by Zoe Chant
"Well, son," Darius said hastily, "best be getting back to the mansion—"
"Oh no you don't!" Tessa called, fixing him with a glare that felt like being nailed down with a harpoon. As she picked her way barefoot across the yard, Darius tried to think why that seemed so familiar, and then he realized it was just about exactly how Loretta had been looking at him after he'd told her they were meant to be together forever.
These two women, he decided, must never, ever meet.
"Sorry, hon," Ben said when she was close enough. He put an arm around her and kissed her forehead.
"You don't owe me an apology. You can't pick your family, and I don't hold you responsible for this mannerless clod." She gave Darius a sweet smile. "Skye's teething, and we were up with her all night. Since she's now awake again, how would you like to spend some quality time with your grandchild?"
"Er ..." he began, but he had no choice: Skye Melody Keegan had just been deposited into his arms. She stared up at him, wrinkling her little nose. Darius stared down at her.
Ben patted him on the back. "Have fun babysitting, Dad."
"Wait!" Darius tried to juggle the baby in his arms into a position that was more comfortable for both of them. "I can't babysit. I am in the middle of something!"
Ben still had his arm around his mate; he turned her around and steered her toward the house. "It can only help," he said over his shoulder. "Women love men with babies, I've heard."
"Some women do," Darius muttered, looking down at his infant granddaughter, who had settled down in a contented kind of way.
Did Loretta even like children? She worked with them, so she must. Perhaps this would work out after all.
"How would you like to help me out, little one?" he asked the baby.
Skye gurgled cheerfully.
"Yes, that's what I thought. I have a job for you. Do you want to help me woo my mate?"
"Maaaa!" the baby said.
"Er ... yes. Exactly."
Darius shifted with a great deal more care than usual, transitioning gradually to an upright posture in his dragon shape, sitting on his back legs with the baby held in his enormous forepaws. One paw was adequate, but he put the other on top of her to make sure the wind didn't blow her out of his grasp, and then he beat down with his huge wings. In a draft that toppled the pea trellis and sent the tomato pots rolling around wildly, he took off with his granddaughter in his gentle, clawed grip.
***
"Um, Tessa ..." Ben said, as the two of them stood on the lawn, looking up at the dwindling speck of his father against the sky. "Did you know he was going to do that?"
"He won't let Skye get hurt. I wouldn't have given him to her if I didn't trust him with her." Despite the certainty in her voice, Tessa was frowning somewhat, looking up at the sky.
"He didn't take diapers or anything to feed her."
"Yes, I noticed that. Well, let's keep our phones handy in case of a panicked call an hour or two from now."
Ben sighed and kissed her forehead. "So much for some quality baby-free time."
Tessa laced her arms around his neck. "How about some quality time helping me put the pea trellis back up?"
"Sounds ... fantastic."
She stood on tiptoe and leaned in to nibble at his ear. "And maybe then the other quality time can commence."
"You have a way of being persuasive, my love." He kissed the corner of her mouth.
"On second thought," she murmured as he trailed a string of kisses across her jaw and down the side of her neck, "... the peas will be fine for a little while."
Chapter Six: Loretta
It was her second shower of the day, but who was counting? Funny how a good long while under a hot spray that never slackened or turned abruptly cold could do wonders for a girl's mood. Loretta experimented with the scented shampoos and body wash options displayed around the shower; after Darius dragged her all the way out here, wherever she was, he owed her that.
Getting clean made her feel better toward her host. It was a lot easier to feel good about Darius when he wasn't there being all ... Darius in your face. When he wasn't talking, it was much easier to remember how good-looking he was, not just physical attractiveness but what she could only think of as a kind of charismatic animal magnetism; she'd never been around anyone who drew her that way. And the way he'd wrapped her in his jacket when he'd seen she was cold, the warmth of it around her shoulders ...
