Then she felt a bubble of laughter starting in her throat. It burst into a peal of giggles. “He what?” She giggled again. “His fortune? To Brutus? You’re kidding me.”
The lawyer’s stone-faced expression told her that he was not.
“What a hoot! Is there enough for him to go wild and buy a new collar?”
Still Tom O’Brien didn’t crack a smile. In fact, he looked affronted at her laughter.
“Brutus could buy himself a diamond-studded dog collar if he wanted to, Ms. Cartwright.” He cleared his throat. “That is, if a dog could, er . . . shop.”
He looked annoyed at himself for making such a flippant comment. “Walter Stoddard was a very wealthy man.”
Maddy tried not to laugh again.Tom O’Brien was looking so serious that she felt she couldn’t give in to the grin that was tugging insistently at the corner of her mouth.
“Are you sure you’ve got the right Walter? This one didn’t have a cent to spare.”
Of course she’d never inquired into his finances—she wouldn’t have dreamed of doing that—but her elderly landlord had always been very careful with his spending and she’d assumed money was tight.
Tom O’Brien’s sober brown gaze didn’t falter. Nor did his carefully paced words. “Walter Stoddard was a multimillionaire.”
“A . . . a millionaire? No way,” she said, shaking her head again, “you’ve got it wrong.”
Tom O’Brien laughed a short, not-very-nice laugh. “Believe me, Ms. Cartwright,Walter was worth a lot of money.That’s why I’m here.”
All of a sudden Maddy didn’t want to laugh anymore. And she couldn’t speak.Was this guy for real?
Tom O’Brien cleared his throat. “Uh, are you all right, Ms. Cartwright?” He reached out a hand to her and then, as if he thought better of it, withdrew it.
Maddy shook her head slowly from side to side. “I . . .I think I’m in a state of shock. Tell me that again. Walter—a wealthy man?”
“A multimillionaire,”Tom O’Brien stressed.
“You’re sure about that?” She was glad she was sitting down.
“There’s no doubt.”
Was she going crazy? “But he lived so simply. Frugally even. Why would he have done that if he had lots of money?”
Tom O’Brien shrugged his broad, soccer-player shoulders. “Beats me. Eccentric, I guess. He only confided in me as his attorney on the condition I kept his financial affairs secret until after he died and his will was read.”
Maddy’s mind was reeling. She forced herself to sift back through her memories for a clue to Walter’s wealth that she may have missed.
She thought of her old landlord, remembering his gentle wit, his keen observations, and his kindness. How she’d get cranky with him for spending more on the dog than he did on himself. He’d worn the same shabby old cardigan the entire time she’d known him.
“Walter asked me to adopt Brutus after . . . after he went. Of course I agreed, though to tell you the truth, I’m more into cats. But he never said anything about money.”
“Yeah, well. For his own reasons, he didn’t want anyone to know.” Tom O’Brien paused. “Maybe he wanted to be liked for himself.”
Was that a loaded question? “He shouldn’t have had any doubts on that score. He was a real sweetie . . . I miss him terribly.”
Maddy bit down on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering. She’d cried buckets over Walter in private. She wasn’t about to make a public display of her grief in front of this person who seemed to be implying that there was something untoward about her relationship with her landlord.
The lawyer cleared his throat. “He seemed a charming gentleman.”
“He . . . he was. And compos mentis until the very end. I still can’t believe he was rich and left it all to his dog.”
She started to twist around the antique amethyst ring she wore on the fourth finger of her right hand.
“So,” she said slowly, thinking out loud. “I guess this changes things, doesn’t it? For me, I mean.”
Tom O’Brien nodded.
Maddy continued to muse out loud. “If Brutus is a millionaire dog, he won’t need to live with me. I’ve gotten really fond of him. But, truth is, not having an animal in tow will make it easier for me to find another apartment.”
She felt sad at saying good-bye to Brutus. Really sad. But there was relief, too. San Francisco landlords weren’t known for their fondness for dogs. Much as she loved animals, there wasn’t really room for a pet in her lifestyle.
