A Time to Love Page 8

  “Yes, sir,” replied Linnie, overwhelmed by Blake’s good looks and rugged masculinity. “I just came to work yesterday.”

  “I’ll be training her for two weeks,” Veronica said, “then I’ll be heading to Los Angeles.”

  “Well, we sure will miss you around here.”

  “Thank you.” Veronica smiled, then rose from her chair and headed down the hall, saying, “Mr. Laymon and Mr. Studdard are ready for you.

  As Blake followed her toward the conference room, Linnie said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Barrett.”

  “You, too,” he said over his shoulder.

  Veronica tapped on the door and opened it. “Mr. Barrett is here,” she told the two middle-aged men who sat at a long table.

  The attorneys rose to their feet as Blake moved inside.

  Veronica closed the door and returned to the desk. As she sat down, Linnie said, “What a handsome man! Who is he?”

  “Blake Barrett is now the owner of the biggest and most prosperous bank in Sacramento. His father founded the Pacific Bank and Trust Company some twenty years ago. You heard me give him my condolences?”

  “Yes.”

  “His fathers funeral was this morning. Blake inherited the bank in total. There are no other heirs. He graduated from college in 1871, at twenty-one years of age, and came to work immediately for his father at the bank. He has served as executive vice president since being promoted to that position four years ago. And believe me, he had to earn the promotion. His father was a hardhead.”

  Linnie counted on her fingers. “Let’s see. That makes him twenty-seven now, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I assume he’s married.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  Linnie’s eyebrows arched. “Engaged? Promised?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Linnie’s eyes lit up. “Twenty-seven years old. He’s not married or engaged, and he owns a big successful bank all by himself! I think I’ll get to know him better!”

  Veronica laughed. “It’ll take more than getting to know him to get him to the altar, honey. There are lots of women in this town who’d make their play. But there’s a catch as to whom he will even date, much less marry.”

  “A catch?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Veronica looked hard at Linnie and said, “Do you know what a born-again Christian is?”

  “Well, sort of.”

  “That’s what Mr. Blake Barrett is. And believe me, honey, his standards for a wife are sky high. They start with the fact that the lady has to be a born-again Christian or he won’t even consider her.”

  “Oh. My minister back home has always said that born-again talk bordered on foolish fanaticism.”

  Veronica shrugged. “To each his own. Well, let’s get back to work here.”

  When Veronica Naylor closed the door behind Blake Barrett, attorneys Dan Laymon and Myron Studdard rose to their feet to shake his hand. They both commented on the excellent job Pastor Duane Clarke had done at the funeral service and at the graveside service.

  “I appreciate you gentleman attending,” Blake said.

  “We were glad to do it, Blake,” said Laymon. “And Jack Griswold would have done so, too, if he weren’t in Los Angeles. As you know, we’ve had an excellent business relationship with your father ever since he started the bank.”

  “Yes, and you’ve always done him well.”

  “Please, sit down,” said Studdard, who was tall, thin, and bald.

  Laymon was stocky and much shorter than Studdard, and he had a full head of salt-and-pepper hair.

  Both men had file folders and papers on the table before them.

  Studdard looked across at Barrett. “Blake, you knew your father had us prepare a new will for him just two weeks ago.”

  “Yes. He’s known for three months that he was terminally ill, and about a month ago he told me he was going to make some changes in the will. He said he wanted to leave something for Haman Warner, and asked if I objected. I told him I had no reason to object. Haman has served Dad and the bank well for over seven years. If Dad wanted to honor that faithfulness by putting Haman in the will, it’s all right with me.”

  Studdard nodded. “So he never told you what he did for Mr. Warner?”

  “No. I hope he treated him well.”

  “Let me explain it, Blake,” said Laymon, “since I did the wording on it.”

  “Sure”.

  “Since you’re the only heir up until this change, you were to inherit the bank and your father’s house and belongings.”

  Blake nodded.

  “Now your father has it in the will that as long as Mr. Warner is employed at the bank, he is to receive a bonus at the end of each calendar year equal to 5 percent of the bank’s annual net income.”

