CHAPTER 12

We stayed up and watched all of the first three Die Hard movies, which meant we got to bed at around . . . well, it was late—or very early, whichever way you want to look at it. By the time we got up, showered, shaved and dressed the next morning, it was, indeed, time for . . . brunch.

We took the Cherokee to the Standard-Gazette, but this time Jack let me drive. It was nice. Padded, leather-upholstered seats, air conditioning, tape deck and CD player, built-in security system, power everything . . . My brother knew how to live! And he could put it on his expense account. . .

I considered asking my own bosses for some leeway in that department; but then I thought, I'm supposed to be an environmentally-conscious nature lover, so I can't go around driving an environmentally-unsound vehicle. . . Not that that beat-up, old red Jeep of mine was fuel-efficient; but, at least it had the decency to be modest in appearance: in other words, it didn't look like a gas guzzler. . . Maybe I really should change jobs. I could learn to like the perks of working for Homeland Security. . ..

Darla was as busy as a bee when we walked into the wide-open expanse that was the heart of the Standard-Gazette. She was roaming from desk to desk, answering questions and issuing orders, while at the same time fielding calls on her cellphone from some of the more active reporters, who were out trying to get interesting stories.

As we passed the desk of one relatively young-looking reporter, he rose to his feet and snapped to attention. "Good to see you again, Admiral Beckham, sir!"

Jack smiled wanly. "I told you yesterday, Lerner: at ease! You're not in the Navy anymore. Habits of sheer discipline are hard to break, I know. But, for both our sakes, could you at least try?"

The young former lieutenant sat back down and turned red. "I am trying, Admiral," he said dismally. "At least I didn't salute this time."

"That's true," said Jack. "Maybe if I stop wearing my uniform when I come here, it might help."

"If only you could," I mumbled. "If only Darla didn't find you so darned attractive in that get-up . . . ." I knew Jack heard me, but he chose not to react.

"Carry on, Lerner; carry on."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir." Jack shot the young man a scolding look. Lerner went red again. Jack shook his head, smiling at him amiably, and we went on our way toward the office I remembered as having belonged to Dad, which was now occupied by Darla.

Having apparently finished her business on the floor, Darla was seated behind her desk, engaged in a phone conversation, as Jack turned the doorknob and we entered.

"I understand now why you were so disoriented when you came here yesterday," I whispered. "I find it somewhat . . . unsettling, myself."

"Walking into Dad's office and finding Darla? Yeah, it was a bit . . . strange."

Darla finished her phone call and replaced the receiver on the standard black desk phone. "Hi, guys! Woo, I'm glad you're here! I had breakfast at 6:30 this morning and I am famished!" While she was talking, she'd made her away around the desk and sat on the corner of it in a relaxed and casual fashion. "So, where do we go?"

"IHOP?" Jack asked hopefully.

Darla smiled. "Great!" She got to her feet, grabbed her shoulder bag from the coat rack and took out her compact. Opening it, she stood directly in front of Jack and whispered as she primped, "I'd like to kiss you, Jack, but this place has too many eyes . . . and ears. Wait till we get to the parking garage."

Jack smiled down at her. "Whatever you say, Mrs. Finley. I live but to serve."

"I love you, Jack Beckham," she said, still hiding behind her compact. I imagined it was to keep anyone who might be able to read lips from knowing what she was saying—not that it would take a genius to figure out that there was something going on between the boss lady and the publisher's famous son. I felt like the sidecar on a motorcycle. Granted, it was a somewhat old motorcycle . . . but it still had gas, and it still ran . . .

Putting away her compact, Darla shoved us toward the door and we exited the office. Once we were out, Jack allowed the lady to go first and she led the way to the elevators. We boarded the first one that arrived—which was, fortunately, empty—and rode down to the parking garage. It was a trip of a few levels' duration, so the lovebirds decided to spend the time locking lips, with Darla initiating first contact.

When they finally came up for air, Jack was smiling. "I was kind of afraid that, after thinking things over last night—and realizing all the complications we might be up against—you'd change your mind and decide not to pursue this."

Darla shook her head and looked at my brother pointedly. "I've waited all my life for you, Jack. I'm not about to toss this relationship aside so easily."

"Glad to hear it," Jack replied. He then took Darla into his arms and kissed her again.

I rolled my eyes. "Why don't you two just get a room?"

Jack abruptly broke off kissing Darla and turned his eyes on me with a nasty glare. His hands released their hold on Darla, too, and he walked up to me, with a finger jabbing me in the chest, just as the elevator doors opened.

"You want to know why, little brother?" Jack said testily, shoving me out of the elevator. Darla was following behind him, trying to grab his arm and stop him, but he was ignoring her, unfortunately for me. "Do you really need me to tell you why?" I stopped in my tracks, as did Jack. "Because Darla's not that kind of a girl, that's why. She never was. Any more questions?"