She braced herself. “So, when do I have to pack up and go?”
“You don’t,”Tom O’Brien said.
“I don’t?”
He stood up. Maddy stood up, too, so they were more evenly matched. She didn’t like him towering above her, though even when she stretched herself to her full height he was still a lot taller than she was.
“Ms. Cartwright, let’s cut to the chase.” His expression didn’t change. In fact, it turned a further degree of grim. “Under the terms of Walter Stoddard’s will, you are Brutus’s legally appointed guardian. Trustee of the fortune Walter left for the upkeep of his dog.”
Maddy stared at him. Again. Her eyes opened even wider than the last time.
“Now you’re really putting me on. Dogs don’t have guardians.”
“This one does.” He put up his hand to forestall any further interruptions. “If the dog survives Mr. Stoddard by twenty-one days, as trustee you will have full control of his fortune.”
Maddy felt as though the breath had been punched out of her body.
“What?”
She sat right back down on her chair feeling light-headed, dizzy.
“What did you say?”
“Do you want me to repeat it?”
Maddy nodded. Tom O’Brien repeated.
“I . . . I still don’t understand.” Walter had been a just and honest landlord and a friend. Or as good as a friend could be with a fifty-six-year age difference. But why this?
“Mr. Stoddard’s fortune is held in trust for the dog—a trust administered by you, with provision for you.”
“For me. I don’t get it? Why me?”
“Let me read the will to you.” He rustled the pages and—rather self-importantly, Maddy thought—cleared his throat.
Tom read out the terms of the will in careful, measured tones, trying not to let his disgust filter through. Through her guard ianship of the dog, this redheaded gold digger was set with a fortune.
The straightforward document didn’t take long to read. Apart from a sizeable bequest to his church,Walter had left the bulk of his fortune in trust for Brutus. When the trust ended—on the death of the dog or after ten years—the residual funds went direct to Madeleine Cartwright.
“That’s it?” Maddy asked.
He nodded.
“I . . . I’m still in shock . . .” she said.
He had to give it to her. She did sound shocked. And her face had drained of all color. But then she might be a very good actress. Heaven knows what she’d done to convince Walter Stoddard to include her in his will. Had she had to feign passion for a man that age? Or had it come naturally?
“What if I don’t want . . . want the responsibility?”
What? The Miss Innocent act was going too far.
“Give up an inheritance like that? Surely not.”
“But it’s Brutus who’s inheriting.”
“Didn’t you understand? It’s you who will control the money.”
She covered her face with her hands. “I’m still trying to take it in.Why me?”
“Only you know that,” he said, not letting his thoughts stray to what this pretty young woman might have done to gain such a windfall. Had she gone all the way? Or just performed other . . . services?
She dropped her hands from her face and looked over to Tom, forehead screwed up. “Walter said in the will I was the granddaughter he never had. He . . . used to say that when he was alive . . .”
A
s if, thought Tom.
“He didn’t have any children,” said Maddy, her voice hesitant. “His only child died when she was a toddler. Once I asked him if he had any relatives; he said none he cared to know about.”
“So he said in his meeting with me.” Walter had been very clear about that. Even naming names.
Maddy seemed to be thinking out loud. “Brutus was his baby. I’m not surprised he wanted his dog looked after. But . . . I would have happily done it for nothing. He knew that.”
Sure he had.
“Are you certain this isn’t a joke? I still can’t believe it’s happening.”
Tom nodded. “Believe it.”
“Are you sure it’s legal?”
“Yes. California law allows trusts for pets as a provision in a will.”
She shook her head disbelievingly. “It’s still sinking in.”
“You heard the terms of the will—as executor, it’s my duty to make sure Brutus survives the twenty-one days. Well, seventeen now.”
Maddy Cartwright chewed on her bottom lip. He had to admit she was very convincing. “Tell me again what happens if Brutus doesn’t survive?”
“You get a very substantial inheritance and the rest goes to a dogs’ home.”
