age, to ask such a question in this way? He sees me as a prim little librarian, half afraid of her own shadow.

“Not even a kiss,” he said solemnly, though that lurking laughter was deep in his eyes. “We shall be like strangers.” He hesitated, then added, “Oh, there is one thing. I’m driving north tomorrow. If you’d like, I could drive you up to your farmhouse and leave you there to examine it and see a real-estate agent about selling it. And the bookstore as well.”

“You’re going to an awful lot of trouble for me," she burst out, “and I’m trying to find out the reason why.”

“The goodness of my heart. No more.”

The laughter was definitely back in his eyes, she realized, but for once she did not mind it. “I have some vacation time left. I suppose I could arrange to go up there for a few days, perhaps a week, to make those arrangements.”

“Then it’s a deal?”

Judy extended her hand slowly to clasp his. Turn it over in her mind as she would, she could see no ulterior motive behind his offer. If he meant everything he said, that is. And looking into those blue eyes, she felt assured that he did.

“Let’s go tell Jim Miller about your decision,” he said as they gripped hands. “He’s rather worried about you, you know. He wants to see you get the property your uncle left you, but he sympathizes with your predicament”

James Miller was as delighted as David had foretold. He all but danced as he came around the edge of the desk to catch Judy’s hands and hold them.

“ I’ll draw up the disclaimer myself, as your attorney,” he told Judy. “And I’ll be present as a witness at the ceremony to make sure everything goes like clockwork. You’re doing the right thing, Judy. Be assured of that.”

But am I? she asked herself glumly.

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