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

Amanda’s face burned as she walked back to her office, and it wasn’t just the summer heat. What in God’s name had possessed her to tell Hudson Stack about her rivalry with Mary Jo Dickens?

“Hey, what’s with you?” Margie asked the minute Amanda walked through the door. “You look like a herd of demons is chasing you. Is Mary Jo hassling you again?”

Amanda set her things on one of the plush client chairs and sank into the other one. For once, she didn’t feel like rushing back to her office to generate new leads or update her contact list.

“It’s not Mary Jo, not this time,” Amanda said. “It’s me. I just chased down Hudson Stack in the street and gave him hell for writing me a bad check.”

“Good for you. He could go to jail for that.”

“Except that…I harangued him in front of his little girl. And maybe he did intentionally try to defraud me, but maybe it was an honest mistake. And if it was, I’ve alienated him permanently. And he’s friends with Ed Hardison. You know what’ll happen to my business if Ed tells people I’m a harpy?”

“You’ll never sell another house,” Margie added, deadpan, “and you’ll have to move out of town and go into another line of work. Maybe change your name. Go into the witness protection program.”

“I think you’re making fun of me,” Amanda said suspiciously.

“Oh, honey, you’re just too damn hard on yourself. No one can be sweet 24/7. So, you lost your temper. You got a little flustered. Who wouldn’t, dealing with that guy?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but he’s quite the studmuffin.” Margie fanned herself with the Cottonwood Conversation, the town’s weekly newspaper.

Amanda had noticed, all right. Even as she’d been yelling at him, her eyes had been focused on things they shouldn’t have been—like the worn places on his jeans, and that little tuft of chest hair peeking out over the top button of his shirt.

“I didn’t just yell at him for the check,” Amanda confessed. “I also told him about how Mary Jo was going to beat me this month in sales. As if that justified my turning his bad check into a federal case.”

Margie had the nerve to laugh. “Boy, you really are bent out of shape. Does it matter so much if she beats you one month?”

“Yes! I mean, no, except that it’s not just this month. She’s been nipping at my heels all year. If I’m not careful, she’ll take my title away.”

“And would that be so bad? I mean, jeez, Amanda, you’ve been top seller four out of the past five years. The whole idea of these awards is to inspire agents to work harder and make more money for themselves and the company. Obviously, Mary Jo’s inspired, and the competition has helped both of you. And you’re already doing better than you did last year. The company’s doing great. It’s a win-win situation, and that little trophy on your desk, and the plaques on your wall—they’re just dumb pieces of wood and brass.”

Amanda stifled a gasp. “Margie, they’re not dumb.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mean to minimize your accomplishments. I’m just saying, get some perspective.”

Amanda sighed again. “I can’t help it. I just get crazy at the idea of Mary Jo beating me. If it was Hank or Emily, it wouldn’t bother me so much. But Mary Jo? She just got her license last year!”

“And how do you think Emily felt when you came along? She was the queen of the Top Seller trophies and plaques before you, and the ink on your license was still wet the first time you beat her.”

Amanda had to think back. Had she been like Mary Jo? God, she hoped not. Amanda was ambitious, but she was ethical. She’d never snooped in other agents’ appointment books, stolen a list of contacts or slept with potential clients. Mary Jo had.

“Does Emily hate me?” Amanda asked.

“No, of course not! Her sales overall have gone up since you’ve been onboard. She has a healthy rivalry with you and with Mary Jo. You, on the other hand…”

“Just stepped over the line. I know.” Amanda stood. “Okay, I’m turning over a new leaf. Healthy rivalry. Team player. No more sniping about Mary Jo, the witch, behind her back.”

“Ix-nay, here comes the itch-way now.” Margie gathered up a handful of pink message slips. “These came in for you while you were gone.”

The door opened and Mary Jo swept in, all five feet, ten inches of her. She had a model’s slender hips and legs, but not the flat chest. In fact, her double-Ds challenged whatever blouse she wore, though she always managed to look stylish. Her midnight hair hung straight as water, almost to her waist, shimmering even in the artificial light of the office.

She came from a rich family in Tyler. She had a college degree in marketing, but it was her finishing-school sheen that Amanda secretly envied. Mary Jo had a natural confidence, an ability to talk about anything with anybody. And though she was always decently dressed, her sexuality billowed out from her in clouds, like cheap perfume did on other women.

