Lambert's Peace Read online

  ISBN 1-59310-847-8

  LAMBERT’S PEACE

  Copyright © 2006 by Rachel Hauck. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

  one

  Taylor Hanson parked her new BMW in the shade of her childhood home, pressed her head against the steering wheel, and whispered a prayer.

  Lord, what have I done?

  After a moment, she drew a long breath, smoothed her hands down the front of her dark red linen suit, and popped the BMW’s trunk. Stepping out of the car and into the afternoon light, she wondered how many times she’d driven the familiar roads from Manhattan to White Birch and back again.

  Gold-tipped maple leaves rustled in the afternoon breeze as she yanked her suitcases from the car’s trunk and slung the strap of her laptop case over her shoulder, then snapped the trunk shut.

  Any other day, any other time, the beauty of the day would motivate her to change her clothes and go for a good, long run. But for now, in this moment, her heart remained locked in the dark places of disappointment, frustration, and anxiety.

  As she walked toward the kitchen door, dragging her suitcases behind, Taylor pinched her lips together, determined not to cry.

  She did this to herself. She’d calculated the cost and acted. Nevertheless, she never imagined this would happen to her.

  Taylor entered the two-story brick home and called, “Mom?”

  No answer. The house was quiet and perfumed with the lingering scent of bread and cinnamon.

  Taylor lugged her suitcases up the back stairs from the kitchen to her old bedroom. She dropped her designer purse and laptop case onto her worn oak desk, shoved her luggage and overnight bag against the wall, then fell face-first into the familiar comfort of her old bed.

  Lord, please tell me I didn’t ruin my life. She sat up with a jerk, pressing her fingers against her eyes.

  “Get ahold of yourself, Taylor.” She paced around her old room. “This is a minor setback.”

  She removed her laptop from its monogrammed leather case, booted it up, and hooked up to the phone line. While dialing out to the World Wide Web, Taylor made a note in her electronic data assistant: Arrange for broadband Internet connection at Mom and Dad’s. She would need it.

  For the rest of the morning and afternoon, Taylor surfed the Web, made calls, and e-mailed contacts. She barely noticed when the afternoon light faded to the muted colors of dusk and dark shadows fell across her room.

  When a thin, familiar “Hello?” sounded down the hall, she glanced up from the computer.

  “Mom, in here.”

  Trixie Hanson graced the doorway and flipped on the light. “Taylor, what are you doing here?”

  Taylor gave her mom a hug. The petite, trig woman wore a navy suit with matching pumps. “How are you?”

  “Fine; exhausted. I’ve been at a ladies’ aid meeting for the church bazaar.”

  “Ladies’ aid meeting? Can Mrs. Cramer still talk a mannequin to death?”

  Mom smiled. “Of course. Some things never change; you know that. But never mind about Dot—what are you doing home? It’s the middle of the week.”

  In the faint glow of the lamp’s light, Taylor saw the concerned expression on her mother’s delicate features.

  “I just needed to come home.” She sat on the edge of her bed, realizing she still wore her business suit and two-inch heels. Her makeup felt stale and congealed, and the idea of a shower reminded her of how good the community pool felt on a hot summer day.

  Mom studied her for a moment. “Are you all right?”

  Taylor kicked off her shoes and squished her toes into the carpet nap. “I’m fine. Is this carpet new?”

  “Yes, it is.” Mom studied her for a moment then added, “And it is highly unusual for you to show up unannounced, Taylor. Are you sure everything is all right?”

  “Well, I’m not sick or hurt, if that’s what you mean.” Taylor opened one of her suitcases, looking for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. She wanted to explain her sudden appearance in White Birch but still had trouble understanding the events of the last three days herself.

  “Hello … anybody home? Trixie?”

  Mom fluttered over to the doorway. “Grant. Up here in Taylor’s room.”

  In few seconds, Dad’s cheery face peered around the door. “My two favorite women.” He kissed Trixie and wrapped his arms around Taylor.

