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    Love Just Happens
    Love Just Happens
    Love Just Happens
    Ebook178 pages2 hours

    Love Just Happens

    By T. J. Robertson

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    About this ebook

    When Susan Simpson, a social worker, takes a job at a mental health center, Peter Hanson, the director, makes bold amorous advances toward her. Although she admires his brilliance and leadership, she finds his arrogance and pompousness offensive. The more she learns about him, the less he appeals to her. So strong is his hold over her, however, that, try as she might, she can't tear herself free of him. Even upon learning of his shabby treatment of his past loves, she is unable to break the Svengali-like spell he has cast upon her.
    Meanwhile Ned Baxter, a doctoral student, who is seeking advice on the how best to put the brakes on his upcoming, arranged marriage and the offer of the top executive position in his wealthy uncle's company without sowing dissension within his family, becomes a client of hers. In the course of their meetings, he breaks the director's spell over her and sets her free. In the end, she rewards him with her eternal love.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherT. J. Robertson
    Release dateMar 13, 2014
    ISBN9781311804259
    Love Just Happens
    Author

    T. J. Robertson

    Although I’ve made my living as a teacher and guidance counselor, I’ve always had a passion for writing. Thomas Bouregy and Company published my novel, Return to Paradise Cove, under their Avalon imprint. Two of my one-act plays, A Different Kind of Death, and The Flirt, have been produced, respectively, in New Haven, Connecticut, and Sacramento, California. Short stories of mine have appeared in commercial magazines such as Action and True Romance as well as in certain literary and professional ones.

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      Book preview

      Love Just Happens - T. J. Robertson

      Love Just Happens

      by

      T. J. Robertson

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2014 T. J. Robertson

      This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share it with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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      Chapter 1

      Mr. Baxter, I presume? The question came from a young blond with sparkling blue eyes, a dainty nose, and rose-petaled lips, who bounded into the waiting room of the Metcalf Mental Health Center.

      A muscular youth, whose sandy hair spilled down over his hazel eyes and rugged features were bronzed by sun and wind, looked up from his magazine. That's me, he replied, rising.

      I'm Susan Simpson, a member of the staff, assigned to work with you, she said, extending her hand, which he took like a present he didn't know what to do with. Why don't you come with me? she added, coming to his rescue.

      Yes, of course. So closely did he follow her that he stepped on one of the heels of her shoes. Oh, I'm sorry, he mumbled, embarrassed, please forgive me.

      Lifting her pleated white skirt and slightly exposing a shapely calf, she turned to survey the damage. No harm done, she replied with a reassuring smile.

      She ushered him into a small but cozy office with pastel-colored walls and several seascapes. The furniture consisted of a desk with a matching swivel chair and four leather armchairs. The latter were arranged in a circle around a coffee table, and Ned sat down on the nearest one. Susan took the one opposite him and broke the awkward silence, asking, Now how may I help you?

      I'm here today because Mrs. Bradford recommended the clinic to my uncle, he replied, drawing his lips in thoughtfully. As I'm sure you know, she's on the board of directors here. He glanced at her as if expecting a reaction at the mere mention of the name.

      Although I haven't met her personally, she said without flinching, I do know of her.

      Sooner or later, everybody gets to know her, he said with a wry smile. Although my Uncle Don is a confirmed bachelor, he and she are good friends. No woman, except Mrs. Bradford, would put up with him.

      And vice versa, the social worker thought, holding her tongue; for, Mrs. Rose Bradford, in her role as chairwoman, made frequent visits to the clinic, more often than not sticking her nose where it didn't belong. Whenever she did appear, the staff, who nicknamed her Nosy Rosy, would run for cover, leaving Dr. Peter Hanson, the director, to cope with her and her demands.

      How do they know one another? she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

      Oh, they go back a long way. The smile turned into a grin as he said, All the way back to the Mayflower.

      Believe me, she declared with disdain, Mrs. Bradford never lets anyone forget about her Puritan roots.

      But what she doesn't say, he replied matter-of-factly, is that those roots are on her husband's side, not hers.

      An inconvenient truth, she murmured, shaking her head.