In a crowded room, like a chamber of commerce meeting, people just naturally gravitated toward Mary Jo, whereas Amanda usually had to initiate contact with people.

“I just showed someone the Clooney mansion,” Mary Jo said exuberantly. “They spent almost an hour there. I think they might make an offer!” She addressed the comment to both women, but she looked at Amanda.

If Mary Jo sold the Clooney mansion, she would shoot ahead of Amanda and would probably be uncatchable.

Damn.

“Good for you,” Amanda forced herself to say, pasting on a smile. “It would be a plum for the whole company if one of us could sell that puppy.”

“Keep your fingers crossed. Do any good business today, Amanda?”

“Nothing to speak of.”

“Well, cheer up. The day’s not over.” With that she breezed past Amanda toward her own office, grabbing her phone messages on the way.

Amanda bit her tongue. She wanted to say something nasty. That gloating, patronizing bimbo! But the new leaf, and all.

“I’ll be in my office,” Amanda grated out. She picked up her things and shut herself off from the rest of the world. Maybe she’d have something interesting in her e-mail inbox.

The next time she came up for air, it was eight o’clock and starting to get dark. Her stomach was a gaping cavern of emptiness. She hadn’t eaten since she’d wolfed down a bagel for breakfast.

She reached behind her to the refrigerator to grab a Slimfast. But the sudden movement made her head spin, and she realized she needed to eat a real meal before she passed out. She grabbed a couple of real estate magazines—she wanted to draft some new ads, and she needed inspiration. She stuffed them in her briefcase for later, then headed out.

Amanda always felt a rush of pleasure when she drove up to her house on the lake. She’d bought it last year—her very first home. It wasn’t grand, as lake houses went, just a modest two-bedroom A-frame. But it was clean—most of the time—and snug. She hadn’t needed to do any work on it, and she’d hardly changed a thing except to hang a few pictures.

The important thing was that it was hers, and no one could take it away from her—unless she failed to make her house payments. That possibility was never far from her thoughts. Though she’d had no trouble qualifying for the loan based on her previous three years’ income, the real estate business was iffy. One turn of the economic roulette wheel and her income could disappear.

That was why she stockpiled so much. Though her banker urged her to invest in a diverse portfolio, she was content to keep her cash in a money-market fund, where it was readily available for any emergency. She had enough to see her through a whole year, should something happen to her income.

But that didn’t stop her from worrying.

She was just a worrier. That was her nature, and there was nothing she could do about it.

And speaking of worrying, what was that taped to her front door?

Instead of entering her house through the garage door, Amanda walked around to the front and up the stairs to her porch. A fat envelope with her name on it was taped to the door. She pulled it off and opened it. It was full of cash—and a note.

She read the note and smiled. Hudson Stack had made good on his check. All that worry for nothing—this time. Maybe she would keep her little desk trophy another month after all.

Her pleasure over this small victory was blunted when she saw what a mess the kitchen was. Her brother, Mick, had obviously been home, had dinner, then left again. The empty pizza box and cardboard had been left on the counter; her microwave was covered in melted cheese; and the greasy plate and leftover crusts had been dumped near, though not in, the sink. An empty pop bottle sat on the counter, mere inches from the pantry door where the trash was stored.

Amanda gritted her teeth and cleaned up the mess. Sometimes she wondered what would happen if she just stopped cleaning up after Mick. Would he even notice? But nagging didn’t do any good, nor did threats. He was a twenty-two-year-old boy-man who simply hadn’t grown up yet. As soon as she got him through college and he got a job, he would move out on his own and fall in love with some woman, who would reform him.

As she threw a frozen pasta dinner into the microwave, her thoughts returned to Hudson Stack, and she started worrying about something else. What if that cash was all he had? His daughter had said he was out of work. What if he’d needed this cash to live on?

Okay, if this was all he had, he wouldn’t have rented a lake house. Unless he’d promised his daughter…

No. She was being ridiculous. Hudson was a grown man, and she had no business worrying about his financial status. If he’d rented a house he couldn’t afford, that was his problem. She had her cash up front, and that was all that mattered.

Right?

A PRESSURE AGAINST Hudson’s stomach woke him up. He cracked one eye open to a pitch-black room. Bethany was sitting on his rib cage.

“Daddy! Are you awake?”

