Читать книгу The Millionaire Next Door - Kara Lennox - Страница 10

“Look, Daddy, a cowboy!” Bethany squealed.

Hudson had just pulled his rental car into a space on the Cottonwood, Texas, town square. Sure enough, a wiry man wearing faded Wrangler jeans, pointy-toed boots and a white cowboy hat climbed out of the truck next to their car. He saw them, smiled and tipped his hat before going on about his business.

Bethany stared at him in rapt fascination, and kept right on staring as she climbed out of the rental car. Everything delighted her.

He took her hand and they walked into Tri-County Realty, which George’s friend Ed Hardison had recommended. A woman in her fifties with a bleach-blond beehive and thin, penciled eyebrows sat behind a desk talking on the phone. She made eye contact with Hudson and held up a finger to indicate she’d be with him in a minute.

Hudson nodded, his irritation rising. He’d been looking forward to escaping all the attention he’d been receiving in Boston, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be ignored.

He wandered over to a bulletin board that featured photographs of various properties for sale and for rent. Bethany climbed up on a chair to study the photos with him.

“I want to live here, Daddy,” she said, pointing to the most opulent home on the board, a huge mansion on the lake. The asking price was almost a million dollars, which seemed cheap to Hudson. In Boston a property like that would cost three or four times as much.

“That one’s for sale, not for rent,” he explained, though he had no idea if Bethany understood the difference. “When the nice lady gets off the phone, we’ll see everything that’s available.”

“Margie never gets off the phone,” a voice from an interior office called out. The voice was brisk, but with a honey-edged Southern accent.

Intrigued, Hudson followed the sound of the voice through a doorway, finding himself in a large, well-appointed office with a view of the town square. But the woman who worked here apparently didn’t want to take advantage of the view. She had her desk turned so she had her back to the window, and the shades were drawn.

Her walls were covered with plaques—top seller for her company, at least three years running. Million Dollar Club. An award from the chamber of commerce for Cottonwood’s Ambassador of the Year. Other spots on the wall were filled with framed letters from grateful clients. Hudson recognized the name of a country-western singer and a former lieutenant governor.

The woman stood up and held out her hand, shaking his with a firm grip that made him fear for his surgeon’s hands. It seemed odd that such a delicate hand could wield so much strength. “Nice to meet you. I’m Amanda Dewhurst.”

“Hudson. Stack.” He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable reaction. Back home, if someone didn’t instantly recognize him, they at least knew his name. Oh, you’re that bachelor doctor guy. At which point they would wax eloquent about their uncle’s heart disease or try to set him up with a little sister.

He was tired of dealing with that. He didn’t want anyone bothering him, inviting him to parties, interviewing him for the paper or trying to seduce him. He just wanted to be a guy on vacation with his daughter. He didn’t hold out much hope. His notoriety as a surgeon might not extend this far from Boston, but everyone knew who the Boston Stacks were. They were right up there with the Kennedys. For generations, Stacks had been senators, judges, philanthropists and tycoons.

Amazingly, Amanda didn’t bat an eye. “Pleased to meet you.” She turned a dazzling smile on Bethany. “Hi, sugar. What’s your name? Would you like a piece of candy?” Amanda looked up at Hudson. “Can she have a piece of candy?”

“I don’t eat candy,” Bethany said primly. “It rots your teeth.”

“So it does,” Amanda replied, her composure unshaken. “How about an apple?”

A tiny refrigerator sat behind Amanda’s desk. When she opened it, he caught a glimpse of can after can of Slimfast—and one red apple. She grabbed the apple and brought it out, offering it to Bethany.

Bethany accepted the apple, thanked Amanda, then didn’t eat it. She seemed enthralled with the beautiful office—and with Amanda herself, whom Hudson confessed wasn’t bad to look at. She was petite, with silver-blond hair and a pixie face. Her hair was unfortunately pulled into a tight twist, piquing Hudson’s curiosity. How long was it?