  “So,” he started, holding her at arm’s length, “what are you doing home?” His gray eyes sparkled with merriment.

  Sadness washed over Taylor like a chilling waterfall. How could she tell her biggest fan—the man who had dubbed her the whiz kid—that she’d failed?

  “Taylor, is everything all right?”

  She said without rehearsal, “I left Blankenship and Burns.”

  Trixie leaned on Grant’s arm. “What do you mean?”

  “I quit.” She hated the sound of that word—quit. It spelled failure.

  Grant chuckled. “She’s teasing us, Trixie.”

  Taylor peered into her father’s eyes. “No, Daddy, I’m not. Movers are packing up my apartment as we speak. I’m putting my stuff in storage.” She glanced around her room. “I’d like to stay here for a while if I could.”

  Mom gasped and covered her cheek with her hand. “Really, Taylor. You actually quit. Well, I never—”

  Taylor snapped. “Yes, Mom, I quit.” Grant held up his hands. “Okay, you two, let’s go down and have some hot tea and some of Mom’s coffee cake. Then, Taylor, you can fill us in.”

  Will Adams sat on the edge of the couch in his twin brother’s spacious living room. A blind date. What was he thinking?

  “I’m thirty-three,” he muttered, running his hand along the back of his neck. “Going on a blind date like a desperate schoolboy.”

  “Come on, it’s not that bad,” Bobby said, laughing. Will stood to pace, jiggling the keys in his pocket. “I can’t believe I let you and Elle set me up.”

  “Beats sitting at home on a Friday night with Harry.”

  Will turned to him. “Harry’s great company. Man’s best friend, you know.”

  “It’s one night, Will. One night. Who knows? You just might fall in love.”

  They were to pick Mia Wilmington up on their way to dinner at Italian Hills, the town’s most romantic restaurant. Not Will’s idea for a first date. Wouldn’t a casual night of eating pizza at Giuseppe’s be much better?

  “You know, you’re making this way harder than it has to be,” Bobby said, glancing over his shoulder at Will while clicking through the sports channels. “You run a multimillion-dollar furniture company.”

  “Furniture, I know. Mia Wilmington, I don’t,” Will said, laughing softly as he regarded the man whose features mirrored his own.

  Elle entered the room. “The kids are settled in the family room with your mom, fried chicken, and cold sodas.”

  The men stood. “You look beautiful, Elle.” Bobby kissed his willowy wife.

  Will slipped on his tan sports coat. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

  Elle brushed her hand down his arm. �
�Give tonight a chance, Will. It’s been so long since you—”

  Bobby interrupted. “Don’t go there, Elle. He’ll bite your head off.” He held his wife’s coat for her.

  Elle slipped her arms into the sleeves. “I know it’s hard to meet new people, Will.”

  “People I can handle. Blind dates … different species.”

  Elle exhaled. “Honestly, if I’d known it would traumatize you this much I wouldn’t have bothered.”

  Will squirmed. Elle deserved more from him. “I’m sorry.”

  She linked her arm with his. “Don’t worry, it’s going to be wonderful.”

  On the ride to Mia’s apartment, Elle reminded Will that his date taught performing arts at White Birch High School, possessed a very gregarious and bubbly personality, and had the “most beautiful smile.”

  Her words did little ease to Will’s disdain for the situation, but he only had himself to blame. He’d said yes. Never again. Bobby had made a good point earlier. Will ran a multimillion-dollar company. He didn’t need his sister-in-law to find him dates.

  Walking alone to Mia’s door, Will secretly hoped she wouldn’t answer. But after one subtle knock, the door jerked open.

  “You must be Will.” A petite blond with deep-set green eyes stood in the doorway.

  “I am.”

  She threw her arms around him. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

  Surprised, Will stumbled backward. “Nice to meet you, too.” She tossed her head back, flipping long, straight blond hair over her shoulders. “Elle was right; you are handsome.” She flashed Will a sparkling smile.

