What a Woman Wants (A Manley Maids Novel)

by Fennell, Judi

  But to rebuild the house for her . . . It just didn’t make sense.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, there. See? It is important.” Hetta smiled and squeezed her arm. “Your grandmother did care a great deal for you, even if she didn’t show it.”

  “Show it? She never even contacted me.”

  “She had her reasons, I’m sure.”

  “There is no reason to not contact your granddaughter.” Mrs. Manley crossed her arms. “Why, I couldn’t imagine one day without speaking to my grandchildren, let alone weeks.”

  “Years.” Livvy winced. She hadn’t meant to let her bitterness seep out.

  “Years?” Hetta and Dafna asked, their eyes wide.

  Livvy squinted. “Um . . . yeah. It was years. But that’s not important anymore. As you said, she was doing what she was capable of doing.” The fact that Livvy had wanted so much more wasn’t necessary to discuss.

  Matter of fact, she was darn near done discussing any of this. She’d had quite enough of this trip down Memory Lane so she jumped up to clear the table.

  Sean’s grandmother helped. “Lunch was delicious, but then, I didn’t expect any different. I love that pepper loaf you make. I made the boys try it when they came for dinner Thursday night. Sean really enjoyed it, didn’t you, dear?”

  Livvy looked up at him. Thursday night? That would have been the night he’d had plans. Plans that included his grandmother. Was there anything not to love about this guy?

  “You should taste her scones.” Sean replied, but the look he sent to her said he wasn’t talking about scones.

  She felt the blush wash over her again.

  Saw him notice it, too.

  Remembered what he’d said about it, and she got warm in a totally different way.

  “If your offer is still open, Olivia, Hetta and I would love a keepsake to remember Merri by,” said Dafna when she handed Livvy her lunch plate.

  “Of course.”

  “No,” said Sean at the same time.

  They all looked at him.

  “No?” His grandmother arched an eyebrow. No surprise that it was only the one. “I believe Livvy is the one who has the right to say how the contents of this house are disposed of.”

  Equally as puzzling as Sean’s reaction was his grandmother’s. Livvy appreciated the support, but she didn’t need it. She was going to give them something and there was nothing Sean could do to stop her.

  “Uh, you’re right, Gran.” He smiled at the ladies, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry. It’s just that, well, the estate should be preserved as is.” He looked at her and there was something in his eyes all right, but it wasn’t a smile. “Every piece of it has a story to tell. A clue to the past. You know how particular Mrs. Martinson was about this place. I doubt she’d want it dismantled.”

  “They’re not talking about dismantling it, dear.” His grandmother patted his arm. “They merely want a remembrance of her. Olivia did offer.”

  Livvy would love to take a picture of the moment. This big, tall, hunky guy who looked like he could walk into any room and own it—including one that his movie star brother was in—was backing down from a little old, gray-haired lady’s glare. It was almost comical.

  Almost because Livvy read between the lines of his little speech. He was worried she’d give away a clue, and while it was sweet of him to look out for her, it didn’t change her mind.

  “I did offer, and I meant it. Was there something particular you have in mind?” she asked them.

  They looked at each other, then smiled. “There were some lovely Lladró figurines from our birthday trip to Spain,” said Dafna.

  “I think that’s a lovely idea. I don’t see how a statue you bought recently could be a clue to the past.”

  Sean was trying to speak to her with his eyes as she led them out of the kitchen. Or rather, he was trying to yell at her with his eyes, but Livvy just smiled as if she didn’t have a clue what he was trying to say. Telling her guests no . . . As if he had the right to do that.

  Ah, but what if he did? What if it was just the two of you here and you made it permanent? You, him, the house, the whole she-bang. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted, Livs?

  She led the ladies toward the salon, hating that her conscience sounded like Sher because she had told Sher that was what she wanted. The ultimate dream: a normal relationship, a life together, maybe even children.

  Her tummy tingled at the thought of having babies with Sean. Had she found that guy? The one who could make her believe in happily-ever-after?

  She glanced back over her shoulder. He certainly looked like Prince Charming. Tall, dark, and gorgeous, funny, sweet, thoughtful, loved little old ladies and animals, with a great personality. Not to mention being an incredible lover.

  “It must be a big job keeping this place clean,” said Hetta. “Quite the enterprising young man you are, Sean, to hear your grandmother talk about you. In our day, no man would be caught dead with a feather duster.”

  “I don’t use a feather duster.”

  And he cleaned, too.

  Yup, having Sean Manley in her life just might make it perfect.

  But then Sean opened the French doors.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  SONOFA—!” Sean stared into the room. Not again.

  “Sonofabitch!” Orwell was perched atop the open door to the patio.

  “Oh, no,” said Gran.

  “Oh, my,” said Dafna.

  “Oh, dear,” said Hetta.

  “Actually, that’s a goat.” Sean wanted to groan. Why was Dodger in the salon? And how did he even know that was Dodger? And how had Orwell opened the damn door? That bird was looking a little too pleased with himself.

