One Way or Another

One Way Or Another

By

Elaine Raco Chase

Copyright 2012 by Elaine Raco Chase

Published by Elaine Raco Chase

One Way or Another

Print published under the title:  Tender Yearnings #19 Candlelight Ecstasy Romance

Copyright © 1981 by Elaine Raco Chase  

Copyright © 2012 by Elaine Raco Chase, published by Elaine Raco Chase, eBook title: One Way or Another, Romantic Classic Edition 

eBook Licensing Statement

This eBook is licensed for your personal use only.  This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.  If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.  If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase you own copy.  Thank you for respecting the author’s work. 

All of the characters in this book are fictitious.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A Note from the Author -

One Way or Another was the original title of my second novel, Tender Yearnings, #19 in the Dell Ecstasy Romance line published in 1981. It went into a record third printing after just one month! 

I actually wrote the novel because I was told not to – that romance readers didn't want books where the heroine had a family, especially when they appeared in the same novel.  How silly!  So Abigail Wetherby was born, along with her mother and sister.  Not only that, but my hero, Nick Maxwell came equipped with a father who fell in love with Abby's mom.

When I wrote this story, credit cards were just beginning to grow, the economy was still in trouble, gas cost a fortune, and computers were run by punch cards.  I even mentioned the latest craze: having a home computer that printed on green and white paper! (I resisted getting a computer until 1988!)

I hope you will fall in love with this 'contemporary classic' and enjoy a time-capsule of the way we were. Oddly enough, some 'antique' ideas of 1988 are still with us today!

Meet Abby, computer killer and prickly proprietress of the Cove Bookshop in Camden Cove, Virginia. She's a woman with many secrets, a mother and sister she fiercely protects, and a secluded, quiet life that has become a bit boring.

Enter Nick Maxwell, a man determined to bring Abby to her knees and into his arms – but he had more than a few secrets of his own.

A Look Inside:

She cleared her throat and straightened against the plush seat. I always thought sitting in a car with the rain dancing on the roof, the moonlight wafting through the windows...well, that always seemed very romantic, she said to no one in particular.

The drumming fingers stopped. Nick turned his head and in a rather brusque voice said; Abby, I am thirty-six years old. I refuse to end my evening necking in a car like a teen-ager!

She hastily swallowed a bubble of laughter and with commendable aplomb managed a blasé tone. You're right. I don't know whatever possessed me to even think of such a thing. I mean, thirty-six, why you've got one foot in the grave. You probably were never good at necking in cars anyway, and forgot whatever technique you had, so - Her neck snapped sharply when Nick released a lever propelling the wide seat backward.

Oh, really, he drawled dangerously, his deep voice acquiring that low, sensuous timbre that had such a calamitous effect on her nervous system. That's a most provocative challenge, Miss Wetherby, he continued silkily, his eyes glittering in the dimly lit interior. I hope you are up to it.

One

Dominick Maxwell Bennett surveyed the lineup of cold remedies that stood like miniature militia men atop his wide oak desk. There was the package of time capsules that guaranteed relief for twelve hours but faded after five; the eight-hour nasal spray that allowed you to breathe freely for only half that time; the super strength cough medicine laced with decongestant that made him feel dizzy even when he was sitting down. Wearily, Dominick rubbed a large hand over his rugged features, feeling more than double his thirty-six years, and reached for another bitter-tasting horehound throat lozenge.

Hold it, interrupted a lilting feminine voice, the advertising department has sent you its version of the perfect cold remedy.

Dominick looked up to find his executive assistant, Ann Learner, standing in the doorway. I'm not sure I can live through any more home remedies, he grumbled thickly. What is it this time? He watched her neat, beige suit-clad figure stride farther into the sumptuous brown and gold executive office.

After you spent the morning coughing and sneezing, the copywriters took up a collection and sent you this, Ann told him with undisguised amusement, adding two more containers to the lineup cluttering his desk top. A quart of orange juice and one hundred Vitamin C tablets with rose hips.

Dominick's good-natured chuckle quickly turned into a deep, hacking cough.

Ann frowned, shaking her silver-streaked hair in disgust. You know, she admonished with motherly concern, passing Dominick a spoon for the cough medicine, As president, you are entitled to the same number of sick days that the rest of your employees receive.

I'm just the acting president, he reminded her hoarsely, making a face after swallowing the thick mixture.

You still qualify for all company benefits, she retorted with exasperation. By the way, about your aftershave— Two fingers came up to pinch her nose.

It's Mrs. Hickock’s camphor cure, Dominick grinned. That's what happens when you have an English housekeeper.

The smell will either cure you or kill you. Ann laughed.

Anything really earth-shattering in the afternoon mail? He returned the assorted cold preparations to his bottom desk drawer.

Ann shook her head. July is a rather quiet month. Everyone's on vacation, with business the furthest thing from their minds. We did get a postcard from your father.

And where is the recuperating company president this month? Dominick relaxed back in the comfort of his brown leather contour chair.

It seems he's jumped ship, if you can call a luxury liner that, Ann told him, handing him a gaily colored picture postcard. He's prowling the Hawaiian Islands before he heads home to New York.

Well, I just hope he gets in some rest and relaxation. Dominick frowned thoughtfully. That's why he decided to take the cruise. Even a mild heart attack is one hell of a shock to a body's system.

Ann snorted derisively. Your father is a fraud.

