Книга - Taming The Beast

Taming The Beast
Amy J. Fetzer


Summoned like a serving girl to the king, Laura Cambridge was hired as nanny to Richard Blackthorne' s secret child. Rumors about this hulking recluse didn' t daunt Laura– her beauty-queen past had taught her the inner person didn' t always match the facade. But Richard' s heart was as painfully scarred as his chiseled features… .To Richard, lovely Laura was like candy dangled in front of a baby– he was offered the sweet, but denied the taste. Yet sometimes grizzly bears enjoyed a taste of honey… and in fiction the disfigured Mr. Rochester won the love of Jane Eyre. So Richard dared to woo his green-eyed goddess, gambling that– like Jane– Laura would one day declare, " Reader, I married him."







Friend. Nanny. Stand-In Bride.

When a man needs the touches

only a woman can provide…

he turns to Wife Incorporated!

“Smart And Beautiful.”

Laura felt her feathers rise. Did everyone have to mention her face in the first ten seconds of conversation? “Want a cookie?”

“No, thank you.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t like chocolate-chip cookies?”

“No.”

“Aah, you won’t come into the light to get one.”

Silence.

“What else do you deny yourself because you choose to stay in the dark, Mr. Blackthorne?” With her last word, she tossed a cookie in his direction. His hand shot into the light, snatching it from the air.

“And what will you deny your daughter?”

He scoffed. “You know nothing of me, beauty queen.”

“You’re right, I don’t. Just as you know nothing of me…beast.”


Dear Reader,

Welcome to the world of Silhouette Desire, where you can indulge yourself every month with romances that can only be described as passionate, powerful and provocative!

Popular author Cait London offers you Gabriel’s Gift, this April’s MAN OF THE MONTH. We’re sure you’ll love this tale of lovers once separated who reunite eighteen years later and must overcome the past before they can begin their future together.

The riveting Desire miniseries TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: LONE STAR JEWELS continues with Her Ardent Sheikh by Kristi Gold, in which a dashing sheikh must protect a free-spirited American woman from danger.

In Wife with Amnesia by Metsy Hingle, the estranged husband of an amnesiac woman seeks to win back her love…and to save her from a mysterious assailant. Watch for Metsy Hingle’s debut MIRA title, The Wager, in August 2001. Barbara McCauley’s hero “wins” a woman in a poker game in Reese’s Wild Wager, another tantalizing addition to her SECRETS! miniseries. Enjoy a contemporary “beauty and the beast” story with Amy J. Fetzer’s Taming the Beast. And Ryanne Corey brings you a runaway heiress who takes a walk on the wild side with the bodyguard who’s fallen head over heels for her in The Heiress & the Bodyguard.

Be sure to treat yourself this month, and read all six of these exhilarating Desire novels!

Enjoy!






Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire




Taming the Beast

Amy J. Fetzer







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




AMY J. FETZER


was born in New England and raised all over the world. She uses her own experiences in creating the characters and settings for her novels. Married more than twenty years to a United States Marine and the mother of two sons, Amy covets the moments when she can curl up with a cup of cappuccino and a good book.


Dedicated with love to my oldest son, Nickolas

For “squishy” hugs and “mambo with me” moments.

For never being afraid to kiss me in front of your friends.

For making me laugh, really listening when I lectured,

and wanting this one for yourself. You’re a real

gentleman, Nick, and you’ve made me very proud.

You’re destined to be a true hero.

I love you.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue




One


Laura Cambridge looked up at the gray stone castle and wondered what she’d find inside. Prince Charming or the dragon?

The dragon most likely, she thought, if there was any truth to the gossip the townsfolk were more than willing to share during the ferry ride to this beautiful little island. Did Richard Blackthorne know how much he was feared, she wondered, her gaze moving over the ominous stones and the arched windows as the cab proceeded up the steep driveway. Lord, the structure even had turrets and crenellations. And a tower.

Laura saw only the loneliness of it all.

“Ma’am,” the driver said when he stopped before the huge house. “You sure you’re supposed to be here?”

Why did everyone in this little island village ask that, as if she were walking to her execution? Blackthorne was just a man, for pity’s sake. “Oh, yes, I’m sure, Mr. Pinkney,” she said, without looking at the middle-aged cabdriver.

“Mr. Blackthorne ain’t exactly the most congenial sort, you know.”

“With everyone acting as if he’d take a bite out of them, it’s a wonder, don’t you think?” She looked at him now, arching a brow.

He reddened a bit, then looked back at the house. “Idea had to come from somewheres,” he drawled, then rolled out of the driver’s seat to get her bags.

Laura left the car, walking with him up the steep front steps.

Summoned like a serf to the king, she had been hired to help Richard Blackthorne’s four-year-old daughter adjust to living here. To living with a recluse, a man locked in a castle and shielded from any human contact. Oh, this was going to take some work, she thought, for she knew from the gossip that no one had set foot inside this house, except delivery personnel, in four years. Laura felt instant pity for the little girl, who’d just lost her mother and had been kept from her father. Laura was here early to grow accustomed to the surroundings before the child arrived.

Mr. Pinkney set her bags down. She turned to pay the man and found him jotting something down on a slip of paper. As she handed him the fare, he handed her the paper.

“This here’s my number. If you’re needin’ a ride outta here or anything, you just give me a holler.”

She was touched, but it wasn’t necessary. “He’s not a monster, Mr. Pinkney.”

“Yes, ma’am, he is. He snaps and growls at anyone who steps on his land and he made mincemeat out of the delivery boy, and he was just bringing in groceries. I hate to think of what he’d do to you.” When Laura gave him a determined look, Mr. Pinkney looked up at the castle. Sighing, he went on. “This here house was built by a man years ago for his bride. She wanted to live like a princess, and he designed and built this house for her. Had every stone brought over from the mainland, some all the way from England and Ireland, to hear tell it. She died before it was finished, or before the fella had a chance to marry her.”

How sad, she thought, then tipped her head. “You act as if it’s cursed or haunted or something.”

Mr. Pinkney said nothing, staring at the wide-arched double slabs of wood as if they were the mouth of a cave. Haunted my fanny, she thought, and lifted the cool brass knocker, smiling to herself. It was the head of a dragon. Well, Mr. Blackthorne, if you wanted to keep the public away, you’re certainly doing a good job at it. She let the knocker fall.

Instantly a voice came over the intercom to the right of the doors. “Come in.”

The voice was deep, sandy-rough, the growling sound of it sending shimmers of apprehension over her skin.

“See what I mean?” Pinkney said.

