My Man Pendleton(17)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

At her designation of her title, he quickly dropped his gaze to her left hand, but he saw no sign of a ring on its fourth finger. Strange, that. Stranger still was the little twist of disappointment that wound through him at the recognition of her married state.

What difference did it make? he asked himself. The last thing he needed to do was involve himself with the Louisville Temperance League in any way, shape or form. Even if Mrs. Ivory’s shape and form were too tempting to pass up.

“Mrs. Ivory,” he conceded reluctantly, emphasizing her title more for his own benefit than for hers. He swept his hand toward a chair that sat vacant opposite his desk. “Can I offer you a seat?”

She nodded, the motion jerky and anxious. Then she fled for the chair he indicated and fairly collapsed into it, her entire body seeming to shrink into the upholstery the moment she was settled. She clutched her coat and purse on her lap as if she might need them later, to use them as a shield to ward him off. And it hit him then that she was genuinely frightened of him.

With no small amount of discomfort, Holt shrugged off her reaction, chalking it up to another extremist behaving extremely. He returned to his chair and sat forward, steepling his fingers on his desk. With the big piece of furniture between them, the delectable Mrs. Ivory seemed to relax some.

“Now then,” he tried again. “How can I help you?”

She inhaled deeply, her gaze darting everywhere in the room except to him. “As your secretary told you, Mr. McClellan,” she began, her voice soft, well modulated, and a bit huskier than he would have expected, “I’m here as a representative of the Louisville Temperance League.”

He nodded. “I’m aware of your position. But I can’t imagine how Hensley’s could possibly be of service to you.”

“Well, you can’t be of service to us,” she told him frankly, her gaze finally skidding toward his for a moment before ricocheting away again. “That’s the point. Your company, and the product you manufacture, aren’t of service to anyone.”

He hoped his smile wasn’t as brittle as it felt. “On that matter, Mrs. Ivory, I beg to differ with you. As would millions of Bourbon drinkers worldwide. Hensley’s is one of the best, if not the best Bourbon available. Our product—and our service—are of impeccable quality and have been for generations. We take great pride in that.”

At his pronouncement, she fixed her gaze levelly on his without flinching. “Your product,” she said, virtually spitting out the word, “has been responsible for the suffering, the sickness the deaths of millions of people over the years. I don’t know how you can possibly take pride in something like that. In fact, I don’t know how you can sleep at night.”

This time Holt didn’t even bother to fake a smile. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, all pretense of civility gone. “Cutting right to the chase, are we, Mrs. Ivory?”

“Well, I know you’re a busy man, Mr. McClellan.”

Her outburst had clearly provided her with the needed boost for battle, because she suddenly didn’t seem to be at all intimidated by him. Ignoring her remark about him not sleeping at night—frankly, it was none of her damned business why he had trouble sleeping—he backpedaled to address her other remarks instead.

“It isn’t Bourbon that’s been responsible for the things you like to blame it for,” he said. “It’s irresponsible people who have caused those things.”

“The old ‘Guns don’t kill people’ line, Mr. McClellan? I’m disappointed. I would have thought you could be more creative than that when making excuses for your role in ruining countless lives.”

He frowned. “As much as I abhor the presence of handguns in our society, and regardless of the cliché, the reasoning is appropriate. It’s not the product that the Louisville Temperance League should be going after, Mrs. Ivory. It’s the people who misuse it that you should be directing your attentions to.” He sat forward now, linking his fingers loosely on his desk. “Will you be going after Hillerich and Bradsby when you’re finished with Hensley’s?”

She looked a bit puzzled but only said, “The baseball bat manufacturers? Why on earth would we do that?”

He shrugged. “Hey, one good blow to the head with a Louisville Slugger could kill someone.”

“Mr. McClellan,” Faith Ivory interjected mildly, “I don’t think—”

“And don’t forget the Ford plant,” he continued, ignoring her as he warmed to his argument. “Automobile accidents have maimed and killed a lot more people than Bourbon has.”

“Mr. McClellan, you’re being—”

“And General Electric. My God. I don’t think I need to remind you that one fork in a toaster and you’re…” He shrugged again, philosophically this time. “Well, you’re toast.”

She gazed at him in silence for a moment before asking, “Are you finished?”

“I don’t know. Have I made my point?”

“Repeatedly.”

“Then I guess I’m finished.”

She hesitated, not seeming to know exactly how to proceed. Finally, she began again, “Few people can dispute the fact that drinking alcohol is dangerous. Drunk drivers have killed thousands of innocent people. And alcoholism is responsible for everything from domestic violence to birth defects to heart disease to—”

Beautiful mouth or no, Holt was losing patience with Faith Ivory. Her arguments were the same ones he’d been hearing for years, and frankly, he didn’t want to hear them again. “Alcoholism and the enjoyment of spirits,” he interrupted her, “are two entirely unrelated things, Mrs. Ivory.”

“They’re not at all unrelated,” she countered.

“They are completely unrelated,” Holt insisted. He inhaled a deep breath to clear his thoughts, then continued, as levelly as he could manage, “Alcoholism is a serious illness. The enjoyment of a cocktail after work or a glass of wine with dinner isn’t.”

“One leads directly to the other,” she retorted.

“Not necessarily, though irresponsible behavior can contribute to it,” he volleyed.

Faith Ivory studied him in silence, as if she’d known they would reach such an impasse, and she was just gearing up to drive home her next point. Oddly, Holt found himself looking forward to her argument. Somewhere along the line, this little sparring match had become diverting. Almost enjoyable. So he waited. But, surprisingly, Faith Ivory’s luscious mouth remained firmly shut on the subject.