Destiny Unknown Read online

  Destiny Unknown

  by

  Maris Soule

  Copyright

  Electronic version copyright ©2015 by Maris Soule

  Paperback copyright ©1997 by Maris Soule

  Cover copyright ©2015 Florence Price

  This book was originally published by Bantam Book/Loveswept. The 2015 edition has been slightly revised to include updates with the Internet and cell phones.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Maris Soule

  [email protected]

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks to Karen Berger, Diana Fox Stout, Caroll Drudy, and Susan Carrigan for their assistance with this book.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Author's Note

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Monday morning, only three hours after arriving at Morgan’s downtown department store, Bernadette sat behind her desk, her sister’s dog, Mopsy, on her lap. In silence, she stared at the two sponges Benjamin Waite had placed on her desk. As far as she could tell, they were exactly the same. Identical in size, color and texture. Identical manufacturer.

  Ben spoke first. "One of these will absorb liquids, the other won't."

  Reaching over the dog, Bern picked up the two sponges. They felt the same. The synthetic material was as close a match to living sponge as she'd ever encountered, which was why she'd talked Parker and the buyer for housewares into stocking them in the stores. "Which one will absorb and which one won't?"

  "That's the problem, you can't tell until you use them."

  Since both sponges had a corner cut off, Bern had a feeling Ben knew the answer. He opened the plastic container he'd brought with him, and Mopsy lifted her head, her button nose sniffing.

  "This is some chicken soup my wife made. I think it will illustrate the problem."

  Ben dipped the two sponges into the container, and Bern watched as one sponge absorbed the soup and the other didn't. He was right. They had a problem. "How many have been sold?"

  "Not that many. We didn't get these on the floor until Saturday, but we've had two returned this morning."

  "I want to see the shipment." She stood, set Mopsy on the floor, pushed in her chair, and started for the door. Mopsy trotted after her, but Bern stopped the dog. It was one thing to bring Mopsy to the store so she didn't get lonely; another to have the dog running loose. Carefully, she closed Mopsy into the office.

  They were on their way to shipping and receiving when Ben stopped. "Dang it all! I forgot the original purchase order. It's on your desk. I'll be just a minute."

  True to his word, he was back by her side in a minute. Five minutes later, they were in shipping and receiving, looking at sponges. "So what do we do?" Ben asked.

  For Bern, the decision was easy. She wasn't going to waste valuable time having her employees check which sponges would and which would not absorb liquids. "Send them back. All of them."

  She signed the order, and as long as she was in the area, took time to go over incoming and outgoing shipments for the day. She also stopped by the lingerie department and talked to the two clerks. Lingerie was not doing well this month, in spite of Valentine's Day. The clerks had reported missing inventory, and sales were down. Something was wrong.

  In all, no more than a half hour passed from the time she'd left her office until she returned; nevertheless, the moment she opened her door, Bern knew she had a problem.

  Ben's plastic soup container lay on the carpeting, a grease stain showing where some of the soup had soaked in. Beside the stain lay a sponge. And beside that stood Mopsy, legs spread and head down.

  When Mopsy choked up a shredded portion of sponge, Bern knew what had happened. The dog had gotten up on the desk, had knocked the container of soup onto the floor, and once the soup was gone, had eaten the sponge that had absorbed the soup.

  Going over to the dog, Bern knelt beside her. Though she'd kiddingly called herself Mopsy's aunt from the time her sister, Effie, got the dog, she knew nothing about dogs. Should she pick her up and shake her? Thump her on the back? The Heimlich maneuver didn't seem reasonable, not on a twelve pound mop of hair, but Bern tried. Putting her hands around the dog's ribs, she squeezed.

  The dog choked even harder.

  "Oh my gosh. What happened?"

  Bernadette turned at the sound of the voice. Anne Closson, administrative secretary to Parker Morgan for over eleven years and to his father before that, stood in the doorway, her gaze on Mopsy. "She got into some soup Ben brought in," Bern said. "He'd dipped a sponge into it, and she ate that, too."