“I am now.” He’d tossed and turned until the wee hours of the morning. It was too quiet here. He missed the white noise of traffic, horns, sirens. He liked the idea that there were people all around him. This house was too isolated. The only nearby neighbor was Amanda Dewhurst, and he’d managed to alienate her.

The quiet had nearly driven him crazy.

“I’m bored,” Bethany announced.

Hudson checked the illuminated dial on his watch. It was a little after five o’clock. “Go back to bed. It’s too early.” It would be six, Boston time. He would already be on his way to the hospital, mentally preparing for his first surgery.

“I can’t sleep,” Bethany said.

Bethany had never awakened him before. Back home, if she cried in the night or had a bad dream, she went to the live-in housekeeper. She’d been told not to disturb his sleep, because he needed plenty of rest if he was going to stick a scalpel into someone’s heart the next day.

Now he had no such excuses. His daughter was his responsibility, totally. It scared him a little.

“Do you want to climb into bed with me?” he asked, a little apprehensively. He wasn’t sure that was proper, but maybe it would help her feel more secure if an adult was nearby.

“No. I want you to get up. I’m hungry.”

Hudson groaned. “Get a Pop-Tart. They’re in the cabinet.”

“I can’t reach.”

Hudson reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. His daughter stared at him earnestly. He would have to get up—he didn’t know what else to do. Maybe he shouldn’t have made Bethany take that long nap yesterday.

He set her on her feet, then climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans.

As he was fixing Bethany a Pop-Tart, he looked out the window and noticed lights on at the house next door. Amanda must be an early riser. He thought about asking her over for coffee. It would be nice to have another adult to talk to. He was going batty here, and he’d been here less than a day.

Then he realized how stupid an idea that was. First, he didn’t have any coffee. And even if he did, the cabin didn’t have a coffee maker. Second, an attractive woman in his cabin would only make his blood pressure go up. And the objective was to make it go down. He’d brought a cuff with him and he intended to check it often. The moment he got the numbers down to normal, he was heading back to Boston.

Third, Amanda probably wasn’t speaking to him. Although he hoped the cash left on her door would lessen her anger with him.

He thought back to the way she’d gone off on him yesterday. Her eyes had sparked fire, and little wisps of blond hair had pulled free of her tight twist, framing her face in a shimmering halo. He’d liked seeing her that way, free of her ultraprofessional real-estate-lady persona. He just wished her anger hadn’t been aimed at him.

He thought about her loss of composure and wondered what it meant. Yelling at him about the check he could understand. But that business about Mary Jo Whoever stealing her trophy—that was over the top.

The light upstairs went out, and another came on downstairs. Maybe he could take her out for coffee. Did Cottonwood have a Starbucks? He doubted it, but he’d seen something called the Miracle Café that served breakfast all day.

“Are you gonna give me that Pop-Tart or what?” Bethany asked.

Hudson realized he’d been staring at the house, lost in thought. The Pop-Tart had popped up and was cooling off. He plucked it from the toaster, set it on a paper towel, and handed it to Bethany.

“Grandma Ruth says we always have to eat at the table.”

“At home, maybe. But we’re on vacation.”

“What’s vacation?”

“You know, a trip. Where we have fun.”

“I’m not having fun.”

“You didn’t like sleeping in the loft?”

“Yeah. But I’m awake now.”

“Let’s go watch the sunrise.”

“Why?”

“Because…because it’s pretty. Because that’s what people do when they stay in a lake house, I guess.”

“What about fishing?”

When Hudson had checked out the house yesterday, he’d seen some fishing equipment in the garage. “Sure, why not? We’ll eat breakfast, get dressed, and by then the sun will be up and we can go fishing.”

Thirty minutes later, showered, dressed in old jeans and reasonably well fed with two Pop-Tarts, Hudson was in the garage sorting through a pile of dusty old fishing equipment. He selected what looked like the only two poles that actually had working reels attached. He sort of figured out how the reel worked. He found a tackle box that had an assortment of esoteric things inside, including hooks. He tied a hook onto the end of each line, using surgical knots.

“Piece of cake,” he murmured.

All the while, Bethany watched intently, asking him what he was doing each step of the way. He tried to act as if he knew the drill, but he’d never been fishing in his life except for the time he went deep-sea fishing on a yacht. This was a little different.

“The fish bite onto these hooks?” she asked.

“That’s right.”

“Why do they do that? Are they stupid?”

“No. We have to trick them into biting the hook by putting bait on it.”

