by J. M. Madden
Without acknowledging the glance, Sarah turned and led the way around the garage to the dog pen. Looking at it today, she could see it was probably at least a half-acre in size. His generosity astounded her. Once again she was glad she had refused all that money for the portrait. How much had he invested just to get her here? Although she hadn’t seen the amended contract yet, she felt sure he would do right by her and try to abide by her wishes.
Gracie was fascinated by the enclosure and when Sarah let her off the leash to explore she actually seemed unsure at first but she was sniffing her way from post to post in no time. Sarah settled Gracie’s bed into the dog house with room to spare and returned to Mr. Gallagher, who stood outside the fence watching the dog curiously. All of the toys in the basket were thrown into the pen, then the basket and the half bag of dog food were placed in the corner of the garage. When they left, Gracie had just settled into a cool patch of shade.
Happy that Gracie was enjoying into the fanciest dog run she’d ever see, Sarah tried to thank Mr. Gallagher once again, but he waved her words off with a negligent hand, deftly changing the subject.
“Victoria will be here this evening, so you have the day to settle in and get used to the house. Please let the staff know if you are lacking anything. I want you to be comfortable while you are here.”
Smiling, Sarah looked up at the imposing mansion and even though she felt a bit dubious about some things, she spoke with conviction, “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Following Mr. Gallagher back around to the front of the garage, Sarah found that her Jeep had been unpacked and moved to one of the empty bays. Climbing the steps into the house, she hoped he would not just hand her off to one of the servants. Her hopes were answered as he led her down a long, cool hallway to the left and into a totally glassed-in solarium full of tropical plants. Sarah raised her eyes to the glass roof and closed her eyes contentedly. She noticed her painting supplies were placed on a wrought iron bench just inside the room.
“Oh,” she breathed. “This will be wonderful, thank you. The light is perfect.” The balmy heat in the room was relaxing after the air-conditioned chill of the house. A huge indoor pond gurgled in the corner, with a small waterfall running into it. Looking inside, she saw several large Koi fish swimming lazily in the water. Sarah had a strong suspicion that although she had not yet met Victoria, this was where she wanted to do the portrait. Her fingers itched for her pencils and pad and the solitude to sketch. Ideas were already floating through her mind, and alternatives for how to implement them. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was only a little after one; evening, and the arrival of her subject, seemed a long ways away.
Glancing back, she found Mr. Gallagher watching her intently, as if awaiting an answer. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“I asked if you were ready to see your room.”
Sarah nodded and turned from the solarium reluctantly as she followed Mr. Gallagher through the set of French doors back into the house proper. At the foyer, he led her up the wide oak stairway, past several more portraits. They appeared to be more of the Gallagher family tree, with the same dark coloring as her boss. She stopped at the top of the riser, studying a particularly striking portrait of an impeccably dressed older gentleman who looked remarkably like Mr. Gallagher.
“Is this your father?” she asked.
Nodding his head, Mr. Gallagher did not say anything; just let her look at the picture. Sarah thought of the portrait of Clayton Gallagher’s late brother above the mantle in the drawing room. Robert’s countenance and arrogant expression were obviously inherited from his father. They had exactly the same expression and demeanor, as if the world was theirs and everybody else needed to step aside. Glancing at Mr. Gallagher, she tried to put her finger on what it was about him that was different from the other two, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Maybe it was the shape of the jaw, or perhaps the nose. Both the senior Gallagher and Robert had light brown, almost golden eyes. Mrs. Gallagher was blond with brown eyes. Clayton was the odd duck, with light, penetrating blue-gray eyes.
“Were you and Robert full brothers?” Sarah knew what she asked was probably rude, but she couldn’t help herself. She had a feeling she already knew the answer.
After a long, considering pause, Mr. Gallagher shook his head. “No, we were not full brothers. My father had an affair with one of his secretaries and I was the product of that union. My birth mother died when I was two, and I was taken in by my father.” Suddenly defensive, he once again crossed his arms over his chest, as if daring her to say something about his revelation. Sarah merely nodded her head.
“I could tell something was different, but couldn’t tell exactly what. You don’t look as much like your father or brother as it seems at first glance.”
Turning away from the portrait, she waited for him to lead her to her room.
*
Clayton was stunned. It was one of the greatest humiliations of his life that he was not a full-blooded Gallagher, but she accepted it calmly, merely noting that he did not look exactly like his brother, the real Gallaghers. If she knew what it meant in our circle, in my world, she would not be so accepting, he thought to himself. He had never let anyone know that piece of information before because he it would be used against him. His stepmother would kill him herself if she found out he had told somebody outside of the family. Clayton didn’t understand why he had told her at all. Perhaps you’ve grown weary of the subterfuge.
When he was a child, he had yearned for a loving family like the ones he had read about in books or seen on television when he was allowed to watch. He had been closest to his brother of all of them, but the twelve-year age gap was not so easily overcome and they had never really been especially close.