“Hogwash,” she replied firmly, and opened the door, stepping inside. A small lamp on a beautifully carved side table cast the foyer in shadows. She set her purse and briefcase down, then turned to find Mr. Pinkney pushing her bags inside and making a hasty retreat back to the front steps. But that didn’t stop him from getting an eyeful of the house, she thought. She flipped on the light switch, and the foyer was flooded with light. He flinched and back-stepped farther.

“You call, you hear,” he said, his southern drawl more pronounced.

His attitude, much like that of the folks she encountered in town—the shock, the warnings, and mostly the horrid way people felt they could openly ridicule a man they’d never met—made her feel unaccountably protective of Mr. Blackthorne.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, and closed the door. Sighing hard, Laura turned, her heart skipping to her throat as the light went off and a figure loomed at the top of the polished curving stairs.

“Mr. Blackthorne?”

“Obviously.” His gravelly voice rumbled down the staircase to her.

“Hello, I’m—”

“Laura Cambridge, I know,” he cut in. “Barely thirty, single, USC graduate, raised in Charleston, formerly Miss South Carolina, Miss Jasper County, Miss Shrimp Festival.” There was a smirk in his tone then, she swore. “Have I left anything out?”

Well, wasn’t he the superior being, she thought, staring up at where he stood on the landing, shrouded in shadows. “You forgot former State Department attaché, embassy schoolteacher, and a linguist, fluent in Italian, Farsi and Gaelic.”

“But can you cook?” he said in flawless Gaelic.

“I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t.” She folded her arms over her waist and regarded the hulking shadow of a man, the foyer light offering only a look at the razor-sharp creases of his dark trousers breaking over his shoes. His hand rested on the banister, a heavy gold signet ring caught the light. Lord, he had big hands, she thought, then said, “So, do I have a Web site or something that I’m not aware of?” And just how much did he know about her, she wondered.

“Telecommunications is an amazing resource.”

“Yeah, well, spare me from listing my bra size or the time I lost my pom-poms under the bleachers with Grady Benson,” she said.

“Is that all you lost?” The words came out in a low growl that tingled up her spine.

It irritated her further. “Search the Net and find out,” she snapped, not liking at all that he knew so much about her and she didn’t know diddly about him. She hadn’t had the chance to find out anything much, except that he’d been reclusive since a disfiguring accident, divorced, and that he would, in a couple of days, take in a daughter he had never met. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought as she took hold of her bags. She faced him. “Where do I stay?”

“The second floor.”

She walked to the staircase.

“Leave the bags. Follow me,” he said.

Laura set the suitcases down, yet kept her briefcase and purse with her as she trailed him. He walked several steps ahead of her, as if he could anticipate her stride, always keeping himself in the dark. His walk was smooth, almost elegant, and what little light there was came not from the ceiling but glimmered along the floorboards. All she could see was the outline of his shoulders in the pristine white shirt, broad and straight. Impenetrable. He stopped at a door and quickly shoved it open.

“Here,” he said, and kept walking.

She stopped outside the room. “And your daughter’s room?”

He hesitated for the briefest instant. “Across the hall.” He was halfway up a second set of stairs. “I’ll have your bags brought up.”

“I thought you lived alone?”

“I do. There is a groundskeeper who lives in the cottage behind the house and a maid who comes on Mondays.”

“Don’t you think we should discuss your daughter’s arrival?” she shouted, since he hadn’t stopped walking.

“She will be here in two days. Meet her at the ferry.” He took each stair with such slow deliberation, Laura wondered if he was in pain.

“You won’t come with me?”

“That’s why I hired you, Miss Cambridge.”

“But you can’t mean to just pass your daughter off—”

A door closed with a resounding thump, somewhere up at the top of the stairs. Somewhere in his dark retreat.

“Well, that was productive,” she said, and stepped closer to the staircase, looking up. All she could see beyond the upper landing was a hallway and a large polished wood door with a brass latch handle. How could he be so indifferent? Kelly was a baby, for pity’s sake, barely four. And was he so badly disfigured that he wouldn’t come into the light, or was he just vain? Regardless, it was Kelly she was concerned about, and straightening her shoulders, she climbed the staircase and knocked, hard.

“I believe we need to have a discussion, Mr. Blackthorne. Now.”

No answer.

“I can be very persistent if I’ve a mind to, you know.”

“Go away, Miss Cambridge. I will summon you when and if you are needed.”

“Of course, your lordship, how stupid of me to think you actually cared about your only daughter,” she said bitterly, and turned on her heels. Pigheaded man, ill-mannered, rude. Her daddy would have knocked him in the teeth for talking to a woman like that.

Laura strode into her room and skidded to a stop, instantly losing her breath. Oh, but the dragon man had good taste. The decor was lavish, the carpet, drapes and even the mats on the paintings blended with the plush furnishings in a scheme that was as sensual as it was relaxing. A large four-poster bed loomed in a corner, draped and covered in thick down comforters, mounds of pillows, and like the room, cast in burgundy, dove-gray and white. There was a Queen Anne-style desk with a computer system resting against the wall near the doors, a cluster of delicate feminine furniture positioned a yard or two before the fireplace, and a padded bench built into a set of three dormer windows, the needlepoint pillows making it look so inviting. To the left was a huge walk-in closet that she could never begin to fill, but darned if she wouldn’t like to try, and a bathroom, modern, thank the Lord, with the biggest tub she’d ever seen. Tossing her briefcase and purse on the bed, she crossed the hall and entered Kelly’s room.

She stopped short. My word. Apparently money was not a problem for Richard Blackthorne. The room was almost dreamlike, a pink-and-mint-green fantasy in fairy tales with a Victorian dollhouse, new toys galore, and a bed situated at an angle in the corner, its half canopy with sheer curtains draping back to the elaborately carved headboard and caught in rich satin bows. The story of the Princess and the Pea instantly came to mind, for the little girl would have to use that step stool to climb into the high bed. He’d thought of everything, she decided, inspecting the closet and drawers and finding them stocked with clothes in three sizes. He really didn’t know anything about his daughter, she realized, and went back to her room, opened her briefcase and slipped out the file Katherine Davenport, owner of Wife, Incorporated, had given her only two days ago.

The face of a little dark-haired girl peered back at her from the photograph, her smile infectiously sweet, her eyes as blue as a Carolina summer sky. Tossing the photo aside with a sigh, she moved to the window bench, brushing back the curtain as she sat down. She could see the mainland and the other islands that were scattered along this portion of the southern South Carolina coast. The October wind whipped over the beach and blew the tall, willowy sea oats like palm fronds in the tropics. Waves rushed the shore, darkening the sand, the sky a dull gray and heavy with moisture. Gloomy. The best time to curl up with a book and dream. And what did a little girl dream about, she wondered, especially one who’d lost her mother and was about to come to an isolated island and meet the father she didn’t know she had.

