Chapter 2
Morgan closed the door of the low-slung, navy blue sports car she’d foolishly bought with her first big modeling check earlier this year. She wished she were driving something used and ten years old and that she had the money she’d spent on the flash and bling back in her checking account.
Not only was a car like this going to be useless in North Dakota for the next nine months, but she’d talked with her accountant, and she was going to owe more in taxes than she’d bargained for.
Maybe she could still sell the car.
It fit in with this place, though.
Morgan stood and looked at the huge brick mansion in front of her. A towering center with massive, floor-to-rafter windows flanked by two wings that stretched out like a raptor in flight glowered down at her in the cold, dusky twilight.
A smooth white walk curved around a perfectly manicured front yard and led to the heavy-looking, wooden front door. The paved drive, the polished windows, the massive, newly painted barn, the wooden fence that lined the long drive...all bespoke money, and a lot of it. She swallowed down cold disappointment.
She had not been expecting this opulence.
After the pomp and show of the fashion world with its phony, shallow beauty and its glitz and glamor that was only skin deep, she’d been looking to leave the money and bling behind. North Dakota was solid and real.
This house was unlike anything she’d ever seen in North Dakota. It felt more like Beverly Hills than a home in the Roughrider State.
But Georgia had been kind enough to hire her without references. Other than her aunt and uncle, of course. But they were considered peculiar to most town folks, which was really saying something if North Dakotans considered someone peculiar.
Her astronomy degree didn’t do her much good here, or anywhere, really. She needed an advanced degree. Which she was working on. But she needed a job in the meantime. One where she could stay out of the public eye and lick her wounds.
She popped the trunk and pulled out her bag and suitcase. If she hadn’t had an e-reader, she would have needed another suitcase for her books. But she’d packed minimally, since Georgia had said there was no reason to get fancy, and she’d fit everything into one suitcase and an over-the-shoulder bag.
Her e-reader was in her purse, along with the charger. As long as she had it, she was prepared for anything. How many times had the other girls made fun of her because she curled up with a book while people worked on her hair or makeup? Or while waiting her turn for a shoot? Or while passing time between the practice and the actual fashion show?
Downtime between gigs, she spent in her apartment working on her degree. Yeah, she wasn’t “normal” compared to the other girls.
She blew out a breath and took in the mansion again. She didn’t remember much about Ford, Georgia’s older brother. He was tall with light hair, and he laughed a lot. If her memory served her correctly, she hadn’t met too many male models who had better bone structure. A strong jaw, straight white teeth, and a face that would make an angel cry.
Well, she’d been around a lot of good-looking people, and he wouldn’t intimidate her.
She started up the walk, pulling her confidence out and wrapping it like a cloak around her. When she reached the ornate front door, she lifted the knocker and rapped three times. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped back, waiting. She was just ready to knock again when the door opened. Slowly.
Morgan peered in. Nothing. Then a short, round woman appeared from behind the door. “This thing’s as heavy as a hibernating grizzly bear,” the lady said, with a slight tilt to her voice that said maybe she wasn’t a North Dakota native. She craned her neck up. “Come on in, honey. It’s cold out there. Calendar says fall, but North Dakota doesn’t have such a season. It’s summer, then winter the other thirteen months of the year.”
Morgan smiled as she rolled her suitcase in. The lady put both hands on the door and pushed with all her weight behind it. Slowly, it slid closed.
Morgan eyed it skeptically. Was it really that hard to close? She kept her hands on her purse and bag and didn’t say anything.
The lady brushed her hands together and turned to Morgan. “I’m Mrs. Torgerson, and I’m the housekeeper. You can call me Mrs. T. My husband keeps the grounds and does repairs around the house and such.”
“I’m Morgan Nelson.” She held out her hand.
“I figured you was,” Mrs. Torgerson said as she took Morgan’s hand in her own small, plump one. “Georgia said you’d be around, and we don’t get too many visitors here.” The lady’s smile faded some before she brushed her hands together again.
“Come with me, child. I’ll show you to your room. You can rest there until suppertime.” She walked over the gold-tiled floor and started up the double grand staircase.
Morgan followed slowly. The house was even more spectacular inside than out, if that were possible. “I’m not starting my job until tomorrow?” Georgia had been vague but had said that she’d leave a long note and that Mr. Hanson would instruct her in the rest of her duties.
“I’m sure Mr. Hanson will speak to you about it soon.” Mrs. Torgerson sounded anything but sure, but Morgan did not point that out.
Shoving the handle down on her suitcase, Morgan picked it up and followed Mrs. Torgerson up the sweeping staircase, to the right, and down a long hall, passing closed doors on the left. On the right was a banister that overlooked the foyer and the large floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Does Mr. Hanson live here alone?” The house was bigger than most hotels she’d stayed at.
“Mr. Torgerson and I live here too, although our rooms are downstairs. I suppose most people would call it a basement, but it’s not. You’re welcome to explore all you want, except—” She paused and turned. “Mr. Hanson has his rooms on the west wing.” She pointed behind them. “He won’t want you to disturb him unless he calls for you.”
“I see.” Morgan peered behind her down the hall toward the forbidden rooms. They were much more appealing now that she knew they were “forbidden.”
