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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 agreement 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.”
It was impossible to sit with her hands in her pockets, so Katherine pulled them free before she slowly lowered herself onto the edge of one of the chairs.
“She gave Doug his nickname, you know,” Trey continued. “Helena and I called him Dougie, and she thought we’d named the new baby ‘Doggie.’ She was only seven, so I guess it made sense to her. Anyway, the name stuck, and unfortunately, it’s probably at the core of the kid’s current problem.”
“I truly don’t think Doug has a problem,” Katherine told him. “I think—”
“He eats breakfast from a dog dish,” Trey said flatly. “If that’s not a problem, I don’t—” He stopped himself. “Okay. Look. Helena died three years ago. Three years. The kid should be starting to come around, but instead I see him slipping further and further into this world of make-believe he’s created for himself.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid that one of these days, he’s just never going to come out.”
“He’s six,” Katherine pointed out. “There’s not much reality in most six-year-olds’ lives. Although I studied psychology in school, I’m no expert, sir, and yet—”
“Trey,” he said. “Not ‘sir.’”
“Hard habit to break,” she murmured. “Nearly as hard to break as the habit of interrupting people all the time.”
“I’m sorry.” His apology was swift and completely sincere. “I’ll—Please.” He finally sat down in the other chair. “Continue.”
“It seems to me that pretending he’s a dog is simply Doug’s way of dealing with any new—and potentially frightening—situation. He’s painfully shy, yet here he is, forced to go one-on-one with a new nanny for what? The four thousand, five hundred and something time since his mother just vanished from his life.”
“Twelve,” Trey said. “The twelfth time.”
She was appalled. “In three years?”
“Almost four actually, since we hired a nanny when Helena first got sick. Mae loved the kids and Helena, too, but she left when…” This time he interrupted himself. Apparently there were some details he didn’t feel comfortable sharing.
Such as perhaps the fact that this loving nanny had left because she had seen or heard too much, and feared for her own safety?
Katherine chided herself for having such an unruly and uncalled for thought. Trey hadn’t murdered his wife, contrary to all the rumors. And there were rumors. She’d heard them at the hotel, heard them while shopping in town. It was believed that Trey Sutherland had committed the perfect murder.
But that was just talk, and here Trey had just told her Helena had been sick.
He was sitting there grimly, fingers pressed against his forehead as if he had a headache, his broad shoulders slouched back in the chair, and Katherine couldn’t bear to press him with curious questions about Helena’s death. She would go to the library, read what the newspapers had to say about it, and then, if she had any questions, she’d speak to him. But until then, they had Doug and Stacy to discuss.
“The other nannies were…” Trey shook his head as he glanced over at her. His eyes were truly a remarkable shade of blue. “Some quit after only a few days, some just simply didn’t work out from our end, most of them couldn’t handle Stacy and Doug. None of them stayed more than a few months.”
“That’s got to have been dreadfully tough on Doug and Stacy. I’m not blaming you, mind you,” she added hastily. “I’m not going to pretend that I know you in any kind of depth, but what I do know is that you love your children.”
“But…?” Trey asked, correctly hearing that invisible little word dangling there.
“But twelve nannies in even four years would have to be trying on any child, let alone a sensitive one like Doug,” she pointed out. “In my opinion, Trey—” She’d managed to say his name instead of sir, but it had come out sounding too soft, too intimate and she froze.
He was watching her, giving her his full attention, and being the focal point of all that grim intensity was rather overwhelming. But then he smiled slightly, and the harsh lines of his face softened, and he was somehow, some way even morehandsome, his eyes even more blue. “Thanks,” he said. “I know it’s not easy for you to call me that.”
She tried not to be affected, but her voice came out far too whispery and soft. “In my opinion, Doug’s dealt with all the chaos and change in his life extremely well. He has no reason to trust me, and in fact, here we go again, right? I’m only going to be here for the short term. If Doug’s been paying attention and I think he probably knows everything that goes on in this house, including a few things you don’t think he knows—he does know I’m not going to stay. He has no reason at all to risk becoming attached to me. Considering that, and considering everything else—including his shyness—I’m more than willing to become friends on his terms, first. And if that means playing make-believe games with him, I truly think that’s fine. So unless you specifically tell me that you don’t want—”
“No,” he said. “It’s obvious you’ve thought this through. I’m still leery, but you’re right about Doug being shy.”
“Doug’s shy, but Doggie’s not,” Katherine said, referring to the boy’s alter ego. “I see no reason he shouldn’t use that to empower himself.”
“The dog thing drives me nuts,” Trey admitted. “That’s the hard part about being a single parent. You have to deal with everything—even the things that make you crazy. When Stacy was really little, like two or three, she had this thing with her socks—the seam had to line up across her toes in a certain way, and if they didn’t, it was a tragedy. The shoes couldn’t go on her feet, life virtually had to screech to a halt. I swear, if you wanted her to leave the house at a certain time, you had to start her with her socks and her shoes a good forty minutes beforehand. It drove me mad, but it didn’t bother Helena one bit. She thought it was funny—she was so patient with both the kids and…” He glanced away, and when he looked back he tried to force a smile. “Let’s just say patience isn’t one of my strengths.”
Katherine couldn’t stop the rush of compassion. There was no way on earth this man could have killed his wife. Absolutely no way. Obviously, he loved Helena still. “Well, now that I’m here, I’ll do what I can to help.”
“I suppose it’s too soon to try to talk you into staying on permanently…?”
Katherine laughed and stood up. “I’d better get back to the children.”
She started for the door.
“Kathy.”
She turned back.
Trey had stood up, and silhouetted the way he was against the window and the bright-blue November afternoon, he looked even taller and broader than usual. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
He reached up, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. “I was hoping we could set up a time to talk each day—maybe in the evening, in between Doug’s and Stacy’s bedtimes. You could keep me filled in on what’s going on with the kids.”
Katherine found her voice. “That sounds…very smart.”
He shrugged out of his jacket, draped it on the back of one of his leather chairs, then rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. “Say…nine o’clock here, in my office? Doug’s usually unconscious by eight forty-five, but Stacy usually doesn’t get to bed until ten-thirty or eleven. There are shows she likes to watch on TV.”
“That sounds perfect.” Good grief, she sounded like an idiot. That sounds smart. That sounds perfect. What it really sounded was incredibly, foolishly disappointing.
