Breakfast In Bed

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?”