Carolina Moon

been concentrating on setting up my shop and haven’t …” Tory caught herself clutching her hands together, deliberately unlaced her fingers. Damn it, she wasn’t eight years old any longer, a child to be mortified and awed by the regal disapproval of a friend’s mother.
    “I’ve just made coffee,” she said, rigidly polite. “Would you like some?”
    “Is there a seat?”
    “Yes. It seems I live primarily in the kitchen and the bedroom, and will until I have my business up and running smoothly.” Babbling, Tory told herself, as she led the way. Stop babbling. You’ve nothing to apologize for.
    Everything to apologize for.
    “Please, sit down.”
    At least she’d bought a good solid kitchen table and chairs, she thought. And the kitchen was clean, nearly cheerful with the little herbs she’d potted on the windowsill and the darkly glazed bowl from her own stock on the table.
    It helped to pour the coffee, to set the sugar bowl out, but when she opened the refrigerator, fresh mortification reared up and bit pink into her cheeks.
    “I’m afraid I don’t have any cream. Or milk.”
    “This will do.” Margaret nudged her cup aside a bare inch. A subtle and deliberate slap. “If you would sit down, please?” Margaret let the silence hang a moment. She knew the value of silences, and of timing.
    When Tory was seated, Margaret folded her hands on the edge of the table, and with her eyes mild and level, began.
    “It has come to my attention that you have become involved with my son.” Another beat of silence while she watched surprise flicker over Tory’s face. “Small-town gossip is as unattractive as it is unavoidable.”
    “Mrs. Lavelle—”
    “Please.” Margaret cut her off with the lift of one finger. “You’ve been away for a number of years. Though you do have family connections in Progress, you are, virtually, a newcomer. A stranger. Virtually,” Margaret repeated. “But not entirely. For whatever reason, you’ve decided to return, to establish a business here.”
    “Are you here to ask me my reasons, Mrs. Lavelle?”
    “They hold no interest for me. I will be frank and tell you I did not approve of my son renting you space for your business, or renting you this house. However, Cade is the head of the family, and as such, business decisions are his alone. When those decisions, and their results, affect our family position, it becomes a different matter.”
    The longer Margaret spoke in that soft, implacable tone, the easier it was for Tory to settle. Her stomach continued to jump, but when she spoke her voice was equally soft, and equally implacable. “And how, Mrs. Lavelle, do my business and my choice of residence affect your family position?”
    “That alone would have been difficult enough to tolerate. The circumstances are inconvenient, as I’m sure you’re aware. But this personal element is not in any way acceptable.”
    “So while you will tolerate, for now, my business association with your family, you’re asking me not to see Cade in a personal manner? Is that correct?”
    “Yes.” Who was this cool-eyed woman who remained so still, so composed? Margaret wondered. Where was the spindly child who’d slunk away or stared out from shadows?
    “That is problematic, seeing as he’s the landlord of both my home and business and seems to take those responsibilities seriously.”
    “I’m prepared to compensate you for the time and effort it takes to relocate. Perhaps back to Charleston, or to Florence, where you again have family.”
    “Compensate me? I see.” With deadly calm, Tory picked up her coffee. “Would it be crass for me to ask just what form of compensation you had in mind?” She smiled a little, and saw Margaret’s jaw tighten like a bow pulled. “After all, I’m a businesswoman.”
    “The entire matter is crass, and deplorable to me. I see no choice but to sink to your level in order to preserve my family and its reputation.” She opened the purse on her lap. “I’m willing to write you a check for fifty thousand dollars upon your agreement to sever ties with Cade, and with Progress. I will give you half that amount today, and the rest will be sent to you upon your relocation. I will give you two weeks to remove yourself.”
    Tory said nothing. She also knew the weapon of silence.
    “That amount,” Margaret continued with her voice sharpening, “will allow you to live quite comfortably during your transition.”
    “Oh, undoubtedly.”