      The Mayflower connection aside, the two of them are also staunch Republicans and active in local politics, he said, brushing away an errant strand of hair. So, it was only natural, that her daughter, Jenny, and I, growing up together, saw a lot of one another. He paused and heaved a heavy sigh. My uncle always liked her. So much so he recently made her personnel manager of his company.

      What kind of business does he run?

      Cutlery. You know? Knives, spoons, and forks. She nodded and he said, And, because he has no heirs, he's been trying for years now to groom me to take it over.

      Intuitively, she found herself saying, Without success, I gather?

      You got it, he retorted. If I want to take over the business--which, of course, I don't--he insists that I have to become more ambitious and assertive. Because he and my mother are very close, he's always telling her how lackadaisical I am. He hesitated, rolling his eyes. Oh, how he loves that word, lackadaisical!

      Doesn't he ever talk to you personally about it? she asked.

      Yes, but all in vain, of course. He chuckled. Do you know that he once scolded me, saying, 'Ned, my lad, you're like a Styrofoam cup, cast upon a vast ocean, floating this way and that at the whim of the tides.'

      A thoughtful smile curved her mouth. Are you?

      Her gold bracelet with the heart-shaped pendants momentarily mesmerized him. Am I what? he asked, breaking its spell.

      A Styrofoam cup at the whim of the tides?

      No, of course not, he replied, amused. He's a consummate pragmatist to whom everything, including education, must be explicit and goal-oriented. Fortunately, unlike him, I don't have a one-track mind.

      In view of today's sluggish economy and the soaring costs of higher education, there are lots of people who feel the same way he does about the value of a college degree, she offered matter-of-factly.

      Yes, I know; it must lead to a good job at a good wage. He shrugged dismissively. As if a college education were good for nothing else!

      Are you by any chance a student? she asked, quirking an eyebrow questioningly.

      He nodded. I'm a doctoral student at Tufts University.

      Oh? She smiled in approval. What's your major?

      American literature.

      At the risk of sounding like your uncle, she said with an adventurous toss of her head, that's a rather broad topic, isn't it?

      Flushing, he hesitated and looked down at his loafers. This may sound silly but I expect to become an expert on the life and writings of Henry David Thoreau.

      Being accepted into the doctoral program at a fine university like Tufts, she replied, reacting to his unease, is nothing to be ashamed of, you know?

      Looking up, his hazel eyes caught and held her blue ones. So, you've noticed it.

      How could I not?

      If my major were in the sciences or hi-tech field, Uncle Don wouldn't complain as much. He paused and thought for a minute before saying, "Recently I overheard him talking about me to my mother. 'Millie, my dear,' he said, 'I'm worried about your son's future. If he's not a dreamer, somewhere up on cloud nine wherever that is, he's a dilettante, trying this and that, now and then, here and there. Either way, I'm afraid he'll end up on welfare or at the doorstep of the Pine Street Inn.'

      'But he's pursuing a doctorate in American literature,' my mother replied, defending me as best she could.

      'Ugh! In this economy where the heck does he think he's going to get a job,' he ranted. 'Even if he were lucky enough to land one at a college, it would be as an adjunct professor at starvation wages.' He paused and shook his head. 'My nephew, an authority on Henry David Thoreau, that shiftless Concord Saunterer. It makes me want to throw up!'

      'Now, Don, I know you'd like to groom him to take over your company but--'

      'I'll tell you what I'd like to groom him to do,' he interrupted, glancing up at the ceiling, 'but our dear mother always told me to watch my mouth.'

      'Like you, Don, he has a mind of his own.'

      'Tell me about it,' he groaned.

      'Oh, Don, you expect too much of people', my mom chided. 'Although you're my brother, even I wouldn't want to work for you.'

      'But, seriously, Millie, he needs to sit down and talk with somebody about where he's been, where he is now, and where he wants to go in the future,' he said, lowering his voice. 'Rose Bradford suggested he make an appointment at the clinic to talk to somebody there. I thought that was a good idea. What do you think about it?'

      'I'll mention it to him,' she replied dutifully.'"