"No, no. I think I get the picture." I looked past my brother and gazed contritely at the object of his affection. "Sorry, Darla. No offense intended. I'm just feeling kind of . . ."

"Left out?" she provided. I hesitantly nodded. She smiled. "Don't worry about it. When we get back, I'm going to turn you guys loose in one of the conference rooms. It'll have everything you need to help you work on deciphering the clues your uncle gave you—including some fresh pastries and a top-of-the-line coffeemaker."

She sighed and then continued, "I know I told you I'd help; but, as much as I'd like to, I can't. I've had all kinds of problems pop up today that need my attention, so I don't really have all that much time. Even going out to brunch is cutting into some of the things I should be doing. But I am hungry, so we're going. . ..

"Anyway, your dad designed this scenario to help you two to bond—not Jack and me. What's happening between us is only of secondary importance to your father. But, since we are going—and you're feeling like a fifth wheel—let me call Jamie. I might be able to persuade her to join us . . . if you want me to."

"Do you think she'll come?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager.

Darla shrugged. "If she's hungry and she can get away . . . she just might."

While Darla got into her shoulder bag, took out her cellphone and began to call her niece, my brother continued his persecution of me—or at least, he tried to.

"Jack, give it a rest," Darla said as she waited for Jamie to answer. "It's okay, really . . . Hey, Jamie! The guys and I were just about to go to IHOP for brunch. Care to join us?"

After listening for a few seconds, Darla then said, "Yes, I know you and Mac already made plans for lunch tomorrow, but he's feeling kind of like a fifth wheel here with Jack and me. . . You will? Great! Mac will be thrilled!" She then proceeded to tell Jamie at which IHOP—out of the dozen or so that exist in the greater Denver area—we would be dining. Then, as she closed her cellphone and returned it to her purse, she said, "Jamie'll meet us there. Whoever arrives first will wait in the lobby."

Jack and I both nodded our approval of the plan.

Darla then led us to her Taurus, which she insisted on driving. Her expense account was covered by the paper, whereas Jack's was paid for with hard-earned taxpayers' dollars. "Anyway," she said, "the IHOP we're going to is new to this neck of the woods, so I doubt you know where it is."

After Darla unlocked the doors with the push of a single button, I climbed into the back seat behind her, because I still wasn't too keen on the idea of being close to my brother.

He'd seriously looked like he'd as soon have punched my lights out as talked to me. I'd as much as insulted his lady, although I hadn't meant to. It hadn't occurred to me that such a common expression would make him so hopping mad! It was then that I realized how truly and deeply in love with Darla he really was. I envied him that. And the best part of it—for him, anyway—was that Darla was genuinely worth it.

The IHOP in question was only a couple of miles from the Standard-Gazette, so it didn't take us long to get there. We were, evidently, closer to it than Jamie was, so Jack and Darla sat on the bench between the entryway and the check-out counter and waited. Jack, of course, had an arm around Darla and she had a hand on his thigh.

I, meanwhile, was perusing the shelves full of toys for sale. Every IHOP I'd ever patronized had toys of some kind, and they were generally theme-based. These were smallish stuffed animals of various types, all wearing Colorado Rockies uniforms. Being a Dodgers fan myself, I didn't really have any particular interest in them . . . until Jamie walked in.

"Adorable, aren't they?" she said with a smile, as she picked up a penguin that bore some slight resemblance to Chilly Willy, the scarf-and-stocking-cap-clad comrade of Woody Woodpecker. This particular penguin, however, sported a Rockies cap and uniform. "I really love penguins," Jamie said.

"Are you a Rockies fan?" I asked, an idea coming to me slowly.

She nodded. "Yes; ever since they were first formed. I grew up here, remember. I've never had any other team."

"So, you don't like . . . football? You're not a Broncos fan?"

"Oh, yeah, I like the Broncos, too—and the Denver Nuggets. I'm a really big sports fan."

Before I had a chance to ask her about hockey, Jack informed us that we were being summoned: They had a table ready for us. Without missing a beat, Jamie slid her arm through mine and we followed Jack and Darla to our table. Things were definitely looking up . . . .

(*)

After we'd been seated (with us guys across the table from the girls) and had been given menus and glasses of water, we sipped the former and perused the latter. Even though she had claimed to be "famished," Darla ordered less food than the rest of us did—except for Jamie, of course. Darla's niece seemed to be on something of a health-food kick. She opted for a fresh fruit salad.

While Mac, Darla and I waited for our food to be cooked and delivered, I told Darla about Uncle George's "disappearance"; Aunt Edith's duplicity; and the conclusions Mac and I had drawn.

"We're pretty sure he must've bugged your office before he left, D.J.," I told her. "How else could he have known that you'd spilled the beans?"