  “What have they done now?” Livvy slid past him, and for once, he was more aware of something other than her soft breasts brushing against his back and the scent of the lavender that would forever remind him of her—

  Okay, maybe he wasn’t more aware of the nightmare in the salon, but he definitely couldn’t ignore it.

  Dodger leapt onto the sideboard with a clatter of hooves. Thank God the top was marble so he wouldn’t damage it, but the crystal pieces on display . . .

  “Livvy, get your goat!”

  Livvy snorted as she ran past him. “You do know what that saying means, right?”

  “I don’t care what it means. You have to get the damn goat before he breaks something.” He looked at his grandmother. “Sorry for the language, Gran.”

  Gran waved his comment away. “I appreciate the apology, Sean, but save the crystal.”

  Sean smiled at her before he frowned at Dodger. And now Digger. Randy, too, and the other one. What was its name? How the hell had Orwell gotten them out of the barn and in here? And why?

  Livvy was trying to catch them, but the animals were using the furniture as their own personal mountain range and—hell. One of them jumped onto the fireplace mantle—the mantle that held Merriweather’s collection of crystal balls. Very fitting for a woman who wanted to control the future to collect instruments to see it, but he didn’t need one to know about the chunk they’d take out of the marble hearth below if one of them rolled off.

  Sean vaulted over an ottoman and righted the chair he almost knocked over, and would have done a sliding save onto the hearth if the ball the goat had knocked from its pedestal hadn’t snagged on something and stopped rolling toward the edge.

  Then Digger nudged it with his hoof.

  “Nooooooo!” Sean dove, bracing himself for the impact of hard, unforgiving marble.

  Instead, he landed on something soft. Bouncy.

  Feminine.

  “Oof!”

  Who, thank God, was still able to talk.

  “Would you please get off me?”

  “Are you ok
ay?” He rolled off her and brushed the curls off her face. “Livvy? Did I hurt you?”

  “No, but—oh my God—move!”

  Sean looked up as he rolled away to see the crystal ball careening toward him. He shoved out a hand and caught it at the last second, the force stinging his palm.

  “Good catch.” Gran waved at him.

  He smiled at her, a sick feeling in his stomach. If he hadn’t rolled out of the way, if he hadn’t landed on Livvy, she’d have gotten a bad crack on the head.

  Damn goat.

  He sat up and rubbed a hand through his hair. “You okay?”

  Livvy sat up, adjusting her blouse—yep, there was the camisole. “I’m going to have a nice bruise on my knee tomorrow, but other than that, I’m good.”

  Sean hopped to his feet and held out a hand, refusing to think about how good she was. Gran was here. That ought to be enough to put the freeze on his hormones.

  Then Livvy looked up from beneath her eyelashes, and Sean had to fight hard to remember that anyone but the two of them were here in this room.

  “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” He held her hand a little longer than was necessary because, yeah, it was his pleasure.

  And then the goat bleated, killing that moment.

  “How’d they get in here?”

  She pointed to the damn bird. “I told you that Orwell knows how to unlatch the doors. He must have gotten out of his cage. He likes to be around everyone. I shouldn’t have left him alone in my room so long.”

  Digger walked up beside Livvy on the mantle and leaned over to nibble her hair.

  Damn goat.

  Sean picked it up, ignoring its bleat of protest. And its butting head. “One down. Let’s round the rest of them up and get them back to the barn.”

  “Or, better yet.” Livvy poked her head out the door and whistled. “Davy? Come on, boy!”

  “What are you doing?” They didn’t need any more chaos in the room.

  “Trust me. Wait ’til you see what Davy can do. Put Digger down.”

  Sean was skeptical, but that changed when the poodle roared into the room and began rounding everyone up as if he were a border collie and they his sheep, er, goats.

  Digger and Randy and Bo came willingly enough, but Dodger was another story. He wasn’t having any of it, jumping from piece to piece to avoid the snippy little poodle.

  So Davy went after him, leaping onto the sofa, and then onto the back of it.

  Which he slipped off of.

  Sean once more found himself diving to catch something, but this time, he didn’t make it in time.

  Poor Davy paid the price.

  That leg didn’t look good.

  WHAT if he dies?” Livvy asked for the fourth time since they’d left the vet’s office hours later.

  Sean pulled his truck into the small lot at the back of the estate by the kitchen. “He’s not going to die. Dr. Carston knows what she’s doing. She said it was a simple fracture. Davy will be good as new in no time.”

  “But what if he doesn’t wake up from the anesthesia?”

  He turned off the ignition and faced her. “Livvy, don’t go borrowing trouble. This is a routine procedure.”

  “No, it’s not.” She shoved her hair behind her ears. “It’s not routine for a dog to break his leg chasing after a goat in the drawing room of a mansion. Don’t you see how not natural all of this is? How could I have even thought for a minute that I could stay here? They’re not used to this place and with all the upheaval in their lives . . . I promised them—and myself—some stability. Yet here I am, jumping to Merriweather’s demands and risking the safety and security I promised them when I adopted them.”

  Sean grasped her hands that were clenched in her lap. “Livvy, they’re animals. They’ll adapt. Don’t keep beating yourself up over it. Davy will be fine.”

