After the Loving. Gwynne Forster

rifle on the floor of the truck, he helped her in and fastened her seat belt, which he had installed after Tara developed a passion for riding with him in the truck. “You’re damned perfect just the way you are, and don’t dispute me.”

      She folded her hands in her lap and lowered her head. “Yes, sir, your honor.”

      Laughter felt good, and she had a way of pulling it out of him. Rolling laughter poured from him only when he was with her, as it did then. “That’s more like it,” he said, when he could get his breath.

      “Why did you bring the rifle?”

      “I prefer not to run into a bear if I’m unarmed.”

      “Oh! Could you…uh—”

      “I can, and I have. Self-preservation is the first law of nature. When you’re in the jungle, you play by the jungle’s rules.”

      At the warehouse, he knew his pride was evident when he showed her through the ultramodern storage facility, built by Harrington, Inc., Architects, Engineers and Builders.

      “What are we going to do?” she asked him.

      “Check inventory. You’re going to help me?” She nodded. “Telford pays a man to do this, but from time to time one of us double-checks. That way, we control every facet of our business. Inventory is one of our most important assets—we don’t entrust it to anyone.”

      He turned on a computer. “You sit at this desk and check the number of unopened boxes in each case against the number on this chart.” He pointed to the screen. “Each case and each box in it has a numerical indicator. Okay?”

      “Fine. What’s in them?”

      “Screws, clamps, nails, different types of fasteners.” He stacked a dozen cases beside the desk. “I’ll be back later,” he said, and went to the basement to deal with cables and girders. After what he surmised was an hour had elapsed, he looked at his watch and gasped.

      “She must think I’m crazy. I’ve been down here two hours.” He left his coat and gloves on a pile of steel rods and raced up the stairs. At the top, he stopped still. She wasn’t pouting or posturing in anger as he had expected, but was bending over a case to inspect its contents.

      “I’m sorry, Velma. I’m so used to working here alone, and I got so involved that I…I hope you’re not annoyed with me.”

      Still holding a box, she raised up and looked at him. “Why would I be annoyed? We came here to work, didn’t we? By the way, I’d love to meet the genius who posted these records.”

      “Why?”

      “’Cause every case is missing two or three boxes. I’d think you’d open a case, use all the boxes in it and then open another one.”

      He rushed to her. “That’s what we’re supposed to do. Let me see.”

      “Hmm. And that is how it looks on this spread sheet,” she said, frowning. “Somebody is dipping in the till. Big-time, too.”

      He didn’t like the sound of it. To prevent rip-offs, they built the warehouse on their own property where they could easily oversee it. And now, this. “You mind reading it off to me, beginning with PN3306?”

      “Sixty.”

      He let out a long breath. “Four missing.”

      For the next three hours, as they rechecked, anger flooded him. Someone had discovered an easy way to increase his salary, but not any longer, he vowed.

      “Every order, sealed and unsealed, in this place has to be checked. I don’t know how to thank you. You took it seriously, and look what you found. Look, I’m hungry and so are you. Let’s go.”

      “Why wouldn’t I take it seriously, Russ? It’s important to you.”

      He stared at her before shaking his head as if that would straighten out his mind. “Don’t go there, man,” he cautioned himself. To her, he said, “Thanks. I appreciate that. I’ll get my coat and gloves and be right back.”

      When he returned, she had put on her coat—another point in her favor; unlike some women he had known, she didn’t wait for him to do for her what she was capable of doing for herself, though he would happily have held her coat for her.

      “Well, what do we have here?” she asked of the snow flurries that glided down on them as they stepped out of the warehouse.

      He let his gaze roam the sky. “I don’t think we’ll get much snow.” He took out his cellular phone and punched in a number. “Henry, is Tara home?”

      “She’s here. Adam brought her home soon as it started snowing. I’m gonna take a nap, so you and Velma can make yourselves a sandwich or something. Drake’s out on that horse of his, and Tara’s playing the piano. See you at supper.”

      He drove with care, mindful of the slippery road, and how glad he was when a big brown bear ambled across the truck’s pathway.

      “Now, you know why I brought along this rifle. If I got stuck on this road, one of those babies could turn this truck over.” He let a grin circle his mouth when he looked at her. “Bear meat’s good. It is,” he added when she shivered.

      He stopped the truck at the front door, got out and went around to help her climb down. “Want my baseball cap?” he asked her, deliberately holding her longer than necessary. “Pile your hair up under it so it won’t get wet.”

      “Thanks. I’ll keep it as a souvenir.” He was about to ask, souvenir of what? when he remembered how candid she could be, so he let a smile suffice for a response.

      “I’m sorry about the problems at the warehouse, but I had a good time, and I learned a lot. Thanks for taking me along.”

      With his fingers tight around her arm, he sprinted with her to the front door, opened it and stepped inside with her. “I’m in your debt. I’m not sure I would have opened a sealed case to check its contents.”

      “Some of those that had been tampered with were sealed, and some had been opened. That’s what’s mysterious.”

      “But only temporarily.” He shifted his gaze lest he betray himself. “After I wash up, I’m going to the kitchen and see what I can find to eat. Want to meet me there in about ten minutes?”

      “Thanks, I sure will. I’m starved.”

      “I’m not surprised. See you later.”

      She hated to face him again wearing something he disliked, but what could she do about the caftan? She checked her address book, found the cellular phone number that he gave her during her visit the previous Christmas and called him.

      “Russ, this is Velma. Can you wait half an hour? I have to do something.”

      “All right, but if I starve, be prepared to make amends.”

      “What kind of amends?”

      “Not to worry. Whatever punishment I mete out will be enjoyable. I guarantee it.”

      “Make it an hour. By that time, your tummy should have begun pinching you, and you’ll be eager for vengeance.”

      “Watch your words, woman. I’m serious even when I’m joking.”

      “Who’s joking?”

      She heard him suck in his breath and could barely stifle a laugh. He was a tough man, and he worked hard at hiding his feelings, but she knew when a man wanted her. And he did. The question was whether he’d do anything about it.

      “Let’s see how you talk when you’re not hiding behind a telephone wire,” he said.

      “Really! And I’d like to see how you act when your ironclad control slips. Lord, please let me be right there when it happens.”

      After a telling