by Helen Conrad
“Come on.” She rose, took Jeremy by the hand, and smiled at Erica. “Come out into the backyard. You need a walk before dinner.”
“I don't need anything of the kind,” Erica muttered. But she came, though reluctantly.
Terry led them out the back door, pointing to the fish pond and a distant reservoir as likely places to visit. Then she went back inside and looked for Rick.
She found him in the kitchen, surrounded by open tomato sauce cans. The air was filled with delicious smells.
“Taste this,” he demanded, scooping up a spoonful of bubbling red sauce. She did as he ordered.
“Not bad,” she admitted, smiling at the picture he made with the chef's apron tied around him.
“Not bad!” he cried. “Faint praise indeed.” His flourish with the spoon sent drops of tomato sauce flying around the room. “Magnifique would be a better thing to say.”
“Then you say it.” She picked up a damp cloth and began to wipe up the spots he'd made. “Your children are very well behaved.”
He grunted, still stirring the sauce. “Is that what you call it?” he asked softly.
She looked up at him, but he was concentrating on his sauce and she could tell he hadn't meant for her to hear that.
“They don't seem to have much to do here,” she ventured, putting down the cloth. “I hear you breed horses.”
He nodded.
“Why don't you keep some of them here?” she asked quickly before she lost her nerve. “There are stables. Then the children could ride...” She bit her tongue. She had no business saying these things. She was just a servant. Why did she keep forgetting that?
He'd stopped stirring. He was looking out the window and Terry followed his gaze. Erica and Jeremy were walking slowly around the backyard, not touching a thing. As they walked Erica carefully sidestepped a patch of dirt, her nose wrinkled with distaste.
“Look at them,” Rick said, his voice low. “Can you imagine them riding horses? Look at the way they dress. They look like they're on their way to Sunday school every time I see them.”
His voice was getting more and more gravelly, and Terry realized how difficult it was for him to talk like this.
“I feel like I hardly know them,” he said quietly. “And a year of visits hasn't brought us any closer.”
She wanted to touch him, to comfort him somehow. His face was turned away, and she couldn't see his expression.
“That was the way she was too,” he said softly, almost whispering.
Terry knew without having to be told that he was talking about his ex-wife.
“She always looked as though she'd just stepped out of a fashion show. Untouchable.” He looked down at his tomato-splattered apron. “Now me, I don't know how to deal with that.”
Suddenly he was grinning again.
“I'm a hopeless case. Somebody should take me in hand, don't you think? Some nice butler, maybe?”
“I don't know.” She reached with the cloth and playfully swatted at his soiled chest. “I have a feeling you're beyond redemption.”
Her blue-eyed gaze caught his. Are you who I think you are? his eyes seemed to say. Do you feel as good as you look? Would we be as good together as I think we could be?
“No,” she found herself whispering, dread growing in her chest.
“What?” he asked.
She shook her head, silently cursing herself. She was letting her imagination run away with her. If she kept this up, she would ruin her chances for this job.
“I'll set the table,” she murmured, then fled the room.
Dinner was “magnifique.” Rick was a wonderful cook, and everyone, including the lofty Erica, ate at least two helpings.
Rick insisted Terry eat at the table with them. “You can start your formal butlering tomorrow,” he said. “We need you sitting in a chair rather than standing behind one tonight.”
Because she could sense the real unease behind his words, she did as he asked. Dinner started awkwardly, but the children loosened up a little with a good meal in their tummies. Terry tried very hard to draw Erica out. And once or twice the little girl smiled, but very quickly her smile disappeared when she realized what she was doing.
Jeremy was different. Terry knew instinctively that he would be a friend as soon as the newness of their relationship wore off. At one point, while they were sighing over their empty plates, Jeremy widened his eyes, gazing at Terry, and announced, “I like earthworms.”
“Do you?” Terry smiled.
He nodded. “Do worms have moms and dads?” he asked.
Terry glanced at Rick but his face showed he was ready to leave this one for her to field. She tried to think up all the high school biology she'd forgotten. “Let's see. Moms and dads, huh?” Think fast, Terry. “Well, yes and no.”
Suddenly she stopped herself. What was she doing? He was only a five-year-old boy. He didn't want a lesson in sex education. Maybe, just maybe, he only wanted to talk about it himself. That was worth a try.
“Well,” she said, smiling at him, “what do you think?”
The little boy nodded seriously. “I think they do.”
Terry stifled a grin. “And why do you think so?”
He shrugged. “Because they should,” he told her as though it were the most logical thing in the world. “Who else would give them toys?”
Of course. Why hadn't she thought of that? She looked down the table and found Rick grinning at her. He gave her a wink, then turned away, leaning over to listen to something Erica had to say. But the grin and the wink had warmed Terry in a way she’d never expected.
She realized she was blushing, and she quickly downed every drop of water in her glass. This was ridiculous. She mustn't react to him this way. She had to keep control of herself.
Why now? she asked herself helplessly. Why him? She'd been down this road before with Craig Annison, and others before him. And look where it had gotten her. She mustn't fall into that tempting trap again. No new men! She needed something for herself. She needed her independence, and along with it, a new and improved self-image.