  Blake smiled. “Haman deserves it. Maybe one of these days he’ll find the right woman and get married. That annual bonus would build a comfortable nest egg for them.”

  Myron Studdard chuckled. “What is it with you bankers? You like being bachelors? Warner’s older than you, isn’t he?”

  “Mmm-hmm. A little better than two years. He’ll turn thirty before I turn twenty-eight. Neither of us is a confirmed bachelor. We just haven’t had the right women walk into our lives yet.”

  “Well … maybe one of these days.”

  Dan Laymon went on. “Blake, your dad put a stipulation in the will about Haman.”

  “Oh? Something more?”

  “Yes. While you’re alive, if circumstances of any kind render you incapable of directing the bank properly … so as to keep it from operating as it has in its twenty-year history, it will become the property of Haman Warner.”

  “Circumstances of any kind …” Blake said.

  “Yes. Your father had the utmost confidence in Warner and felt that he would take the bank on to greater success as Sacramento grows.”

  “Not that he didn’t have the same confidence in you, Blake,” interjected Studdard. “You certainly have proven your capability to run the bank ever since he made you executive vice president and began acting only in an advisory capacity to you. He was simply making provision should something happen to you. You know, some sickness or accident that would render you unable to function as owner and president of the bank.”

  “Are you talking about something that could cause my mental capacity to render me incapable of directing the bank properly? For instance, if I had to be put in an asylum for the rest of my life—is that it?”

  “Yes,” said Studdard. “And when you read the will, you’ll see that even then there is to be five hundred thousand dollars provided from the estate to care for you the rest of your life.”

  “I’d say a half-million would pay an asylum quite well, even if I lived to be a hundred and twenty,” Blake said with a chuckle.

  Both attorneys laughed. Then Studdard said, “So you see, Blake, the only way the bank would go to Warner is if something happened to you mentally that would keep you from properly directing the bank. Even if you came down with some dread disease that made you bedridden, but you could direct the bank as stipulated, the bank would remain your property.”

  Laymon’s mouth curved in a teasing grin. “That is … unless you were sent to prison, where you would absolutely be out of it! Then it would go to Warner.

  “Seriously,” Laymon continued, “your father made your death an exception as far as Warner is concerned as secondary heir. If you should die while properly running the bank, your entire estate, including the bank, would go to the beneficiaries you have named in your own will—at this point, your pastor and his wife.”

  “Right,” Blake said. “If I die, the Clarkes will simply sell the bank, and the money that it brings will be theirs. Of course, should I find the right little gal one of these days and get married, she’ll become my sole beneficiary.”

  “If I remember correctly,” Studdard said, “you didn’t even tell the Clarkes about being your beneficiaries at the time you set
up the will. Do they know it now?”

  “No. Be a nice surprise for them if I die. But if I get married, they won’t have to feel a letdown when my wife becomes sole heir.”

  “Just like your dad,” said Laymon. “Always thinking ahead.”

  “Blake,” said Studdard, “we feel that Haman Warner should be given a copy of the will. It would prepare him to step into your shoes should some unfortunate incident occur. If you should die as things stand now, we would simply notify the Clarkes of their windfall, and they could go to Warner and say, ‘Put the bank up for sale.’ But for such an unexpected event to drop on Warner, who would no doubt want to keep the bank for himself, calls for preparedness. Would you mind if I give him a copy?”

  “Of course not. I don’t object in the least. Haman has proven himself valuable to the bank, a faithful employee to Dad, and a loyal friend to me.”

  “Good. I’ll have Veronica make a copy for you and one for Warner. As you know, we’ll keep the original here in the safe. One of us will deliver Warner’s copy to him tomorrow at the bank.”

  That evening, Bill and Evelyn Borah were behind the counter at the Blue Pacific Cafe when they saw Blake Barrett come in. The place was a beehive of activity.

  “Hello, Blake,” Evelyn called.

  “Hi, Blake,” said Bill.