She tried to shake off the warm feeling in her chest by reminding herself that his jacket was currently all she had to wear when she got out of the shower, and she still didn't know if her apartment had survived the fire. Not that it'd be much of a loss if not. But all her stuff was there.
When the fun of playing with expensive scented soaps began to run out, Loretta stepped carefully to the pristine tiled floor and wrapped herself in one of Darius's huge, fluffy towels. She'd left the phone on the edge of the sink. It hadn't rung once while she was showering, at least not that she'd noticed. Darius must not give out his number to very many people.
She picked it up. The lock screen image was a serene picture of mountains, which she thought might be the mountains they'd flown over getting here. She put in the code and the image faded into another mountain picture with Darius's icons on top of it. For a guy who turned into a dragon, he had a very prosaic phone desktop. It was just the usual stuff everybody had, a web browser and Facebook and that kind of thing, and a couple of phone games. Seeing the Angry Birds icon made her smile, remembering how her cousins' kids had made fun of her last Christmas because she still played it. Nice to see she wasn't the only one who was a little behind the times.
She knew she was snooping, but she couldn't help wondering what kind of things a dragon billionaire looked at on Facebook. She tapped the icon.
The first thing that came up on Facebook was ... a picture of cats?
Kittens, actually—gray and black ones, adorable little balls of fluff. It was posted in a cat rescue group. Loretta cooed quietly to herself. She'd always wished pets were allowed in her building; it was one of the things she missed about living in the trailer park. Her whole family had always had animals, and she'd loved playing with her cousins' dogs when she was back home for Christmas.
She glanced around her at the immaculate room with a slight smile. This certainly wasn't the kind of place you'd have a pet, even if no one could tell you not to. Or if there were animals here, they were probably purebred and snow white, with an entire staff of attendants to keep them washed and brushed.
She scrolled down below the cat picture and found ... another cat picture. This was from a different pet rescue group. Under that was a personal post, a picture of a beautiful little girl with wide gray-brown eyes and caramel-colored skin, her hair done up in little plastic clips shaped like butterflies. She was sitting on the floor with a bunch of pieces of some kind of wooden puzzle around her, glimmering bright gold and blue. The baby had one of the puzzle pieces clutched in a tiny fist and was chewing on it enthusiastically.
Darius was tagged in this post, and the text (posted by someone named Tessa) began: She loved the puzzles - thanks! I think she's a little young for putting them together, but she really likes eating them. And we found a good home for the alpaca. We appreciate the thought, but next time maybe ask before giving large ungulates to a six-month-old—
Abrupt guilt overcame her, and Loretta quickly closed Facebook and turned off the phone's screen. What was she doing, prying into Darius's life? Of course he had family and friends, apparently ones with kids—
(An alpaca?)
—but the point was, she didn't want to violate the trust he'd placed in her. She was nosy, it was true. Ask anybody. But if she was going to find out more about Darius—and she really wanted to; the man was a fascinating puzzle—she'd need to do it like a grownup: by asking him questions.
And possibly snooping around his mansion a bit.
That wasn't private.
And she'd always wanted to see t
he inside of a mansion ...
A sudden knock at the door made her jump. The phone slipped from her fingers and clattered into the sink.
"Coming!" she called, snugging the towel more tightly around herself. It was so huge that it covered her almost like a bathrobe. She took the phone with her, then realized she needed a hand for the towel and another to unlock the door, and dropped it on the immaculate bedspread.
"Darius—" she began as she opened the door.
It wasn't Darius. It was a woman a little older than Loretta, wearing a maid's uniform. At first glance she looked round and matronly, but that was only if you didn't notice her ramrod-straight posture and the muscles in her forearms, not to mention the confident way she carried herself. If this woman wasn't former military, she was definitely a black belt in something.
"The boss said to bring you something to wear," the woman said, unsmiling. She came in without asking and laid a bundle of neatly folded clothing on the bed. "Do you need anything else?"
