The Ties That Bind (7 page)

Her heart lightened as she opened the door of her studio and began organizing her printing preparations. She had her work and next weekend she would have her lover. Life was good.

ON FRIDAY MORNING Garth was aware of being nearly consumed by his need to be on the road. Outside his office window, San Jose baked in the smoggy heat of a summer's day. All he had been able to think about since he'd gotten out of bed this morning was driving to the coast. With any luck he'd get out of the
Sherilectronics
office after lunch. God knew he'd spent enough late nights behind his desk this past week to justify an early departure. Shannon was going to wait dinner for him. She had told him so on the phone last night.

Garth closed his eyes and allowed himself the luxury of thinking of Shannon and the coming weekend for a brief moment. The truth was, he always seemed to be thinking about that subject even when his attention was on work. With his customary self-discipline, however, he generally managed to keep the image pushed back to the edge of his awareness where it couldn't get in the way of his getting done what had to be done. Shannon was in a separate compartment from the rest of his life, and he fully intended to keep her there.

Garth had no intention of letting Shannon get mixed up with the side of his life that revolved around work. It suited him perfectly that she lived a safe distance from San Jose and thus a safe distance from the occasionally subtle, often blatant warfare that defined business between
Sherilectronics
and its competitors in the Silicon jungle. Shannon was too gentle and too unsophisticated to live in his world, Garth decided. Her artistic nature needed protection. He would protect her from his world and in the process he would create a refuge for himself. He might be capable of surviving here, but for the past several months Garth knew he had been questioning the effort it took. A weekend escape to Shannon's softness and warmth sounded more inviting than he could have imagined.

The door opened just as he was sneaking another glance at the clock. His secretary, Bonnie Garnett, smiled her standard professional smile. Bonnie always smiled when she was supposed to smile. Occasionally Garth wondered what she was really thinking behind that cover-girl perfection. She was about the same age as Shannon, but the two women couldn't have been more different. In the five years she had worked for him, Garth had never seen Bonnie when she didn't look as if she could have stepped in front of a fashion photographer's camera. Garth realized how much he liked Shannon's jeans and windblown hair.

"Mr. McIntyre is here to see you, sir. He has the next section of the
Carstairs
proposal ready for you."

"Fine. Send him in, Bonnie." Reluctantly Garth let the image of the coming weekend slide once again to the back of his mind. "Oh, and Bonnie, I'll be leaving early this afternoon. Was there anything crucial on the agenda?"

"No, sir. I got another call from Mr. Hutchinson's secretary, however, reminding you to keep the twentieth open for the party the
Hutchinsons
are giving."

Garth impatiently flicked the tip of his pencil on the black glass surface of his desk. He glared at his calendar. "The twentieth is a Saturday."

"That's right. One week from tomorrow."

Garth swore softly. He didn't want to go to the damn party. He rarely attended parties of any kind. But Hutchinson was a longtime business acquaintance, and Garth knew he owed Steve a couple of minor favors. Steve Hutchinson and his wife had both made it clear he could get out of the social debt by attending their one major business party of the year.

The party was going to kick a big hole in a weekend he'd had every intention of sharing with Shannon. Well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. Garth tossed the pencil down on the desk. "Send Wes in, Bonnie,"

Bonnie's
smile didn't waver a fraction in spite of the grim tone in her boss's voice, and Garth knew it was because she was accustomed to the tone. Garth was frequently rather grim. He also paid his secretaries very well. Money, he knew, could buy a great deal of tolerance for grimness.

Wes McIntyre sauntered into the sleekly designed president's office, his own smile casually in place. McIntyre was vice president of corporate strategy, and he'd earned the hard way the position that made him Garth's closest adviser. He was in his early thirties and was the living embodiment of the sun-drenched California look. Blond-haired, blue-eyed and ruggedly handsome, McIntyre was also very sharp when it came to corporate planning. He had a Machiavellian turn of mind that almost matched Garth's. Because he knew how McIntyre's mind worked, Garth trusted his vice president as much as he trusted anyone in the business world. But to be on the safe side, he paid McIntyre very well, too.

