Katherine didn’t even lift an eyebrow. She just kept on unpacking her things.
“How do you expect to catch a man wearing underwear like this?” Stacy held up one of Katherine’s sensible white panties.
Katherine gave her a long, level look. “I tend to keep my underwear beneath my clothes. It has nothing whatsoever to do with my ability to catch men.” Should she even want such a thing.
“Not true.” Stacy spun the panties around on her finger. “My father’s single, right?”
Katherine knew where this was heading. “This doesn’t—”
“And he’s a total babe, right?”
“Stacy, really, I’d prefer not to—”
“It’s a simple yes or no question, and we both know the answer is yes. Yes, he’s a babe. As least as far as old guys go. This is an undisputable fact. I mean, just look at the man. He could be a movie star.”
Katherine conceded. “All right. Yes. Your father’s quite handsome. But I don’t see what this has to do with—”
“Your underwear?” Stacy finished for her. “But it does. Answer this for me. You’re going to be living in this house for about a month and a half. In the same house Trey lives in. Has the thought even occurred to you that you should hit on him?”
“Hit on your father?” Katherine couldn’t help but laugh as she hung the few dresses she’d brought in the spacious closet. “No, it definitely hasn’t occurred to me. Good grief.”
“So in other words what you’re saying is that you look at him, and you see an extremely attractive man that you know is single and completely filthy rich, and it hasn’t even occurred to you that he might be even potential husband material?”
Katherine tried to lower the heat under the frying pan she was currently sitting in. “It’s just not that simple, Stacy. Not everyone is looking for a husband.”
“You are.” Stacy didn’t leave any room for doubt in her voice. “Look at you. Puppies and babies. You love ’em, right? You probably even have little pink flowers on your nightie.” She started opening the dresser drawers to find the nightie in question, but Katherine leaned against the dresser, holding the drawers shut.
Stacy was undaunted. She gave up trying to open the drawers, but didn’t give up on the conversation. “You want a ring and a wedding gown and Prince Charming. You want happily ever after.”
Katherine watched as Stacy flopped onto the big four-poster bed that sat in the middle of the official nanny’s bedroom. “Is that so awful?” she asked the girl.
“For you?” Stacy made a face. “No way. If it’s what you want, well, good luck. I hope someday you even have twins. Your problem isn’t that you want to get married. Your problem is that you look at guys like Daddy—like Trey—and you automatically assume they’re out of your league. And, this is where we get back to where we started, it’s all because you wear really boring underwear.”
“Well,” Katherine said. “Okay. You’ve truly lost me there.” Maybe it was time to go find Douglas.
Stacy sat up. “Look at it this way. You’re standing here, right? Wearing that old dull underwear. And Trey walks in. And you have a conversation, but nothing happens. Nothing sparks because your underwear is so sensible. The entire time you’re talking, you’re thinking, I’m the nanny, there’s no way he’d go for someone like me.”
For a thirteen-year-old, Stacy was amazingly astute. Still…It was definitely time to go find Doug. “I think this conversation has—”
“Now imagine what might happen if, instead of that dull old boring white underwear, you were wearing something with a green-and-peacock-paisley print? Something made of silk and lace? Something fabulously interesting.”
“Stacy, that’s enough. Stop.”
“I’m about to make my point. This entire conversation has been leading to this very moment. You’re not really going to shut me up now, are you?”
Katherine looked into the girl’s widened brown eyes. She knew she was being manipulated, but she shook her head. “Make your point. God help me.”
“You know that old saying—God helps those who help themselves? That’s what I’m trying to do here. I’m trying to help you help yourself.”
“Is that your point?” Katherine asked. “Because if it’s not, cut to it. Now.”
“Okay.” Stacy stood up. “Here you are. Wearing your nanny clothes the way you are.”
Katherine looked down at the skirt and top she was wearing—it was one of her favorite and most comfortable outfits. Nanny clothes. Right.