She dreamed of a prince to keep her safe, Laura thought.

Not a dragon who breathed fire when anyone dared step into his cave.



His back braced against the door, Richard closed his eyes, her image locked in his mind and refusing to leave. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. The kind of woman who made heads turn, men stumble over themselves and women envy them. And just to look into her jade-green eyes made him feel every scar with fresh stinging pain. It was like dangling candy before a starving man. Offer him the sweet, yet deny him a taste.

He could bearly tolerate her being here, in his home, in his sanctuary. Just knowing she was near would drive him mad, he thought, and he wanted to strangle Katherine Davenport for sending him such an exquisite female. Didn’t Kat realize he hadn’t been near a woman since the accident? And until this morning he didn’t even have a name to reference, only Katherine’s word that she’d found someone who was qualified. He hadn’t been able to do a deep probe of her past, and although he’d found only a portion of it, there were no photographs of her, not that he’d needed them once he’d learned about her pageant wins. Still, it was as if she didn’t want that pretty face to be seen. He had good reason for that, but what was hers?

She was still gorgeous at thirty.

Damn. He’d been specific on his requirements for a nanny—matronly, strong and healthy enough to chase after a four-year-old and one who understood that the responsibility of Kelly would be hers. He couldn’t let Kelly see him. Not ever. The child would run from him, and Richard knew he couldn’t take that. Not again. People shunned him because of his disfigurement. He wasn’t about to scare a child.

Kelly. Richard clenched his fists. A child he hadn’t known existed until a couple of weeks ago when his wife was killed. It seems he was only good enough to care for his own child when there was no other option. He cursed Andrea again and again for not telling him she was carrying his child when she left him. God, how he’d needed to know that four years ago, for something to hold on to in his world of surgeries and recovery and the hard reality that nothing could be done to change his torn body.

Pushing away from the door, Richard picked up the phone, punching a number with a vengeance.

“Wife Incorporated. Katherine Davenport speaking.”

“Dammit, Kat, she’s beautiful.” Breathtaking, exotic, he added silently, remembering every curve of her body in the tailored white suit.

“So, you came out of your lair long enough to actually look?”

“Why did you do this?”

Her sigh was audible. “Laura is one of the kindest women I know. And I didn’t do it for you, sugah. I did it for Kelly. Laura loves children, and she’s worked with kids before. She has all the qualifications you wanted. She’s educated, but not so much that she can’t talk to a child. Besides, she’s fun and creative. Give her a chance.”

“I don’t have a choice. Kelly arrives in two days.”

“It will work out, Richard.”

“Find someone else, immediately. I don’t want her here.”

There was a pause on the line, and when Katherine spoke her voice was crisp and cool. “Andrea should have told you about Kelly, I will agree with that, and if I hadn’t sworn an oath not to tell you, I would have. But when she said she’d left you because you’d turned cold and mean, I couldn’t believe it. I see now that she was right.”

Richard felt as if she’d slapped him. “Andrea left because she couldn’t handle the repercussions of the accident. She wanted me to look the same and act the same. It was never going to happen. And it never is.” He drew in a breath. “Find someone else.” He hung up the phone without saying goodbye, his fingers tightening on the receiver before he released it and moved behind his desk.

He dropped in the leather chair and swung it around to face the window. The sun struggled to push through the clouds and sparkle on the river, and Richard forced the memories back, banishing the accident, the tearing pain, and Andrea’s reaction when they’d taken off the bandages. Horror. Repugnance. He’d always felt Andrea would be there, beside him, and he was stunned when she left. He should have seen it coming when she wouldn’t share his bed, wouldn’t touch him after the accident. He saw her revulsion every time he reached for her. The night before the crash was the last time he’d felt the tender wash of pleasure with a woman.

And now a woman voted most beautiful in the state was living in his house. It didn’t matter that it was ten years ago, she could still stop traffic.

The knock was so soft he almost didn’t hear it.

“Mr. Blackthorne.”

Something slammed through him at the sound of her voice, so southern and delicate. He almost hated her for it. “I said I would summon—”

“Gee, last I recall, my job description required that I take care of your daughter, not you. So you can summon and demand all you like, my lord—”

“I pay your salary.”

“Big deal.”

He arched a brow and twisted around to glare at the door.

“And didn’t your mother teach you it was rude to interrupt a lady?”

“Didn’t you learn diplomacy in the State Department?”

“Yes, but this is not foreign soil, and you can’t claim diplomatic immunity.”

Fighting a smile, Richard leaned his head back into the leather chair. “What do you want?”

“Aah, the negotiation stage,” she said with relish. “Now, unless that rather bland pile of groceries in the fridge and freezer is your idea of a balanced diet, I think I need to do the menu planning.”

“Fine. Order whatever you like.”

Laura sighed and let her head loll forward. What a difficult man. She jiggled the tray, letting the beautiful china clink. “Hear that? It’s dishes, with food on them,” she said enticingly.

“Leave it at the door.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Surely you heard, Miss Cambridge, the door is not that thick.”

“Apparently your head is,” she muttered.

“Set it on the floor and leave.”

Laura set it down, and when she straightened, she glared at the wood, determined to get him out of that cave. “We are going to have a real hard time at this, Mr. Blackthorne.”

“Only if you break the rules.”

“And they are?”

“I will e-mail them to you on your computer.”

“My, how positively sterile.”

“It’s the only way,” he said softly when he heard her footsteps on the staircase.

Richard rubbed his forehead, his fingertips grazing the scars, and he cursed, thrust out of his chair and began pacing. Grinding his teeth, he wondered how he was going to survive with that gorgeous mouthy fantasy strutting around his house.



Laura did the dishes with a vengeance. She shouldn’t be so upset. What was it to her if he stayed in his sanctuary and brooded? But Kelly would come into this. She couldn’t let a child who was expecting to see her daddy, feel the instant exclusion Richard Blackthorne dealt with a few choice words. He wanted no contact whatsoever.

We will just see about that, she thought, throwing a load of laundry in the washer and deciding to investigate the house. Her sneakers squeaked as she walked down the wide hallways, decorated with medieval furnishings. A suit of armor, shields and at least three swords. This guy went all out, she thought, sparing only a brief glance in the other rooms, noticing a painting, an antique settee and a vase so delicate she thought looking at it too hard would crush it.