  He shifted from one foot to the next. “Ready to go?”

  “Absolutely,” she said like she owned the word.

  At Bobby’s Volvo, Mia glided into the backseat, greeting Bobby and Elle.

  Will shut her door and hurried around to the other side. Though she’d overwhelmed him at first, he found her extremely beautiful. Maybe this evening wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Fifteen minutes later they were seated in the glow of flickering candles at Italian Hills, listening to the stringed music of the Merewether Quartet. They waved hello to their cousin Ethan’s wife, Julie, the quartet’s cellist.

  They ordered iced teas and appetizers, and Mia chatted endlessly. She went from describing the day’s school lunch to a pair of shoes she wanted to wear tonight but couldn’t find.

  Will watched closely to see if she took a breath between sentences.

  When their server arrived with the appetizers, Mia placed her hand on Elle’s shoulder and said with a wink, “I should note Will’s in the blue shirt so I don’t accidentally try to get a goodnight kiss from your husband. I never saw two faces that looked more alike.”

  Elle gave her a demure smile. “I’ll make sure you don’t get the wrong man.”

  “Oh, Elle,” Mia said with an annoying cackle, “you’re so bourgeois.”

  Will grimaced. Bourgeois?

  Mia turned her attention to him. “How did you get to be the big cheese at Lambert’s Furniture?” Mia reached out and gave his forearm a strong squeeze. “Wow,” she said, raising a brow. “Do you work out?”

  Will moved his arm and cleared his throat. “Bobby and our cousin Ethan carry a large part of the load. I merely oversee the big picture.”

  “Oh, modest.” Mia looked at Elle. “Don’t you just love a strong, modest man?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  When Mia turned her attention to her appetizer plate, Elle cut a glance at Will and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

  Will shook his head as if to say, “It’s okay.”

  During dinner Mia continued to dominate the conversation with grand tales of her trips to Europe and the Orient—and not once, but twice more called Elle “bourgeois.”

  Will couldn’t wait for the evening to end.

  Around seven, they ordered coffee and dessert. Elle stood and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

  “I’ll go, too.” Mia picked up her purse, smoothing her hand along Will’s shoulder as she went past, as if they were an intimate couple.

  As soon as the women were out of earshot, Will draped his arm over the back of his chair and regarded Bobby. “Bourgeois? She called your elegant, socially astute wife bourgeois.“

  Bobby laughed. “I guess she is a little bit of a fruitcake.”

  “Cotton candy,” Will said, his jaw set.

  “Cotton candy?” Bobby crinkled his brow.

  “Whipped sugar on a stick. All fluff and no substance. An evening with Mia is like consuming verbal cotton candy.” Will made an ick face.

  Bobby grinned. “She is beautiful, though. And well traveled.”

  Will reached for his water. “Look, she’s a lovely lady. I don’t want to be rude, but she’s not for me.”

  “Maybe she’s nervous, Will. Do the Giuseppe’s thing, or take her to Sam’s Diner. Just the two of you.”

  “No.” Will shook his head and leaned to the side as the waiter placed cheesecake in front of him. “I can tell you now she’s not for me. I don’t want to waste her time or mine.”

  Bobby challenged, “You’re that sure after one dinner.”

  “Yes.”

  Bobby reached for his coffee. “It’s your life. I hope you like being a bachelor.”

  “Bob, I don’t want to date just because I’m single.”

  His brother’s perplexed expression made Will laugh.

  “Look, I am at peace about being single. I’m content. I’ll date when I meet the right one.”

  Bobby nodded, slicing off a corner of his dessert. “Fine, but I don’t think one date is enough. Look at how many people start out hating each other and end up happily married.”

  “Trust me on this one, I—” A subtle motion across the room caught Will in midsentence. He dropped his linen napkin on the table and stood slowly. Across the room, the Italian Hills’ maître d’ escorted Grant and Trixie Hanson to a table nearby, and …

  He couldn’t believe it.