"I've finished the scheduling section of the proposal, Garth." Wes took a chrome-and-black-leather chair without being invited. He was sure of his importance in this office. "I don't see any problem telling
Carstairs
we can have the stuff to them by early spring. It'll mean running some of the assembly lines on an overtime basis, but we can manage."

Garth nodded, satisfied. "Good. Time is as important to
Carstairs
as price. If we can guarantee delivery by spring, they'll pay for the privilege. Anything else?"

Wes shook his head. "I think that about wraps it up from my end. With the figures you came back with on Monday we should be able to beat any other bid out there. A little fine tuning and the proposal will be ready for Bonnie to type."

"I don't want her doing the job on the word processor. Tell her to use the regular typewriter for the final version of the report, just as she's been doing for the preliminary work. No carbons and no photocopies. And she's to do the whole job herself. No need to drag in any extra clerical help. That's just that many more fingers in the pot."

Wes murmured agreement. "I'll make sure she understands. She's worked here long enough to know that when you slap a Strictly Confidential label on something, you mean business. Hell, the whole company knows it." He grinned. "And if there were a few poor souls who didn't know it, they got the point when you fired George Keller several months ago."

"Keller knew better than to open his mouth about
Sherilectronics
business at a party. He got what he deserved." Garth closed the folder on his desk. "Okay, that's it, Wes. I'll be gone after lunch. I'll take all the
Carstairs
bid work papers with me for the weekend, as usual. Everything. I don't want anything left even overnight here in the office."

"Hell, you don't even let those papers lie around the office during lunch hour, let alone overnight or over a weekend! Some folks might call you paranoid." Wes chuckled.

"Some folks might call me careful. I've been burned before. I don't intend to let it happen again. If you need me, you can leave a message with my answering service. I'll get back to you."

"All right." Wes got to his feet and headed for the door. It shut silently behind him.

Garth took one more look at the clock and decided to call it quits. Everything was under control in this world, and all he could think about now was escaping to his other world, the one where the soft, sweet lady in the castle waited for him with open arms.

He stood up and walked to the closet to get his jacket. His bag was already packed and waiting in the Porsche. In a few hours he would be with Shannon. An unaccustomed feeling of elation gripped him.

The pattern of his life had been altered because of what had happened between himself and Shannon last weekend. An endless series of weekend escapes stretched out before him, promising renewal and satisfaction in a world that had nothing to do with the one in which he worked.

Garth promised himself he would do everything in his power to protect his newfound refuge and the woman who maintained it for him. On his way to the door he scooped up the bid package and shoved it into his briefcase.

In his mind he was already nearing Shannon's cottage, anticipating her warm greeting, the good meal she would serve him and the long night ahead in her arms.

It was just barely possible, he thought as he climbed into the Porsche, that with Shannon to go to on the weekends, he might be able to deal with the increasing restlessness he was experiencing these days at work. Knowing that the weekends would bring him the peace and comfort he needed might make it possible for him to work though the strange mood that had been plaguing him for the past few months.

GARTH WAS EARLY. She hadn't expected him for another couple of hours. Shannon tossed aside the squeegee as she heard the crunch of tires on gravel accompanied by the well-bred roar of the Porsche engine. Hastily she removed the last greeting card from beneath the silk screen, put it carefully on the drying table and then she raced for the door.

"I didn't expect you until this evening!" she exclaimed, coming quickly down the front steps as Garth climbed out of the Porsche and reached for his leather overnight bag.

"I got away early." He waited for her as she rushed toward him, his eyes warm with a deeply satisfied expression.

Shannon laughed and stopped short just as she was about to throw her arms around him. "I don't dare touch you. I've got paint all over me."

