Читать книгу Breakfast In Bed - Ruth Dale Jean - Страница 8
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
BROOKE, tried to keep her reservations at bay as she showed her guests around Catty-Corner. Maybe Garrett wouldn’t be as difficult about the cats as she feared, she decided in a burst of positive thinking. Maybe he’d give in gracefully.
Maybe pigs would fly.
Following her around the premises, he gave no indication of either approval or disapproval, although he did seem a bit more subdued than he had earlier. Even suspecting he was waiting for his chance to confront her, she still couldn’t conceal her pride in what she’d accomplished.
“With Miss Cora’s help and approval, of course,” she added, opening a door and gesturing them through. “None of this would have been possible without her total understanding and support.”
They entered a large, cozy room containing ten spacious kitty condos spaced against the walls with Brooke’s work and storage area in the center. Each compartment had a private window for bird-watching—a popular pastime of the residents—and pet-door access to an enclosed and partitioned sunning porch for felines only.
Garrett stared, his expression incredulous. “You’re kidding,” he said at last.
Brooke hardly knew how to take that. “Certainly not.” She lifted her chin a notch. “What did you expect? Surely not cages!”
“That’s exactly what I expected,” he admitted.
She shuddered. “My business comes from cat lovers, not sadists.” She slipped her fingers through the wire mesh to tickle the chin of a dainty black cat named Chloe.
His eyebrows soared. “Talk about pampered. What do you do, serve them breakfast in bed?”
“Sure, if that’s what they want,” she admitted.
“Lucky cats.”
She didn’t like that gleam in his amber eyes. To change the subject, she took Molly’s hand and smiled at the little girl. “I think it’s time I found you something to eat.”
Molly hung back. “Can I pet the kitties? Can I, please?”
“Maybe later.” Brooke cast a questioning glance at Garrett, then led the way back through the door into her own quarters. Cluttered and homelike, her sitting room boasted an eclectic blend of period and modern furniture, all chosen for comfort or sentiment. “Let’s go out to the kitchen first,” she suggested to Molly, “and see what we can—”
But she’d lost her audience. With a cry of delight, Molly darted forward with hands outstretched.
She’d spotted Carole Lombard snoozing in a fluffy white mass on a big brocaded ottoman. It was love at first sight. Carole Lombard, Miss Cora’s other cat, was practically designed to enchant a little girl: a snowy-white feline beauty with brilliant blue eyes and fur as soft and luxurious as a rabbit’s.
Lombard gave a little squeak of surprise but she didn’t try to elude her young admirer. To Brooke’s astonishment, the cat allowed the child to embrace her, then sit down on the ottoman and haul the languid feline into her lap.
“What’s her name?” Molly asked breathlessly, her eyes shining like stars.
“Lombard,” Brooke said softly. Why did this little girl have a dog? If Brooke had ever seen a child take to cats, this was the one.
“I love her,” Molly said fervently.
Brooke smiled. “I kind of think she loves you, too. I’ll call you when lunch is ready, honey.”
Brooke turned again toward the kitchen, her smile lasting until she saw Garrett. “Uh...you can wait in here with Molly, if you like.” She made the suggestion hopefully.
“I’d rather go with you.” He gave her a lazy, provocative grin. “There are a couple of things we need to talk about.”
Oh, dear, she thought, leading the way. I don’t think I’m going to like this.
Garrett perched on a kitchen stool, watching Brooke prepare grilled cheese sandwiches and a big pitcher of lemonade. For some reason, his steady gaze made her feel uncharacteristically clumsy and uncoordinated.
He spoke suddenly, startling her. “How well did you know my great-aunt?”
“Very well—maybe better than anyone. I worked for her for almost four years.” She rummaged around in a cabinet, finally extracting a cast-iron griddle, which she placed on the stove.
“What did you do for her, exactly?”
She shrugged. “Whatever needed doing. I took care of her cats, dealt with the staff—she had a cook, a housekeeper, a gardener and occasionally others in to do special things. Like...she had the rose garden dug up a couple of years ago and installed a glass-enclosed swimming pool.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “For whom? At her age, she surely didn’t—”
Brooke’s laughter stopped him. “You didn’t know her or you wouldn’t ask such a question.”
“Meaning?”
“Miss Cora got tired of swimming at the health club,” she said airily.
That drew an apparently reluctant smile from him. “She’s beginning to sound like quite a character.”
“You could say that.” Talking about Miss Cora was soothing and Brooke began to feel less stressed. “I’m only sorry you didn’t get a chance to know her.”