The color flooded back into her face. “So it’s a win-win situation for me?”
Yes, and that’s the way Walter Stoddard had wanted it. He’d made that very clear to Tom on the one and only occasion they’d met just a month ago. Tom had assumed that the lucky young woman in question had been the old man’s mistress.
Walter Stoddard had been clever. Leaving his fortune in trust for the dog rather than directly to the young girlfriend made it more difficult for disgruntled relatives to contest the will. It was difficult for a dog to be seen as having undue influence over an old man’s dying wishes.
“You do understand that during those seventeen days I have to assess your suitability as Brutus’s guardian?”
Maddy was silent for a long moment, looking down at her sneaker-clad feet. When she looked up at him again, Tom was surprised at the tight set of her face and the downward twist to her mouth.
“You think I influenced Walter with his will, don’t you?” she said.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to,” she said.
Tom was glad he wasn’t the type to blush. His imaginings had definitely been of the lurid variety. He knew how foolish an older man could be over a pretty young face—and body. His father had been proof of that.
He cleared his throat. “One way or the other, whatever the reason,Walter Stoddard wanted his money to be yours.”
Her chin went up at a tilt. “Huh! And you disapprove. I sensed your hostility the second you got here.”
“Hostility? I’m not hostile toward you, Ms. Cartwright.”
Her mouth twisted. “Don’t bother lying. You’re entitled to think what you want. And I’m sure you won’t be the only one . . .”
He tried to interrupt, but she spoke over him.
“I’m not naïve. A rich old man. A poor young woman. Well, not poor, but living-from-paycheck-to-paycheck type average. For heaven’s sake, Walter was eighty-two! But some people have sick minds. I know what they’ll say when they hear about the will.”
Tom stopped fiddling with the catch on his briefcase. He was surprised at the sudden sympathy for her that surged through him. Somehow, he wanted to believe in the girl next door she gave every appearance of being.
“Walter was so kind to me. If I was the granddaughter he never had, he was the grandfather I never had. But I’m stunned beyond belief that he’s been so generous to me.”
She got up from her chair. Tom was shocked at how pale she was. Her fair skin looked almost translucent, the scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose standing out starkly in contrast.
In a nervous gesture, she pushed her marmalade-colored hair back from her face. “But I don’t expect you to believe that. You’ve obviously made up your mind about me.”
Tom wasn’t as sure of her motives as he’d been before he’d knocked on her door. But he was still suspicious enough of her not to deny her accusation. Instead he made a noncommittal, lawyerlike murmur.
Her hands were trembling as she picked up the plate of brownies. “I need to think about all this. I’ll go get a snack to take out to Brutus.Try and tempt him to eat.”
Without really looking at him, she halfheartedly offered the plate to Tom. “I’m not hungry. You have one if you like. They’re good.” Her words were stilted, as if speaking to him were an effort. As if maybe she were fighting against tears.
Tom swallowed against a dry mouth. He took the plate. But all of a sudden he didn’t feel like eating. Even a macadamia-studded, chocolate-laden brownie.
What if he really was wrong about Madeleine Cartwright? Like he had, people would think the worst of her. There would be gossip, speculation. A millionaire dog and its beautiful young guardian would make news. The newspapers would want to dig for dirt.
If she was as innocent of intent as she said she was—hell, even if she wasn’t—the next weeks would be unpleasant ones for her. “Uh, no, thanks. I’ll pass,” he muttered.
But still, he had his duties as executor to consider. And that meant not being sucked in by her story until he could be 100 percent sure of her good intentions. Apart from his desire for moral justice, it was in his own best interests to do so.
Walter Stoddard had insisted that if Brutus survived the twenty-one days, a substantial bonus would be added to Tom’s fee. The dollars should impress the senior partners in Jackson, Jones, and Gentry enough to elevate him to partner. And that promotion was what he wanted above all else.
Brutus had to live.