She walked into the living room. Or was it the parlor or study? She’d passed a couple of locked rooms and figured Mr. Blackthorne didn’t want anyone in there and wondered idly if one of them was the dungeon. Well, there were enough nooks and crannies that it would take days to discover them all. And she already surmised that the top floor was off-limits. She threw open the patio doors, and the warm, moist wind hit her face like a gentle, frothy caress. She breathed deeply, tasting salt in the air, and closing the doors behind her, she took off down the beach. It was a pleasure she couldn’t resist. Her feet dug into the sand as she pushed her muscles, then she threw her arms out and laughed. Oh, this isn’t so bad, she thought, folding over to catch her breath. Of course, she should be in better shape. Straightening, she looked back at the house, the castle on the hill. A little hitch caught in her chest. It was the place of dreams, she thought. And evidently, a place for Richard Blackthorne to hide.

No wonder he was feared, whispered about. The mansion towered over the village like a landed lord, high on a green mound of earth and surrounded by a seven-foot-tall stone wall, the sea as its moat. And from her room at least, it possessed a magnificent view of the river and the islands beyond. Flawlessly peaceful. She lifted her hand and shielded her eyes, staring at the house, at the tallest tower peaking the mansion. For a second she saw a figure at the window, the stark white of his shirt against the dark curtains, then he was gone, receding into his cave of stone.

A lonely dragon-prince, she thought, who did not want to be rescued.




Two


She should have just called in the grocery order, Laura thought, and kept filling the shopping cart, ignoring the people staring at her, the young men, much younger than she would ever consider dating, leering at her. Yes, she decided, that one was definitely a leer. She smiled sweetly, the parade smile, she thought with a sadistic little chuckle. A couple of the men were fishermen, covered in fish guts and wearing rubber boots. Stunning.

She checked her list, then headed to checkout. Here it comes, she thought, noticing how everyone in the immediate area approached slowly, like stalking cats. A teenage boy swept his broom a little nearer. The cashier looked eager despite the crowd of people waiting. Customers stared openly. No wonder Blackthorne never came out of his home. Whatever happened to southern hospitality?

“You’re new here,” said the cashier, a blonde wearing too-big earrings and sporting a mouthful of gum that was well beyond ladylike.

“Yes. This is a lovely island.” Make them prod, she thought.

“You stayin’ at the castle on the point?”

Like there was another house designed like a castle on the island? “I’m Mr. Blackthorne’s nanny.”

“Nanny!” several people exclaimed at once.

Laura glanced around, making eye contact with each person. “Mr. Blackthorne is expecting his daughter to arrive, and I am here to care for her.”

“Oh, the poor child,” an elderly woman said, her accent heavy and drawn.

“Why?” Laura asked, yet knew the answer.

“To have such a horrible man for a father.”

“You’ve met Mr. Blackthorne, then?”

“Not exactly.”

She hoped her expression was slathered in innocence. “Then how could you possibly know what he’s like?”

“He doesn’t leave that place,” the cashier said. “He hasn’t shown his face in four years, even Dewey hasn’t seen him up close and he lives there.”

Dewey, she assumed, was the groundskeeper she’d yet to meet.

“He’s—he’s mangled,” the young man bagging her groceries stammered.

“And if you’ve never seen him, then how do you know that?”

The kid shrugged as if it was common knowledge. Yet no one had seen Blackthorne.

“I fail to see where looks matter.” She tried controlling her temper, hating that appearances were such a priority. She understood, for she’d experienced reactions to her own appearance, albeit the complete opposite. Women refusing to befriend her, believing she was a snob and thought she was better than them. Or men tripping all over themselves to impress her, each trying to get her into their bed or something as superficial as having her on their arm for some social function. An impression to be made. A trophy. Not one person, not even her former fiancé, had seen beyond the face God gave her. And apparently no one wanted to see beyond Blackthorne’s scars, either.

It all made her stomach twist in knots that were achingly familiar. Her defensiveness, for a man she did not know, and for herself, reared along with her temper.

“Charge his account and have them delivered by three,” she said, and left, aware of the stares boring into her back.

She skipped the cab ride back, and let her temper cool with a walk through the quaint little town, but the memories came, of her mother pushing her into TV commercials even as a child, the pageants that only invited viciousness. She had hated all of it. And when she was old enough, she chose the ones she wanted to enter. A bit hypocritical, granted, but then, she’d wanted to go to college and she’d needed the prize money and scholarships.

She glanced around at the shop fronts, gleaming glass windows, darling porches, white wood benches placed here and there, and tourists and islanders strolling and shopping. Two elderly men sat near the pier swapping sea stories and whittling. From the pile of shavings at their feet, it looked like a daily ritual. And it made her smile and remember her grandpappy rocking on the back porch, carving wooden animals for her and her brothers to play with since they could afford little else. Simple pleasures for a simple life, grandpappy always told her, and memories of his love lifted her mood.

She drew in a deep breath of the cooling sea air. October was still warm when the sun was up, but during hurricane season the rain came often, the cloud cover making the air overly humid and the island breezes adding to the chill. She wrapped her arms around her waist and quickened her steps down street after street, where the houses thinned to the long stretch of road leading to Blackthorne’s house. Even more isolation, she thought, and rushed inside the warmth of the house.

After putting on a pot of coffee, she was rubbing the chill from her arms when she heard the distinct sound of someone chopping wood. Frowning, she went to the back door, brushing back the curtain covering the small window. Everything inside her that claimed her a woman jumped to life as her gaze moved over the bare-backed man swinging an ax, muscles rippling as he split a log with one swipe.

Blackthorne.

Oh, Lord, he was magnificent-looking, wearing nothing but jeans and boots, and from this angle she could barely see his profile. Obviously the unscarred portion, but what she could see of his face was sharp and aristocratic. Dark hair blew in the wind, fluttering at his nape, overly long and shaggy. His arms were ropy with muscles as he positioned another log, lifted the ax and brought it down again, neatly splitting the log and sending the two pieces of wood flying out. He cut two more, then paused in his work, the ax head on the stump and his arm braced on the handle. When he looked off and spoke, she realized he was not alone, and she moved to the window. Another man, older, sat on a bench, playing mumblety-peg with a pocket-knife. Dewey Halette, she realized, and apparently he was more than just the groundskeeper. He was Blackthorne’s friend, perhaps his only one.

Dewey spoke to Blackthorne, his animated features beneath the ball cap weathered as a wrinkled apple and tanned as rawhide. His dark T-shirt hugged his taut stomach, the knees of his jeans were worn to white. Her gaze shifted between the men, and as if Blackthorne knew she was there, he kept his back to her. Yet she glimpsed shiny scars marking his rib cage, like long daggerlike slashes. It must have been horribly painful, she thought, then wondered again over the specifics of his accident. Suddenly he threw his head back and laughed, the rough sound carried on the wind and startling her with a burst of warmth. At least he was not totally lost to the simple pleasures, she thought, and quelled the urge to join them. If he wanted her to see him, he would have shown himself first off.