      Ned broke the awkward silence that followed his re-creation of the conversation between his uncle and his mother. He's got me on the defensive, he declared.

      Susan's brow furrowed. Worse, you've allowed him to do so.

      I plead guilty. He paused and let out a long, audible breath. Oh, sure, he's a no-nonsense businessman and a tough taskmaster but he's certainly no ogre, he said, softening his tone. On the contrary, he's a good and decent person who just wants what he thinks is best for me. I consider myself fortunate, indeed, to have him as an uncle. Thanks to him, by working at his factory after school hours and summers, I was able to save enough money for college and gain a degree of independence.

      I'm afraid you're damning him with faint praise, she protested. That he has a stubborn, if not authoritarian, streak is one thing I'm sure we both can agree upon.

      Agreed, he replied, gesturing with his hands.

      So, you're here today because you want to keep peace in the family?

      Yes, but there's another reason besides the problem with my uncle, he said, his brow creasing with concern.

      Oh?

      And just for the record, contrary to what he and Mrs. Bradford may think, I don't consider ambition and assertiveness to be problems. He drew his lips in thoughtfully. If I need to improve upon anything, it's my tendency to put things off and avoid making decisions.

      So, you're a procrastinator?

      Definitely.

      Now tell me, she said, her blue eyes catching and holding his hazel ones. What's the other reason you're here?

      As I've said, Jenny and I grew up together. He leaned back, exhaling with agitation. Unfortunately, my uncle and Mrs. Bradford just assumed that the two of us eventually would become husband and wife.

      So, the two of you are engaged to be married? she asked with sudden insight.

      Yes, but lately I've been doing a lot of thinking about it.

      Marriage is a big step and feeling apprehensive about it is natural, she offered.

      That may be so, he said, rubbing his chin, but I'm not going through with the wedding.

      Are you sure? she asked, her voice rising in surprise.

      Positive. He broke the awkward silence that followed, saying, Because we're like brother and sister, we'll always be friends. But husband and wife? Never.

      That sounds definite. As she rested her chin on her hand, a bemused expression shone on her face.

      He nodded. It would be an arranged marriage, which I should never have let get this far, he said, chastising himself. He hesitated and quipped, As for Jenny, she's intelligent, practical, and driven. Everything I'm not.

      She matched his humor with some of her own. If nothing else, you are intelligent.

      But, seriously, I have nothing but good things to say about her. She'll make some man a fine wife. I'm just not that man.

      Suddenly, she found herself probing. You're concerned about hurting her?

      Not really, he retorted, but I am worried about what effect my decision will have on others.

      Oh? Her lips parted in surprise.

      Although I know I can't eliminate completely the disappointment and acrimony they'll feel, I'd like to minimize it, he said, stirring uneasily on his chair. And to do that, I'm going to need some help?

      I see, she murmured with deceptive calm.

      When the session ended, Susan went over to her desk and sat down. Then, she opened his folder and, with pen in hand, wrote the following: Ned Baxter, a doctoral student at Tufts University, impressed me as an intelligent, warm, and sincere young man. His problems are how to make decisions without procrastinating and, once he's made them, how to keep peace among family and friends without losing his self-respect.

      Right now he's walking a fine line but the good news is that he knows it. His prognosis is good.

      Closing the folder, she put it into her desk drawer. Then, she leaned back on her chair and closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of the morning sun on her face. Lost in thought, she couldn't remember the last time she had enjoyed a counseling session so much. When she got up and headed toward the cafeteria, even then her thoughts lingered on the intelligent and handsome doctoral student.

      Chapter 2

      No sooner had Susan left the cashier with coffee and cranberry muffin in hand than she caught sight of Wendy Hebert, an occupational therapist at the clinic, motioning to her. Because she enjoyed the company of the stout woman with the moon face, big brown eyes, and double chin, she weaved her way among the maze of the pastel-colored tables and chairs of the cafeteria and sat down opposite her.

      How goes the battle at the Metcalf Mental Health Center? Wendy asked in greeting.

      I've been here a year and, although I've won a few battles, I think I've lost the war,

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