She wore a red skirt with a sheer white blouse and a black patent-leather belt at her slim waist. Her nails were shiny red and salon-fresh, her complexion fair and flawless, her lips skillfully painted. She was about as well put together as any woman he’d ever seen, and he’d spent his whole life around females with wealth and style.

The surprise was finding her in this backwater town.

“What can I do for you this fine spring day?” she asked.

“We’re looking for a furnished house to rent. Ed Hardison said I should go through Tri-County.”

Amanda smiled. “You’re friends of the Hardisons? Such nice people,” she went on without waiting for an answer. “I sold Allison Hardison’s house a few months ago when she and Jeff got married. What kind of house are you looking for?”

“We want a house with a lake,” Bethany said.

Amanda beamed. “We have some lovely lakefront homes available. Are you new to the area?”

“Just visiting,” Hudson said. “We’ll only be here a month. We’re looking for a furnished rental.”

Amanda’s smile faltered. “Oh.”

“Is that a problem?”

“It’s just that most of the rentals require at least a six-month lease. But that’s okay. I can find something. Let me check our listings.”

“We want the big house—out there,” Bethany said, pointing to the outer office.

Amanda got a dreamy look in her eye. “You must mean the Clooney place. It’s the prettiest house on the lake. Unfortunately, it’s not for rent.”

Hudson almost agreed to buy it. It was hard for him to deny his daughter anything. But the house probably wouldn’t come with furniture, and he didn’t want to spend his whole vacation buying stuff for a house he would occupy for a few weeks, tops.

“I’m sure we can find something else,” he said.

Amanda’s pretty hands flew over her computer keyboard in a curiously sensual way. Hudson found himself staring at those hands, and the way her breasts jiggled ever so slightly with the enthusiasm she put into the typing. That sheer blouse revealed a lacy camisole underneath.

She called up property after property on the computer, rejecting each one for one reason or another. Some weren’t furnished. Some wouldn’t take children. Some were already rented.

“You don’t have any pets, do you?” Amanda asked.

“No,” Hudson said. Thank God.

“But I’m going to get a pony,” Bethany said hopefully.

Amanda pored over her listings, but she couldn’t locate a single rental house on the lake that didn’t have some barrier to Hudson renting it. He could have offered more money. Every fussy landlord had his price. But he didn’t want to call attention to his financial status. He was playing the part of an average guy, and an average guy didn’t have money to burn.

“I have several rentals in town,” Amanda said hopefully. “There’s a beautiful Victorian right on the square.”

“I want to be on the water,” Hudson said firmly. “I’m here to fish.”

“What about the Skillman cabin?” Margie called from the reception area.

Amanda’s face stiffened. “I don’t think you’d be interested in that one.”

“Why not?” Hudson asked.

“It’s small, for one thing.”

“There’s just the two of us.”

“And I’m little so I don’t take up much room,” Bethany added.

“It’s furnished,” Margie called.

“Margie, do you want to come in here and work with Mr. Stack?” Amanda asked, though the teasing tone in her voice softened the sarcasm. “I could take a coffee break.”

“Well, I’m just trying to help. Jeez.”

“So what about this cabin?” Hudson asked. “Do you have a picture of it?”

Amanda sighed. “Yes, somewhere. It’s not in the computer yet. I’m afraid it doesn’t have much curb appeal. It’s rather…rustic.”

Bethany climbed up in her chair and leaned over the desk, to better observe what Amanda was doing. “What does rustic mean, Daddy?”

“It means, um, old-fashioned and not very luxurious.”

“Like Grandma Ruth’s apartment?”

“Sort of.” Hudson’s mother-in-law lived in an old brownstone, with fashionably worn Oriental rugs, creaking wood floors, 1960s appliances and a rotary telephone. He supposed some people would consider that rustic. Ruth Hanover had enough money to buy any modern luxury she wanted, but she insisted nothing worthwhile had been manufactured in the past thirty years.