She swallowed hard and vowed to keep a cool head about her. Resolutely, she pulled her thoughts back to the dinner table.
Rick was talking to his children. “It's just about bedtime,” he was saying. “You two have a big day tomorrow.”
Two pairs of eyes stared at him and widened, waiting to hear what was on their agenda.
“First, I'm going to have Charles take you to the Santa Barbara Zoo.”
“Again?” Erica's tone was tragic. “We just went last month.”
Terry cringed, seeing the look on Erica's face. The Santa Barbara zoo was one of the most child-oriented zoos around, and for Jeremy that might be fine. But for a girl Erica's age, trips to the zoo were no longer the treat they might once have been.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Erica if she'd like to stay behind and ... well, help get the house ready. But then she realized how crazy that was. The butler didn't ask the young lady of the house to help with the housework.
“And then in the afternoon,” Rick went on, “Aunt Julia's coming to help celebrate my birthday.”
Both little faces lit up. “Aunt Julia!” they cried in unison. “Great!”
Visitors already. Terry felt tension building as she went over in her mind how much there was to do before the house was ready for any kind of real inspection.
Terry went with the children up to their rooms. She said good night to Erica at her door.
“How come you're a butler?” the girl asked suddenly through the opening of her door just before she closed it. “I've never seen a female butler before.”
“All the more reason for being one, don't you think?” Terry smiled.
“I guess so,” Erica said doubtfully. “But ... don't you feel kind of odd? I mean...” She shrugged and suddenly her face was open and childlike for the first time since Terry had met her. “You're different.”
Terry smiled and
risked touching the girl, just a gentle pat on her shoulder. “Sure I'm different. We're all different, don't you think? Each one of us has something special to offer.”
Erica looked doubtful, then intrigued. “You think it's okay to be different, then?”
Terry shrugged. “What do you think? I may be different, but is that so bad?”
Erica seemed just about to say something, her face eager. Then she drew back as if she were opening up too much. She shrugged, turning back into her room. “I don't know you well enough to say,” she said quietly. “Goodnight.”
Terry's smile was tinged with regret. “Goodnight.”
Jeremy was easy. He was very sleepy and he turned cuddly when Terry came to tuck him in. “I'm just a little koala bear,” he murmured drowsily as she carried him to his bed. “Did you know I was really a koala bear?”
Terry pulled off his clothes. “I had a feeling that's what you were,” she admitted. “Something about all this fuzzy brown fur all over your face.” She grinned at him and pulled his pajama top over his head.
“And my little black nose,” he reminded her quite seriously as she pulled on his pajama pants. “And my little round ears.”
“And your cute little eyes,” she agreed, drawing the covers up under his chin.
He yawned. “I am the Amazing Koala Bear,” he said, eyes blinking to stay awake.
“Good night, Mr. Amazing.” She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Sleep tight.”
“Don't let the bed bugs bite,” he continued sleepily.
Terry rose and turned toward the door, startled to find Rick standing there. She smiled, stepping back, expecting him to come in and tuck in his child. He took two steps forward, then stopped.
“Good night, Jeremy,” he said, standing three feet from the bed.
“Good night, Dad,” the little boy said, raising his head and staring at his father.
Go to him! Terry silently urged. Go to your son and kiss him. What have you got to lose?
Rick glanced at her, hesitated just a moment, then turned and walked away. And Terry’s heart broke just a little bit.
CHAPTER FOUR:
No Matter What You Do
It was a butler's job to close up for the night, making sure everything was secure. Terry did that, taking her time about it, going through the kitchen to see that everything was turned off, checking every door and window. When she finally went back upstairs she saw a light on in the study. She'd been hoping Rick would already have gone to bed, but she'd known in her heart of hearts that she would have no such luck.
Okay, she told herself firmly, professionalism is the key word here. Raising her chin, she marched into the room, stopped a short distance from the wide leather couch that faced the fireplace, and cleared her throat.
“If there is nothing further, sir,” she said tonelessly, staring at the mantel, “I’ll retire for the evening.”
Rick had been staring into the fire, wondering how to fix things. It was always this way when he had the kids for the weekend. When was it finally going to feel natural? When was he going to enjoy having them here? When… when were they going to learn to like him?
There was a certain amount of pain in admitting to himself that his kids didn’t much like him. He supposed on some deeper level, they might love him. After all—they were supposed to, weren’t they? Those were the rules.
But did they want to spend time with him? Nah. Not really.
“No more than I want to spend time with them,” he admitted to himself softly. “Damn it, Claire, why did you do this to us?”
Unfair, and he knew it. But he couldn’t hold back the resentment. It seemed that nothing had gone right since Claire grabbed the kids and headed for Louisiana. His wife had left him. When he’d read the note she’d left behind, he’d gone out to find a rock to sit on and stare at the ocean, and he stayed there for hours, unable to think, unable to move. The shock and pain of what she’d done nearly did him in.
