by Helen Conrad
Maybe he'd only stopped in to check on the house. Maybe he would grab a sweater from the downstairs hall closet and go back out again. Maybe he would find the house empty and take off for the golf course or the polo field. Maybe, for once, she'd be lucky.
A set of big double doors was standing open. Not thinking, Terry dashed inside and shut them behind her, then stepped back to see where she'd landed.
She wasn't completely familiar with the house yet. She’d only been there since the morning, and this room wasn't one she'd explored. But she thought she knew whose it was. It looked very much like the master bedroom to her.
“Not the best move,” she chided herself.
But it was too late to do much about it. With her hand on the doorknob, she heard his tread on the wide stairway. He was whistling--and coming right this way. Of course—where else would he go?
“Arrgghh!” she moaned very low, shaking her head. This was ridiculous. She ought to step out and meet him. She'd pretend she'd been tidying up his room.
“Ah, Mr. Carrington,” she'd say with cool dignity. “So you've returned home early. Might I have a word with you, sir? You see, I'm the new butler.”
“Certainly,” he'd answer with a flourish. “It's Jeeves, isn't it? I'd have known you anywhere, my good woman.”
Fat chance.
Nope. It was either under the bed or into the closet.
The complete humiliation of being found lurking under a bed was just a hair more excruciating than the embarrassment of being caught in a closet. She opted for the latter with all due speed—and then heard his hand at the door.
She pulled the double doors closed, backed into the lengthy walk-in closet and into the hanging shirts, blinked once in the darkness, then held her breath. If he would just dump his things and go, she would be fine. As soon as he left the room, she would slip out and take the back stairs down and…
But he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. She could hear him moving through the room. He was still whistling softly. She didn't recognize the tune but it sounded lighthearted. At least he seemed to be in a good mood.
And then she turned her head right into a group of hangers and they jangled. It wasn’t very loud. But it was enough, and she knew it. She froze.
The whistling came to an abrupt halt. Terry stood very still, hand at her throat, listening intently. Her heart was pounding so hard, she wasn't sure if she'd heard him leave the room. The silence stretched interminably and she began to wonder how long she should wait before coming out. Surely he'd left by now. Hadn’t he? If he’d heard the hangers, he would have done something. He must have been whistling too loud to notice.
Now what? She couldn't stay here forever. She had work to do, for heaven's sake. This was getting ridiculous —she'd been a fool to hide in the first place. It was time to put an end to it. She had to show a little maturity.
Gritting her teeth, she reached for the door handle—but it was wrenched, quite suddenly, from her grasp. The doors were flung open and there stood Rick Carrington, towering over her menacingly.
Terry gasped, but he didn't say a word. He didn't even look very surprised to find a woman in his closet. His hazel eyes sparkled as he looked her up and down, taking in every uncovered inch of her body. She might have been a new houseplant or a new suit he’d found hanging there.
Terry took a deep breath and wished her hands weren’t shaking. She hated being found this way. Why oh why had she gone into hiding? Too dumb. And to be caught by Rick Carrington, of all people.
“Hi,” she said, raising a hand and wiggling her fingertips at him. She was relieved to note that her voice sounded light and breezy. When facing an impossible situation, make the best of it, she thought a little hysterically. Just pretend you planned it this way all along. “Welcome home.”
“Well, what do you know?” he murmured, a slow smile beginning to soften every angle of his handsome face. His gaze skimmed across her and he obviously liked what he saw. “Oh, Johnny, you've really outdone yourself this time.”
“Sorry?” She frowned, hit by a mix of reactions from the start. He didn’t recognize her. Thank God for that. But had he said “Johnny”? Maybe he couldn't see her very well in the dark closet. “I'm not Johnny. ...” she began.
“Oh, I know you're not.” He nodded, his smile turning into a grin. “Where's the card?”
She blinked at him. “The card? You mean, my card?”
Darn it all, that would have been a good idea. She should have had cards printed up. Maybe there was still a chance to do that. She could dash down into town and get it done in no time.
“I’ll have it for you later,” she promised hopefully.
“Later?” He gave her a quizzical look.
She nodded, hoping her wide eyes portrayed innocence. “Yes. I just don’t have it with me right now.”
“I don’t buy it,” he said, eyes sparkling. “You’ve got it on you, don’t you? Johnny would insist on that.”
The grin had turned devilish. Terry was totally at sea. He wasn’t acting like a homeowner who’d found a stranger in his closet. So what the heck was he talking about? She stared up at him uneasily.
He was taller than she remembered and his shoulders were wide as a linebacker's, but he carried his frame with a casual assurance that bespoke a certain comfort with his surroundings. The high cheekbones and dark brows emphasized the humorous glint of his light brown eyes. He looked like a man at ease with himself, a man who didn't often let temper get the best of him.
So that was good.
And he was sinfully attractive. He always had been. He was wearing a blue shirt, open at the neck, and navy-blue slacks that fit with a razor-sharp crease. His hair was thick, a rich golden brown with streaks of blond—highlights most likely garnered on the polo field rather than any actual manual labor in the sun, Terry thought with sudden snarky insight. He looked like a playboy through and through, just as she'd always thought he was.