She shrugged. "Maybe his buddy Raven told him."

"Unless the table we ate at was bugged, too, I don't see how he could have."

"You never know, but . . . I expect you're right." She sighed. "I'm sure he must be upset with me for not being able to go along with his plan and trying to convince you that he really had been abducted by terrorists. But, to go so far as to 'disappear' your uncle George, too, and to make your aunt Edith lie about it . . .?" She shook her head. "That's carrying things a little too far."

I nodded. "We think so, too. And we fully intend to make Dad and Uncle George sweat it for a while. We're not all that worried about Aunt Edith. Let her go to Thermopolis and enjoy herself: she's just a pawn, anyway. Before we start to work on deciphering the clues, though, I'll scan the conference room for bugs, too . . . just in case."

"And it needs to be a room that's computer-friendly," Mac put in. "We can use my laptop to analyze the clues Uncle George gave us. If we can have access to the Internet, too, so much the better."

Darla nodded. "I know just the room. It's the one I usually use when I'm having a one-on-one conference with my employees—whether it be about a story they're working on, personal problems that are getting in the way of their work . . . whatever. It has a five-foot diagonal round table in it, along with four chairs and an Internet connection."

"If we're using that room, what'll you do when you need to talk to your people?" Mac asked.

"I'll use my office. Whoops!" She slapped her forehead. "That wouldn't work, either, would it?" She began chewing on her thumbnail. "If your Dad didbug my office, my interviews with my employees wouldn't be private." She shrugged. "Oh well. There are other conference rooms I can use."

Concerned, I said, "I think I'm going to scan every room in the place till I find at least two that aren't wired: one for us to use, and one for you and your employees. We'll take whichever of the two is bigger—not out of greed, but just because we'll need the extra space."

Darla nodded. "Yes, I guess you will. You'll not only need Internet access, but you'll need writing materials so you can make notes on what you find out or solve, and you'll need room to spread everything out. I hadn't really thought about that when I offered you the smaller room. Sorry."

I shrugged. "Hey, you can't think of everything."

Our food was delivered then, and our conversation turned to other topics. Sitting next to Jamie, Mac decided to talk to her about how her work was progressing. I, on the other hand, asked Darla about her kids and grandkids. I just couldn't wrap my mind around the idea that my little D. J. was a grandmother.

"So, how many grandkids do you have?" I asked her.

"Six," she replied, smiling. "My oldest son has two, my oldest daughter has two, and my younger son and daughter each have one. A couple of them are expecting another baby sometime before the year is out, so the six will soon turn to eight."

I could feel my eyebrows going up. "Wow," I said. "Do you think any of them'd ever consider coming here and meeting my old man? Not having any grandkids of his own, I think he'd like to meet yours."

Darla chewed her lip, looking at me over the top of her glasses. "I don't know, Jack. I'm not even sure how my kids will react when I tell them about us."

I nodded my understanding and asked, "So, how and when do you plan to tell them? . . . You do plan to tell them, don't you?"

"Eventually, yes; but not this early in the ballgame. Anyway, I need some time to work out the 'how.'"

"You think they'll balk?"

"My sons might. They were very close to their dad."

"And your daughters?"

She sighed. "When each of them fell in love for the first the time and they knew they were still pretty young and that there was a possibility it might not be the only time it would happen, they came to me—each one in turn—and asked me whether I'd ever been in love before I met their father. So," she said with a shrug, "I told them about you—about us."

"How much did you tell them?"

"Everything—although I had no intention of telling them how hurt I was when you married Liz: I didn't want them to hate you for it, especially considering the fact that you never really understood how I felt about you. But, they asked me flat out, 'Didn't it hurt to see him marry someone else?' I admitted it did, but that you had no way of knowing you were hurting me—that, as far as you were concerned, I was just the little girl next door. You had never thought of me as a potential girlfriend. . ..

"I tried to make them understand that the age difference between us mattered back then because I was so young when we first started spending time together—that I didn't blame you one bit for not falling in love with me. My daughters came to understand that. They said I was fortunate just to've had someone like you in my life—someone who cared about me the way you did. I agreed wholeheartedly." She smiled softly.

"So, when you tell them that I am in love with you now and that I want to marry you, do you think they'll be okay with it?"

"You want to marry me, Jack?"

"Well, yeah. I kinda thought that was understood."

Darla shook her head. "Never take anything for granted, Jack—especially where a woman's heart is concerned. Some of the stuff we said last night was indicative that we were both on that page . . . but a girl still likes to be asked."

"In that case," I said, as I reached across the table—avoiding putting my sleeve into anything—and took hold of her hand, "Darla Jane McIntyre Finley, when this mess with my father and my uncle is over, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

I noticed a sudden silence from Mac and Jamie's vicinity. They had both stopped eating and were watching and listening with rapt attention—silverware poised in midair, jaws paused in mid-chew.

