Knit Two Together. Connie Lane

so easily shake.

      “I have no intention of ever reopening the shop,” she told Will and reminded herself. “I don’t want to run it. For one thing, the shop is in Cleveland and I live in Pittsburgh.”

      “Which is exactly why you should be up on your desk doing the happy dance right about now.” She heard the click of his cigarette lighter and his quick intake of breath. “Tip-Top is all over the West and they claim they’re going to own the drugstore market in Ohio, too, in just a few years. Lucky for you, they want to start in Cleveland and they’re not looking for some pristine parcel out in the burbs. They want an established neighborhood and they’re willing to raze a city block to build one of their stores. Your mother’s property isn’t the only one they’re looking at, remember. We need to jump on this as quickly as we can. The offer they’re making…well, honestly, as I told you before, I don’t think you’ll ever do any better.”

      “They’re lowballing me.”

      Were they? Libby wasn’t sure. In the two years since she’d taken over the job of office manager for the law firm, she’d discovered that she was a whiz at scheduling, a crackerjack manager of people and something of a genius when it came to finding the best prices on supplies and equipment. But real estate was a whole new ball game. Still, talking money seemed like the appropriate thing to do at this stage. As for balking at the price, wasn’t that what real-estate deals were all about? Besides, it was a plausible excuse for her hesitation. And a better comeback than the truth.

      The knit shop is the only thing I have—the only thing I’ve ever had—from my mother. Once I sell, it means I’m severing this one last tie and quitting. For good. Forever.

      “Mrs. Cartwright? Don’t you agree?”

      Libby snapped out of her thoughts. “I’m sorry. This connection isn’t all that good,” she said, because it was better than admitting she hadn’t been listening. “You were saying—”

      “That I’ll bet the money from this deal would come in handy right about now. For you and for your husband.”

      As if Will could see her, Libby looked at the receiver in wonder. “How do you know about Rick?”

      “Hey, I know the economy stinks. I’ll bet it’s hit you folks hard.”

      Hard was putting it mildly.

      Libby dropped into the chair behind her desk, and though she didn’t know how, she sensed that Will was reading her mind.

      “A big influx of cash might help out, right?” he asked. “Am I onto something here?”

      He was. Libby could take the cash from the sale of Barb’s Knits and dump it right into the firm’s account. It wasn’t a magic bullet, but it would help staunch the sea of red ink.

      Sending back the mother of all printer/fax/copiers was just the tip of the iceberg. There were staff cuts yet to be made and that meant employees—friends—would spend the summer, the worst job-hunting time of the year, pounding the pavement.

      “So…” Will eased back into the subject. “You climbing up on that desk of yours? Is that why you’re so quiet? Should I put on the music so you can start dancing?”

      Libby managed a weak smile. “Not yet. Maybe if I just—” She caught herself before the words slipped out.

      Maybe if I just went to Cleveland and looked at the shop.

      So many times in the past months she’d suggested it. And every time Rick had reminded her the trip was a complete waste of time and inconvenient as well. After all, she had the firm to worry about, as well as their daughter Meghan’s schedule. Going to Cleveland to see a shop that didn’t mean anything to her and that had been left her by a woman she hadn’t seen in years…Why take the chance of reopening wounds that had taken so long to heal?

      Face it, Lib. Inside her head, Rick’s familiar words were a mantra. That rift is too wide ever to cross.

      She told herself not to forget it, reminded herself that the past was gone and nothing could change it and got down to business.

      “Maybe if Tip-Top ups their offer,” she told Will.

      He chuckled. “Even a miracle worker like me couldn’t pull off that one. They’ve seen the property, you haven’t. Maybe you’d feel better about the whole thing if you came to Cleveland and—”

      “No.” Libby answered quickly and refused to reconsider. “But I could use more money. I thought the property would be worth more. It’s the retail space on the first floor and the apartment upstairs, right? That’s like getting two properties.”

      “Tip-Top doesn’t give a damn about square footage. They’re going to knock the place down! Believe me, this offer is a gift. And, remember, if we play hard to get, they’ve got their eye on a second spot across town. What do you say? It would be one less thing on your plate. A weight off your shoulders. An albatross from around your neck. A—”

      “Okay, all right!” Libby had to laugh. There was nothing as over-the-top as a Realtor anxious to seal a deal. “I know it’s the right thing to do. And it would really help us out.”

      It wasn’t an outright surrender, but it was pretty close. “You’ll talk to your husband?” Will asked.

      “I’ll talk to my husband,” she promised. “But you know the final decision is mine.”

      “And I know you’ll make the right one. How about if I tell Tip-Top we’ll have an answer for them this afternoon?”

      “That seems awfully quick. How about tomorrow? Or—”

      “They’ll go somewhere else.”

      “Yes. Of course.” Libby’s breath was tight in her throat. “This afternoon,” she said. “I’ll talk to you then.”

      “And we’ll put this deal to bed. You’ll be glad when it’s over, Mrs. Cartwright.”

      She had no doubt of it. It was getting there that was, unexplainably, the painful part.

      Libby hung up. She’d told Will she’d run the Tip-Top offer by Rick, but she really didn’t have to. She knew what he would say.

      She’d talk to Rick anyway. It was how partnerships worked—how their marriage had always worked and one of the reasons that, after sixteen years, theirs was as strong as ever.

      She was set to leave her office when she grabbed the file folder that contained her thoughts on staff cuts. As long as she was going to have Rick’s undivided attention, she might as well get as much business accomplished as possible.

      The door to Rick’s office wasn’t closed, but Libby rapped it with her knuckles anyway. She’d already stepped inside when she saw that he was on the phone, so while he finished she toed the threshold.

      She didn’t mind waiting. It gave her the perfect excuse to step back and look at her husband.

      At forty, Rick still made her heart skip a beat, and watching him, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. As always, he was impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that was a perfect complement for his slim runner’s body. His dark hair was touched with gray, and she suspected that over the next years he’d turn into a carbon copy of his handsome, silver-haired father. Rick’s eyes were blue, and as he talked, the little dimple in his left cheek made a showing. She remembered that when they’d met in law school, that dimple was the first thing she’d noticed about him. That and the fact that she’d instantly fallen head over heels in love with him.

      All these years later, nothing had changed. Oh, they’d had their rough patches—didn’t all couples?—but they’d come through stronger and happier. Life was good even if it wasn’t perfect.

      Even if Rick insisted she sell Barb’s Knits without once taking a look at it and maybe getting some insight into the mystery that was her mother’s life.

      The