The Heart's Victory Read Free Page B

you?” The clear insight and hint of compassion in the quiet blue eyes were a part of the reason for Pam’s success in her field. She was not only able to read people, but to care.
    â€œMore than anything.” Foxy turned until she met the woman’s face rather than the reflection. “More still since I grew up and discovered he was human. Kirk didn’t have to take on the responsibility of raising me. I don’t think it occurred to me until I was in college that he’d had a choice. He could have put me in a foster home; no one would have criticized him. In fact”—she tossed her head to free her shoulders of her hair, then leaned back against the dresser—“I’m sure he was criticized by some for not doing so. He kept me with him, and that’s what I needed. I’ll never forget him for that. One day perhaps I’ll pay him back.” Smiling, Foxy straightened. “I suppose I’d better go down and make sure the caterer has everything set. The guests will be arriving soon.”
    â€œI’ll come with you.” Pam rose and moved to the door. “Now, what about this Lance Matthews you were grumbling about earlier? If I did my homework properly, he’s a former driver, a very successful driver, now head of Matthews Corporation, which, among other things, designs racing cars. He’s designed and owns several Formula One cars, including the ones your brother will be driving this season. And yes . . . the Indy car, too. Isn’t he . . . ?” She made a small cluck of frustration as her inventory of facts grew sketchy. “He’s from a very old, wealthy family, isn’t he? Boston or New Haven, shipping or import-export. Disgustingly rich.”
    â€œBoston, shipping, and disgusting,” Foxy affirmed as they moved down to the first floor. “Don’t get me started on him tonight or you’ll have nightmares.”
    â€œDo I detect a smidgeon of dislike?”
    â€œYou detect a ton of dislike,” Foxy countered. “I’ve had to rent a room to hold my extra dislike of Lance Matthews.”
    â€œMmm, and rent prices are soaring.”
    â€œWhich only makes me dislike him more.” Foxy moved directly to the dining room and examined the table.
    Lacquered wooden dishes were set on an indigo tablecloth. The centerpiece was an earthenware jug filled with sprays of dogwood and daffodils. One look at the setting, at the chunky yellow candles in wooden holders, assured Foxy that the caterer knew his business. “Relaxed informality” was the obvious theme.
    â€œLooks nice.” Foxy resisted dipping a finger into a bowl of iced caviar as the caterer bustled in from the kitchen.
    He was a small, fussy man, bald but for a thin ring of hair he had dyed a deep black. He walked in quick, shuffling steps. “You’re too early.” He stood protectively between Foxy and the caviar. “Guests won’t be arriving for another fifteen minutes.”
    â€œI’m Cynthia Fox, Mr. Fox’s sister.” She offered a smile as a flag of truce. “I thought perhaps I could help.”
    â€œHelp? Oh no, good heavens, no.” To prove his words, he brushed at her with the back of his hand as though she were an annoying fly threatening his pâté. “You mustn’t touch anything. It’s all balanced.”
    â€œAnd beautifully, too,” Pam soothed as she gave Foxy’s arm a warning squeeze. “Let’s go have a drink, Foxy, and wait for the others to arrive.”
    â€œSilly, pompous man,” Foxy mumbled as Pam urged her into the living room.
    â€œDo you let anyone else set your f-stops?” Pam asked with bland curiosity as she sank into a chair.
    Foxy laughed as she surveyed the portable bar. “Point taken. Well, there seems to be enough liquor here to keep an army reeling for a year. Trouble is, I don’t know how to fix anything more