credits him as the inspiration behind EMP’s development.
“It all started one night after a grueling circuits’ exam. We were playing quarters with a pitcher of beer, and talking about music to try and forget about school for a little while.”
“James is a musician and a composer,” Harville cuts in.
“Okay, I was talking,” Marshall gives a disarming smile, “and Eric and John were tolerant enough to listen. I said, ‘wouldn’t it be great if . . . ?’ and John said, ‘why couldn’t we . . . ?’ and we were off. It was John who developed the original code. He’s a brilliant programmer.”
Benwick is conspicuously absent, and it is obvious his business partners feel it. They explain that he is caring for an ill relative. Both men spend several minutes raving over John Benwick’s abilities, as well as his character.
The future of this close-knit team, however, is uncertain. The terms of EMP’s sale agreement prohibit the three from developing any competing software for five years.
“We’re not sure what we’ll do next. We’re just taking things one day at a time,” Harville says, skillfully evading the question of EMP’s next phase.
Marshall continues, “We started this as friends having fun, and we would love to continue working together. We’ll just have to see what life has in store for us and make our decisions accordingly.”
Whether they form another formidable software team or strike out on their own, one thing is certain – these three young men took passion and skill, and turned it into a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. They’re set for life.
After that, Laurel couldn’t get enough. She scoured the press for information and found out that James earned a bachelor’s degree in engineering from San Jose State University. He met Benwick and Harville at college, and they started their company the year before graduation. Another article announced that software whiz kids James Marshall and John Benwick had made a list of the most eligible bachelors in Silicon Valley, with James being touted as the better catch, given that Benwick was engaged. Then about a month before, Laurel read that John Benwick was grieving the recent loss of his fiancée to a rare and aggressive form of metastatic melanoma.
Laurel had fallen in love with James Marshall when he had nothing, but seeing evidence of his success made her both proud of him and, if she were honest, a little wistful too. At times, it was hard not to regret her decision to stay at Benton all those years ago. She reminded herself that she was a young girl of eighteen at the time, and what he wanted her to do was rash and fraught with the potential for disaster. Her mother’s advice was reasonable to give a teen-aged daughter — although in those first awful months, Laurel wondered whether her mother’s motives might have been more than a little self-serving.
With the perspective of experience, however, Laurel’s views on her decision changed. She now wished that she had been brave enough to take that chance and follow her heart or at least try to find some middle ground. Unfortunately, Laurel could not see any compromise at that time in her life, and her doubts, along with the persuasive arguments of her parents, convinced her to let James go. In many ways, her life path was set when she made that choice. The older women in town called her another ‘Elliot hermit,’ an unfortunate spinster in the making. The rest just called her odd or eccentric — the lady who lived all alone at Uppercross Hollow without a phone, modern conveniences, or anyone to keep her company.
She was a little surprised that some blonde, California girl hadn’t snapped up James already. She had never met another man like him. He was right when he had said she made a mistake, but it wasn’t because he was now rich and successful. It was because no one else had ever touched her heart the way he did.
Chapter 12
“So what do you think about the place?” Virginia Elliot Pendleton twirled around the living room of the house she and Stuart would call home for the next few months.
“I thought you said you rented a cabin,” Laurel replied. “This is like a palace.”
“A palace is not made out of logs. With the wood floors and stone fireplaces, it’s positively rustic, don’t you think?”
Laurel wandered to the wall of glass that opened out to a second-floor deck and an incredible view of the