inheritance. "This is my home," Althea stated with soft forcefulness. "I won't jeopardize it for anyone."
"Well, let me remind you, Miss High and Mighty, that in the past I provided you with a home and the education that got you that cushy job you hold. You owe us, girlie," he sneered nastily.
Cupping her brow with her hand, Althea massaged her forehead, moving her thumb and forefinger in slow, tiny circles over her throbbing temples. She didn't even bother to point out to her uncle that she had earned her degree through a scholarship and a series of menial part-time jobs. Or that, from the time she graduated from high school, she had paid them for her room and board. The only reason she had even stayed with them was to be near Greg.
"Look, Uncle Bill, I'm sorry you feel that way," Althea said with a weary sigh. "But the fact remains that I simply don't have two thousand dollars to give you." Greg made an outraged sound but Althea silenced him with a wave of her hand. "Perhaps in a month or so, if I earn a bonus, I'll be able to help you out, but right now all I can spare is a couple of hundred."
A long, angry silence followed. "All right," Bill Holland growled finally. "I'll take the two hundred for now, but you'd better come up with the rest before too long. Otherwise, your aunt and I will be forced to take legal action."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means, girlie, that you stole my wife's inheritance, and we intend to get it back ... one way or another. So just you have that check ready when I come by tonight to get it." Before Althea could respond, he hung up.
Jerking the buzzing receiver away from her ear, she slammed it down into its cradle and stood rigid for a moment, trembling with a combination of fear and suppressed fury. That horrible man! Would she never be rid of him? Logic told Althea that he was just bluffing, that he didn't stand a chance and he knew it, but just the thought of losing her home, the only real stability she had ever known, sent an icy chill through her. Coming on top of everything else, this was really a low blow.
"Why, that sorry, low-down, good-for-nothing ..." Red-faced, Greg sputtered to a stop, unable to find a word vile enough to call their uncle. "Do you mean he's got the nerve to try to mooch two thousand dollars from you?"
"You should know by now that Bill Holland has the nerve to try anything," Althea replied wearily, giving him a wry look. "Not that it will do him any good. I can't give him what I don't have."
"But surely you're not going to fork over the two hundred?"
"If it will keep him off my back, yes." When Greg would have argued, Althea raised her hand and cut him off. "Greg, please! Let's just drop the subject, shall we? I know what I'm doing, believe me." Turning away, she headed for the door. "Now, come on, let's get back to the yard work while we still have some daylight left." Without waiting for a reply, Althea loped down the stairs and slammed out the front door. When Greg followed a few minutes later, he found her once more on her knees, vigorously working the soil of the flowerbed with a hand cultivator.
Althea worked in the yard the rest of that day and all the next. By Sunday evening the lawn was mowed, the walkways and drive were sharply edged, every bush and hedge had been clipped, the flowerbeds, which were a mass of bobbing blossoms of every color and kind imaginable, had been thoroughly weeded, cultivated, watered, fertilized and sprayed. Everything was picture perfect ... yet Althea was still eaten up with nerves.
All weekend long she had vacillated between hope and despair, telling herself one minute that everything would be fine, and certain the next that she would soon be standing in the unemployment line.
Monday morning Althea reluctantly dressed in a dusty-rose silk shirtdress that buttoned down the front all the way to the hem. The soft material skimmed delicately over her breasts and hips, while a self belt gathered it in snugly at
"Well, let me remind you, Miss High and Mighty, that in the past I provided you with a home and the education that got you that cushy job you hold. You owe us, girlie," he sneered nastily.
Cupping her brow with her hand, Althea massaged her forehead, moving her thumb and forefinger in slow, tiny circles over her throbbing temples. She didn't even bother to point out to her uncle that she had earned her degree through a scholarship and a series of menial part-time jobs. Or that, from the time she graduated from high school, she had paid them for her room and board. The only reason she had even stayed with them was to be near Greg.
"Look, Uncle Bill, I'm sorry you feel that way," Althea said with a weary sigh. "But the fact remains that I simply don't have two thousand dollars to give you." Greg made an outraged sound but Althea silenced him with a wave of her hand. "Perhaps in a month or so, if I earn a bonus, I'll be able to help you out, but right now all I can spare is a couple of hundred."
A long, angry silence followed. "All right," Bill Holland growled finally. "I'll take the two hundred for now, but you'd better come up with the rest before too long. Otherwise, your aunt and I will be forced to take legal action."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means, girlie, that you stole my wife's inheritance, and we intend to get it back ... one way or another. So just you have that check ready when I come by tonight to get it." Before Althea could respond, he hung up.
Jerking the buzzing receiver away from her ear, she slammed it down into its cradle and stood rigid for a moment, trembling with a combination of fear and suppressed fury. That horrible man! Would she never be rid of him? Logic told Althea that he was just bluffing, that he didn't stand a chance and he knew it, but just the thought of losing her home, the only real stability she had ever known, sent an icy chill through her. Coming on top of everything else, this was really a low blow.
"Why, that sorry, low-down, good-for-nothing ..." Red-faced, Greg sputtered to a stop, unable to find a word vile enough to call their uncle. "Do you mean he's got the nerve to try to mooch two thousand dollars from you?"
"You should know by now that Bill Holland has the nerve to try anything," Althea replied wearily, giving him a wry look. "Not that it will do him any good. I can't give him what I don't have."
"But surely you're not going to fork over the two hundred?"
"If it will keep him off my back, yes." When Greg would have argued, Althea raised her hand and cut him off. "Greg, please! Let's just drop the subject, shall we? I know what I'm doing, believe me." Turning away, she headed for the door. "Now, come on, let's get back to the yard work while we still have some daylight left." Without waiting for a reply, Althea loped down the stairs and slammed out the front door. When Greg followed a few minutes later, he found her once more on her knees, vigorously working the soil of the flowerbed with a hand cultivator.
Althea worked in the yard the rest of that day and all the next. By Sunday evening the lawn was mowed, the walkways and drive were sharply edged, every bush and hedge had been clipped, the flowerbeds, which were a mass of bobbing blossoms of every color and kind imaginable, had been thoroughly weeded, cultivated, watered, fertilized and sprayed. Everything was picture perfect ... yet Althea was still eaten up with nerves.
All weekend long she had vacillated between hope and despair, telling herself one minute that everything would be fine, and certain the next that she would soon be standing in the unemployment line.
Monday morning Althea reluctantly dressed in a dusty-rose silk shirtdress that buttoned down the front all the way to the hem. The soft material skimmed delicately over her breasts and hips, while a self belt gathered it in snugly at
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