“Did she tell you about...”
“About what?”
“The family scandal.”
“No—but you make it sound really interesting.” She cast him an oblique glance. “I didn’t even know she had a family.”
“She didn‘t—not much of one, anyway. I wasn’t actually named in her will, I was just the only one left except for a few distant cousins.”
“I’m glad there was someone,” Brooke said sincerely. “I had no idea who the beneficiaries of her will were until after she was gone.”
“But you did know she was leaving the gatehouse to you.” He glanced around the sunny kitchen somewhat pointedly.
Brooke stiffened. “I certainly did not.”
He looked less than convinced. “And I suppose you didn’t encourage her to put those crazy restrictions in her will?”
She flipped a sandwich on the stovetop grill, exposing a golden-brown surface. “What crazy restrictions?”
“Crazy restrictions about selling.”
She whirled, a tide of heat rising in her cheeks. “Selling! You can’t sell it!”
“Want to bet?”
Biting her lip, she turned back to the stove, mashing the sandwiches so hard she squeezed out a big glob of melting cheese. “A member of Cora’s family must live here or the house and grounds are to be given to the County of Boulder for a cat sanctuary,” she said at last. “Those are the only two choices.”
She heard him rise from his stool, heard his footsteps approach, then heard his heavy sigh from just behind her quivering shoulder blades. And then she heard his husky voice and felt tension tighten her shoulders.
“Don’t be naive,” he said. “I’m an attorney from a family of attorneys. I’m only going to be here long enough to find a buyer.”
“Garrett—Mr. Jackson!” She turned to face him, her spatula held between them like a sword. “Surely you don’t mean that. How could you live with yourself if you ignored your aunt’s stated wishes in such a cavalier manner? You don’t have a moral problem with that?”
He smiled. Up close like this, the force of his personal magnetism hit her like a sledgehammer blow, knocking the breath right out of her.
“I have a problem, all right,” he murmured.
“Thank heaven.” Her shoulders slumped with relief.
“My problem,” he said with slow deliberation, “is a bit more complicated than you seem to realize. You see, I’ve got to buy your house and land before I can sell mine. And that, Brooke Hamilton, is exactly what I intend to do.”
She squared her shoulders and glared at him. “Never!”
“Never say never.”
He caught her arms just above the elbows, his grip light but very sure. Leaning closer, he stared into her eyes as if he wanted to make absolutely certain she realized he meant business.
“But my cats—my home—” She stared back at him in horror but saw no softening of his attitude. “I’ll never sell,” she said finally. “I never asked for this place, certainly never expected it or anything else in her will. But Miss Cora wanted me to have it, to live here and do exactly what I’m doing. It would have made her very happy, I know it would.”
“Cora’s dead. I’m alive, and I’ll pay you enough money to move the whole kit ‘n’ caboodle someplace else and turn a nice profit besides.”
“I don’t want to go someplace else,” she objected desperately.
“Be reasonable, Brooke.” His voice became lower, more intimate. “I don’t know what the old lady was thinking of. The configuration of your land all but destroys the value of mine. Surely you don’t want to deprive me of the highest and best use of my inheritance.”
She stared at him mutely, feeling helpless before this reasoned, coaxing approach. His hold on her bare arms seemed to be sapping her strength and she was still having difficulty breathing. “I...but I don’t...”
She had no idea how to deflect his arguments and might have stood there indefinitely stammering and shaking if Molly hadn’t walked through the doorway with Lombard nestled in her arms.
The little girl sniffed the air. “What’s burning?” she asked innocently.
“Omigosh!” Whirling, Brooke snatched the skillet from the stove—too late, unfortunately. One side of each sandwich was golden brown while the other was, in Molly’s words, “Golden black.”
But the spell had been broken, which was worth a bit of burned bread. While Brooke prepared a second batch of sandwiches, she seethed over Garrett’s bombshell.
The obvious truth of the matter was that he didn’t care about Miss Cora’s wishes. He just wanted to make as much money as he could as quickly as he could and go back to Chicago. Nor did he care what happened to Brooke or the cats or anything or anybody else.
Garrett Jackson was selfish, that’s what he was. She darted him a hostile glance where he sat at the center work island, in conversation with his child.
Unfortunately, he was also better-looking than a movie star and more electrifying than the local power company.
Brooke Hamilton finally had to admit that she was in a lot of trouble.
Brooke couldn’t eat, not after Garrett’s callous announcement of his intentions. She played with her food, although her guests seemed to be enjoying the simple meal.