“But this time,” Stacy continued, “what if you’re wearing some really amazing underwear underneath? Trey comes in, and you’re right, he doesn’t see your underwear, he doesn’t have a clue you’ve got it on. But you know. And the entire time you’re talking to him, you’re thinking about how good you look in that underwear. And all of a sudden he’s not out of your league because you are as good as it gets. And instead of being nervous and shy, you give him a little attitude, a little extra something in your smile. And before he knows it, he’s asking you to dinner. And that’s why you should burn all that boring underwear right away.”
Katherine just stood there, gazing at Stacy. “Well,” she finally said. “I’ll take it under advisement, thanks. Any ideas where Doug might be?”
“Don’t you want a chance for a rebuttal?” The girl really was remarkably bright. And her point really did make quite a lot of sense.
Given the assumption that Katherine would want Trey Sutherland to ask her to dinner.
And that was a very big assumption.
Katherine was here to find Bill Lewis—not to “catch” Trey Sutherland. Or even dine with him.
“No,” Katherine said. “I’ll pass on the rebuttal, thanks.”
Stacy shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She’d been carrying a skateboard when she first came in, and she took it with her, setting it down on the floor in the hallway.
As Katherine watched, the girl stepped onto it, and giving herself a push with one foot, headed down the corridor, the wheels making a soft whirring sound against the wood. “Isn’t that more of an out-of-doors activity?” Katherine asked.
Stacy shrugged again. “This place is so big, and Trey doesn’t care. Doggie’s probably in the playroom,” she added as she rolled away.
Katherine gave an experimental whistle.
The playroom was empty—or at least it appeared to be empty.
But wherever Doug had gone, it couldn’t have been far. The TV was on, and that same videotape was playing. Lady and the Tramp. An excellent choice for a boy who liked to pretend he was a dog.
She turned off both the TV and the tape, and whistled again. Louder this time.
And there he was. A little pointy chin. A delicately heart-shaped face. Two brown eyes. Peeking out at her from behind the draperies.
As a boy, he was too painfully shy even to face her. But dogs simply weren’t shy. And as a dog, he could watch her rather intently.
Katherine sat down on the floor, glad she’d taken the time to change into her new blue jeans, glad she’d bought the ones that were stonewashed and already faded and soft. She opened the bag she’d brought with her, and took out the squeaky toy she’d picked up on her way to the estate.
It was a cartoon-looking pig, with a really goofy smile, holding a soccer ball, of all things.
She held it out, squeaking it, and like any self-respecting dog, Douglas bounded toward her.
Katherine lifted the toy up, out of his reach. “Sit,” she said firmly, holding out her other hand, forefinger pointing, as if she were addressing a real dog.
Doug sat back on his haunches, looking fixedly at the toy.
Katherine slowly lowered the toy, holding it out for him to sniff. She reached out with her other hand and lightly touched his head, ruffling his hair, scratching behind his ears.
He looked at her then. He met and held her gaze—something he was too timid to do without hiding behind this game of make-believe.
“My name is Kathy,
” she told him. “Remember me from yesterday? I’m going to help take care of you for the next few weeks.”
He didn’t say a word, but then again, she hadn’t expected him to. Dogs didn’t talk.
He was such a sweet little thing. And he was a little thing, just a scrap of a boy, really. He’d only been three when his mother died. There was no way he could possibly have understood where she had gone, why she had gone away.
“Come here, puppy.” He was so small, Katherine could easily pick him up. And she pulled him into her arms. “Every puppy needs some snuggling, don’t you think?”
He didn’t put his arms around her neck, but he didn’t resist, either. He leaned closer, and she just sat with him on her lap, content to hold him as long as he let her.
Which, considering that he was in truth a small boy, was longer than she would have expected, but not overly long.
He pulled free from her, the squeaky toy in his mouth. Dropping the toy in front of her, he backed away. If he’d had a tail, it would have been wagging.
“What do you want?” Katherine asked. She knew full well, she simply wanted to see if she could coax a word or two out of him.
But he didn’t speak. He simply pushed the toy closer to her with his nose.
