On Temporary Terms. Janice Maynard

the other hand, had been a mixed blessing.

      Her father stood, shoulders hunched, staring at the ground. “I never meant to harm anyone. I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I had good intentions.”

      Sadly, that part was probably true. There was no malice in the old man. Only unfounded optimism, a total misunderstanding of finances and an ability to con people out of their money one way or another.

      “Good night.” Abby made herself walk away, but her father was in one of his more stubborn moods, fueled by alcoholic courage.

      “You owe me,” he shouted. “I could have given you up for adoption when your mother died, but I didn’t. That’s worth something. Wouldn’t look too good for you if I start telling everyone how badly you treat the only parent you’ve ever known.”

      The callous, calculating threat put another crack in her shattered heart. She had paid for her meal that night with cash. The change was in her pocket. Seven dollars and thirty-two cents. She fished it out and shoved it at him. “Take it and go. I don’t want to see you here ever again.”

      She ran up the walk and into the house, slamming the door and bolting it behind her. The tears came in earnest, blurring her vision and knotting her stomach. The bedroom was too far. She fell onto the sofa, buried her face in the cushions and cried until her bones ached.

      Every time she tangled with her father now, she felt dirty. She had worked so hard to make something of herself...to lead a decent, normal life. Yet always, her past hung over her head, reminding her that she might forever be tainted by his dishonesty.

      At ten, she dragged herself down the hall to take a shower. Looking in the mirror was a mistake. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and smeared mascara made her resemble a rabid panda. It was a good thing Duncan Stewart couldn’t see her now.

      As if she had summoned him somehow with her thoughts, her phone dinged. She picked it up and read the text.

      We never made a plan for tomorrow night, did we?

      They hadn’t. She had agreed to see him again only if she could speak with Miss Izzy first about the prospective buyer. She gripped the phone, torn about how to answer. She knew that dating Duncan Stewart was a dead end and a bad idea. Ethics aside, they had nothing in common. He was wealthy and had lived a life of relative ease.

      She was sure he’d never had to worry about having the electricity or the water turned off because the bills hadn’t been paid in three months. And she was equally positive he had never been forced to eat boxed macaroni and cheese five nights in a row because it was the only thing in the pantry a kid could microwave easily. Or the only food available, period.

      Wistfully, she did the grown-up thing.

      I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to see each other socially, Duncan. Too many layers of complications.

      Thirty seconds passed. Then sixty. At last, the phone dinged.

      What about that kiss?

      Despite her low mood, she smiled.

      What about it?

      Don’t be coy, Abby. We’re both adults. I want you. You want me.

      She tried to be incensed by his careless arrogance, but damn it, the man was right.

      Not all itches have to be scratched.

      You don’t know me very well yet, but here’s the thing, lass. I rarely take no for an answer.

      Neither do I! She threw in a few emojis for good measure.

      Fine. I’ll take you to see Granny before dinner. But don’t be surprised when she says no to your buyer.

      And if she says yes????

      Abby could almost feel the frustrated male silence on the other end. Maybe Lara was right. Maybe Duncan was conflicted about letting Abby get to his grandmother, because if the offer was good enough, he’d be off the hook and headed home to Scotland.

      At last, he answered. I’ll pick you up at five thirty. We’ll have hors d’oeuvres with her, and you can make your pitch. But no bullying or hard-sell tactics. If she says no, you drop the subject. Period.

      You’re an arrogant ass, Duncan Stewart.

      Aye, but you like me anyway...

      She turned off the phone and tossed it in a drawer, as if it had the power to regenerate and bite her.

      Duncan was dangerous to her peace of mind for many reasons. Clearly, he knew women well enough to recognize mutual interest when he witnessed it. Abby could protest ’til the cows came home that this relationship was a terrible idea. All Duncan had to do was kiss her until she forgot the many reasons why she should stay away from him.

      * * *

      Friday was an exercise in torture for Duncan. Every time he saw his granny’s smiling face, he felt guilty. Tonight, he was going to let a lawyer with her own nest-feathering agenda get close to his grandmother, just so he could find his way into that lawyer’s bed.

      Any way you sliced it, that made him scum.

      In the moments when he wasn’t thinking about Abby, he pondered the escape clause in the will. He had come here to America, fully expecting his grandmother to live for another decade or more. It was possible. The women in her genealogy had all closed in on the centennial mark, several of them passing it. Granny Isobel could very well celebrate her hundredth birthday here in Candlewick. She was in good health and of sound mind.

      To hear that his indenture had an escape clause troubled him. Without it, he had no choice but to dive headfirst into Stewart Properties and make a new life for himself. But knowing there was a carrot dangling out there—the chance to go home to Scotland in two years—meant that he would always be marking time. In many ways, the possibility of reprieve made things worse.

      In a difficult situation, a man needed to hunker down and make the best of his fate. How effective would Duncan be if he were always looking wistfully over his shoulder from whence he had come?

      Somehow, he made it through the day. Granny Isobel was beside herself at the prospect of company. She had ordered a trio of fancy appetizers from a local caterer, along with a selection of wines to have on hand for Abby’s visit.

      One of the receptionists took Isobel home at three so she could nap in preparation for her visitor. Duncan stayed at the office until the very last minute, going over spreadsheets and trying his damnedest to wrap his head around the ambitious construction schedule planned for the upcoming two quarters.

      The business’s forward motion had slowed in the year since his grandfather’s death. First Brody, and now Duncan, had helped Isobel get the company back on track. It relieved Duncan more than a little to know that auditors would be coming in soon. If there were any problems, he wanted to know about them.

      At five, he called his grandmother to see if she needed anything else to go with the food. She professed to have it all under control. He grinned to himself. In his grandparents’ heyday, they had thrown wildly lavish parties up on top of the mountain. Invitations to the big house were highly coveted. He’d heard more than one story about dancing until dawn and draining multiple cases of champagne and good Scottish whisky.

      At five twenty, he locked up the office and headed out to pick up Abby.

      When he bounded up her steps and knocked, she answered the door wearing a smile, black dress pants and a soft berry-pink cashmere sweater that clung to her ample curves. He scooped her up and kissed her, careful not to smudge her rosy lip gloss.

      Abby was stiff in his embrace at first, but then she sighed and kissed him back. “You’re an outrageous man. I don’t know why I don’t smack you.”

      He pulled back and grinned at her. “I’m guessing you have to be on your best behavior until you accomplish your damned objective. But I warn you, it’s a fool’s errand. Granny won’t sell.”

      “If