Finding Mr. Right. Gwynne Forster

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СКАЧАТЬ promised Clark that she would give him a call. Once she had assured herself that both her brother and sister were settled in at work, Tyra placed a three-way call to them.

      “What do you two mean by setting me up with Byron Whitley? Take care of your business and stay out of mine.”

      “Now look, Sis,” Clark began, “that wasn’t really my intention. If I’d thought about it…”

      Darlene interrupted. “So what’s the big deal? If you looked for a year, you wouldn’t find a better prospect than Byron. He’s tall, handsome, and he’s got a brilliant legal mind. You should be thanking Clark. And Byron liked you. Anybody could see that.”

      “Yeah,” Clark said. “And he’s the right age—forty. Don’t tell me you didn’t like him. I could see that the minute you opened the door and looked at him.”

      “I’m warning both of you. I can find a man on my own. I don’t need help from either of you.”

      If Clark was trying to be a matchmaker, she’d no doubt frustrated him. Although he may not have planned it, Clark had already warmed up to the idea. “Byron says he has a dinner date with you this coming Sunday. I hope you’re not going to disappoint him.”

      “If you hadn’t meddled in my personal life, Clark, you wouldn’t have to worry about that.”

      “He’s a great guy.”

      “Remove your halo, Clark. Let me know if you’ll be home this weekend.”

      “Since you’re not interested in Byron, Sis, can I go to dinner with the two of you Sunday?” Darlene said. Tyra threw up her hands. “Oh, stop acting so innocent. I’ll show you both a thing or two. See you tonight.”

      Byron sat at his desk trying to focus on a case. He seemed unable to think about his legal strategy. He’d spent the previous night at the Cunningham home, hoping to be distracted from the case. But he hadn’t counted on that much of a distraction. He wanted to see Tyra Cunningham again, and he knew himself well enough to know that if he enjoyed her company at dinner, he’d want to see more of her—much more. She’d made a strong impression on him: not even the delicious crème caramel dessert had gotten his attention.

      His intercom light blinked, and he pushed the button. “Mr. Whitley, your dad’s on two,” his secretary said.

      He waited until the paralegal left his office and then picked up his second line. “Hi, Dad. How’re you doing?”

      “I’m fine. I was thinking how nice it would be if I took Andy fishing with me this weekend. Do you mind if he stays over with me Saturday night?”

      “That much is fine, Dad, but I have something to do Sunday evening, and I have to check with Aunt Jonie to see what her plans are.”

      “If he’s home by five Sunday, that should do it,” Lewis Whitley told his son. “I know you’ll have a fit if a day passes and you don’t see him. But he could spend Sunday night with me, and he’d love it.”

      “Don’t tell him until Friday, otherwise, he’ll pester me about it the entire week. I’ll be in touch.”

      Andy was his life, just as he and his sister had been the center of his father’s life. He tried to be both mother and father to the boy. Andy had never known his mother since she’d died a few days after his birth. He looked at the picture of the child that he kept on his desk and smiled. The boy looked as much like him as Byron looked like his father. What would his life have been like if Lois had survived.

      He flexed his left shoulder in a quick shrug, his way of reminding himself that he couldn’t undo the past and that he had to get on with life. He had already realized that he wouldn’t be over Lois completely until another woman claimed his heart. But four years was a long time to wait.

      He always played it straight, and he couldn’t commit to a woman unless he thought she would be a good mother for his son. So far, he hadn’t come close to finding a woman like that. A rueful smile flashed across his face. Wonder how long I’ll be able to say that.

      The following Friday night, Tyra sat on the deck in back of her house, waiting for the hamburgers and hotdogs to grill. She almost always cooked dinner on the grill in the summer when Maggie took the night off. The housekeeper didn’t have regular days off. She took a day off whenever she needed to, provided her absence didn’t conflict with Tyra’s plans. She never worked on Sundays. Tyra hadn’t expected Clark, and when he arrived, she put more hotdogs and hamburgers on the grill along with two more ears of corn.

      “This is a surprise,” she told him. “Darlene and I thought we’d be eating without you.”

      “I wanted to talk to you and saying anything important to you over the phone is never a good idea.” He straddled a chair and rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie. “Byron Whitley is an exceptional man, and I don’t want you to treat him as if he’s an also-ran, an ordinary Joe. He’s not. There are seven lawyers in his firm, and he hasn’t lost a case in the fourteen years he’s been practicing.”

      “Okay. He’s a great guy. But I won’t have my brother choosing a man for me. I can do that myself.”

      “Yeah?” Darlene said. “Not according to Maggie. She said you wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to look for in a man.”

      Tyra rolled her eyes skyward. “I know Maggie’s smart, but her words are not gospel. From now on, leave it to me to get my own man. So lay off, please. I know you mean well, but it is humiliating.”

      “Are you keeping your date with Byron?” Clark asked.

      “I told you I was, but if you ask me one more time, I’m going to phone him and cancel it. I know you both love me, but I want you to let me take care of this part of my life myself.”

      “Okay. Okay. I’ll lay off, but if you need me…” Unwilling to risk aggravating her more, he let it hang.

      Ordinarily, Tyra would have asked Darlene’s opinion about which of two dresses she should wear to dinner with Byron. But since she had asked her siblings to back off, that meant not consulting them about anything to do with Byron or any other man. She chose a pale yellow sleeveless silk-chiffon dress that flared below the hips, black patent-leather shoes with three inch heels and a small black purse. She selected a black wrap in case the air conditioning in the restaurant was too much.

      The doorbell rang precisely at six-thirty, and Darlene rushed to open it. Tyra took her time walking down the stairs and, at about halfway, she heard Byron say to Darlene, “What happened to your pony tail? I hardly recognize you.”

      “That was then. This is now,” Darlene said. “Next time you see me, I may have a completely different look.”

      “I doubt it,” he said.

      “Hi, Byron. I meant to answer the door, but Darlene beat me to it.” She took the bouquet of pink, red and white peonies that he handed her and smiled. “How did you know that I love peonies.”

      “Just luck, I guess. I’m fond of them, and those were so beautiful. I was wavering between the peonies and roses.”

      Tyra looked over her shoulder at Darlene. “I’m thirty, Darlene, so I think I can go on a date without a chaperone.”

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