She played along. After all, she had managed to give him a hug—something she suspected she’d never have gotten away with if she’d treated Doug like a boy.
First, Stacy had come into Katherine’s room to talk while she’d unpacked. Then Doug had actually let her touch him.
Today, she was going to be content with very, very small victories.
“Do you want to play fetch?” she asked Doug.
He barked happily.
Katherine tossed the little toy out into the room, and Doug scrambled for it, picking it up in his teeth and carrying it back to her on all fours.
He dropped it into Katherine’s hands. “Good dog,” she enthused. “What a good—”
“What is this?”
Trey Sutherland was standing in the playroom door, his face like a thundercloud.
Doug vanished. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone. Faster even than she could blink, he was back behind the drapes.
Oh dear, and they’d been doing so well.
“We’re getting to know each other,” Katherine told Trey.
“I’d like it a lot better if you could manage to get to know Douglas the boy, not Douglas the dog.”
Well. Talk about chilly receptions. Trey Sutherland couldn’t have sounded any colder if he’d tried.
Katherine glanced at the lump behind the drapery. “We should have this conversation elsewhere.”
“I don’t have a dog—I have a son. The conversation’s over. There’s nothing more to say.”
“You may have nothing more to say, sir, but I haven’t even started.” Although Katherine rarely had cause to use it, her royal upbringing in Wynborough had included learning to put plenty of frost in one’s voice. But she didn’t use it again, at this moment. Instead, she opted for earnestness. “Perhaps we could move to the privacy of your office?”
As she’d suspected, earnest took her a whole lot farther than frosty would have.
“That is,” she added with a smile, “if you’re up for the five-mile hike.”
Some of Trey’s own chill dissipated. “It’s not that far. But if you want, we could go somewhere closer.”
Her own room was nearby, but it would hardly be proper to invite him there, even though she had a suite that included an outer sitting room. She might have suggested it innocently enough a half hour ago—before Stacy started in with all that talk about her underwear. But now…
She was aware of that underwear right now—plain and white and nothing special beneath her jeans and turtleneck sweater.
Did she honestly think Trey Sutherland was out of her league?
Hardly—in terms of power and wealth and social standing. In fact, they were nearly perfectly matched. He was one of the richest men in the American Southwest, and she was Wynborough royalty.
However, in terms of romance, passion, lust and burning desire…Well, there was no doubt about it. When it came to attractiveness, Trey Sutherland was a fifteen on a scale from one to ten, and she, on her very, very best day, was merely a four. It wasn’t that she was unattractive. She simply was…nothing special.
Exactly like her underwear.
Good grief.
She forced a smile, and knew without a doubt that it had—like that blasted underwear—positively no attitude.
“No, let’s go to your office,” she said to Trey. “A brisk hike while I gather my thoughts might be perfect. I’ll be back later, Douglas,” she announced, with one last glance at the lump behind the drapes.
Trey was smiling crookedly as he led the way into the corridor. He didn’t smile often, but even his halfway, crooked almost-smile had ten thousand times the charisma hers ever did. And when his mouth was set in his default expression—a slightly tense, slightly grim line, well, then he positively smoldered with sexuality and intensity.
Katherine had never smoldered in her entire life. And it was nearly assured that she would go to her grave having never smoldered once.
Oh, yes. Trey Sutherland was so far out of Katherine’s league, it wasn’t even funny.
“How many rooms do you have here, exactly?” she asked as they headed toward the main wing and his office.
“Too many.”
“Whatever possessed you to buy this place? I mean, it’s absolutely lovely, don’t misunderstand,” she quickly added. “But—”
“But, it’s huge,” he finished for her. “When I first bought it, it was huge and crumbling, too. The owner was going to tear it down, but I persuaded him to sell to me. It’s actually a building with some historical significance. The Beatles spent a weekend here back in 1968.”
Katherine laughed. “And here I was thinking it was historically significant because it had been built by some Mexican bandito.”