He said something that made Dewey blush and the older man stood, shooting Blackthorne a grin, then smugly dumped another stack of unsplit logs at his feet. Blackthorne worked, splitting log after log as Dewey gathered and stacked. Then Dewey stilled, looking past Blackthorne and directly at her.

She stared right back.

But it was Blackthorne who threw down the ax and reached for a hooded jacket.

She stepped out. “I apologize,” she called out. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You did,” Blackthorne said, his back to her as he slipped on the jacket.

“Forgive me, I’ll go elsewhere.”

Richard sighed, wanting to turn around and look her in the eye. “No, I can’t have you feeling as if you need to be anywhere I’m not.”

“But that’s what you want, don’t you? You’d rather I not be here at all.” She saw his shoulders tighten. “The least we can do is be honest with each other, Mr. Blackthorne.”

Richard pressed his lips into a tight line and sighed. “Yes, we can. I will tell you that I don’t care that I no longer have the run of my own home.”

“You don’t have to hide.”

“I do not hide. I chose this lifestyle, Miss Cambridge, and in the last four years, I’ve learned this is the best way.”

“Easiest, you mean.”

“Nothing about this is easy, lady.”

“What about your daughter? She’s expecting her daddy. She needs comforting. She’s lost her mother, for pity’s sake.”

Richard’s chest tightened, and he tried to imagine Kelly’s grief and how much he ached to comfort her. “That’s why I hired you, Miss Cambridge.”

“Don’t you even care?”

His spine stiffened. Care? How could he tell Laura that when he’d first learned of his child just a couple of weeks ago, all he’d felt was regret and anger at Kelly’s mother for leaving him with his baby growing inside her, for not giving him the chance to even know his child before she stole everything from him. His love for his wife dissolved when she’d taken hers away like a punishment and sentenced him to this prison. And now he was to forget the past? “Yes, I care, but forgive me if fatherhood does not spring to life in me. I’ve barely grown used to the idea.” He strode off toward the garage.

“Well, get used to it,” she snapped at his retreating back. “The day after tomorrow she will be here, wanting to see you, and just how am I to explain that her father doesn’t want to meet her?”

He kept walking, leaving boot tracks in the sod. “Tell her the truth, Miss Cambridge,” he called out. “Her father does not want to be another source of nightmares for her.”

That left her stunned, and before she could respond, he was out of sight. She turned her head to look at Dewey. “That didn’t go very well, did it?”

Dewey studied her slowly, assessing and judging in one sweep, and Laura didn’t know how she came out in that contest. His expression revealed nothing.

“No, ma’am,” he said.

“I’m Laura Cambridge.”

“Mr. Blackthorne said as much.”

“What else did he tell you?”

Dewey’s expression shuttered, and he turned away to gather logs and stack them between two trees. The pile had to be thirty feet wide and five feet tall already. They probably needed the wood for heat when the power went out during storms. The stone house, she imagined, would get damp and cold.

“Everyone in town believes a totally different story about him, but then, you knew that, didn’t you?” She admired the fact that the older man kept Blackthorne’s secrets, even at his own expense.

Dewey positioned the logs on the pile, then turned back to the stump.

“Will you at least tell me his routine so I don’t start another fight?”

Dewey met her gaze and tipped his ball cap back, staring at her for a second. “Nope.”

Her eyes went wide. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mr. Blackthorne does as he pleases, ma’am, and if you run into him again, then I ’spect you’ll just have to handle him.”

“Oh, you’re a big help.” She threw her arms out and let them fall. “Would you rather see him hide like a mole in this palace—” she flung a hand at the castle “—or actually get to know his daughter?”

He didn’t respond, taking up Blackthorne’s chore, and Laura realized she wasn’t going to get anything out of Dewey. It was clear where his loyalties lay. Yet when he went to raise the ax, her hand on his arm stopped him. She met his dark gaze head-on, and said, “I am not leaving here until I feel Kelly will get good care and absolutely tons of love,” she drawled, letting her Carolina accent slide over him and do the job for her. “You hear, Mr. Halette?”

There was a little twinkle in his eyes just then, and though his expression didn’t change, he said, “Yes’m. And call me Dewey, ma’am.”

“Laura,” she conceded, then turned toward the house and added, “I’m having groceries delivered, which means company’s coming. So if you’ve a mind to keep up this pretense, I suspect you’d better wipe that smile off your face.”

Behind her, Dewey blinked, fighting an even bigger smile. “Yes, ma’am.”



The sweet aroma of something baking drifted up through the house, and with it came a chorus of laughter. It drew him, though he kept to the old servants’ staircase that had been walled up for years. Hidden passageways created a maze through the house inside the walls; the corridors were steep, narrow, and barely able to accommodate his size. He hadn’t been inside these walls since he’d discovered them, and part of him loathed that he was in here now. But there were people in his home, when for years only he and Dewey roamed the halls. But now she was here, making herself at home, baking in his kitchen. The temptation to see was as overwhelming as the scent of baking chocolate. Yet it was the laughter that pulled at him. And he could pick her laugh out of the din of voices. Bright, clean, unscarred. It did not stun him as much as he thought, for there was something about Laura Cambridge that grabbed him in places he didn’t want touched. She defied and rebelled, and the urge to tempt her to the brink surged in him, yet he suppressed it, for he knew he had everything to lose if she saw his face. His daughter depended on Laura being here for her when he could not.

He stopped at the end of the dank corridor and depressed the spring panel, catching it so it did not swing open completely. She was at the oven, removing a cookie sheet, then sliding cookies onto a plate. It was such a domestic scene, something Andrea had never bothered to do, but what caught him off guard were the three people perched on stools around the butcher table. She brought the cookies to the counter, offering them to the guests. Guests. In his house. For the first time. He wanted to be angry. He wanted them gone for the simple reason that he could not join in. And seeing her talking so animatedly made his isolation all the more agonizing and bitter.

Damn, but she was beautiful, and the three men surrounding the counter hung on her words. Then when she went to put a batch in the oven, he noticed them leaning out to get a good look at her behind. Granted, it was a sweet creation, he thought, but why were they really here? To gape at his house, him or at her?

“This is quite a large house,” the teenager said. The regular delivery boy, Richard recalled.

“Yes, it goes on forever.” She dropped spoonfuls of dough onto a fresh sheet.