“Okay, honey. Here are your rooms.” Mrs. Torgerson opened the last door on the left, which led into a tastefully decorated sitting room.
“That door is the bathroom, and beyond that is your bedroom.”
The room was done in shades of green with wood overtones. Several comfortable chairs faced a gas fireplace, and a shelf along the wall held books.
Mrs. Torgerson pulled a small card out of her apron pocket. “If you need me, here’s my number. Call or text. I’d love to give you a tour, but I need to hurry along and get supper going.”
Morgan took the card. “Thanks,” she said, completely awed. She’d never been anywhere half as grand. And she’d been to some pretty swanky places. She couldn’t wait to meet Ford Hanson.
~~~
Ford stood at his bedroom window and watched Morgan park her car. He certainly hadn’t expected the walking dumpling to come zipping up in an athletic muscle car. He’d not been able to reconcile the car in his lot with the picture of the dumpling with glasses before one slender ankle in a long, long pointy low heel appeared under the open door. His brow raised as another foot, confirming his first impression of long and slender, appeared. Then the woman stood, lithe and svelte.
She removed her dark shades as she stared at the house.
He stepped back, one finger continuing to push the curtain aside, his good eye almost falling out of its socket, his brow landing with a splat on the ceiling somewhere. This woman could not be the walking dumpling.
She stood behind the door of her car as she looked the house over for a good minute.
Was she impressed with what she saw? He couldn’t squelch the rogue thought. What did he care what she thought about his house?
She stepped aside and closed her door.
His eye pinged down her long, long legs encased in fitted gray pants and up her slim torso, which was wrapped in a classy dark pink sweater. A gray scarf draped casu
ally around her neck.
A gust of wind kicked up, blowing her long, golden hair back. She tilted her face and lifted her chin, angling her head so it blew her hair behind her. No signs of shivering or cold, despite the temperature that hovered close to freezing. It would get a lot colder before winter was through. She handled the cold like a native.
Because, if she really was dumpling girl, she was a native.
But she couldn’t be dumpling girl. As this woman lifted her chin to the wind, facing it head-on, her angled jaw was clear, along with her high cheekbones and graceful neck.
Ford’s mind could no longer reject what his eye was clearly seeing. The woman was gorgeous.
Anger seized his heart, heating his neck and thumping in his temple. Did Georgia do this to him on purpose? What had she done? Plucked this woman off a New York runway?
This was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. How could he face her looking the way he did? How could he work with her with her perfection against all his defects?
With graceful steps, she walked behind her muscle car, lifting one suitcase and a shoulder bag out of the trunk. Not much luggage for three weeks. Maybe she left the rest of it in the trunk. Although the trunk on that eye candy wasn’t large.
Ford, unable to move, unable to look away, watched as she walked with lithe steps up the walk.
Her long, slender fingers were evident even from his position as she lifted the knocker and tapped on the door.
Ford dropped the curtain and turned, his mind in turmoil. She needed to go. He needed to get rid of her. He couldn’t stand being around someone so beautiful. He might have been able to match her in the looks department at one point in his life, but not now. And he hated that. Seeing that kind of beauty, being face-to-face with it every day would only make his own deficiencies that much more apparent and glaring. Like he even needed the reminder.
But Georgia would quit if Morgan quit. Georgia didn’t bluff. If he’d have paid attention, if he’d have helped Georgia find her replacement, maybe he could have prevented this. It wasn’t Georgia’s fault, and it certainly wasn’t Morgan’s. It wasn’t right to punish her for his own stupidity.
He limped over to his desk. No matter how hard he tried or how much therapy he’d had, he’d never been able to get rid of his limp. It had been a hard lump to swallow from a man who’d been an elite athlete before his accident and whose brother had been a professional hockey player. He shoved those thoughts aside and tapped the keyboard to wake up his computer. He’d been working when the bell had chimed, letting him know someone was coming up the drive.
The images from his security cameras popped up onscreen. Easily finding the one of the foyer, he expanded it and watched as the woman stepped in. His breath froze in his lungs. Her beauty was even more striking up close.
Mrs. Torgerson chatted away as the woman looked around. Ford held his breath as she climbed the stairs. He should have hurried out and offered to carry her suitcase, introduced himself, given her a tour of the house, and made her feel welcome.
But he didn’t do any of that, of course.
Instead, he flipped the image to a new one, so he’d know exactly where Mrs. Torgerson was putting her. The opposite end of the house. Good. The farthest suite of rooms on the end. Even better.
Georgia had said she’d quit if Morgan didn’t stay. But Ford was pretty sure he could spend the next three weeks avoiding her.
She chatted with Mrs. Torgerson for a few moments before she rolled her suitcase into the room and closed the door.
Ford did have security cameras installed in her room. But he wasn’t such a monster that he would actually use them.
He didn’t need to, anyway. He’d seen enough.
Despite the abrasive emotions in his chest, he pulled out his phone. It was a prototype he’d designed himself. He pulled on the bottom, and it lengthened with no discernable cracks. It had taken him forever to figure that out. It could be expanded up to twelve by twelve inches, in any shape, including a circle. Now he needed to do it at a cost people could actually afford.
