Finding Mr. Right. Gwynne Forster

      “It’s a beautiful evening,” he said. “The sun sets late in mid-June. Would you like to drive through Sugarloaf?”

      Tyra would say yes to most anything that would prolong her time with him. The man exuded charm. But in her experience, anything presented on a silver platter should be carefully examined. She’d do that. But in the meantime, she’d find a man without anyone’s assistance or intervention.

      Chapter 2

      The next morning, Tyra arose at sunup. She went into her flower garden and sat on the little stone bench beneath the rose trellis. Her parents had put the trellis and bench there a few weeks after they bought the house, and some of her fondest memories were of them sitting there on a summer evening, laughing, holding hands and sipping ice tea. Over the years, Tyra had gone there to find solace and direction. But as time passed, she needed the comfort she found in that little spot less and less. Tyra wondered why she’d gone there at this particular time.

      “What are you doing out there so early?” Maggie called from her bedroom window. “You all right?”

      “I’m fine, Maggie. Just musing.”

      “I’ll start the coffee, and we can muse together. I’ll be down in a minute.

      “So what’s up?” Maggie asked Tyra a few minutes later when they sat together drinking coffee.

      “I need to get a job. I haven’t had a response to any of the jobs I applied for, so I think I’ll do better if I try something else.”

      “I expect you’re right. If it’s money that’s bothering you, I can live on less than you pay me. All I need is a home.”

      “This is your home, Maggie. I’m happy to say that we don’t have a financial problem. I’ve invested what my parents left us. I’ve paid off the mortgage, and we don’t have any debts.” Indeed, the value of the trust funds had nearly doubled in the twelve years since the family had received their inheritance. Nevertheless, Tyra remained vigilant and had become as good a money manager as the man she hired to keep a check on their resources. “I’ll get busy with my job search as soon as I’ve eaten.”

      True to her word, Tyra sat at her computer investigating online job listings. She thought she saw a good job prospect and telephoned the number on the screen.

      “You’re definitely overqualified for this job, ma’am. Anybody who’s finished sixth grade can do what we want.” Tyra opened her mouth to say, “You should have put that in the ad,” but thought better of it, thanked the woman and continued her search. She doubted that she would have enjoyed a job that didn’t challenge her mentally. After applying for more jobs online, someone from the Legal Aid Center that she had spoken to earlier called her back.

      “Miss Cunningham, this is Barbara Johnson. We have a position for a counselor that I overlooked when we spoke before. Would you come in tomorrow at nine for an interview?”

      “Yes, I’ll be glad to. Thank you.”

      The next morning at nine, Tyra stepped into the Legal Aid Center wearing a white linen suit and tank top, white sandals and bag.

      The sisters liked to pull rank, but regardless of status, they appreciated class when they saw it.

      Two hours later, she’d been interviewed by a supervisor, examined by a medical doctor and fingerprinted. She had also filled out a questionnaire that contained at least two dozen questions, and she was ready to say, “No more.”

      “This will be your office,” Barbara Johnson said, “and your secretary sits next door. After two weeks, you’ll be asked whether you want to keep her or hire one whose skills and personality better suit you. We’d like you to begin tomorrow, but if you prefer you can wait until Monday.”

      Nothing needed her urgent attention. Indeed, if she didn’t start work the next day, she’d spend the rest of the week waiting for Monday. “I can begin tomorrow, Ms. Johnson. Would you tell me who I report directly to?”

      “Mr. Riddick is in charge of counseling. He’ll introduce you to your associates when you come tomorrow.”

      “Thanks, Ms. Johnson. You’ve been so helpful.”

      As Tyra left the center, she encountered a young good-looking brother. “Things are definitely looking up around here,” he said as he held the door for her. “I’m Christopher Fuller, and I hope you’re going to be working here.”

      “I’m Tyra Cunningham. Glad to meet you.” She extended her hand, smiled and kept walking. She liked his looks, but she suspected that he could be full of himself. He didn’t seem to doubt his attractiveness, and that type had always bored her.

      There I go prejudging men. I’m supposed to be looking for a guy, not necessarily to marry, but to get Clark and Darlene off my back. She thought for a second. Maggie, too. If they saw me with that guy, they’d mind their own business. He’s a looker. But something tells me he won’t measure up to Byron. Still…

      Tyra plotted to find a man, who might make her reaction to Byron Whitley seem like a child’s delight with a new toy. Meanwhile Byron was arriving at the conclusion that Tyra could be important to him and that he wanted to see more of her. He rarely made a mistake when it came to women, and he didn’t think he’d made one with her. He’d gotten a wallop when he first met her. He knew he could lose interest in Tyra simply by staying away from her and by seeing other women. But to his astonishment, he didn’t want to do that. She intrigued him, and he wanted her.

      “I’m wasting time,” he said to himself, recognizing something that was out of character for him, and lifted the telephone receiver.

      “Ms. Cunningham’s not home, Mr. Whitley,” Maggie said when he asked for Tyra. “She ought to be back anytime now. I’ll tell her you called. You want her to call you?”

      “Thanks, but I’ll try reaching her again later. Goodbye.”

      He tapped the fingers of his right hand on his desk. “Now what?”

      He phoned his aunt, his mother’s sister, who lived with him and took care of four-year-old Andy when he wasn’t at home. “My dad and Andy caught some striped bass this past weekend. Dad cleaned them, and I put them in the freezer. Would you mind cooking them for dinner? Andy is proud of them, and the sooner we eat them, the happier he’ll be.”

      “I’ll be glad to cook them. You know I love fish. Why don’t you call your dad and ask him to have dinner with us tonight?” Jonie said.

      “Good idea. Would you mind calling him? I’ll be busy for the next few hours.”

      “I’ll call him. If you bring home some vanilla or strawberry ice cream for desert.”

      “Will do. Andy will be ecstatic.”

      He hung up and buzzed his secretary. “Ask Mrs. Foxx to come in, please.” For nearly a month, he’d been trying to figure out why the woman wanted him to be her lawyer. Rich as she was, she could have any lawyer she chose. He decided to stop guessing her reasons and ask her.

      “Before we go further with this case, Mrs. Foxx, would you tell me why you want me to take your case? I’m a criminal lawyer. Yours is a civil suit and you’re not asking for money. Why?”

      “I want an apology in The New York Times, and you can get that for me.” That wasn’t reason enough for her insistence that he take her case. She had met him at a reception in the mayor’s office and asked for his card. He remembered her. Any man would remember a woman who looked like her. But blond hair and blue eyes didn’t turn him on. The opportunity arose earlier than he’d expected.

      “I shouldn’t take up so much of your time, Mr. Whitley. Why don’t we discuss this over dinner and drinks. We’d both be…more relaxed, and we’d get more done.”

      He forced a half smile. “I don’t discuss business after my working hours, Mrs.