“What’s bait?”

“It’s something the fish would like to eat.”

“What do fish eat?”

That was a very good question. He rifled through the tackle box, finally coming up with some rather crusty artificial worms. Maybe these would do.

The point wasn’t really to catch anything, right? This was an exercise in boredom.

The sun was just coming up as Hudson and Bethany walked out to the end of the rickety dock. Hudson put a rubbery worm on the end of each hook, then pulled out some extra line so the hook would dangle in the water. He gave one pole to Bethany, cautioning her for about the tenth time about being careful of the hook. Then he sat down beside her and put his own hook in the water.

Nothing happened.

“This is nice,” he said, trying to convince himself. “Just you and me, doing a little father-daughter bonding.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Is anything happening with your line?”

“No.”

“Mine, neither. But I understand you have to be patient to be a fisherman.”

“Fishergirl,” she corrected him.

Oh, Lord. At four years old, Bethany was a budding feminist. Her grandmother would have a fit. Finally, something to make Hudson smile.

“I’m bored,” Bethany said after exactly seven minutes.

“Let’s talk to pass the time.”

“Talk about what?”

He had no idea what. “What do you like to watch on TV?”

“Princess Pony.”

“Tell me about that.”

“There’s a white pony, and she’s a princess, and then there’s a bad Palomino Queen who wants Princess Pony to go into this cave and never come out.”

“That sounds exciting.”

“But now I can’t watch it because we don’t have a TV.”

Originally he’d been pleased the cabin didn’t have a TV. Bethany watched far too much at home, and the point of a vacation like this was to get outdoors, get some exercise, get healthy. Watching TV wasn’t healthy. But it might help Bethany not to die of boredom. Maybe he could compromise, buy a TV and VCR and rent some educational videos or classic children’s movies.

“Is anything happening with your line?”

“No.”

Eleven minutes had passed.

They tried a different color of worm. They tried an orange lizard. They tried a silver metal fish with spinners on it. The fish were about as interested as Hudson would be at a vegetarian buffet.

“Can we go inside now, Daddy?”

“Not until we catch a fish.” He didn’t know what he would do with the fish if he caught it, but he didn’t like to fail at his endeavors.

AMANDA GULPED DOWN the last bit of her coffee, then strode through the living room and beat on the bedroom door. “Mick? Are you up yet?”

No reply.

She cracked the door open. Mick was sprawled on top of the covers, still fully clothed. It was all Amanda could do not to yank him by the ankles and toss him to the floor.

She’d heard him come home last night—at two in the morning. She’d hoped he was at the university library in Tyler, studying. But seeing him now, she knew she’d been naive. Mick had been out drinking—she’d stake her life on it. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t recognize the signs. She was very afraid that Mick was his father’s son.

Resisting the urge to fit her hands around his neck, she instead shook his shoulder. “Mick. Wake up.”

He opened one bleary eye. “Huh?”

“Get your hungover butt out of bed. You have a class this morning.”

“Not till nine.”

“Get up now, or you’ll fall back to sleep.”

“Get off my case.”

“You think this is on your case? Just wait and see what happens if I ever catch you drinking and driving again.”

She left him with that thought. Back in the kitchen, she grabbed her keys and was about to head out the door when she spotted something interesting out the living room window. Hudson and Bethany were sitting on the end of their dock, fishing.

She watched them for a few self-indulgent moments. Her father used to take her fishing when she was a little girl. It was one of her nicest memories of him, nearly obliterated by other, more recent and far less pleasant ones. But now the images came flooding back—baiting hooks with wiggling earthworms, breathlessly watching the float bob up and down as a fish toyed with the bait, feeling the sun beating down on her bare arms.

And listening to her father tell stories. Sometimes he told real stories from his youth. Sometimes he made up fairy tales. And sometimes she couldn’t tell the difference. But she didn’t care. She just loved to hear him talk. He could weave an interesting tale around the most mundane of events and keep her endlessly entertained.

She wondered what Hudson and Bethany were talking about.

As she watched them a bit longer, she realized they weren’t catching anything, not even little perch or sunfish. The longer she watched, the more she realized they hadn’t a clue about what they were doing. They didn’t even know how to cast!

It’s none of your business, she reminded herself. Fishing was very personal. Maybe this was the technique that worked for Hudson.