Because she was so upset, she found herself watching him with a kind of suspicion normally foreign to her. She prided herself on being an honest, straightforward person who didn’t jump to conclusions. Yet as she watched father and daughter together, she found herself jumping to a lot of conclusions.
Garrett, she quickly decided, was...different when he was concentrating on his daughter. It was a side of him obviously kept well-hidden under normal circumstances. But what kind of relationship did the two of them really have? Molly called him by his first name, for heaven’s sake—or as close to his first name as she could get. That did not denote the kind of closeness he seemed to be seeking.
And then Brooke found herself concentrating on Molly, in an effort to keep her thoughts off Molly’s father. There was something curiously...sad about the little girl. She was polite and attentive, but perhaps a bit quiet and even a little withdrawn. When she turned those beautiful long-lashed amber eyes on Brooke, something melted inside and Brooke found herself wanting to enfold the child in a loving embrace.
Where was Molly’s mother?
Brooke pushed the question aside. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to get sucked into the Jacksons’s family circle despite her best efforts to the contrary.
Molly popped the last bite of sandwich into her mouth, daintily applied a paper napkin, dropped it on the counter and slid from her stool. “May I be excused, please?” she inquired. “The cats need me.”
“You’re excused.” Garrett sounded indulgent. “But don’t get too involved with that cat, okay? We’ll be going back to our own house soon.”
Molly frowned. “I think I like this house better,” she said, her glance darting from her father to Brooke.
“Nevertheless...”
Molly understood. Sighing, she turned toward the doorway.
When she’d disappeared, Brooke said a heartfelt, “She’s adorable.”
“I think so, too.” But he said it in a rather brooding manner.
She couldn’t help adding, “Her mother...?”
“Is dead.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” He touched a napkin to his mouth. “Lunch was terrific. Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome.” She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “Garrett, what you said earlier about selling the estate—”
“I meant every word.”
She sighed. “I see. I was hoping I’d misunderstood.”
“You didn’t. Look,” he added a bit impatiently, “why don’t we put off serious discussion until Molly and I have a chance to get settled?”
“Of course, if you say so, but—”
“There’s plenty of time.”
Rising, he stretched, flexing movements bringing the muscles of his upper arms into stark relief. He looked fit and firm and ridiculously attractive.
She began gathering up the plates to divert her attention. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I know I’m—damn!”
Startled, she looked back at him. He was staring at his feet with a horrified expression. When she looked down, she saw Gable twining around his ankles like a clinging vine.
She burst out laughing. “Gable must be having a nervous breakdown to get close to a dog person,” she teased.
Garrett shuddered. “That’s not it.” He gave her a pained glance. “Animals like me. Even cats. I don’t know why.”
“Come on!” She couldn’t help scoffing. “Cats are much more discriminating than that. I’m sure Gable doesn’t like you any better than you like him. He’s probably just trying to bug you.”
“Then he’s succeeding beyond his wildest dreams.” Garrett slid back onto his stool and pulled his feet up to the first rung. Gable cast him a pained glance, then wandered off. The man looked relieved. “I hate when that happens,” he said. “I don’t know why, but cats love me. The damn things won’t leave me alone.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“Want to bet?”
“What’s with you and bets?” She stared at him, perplexed. “Are you a compulsive gambler or something?”
He raised his brows. “Or something. I’m not afraid to take chances once in a while, if that’s what you mean.”
She felt her hackles rise. “Meaning I am?”
He shrugged. “If the shoe fits...”
“It doesn’t. I just don’t see anything to be gained by...by taking crazy risks.” She felt herself growing flustered and wondered why.
“Hey, betting on whether or not a cat’s got any smarts is hardly the same as taking a crazy risk—especially if you have the courage of your convictions. How about this—I’ll bet I can get cozy with your cats before you can make friends with my dogs. Name your own stakes. Make it easy on yourself.” He gave her a knowing wink.
She recoiled in horror only partly mock. “No way!”
He ignored her protest. “So what are the stakes? Let me think....” He made a great show of entertaining a plethora of fleeting thoughts, at last sitting up straight with a snap of his fingers. “Hey, I’ve got it! This is a B ’n’ B, right? How about the winner gets breakfast in bed?”
“How about—” And then she realized he was laughing at her and her outrage evaporated. She finished lamely, “We forget the whole thing? Cats are not taken in by cheap tricks and neither am I.”
“Meaning dogs are?”
“I don’t know anything about dogs and that’s more than I care to know.”