  Once again, Mopsy gagged. Anne didn't hesitate, but headed back to her desk. "I'll call a vet."

  Of course, a veterinarian. Bern chided herself for not thinking of that. If a child were choking, you called a doctor. For a dog, it was a vet.

  She gave up on the Heimlich maneuver. Mopsy was in misery, her sides straining and the look in her eyes pained, but she was breathing. Shaking, thumping or squeezing might cause more harm than good.

  Her sister had said Mopsy would eat anything, and Bern knew the dog could jump as high as a chair. Why hadn't she pushed in her chair? She usually did.

  What had she said to Effie? Auntie Bern will take good care of her niece. Well, Auntie Bern wasn't doing such a hot job at the moment. "Please," she begged as Mopsy gagged up another piece of sponge. "Don't die."

  "I found a vet who will see you right away," Anne said, coming back to the doorway. She handed Bern a slip of paper with a veterinarian's name and address. "His office is located just down the road. The receptionist said he's spaying a dog at the moment, but he should be done by the time you arrive."

  * * *

  Bernadette had never been in a veterinarian's office. With Mopsy tucked under her arm, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  The waiting room was filled with empty chairs, magazines spread out on end tables, and a receptionist behind a high counter. On first impression, it wasn't unlike a medical doctor's office. Then again, from the smells surrounding her to the noises coming from the back room, it was very different. Behind one closed door, there was incessant barking. Behind another, mournful meowing.

  And from behind a third door, a man yelled. The barking stopped, but not the mournful meowing.

  "That is one unhappy cat."

  Bern looked at the woman who had spoken. The receptionist was probably in her mid-twenties, could use a good hair styling and some makeup to enhance her features, but was reasonably attractive.

  "I'll be glad when the owners come get him," the woman said, smiling. "Are you the one who called? The one with the dog that swallowed a sponge?"

  "It was my secretary who called." Bern stepped up to the counter, relieved to have reached help. "I left the soup and sponge on my desk. I didn't think she could get to it."

  The receptionist stood and leaned over the counter for a better look at Mopsy. "Cute little thing. She seems to be breathing all right now. The gagging's stopped?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "Dog's name?" The woman sat back do
wn. Pen in hand, she waited for Bernadette's response.

  "Mopsy. She's my sister's dog. I'm dog-sitting."

  "Age?"

  "Age?" Bern wasn't sure how old Mopsy was. Was it four years ago Effie had written that she'd gotten a new puppy? Five?

  The outside door opening behind her broke her concentration. Bern glanced that way and watched a German shepherd limp into the office, its grey and brown coat covered with mud. The man behind the dog was just as dirty, mud clinging to his boots and soaked into his ragged jeans. Even his worn leather jacket, partially unzipped to show a dingy white t-shirt, was spattered with mud.

  He didn't seem to notice that his dog had stopped in front of him, not until he nearly ran into the animal. Sidestepping to avoid a collision, he bumped into one of the chairs, making a clatter and nearly knocking it over. Quickly he caught it, righting it again, before looking her way.

  An embarrassed grin switched to an unabashed stare as his gaze traveled slowly from her sleekly pulled back blond hair, over her charcoal gray wool coat, to the toes of her black pumps. For a moment, Bernadette could imagine how a model felt on the runway, both her body and outfit being closely examined. When his gaze again met hers, the grin returned, clearly sexual, and she knew she'd passed his scrutiny. Not that she found that surprising. Most men found her attractive, at least initially.

  Her reaction to him wasn't as positive. Dirt, in her opinion, wasn't attractive, and she'd never seen anyone so dirty, at least not since first grade, when Billy Doster was showing off and fell head first into a mud puddle. Unlike Billy, this guy was not only dirty, he needed a shave and a haircut.