“Scary-looking, too,” one man said with a glance around.

“I love it. It’s big and glamorous. And just the stone and design alone reeks with history from all over the world.”

That’s exactly what he’d felt when he’d seen it, Richard thought, leaning back against the inner wall to listen.

“Have you seen him?” the grocer said.

“Of course.”

“Is it…bad?”

Richard peered, almost breathless as he waited for her answer.

“Not that I could tell.”

No lies, no information, and he wondered why she’d done that.

“Then why does he hide?”

“He’s obviously a private man, and perhaps it’s because he hasn’t been well received and…” She paused in fussing with her cookies to glance over her shoulder and Richard saw the heat ignite in her gaze. “I will tell you now that if even one person utters a single derogatory remark to his daughter, well…let’s just say my grandpappy taught me how to fire a shotgun and skin my kills.”

Richard smothered a laugh, and when he looked back, the guests chuckled halfheartedly, not sure if she meant what she’d said. As if on cue, they thanked her for the coffee, the grocer telling her to call him if she needed anything, as they headed out the door.

Laura closed the door and turned back to the counter, popping the sheet into the oven and starting on the last batch of chocolate chip cookie dough. She didn’t know a child that didn’t love them and hoped Kelly would. She wanted the child to feel welcome in this dark house.

Suddenly she sensed she wasn’t alone and lifted her gaze. She saw him, wedged between the corner wall and the open pantry door, a broad shadow where she could see no more than angled light across the worn jeans shaping his body up to his hips. How the heck did he get in here without her seeing him?

“I’d like to think my granny’s cookie recipe lured you, but I know better.”

“Smart and beautiful.”

Laura felt her feathers rise. Did everyone have to mention her face in the first ten seconds of conversation? “Want a cookie?”

“No, thank you.”

“Don’t tell me you are the one person who doesn’t like chocolate chip?”

“No.”

“Aah, you won’t come into the light to get one.”

Silence.

“What else do you deny yourself because you choose to stay in the dark, Mr. Blackthorne?” With her last word, she tossed a cookie in his direction. His hand shot into the light, snatching it from the air. For a second the signet ring glinted before his arm receded into the dark.

“And what will you deny Kelly?”

“Nightmares, Miss Cambridge.”

“Call me Laura. And I think you are simply cheating yourself.”

He scoffed, sarcastic. “You know nothing of me, beauty queen.”

She slammed the spatula down on the counter. “You’re right, I don’t. Just as you know nothing of me…beast.” She turned toward the stove, removed the sheet, replaced it with another, then set the timer. Laura squeezed her eyes shut, pushing back the memory of haunting betrayal. Beauty queen. Fat lot of good it did her. She couldn’t even keep her fiancé with this face, she thought, clenching her fists.

Richard straightened, wondering why she was suddenly so upset. “Laura.”

Her name came out in a growl, husky, like whiskey in the moonlight, spreading softly over her, crushing the memories and offering sympathy she didn’t want. Men, people, noticed her face, it was only natural. And Richard was definitely a man. What did she expect? “I apologize,” she said. “That was terribly cruel.”

Richard had heard worse and the barb glanced off him. “I’ve angered you. Tell me why.”

“It’s nothing.” She busied herself with arranging cookies and covering them with plastic wrap.

“Liar.”

“Back to name-calling, are we?” She tsked softly as she turned to the refrigerator, pulled out a cut of meat and vegetables, then tossed them on the butcher table. They didn’t know each other well enough to discuss her past, nor was she about to whine over it. She had better things to do with her energy, she thought, placing the meat in a marinade, then popping it back in the fridge. She diced and sliced vegetables, aware of his presence. As if she were standing close to a fire, she could sense the man’s heat. “You’re staring.”

“How can you tell?” Could she see him and just not acknowledge it?

“I can feel it.”

Did she know he could sense her, too? “And what does it feel like?” he said.

Laura stilled. His simple words, murmured low, felt as if they were laced with intimacy and asked in the sultry throes of desire. Her heart quickened unreasonably. “Almost like an invasion.” She scooped the vegetables into a bowl. “And I don’t like it.” She covered the vegetables with cold water, then refrigerated them.

“You’re a drop-dead gorgeous woman, Laura. What man wouldn’t look his fill? Surely you know that.”

“Yes, I’m well acquainted with how much people value looks,” she muttered as the timer went off.

“So am I,” he said bitterly.

“Well then, we have a common ground.” She removed the last batch of cookies, putting the tray on top of the stove before she turned back.

He was gone. As if a cold wind blew across her face, she knew he was gone.

“I don’t like that, either, Mr. Blackthorne,” she shouted into the house.

There was no answer, not that she expected one. Richard Blackthorne did as he pleased. The rest of the world be damned.



Richard moved down the back servants’ stairs, returning his supper dishes to the kitchen. He rinsed and loaded them in the dishwasher, snatching a cookie from the plate left in the center of the butcher table. Munching, he walked through the dining room, intent on the library, yet frowning when he felt the balmy air whispering through the house. He strode into the living room and suddenly stopped short. Every muscle in his body jerked tight when he saw her. She stood on the back deck outside the living room, the French doors thrown open to the breeze. Her hands rested on the rail, and a soft green robe billowed out behind her like a knight’s banner as she tilted her face to a moonless sky. Beyond the deck, the sea crashed against the shore. The flood lamps at the corner of the house offered the only light.

Richard swore he was looking at an angel. The wind caught her auburn hair, lifting it with the swirl of drapes hung inside the French doors.

“Isn’t this fantastic?” she said.

He stilled, feeling trapped in his own house.

“Isn’t it?” she prodded, twisting ever so slightly to look at him.

Richard knew she couldn’t see him clearly, with the light behind her. “You like this weather?”

Laura looked back at the sea. In the distance lightning flashed. “This is my favorite time. Storms, bone-shaking thunder, rain.”

Richard realized she’d intentionally turned her back, giving him the chance to come near or leave, doing either without her seeing him. The gesture touched him, and at the same time, made him wary. Would she suddenly flip on the switch and go screaming? Yet as he already knew where Laura was concerned, he couldn’t resist coming closer.

Slipping onto the balcony, he leaned back into the blowing drapes at the French doors. “Thank you for dinner.” She’d left the tray outside his door on a small table she’d dragged up the stairs.

“You’re welcome. You don’t have to eat up there all alone, Mr. Blackthorne.”

“What do you propose? That we dine like civilized folk?”

“Why not?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“And what am I to say to Kelly? Sorry you lost your mother, and well, you really don’t have a dad, just a benefactor.”

He winced. “Tell her whatever you think is best.”