"Oh, uh. No, thank you." And because her momma hadn't raised her to be rude, Loretta added, "This place is very beautiful, and so well kept. Thank you. I just used some of the soaps, which I hope is all right, and I don't really know what to do with the towel, but you just tell me where to put it and I'll try to leave the room as good as I found it, okay?"
The woman looked surprised, and then slowly one corner of her flat mouth turned up in a trace of a smile. "You're the boss's guest," she said. "Just leave the towel in the bathroom. You can use the room however you like. Everything in here is for your use."
"Well sure, but that's no cause to go being rude about it. You do a really fine job keeping up the place and I don't want to make more work for you."
"It's no trouble, but I appreciate the thought." She hesitated, then said, "I'm Malva, by the way."
"Loretta. Thanks again for the hospitality." Loretta wondered what Darius's servants—servants!—must think of her, showing up with no clothes in nothing but his jacket, and now stepping out of the shower. Malva hadn't even batted an eye, which made her wonder uncomfortably if this sort of thing was a common occurrence around here, or if Darius picked his employees for their unflappable qualities.
"You need anything, just call downstairs." Malva pointed to a phone on a small stand by the wall. Loretta hadn't even noticed it; it was a white antique with a high, arched handset and a rotary dial. "That doesn't dial outside, it's just internal. Press 9 for Housekeeping or 6 for the kitchen."
Malva turned around briskly and left before Loretta could ask if the other numbers did anything.
She went over to the phone and picked up the fancy handset. It made her feel like an actress in an old black-and-white movie. There was a dial tone and everything. She dialed 6.
A woman's voice answered on the first ring. "Kitchen."
"Oh. Uh. I'm sorry. I was just ... checking." She hung up quickly, cheeks flaming.
Well, now that you've made them think you were raised in a barn, Loretta, let's see what kind of clothes they brought for you, huh?
Malva, or whoever had selected the clothing, had been very thorough. There was underwear neatly sealed in plastic—the bra was half a size too big, but Loretta was impressed that it was as close as it was—and a hairbrush and toiletries in a ziploc baggie. There was also a pair of low-heeled and sensible-looking white shoes. Underneath all of that ...
"Ohhhh." It came out as a soft sigh as she shook out the skirt. It was a deep gold, not quite her favorite shade of yellow, but surprisingly close. The pleats shimmered with burnished highlights and deep bronze shadows. It looked like silk. It might actually be silk.
There was a white blouse to go with it, a little too large in the chest (like the bra) and a little too tight in the shoulders and short in the sleeves, which made her aware that she was probably wearing someone else's clothing. But it fit adequately, and it was better than a towel. She found a hair dryer in the bathroom, and some hair products too, so she blew out her mass of red hair, drying it from the dark auburn color it had when wet, to its normal vividness.
She had always liked her hair. Who cared if the other girls at school teased her, calling her Firetruck and Pippi. She thought her hair was her best feature, and it was just starting to turn gray, a few silver threads twined into the red mass.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she thought the white shirt did look really nice with all that red hair. It'd be nice if she had maybe a lipstick—she liked to wear bright red lipstick, because otherwise her lips looked washed out next to the hair and her naturally ruddy, freckle-dusted complexion—but this was better than okay. She still didn't look like someone who belonged in a place like this, but at least she didn't look like a refugee.
She wished Darius was here to see it. She'd like him to see that she could look like something other than a bedraggled mess in a towel. She gave a little spin, making the gold skirt stand out, and smiled at herself. It wasn't her sunflower blouse and favorite yellow stretch pants, but it was pretty. And probably cost more than her entire wardrobe, which she had bought mainly at Walmart.
Where had Darius gone, anyway?
Being dressed made her feel a little more confident. She put on the shoes, which were about half a size too small; it was obvious that the woman these clothes belonged to was heavier but shorter than Loretta herself. But they were close enough to work. She glanced at the white and gold phone on its stand, thought about calling for someone to give her directions, then realized that she had no idea where she wanted to go. What she really wanted to do was find Darius, but she'd forgotten to ask Malva.