“An unreasonable attitude if I ever—”
The mellow clang of the entry bell startled them both. Brooke hadn’t realized how deeply he’d drawn her into the escalating confrontation until she was jolted out again.
Glad of the interruption, she headed through the parlor to the front door, Garrett at her heels. Elderly Grace Swann stood outside, tapping one foot impatiently. Her chauffeur stood two steps to the rear, holding her Maine coon cat in his arms and looking bored.
Brooke greeted one of her best customers with a big smile. “Hi, Mrs. Swann. I see you’ve brought Pookie for a visit. His room’s all ready and waiting.”
“I’d expect nothing less from you, my dear.” The woman stepped inside, gesturing with an arm dripping with diamond bracelets. “Higgins, you know the way. Please see Pookie to his room.”
Higgins rolled his eyes but not even a twitch marred the straight line of the man’s mouth. He’d been with Grace Swann long enough to understand these things. The little woman stepped forward, bending to look the cat in the eye.
“Now, you be a good boy,” she admonished fondly, rubbing his furry ears. Pookie regarded her with emotionless dark eyes.
The chauffeur said, without changing expression, “Now, madam?”
She sighed. “Now, Higgins.”
With a nod of acknowledgment, he marched into the hallway, carrying the shaggy fifteen-pound cat as formally as he’d carry a silver tray.
Brooke heard Garrett mutter in a tone filled with awe, “What is it, a lion?”
Mrs. Swann also heard. “It’s a cat, young man.” She fixed him with a steely stare which dripped with disapproval. “A champion cat, as a matter of fact. May I inquire who you are?”
Brooke rushed to fill the breach. “This is Garrett Jackson, Mrs. Swann. He’s Miss Cora’s great-nephew and he’s come to—”
“Garrett Jackson, is it? Then I know who he is and why he’s come.” Grace Swann glared at him. “I was Cora’s dearest friend for fifty years, don’t forget. I happen to know everything.”
“In that case, you’re in a class all by yourself.” Garrett stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he added, sounding sincere and looking boyishly attractive.
“Don’t be too sure about that.” She ignored the hand but a smile twitched around her mouth, as if she found him hard to resist. “Time will tell. It always does.”
Garrett smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
The old lady’s mouth twitched as if she were suppressing a smile. She turned to Brooke. “Have you any questions before I go, my dear?”
“Have there been any changes in diet or routine since Pookie’s last visit?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Then my only question is, how long will he be with us this time?”
“I’m not sure.” Grace cocked her silver head thoughtfully. “The entire summer, most likely. I’m going first to visit family in Rhode Island and then to a film retrospective in Madrid. From there...well, I’m just not sure. I’ll drop in from time to time to check on my angel, though.”
“That’s good. I give him a lot of attention but he still misses you.”
Mrs. Swann looked pleased. “As well he should. You just be sure you take good care of him, dear.” She turned toward the door. “He’s my baby, bless his little heart. You know I wouldn’t dream of leaving him with anyone except you, Brooksey.”
“I appreciate that, Mrs. Swann.” Brooke followed the woman outside where they lingered, waiting for Higgins to reappear.
Mrs. Swann leaned close to speak in a conspiratorial tone. “Keep Pookie away from that young man,” she advised. “He’s far too good-looking to be trustworthy, and I should know.”
Brooke gave a little gasp of surprise, then realized she shouldn’t be. Mrs. Swann might be pushing ninety but there was obviously a lot of life in the old girl yet.
Filled with curiosity, Garrett watched Brooke and the feisty little woman whispering together on the front porch. Not that he thought they were saying anything particularly interesting or relevant, probably just cat talk. But he’d always had an insatiable curiosity about everything and everyone he met.
Perhaps that was what made him a good attorney.
The chauffeur, Higgins, returned, collected his mistress, installed her in the gleaming Bentley parked in front and then drove slowly away. Only after the automobile had rounded a curve in the leaf-shadowed road did Brooke come back inside the house.
Putting his finger to his lips, Garrett pointed to his sleeping child, sprawled on a sofa with Carole Lombard for a pillow. Brooke’s tight expression softened into a gentle smile.
What was it about women and children? Garrett wondered. If the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, then the way to a woman’s heart must be through the nearest kid.
Since all was fair in love and war, he’d have to remember that.
She came close to him, presumably so she could speak softly to avoid disturbing the slumbering child. “I have to go check on Pookie,” she whispered. “If you need to leave now—”
“I’m in no hurry,” he said blandly. “I’ll just wait, if you don’t mind. Maybe make friends with a cat or two, just to show you I can and win our bet.”