“I know you care, Mr. Blackthorne. I saw her bedroom.”

“Just because I don’t want her to see me, doesn’t mean I don’t want her to be comfortable here. Don’t you get it? She’s a child. One look at what’s left of my face and she’ll have nightmares for a week.” He shook his head. “I’d rather spare us both that.”

Laura stepped closer and saw him stiffen and fold his arms over his chest. The posture was so defensive, she knew he couldn’t be reached. Not now. “Do you really think a child will be satisfied with scraps, Mr. Blackthorne?”

“She’ll have you.”

“I’m a stranger,” she whispered.

“And so am I.”

Laura snarled with frustration, her fists clenched at her sides. “You are an impossible man.”

There was a stretch of silence, and then he said, “I want to protect her.”

“Shielding her from knowing you is not how to go about it.”

“You’re the authority on children?” Disbelief colored his voice.

“I’m not unfamiliar.”

“Really.”

Damn his judging tone, she thought, and wanted to kick him. “You don’t like that other people see only your disfigurement, so you hide it. But you’re no better. You see what you want, Mr. Blackthorne. No, I don’t have any children, but I wish I did. Yet, I taught embassy school for years and I did minor in child psychology. That should come in handy. That and being the oldest of five. Suit you well enough?”

Angrily, she pushed away from the rail, heading inside, but he caught her arm, pulling her into the dark folds of fabric with him.

“Yes. It suits.”

Laura could bearly catch her breath, her heart was pounding so hard. Lord, he was a big man, his fingers wrapping around her upper arms completely, and as the curtains whipped around them, she felt enveloped by his nearness. His scent and the sudden danger of being in the shadows swirled around her like a silken rope, trapping her with him. The strength of his legs pressed against hers, the heat of his body driving away the night’s chill.

He was entirely too mysterious, entirely too intoxicating.

Yet it was not his loneliness, nor his bitter remarks that drew her. It was the man, the one who’d suffered and survived. The one who dared not let a single soul close to him again. Protecting them as he protected himself.

She saw the shadow of his head ducking toward her and knew he wanted to kiss her. She almost wished he would.

“You smell like…freedom,” he whispered, every cell in his body screaming he was a man and she was a soft, beautiful woman. And how long it had been since he’d felt like this, wanted like this.

Even as alarms went off in her head, even as Laura considered she was here, available, and this was likely the first physical contact Richard Blackthorne had had in ages, she was helpless against her need to touch him, and she lifted her hand, laying it on the center of his chest.

His sharp indrawn breath was loud in the stretching silence.

Richard reared back, suddenly aware of what he was doing. “I don’t want your pity and this is wrong.”

He set her back, almost thrusting her from him, and she stumbled as he rolled around the door frame and disappeared into the house, back to his cave.

She wanted to tell him that just then, in his arms, pity was the last thing she was feeling. The very last.




Three


He was a fool.

As stupid as they came.

His wife leaving him hadn’t taught him a damn thing, obviously, or he wouldn’t have touched Laura. Sitting at his desk, the dawn breaking behind him, Richard punched the keys, made a half-dozen mistakes, then shoved the keyboard away. Leaning back into the leather chair, he closed his eyes and could almost feel the imprint of her body against his again, the soft yielding femininity he ached to explore.

What man wouldn’t, he thought. Her body was full and shapely, and she had a walk designed to make him insane. And not only was touching her definitely unwise, thinking about it was going to send him over the edge. He shook his head. This was going to be tougher than he’d thought, and he knew the memory of touching her was as haunting as the real thing.

She was the nanny, he reminded himself. The hired help.

He scoffed and left his chair, walking to the window. Help, my eye. She was every man’s dream. And she would be here for a long time, tempting him.

Behind him, his e-mail pinged, his fax machine whined, but Richard ignored it all, gazing down at the endless stretch of beach below. Dainty footprints marked the sand close to the road, and he knew they were Laura’s. Would she take Kelly on walks, looking for seashells? Would Kelly even like it here? Would she like her room, the toys? Or would she be overwhelmed and scared? The questions pounded his brain, and he admitted he didn’t know a thing about raising a four-year-old girl. But Kelly was all he had left in this world, and he would do his best, offer all he could.

Except yourself, a silent voice prodded. Guilt swamped him.

What if none of it was enough, and he traumatized his daughter? She was so innocent and impressionable. At the moment, he didn’t doubt that Laura would do just fine. The woman was charming, even with that sharp tongue, and he suspected that Kelly would finally have some fun, considering she had likely been passed from friend to friend since the accident. Both he and Andrea had no family. Hell, he’d learned of his wife’s death from a uniformed police officer and five days later had learned of his daughter from an attorney, the executor of Andrea’s last will. With his permission, Katherine Davenport had rescued Kelly from Child Welfare Services, and they’d made arrangements for a nanny and for Kelly to come here. It was all so cold, indifferent, Andrea hiding his child from him till tragedy struck. But he’d had a lot of time to think about the woman he’d met at a charity ball and married seven years ago. Andrea had been a beauty, like a china doll, fragile, yet during their marriage she’d grown selfish and grasping—loving his lifestyle, he felt now, more than him. She liked the maids and cooks, and the more he gave, the more she wanted. Until he wanted children and to stop traveling. She’d balked and argued till he’d given in. She must have gotten pregnant that wild night on the beach before the accident, he thought. Regardless, when the accident took the good looks he’d won her with, she’d left. He couldn’t fault her for leaving. She had been weak, maybe a little immature, but nor was he the same man. Inside or out. Idly he wondered what Andrea had told Kelly about him, then dismissed it. It didn’t matter. Releasing a sigh, Richard turned back to the computers, working until a soft voice drawled over the intercom.

“All work and no food makes Mr. Blackthorne a grouch.”

Richard shook his head, half smiling. He punched the intercom on his desk. “Did you cook?” His stomach grumbled at the prospect.

“Yup, and Dewey can’t even begin to eat it all.” There was a pause, and then she said thoughtfully, “Never have been able to scale down my cooking to less than six. Good thing I like leftovers, huh?”

Richard wondered if this woman was ever in a bad mood, and he was thankful she didn’t mention last night. He didn’t want her thinking he was some rutting stag stalking her. Nor did he want her pity. He’d had enough of that from his ex-wife. That and her cringing when he so much as reached for her. He shook his head over what an idiot he’d been last night, but a part of him wanted to know if she’d felt as much heat as he had. Not even Andrea could generate a fire in him like that, and he had loved her.

“I am hungry.”

