Breakfast In Bed

“A tomb!” Aghast, she stared at him. “It’s not a tomb. It’s a beautiful Victorian mansion brimming with fabulous old treasures and priceless antiques.”

“I like young stuff myself.” His glance skimmed over her lightly but insolently, head to toe. He had the most intimate way of looking at her, as if he already knew something she didn’t. It made her wish she’d put on something more impressive than jeans and a plaid shirt this morning.

“You inherited very little young stuff,” she said tartly. “We’re old-fashioned around here. We do, however, have telephones.”

“Is that a crack?” If it was, he didn’t appear to be put off by it.

“I wasn’t expecting you until next week,” she reminded him.

“I’ve been trying to call for four days, ever since Molly and I left Chicago.” He ruffled the little girl’s soft curls, but he was watching Brooke.

“You drove?” But of course they drove. How else would they be accompanied by that obnoxious little dog now licking his young owner’s hand?

He nodded. “Had a nice time, too, didn’t we Molly, old girl? The dogs were a bit of trouble but—”

“Dogs, as in plural?” She glanced around with fresh alarm. “You mean, there’s more than one?”

“Had to bring old Baron.” He gave a whimsical shrug. “He’s a German shepherd and not nearly as noisy as Larry.”

Brooke couldn’t stifle her groan. “I suppose he bites first and asks questions later.”

Garrett frowned. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t care for dogs?”

“I’m trying to tell you that I don’t see how anybody could care for dogs. They’re big and mean and they bite people and dig holes and—” she glanced significantly at the shattered glass on the hearth. “—break things.”

“Unlike cats,” he inserted smoothly, “who are little and mean and sneaky, with sharp teeth and claws made for shredding furniture and clothes—”

“Of all the nerve!” She glared at him, instinctively clutching Gable more tightly. That ungrateful wretch responded by jerking away. Leaping from her shoulder onto the cut-velvet sofa, he proceeded to dig his claws into the upholstery even as she defended him from such scurrilous charges.

Garrett’s quick smile was mischievous. “Sorry, I got carried away. I take back the part about the furniture.”

She gave him a sheepish grin. “Apology accepted.” She added, “Stop that, Gable!”

“Can I pet your cat?” inquired an anxious little voice.

Brooke glanced from the child to the father, asking a question with her eyes. Is it all right?

He nodded. “But first let me put Larry out into the hall.”

“Good idea.” Brooke drew Molly forward. “Did you ever have a cat?”

The little girl shook her head. There was something so solemn about her, as if she didn’t laugh nearly enough. “Only dogs,” she said. “I got Larry when he was a little puppy.”

Brooke’s heart sank. Molly’s ownership would give that miserable mutt privileged status. “Cats are nicer,” she said staunchly. “Now, you must remember never to try to grab a cat. They don’t like that. You have to make them think that everything’s their own idea....”

Slowly and smoothly she reached for Gable, who permitted himself to be lifted from the couch and into Brooke’s familiar embrace. “Sit down,” she instructed the little girl, “and I’ll put him on your lap. If you don’t startle him, he may decide to stay. But if he wants to go, don’t try to hang on to him, okay?”

“Okay.” Molly sat down on the sofa, sliding back until her legs were straight out before her on the wide cushion. Carefully she smoothed her blue cotton skirt over her lap, then looked up expectantly.

Brooke leaned close to Gable’s ear. “You be nice now, you hear?” she murmured. Gently she deposited the cat on Molly’s lap.

Gable sank down like a puddle of orange pudding, turning his head to look into Molly’s eyes with a “How’m I doin’?” expression. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he began to purr.

“He’s making noises,” Molly exclaimed, looking up at Brooke anxiously.

“That’s because he likes you,” Brooke interpreted. “You can scratch his ears, if you’re very gentle, or underneath his chin. He likes that.”

“I like him,” Molly declared fiercely. “Oh, Gable!” Unable to restrain her enthusiasm, she leaned forward and gave him a big hug.

Which was way too much for any self-respecting cat. He slipped out of her embrace as quickly and easily as smoke from a clenched fist. Before she could recover, he’d shinnied up the heavy brocade drapes to perch atop a tall bookcase.

Molly looked close to tears. “Make him come back,” she pleaded.

Brooke slipped her arm around the child’s shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “I can’t, honey. Nobody can make cats do anything they don’t want to do. The trick is to make them think you don’t really care, and that what you want them to do is really what they want to do.”

Garrett, leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed over his chest, gave a derisive peal of laughter. “Are we talking about cats here, or women?”

Brooke pursed her lips. “Very funny.”

“So are you, if you think I don’t mean it.”

“Are we talking about women here, or cats?”

“Touché!” His laughter this time sounded delighted. “Although I know as much as I care to know—about cats.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. To Molly, he added, “We don’t have time for cats now anyway. You said you were hungry, so let’s see if we can find the kitchen. If we do, maybe we’ll also find something for you to eat.”

Brooke felt a little fissure of alarm. “It’s after one o’clock. Are you saying this child hasn’t had lunch?”

He shook his head. “But that’s all right. There’s probably something around...anything at all. We’re not particular.”

“There’s not a bite to eat in this house.” Why did he have to look so...pitiful? “The cook cleaned everything out of the kitchen before she left.”

“Ouch.” He crossed to Molly’s side. “I guess that means we’ll have to drive all the way down the mountain to feed you, you poor little thing.”

Brooke was being set up and she fought it. “If you had called, I could have stocked the kitchen for you,” she said defiantly.

“I tried—didn’t you hear what I said before? I think the telephone lines must have been down or something.”

Brooke groaned. He had mentioned that. Although she didn’t know of any trouble, the telephone service way up here in the middle of nowhere was so iffy that she never knew from one minute to the next if they had contact with the outside world. Knowing she shouldn’t, she still heard herself saying, “Okay, if you meant it when you said you’re not too particular, I suppose I could find something for—”

“Hey, thanks!” He didn’t even wait for her to finish the invitation. Grabbing Molly by the hand, he lifted her to her feet.

“But no dogs,” Brooke said sternly. Picking up the television remote, she clicked off the set before facing him. “You and Molly can come but no dogs.” Maybe that would dissuade him; she could but hope.

Instead of objecting, he nodded. “I’ve got food for the dogs,” he said cheerfully. “It’s Molly and me who are starving, right, sweetheart?”

The little girl nodded, keeping all her attention focused on Brooke, who knew when she was licked.

There was nothing to do but coax Gable down from his perch and onto her shoulder, then lead the invaders to her own sanctuary.