“Your bet.” She made a soft, scoffing sound. “Don’t bother—breakfast in bed is out.”
“I can think of other prizes, if I absolutely have to.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I find you very corrigible.”
She gave him a slightly confused glance before turning away. He watched her through the doorway, then walked over to sit down gingerly on the very edge of the ottoman where Clark Gable lay napping. The cat opened one eye and gave the interloper a challenging glance before going back to sleep.
Ignoring the cat, which was the only way to treat the entire breed, Garrett watched Molly, still sound asleep. Since they’d be here for the better part of the summer, he supposed he should probably...explain her to Brooke.
In the meantime...he sighed and met the blue-eyed gaze of Carole Lombard. The white cat seemed to stare at him with a kind of lazy challenge. Garrett shivered and sucked in a deep breath. Cats. Argh!
The things he’d do to get his own way....
Brooke couldn’t believe that Clark Gable would stab her in the back, yet when she reentered the sitting room she found the big orange cat draped across the lap of the enemy. Garrett was stroking the creature with great sweeping motions obviously perfected on some dog somewhere.
“What are you doing?” she demanded in an outraged whisper, starting forward to rescue her pet.
“Shh!” He glanced significantly at Molly. “Don’t worry about old Clark, here. We’re best buddies.”
Another healthy stroke; a cloud of orange-and brown-tipped cat hairs rose on a beam of light and sifted back down to settle on man and ottoman.
Brooke frowned. “What did you do to my cat?” she demanded. “Did you drug him?”
“This isn’t your cat, it’s his evil twin.” Garrett gave back her earlier words, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I told you, you can’t trust cats. They just lay around waiting for a chance to make a fool of you. Dogs, on the other hand—”
Throwing up her hands in disbelief, Brooke turned and walked into the kitchen. What in the world was going on here? She didn’t even know this man, yet her heart was pounding and her mind racing as if...as if she were really attracted to him.
Which, of course, she wasn’t. He’d come here to dismantle an entire way of life left in his care by a wonderful woman he’d never even bothered to get to know. Brooke wouldn’t, couldn’t, let herself succumb to the temptations he presented.
Naturally, he followed her, he had a penchant for that. She gave him an unhappy glance. “So you used old Gable to make a point and then dumped him,” she accused.
“Hey, that’s life. Love ’em and leave ’em.” He leaned his elbows on the center work island, resting his chin on his hands. The amber eyes he turned toward her sparkled with some indefinable devilry. “But you have to admit, cats love me. I won our bet hands down. That’s the important thing.”
“To you, maybe.”
He looked surprised. “Winning’s important to everyone, in case you hadn’t heard.”
“No, being happy is important to everyone.”
“That’s a woman’s point of view.”
“I am a woman, or hadn’t you—” She stopped short, appalled. She knew he’d noticed she was a woman, and it was that knowledge which had her so on edge. Because him noticing made her notice, which left her somehow vulnerable.
He straightened slowly away from the counter. “I noticed, all right.” A sexy little smile curved his lips. “You owe me a prize.”
“I don’t owe you a thing.”
“Oh, yes, you do.” He advanced on her, still slowly. “Nobody likes a welsher. You’ll have to pay up.”
Feeling like a bird hypnotized by a snake, she retreated, also slowly. “Stop right where you are, Garrett Jackson.”
“I wanted breakfast in bed but you seem strangely reluctant to go for that,” he reminded her. “So what’s it gonna be?”
She backed into the refrigerator, she had nowhere else to go, so she braced her hands at her sides and glared at him. “This is silly. Stop it at once!”
He ignored her command. “Let’s see, what shall I claim as my prize? It wasn’t a very big or important bet so I’m just looking for a little prize, some little something you’ll never miss...but which will remind you that nobody gets the best of Garrett Jackson.”
He leaned closer. Although he wasn’t touching her, she felt his physical presence as if he held her in his arms. Her breathing was erratic, and she couldn’t get enough oxygen to think straight.
If she’d been thinking straight, she would never have said in that faint little voice, “How about a cookie? That’s a little something I’ll never m-miss.”
His smile, she was beginning to realize, was simply glorious when he unfolded it slowly and deliberately, as he did now.
“How about a kiss?” he countered, still not touching her but leaning very near. “Surely that would remind you that I’m a man who likes to win...and does.”
And as the final word faded away, he pressed his lips to hers.
