His Precious Inheritance. Dorothy Clark
stack and smiled. “Your work is most efficient.”
The smile took her aback. Her lips curved in response. “Thank you, Mr. Thornberg.”
“Yes. Well...” He coughed, cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you to your work. Don’t hesitate to ask for my help—though you seem to have things well in hand.” He dipped his head and walked back into the composing room.
She tamped down her pleasure at his compliment of her work and returned to her task.
* * *
“I appreciate your zealous approach to your work, Miss Gordon, but it’s time for your afternoon meal break.”
Clarice jumped, looked from the letter in her hand to Mr. Thornberg standing on the other side of the table and blinked to adjust her vision. “Thank you, sir. I didn’t realize—” The splatter of rain against the windows burst upon her consciousness. “It’s raining!”
“Yes, for over an hour now.”
“Oh, dear.” She breathed the words, placed the letter on the science pile and stared at the water coursing down the windows.
“Is there a problem, Miss Gordon?”
“What? Oh. No. Well...” She moved to her desk, opened the bottom drawer, pulled out her hat and gave a rueful little laugh. “I suppose under the circumstances this qualifies as a problem.” She lifted the small felt hat to her head, snatched the pin from where she’d tossed it on her desk and jammed it into place. Her imagination was already making her shiver as she started for the stairs.
“You’re going out in this rain with no waterproof or umbrella?”
His tone was one of utter disbelief. He obviously thought her either insane or foolish in the extreme. She stopped and turned to face him. “There are times when we are left with no choice in matters, Mr. Thornberg. For me, this is one of those times. My mother is bedridden and depends upon me for her needs. When I came to work this morning, I did not know it would rain today and thus did not wear my waterproof. Nor did I make other arrangements for my mother’s care.” She gave an eloquent little shrug of her shoulders. “Thus...no choice.” She started again for the stairs.
“Wait!”
The command in his voice raised her hackles. She’d had enough of that from her father and brothers. But this was her boss. She made her feet stop walking, tensed when he strode up beside her.
“Come with me, Miss Gordon. I’ve an umbrella in the office.”
* * *
The rain beat on the umbrella, hit the walkway with such force it splashed almost as high as her knees. The hem of her long skirt was sodden, the short train so heavy it felt as if she were dragging one of the large baskets of wet laundry from her childhood behind her. The wind gusted, blew the rain straight at them. She shivered, thankful Mr. Thornberg held the umbrella. She was having difficulty enough making progress against the wind.
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