Finally Amanda produced a creased photo of a no-frills A-frame log cabin, not very big. But it did have a dock.

“Does it have electricity and running water?” Hudson asked.

“Sometimes. I really don’t think—”

“It’s like Abe Lincoln’s house!” Bethany exclaimed. “I want to live there, Daddy.”

Well, that cinched it. “Can we go see it?”

“Okay,” Amanda replied without much enthusiasm.

AMANDA WISHED Margie had kept her suggestions to herself. She didn’t want to rent out the Skillman cabin, because it happened to be next door to her own. Every single renter who’d leased the cabin had been noisy, annoying and low class. The last tenant had thrown loud parties and trashed the place, and the Skillmans hadn’t bothered to clean it up. Now it was empty, and Amanda preferred it that way.

Still, Hudson didn’t appear to be rowdy, though it was always hard to tell on a first meeting. He was good-looking, that was for sure. Though he was at least in his mid-thirties, his body had a youthful vigor, all lean muscle and smooth coordination. His hair was short and dark, but she could tell it had some natural curl to it. He had a square jaw, square shoulders and square hands—not much softness to him.

She liked that.

His East Coast accent called to mind Kennedys and Rockefellers. But somehow she doubted he fell into that category, or he’d be vacationing in Martha’s Vineyard or some such place. Cottonwood’s reputation as a fishing and boating mecca was growing, and it drew visitors from Dallas and Houston. But Boston?

The fact Hudson was even considering the rundown Skillman cabin meant he probably didn’t have a lot of money. Still, a commission was a commission. Maybe he’d like it here and decide to stay, and she’d sell him a house.

At any rate, she wasn’t going to let Mary Jo Dickens get him. Mary Jo was vying with Amanda for first place in sales this month, and Amanda didn’t like it one bit. Amanda had boasted top sales every month for four years, and she intended to maintain her streak. Even a small commission might be enough to edge Mary Jo ahead of Amanda.

She unlocked the doors of her silver Lincoln with a press of a button on her key chain.

“This is a pretty car,” Bethany said when they were all settled into the soft leather seats.

“Thank you,” Amanda said. The payments were eating her alive, but she firmly believed a luxurious car put her clients in the mood to buy. “So what brings you to Cottonwood?”

“Daddy got fired,” Bethany announced, as if it were something to be proud of.

Alarm bells went off in Amanda’s mind. If Mr. Stack didn’t have a job, how was he going to pay for even a small rental house? Lakefront property wasn’t cheap, not even the Skillman cabin.

“Let’s call it a leave of absence, Bethany,” Hudson said quickly. “A long-overdue vacation, really.”

“And what sort of work do you do?”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought he tensed at the question. And he didn’t answer right away. Finally he said, “I work at a hospital.”

She observed him from the corner of her eye. His clothes, while a bit rumpled, appeared to be quality made. He had a good haircut and nice teeth that had probably seen braces. Nice eyes, too, a very deep, sincere brown.

“Are you a doctor?” she finally asked when he offered no more details.

Again, that slight tension. “I do repair work.”

Was he lying? Was he an escaped convict, or a non-custodial dad who’d kidnapped his daughter?

Well, it was none of her business, so long as he could pay the rent. And if he really was a repairman, maybe he could do some work on the Skillman cabin. The owners would probably give him a break on the rent if he did a little patching and painting. She mentioned this possibility to him.

“I’m on vacation,” he said. “I plan to relax.”

Well, that put her in her place.

“Here it is,” she said as she pulled into the gravel driveway. She didn’t bother pointing out any of the house’s finer points, because there just weren’t any. As Hudson wandered through the house, silently observing the ancient appliances and leaky plumbing, the worn carpet and musty odor, he said little.

Bethany, however, was running through the house as if it were a playground.

“Look at this, Daddy!” she exclaimed, pointing to a sleeping loft. The only access was by ladder. “Can I sleep up here, Daddy, please, please? I want that to be my room.”