He watched her as she headed for the kitchen, unable to stop himself again from admiring the view. But when he saw what she brought back as a snack for the dog, all such thoughts fled. Alarmed, he stood up.
He looked at the pink-frosted cupcake in Maddy’s hand. He thought of the dog’s arteries. “Are you sure you should be giving that to Brutus?”
Maddy Cartwright’s smile was tight. “He’s got a serious sweet tooth. I want him to think it’s a human cupcake—like Walter used to give him for his birthdays. But this one is stuffed with grated apple, alfalfa, and dog vitamins.”
“As well as butter and sugar and eggs?”
“Eggs are good for dogs. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to poison him.”
“Uh. I didn’t say that.”
Damn! What was the matter with him? Where was his lawyer cool? He was getting confused here. There was something about this woman’s candid green eyes and lovely face that was turning his thoughts upside down.
“Come outside with me and check I don’t lace the cupcake with arsenic on the way, why don’t you,” she said, much too sweetly for the look of loathing she was casting his way.
“Yes, I will.Well, not to check up on you but to—” Mentally, Tom slammed himself on the side of the head. What a dumbass thing to say.
He followed it with worse. “But to meet Brutus.Yes, to meet Brutus. He is—in a manner of speaking—my client after all.”
Did that sound damn pompous or what? Why did being around this girl make his words come out so wrong? Was it because he was finding it impossible not to notice that her body-hugging T-shirt didn’t quite meet the top of her low-slung jeans and the gap revealed a few tantalizing inches of creamy skin? Or to keep from staring at the arching fullness of her mouth?
But Madeline Cartwright just looked at him with a smile so cool it was almost pitying.
“Brutus is trained to shake paws,” she said. “I’ll tell him to behave in a businesslike manner.”
Brutus. Great name for a dog. A German shepherd? Doberman? Not a Rottweiler, Tom hoped. Too big and unpredictable. After all, he’d be working with him for the next seventeen days. He’d like him to be a breed he felt happy with.
Damn! His fists clenched by his sides. This
was a dog he was talking about. A four-legged dumb animal. How had a corporate attorney fast-tracking to the top gotten mixed up with this weirdo will? And stuck with a dog named Brutus for a client?
Tom hadn’t studied any protocol regarding a canine client in law school. And nothing he’d learned since graduating had taught him how to handle the contradictory and much-too-appealing Madeleine Cartwright.
He had a feeling that the next seventeen days might not be as straightforward as he had imagined.
Three
Maddy was way too aware of Tom O’Brien following her out of her apartment. After all, six feet two inches of broad-shouldered hunk didn’t come knocking on her door every day.
She had a weakness for good-looking men. And Walter’s attorney—or was he Brutus’s attorney?—was so handsome he should have warning bells attached that went off when she found herself admiring him for longer than a second or two.
In her experience, excessively good-looking men were too interested in themselves to have anything much left over for the women in their lives. Next time around she’d be seeking out bald, tubby, glasses even. A man who would support her ambitions. And who she wouldn’t have to fight for space in front of the mirror.
But that didn’t stop her from appreciating a prime male specimen. Pity this one appeared to be so humorless and officious. Why had Walter picked an attorney like Mr. Takes-Himself-So-Seriously Tom O’Brien?
Mentally, she answered her own question. Because he was the son of Walter’s friend Helen O’Brien from his church. On the occasions Maddy had met Helen, the older woman had never failed to boast about her super-successful—and single—lawyer son.
Maybe Walter hadn’t realized what a stuffed shirt the boy wonder was when he’d decided to consult him for legal advice.
Maddy fought off an errant thought—Tom O’Brien’s shirt was actually stuffed with the most amazing muscles.The guy was built.
Not that she should be noticing. Or touching. Men had a nasty habit of getting in the way of what she wanted to achieve. And she wanted to achieve a lot.
Her plan was in place: step one, food editor on a glossy magazine; step two, her own television cooking show. Why not aim high? Right now she was getting the kind of career break she’d only ever dreamed of.
Love Is a Four-Legged Word Page 2