  She yanked her hands away and raked them through her curls. “They’re not just animals, Sean. They’re my animals. I’m responsible for them and I don’t take my responsibilities lightly.”

  She didn’t say it, but he heard the unlike my parents and suddenly, he understood. This went far beyond a broken leg. This spoke to who she was, what shaped her, what her hopes and dreams were. Livvy needed stability. She needed someone there for her who would give her the security she needed. She needed someone looking out for her, caring about her, who’d be there for the long haul. He had no business starting an affair he couldn’t finish. And as for stealing her inheritance . . .

  It was his turn to rake his hands through his hair. A no-win situation.

  He pulled out his cell phone and called the vet’s office. “Hi. I was just in with Livvy Carolla and the poodle with the broken leg. Please have Dr. Carston give Livvy a call when Davy’s awake.” He thanked the receptionist, then ended the call. “Okay? Nothing more we can do tonight. Let’s go in and I’ll make you something to eat. You look pretty wiped out.”

  “Thanks, but I’m going to head out to the barn. I need to make sure they’re all right.”

  He didn’t argue with her. She wasn’t going out to see if the animals were all right; she was going to out to make sure she was all right.

  “Want me to come with you?”

  For a second there was a flash of something in her eyes, but then she shook her head. “No. I need some time alone with them.”

  He brushed her hair off her shoulder. “Okay. But if you need me, just call.”

  She promised she would and headed to the barn, stumbling over the brick in the path that he hadn’t yet fixed. Sean reached out to catch her for a brief moment before she was on her way—a metaphor, he was afraid, for their entire relationship.

  That was it. Things had to change. Which meant that he had some calls to make.

  Chapter Thirty

  LIVVY didn’t come to bed last night.

  It was Sean’s first thought on waking up alone and it felt wrong.

  He bypassed a shower and pulled on shorts and a T-shirt before heading downstairs and out to the barn.

  He never made it that far.

  She was asleep in the salon, her menagerie around her. Well, the dogs and Reggie were, and they didn’t look all that comfortable smashed up against her.

  Livvy, however, looked sexy as hell. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders as if he’d spent the night running his fingers through it. There was one curl across her lips that puffed every time she exhaled. Her lips were pursed, and her long lashes rested against her cheeks as if pointing to each and every adorable freckle. One leg was curled up over Ringo—lucky dog—and she’d draped an arm over Petra, her fingers brushing Reggie’s back as the pig slept on the floor, his bells tinkling softly with each breath.

  “Sonofabitch.”

  And Orwell was on the back of the sofa, his head stuffed under his wing, muttering in his sleep.

  Livvy stirred and opened her beautiful eyes. It took a few seconds for her to wake up, but when she did . . . whoa. That smile. He could wake up to that smile for the rest of his life.

  “Good morning.” Her voice was husky with sleep and it took Sean a few moments to be able to respond because he was still stuck on the rest of his life comment.

  “Hi.”

  “I, uh, fell asleep here.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I got in late.”

  “I know.” Because he’d listened for her.

  “It was . . . peaceful in the barn.”

  He walked over to the sofa and nudged Ringo so he could sit down. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Livvy. It’s your house.”

  She disentangled herself from the dogs, her bare leg brushing his, and every cell in his body went on high alert. More so when she swept her mane of hair back over her head in a sexy cascade of curls.

  “What would you think if I stay
ed here?”

  That got his attention off her. “Stayed here? In this house? As in, don’t sell?”

  She nodded. “I know it’s really big and needs a lot of upkeep, but I’ve been thinking about what the ladies said yesterday. How Merriweather went to all that trouble with the kitchen and what she’s trying to do with this treasure hunt, and, well, I’m wondering if I’m being too quick to want to cash out. It might be kind of nice living here. I don’t have to worry about the roof leaking and the barn . . . It’s perfect for everyone. And the lake . . . the geese would love it. I could build a shelter for them on the island and they’d have the whole place to themselves. It’s at least three times as big as the pond back home that they share with all the other birds. I could build Rhett and Scarlett a big outdoor pen, and the dogs already love the yard.”

  “And this room. Don’t forget how much they all love this room.”

  “True.” She laughed and her smile socked him in the gut.

  So did the idea of her actually staying in the house. He hadn’t expected that. She’d been so adamant about leaving that he’d never considered for a minute that she’d want to stay.

  So much for all the calls he’d made last night to sell his last B&B. A couple of people expressed interest and hadn’t balked at his asking price. If he got it, he could actually pull this deal off if Livvy inherited and wanted to sell. He’d been hopeful. Now, however . . . If he sold his place and she decided not to sell hers, he’d be back to square one, with nothing. “So you’re really thinking of staying?”

  “It’s still in the weighing-the pros-and-cons stage. I’m not counting anything out yet. I’ll miss everyone on the co-op, but, really, there’s no reason for me to live there anymore when there’s a waiting list of people who want to move in. It’s only fair since I’ll have so much. Hey, maybe I could make this place a co-op. We’ve certainly got the acreage for it.”