What makes you say that? His dark brows jumped at her bald statement.

Dom, I've worked with John Bennett for over thirty-five years. I know him better than I know my own husband. She smiled softly, her hazel eyes mirroring her memories fondly. I watched him turn a small tri-state credit company into a huge corporation taking in the entire Eastern seaboard. Despite all his business interests, his family always came first. He was devastated when your mother died, which only made him draw closer to his only child. When you took that job as a foreign correspondent for the wire service and went overseas, I could see the change in him.

Ann waved Dominick's interruption aside. He threw all his energy into the company. John was speeding right to the top; and suddenly, lots of very cunning ladies noticed the very attractive widower who was president of Charge-X. Your father's so-called heart attack was a chronic case of indigestion coupled with late hours after turning into a sixty-five-year-old playboy!

You are serious. He gaped at her in open astonishment.

Very, Ann returned bluntly. You fell right into his trap by offering to give up your overseas assignment and take over Charge-X while he recuperated.

Dominick gave a rueful laugh. I often wondered why the doctor's reports I asked him for always seemed to get sidetracked. How long was this charade supposed to go on?

Ann's answer was interrupted by the agitated figure of Bill York, who rushed past the receptionist into the office.

Mr. Bennett, something has to be done! Bill exploded angrily. This is the fourth time the entire state of Virginia has been wiped out of the computers!

Dominick stared at the short, stocky young man through feverish, watery eyes. Who, what, when, where, and how? He questioned listlessly, motioning him into a nearby chair.

I've finally traced the problem to account forty-three stroke, eighty-one stroke, seventy—

Names, Bill, give me a real name! Dominick's voice croaked gruffly. Bill York, the extremely competent head of the computer billing division, had always struck his boss as rather excitable and melodramatic whenever he had to deal with people and not his mechanical marvels.

Bill took a deep, calming breath before consulting the green and white striped computer print-out that was clutched in his hand. "The what is the Cove Book Shop in Camden Cove, Virginia. The who is the proprietor, one Abigail F. Wetherby."

And what has dear Abigail done?

For the past two months she has been sabotaging my entire billing system, that's what she's done! Bill blurted.

Dominick arched a dark brow. I thought our system was infallible. He glanced over at Ann, noting with satisfaction that she had slid into a gold side chair and began taking notes.

Bill exhaled between clenched teeth. Look, Mr. Bennett, I realize only too well that many people, you included, look upon computer technology as pure dehumanization. It's not as though we've recreated Frankenstein's monster here at Charge-X. As a matter of fact, we have streamlined the entire system so that our customers benefit on all levels. All we ask them to do is cooperate with our system. We've even provided a special kit that makes their job almost effortless.

Dominick had to agree. Over a year ago, when his father had first installed the data processing tools, the entire system had only enhanced corporate productivity and effectiveness for all who had joined Charge-X. What exactly has happened?

It started about eight weeks ago when we sent out the new purchase and credit kits to all our customers. All they had to do was use the special lead pencils that were provided and send back the two computer cards twice a month with their receipts. The pre-punched cards are then loaded into the reader and processed, Bill explained authoritatively. The cards should have processed smoothly. Instead, the reader jammed, sending mangled data cards all over the room. We spent an entire day re-punching and manually redoing all the cards. Two weeks later, the same problem occurred.

Could the new credit kits have been at fault? Dominick inquired.

That's the first thing I thought of. I quickly had new kits sent special delivery, Bill reported. That didn't stop the jamming. I even had the reader inspected and cleaned. The jamming still continued. I wasted a lot of my, uh, your valuable time trying to solve this mystery. This month I personally checked the cards before putting them into the reader. They all appeared normal and none of the cards seemed damaged externally. They were all doing just fine— until the machine hit Miss Wetherby's card, he stated emphatically.

I'm not quite sure I understand. Dominick frowned.

Somehow, she added extra punches to her computer card. The sensitive reader literally balked at accepting the strange codes and jammed the entire system. It was something none of us ever thought to look for. You should see the card room! Before we could stop the machine, it had shredded and ejected cards all over!

Dominick tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to stifle an appreciative grin. He had never really liked the sudden proliferation of computers in American life. They were everywhere, a mechanical invasion force that raided department stores, restaurants, grocery stores, subway stations, and business offices. The latest craze was having a computer terminal in your own home. With that many computers in operation, snafus were being widely reported. Man versus machine was a frustrating reality. He turned to Ann, but was surprised to find she had surreptitiously left the office.

Bill, I sympathize with your problem. I can appreciate the number of man-hours it takes to assimilate all that destroyed data. Have you contacted Miss Wetherby to find out why she's been repunching our cards?

Mr. Bennett, I deal with machines. I'm not even sure I like dealing with people, and if I ever got my hands on Miss Wetherby - he stammered angrily, his fingers curling with repressed hostility. I realize all this must seem extremely humorous to you, he continued stonily, noting Dominick's wry expression. It's quite true that machines make errors and they are only as good as their programmers. You are fortunate enough to have the best computer programming department in the business. I have a staff of highly trained technicians.

I've no doubts that your department is - Dominick started, only to have his compliment waved aside.

Despite the few problems, most people welcome the benefits of automated and computerized equipment, Bill York continued, his entire manner seeming to be one of chastisement. "We've extended credit-card verification and loan applications around the clock.