Blushing slightly, Darla nodded and said, "I can't imagine spending the rest of my life without you, Jack."

I kissed her hand before releasing it. "What's your ring size?" I asked.

"About a seven . . . I think."

"You want something simple—or ostentatious?"

She smiled. "How about somewhere in between? –a little bit fancy, but not overly so." She was looking almost shy, and her voice was also subdued. At that moment she reminded me more than ever of the little girl I once knew.

I nodded. "I think I can do that." Then, smiling at her crookedly, I said, "Now, what about your daughters? Will they be okay with this?"

"Probably," she replied, nodding and smiling. "And if they are, I'll recruit them to help me explain it to their brothers. The boys don't know anything about my past relationship with you, and I'm not sure it would help to tell them. Men tend to be protective of the women in their lives—mothers, sisters, daughters, wives . . . and they might blame you for hurting me, whether the girls do or not. That's something I'd like to avoid. So, when I tell the girls what's going on between us, I'll get some feedback from them on how to broach the subject with their brothers."

"And what if, after you've done all you and your daughters can think of to persuade them, your sons are still vehemently opposed to the idea of you and me?"

Darla sighed again, heavier this time. "I'm not going to let stubborn, pigheaded children keep us apart, Jack, even if it means that I don't see my sons or their families for a few years. They'll just have to understand that if there's a rift between us, it will be their doing for not accepting my decision and allowing me the right to choose how and with whom I spend the remainder of my life. They can either live with the situation, try to get to know you and give you a chance, or they can keep their distance and be ornery and petulant for the duration. My sons aren't usually that stubborn; but, in this case, they just might be."

It was my turn to sigh, although mine wasn't nearly as heavy. "I hope you can find a way to convince them: I don't wanna be the cause of a rift between you and your sons. You shouldn't be deprived of the opportunity to spend time with your grandkids."

"I might be able to make use of their wives, too, if it comes to that," said Darla, looking pensive. "That just occurred to me. Karen and Candace both love me. I don't think they'd want their husbands cutting me off just because I choose to remarry."

"Would you tell them the whole story?"

Darla nodded. "Yes, I think so: they may be better able to judge than I can how much their husbands need to know. Men tend to talk to their wives and sweethearts more than they do to their mothers, so Karen and Candace probably know my sons better than I do in some ways."

"Good point. . . So, why don't you talk to your daughters and your daughters-in-law and leave it up to the four of them to explain it to their husbands and brothers?"

"I just may," she replied, nodding. "Then, if the boys want to talk to me about it afterward, I'll answer any questions they throw at me as best I can. . . And they'll probably want to meet you, too."

"Not a problem. If your kids decide they want a family meeting (back in whatever little town in Washington you've been living in for the past thirty years), with me as the guest of honor—or even as the roastee—I'll be there. It's the least I can do. And I'll put a ring on your finger before we go."

"Sounds like we've got a plan, then," said Darla with a soft smile. "Now it's just a matter of deciding when to put it into motion."

"How about after we find Dad and Uncle George?. . . With everything that's going on, we both have enough on our plates right now. Besides, it'll give us more time to get to know each other better; then your kids can't accuse us of rushing into things."

"Well, it'll still be kind of fast; but, if they understand that we've always loved and cared about each other, maybe it won't seem so . . . drastic to them."

"Won't knowing that you've never stopped loving me kind of upset your sons a little bit?"

"Why should it? There are umpteen million kinds of love in the world," she exaggerated in typical Darla fashion, "—and love between people is constantly evolving. . . It's true that I never stopped loving you; but, while I was married to Frank and raising our children, I was not actively in love with you. I've always loved you because you came to my rescue so many times when I was a kid. That's all my sons need to know—that you were my own personal hero. That might be reason enough for them to accept you. You helped save their mom from pain and humiliation. There isn't much that can top that in a son's eyes."

"I suppose that's true. But, you did just bring up an interesting point. You are in love with me again now, right?"

She looked at me with that soft light in her eyes and nodded. "Yes, Jack, I am. I have been ever since the first time your dad and I talked in his office and I saw the photo of you—in your uniform—that was on sitting his desk. All the old feelings came flooding back. They weren't dead, Jack. They were just lying dormant, waiting for an opportunity to be reawakened. Considering our history, it didn't take much time or effort. Now that we're together again and nothing's standing in our way, I love you as totally and completely as I did when I was eighteen."

"I'm glad to hear it. And, as I told you last night, I wish I'd really seen you back then. I wish I'd noticed what a lovely woman you were becoming."

"What's past is past, Jack. We've got a bright future ahead of us. Let's just focus on that, shall we?"

I smiled. "Most definitely," I agreed, rubbing my hands together. "So, now that that's settled, how about we finish breakfast and head back to the office?"