“There's always a birthday card,” he was saying. His eyes were shimmering with humor and his soft laugh sent warning shivers dancing down her spine. “I get it,” he murmured happily. “I'm supposed to search you for it. Right?”
She stared at him, suddenly realizing what this was about. The man thought she was part of some sort of gag gift or something. And he was out of his mind. She'd expected anger, maybe, or at least annoyance—but a body frisk she hadn't counted on!
“Wrong!” she answered quickly as he reached for her, putting up her hands to fend him off. “Hold it mister. You’ve got this all wrong.”
He paused in mid reach, blinking at her. “What do you mean?”
At least he stopped. She had to give him credit for that. She’d been working in an industry where predatory men didn’t usually stop advances like this until you got their attention with a large rock to the head. Or at least the threat of jail time.
“I think there’s been a big misunderstanding,” she began, but he was already grimacing and he pulled back regretfully.
“You’re absolutely right,” he said, looking sad. “This was a great idea. Very inventive. But it isn’t going to work.”
She frowned, more confused than ever. What did he mean? Her being a butler? Nothing he said seemed to connect with anything she was thinking, but she knew she had to defend her position as quickly and thoroughly as possible—just to be sure.
“How can you know that? You don’t know anything about me yet. How can you say it isn’t going to work?”
His grin was endearingly lopsided. “You come with special talents, I’m sure,” he said with casual appreciation. “Unfortunately, it’s all for naught. You’re going to have to go.”
“What?” Outrage filled her eyes.
“My kids are coming.” He shrugged, just this side of apologetic. “And I’m actually trying to be a good dad. So pretty young female playmates are out. Even if they are birthday presents.” He shrugged again. “Sorry.”
Female playmates? No, he still
had the wrong idea about what was going on here. She had to get this straight before he dumped her into the street.
She frowned, shaking her head, trying to come across very earnest and honest. Eager to please, anxious to work. Not someone to be tossed aside so lightly.
“Listen, I wasn’t sent here by anyone named Johnny. I don’t know who Johnny is. I…” She drew in a long breath. “You see, I…I work here.”
He blinked. “You what?”
She raised her head and tried to gather in some sense of dignity, but it was tough, considering. “I’m the new butler.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then he laughed aloud. “Oh come on. I’m starting to sense Johnny’s influence again.”
“No. Really. I have a contract.”
“Baloney. What you have is a great imagination.” He glanced around the closet as though looking for something. “You didn’t bring me a cake or anything?”
She blinked. “A cake?”
“For my birthday.”
“Oh.” He still thought she was a gift from his dopey friend. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize… You see, I thought it was going to be your grandfather I was basically here for and….”
“My grandfather! He’s 92 years old.” He made a face. “Lucky I got here first. You would have killed him.”
“No…” She threw up her hands in exasperation. There was no getting through to this man. Then she frowned. “But this is still his house. Isn’t it? He is planning to live here again?”
She knew her father was under the impression that old man Calvin Carrington was returning to the home he loved after a long confinement in a nursing home. That was the whole point—to have the butler who had been so close to him back again to take care of him. The only problem had been—her father had fallen and broken his shoulder—he couldn’t make it. Not yet. So she had come to take his place, just for a month or so.
“Sure,” Rick was saying. “But he hasn’t lived here for ten years.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here. I thought I was preparing the place for him to come back to.”
“In the closet?” His gaze darkened and his eyes narrowed. “Fishy, I’d say. More like a story to cover up something else. What were you really doing in here?”
At least it seemed he was finally ready to accept that she hadn’t been sent by “Johnny”. She sighed. Was she going to tell him the truth? How was she going to explain that she’d been in here hiding from him? No. Too humiliating.
“Just…uh…looking for hangers,” she said, grabbing a few off the clothes pole and waving them at him. “See?”
“Right.” His frown had turned much cooler. “Searching for the safe is more like it,” he said softly.
“No. Oh, no!”
Now he thought she was a thief. She had to do something quickly or he'd have her arrested before she had a chance to explain. How could she put this in a way that he could buy into?
“I'm here to work for your family, Mr. Carrington. Really! I'm your new butler. My name is Yardley.”
That was what employers always called her father, and since she was going to work as a butler, maybe he'd better call her that too.
But Rick didn't seem to think that was such a good idea. He put a hand to his forehead and squinted his eyes as though he felt a migraine coming on.
“I remember a butler named Yardley. Martin Yardley. He worked here for my grandfather when I was a kid.” He squinted at her. “He was a tall man. Sort of skinny. Definitely flat-chested.” He shook his head sadly, looking her up and down. “Didn't look a thing like you. You'd better try again.”
CHAPTER TWO:
The Kids Are Coming!
Now Terry really regretted not having business cards to thrust at him. How did you prove you were a butler without them?
“I ... I am Yardley,” she stuttered, trying to be as convincing as possible. “Terry Yardley. Martin is my father.”
“Ah.” He nodded as though it was all clear to him now. “Of course. That explains everything.”
