His Precious Inheritance (Inspirational Historical Romance) by Dorothy Clark

skewed into a lopsided grin. He was quite certain the prickly Miss Gordon didn’t know the tiniest bit of the tip of her tongue showed at the corner of her lips when she was concentrating. It was most distracting. Every time he’d seen it, he’d wanted to go and help her.
    And he wasn’t the only one who had noticed Miss Gordon’s winsome way. Willard had stolen glances at her all day long. One more reason it wasn’t good to have a woman in the workplace. Men lost their focus. He had. But that lapse of self-discipline on his part was understandable. Miss Gordon was a new employee. It was his responsibility to give her the help she needed—when she asked.
    And that was the crux of the matter. The woman had plagued his thoughts all day because she hadn’t asked for his help when he knew full well she needed it. Any woman would. Well, he’d not give her a thought tomorrow. He had a newspaper to run.
    He banished Miss Gordon from his thoughts, pulled his hands from his pockets, went inside and picked up the book.
    * * *
    “It’s apparent from Mr. Thornberg’s thinly veiled contempt that he shares the prevailing viewpoint that men are superior and women have no business being in the workplace.”
But he is still thoughtful...
Clarice frowned at the dichotomy, swirled her dressing gown on over her nightdress and slammed the wardrobe doors so hard they didn’t squeak.
    “But he hired you, Clarice.”
    “Yes, because Dr. Austin asked me to write the monthly column right there in front of him.
And
because he needed someone to free him from having to respond to all of those letters.” She yanked the ties at the neck of her dressing gown so tight she almost choked herself. She coughed, slid her fingers beneath the twisted ribbon and loosened the bow. “But he does not think I can learn how to use the typing machine on my own. He thinks I will have to run to him with questions. He even gave me a few days!” She shot her mother a look. “
And
he said if I found one of the CLSC members’ questions too difficult to answer, I am to go to him. As if he—being a
man
—will, of course, know the answer my poor, inferior woman’s brain cannot supply.”
    “Clarice...”
    “Well, it’s true, Mama!” She marched to the desk in the turret, the sides of her dressing gown flying out behind her. “And I intend to prove Mr. Thornberg wrong. I am going to become
indispensable
to him. And I’m going to start by writing those fillers he needs—without being asked to do so.” She glanced over at the bed. “Will you help me write them, Mama?”
    “Of course I will, Clarice. I think it’s an excellent idea. And it will give me something useful to do. But you can hardly blame an older man like Mr. Thornberg for being uncomfortable with having a woman in his employ. It simply wasn’t done until recent years.”
    “He’s not that old, Mama.” She removed the ink, lest it leak onto Mrs. Smithfield’s quilt, then snatched her writing box off the desk and carried it to the bed. “Everything you need is in here. Pencils...paper...”
    “How old
is
Mr. Thornberg?”
    “I don’t know, Mama.” She thought about it, pictured him looking down at her. “Perhaps five or six years older than me.”
    “That
young
?”
    She nodded and placed the box on the covers over her mother’s extended legs.
    “What does he look like?”
    “A prosperous businessman.”
    “Clarice...”
    “What does it
matter
, Mama?”
    Her mother shook her head, sighed. “It doesn’t
matter
.
I’d just like to be able to picture you at work while I’m sitting here. I get restless with nothing to do.”
    She looked at her mother’s legs stretched out beneath the quilt and guilt smote her for her lack of understanding and compassion. “I’m sorry, Mama. Mr. Thornberg is tall and very neat in appearance. He has wavy brown hair, cut short, and—”
    “Wavy?”
    Now, why did that make her mother smile? “Yes, wavy...as if it would curl if it were