That move had started it all and it still made him angry to think of it. If she’d only waited, if she’d only talk to him, let him know what was bothering her…. But no. She’d just left him. She’d taken a hammer to his heart and he wasn’t sure it would ever be whole again.
And in the middle of remembering that, he heard his “butler” signing off for the night.
He looked up, ready to tell her to have a good night's sleep—and then he frowned. He really didn’t want to be alone tonight and she looked so very good to him right now.
“Rather early, isn’t it?” he murmured.
He saw her quick impulse to counter his statement, and then the way she stopped herself as she remembered she was trying to make a good impression in order to keep the job. That made him smile.
“Tell you what,” he said, straightening a bit. “Sit down and talk to me for a few minutes. That way I can get to know you better.”
She hesitated, her eyes quickly growing stormy. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” she said warily.
He frowned. “Good or not, it’s my idea,” he said, an edge in his voice. “I’d like to talk to you. Sit down.”
She stood in front of him, looking into his eyes. They seemed to smolder in the muted lamplight of the room. She thought she knew why he wanted her to stay, and she also knew it would be completely insane to let things go in that direction.
Unable to tear her gaze from his, she slowly shook her head. “I don’t think I should, Mr. Carrington. It wouldn't be right.” She tried to smile. “It's not part of my job description.”
He stared at her for a long moment and she wondered if he was going to say something cutting, or show anger. Her heart beat like a drum and she waited. Was he going to yell? Insult her? Tell her she was fired?
And then, he was rising and she took a step back. Taking hold of her arm, he made sure she didn’t take another one.
“I'll put it in the contract if you like,” he offered. “At exactly nine o'clock every night, you stop being a butler and go back to being a woman. Would that help?”
She blinked quickly, struggling for an argument. She was sure that he knew very well she'd been feeling far too much a woman all day long. “I... I'm really very tired, Mr. Carrington,” she said, grasping at straws. “I think I ought to get to bed.”
He nodded sympathetically. “You've been here—what? —about ten hours now?”
“No,” she corrected. “You've been here ten hours. I've been here since six this morning. That makes almost sixteen, according to my calculations.”
His fingers tightened on her arm. “Ah yes,” he said lightly. “A butler's work is never done.”
“Exactly.”
He stared at her for a moment more, but a hint of humor was finally creeping into his eyes.
“Well then, let me put my request in these terms.”
He threw his head back and began speaking in a very phony British accent.
“Yardley, my good woman, I have a job for you to do. I'm going to require your presence for another half hour or so. Can't be helped. Most necessary.”
He began to propel her toward the couch and she found it impossible to protest.
“I insist that you sit down right here”—he gave her a gentle nudge that encouraged her to drop to the cushion —”stare into this fire, and listen to everything I say.” He coughed modestly as he sat beside her. “Agreeing, always; cheering me on with a mild 'hear-hear' when the spirit moves you. And just being generally agreeable.”
His smile was irresistible and she found herself smiling back into his brown eyes no matter how much her conscience was warning her.
“Hmm,” she murmured helplessly as she settled back. She had to keep her guard up. But she was so tired. And just for a moment she let the comfort of the couch seep into her, loosening her bones and relaxing her muscles. But she wouldn't relax her defenses. “Maybe I should have hired on as your psychotherapist instead,” she said.
Not taking offense, he smiled.
“Wine?” he offered, and she looked up to see that he’d already poured two glasses full of sparkling golden liquid. The small fire he’d set in the fireplace added perfectly to the ambiance, and the night had just enough of a chill to warrant it.
She rejected the wine, but it didn’t faze him.
“We don’t need it,” he agreed, though he put the glasses down on the coffee table, close at hand and proceeded to sit just a short lurch away on the couch.
She fidgeted. Then, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Somehow this looks like a scene set with an ulterior motive in mind.” She gestured toward the wine, the fire, the low lights.
It didn't embarrass Rick in the slightest. “Seduction isn't an ulterior motive,” he argued good-naturedly. “Seduction is a pattern for survival.”
She stiffened. “Your survival, maybe. Hardly mine.”
He narrowed his eyes, leaning back into the corner of the couch with ease. “Does the thought of seduction threaten you?” he asked softly, and suddenly it did, very much.
“No,” she answered, but even on the simple little word, her voice quavered, and his smile showed that he'd noticed.
“Don't worry. I won't... push you into anything you don't want,” he told her, but the interest lying just beneath his calm civility belied his words.
“Will you promise not to make me think I want something I shouldn't?” she asked.
His laugh was a low rumble of pleasure. “No. That's going too far.”
“Then I'll be on my guard.” Brave words. Her heart was thumping in her chest like a drum, and here she was, pretending to be ready for anything.
“Fair enough.” He gazed at her for a long moment, taking in her demure outfit, so at odds with the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. He liked what he saw.
What a fool he was to have let her stay on as a butler! He should have set her up in town and visited her a few times before sending her back home with a nice little check to tide her over. That was the way he usually played the game. No strings. No one getting hurt.
Yes, keeping her here was a mistake. He was getting to know her too well. Getting to like her. That was very dangerous. But still, he settled back. “Come on then and tell me all about you. Who are you, Terry Yardley?”