She had to get to work, anyway. She had an appointment in a couple of hours with Clea Marsden about selling her rental property. But she could go over and thank Hudson for leaving her the cash. And she could give him a few pointers on fishing. It had been years since she’d dipped a hook in the water, but she hadn’t forgotten how.

Yes, that was the polite thing to do. She would have to live next to Hudson for a month. Might as well try to be on good terms with him. Besides, what if he really needed the fish to supplement his groceries?

Her mind made up, she marched next door, then tiptoed down the dock. If there were any fish around, she didn’t want to scare them.

“Good morning,” she whispered.

Hudson jumped a good six inches, and Bethany peered over her shoulder. “Why are you whispering?” she asked.

“So I don’t scare the fish,” she explained.

“The fish are underwater,” Bethany said patiently. “They can’t hear us.”

“Oh, but they can,” Amanda assured her. Then she looked at Hudson, who appeared touchably rumpled and unshaven. Normally she didn’t care for that un-shaven look, but on Hudson it worked. He wore a pair of jeans even more faded than the ones he’d had on yesterday, and a Harvard T-shirt.

Harvard? “Your alma mater?” she asked, pointing to the shirt.

He looked down at it. “This? Someone gave it to me.”

“Oh. Well, anyway, I wanted to thank you for making good on the check.”

“I told you I would.”

“I know, but I’ve learned not to trust people when they say things like that. So many don’t live up to their word. I appreciate that you did, and I’m sorry I lost my temper yesterday.”

He smiled. “It’s forgotten.”

“So, you’re fishing, huh?”

“Yup.”

“What are you using for bait?” She didn’t see a bait bucket anywhere.

“Right now? Some little wooden fish we found in the tackle box.”

Ye gods! No wonder they hadn’t caught anything. You couldn’t use plastic worms or plugs or other artificial lures for bobber fishing. And now that she was closer, and Hudson had his hook out of the water, she could see they weren’t using floats or sinkers, either. This was the most pathetic fishing effort she’d ever seen.

“What are you trying to catch?”

Hudson shrugged. “Anything.”

“Would you mind a few pointers? I mean, you aren’t familiar with this lake.” She didn’t want to point out his complete ignorance in front of his daughter.

“I would be grateful for some pointers.”

“Okay. First of all, if you’re just going to hang your hook in the water, you need live bait. Minnows, or at least earthworms.”

“We don’t have any of those things. These fake fish look pretty realistic to me.”

Amanda shook her head. “Yes, but you have to wiggle and move them to make them attractive. They won’t work if they’re just hanging still in the water. Also, most of the fish will already be in deeper water this time of the morning. They come close to shore only at dawn and dusk.”

“I don’t have any worms or minnows.”

“Well…if you’re not too particular about what you catch, raw bacon might work in a pinch. At least it smells good to the fish.”

Hudson shook his head. “I have hot dogs.”

“That might do.”

Hudson sent Bethany back to the house for hot dogs, an errand she gladly performed. “She was getting tired of just sitting here, anyway,” Hudson admitted.

“Well, she won’t be bored when you start catching fish.” Bethany dusted off a spot on the dock and sat down, careful to protect her stockings and her modesty in her short skirt. In a couple of minutes flat she had both poles properly outfitted with sinkers, floats and hooks. Bethany returned shortly with a package of franks. Amanda took a small bit of wiener and worked it onto one of the hooks in a way that would disguise it.

“Now. You need to cast your line out a little ways from the dock, and let the current move it along.” She and Hudson stood, and she demonstrated the correct procedure. As she stretched her arm back preparing for the cast, she got the distinct impression that Hudson wasn’t watching her form—not her fishing form, anyway.

After a few practice casts, Hudson had the technique down pat. He cast Bethany’s line for her, showed her how to slowly crank the reel to take up slack in the line, then threw out his own line.

In less than thirty seconds Bethany’s bobber wiggled, then plummeted below the surface.

“You’ve got a fish!” Amanda exclaimed.

Bethany got so excited she shrieked and almost dropped her pole in the water. But with her father standing behind her helping her reel it in, and with Amanda’s verbal coaching, she managed to pull a little sunfish out of the water.

“I caught a fish! I caught a fish!”

“Yes, you certainly did,” Amanda enthused. “And a magnificent specimen it is, too.” It was about three inches long.

“I’m gonna name him Shiny.”

Hudson and Amanda exchanged a look. “You didn’t tell her what we do with the fish we catch?” Amanda asked.