“Does it?” She was naively hopeful.
“Certainly.” Sarcasm threaded neatly through his tone. “All the servants send their children up to straighten my hangers. Happens every day. I do make such a mess of them.” His eyes glinted and the ghost of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth.
Once again she was thankful he had a sense of humor.
“If you remember my father—” she began to explain, but he shook his head, interrupting her.
“I don't remember him well, actually. I didn't live here then—just some visits. But I believe you if you say you're his daughter.” He raised an eyebrow, wondering how she’d thought she could get away with it. “What I don't believe is your claim that you're a butler.”
A butler. He looked her over once more. It was too ridiculous. She opened her mouth to protest and he waved at her impatiently. “Enough. Let’s put it this way. I don’t care if you’re a butler or not. You’re not going to be a butler here.”
Her eyes flashed angrily and he had to look away. If he didn’t, he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist smiling at her and ruining his firm statement. She was completely adorable and pretty sexy in her tiny white shorts and miniscule shirt, but he was going to go against the grain of his usual impulses. He wasn’t going to let himself give in to her just to keep her around.
It couldn’t be done—not this time. His kids were coming.
He sank down onto the bed and leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes. He felt like hell. Of course, that was his own fault, and he was definitely going to quit drinking—for sure this time. But there was more, a sense of impending doom hanging over him, as though something very bad was about to happen.
Oh yeah. His kids were coming.
He opened his eyes. She was still there, looking down at him with her own eyes narrowed fiercely and her lower lip caught in her teeth, as though she was thinking up ways to tie him up and put him in the basement while she got on about the business of taking over the place. That made him grin.
“Oh hell, are you're sure you don't have a birthday card on you somewhere?”
She glared and he gestured for her to sit on the bed, too. He might as well. He knew for sure she wasn’t anywhere near done with this fight.
She sat very gingerly on the edge of the bed, just out of reach. “I don't usually carry spare birthday cards with me,” she said crisply. “Do most people you meet?”
He managed a wan smile. “No. But tomorrow is my birthday. And every year my cousin Johnny thinks of a more surprising way to deliver my card.” He shrugged. “When I saw you in my closet I was sure you were his latest idea. It seemed to fit the pattern.”
She flashed him a look. “Does he often use strange women?”
He cocked his head, considering. “I wouldn't call you strange exactly. Well, a little odd, perhaps. Hanging out in closets is a bit bizarre.”
Terry looked at him, trying to hold on to anger and feeling it slip away. Rick Carrington was not turning out to be what she'd anticipated. She’d expected a more superior attitude, but that didn’t seem to be his style. Looking deeply into his eyes, she thought she saw a restlessness, a hint of pain, and maybe dissatisfaction. But at the same time, she felt a warmth in him, something terribly appealing.
All the same, she knew she wasn’t supposed to like him, necessarily. Just work for him. That was all that counted.
“If you ask me, the strange one seems to be this Johnny person,” she said dryly.
He laughed. “There's nothing strange about Johnny. But he does have good birthday ideas.” A look of bliss crept over his face. “Last year he hired a magazine centerfold to bring me my greeting. When I went up to my room I found her in my bed, stark naked, with 'Happy Birthday' written across her nubile body in edible ink.”
In spite of herself, Terry choked. “Edible ink?” she gasped when she could catch her breath. “What on earth is edible ink?”
“I don'
t know,” he answered wistfully, stretching his arms out, “but it sure tasted great.”
He was making it up. She was sure of it. She wanted to laugh, but she didn't dare. After all, she wasn't the man's friend, she was his employee, and it was time she acted the part.
“I'm sure it did, sir,” she said in her best butler voice. She would play the part to the hilt as long as there was still a chance at it. “Have you come home now? Will you be staying? If so, I'd like to make an appointment to go over the plans with you, to make sure I'm setting up the house to your satisfaction—”
“Wait a minute.” He held up a hand to stop the flow of her words. “I told you this cock-and-bull story about your being a butler just won't fly.”
She drew herself up with all her worldly dignity. “I may not look like the butlers you're accustomed to, Mr. Carrington, but I assure you, I can work just as well as—”
“You're a woman. Butlers are men.” He sighed. “I can give you a job as a maid, if you'd like.”
She didn't appreciate the patronizing sound of that statement and the thread of steel in his voice gave ample evidence that his good humor had its limits. But so did hers.
He was laying down the law as though he was used to it. And he probably was. But he didn’t know how important this job was to her. After all her father had been through, she had to save this job for him if she could. It would break his heart to lose this opportunity.
Her father had always been so proud of his job at the Carrington estate. He had been more than a butler to Calvin Carrington, almost a confidant in the old days. He'd left only after the Carrington family had decided Calvin needed a change and a warmer climate and had taken him off to their estate in the Bahamas to live for the next ten years.
Since leaving the Carringtons, her father had worked as the manager of housekeeping services for a large Malibu hotel. But recently he’d been let go, told he was just too old for the job. That experience had crushed him. Terry had really thought he might just give up—until the call had come from the Carringtons. Suddenly he’d had a reason to live again.