  She supposed, if you took away the dirt, he could be called good looking. Actually, if he had that shave and a shower, and about three inches taken off his mop of brown hair, she might call him handsome. He certainly had the body. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. No beer gut. For a man in his mid-thirties, which was her guess, he looked darn good.

  He walked toward her, the grin growing wider as he neared, and Bernadette realized she'd been staring. The poor guy thought she was interested. Which, of course, couldn't be further from the truth, though the accelerated beat of her heart was disturbing—very disturbing—and she couldn't seem to draw her gaze away from his face.

  Only when he was standing beside her did he turn his attention to the receptionist. "Here we are again, Joy. Doc, in?"

  "He's finishing a spaying." Joy, the receptionist, again rose to her feet and looked over the side of the counter. "What happened to you this time, Thor?"

  The dog wagged his tail at the sound of his name, and the man patted him on his head. "He decided it was easier to go through a window than a door. Problem was, the window wasn't open. He's got a pretty nasty cut on his leg. Looks like it's going to take some stitches."

  "We'll get you right in."

  "Hey!" Bern snapped out of her stupor. "Right in" had had the sound of "Before anyone else."

  Both Joy and Mr. Sex Appeal looked her way, and Bern lifted Mopsy slightly, so they could see. "I have a sick dog here. A very sick dog. And I have to get back to work."

  Joy grinned. "You're going to love this, Cody. Her dog ate a sponge."

  Cody chuckled, the sound fittingly deep and rumbly. Bernadette frowned. "I don't think it's funny. She was choking."

  Immediately, his smile vanished. "Sorry. I wasn't laughing at that. It's just that it sounds so familiar. When Thor was a pup, he made a valiant attempt at eating a dish towel. You tried oil?"

  Oil?"

  "Mineral oil. Fish oil. Most any kind will work. Helps grease the skids, so to speak."

  She got the picture. To her dismay, she was getting several pictures. Looking into his eyes was like looking into a box of Godiva chocolates, the rich brown coloring so tempting. Looking at his hair, she realized three gold loop earrings adorned his left ear.

  He seemed to have a preference for gold jewelry. Besides the earrings, he wore a gold chain around his neck. Curious, she checked his left hand.

  No gold ring.

  Not that his marital status mattered . . . or even his sexual preferences. She wasn't interested. She liked men who wore suits—Armani suits preferred—who kept their hair cut short, and who overall had a successful demeanor. With this guy, not only was the Armani suit missing, his jeans were torn at the knees.

  "How long ago did your dog eat this sponge?" he asked, and she realized her gaze had dropped to his jeans, and it wasn't the area of his knees that she'd been concentrating on.

  "How long ago?" Shifting Mopsy so she was cradling the dog in front of her coat, Bernadette glanced at her watch. "I'm not exactly sure. I'd left her in my office while I was checking on those sponges." She made a guess. "Maybe half an hour ago. Forty, forty-five minutes at most."

  Cody reached forward. Bern tensed and stepped back.

  "I want to see how distended her belly is," he said, the lift of his bushy brown eyebrows questioning her retreat.

  "Don't be afraid. He really knows dogs," Joy added.

  "I'm not afraid." Bernadette stepped forward again, letting Cody touch Mopsy's belly. "You'll find it hard as a rock."

  Gently, he pressed on the dog's sides. His hands were covered with nicks and cuts, and dirt was ground under his nails and into his knuckles. They were callused hands. Hands that did manual labor. Definitely not the hands of a successful businessman.

  He poked and he prodded, yet Mopsy wasn't distressed by his handling. If anything, the dog seemed to relax.

  Bernadette couldn't say the same, not with him standing so close. The tension vibrating through her was unnerving, her senses on over-load. She could smell the leather of his jacket and the sweat of his body, could hear the rhythm of his breathing, and the soft hum of the words he used to soothe Mopsy. Intrigued, she listened, the sound of his voice mesmerizing.