Gerald, his father, had been an overwhelming, domineering presence in his life, constantly striving for perfection and demanding the same from his wife and sons. At the age of eight, Clayton had overheard an argument between his mother and father, and the world as he knew it had fallen apart. His ‘mother’ had been screaming at his father that she didn’t want to have to take care of the ‘little bastard’ anymore, and why should she have to take care of his ‘infidelity’. Big words that he didn’t really understand, but he had somehow known that they were talking about him. His father had yelled back ‘because I expect you to’ and ‘he’s only eight. How much trouble can he be, for God’s sake’? At that point he knew he was not a true Gallagher, not like Robert was. And Jillian was not his mother, as he had believed for eight years, but his stepmother. It was almost a relief to know he was not related to her. The next day, Clayton had gathered his courage and approached his father in the den to ask him who his real mother was. His father had glared across the desk and told Clayton, ‘It doesn’t matter. She’s dead.’ Within hours, one of the maids informed him he was going away to school and started packing up his things. Three days later, he was in a dorm room at an English boarding school, without a single word of goodbye from any member of his family. He would go home for occasional holidays or breaks, but for the most part, he stayed in England until his mid-twenties, when he completed his MBA at Oxford. A monthly stipend was deposited into his account like clockwork and the only regular contact he had from the family was the requisite monthly telephone call to his father, updating him on his school career. As expected, he started on the bottom rung at Clarion directly after graduation, in a minor executive position and began working his way up.
Gerald Gallagher had died from a massive coronary when Clayton was thirty. When Clayton returned to Hillcroft the day of the funeral, his stepmother had informed him the hours of the viewing and told him he needed to be present for the reading of the will directly thereafter. No condolences or tears for the husband she had been married to for nearly forty-five years, just barebones practicalities. Security and money were what mattered most to her, always had been. Everyone had been shocked when Clayton had inherited the house, its contents and a few smaller properties i
n the area, along with a promotion to Vice-President of Operations at Clarion.
Robert had been ecstatic, because he had been immediately promoted to President with the board’s approval, and received his father’s shares of stock in the company. Hillcroft House had no interest for him. By that time he had made a home for himself, his wife Andrea, and their daughter closer to the city. Robert had also been given several prime pieces of real estate, estimated at several hundred million dollars in downtown Manhattan. There was no animosity between the brothers, though, and they had always worked well together.
Jillian, on the other hand, had been livid, and still carried a grudge. Not only had Gerald not left her the house she had lived in for forty-five years, he had given her a lump sum of five million dollars, with an additional yearly stipend. She did get the chateau in France in her own name, but what she had really wanted the Greenwich house. The chateau, although beautiful, would not keep her in the social world to which she had become accustomed and had no intention of giving up.
Clayton tried to smooth things over with his stepmother, but she had not wanted to listen to a word he had to say. Eventually, it sank in that she did not have to move out, and that she could stay as long as she wanted or needed. He now regretted that offer, because she never left and showed no signs of ever doing so.
Jillian had contested the will, but Gerald Gallagher had never been a stupid man. His lawyers worked for him for a reason; they were the best. There were no loopholes to be found in Gerald’s will, as a result Jillian was left frustrated and vengeful. And in Clayton’s house. Clayton could not bring himself to evict his own ‘mother’ from the house she had lived in her entire married life, so he put up with her tantrums and insults and he allowed her to continue to use the no-limit credit card she’d had while married to Gerald; basically, to carry on with her life as she had before Gerald had died. The only real difference was that he was footing the bill now rather than his father.
Clayton found himself still standing at the top of the staircase, with Sarah looking up at him with her head tilted and a beautiful, gentle smile on her tempting lips. Before he could guard himself, he felt a smile spread across his own lips. How could he be thinking such depressing thoughts with this beautiful woman standing before him? Sarah’s smile broadened when he smiled, and they found themselves standing there grinning at each other like idiots. Abruptly, angrily, Clayton turned and led the way to her room. What the hell was he thinking, standing there like that?
By the time he led her into the suite next door to his own, he’d clamped down on his emotions. After Sarah had left yesterday, he had Faust prepare this room, rather than the one in the other wing Marianne had readied. Clayton really did not believe he was a masochist until he came into contact with Sarah Tyler. Although he knew better, he found he could not help but try to take advantage of the situation as much as he could, including simple proximity to her.
“Oh, this is beautiful.” Sarah went from corner to corner of the sitting room, and then passed into the bedroom proper. The mauve and cream lace color scheme was exceptionally feminine, and seemed to suit her perfectly. Running a hand over the pale pink comforter, she settled her shapely bottom on the bed and leaned back on her arms, testing the firmness. The position presented her breasts delectably, and the comforter color framed her as if that was what it was supposed to do. Clayton could feel the blood surging through his veins. He felt himself hardening and turned away in desperation.
