Wishmakers by Dorothy Garlock Page B

equipment.”
    Margaret barely heard the words over her racking sobs. Humiliation replaced fright. Once again she'd made a fool of herself, and of course Chip had to witness it.
    “I'm sorry.” The tears were pouring down her face, and she was desperately trying to control her voice. “I couldn't find you and…then he was there.”
    “You were talking on the phone, so I went back to the storage room. Now don't cry.” His hands moved up and down her back, and he held her protectively close.
    “I was talking to Rachel Riley. She wanted the number at the house so she could call me.” She choked back her hysteria, knowing she was going to have to lift her face and look at him.
    “Is she still on the phone?” he asked patiently.
    “Yes. I put it on hold.” She drew away from him and glanced down the hall. It was empty. “She'll wonder what's happened.”
    “C'mon. I'll talk to her.” He frowned, then smiled. “I'll have to ask Boomy to come around more often.”
    They went back into his office, and Margaret plucked a couple of tissues from a packet on the shelf and wiped her eyes. Chip picked up the phone.
    “Miss Riley, this is Chip Thorn.” His voice was abrupt, businesslike. “No, there's nothing wrong. Margaret couldn't find me. I'd gone to the storage room.” He listened for a moment. “I don't think it would be wise for you to call her there. The phone is on a seven-party line. If you feel you must get in touch with her, you can call me here at the office. I'll know the call is really for her, and I'll have her call you back.” He swiveled in the chair, and Margaret couldn't see his face, but his voice held a note of impatience. She was feeling too wretched to wonder why.
    Chip put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Do you want to speak to her again?” He looked at her intently. She nodded, and he handed her the phone.
    “I'm back, Rachel,” she said in her brightest tone. “I'll call again soon.” She glanced at Chip, whose eyes had iced over like a winter frost. “I love you, too. 'Bye.” She replaced the phone carefully, not wanting to look at Chip, who was still watching her very closely.
    “You think I'm paranoid, don't you.” She looked away from him to some distant spot behind his head, but she could still see his face. Instinctively she knew she would always see his face; it would be forever etched in her mind.
    The softness of his voice brought her eyes back to his. “Are you?”
    “Yes.” The whispered word was an admission she hadn't even made to herself before.
    Chip got up from the chair and moved around the desk. His hands found her shoulders, and his thumbs made little circling movements in the hollows beside her collarbone.
    “The first step in solving a problem is admitting you've got one,” he said reassuringly to the top of her head.
    Her eyes fastened on a spot at the base of his throat. She found herself tongue-tied. Her mind went blank, and she couldn't think of anything to say. It seemed quite natural to rest her forehead against the spot she had looked at so intently. They stood silently until they heard a door closing in another part of the building. Chip moved away from her, but he slid a hand down her arm to clasp hers.
    “Come and meet Boomy.”
    The large, black-bearded man insisted on taking the blame for frightening her.
    “I'm sure sorry I scared you. I didn't see Chip's car, and my first thought was that someone had broken into the office. You were as much of a surprise to me as I was to you.”
    “I panicked. My only excuse is that in the city we keep three locks on every door.” Margaret decided she liked Boomy. He was big and woolly, but soft and gentle, like a teddy bear.
    “I know about that. I lived in Washington, D.C., for several years. This is the best place to live and raise kids. I suppose even this place will fill up eventually, and we'll all put three locks on the doors, but for now my wife and I are enjoying it. I'd like you to meet her