  Then she felt his fingertips rub against her coat, putting pressure on her breasts, and the spark of awareness that shot through her fired her imagination. She pulled back, her body tingling, but he'd already moved his hand and had turned away. Seemingly unaware of what he'd done, he spoke to Joy. "Better tell Jim to put on his rain coat. Unless I miss my guess, he's got a repeat performance coming up."

  Joy laughed and left her desk. "I'll tell him. In fact, I think I'll go see how he's doing."

  Alone with Cody in the waiting room, Bern fought back a sense of uneasiness. He smiled at her. She looked away.

  "Shih tzu?"

  "She what?" Bernadette looked back, frowning.

  "Is she a shih tzu? It's a breed of dog."

  "I know what it is." She simply hadn't been thinking about the dog, not with him so near. "She's only part."

  "Have you had her long?"

  "Less than twenty-four hours." She liked the fact that her answer took him aback. "She belongs to my sister. I'm just dog-sitting while she's on her honeymoon."

  He nodded and patted his own dog's head. "They do pick the most inopportune times to get into trouble."

  "If you say so. I wouldn't know. I've never owned a dog." She wrinkled her nose. "Personally, I find them smelly and messy."

  "You sound like my mother."

  From his tone, Bernadette knew that wasn't a compliment.

  "Do you have any kids?" he asked.

  The question surprised her. "No, I'm not married."

  Cody nodded. "That's good."

  No explanation. Simply a statement. She didn't understand. "Meaning?"

  "Nothing in particular, other than, I hate seeing families where the kids want a dog, but the parents won't let them because dogs are smelly and messy." He imitated her wrinkling her nose. "For some of us, a dog is like part of the family."

  Bernadette glanced down at his dog, the mud caking on the dog's coat, then at Cody, the mud caking on his jeans and jacket. "I do see a family resemblance."

  "Both good-looking, right?" He patted his dog's head, and Thor wagged his tail.

  "If you say so." Turning away, Bernadette walked
over to the plastic chairs lining the wall. She needed distance between them, some way to escape the tension radiating through her.

  Cody watched her sit down. She turned her head so she was looking away from him, the gesture a clear snub. From the moment he'd stepped through the door, she'd been wrinkling her pretty little nose and looking down it at him. Her attitude was regal, her opinion clear. She'd judged, and he'd failed.

  Why then, didn't he leave it at that? Accept that once again he was being judged by outward appearances? Every logical brain cell he possessed told him to forget her. It wasn't as though he needed to make a conquest. Attracting women had never been a problem for him. And he certainly didn't need to subjugate himself to verbal abuse. He'd had enough of that growing up.

  So why did he stroll across the room, Thor by his side, and sit down beside Ms. Ice Princess?

  He supposed he could blame his actions on a perverse sense of humor. It was funny, watching her stiffen her back and edge away, all the while maintaining a tightly controlled smile and avoiding eye contact. Knowing she wanted to tell him to get lost, yet didn't, amused him. For most of his childhood, he'd been called dumb. It had bothered him then, when he couldn't escape the barbed tongues and couldn't fight back. Now he'd learned playing dumb could be fun. The fool became the mocker.

  "Name's Cody," he said, holding out his hand. "William Cody Taylor actually, but everyone calls me Cody."

  She looked at his outstretched palm, but didn't move.

  "And yours is?" He pushed, waiting.

  She still didn't offer her hand, but she did give her name. "Bernadette Sanders."

  Immediately, she looked away. He kept at it. "Oh, and let me introduce my son—Thor."

  She glanced down at his dog, then back at him, a frown flickering across her face. Cody let his gaze travel more slowly down from blond hair that didn't have a strand out of place, to a face that was expertly made up, to a coat that probably cost more than most people made in a month. "So you're not married," he said aloud. "That means you're either single or divorced. Let me see—" He rubbed his chin, and remembered he hadn't shaved. It had been a heck of a morning. "My guess is you're a—" He made a wild guess. "Stock broker?"