  “I’m sorry I got you into this,” Bobby said.

  “Taylor,” he said, his gaze following the lithe, exquisite brunette.

  two

  The maître d’ held Taylor’s chair as she slid up to the table. “You really didn’t have to do this,” she said to her parents.

  “It’s nothing, kiddo. We’ve been planning to come here for several weeks now.” Grant unrolled his silverware from his napkin.

  Taylor smiled. “This would be nicer for you and Mom if you didn’t have your daughter tagging along.” She tapped her chest for emphasis.

  “Nonsense,” her mother said.

  As she reached for her menu, Taylor surveyed the room, the chandelier-and-crystal atmosphere familiar to her. The last time she was here? She thought for a moment. Bobby and Elle’s wedding reception. The night she and Will went wading …

  Taylor shook away the image. Too long ago to matter now.

  But it was the devastation of that night that made her flee White Birch for New York. In some ways she owed her career to heartbreak and Will Adams.

  Her shoulders slumped. Her career. What career? She’d ended that two days ago. No thanks to Lisa Downey. She grabbed her water goblet and took a long drink.

  Dad ordered a spinach and artichoke dip with focaccia bread, then turned to Taylor. “What’s the plan?”

  She put down her menu. “Excuse me?” Was it the lighting, or were her dad’s cheeks pale?

  “What’s the plan? New job? Stay here in White Birch?”

  Taylor laughed, reaching for her freshly poured iced tea. “Stay in White Birch? And do what?”

  “Get married, give your mom and me more grandkids. Tim’s children are practically grown.”

  “We’re ten years apart, Dad.” Taylor laughed.

  Dad continued, “Claire’s eighteen and already graduated. Jarred is sixteen and waiting tables at Sam’s, and Quentin is fourteen going on thirty.”

  Taylor
nodded. “He is a little precocious.”

  “He’s very intelligent,” Mom added in her best grandma voice.

  “Much like you, Taylor. Another whiz kid in the making.”

  Taylor stared past her father, twisting her napkin with her fingers. “I don’t feel like much of a whiz kid.”

  “Doesn’t matter what you feel; it’s what you know to be true.”

  Taylor focused her gaze on her father and smiled. He looked so frail. “Thank you, Dad. And yes,” she said as she squared her shoulders, “I’m getting a new job. A better job.”

  “Taylor, don’t you want to marry and have children? You’re thirty-three.”

  “I’m aware of my age, Mom, but I can’t leave my career and reputation flapping in the October breeze. I have to reestablish myself or my career is over.”

  “Seems you’ve been all about your career for the last decade. Time for real life.”

  “She’ll get there, Trixie. She’ll get there. But she’s right. She’s worked hard. You don’t become a principal CPA overnight. Quitting Blankenship and Burns shouldn’t be the last line on her résumé.”

  The waiter brought the bread and sauce appetizer. Grant said a prayer, and Taylor mused over his wisdom. He’d never lived anywhere but White Birch; he’d never worked anywhere but Lambert’s Furniture. Sixty-six years in one town, fifty years with one company.

  Her parents amazed her.

  The waiter came for their dinner order. Taylor ordered the baked ziti with a side salad. Her father ordered lasagna, and her mom ordered the chicken Alfredo.

  “I’m splurging tonight.” Mom smiled as she folded her menu.

  Taylor smiled. “Good for you—” A sudden clatter interrupted Taylor. She looked across the table to see Dad mopping up his spilled water.

  “Dad, are you okay?” Taylor picked up her napkin to help clean the mess, noticing again the pallor of his face.

  “I’m all right. Just a little weak from hunger, I guess,” Grant said.

  “He’s fine.” Trixie gently pressed the back of her hand against his cheek. “He’s fine. Just needs a good meal.”

  Taylor studied her father for a moment. He didn’t look fine, and his wan complexion didn’t come from hunger. “Dad, have you been to the doctor?”