The skirt, wonder of wonders, had pockets; this place really did have everything. She tucked Darius's phone into a pocket and opened the door leading out into the hall.
If she'd been staggered by the suite, the hallway outside the door was even more stunning in its grandeur, actually so much that it was a little ridiculous. Who put twelve-foot ceilings in a hallway? The floor was so finely polished that it reflected her feet.
She walked quietly down the hall, her confidence wilting in the face of the lush opulence of her surroundings. Even in her borrowed silk skirt, this place made her feel small and shabby. There was just so much. Everywhere she turned, there was something new to look at: a painting, a sculpture, an antique, a shelf of finely made glasswork.
It was also a maze, and she was soon utterly, irrevocably lost. All the glittering hallways looked alike. Every once in awhile she came to tall windows looking out onto a beautifully landscaped garden a floor below her, but she couldn't figure out how to get there. She tried going down a staircase and found herself in some kind of dining room with dust covers over the immensely long table and chairs.
This place was exhausting. She couldn't think how Darius could bear it. There was nowhere to rest her eyes in the endless parade of gilded archways, gleaming sculptures, and huge paintings dominating the walls. She had yet to meet a single human being. Once she smelled cooking smells and thought she might be near the kitchen, but when she went that way, she instead found her way to windows overlooking a different view—the valley with the lake down the middle of it—and realized she'd gotten turned around and was on the entire wrong side of the house. Half the doors she found were locked; the other half opened into more suites like hers. There was no sign of occupation, and she wondered where Darius's employees lived, or whether there were other guests. It was like being in a movie set.
Completely by accident, she found her way to a door that was unlocked and refreshingly normal-sized, opening into a garden. This wasn't the same garden she'd seen from the upstairs windows, which had been huge, with a vast lawn, ornamental trees and fountains, and a wide, sweeping driveway; she was pretty sure that had been where Darius had landed with her when he'd first brought her here, although her memories of the place were vague due to panic and stress. This was much more to her taste. In fact, it looked like the kind of garden that she'd dreamed about having someday, if she ever managed to move out
of her crapsack apartment. It was cozily tucked between two adjoining wings of the mansion, a small rose garden with winding paths of white crushed rock and benches sheltered by shade trees. The sound of tinkling water led her to a little artificial waterfall and a pond with stepping stones crossing it. She crouched down to see if there might be fish swimming in it.
"You're not supposed to be wandering around, miss."
"Ack!" For an awful minute, she flailed her arms and teetered on the edge of falling headfirst into the pond. A strong hand caught her brusquely in a businesslike grip from behind and set her on her feet.
"Sorry!" she gasped, brushing down her skirt. "I didn't mean to—I was just looking for the, uh, the ... kitchen."
"You're on the wrong side of the house."
He had a low, gravelly voice that made her think of rocks grinding together. And he was huge, as tall as Darius, but wider in the shoulders. He was built like a brick wall, with an expressionless slab of a face and a bristling blond crew cut, cropped close enough to show glimpses of pink scalp. The dark, well-cut suit he wore didn't make him look any less like what he probably was: some kind of private security.
There was just one incongruous thing about him. He'd caught her with his left hand, because the right was busy maintaining a firm grip on a small orange cat, tucked into the crook of his arm.
"Is that your cat?" Loretta asked before she could stop herself. "She's adorable! Or is it a he?"
After a brief pause, Muscles said, "Boss's cat. You left the door open. He's not allowed outside."
"Oh gosh, I'm so sorr—Wait, did you say it's Darius's cat?"
She looked at the cat with brand new curiosity. If Darius owned a cat, she would have imagined a sleek white cat that accessorized beautifully with his charcoal-colored suit, the sort of cat he could hold while standing in front of a window and petting it contemplatively.