He leaned down and kissed her, something he'd been thinking about doing for the past few hours. A firm, sensually aggressive kiss that contained a wealth of waiting hunger. "Let's go inside. It's been a long trip."

Some of Shannon's pleasure in seeing him faded at the words. "It is a long trip, isn't it? How much time does it take to drive it? Four hours?"

"Almost." He stepped into the cottage and set down the bag. Then he brushed his mouth across hers again, lingeringly this time. "And worth every mile."

"I hope you continue to think so next weekend and the weekend after that." Shannon tried to keep her voice light, but she was afraid some of her uncertainty showed.

"As long as I know you're waiting, I'll be here." Garth hung his jacket up in the hall closet, his actions making him appear very much at home. Then he turned back to her. "Show me what you're doing that's got you covered in red ink."

Shannon's mouth curved again as she led to the way to her studio. "I'm screening another order of cards. I was hoping to do some of the totes today, but one of the shops in town called up and said they had to have another order of greeting cards. I was just finishing as you arrived. All I have to do now is clean up." He followed her into the room and stood studying the array of small tools on the worktable, the rack of drying cards that had just received their third and last trip under the silk and the paint-covered squeegee and screen.

"For every color of ink you use in the design on the cards you have to run each one through the process a separate time?" Garth frowned as he examined the screen.

"That's right. I suppose that doesn't seem terribly efficient to someone who runs an electronics firm. I'll bet you crank out fifty billion
doohickies
an hour on your assembly lines, right?"

"Not quite fifty billion, but I'm sure we get a lot more,
er
,
doohickies
out the door than you do cards," he retorted dryly. "Still, I can't market my products as handmade. Precision made, yes, but not handmade."

"What exactly does
Sherilectronics
make, Garth?" Shannon had been realizing all week how little she still knew of him.

"Circuit boards and other components for companies that manufacture computers," Garth responded absently. He wandered around the room as Shannon began cleaning red ink off the screen. "Nothing that would be of interest to you." He stopped beside a pile of canvas squares. "Are these the designs for the tote bags?"

Shannon glanced over at the pile. "That's right. I wanted to have a variety to show the buyer when she gets here this week."

Garth fingered one of the squares, a brilliantly hued letter A decorated with jewel-toned dragons and intricate scrollwork. There was a thoughtful expression on his face. "Will this buyer give you a contract to sign if she decides to buy your totes?"

"Probably," Shannon said carelessly. "I'm sure there will be something in writing about deliveries and prices. Around here I don't worry too much about formal contracts, but I imagine a professional buyer will be used to dealing in a more businesslike manner."

"I'm sure she will. She'll probably also be more accustomed to taking advantage of craftspeople who don't know much about the business world." Garth dropped the canvas he had been holding. "Don't sign anything until I've had a chance to look at it, Shannon."

Shannon looked up in surprise. "But, Garth, that's not necessary. Besides, if she's interested, I'll want to get the deal settled as quickly as possible. This is the first really big buyer I've had. I don't want to do anything to wreck the deal."

"She can wait a few days for the contract. If she were dealing with a large-scale operation, she'd expect to wait awhile. I don't want you signing anything I haven't checked out, honey."

Dismayed, Shannon opened her mouth to argue and then promptly closed it again. Garth was here for such a short time. She didn't want to ruin even a moment of that time by arguing. It occurred to her that this was going to be one of the difficulties with a weekend affair. Problems would be glossed over or ignored because their time together was so limited.

"How was your week?" Shannon asked with what she hoped was a comfortable amount of interest as she finished her cleanup work.

"Long and hectic. I could use a drink. Are you done there?"

She nodded. "I'll change my shirt while you pour us a drink. I've got some wine on the counter."

Garth's mouth crooked as he walked out into the hall and headed for the kitchen. "I brought my own whiskey. Figured you wouldn't have any."

Shannon winced. Next weekend she would be sure to buy some whiskey. She had a lot to learn about Garth, she thought as she went into her bedroom to change into a clean white shirt.