Laura tried not to like the sound of his voice so much, nor remember how it seduced her senses in the darkness last night. Ten times till Tuesday, she’d asked herself how she could be so attracted to a man she hadn’t seen, yet she knew that looks, money or charm had little to do with anything the body had to say. And Richard Blackthorne’s body said a lot. Laura wished hers would just forget how to listen.

“I’ll bring it up,” she finally said.

He hated that he was marooned up here. “Thank you,” he replied.

A moment of silence, and then she said, “I got your e-mail, by the way. The rules.”

“And I know you have a comment to make,” he said to the speaker on his desk, and could almost see her lips pull into a tight line.

“Are any of these negotiable?”

Ever the diplomat, he thought. “Such as?”

“This one about not going to the third floor. How is the maid supposed to clean?”

“She knows the rules. She lets me know before she comes up and I simply move to another part of the house,” he explained.

“I see.” Her sigh drifted through the speaker. “This intercom thing is so impersonal.”

“It’s the way it must be, Laura.”

Below in the kitchen, Laura banged her forehead lightly against the wall. Stubborn man. “Nothing is written in stone, then?”

“No.” A pause and then he asked, “What do you want, Laura?”

His irritation was like a flag going up. Want? She wanted normalcy. Normal before Kelly arrived. But she knew Richard would fight her every step of the way. “Oh, nothing,” she said sweetly. “I will find a way around your rules, you know. Especially this one about not walking through the house at night. I like the night. I like to drink hot chocolate in the dark, look at the stars.”

“Then you should feel right at home here.”

“Yes, actually, I do.”

Richard needed her to feel welcome, and with Kelly arriving in the morning, he was desperate for her to remain, especially since Katherine Davenport had called this morning and said she couldn’t find a qualified replacement soon enough. Richard decided that she was mad at him and wasn’t looking hard, anyway.

A few minutes later a knock rattled the door and Richard stepped near, peering through the peephole. She certainly was persistent.

“Leave it there.”

She stuck her tongue out at the door.

“Charming, Miss Cambridge,” he said dryly.

Laura smiled weakly and set the tray aside. “Mr. Blackthorne, about last night…”

Richard groaned to himself and tapped the intercom beside the door. “It was wrong of me to touch you.”

“Why?”

He blinked. “You’re my daughter’s nanny.”

“And convenient, huh?”

“What?”

She winced at the bite in his tone. “Well, I’m here and a woman, and—”

“Terribly easy on the eyes.”

Her lips twisted into a bitter line. She almost wished she was scarred like Blackthorne. At least she’d know men wouldn’t want her for just her looks. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Wondering how long I’ve been without a woman?”

The husky drawl of those words weakened her knees. “Of course not!”

“Liar.”

She folded her arms over her middle and glared at the door. “Name-calling is a childish defense.”

“Sorry.”

“Forget I mentioned it.”

“I will.”

“Fine.” But she didn’t trust that. Especially when he kept the world at arm’s length, then suddenly grabbed her last night as if she were a lifeline on a sinking ship. Yet she could not ignore the electricity she’d felt then, the heat jumping through her. And the need to touch him, to feel the hardness of his tall body. He made her feel small and defenseless and in those few seconds, cherished.

It was not something she could easily forget.

“If you want seconds, just holler,” she said, and her steps thumped down the staircase.

Richard took the tray inside and gaped at the monstrous amount of food: eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, coffee, toast, jam, hash browns and even grits. He was going to have to run an extra mile for this, he thought, and sat down to enjoy it. And not think of the woman who’d prepared it.

Contact between them was minimal for the rest of the day, and Richard had waited impatiently for night to fall, for shadows to envelop him and give him freedom. He felt like a damned vampire; the night was his friend, although it was the daytime and the sun he loved.

Now he stared down at the woman sprawled on his sofa, asleep, an open book on her chest. He tilted his head to read the title. Children and Grief. It hit him again how much Kelly would rely on her when he wished it was him she would turn to for comfort. But he’d only make it worse for her. God, he wanted to hold his baby, know all about her, read to her and simply watch her grow and learn. He cursed Andrea again for not letting him share Kelly’s life. He realized, with tremendous regret, that he was relying on Laura to love his daughter in his place.



Laura tapped her foot as the ferry docked and the fantail gate lowered. People strolled off the boat, and she searched the crowd for the little girl, for the nurse who would escort her here. What she found was the most beautiful child she’d ever seen, dark-haired and cherub-faced, her hand clinging to Katherine Davenport’s manicured fingers.

She met her old sorority sister’s gaze and smiled. “I’m glad you brought her.”

Katherine glanced down at the little girl and smiled. “I thought someone familiar would be better than a stranger.”

Laura could see the question in Katherine’s eyes, as to how it was going between her and Richard Blackthorne, and not wanting to give even a hint of last night, she was grateful when a man came up with Kelly’s bags. Laura led him to the SUV Richard let her use, and he hefted the cases into the back seat. She tipped him and returned to the pair.

Laura knelt and smiled at Kelly. The little girl buried her face in Katherine’s skirts.

“Hi, I’m Laura,” she said anyway.

“Hullo,” came the muffled reply.

Katherine inched away, forcing Kelly to look at her.

Laura sat on the ground Indian-style as if they had all the time in the world. “Been a tough week, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Well I’m going to take very good care of you, Kelly.” Still the child looked at her warily. “I promise. I know how to do lots of things. We can play on the beach, ride bikes and maybe even ride a horse.”

That perked her up and Laura prayed she remembered how to ride. “Your daddy has three horses, and I don’t think they get much exercise, so we will have to take care of them.”

“Did you see my daddy?”

The hope in her voice brought a sting to Laura’s eyes. “Yes. He’s very nice.”

“Momma said he was hurt.”

“Your mommy was right, he was. But he’s okay now.” She wasn’t about to scare the child with details. “He just doesn’t like to be stared at.”

Kelly’s brows knitted as if she was trying to understand that if he was okay, why didn’t he like being looked at. Laura wanted to postpone that meeting till Kelly was settled and feeling safe.

“So, are you ready to see your new house?” Kelly nodded, chewing on the corner of her sweater. Laura reached up and pulled it free. “Speak up, I can’t hear your brain’s rattle.”

The child almost smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re going to love it, Kelly. It’s a castle, just like in Cinderella.”

“Really?” the girl said.

“Really.”

Laura stood and held out her hand. Kelly looked up at Katherine, sighed, then accepted her hand. Laura’s heart nearly wept with joy.

“Do you want to come up to the house?” she said to Katherine. “Have some coffee and take a later ferry?” People were already walking past them to get on the boat heading back to the mainland.

Katherine shook her head. “I think it’s best if I let you two get acquainted. I’ll call you later, sugah.”





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