Breakfast In Bed

Instead of finding help, she found herself face-to-face with a stranger. He looked as startled as she—and then she found herself in his arms, unable to halt her forward momentum.

He held her easily against his broad chest. A whiff of his faint, woodsy aftershave surprised her, as did the strength of his impersonal embrace. Then he stood her on her feet and looked at her with a slightly puzzled smile curving his lips.

While she... stared. He was gorgeous, from his thick, midnight-dark hair to golden-hazel eyes alight with intelligence and curiosity. There was strength in the high cheekbones and square jaw, but humor in the quirk of the lips and tilt of his eyebrows when he looked at her.

And then she realized that blasted dog was still yapping and trying to climb up the fireplace to kill Miss Cora’s innocent cat, who’d been minding his own business prior to this vicious and unprovoked attack.

“Is that your dog?” She almost gasped the words while pointing a trembling finger. “Make him stop!”

The handsome stranger frowned. “Yeah, what’s got him so worked up?” His gaze swung smoothly from Brooke to the barking dog, then up to the big orange cat hissing and spitting his fury from on high. He recoiled. “That’s a cat!”

“Well, yes, of course it’s a cat.” Brooke edged around until the tall stranger was between her and the animals. She’d face any cat anytime, anywhere, but dogs sent her into shock—even quiet ones, which this one certainly wasn’t.

“What’s a cat doing here?” the man demanded. His golden eyes narrowed. “For that matter, what are you doing here—not that I object, you understand.”

“I’m taking care of things until the new owner—” She stared at him while understanding dawned. “Oh, dear.”

“Exactly.” Smiling, he offered his hand. “I’m Garrett Jackson. And you must be... Brooke Hamilton?”

“Yes.” She touched his hand with hers, too lightly to be called a handshake. She hadn’t meant to be unfriendly but she felt a jolt of electricity at even that slight touch. Not too unusual in bone-dry Colorado, she assured herself; nothing to worry about. “Please,” she pleaded, “will you do something about that dog? I don’t think he can reach Gable but—”

“As in Clark?”

She nodded. “That barking is making a nervous wreck of me.”

Garrett shrugged. “Guess I’m used to him.” Kneeling, he snapped his fingers and spoke in a coaxing voice. “C’mon, Larry, old boy, come to papa.”

Larry didn’t do any such thing; in fact, after one derisive glance over his shoulder, he yipped louder.

“Larry! Get over here!” Garrett spoke firmly, pointing to the priceless Oriental rug upon which he knelt.

Larry didn’t even bother to look around this time, just kept trying to scramble up the fireplace stones.

“Damn!” Garrett rose to his feet. “What’s wrong with that mutt? He’s obnoxious but he’s never been this bad before.”

“Maybe that’s not Larry at all,” Brooke couldn’t stop herself from suggesting. “Maybe it’s his evil twin.”

Garrett laughed, little smile lines curving at the corners of his generous mouth. He was extraordinarily attractive when he smiled. Well, in all honesty, he was extraordinarily attractive when he didn’t smile.

“Very funny,” he admitted. “But I know how to handle him.”

“This I’ve got to see,” Brooke muttered dubiously. She glanced anxiously at Gable, who no longer seemed so much frightened as annoyed. In fact, he seemed as curious as she to discover what would happen next.

“You doubt me?” Garrett’s golden eyes narrowed speculatively. “You wouldn’t want to put your money where your mouth is, would you?”

“Huh?”

“Wanna bet?”

“Not a chance! I’m not a gambling woman.” Too true; Brooke didn’t take chances when she could avoid them. “All I want is for you to get that beast away from my cat.”

“Okay, okay, I can take a hint.” Stepping around her, he stuck his head into the hallway. He was wearing sky-blue shorts and a white T-shirt, with white leather sneakers. His body was as attractive as his face, which hardly seemed possible.

Or fair.

“Molly!” he called. “Will you come in here, honey?”

Brooke’s brows rose. “Wife? Girlfriend? Significant other?”

His grin broadened, became almost challenging. “Daughter.”

Brooke felt a little jolt of relief. “I see.”

“You don’t, but that’s okay.”

A small form appeared in the doorway and his smile became less predatory, more gentle. “There you are, sweetheart. Think you can call old Larry off the lady’s cat?”

The little girl nodded gravely, then looked at Brooke with solemn curiosity. “Hello,” she said. “My name is Molly Jackson.”

“My name is Brooke Hamilton. I’m pleased to meet you, Molly.”

“Thank you very much.” Such a serious little thing; not so much as the hint of a smile. “I’m five years old,” she continued. “How old are you?”

Brooke melted. The child was exquisite, dainty and blond, golden-eyed like her father. She waited a moment for Garrett to intervene; instead he simply looked interested so she said, “I’m twenty-five.”

“That’s almost grown-up,” Molly observed.

Brooke stifled laughter. “Sometimes I wonder.”

“Gart is thirty-two,” the child offered.

“Gart?” Brooke glanced at the man beside her. “She calls you Gart?”

He shrugged. “She can’t handle Garrett, for some reason.” Kneeling before the child, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Can you call Larry off now, Molly? That barking is driving us all nuts.”

“Yes, sir.” Snapping her fingers smartly, if silently, she said in an imperious tone, “Larry! Come, Larry! Come!”

Larry stopped yapping and cocked his head, his ears standing up straight. Then he turned and trotted back to his pint-size mistress.

All Brooke could see was the dog’s vicious white teeth and powerful jaws. Frightened, she edged around Garrett, always keeping him between herself and that creature. When the coast was clear, she darted to the fireplace to snatch Gable to safety.

The cat curled himself around her shoulder and neck, his expression indignant in the extreme. “Gee, Gable,” she murmured, rubbing his chest. “I’m sorry. It’s not my fault, honest.”

Garrett rolled his eyes. “You’re apologizing to a cat?”

The way he said cat sent a warning shiver down her spine. “Why not? I got him into this mess when I let him coax me into coming along today. Of course...” She glanced significantly at the broken glass, which was all that remained of the fire screen. “I’m not entirely to blame. Do you have any idea how much that piece of stained glass was worth?”

“No idea whatsoever.” He looked around the room. “Or anything else in this mausoleum, for that matter. What a tomb!”