“You’re almost right,” he told her. “Although he wasn’t a Mexican, he was American. He originally came from Syracuse, New York. And while he wasn’t officially a bandito, he was definitely a cattle rustler and horse thief, and, although it’s not substantiated, I suspect a few railroad payrolls padded his bank account, too. He made his fortune in Texas, and settled here in New Mexico to stay out of sight of all those Rangers he’d made as enemies during his five-year crime spree. Let me tell you, Kathy, only in America could a thief have a street named after him.”
“Some Americans do seem to have a place in their hearts for the legendary bad guys of the old West—although I think it’s just admiration for the rebel. Respect for the men and women who have cheated the rules and won—or better yet, beaten the system.” Katherine glanced at Trey. “This particular thief, was his name one I would recognize?”
“Oh, yeah. His name was Sutherland. Henry Sutherland. And yes, he was my great-great—I don’t even know how many greats—grandfather.”
“Oh, my.”
Trey smiled. “He was a gambler and lost his entire fortune—including this house—by the time he was forty. His son, Ford, was a gambler, too, and when he was twenty, he made enough money to buy back the house, but the owner carried a grudge and wouldn’t sell. Apparently Henry had played fast and loose with other women, including the new owner’s wife. He spent at least one illicit afternoon that came back to bite him hard on the rump.”
“Oh, dear.”
“You bet. Ford met an untimely end at the hands of a gunslinger who may or may not have been Billy the Kid—local legend says yes, but it’s never been proven and probably never will. He’s buried up on the hill, overlooking the house. I bought that land, too, about ten years ago. Ford’s money was lost, but about forty years later, his grandson made a fortune selling bootleg liquor during Prohibition. This Sutherland’s name was Ellery, and he tried to buy this house back, too—probably to use as a speakeasy. He got as far as a verbal agree
ment with the owner…who died before it could be put into writing. A nephew from Chicago inherited.
“He had plans of his own for the house, and wouldn’t sell. He turned it into a hotel, which is why there are so many bathrooms, and why the Beatles stayed here, too. It was a solid, prosperous business until the 1970s when the nephew died, and left the place to his two sons. The sons lived in L.A., and put the place in the hands of a manager who couldn’t even begin to handle the upkeep with the budget he was given. So the place started to crumble.
“My father—his name was Arthur—he tried to buy it next, but he had cash flow problems when the stock market crashed, and he couldn’t swing the deal. He died a few years later.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“He might’ve survived the cancer, but he didn’t survive the chemotherapy. He got an infection, and…Still, sometimes I think his wanting this house was what kept him alive so many extra months.”
“So you bought the place, when?”
“Not long after that. The year Stacy was born.” Trey pushed open the door to his office and flipped on the light. “I didn’t really want the damn thing. But when I heard it was going to be torn down—somehow that just seemed wrong. I actually had fun fixing it up.”
Trey Sutherland and fun weren’t two concepts Katherine could visualize together very well.
“Now I love the place. I really liked looking at all these old photos of the way the house used to be,” he continued. “Then, ripping out all the god-awful green shag carpeting and peace-sign wallpaper was reaffirming on all levels.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Yeah. ‘Oh, dear’ is right.” He crossed to a bar, built into the wall. “Soda?”
“No, thanks, I’m fine.”
So. Now they were here. In Trey’s office with the door tightly shut behind them. Katherine slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, hoping the stance made her look relaxed and casual. If such a thing were even possible.
“Thank you for telling me about the house,” she ventured. “It’s fascinating. And now, after all that time, a Sutherland finally has it back.”
He carried a can of soda toward his desk. “Yeah—it’s almost as if you can hear the collective sighs of all those generations of haunted spirits. I’ve gotta hope if they’re walking these halls, maybe my being here makes them rest a little easier.” He changed the subject without missing a beat. “It’s probably good that we’re taking some time to talk about Doug—and Stacy, too. You wouldn’t know it at times, but Stace can get really fierce when it comes to Dougie. If he’s at all threatened, she’s like this little she-bear, ready to rip out the attacker’s throat.” He gestured toward his leather-covered chairs. “Sit. Please.”
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