  “Howdy,” Blake said, glancing around. “Business is good, eh?”

  “Sure is, praise the Lord,” Evelyn replied.

  “That’s why you need to build on, so you can add more tables, isn’t it?”

  Bill grinned. “You’ve got that right.”

  Blake patted the pocket of his suit coat. “I have your loan figures right here, Bill. When you get a little break, come on over. I see an empty table back in the corner. You’ll find me there.”

  As Blake weaved his way among the tables, several people spoke to him, offering their condolences.

  The Borahs’ two daughters were the café’s waitresses. Blake picked up a menu and watched Susan and Lucy hurrying to deliver food on trays and take more food orders. Both girls were pretty. Blake had once begun to develop an interest in Susan, but before he could properly make a move, he learned she was engaged to Ralph Duncan, who was a member of the church.

  Shortly thereafter, he found an interest sparked within him toward Lucy. He had decided to ask her for a date while at church one Sunday, but noticed her sitting with Cliff Winters and learned from one of Lucy’s friends that very day that she and Cliff were going steady.

  “Always a little late, aren’t you, Blake?” he whispered to himself. “Now Susan’s married and Lucy’s engaged.”

  Just at that moment, Blake saw Lucy heading toward him, carrying a coffeepot in one hand and a cup in the other. She smiled warmly as she drew up. “Hello, Blake.”

  “Hi, Lucy.”

  She set the cup down and started pouring the steaming black liquid. “I only got to speak to you briefly at the funeral, Blake. I know you must feel additional sorrow that your father died without the Lord. I want you to know that Cliff and I took time to pray for you before we left the cemetery.”

  “I appreciate that. Yes, it’s a burden about my dad, but praise the Lord, He’s cushioned the pain with His own love. And I know it’s because people like you and Cliff have prayed for me.”

  Susan came by, carrying a tray to a nearby table. “Hi, Blake.”

  “Hi, yourself,” he responded with a smile.

  “Okay,” Lucy said, “what can I get you?”

  “Chicken and dumplings, ma’am. Tell the cook not to heap it too high. My appetite isn’t quite up to normal right now.”

  “You want two hot rolls or one?”

  “One will do.”

  “All right. Chicken and dumplings with one hot roll coming up.”

  Susan had emptied the tray at the other table and stepped up to Blake’s table. “You doing all right, Blake?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Ralph and I have been praying for you.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “Oh, hi, Pops,” Susan said as her father appeared.

  “Get to work, girl!” Bill said in a mock tone of anger. “There isn’t time to stand around and chat with the good-looking male customers!”

  “Why not?” she giggled. “Mother does!”

  “You git!”

  Susan laughed and threaded her way among the tables to the kitchen.

  Bill pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “Some girls you have there, Bill,” Blake said, chuckling.

  “That’s for sure. Wouldn’t trade ’em for a million worlds. How are you holding up?”

  “I won’t say it hasn’t been rough, but the Lord has answered the prayers of my many precious friends and given me a great measure of strength and peace.”

  “That’s wonderful. Evelyn and I have been praying for you ever since we learned your father had died.”

  Blake reached into his coat pocket and drew out an envelope. Handing it to Bill, he said, “See how those figures look.”

  As Bill pulled out the papers to look them over, Lucy arrived with Blake’s order. She placed a heaping plate of chicken and dumplings in front of him, set a small plate with two large rolls next to it, and gave him a broad smile.

  Blake frowned. “You were supposed to bring one roll and a small plate of chicken and dumplings.”

  “I know, but the cook figured your appetite might be better by now.”

  Blake chuckled. “Okay, Lucy. I’ll eat as much as I can.”

  “Hope you like it. I’ll be back with more coffee in a few minutes.”

  When Lucy was gone, Bill looked up from the papers and said, “That’s a pretty good interest rate, Blake. And the terms are more than fair.”

  “We try to treat our customers right.”

  “Well, you sure are treating me right, I’ll say that.”

  “Come by the bank tomorrow, and we’ll put the money in your account.”