Amanda smiled at the child’s enthusiasm. Children had a way of filtering out the unpleasant and focusing on the positives. She remembered some of the places she’d lived as a child. Though they might have been dumps, her father would always manage to sell her by pointing out the things children loved—a tree with a tire swing, or a patio with a picnic table, or a nearby creek where they could catch tadpoles. And she could overlook leaky roofs and peeling paint.

Actually, the Skillman cabin was a palace compared to some of the places she’d lived.

HUDSON WAS ON THE VERGE of grabbing his child and running back to Boston. This place was a trash heap! But then he thought about what George would say, and he controlled the urge. He could stand anything for a month.

There was no way to fake this vacation, either. He’d thought about checking into a four-star resort in Florida or California and simply staying out of touch for a month. But he couldn’t lie to George, who’d been his mentor for a dozen years. George was convinced Cottonwood was the medicine Hudson needed, and nothing else would do. He wanted Hudson to be bored.

They walked out onto the rickety dock. “Are there fish in this lake?” Hudson asked.

“Oh, loads,” Amanda replied.

“Can I catch some goldfish?” Bethany asked.

Amanda laughed. It was a musical, tinkling laugh that seemed to shiver down Hudson’s spine. For the first time since he’d met her, Hudson thought he saw through Ms. Super-Efficient Realtor to the real woman beneath. And he liked what he saw.

“No goldfish in Town Lake,” she said. “But the pet store on the square has goldfish. That’s one pet you can keep in a rental house.”

“Who lives in that house?” Bethany asked, pointing to a tidy A-frame home next door to theirs. It was similar in style to theirs, but quite a bit larger—and nicer.

“A fairy princess lives there,” Amanda answered in a confidential whisper.

“Really? Where? Where is she?”

“She’s standing right here on the dock with you.”

“I don’t see her.”

Amanda laughed again. “I’m only teasing, Bethany. Actually, that’s my house.”

Hudson’s interest in the rental cabin ratcheted up a notch. He’d heard the saying location-location-location, and a desirable neighbor could make the location sweet.

“Can I come visit you?” Bethany asked.

“Anytime you like. Although I’m not home very much.”

“Neither is my daddy,” Bethany said.

Another twinge of guilt. How long would it take to regain Bethany’s trust? Ah, who the hell was he kidding? He’d never had it to begin with. Bethany had been only two years old when Elaine had died in a skiing accident—while skiing with her boyfriend. The shock of her death and her infidelity had been too much for Hudson. He’d thrown himself into his work like a demon. Immersed in a complicated surgery, he could forget Elaine and her painful betrayal.

Unfortunately, in forgetting Elaine he’d also neglected the emotional needs of his daughter.

Well, he intended to make up for his shortcomings as a father. Children were resilient and forgiving. He would get back in Bethany’s good graces if it killed him. And if she wanted to live in this ramshackle cabin and sleep in a loft and visit the fairy princess next door, so be it.

“I’ll take the cabin,” he said abruptly.

“Really?” Amanda seemed surprised. “I haven’t even told you how much it is.”

“How much is it?”

“Seven hundred.”

“A week?”

She laughed. “A month.”

Holy cow, that was cheap. He’d never lived in a place that cost so little. “That’s fine.”

They returned to the Tri-County rental office, where Hudson was required to fill out an application, though Amanda assured him it was only a formality. His pen hovered over the space marked “Occupation.” He’d misled Amanda, but he couldn’t make himself lie on paper. He wrote in “doctor” very quickly and hoped no one would read it.

He wrote out a check for one month’s rent plus a security deposit. It had been so long since he’d actually written a check, he had to stop and think about it. He had a business manager who handled all of his bills. When he did have to deal with financial things, he used credit cards.

When he’d hastily packed for this trip, he’d grabbed his old checkbook from a desk drawer, realizing not everyone accepted credit cards, especially out in the sticks. He congratulated himself for thinking ahead.

Amanda took the check and the application, paper-clipped them together, and stuck them in a folder on her fanatically neat desk.