Dialing Mrs. Torgerson’s number, he held the phone to his ear. He wasn’t going to be seeing Morgan. But he could make sure her stay was pleasant enough that quitting would never cross her mind.
~~~
Morgan emptied her suitcase, put everything away, and still had an hour to kill before suppertime. Mrs. Torgerson had said she could explore the house and grounds. Although it was too cold to be outside, there was plenty of house to check out.
She glanced at the chairs in front of the fireplace before she walked out. It was tempting to sit there and read. But, if she were going to do a good job at this, her first job after her modeling career blew up, she’d better scope out the house.
Georgia had offered her a fantastic salary, but she’d said that her hours would not be regular and neither would her duties. Somewhere there was supposed to be a note. At some point, she should meet Mr. Hanson.
Maybe she could find the note and the man.
She didn’t change her outfit, just in case she ran into him. She wanted to look professional, at least. She hadn’t trained to be an administrative assistant. Her only qualification was that she could type and use a phone.
Cracking her door and checking the hall, she wasn’t sure why she felt like she needed to make sure the coast was clear before stepping out. She’d lifted a foot when she happened to look down. A small, white dog with several large brown spots stood looking up at her with one eye and one ear. The other eye seemed to be sewn over, and the other ear was completely gone. As he blinked his one brown, soulful eye at her, she noticed he was missing a front leg, too. On the same side as his missing eye and ear. Definitely a different-looking dog, but he also had the cutest little potbelly she’d ever seen.
She bent down. “Nice to meet you, sir.” Holding her hand out so he could sniff it, she waited until he seemed okay before running her hand over the small head and down the soft body. Some type of terrier mix, if she had to guess. The little body wiggled closer then rolled on the floor, three legs and an inch-long stub sticking straight up in the air.
“You’re a girl,” Morgan said. “I think someone must have run over you.” And someone paid a lot of money in vet bills to help her recover. The wounds didn’t look especially fresh, but she wasn’t even close to being an expert in dogs, or trauma for that matter, so she couldn’t say for sure.
She quit rubbing, and the dog immediately scrambled to her feet and pushed into her knee. “I can’t pet you and explore my new, temporary residence at the same time,” Morgan murmured in a low tone.
The dog wagged her stub tail harder.
“You can lead the tour.” Morgan gave one last pat and stood. The dog wove in and around through her legs, uninterested in being the leader of anything.
“Okay, so I’ll lead my own tour. You can come along for moral support.” The dog stood with her one front paw on Morgan’s shoe, her sweet face tilted up, waiting.
“You want me to carry you?”
Morgan bent down and carefully scooped the dog up, holding her to her chest. The dog cuddled closer, rubbing into her sweater and scarf and finally giving a big sigh.
“I could be a thief.” She started off. “You really shouldn’t be so trusting. Just because I’m pretty, doesn’t mean I’m good.”
She tried not to allow the thoughts of her last boyfriend to intrude. When she’d called him and told him that she’d walked off the set and refused to wear a sheer shirt with no concealing undergarments, his first comment had been “Why?” She’d let that slide, but it wasn’t too long until she realized she’d been his meal ticket and that he’d been hoping to ride her coattails to a successful modeling career of his own. Man, how many times had she fallen for that over the years? Men who only wanted her because of her good looks and what they thought being with her might get them.
She was so done with all of that.
Full dark had settled outside, but she could se
e through the soaring windows that the drive was lit by lights on the ground. Dim lights in the hall overhead allowed her to see, and there also appeared to be a similar kind of light below. Nothing bright. There were still shadows, but she wouldn’t trip over any bodies.
She shivered. Not the best time to start thinking about bodies, and she suddenly wished Georgia could have stayed an extra day to help her get oriented.
She walked down the hall, passing at least five doors on her right. Her curiosity at what was behind those doors was strong but not strong enough to overshadow her upbringing which said it was none of her business, even if Mrs. T had said she could tour the house. The housekeeper had only said the west wing was off-limits. Still. Her aunt and uncle would be horrified if they saw her opening doors and peering in, and she wasn’t so far removed from her childhood that the lessons had faded.
Reaching the staircase, she paused and stared down the hall at the area that was off-limits. She’d never been much of a rebel, and telling her it was off-limits didn’t exactly make her want to go there more, the way she knew it would for some of her friends—using the word “friends” very loosely, since none of them had much to say to her or wanted to have anything to do with her after she had been blacklisted. Too afraid the condition might be contagious.
She’d turned, intending to go down the stairs, when the little dog came alive in her arms, struggling and squirming.
“Okay, okay, you want down. I get it.” She bent over, setting the little thing down carefully, cognizant of her handicap. Which didn’t seem to be a handicap at all as she grabbed her scarf, slipping it off her neck and tearing down the hall into the forbidden part of the house.
Morgan gasped and tried to grab it, but she’d been so busy trying to be careful of the dog, she’d not been able to react. She sure didn’t act like she was handicapped. She got around as well as any other dog she’d ever seen. Nosing a door on the right open, she disappeared into the darkened interior.
Cowboys Don't Marry the Beauty Page 2