  “Will do,” said Bill, stuffing the papers back in the envelope and handing it to Blake.

  Blake looked at the food before him, and his appetite seemed to grow stronger as the aroma of hot rolls and chicken and dumplings teased his nostrils. Smiling at Bill, he said, “This looks pretty good.”

  “Better be,” said his friend. “I’ll let you pray, then we can talk a little.”

  Blake thanked the Lord for the food, then said, “You talk, Bill. I’m going to eat.”

  Bill Borah talked about the new building project and his plans for expansion. He would have to add to the kitchen, hire another cook, and hire a couple more waitresses.

  Lucy returned and filled Blake’s cup with fragrant coffee, and as he ate, Blake was surprised at how hungry he had suddenly become.

  When Bill was in the middle of describing how he would rearrange the entire cafe, a young couple from the church stopped at the table. Mike and Rosie Brannan had moved to Sacramento from Placerville, California, about four months ago. They had been at the funeral that morning and now shared their sympathy with Blake once more. He thanked them, and they left.

  In the next few minutes, more people stopped at Blake’s table to offer their condolences.

  Bill Borah smiled. “All of us in the church think the world of you, Blake. And the rest of the town does, too, including the women. I’m surprised that some fortunate female hasn’t latched onto you and married you.”

  Blake laughed hollowly. “Tell you what, Bill. Like with your daughters, all the single Christian young women in Sacramento are either married, engaged to be married, or are dating some man steadily. There aren’t any young women available.”

  “Well, my boy, the Lord’s got just the right girl picked out for you. She’ll come along one of these days.”

  “I’m patiently waiting for her to show up, Bill. I’m less than three years from thirty. It’s time I got married, all right. I’ve prayed a lot about it, but I just have to wait on the Lord.”

  Bill stood
up suddenly and said, “Evelyn’s giving me the evil eye. I’m keeping you talking, and your food’s getting cold. I’d better get back to the counter.”

  Blake went back to work on his meal. A few minutes later, he saw Pastor and Mrs. Clarke come in. Lucy greeted them and explained that all the tables were full; they would have to wait till one opened up.

  Blake stood up and called, “Pastor! Come on over here. I’ll share my table with you and Nora.”

  Pastor Clarke gave a little wave and allowed Nora to go ahead of him as they worked their way toward Blake’s table.

  Being the perfect gentleman, the sandy-headed man rose to his feet in honor of Nora Clarke. As the preacher seated his wife, Lucy came with coffee and cups. After pouring the coffee, she took their orders and headed for the kitchen.

  “Go ahead and eat, Blake,” Clarke said. “Your food will get cold if you wait for ours to come.”

  While Blake continued to eat his meal, the pastor said, “I want to thank you for what you did in the offering last Sunday.”

  Blake grinned. “I was glad to do it.”

  “I can’t tell you what a blessing it is. Your gift will completely pay for the new Sunday school wing we’ve been needing so badly.”

  “The glory goes to God, Pastor,” Blake said humbly. “If He hadn’t blessed me financially, I wouldn’t be able to do things like that. It makes me really happy to be able to help the church.”

  “Well, you know what the Bible says … when you sow bountifully, you reap bountifully. Nobody ever outgives the Lord.”

  “That’s for sure. We use a teaspoon when we give. He comes back with a scoop shovel!”

  Blake entered his apartment, lit a couple of lamps, and looked around, knowing he would soon leave it and move into his father’s house, which he had inherited.

  The apartment took up the complete second floor of a lovely Victorian home. He had filled it with rich mahogany furniture upholstered in jewel-toned fabrics. The same fabric was used for the window coverings. The glowing lamps illuminated the patina of the ornately carved woodwork.

  Blake had collected several pieces of beautiful artwork. Delightful paintings were displayed on the walls, and exquisite sculptures adorned tables and shelves.

  His housekeeper kept everything in mint condition, and Blake always enjoyed coming home to this peaceful setting at the end of a long day. Before he moved into his father’s house, he would have it done over to resemble his apartment.