“Thanks for helping me out,” he said as he stood.

She stood also and handed him the key to the cabin. “Thanks for the business. Please let me know if I can help you with anything else. And welcome to the neighborhood.”

He shook her hand again, holding it for a little longer than was necessary.

THE FIRST THING Hudson did upon arriving at his new, temporary home was to locate the yellow pages and hire a cleaning service to give the place a good going-over. Rustic he could handle; filthy he couldn’t. With a little prodding, he arranged for a housekeeper from Sharon’s Personal Service to come out that afternoon. “If I’m not here, the door will be open.” It wasn’t as if a thief would want to steal anything here.

Next on the list was groceries. He’d never had to prepare his own food before. At Grubbs Food Mart, which appeared to be the only grocery store in town, he filled his basket with frozen foods, snacks and lunch meats for sandwiches. Bethany made her choices clear. She wanted macaroni and cheese, peanut butter and jelly and something called Lunchables that appeared to be cheese and crackers in a box.

George had told him to eat healthily, but since Hudson couldn’t cook, he was severely limited. He bought a few apples, some peaches and, at Bethany’s urging, a bag of celery.

“I like it with peanut butter,” she announced.

In the cleaning products aisle, he picked up some dishwasher detergent. Wait, did the cabin have a dishwasher? Hell, he didn’t think so, now that he thought about it. And laundry, how was he supposed to clean his clothes? How was he supposed to relax if he had to worry about all this stuff?

He was putting his groceries in the trunk when he saw a woman barreling toward him through the small parking lot. Not just any woman, he realized. Amanda Dewhurst.

His momentary pleasure was soon blunted by the fact that she was scowling.

As soon as she reached him, she waved a piece of paper in his face. “Would you mind explaining this?”

He grabbed the paper from her hand, which he now saw was his check. “What’s wrong?”

“You know damn well what’s wrong.”

“You’re not going to tell me it bounced, are you?” That was ludicrous. He had thousands of dollars in his ready assets account.

“I put it through Checktronic,” she fumed. “The account was closed two years ago!”

“What?” With a sinking feeling, Hudson examined the check more closely. Then he realized the names printed on the check were Hudson and Elaine Stack. He’d grabbed the wrong checkbook. This was the account mainly used by Elaine, and his manager had closed it.

He tried to explain the mix-up to Amanda. She listened stoically. “It was an honest mistake,” he concluded. “I’ll make the check good.”

“You can’t make a check good on a closed account.”

She had a point. Hudson felt his collar growing tighter—then realized his collar was open. “I don’t suppose you take credit cards.”

Amanda tapped her foot.

With a sigh, Hudson reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He pulled out all of the cash and counted it into Amanda’s hand. It amounted to four hundred thirty dollars and change. “I’ll get you the rest tomorrow, okay?”

Amanda studied him, considering.

“I’m good for it. Have a heart. I’ve got a car full of frozen food that’s rapidly melting in this heat.”

“All right.” She stuck the cash in her briefcase. “But I really need it by tomorrow. I’m ahead of Mary Jo Dickens by twenty dollars, and tomorrow is the last day of the month. If I have to deduct the commission from this rental, I’ll lose.”

“Lose what?” he asked, bewildered.

“I won’t be top seller for May. And if I have to see that trophy sitting on Mary Jo’s desk for all of next month, I’ll puke.”

He recalled all those plaques in her office. Million Dollar Club. Top selling Realtor for the past four years running. Those framed letters of appreciation.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say, “So? What’s the big deal about having a trophy on your desk?” But then Hudson realized it was a big deal for Amanda. She was as serious and committed about her job as he was about his.

Tomorrow some other doctor would be doing his surgery, and he didn’t like that, either.

He smiled. “I’ll make it good. Don’t worry. You’ll beat the pants off this Mary Jo, whoever she is.”

Amanda managed a watery smile. Then she turned on her shiny black pumps and walked away.