Loveknot. Marisa Carroll

gave him the night off,” Edward replied, stepping aside to let the young waiter wheel the cart of food into the room.

      “Good.” The old man glanced around as the waiter set a plate of roast beef and vegetables in front of him. “We will eat in peace tonight, without that dead fish staring over our shoulders.”

      “Enjoy your meal,” Edward said with a grin, adding a splash of soda to his Scotch.

      “I will,” Phil assured him as the waiter left them alone. “My appetite is back. Eat up,” he insisted, waving his fork at Devon, who was inspecting his vegetables, removing the steamed carrots with the same diligence he’d employed as a boy twenty years before. “And then early to bed. You will have a long, busy day ahead of you.”

      “Yes, sir,” Devon said, reaching for the salt. “I’ll behave like I’m on a holy crusade.”

      “Enough,” Phil said sternly, but he laughed at Devon’s irreverence.

      “Dad.” Edward felt compelled to temper his father’s enthusiasm. “Don’t get your hopes up. Devon is looking for a needle in a haystack.”

      “He will find the man for us. For Alyssa.” Phil lowered his head and began to eat. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing more to say.

       For Alyssa.

      Edward watched his father and stepson for a long moment before joining them at the table. He didn’t think Alyssa would thank him for what they were about to do. She’d been holding him at arm’s length ever since he’d returned to Tyler. Their past was no more dead and buried than was the mystery of Margaret’s death.

      He didn’t love her anymore—he’d told himself that over and over again. But he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He couldn’t reason with her. He couldn’t even argue with her—she never let him close enough for that. Now he’d put in motion forces that were almost certain to push them even farther apart.

      Not only was he attempting to unravel the secrets of that long-ago night without consulting Alyssa, he was keeping her in the dark about something else.

      Another buyer was interested in Ingalls F and M. And within forty-eight hours, Alyssa would learn that the bidder was DEVCHECK, the investment company he owned in partnership with his stepson. Alyssa also didn’t yet know that Edward fully intended to come out of the negotiations in control of her father’s failing business.

CHAPTER THREE

      “EVEN WITH the new contracts for replacement parts you just signed, we’re going to have to stop production before the new year,” Johnny Kelsey said, as he sat before the desk in Judson’s office. “I recommend shutting down the week before Christmas and New Year’s. Then we can call everyone back and keep going until possibly the middle of January. Maybe something will turn up by then.”

      Alyssa watched her friend and former classmate closely. He’d been foreman at Ingalls F and M for years. He knew almost as much about the business as her father did. More than once Judson had wanted to promote him to a management position, but Johnny had always refused. He belonged on the plant floor, he’d say. And that was where he meant to stay.

      “I agree,” Alyssa said, trying to hide the depression that was bearing down on her heart and mind. “If it isn’t a recession here, it’s trouble with European trade restrictions, or record harvests in South America pushing down the price of grain. The Russians…you name it. It makes American farmers wary of going any further into debt to buy new machinery.”

      “Sales are soft,” Johnny agreed, leaning back in his chair. “That’s a fact of life. You’re going to have to lay off some people—that’s also a fact of life.”

      “I’m not good at this, Johnny,” Alyssa said with a self-mocking smile. “I’m a whiz at planning Fourth of July parades and chairing fund-raising committees, but not running a business.”

      “You’re doing a fine job.” Johnny returned to his earlier position, elbows resting on his legs, his big, work-scarred hands clasped between his knees. “But I think it’s best if the workers hear the news from the old man himself.”

      Alyssa gave a rough little laugh. “Don’t you think I know that?”

      “The folks down on the floor are worried by all the rumors of the Japanese trying to take over the place.”

      “They’re not rumor, Johnny. You know that as well as I do. The Nitaka Corporation has made a formal offer for the plant.”

      Johnny snorted in disgust. “Offer, my…butt. Sell to us or we’ll take you over by force. That’s not an offer, it’s a threat.”

      “It’s business,” Alyssa reminded him wearily. “It’s the way things are done these days. The Japanese have the money and they want a bigger share of the agricultural industry.”

      “If we just had six more months. Or a year,” Johnny said, shaking his head in agitation. “We could do it. We could hold on, get a chance to bid on some bigger contracts. Recapitalize.”

      “That’s impossible and you know it,” Alyssa said sharply, remembering her embarrassment at having asked Edward Wocheck for a loan to do just that.

      “A guy can dream, can’t he?” Johnny asked, smiling to lighten the mood.

      “Yes, we can still dream.”

      “It would help if your dad showed up here once in a while,” Johnny suggested. “Bad news like the layoff won’t be so hard to take if everyone sees Judson back to his old form.”

      “I’d like nothing better myself.” Alyssa crossed the room and looked out the window, over the harvested fields to the dark line of trees in the distance that bordered the south end of the lake. She crossed her arms under her breasts and turned back to face her friend. It was time Johnny knew how badly the stress and uncertainty of the trial had undermined Judson’s well-being.

      “He won’t come here, Johnny. He won’t even come out of his room unless Jeff or I insist.” Alyssa was very glad that her son, Jeff, and his new wife, Cece, had remained in the huge Victorian house with her, Judson and Amanda until they could find a place of their own. It helped to have these young, happy people living in the too-quiet house. “I’m worried about his health. And his…state of mind.”

      “I know, Lyssa,” Johnny said, reverting to her childhood nickname. “I’m worried about him, too.” A tiny part of Alyssa’s brain that refused to ignore such things registered the fact that Johnny calling her Lyssa had none of the effect on her nervous system that Edward Wocheck’s use of the diminutive produced. “He won’t even see Tisha. She’s been crying on Anna’s shoulder almost every night since the trial ended.”

      “I—I haven’t told him there’s been a second offer for the plant,” Alyssa confessed, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as though to ward off a sudden chill. “Have you had any luck finding out about this DEVCHECK Corporation?” She hadn’t told her father about being approached by the investment company. She felt guilty about it, but she wanted to hear what the representative of the firm had to say first…before she turned him down.

      “No time,” Johnny said, glancing at his watch. “But we’re going to know soon enough. What time did you say the guy was supposed to be here?”

      “At eleven. He’s late,” Alyssa said, frowning at the clock above the door.

      “That clock’s five minutes fast,” Johnny reminded her. “So your dad could get where he was going on time. He hates to be late.”

      Alyssa smiled. Johnny was right. Her smile faded away. These days all Judson could be persuaded to do was to shower and dress and make it downstairs for dinner.

      The speaker on her desk beeped and the voice of Judson’s secretary