Normally, he liked slim, stately blondes, but as soon as he saw Sarah’s gently rounded shape, he couldn’t think of anything else. She was so completely different than what he was used to. Dreams were no longer an escape, but a torment. During the day he found himself gazing off at nothing, but imagining Sarah doing all things with him and, even better, to him. And even though she was curvier than most of the women he associated with, she was by far, the most secure in herself. From what he had seen of Sarah Tyler, she liked her body, liked who she was and what she did with her life, and her cheerful confidence displayed all that self-assurance to the world.
Feeling her beside him, he waved a hand out the window, attempting to settle on safer ground. “You can see your dog from here.”
Sarah leaned a bit closer, peered out the window and saw Gracie batting her basketball around with her paws. “She seems to be settling in fine. Thank you so much for making us welcome. I will try very hard to stay out of Mrs. Gallagher’s way.”
Clayton nodded his head, clasping one wrist with the other hand in front of him. The earnestness in her bright green eyes was not feigned. Perhaps that was one of the things that drew him to her, was her apparent lack of guile.
“I think that would be best,” he conceded. “Come down to dinner tonight and I will introduce you properly. Victoria and her mother Andrea should be here by then.”
“Okay.” Sarah smiled gamely, trying not to let her trepidation show.
“I will leave you until then.”
Sarah nodded her head and he made his escape. Slipping into his own suite, he finally relaxed, and adjusted himself in his pants. This simply would not do. He couldn’t possibly function if he didn’t get himself under control. It was hard enough keeping the woman off his mind when he had never met her, and now he would be seeing her every day and night. What the hell had he done to himself?
*
Sarah lay back on the scrumptious four-poster bed and sighed. What a beautiful room. And what a wonderful man. He was doing his damnedest to try to keep her at arm’s length, but it just was not working. Shame on her for messing with him, sitting down and stretching out on the bed like that. The interest was definitely there—on both their parts, it seemed—it was just a question of getting him to act on it.
Mrs. Gallagher seemed to be sadly lacking as a mother. There was no warmth there at all. Sarah could not imagine talking to her own mother like that, or vice versa. Other than the occasional spat, quickly sparked and just as quickly forgiven, her family had always been respectful of each other.
Sarah thought back to his revelation on the stairs. In this day and age, being illegitimate didn’t carry the stigma it once did. But she could see that Clayton Gallagher had been raised with a narrower acceptance, and it was obviously a very sore point to him. The fact that he told her at all amazed her. Illegitimacy was not something one just dropped into casual conversation. Maybe in his own way, Clayton was reaching out to her. Testing her. If he had expected her to her to run for the hills, he was sorely mistaken. Sarah only cared about illegitimacy if it was hurtful to that person, and for no other reason. Other than in a professional capacity, her work ethic and her paintings, she cared little what other people thought of her.
Before she knew what was happening, Sarah’s eyes drifted closed.
Chapter Four
‡
She awoke several hours later to someone tapping gently on her door. Glancing at her wristwatch, Sarah hopped out of bed and ran to answer the door. It was one of the maids, Marianne. Mr. Gallagher had introduced her in passing when they went through the house earlier. Sarah had liked the young woman immediately¸ because she appeared to be about the same age and seemed to have a cheerful outlook. A friendly smile brightened her broad face now.
“I didn’t know if you were coming down to dinner or not, but I thought I would check. I’m sorry if I woke you, Miss Tyler.”
Sarah waved a hand. “Don’t bother with the Miss, just Sarah is fine. And you woke me up, but that’s a good thing, I didn’t even mean to go to sleep. I have just enough time to run a comb through my mop and find something to wear.” She was already running her fingers through the tangles.
Marianne did a little whole body bob thing and nodded her head.
“Do you remember how to get there?” she asked. “Mrs. Gallagher prefers to have dinner at seven on the dot.”
“I remember. Thank you.”
Marianne bobbed again and turned away, with a ‘no problem, miss’ tossed over her shoulder
.
Sarah closed the door and went quickly back into the bedroom to get dressed. Someone, probably Marianne, had hung up her clothes in the closet across from the bathroom before she even got in the room, she noticed. And all of her toiletries were lined up on the white marble vanity, very precisely. It was strange being taken care of this way, nice but strange.
Dressing was easier than she anticipated. Everything in the closet was nicely hung up, with no wrinkles, oddly enough. Had they actually ironed everything, too? Sarah pulled out a blue button-up shirt dress and a pair of tan sandals. She put on her favorite silver hoop earrings and a necklace that she thought went together nicely. She kept her make up to a minimum, just a touch of eye shadow and some lip color; stepped into her dress, slid on her sandals and she was good to go.
Sarah walked out into the hallway at five minutes till and almost ran into Mr. Gallagher coming in on her left. The button down dress shirt he’d worn earlier was now under a suit jacket and tie. His dark, springy hair was damp and freshly combed, and very appealing. Sarah could tell he had just recently shaved, because there was a small blood spot on his left jaw. Without a second thought she reached up and removed it with her hand, rubbing it away. Pale gray eyes flared with heat but he merely pulled back a bit, out of reach.