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“A tomb!” Aghast, she stared at him. “It’s not a tomb. It’s a beautiful Victorian mansion brimming with fabulous old treasures and priceless antiques.”
“I like young stuff myself.” His glance skimmed over her lightly but insolently, head to toe. He had the most intimate way of looking at her, as if he already knew something she didn’t. It made her wish she’d put on something more impressive than jeans and a plaid shirt this morning.
“You inherited very little young stuff,” she said tartly. “We’re old-fashioned around here. We do, however, have telephones.”
“Is that a crack?” If it was, he didn’t appear to be put off by it.
“I wasn’t expecting you until next week,” she reminded him.
“I’ve been trying to call for four days, ever since Molly and I left Chicago.” He ruffled the little girl’s soft curls, but he was watching Brooke.
“You drove?” But of course they drove. How else would they be accompanied by that obnoxious little dog now licking his young owner’s hand?
He nodded. “Had a nice time, too, didn’t we Molly, old girl? The dogs were a bit of trouble but—”
“Dogs, as in plural?” She glanced around with fresh alarm. “You mean, there’s more than one?”
“Had to bring old Baron.” He gave a whimsical shrug. “He’s a German shepherd and not nearly as noisy as Larry.”
Brooke couldn’t stifle her groan. “I suppose he bites first and asks questions later.”
Garrett frowned. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t care for dogs?”
“I’m trying to tell you that I don’t see how anybody could care for dogs. They’re big and mean and they bite people and dig holes and—” she glanced significantly at the shattered glass on the hearth. “—break things.”
“Unlike cats,” he inserted smoothly, “who are little and mean and sneaky, with sharp teeth and claws made for shredding furniture and clothes—”
“Of all the nerve!” She glared at him, instinctively clutching Gable more tightly. That ungrateful wretch responded by jerking away. Leaping from her shoulder onto the cut-velvet sofa, he proceeded to dig his claws into the upholstery even as she defended him from such scurrilous charges.
Garrett’s quick smile was mischievous. “Sorry, I got carried away. I take back the part about the furniture.”
She gave him a sheepish grin. “Apology accepted.” She added, “Stop that, Gable!”
“Can I pet your cat?” inquired an anxious little voice.
Brooke glanced from the child to the father, asking a question with her eyes. Is it all right?
He nodded. “But first let me put Larry out into the hall.”
“Good idea.” Brooke drew Molly forward. “Did you ever have a cat?”
The little girl shook her head. There was something so solemn about her, as if she didn’t laugh nearly enough. “Only dogs,” she said. “I got Larry when he was a little puppy.”
Brooke’s heart sank. Molly’s ownership would give that miserable mutt privileged status. “Cats are nicer,” she said staunchly. “Now, you must remember never to try to grab a cat. They don’t like that. You have to make them think that everything’s their own idea....”
Slowly and smoothly she reached for Gable, who permitted himself to be lifted from the couch and into Brooke’s familiar embrace. “Sit down,” she instructed the little girl, “and I’ll put him on your lap. If you don’t startle him, he may decide to stay. But if he wants to go, don’t try to hang on to him, okay?”
“Okay.” Molly sat down on the sofa, sliding back until her legs were straight out before her on the wide cushion. Carefully she smoothed her blue cotton skirt over her lap, then looked up expectantly.
Brooke leaned close to Gable’s ear. “You be nice now, you hear?” she murmured. Gently she deposited the cat on Molly’s lap.
Gable sank down like a puddle of orange pudding, turning his head to look into Molly’s eyes with a “How’m I doin’?” expression. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he began to purr.
“He’s making noises,” Molly exclaimed, looking up at Brooke anxiously.
“That’s because he likes you,” Brooke interpreted. “You can scratch his ears, if you’re very gentle, or underneath his chin. He likes that.”
“I like him,” Molly declared fiercely. “Oh, Gable!” Unable to restrain her enthusiasm, she leaned forward and gave him a big hug.
Which was way too much for any self-respecting cat. He slipped out of her embrace as quickly and easily as smoke from a clenched fist. Before she could recover, he’d shinnied up the heavy brocade drapes to perch atop a tall bookcase.
Molly looked close to tears. “Make him come back,” she pleaded.
Brooke slipped her arm around the child’s shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “I can’t, honey. Nobody can make cats do anything they don’t want to do. The trick is to make them think you don’t really care, and that what you want them to do is really what they want to do.”
Garrett, leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed over his chest, gave a derisive peal of laughter. “Are we talking about cats here, or women?”
Brooke pursed her lips. “Very funny.”
“So are you, if you think I don’t mean it.”
“Are we talking about women here, or cats?”
“Touché!” His laughter this time sounded delighted. “Although I know as much as I care to know—about cats.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. To Molly, he added, “We don’t have time for cats now anyway. You said you were hungry, so let’s see if we can find the kitchen. If we do, maybe we’ll also find something for you to eat.”
Brooke felt a little fissure of alarm. “It’s after one o’clock. Are you saying this child hasn’t had lunch?”
He shook his head. “But that’s all right. There’s probably something around...anything at all. We’re not particular.”
“There’s not a bite to eat in this house.” Why did he have to look so...pitiful? “The cook cleaned everything out of the kitchen before she left.”
“Ouch.” He crossed to Molly’s side. “I guess that means we’ll have to drive all the way down the mountain to feed you, you poor little thing.”
Brooke was being set up and she fought it. “If you had called, I could have stocked the kitchen for you,” she said defiantly.
“I tried—didn’t you hear what I said before? I think the telephone lines must have been down or something.”
Brooke groaned. He had mentioned that. Although she didn’t know of any trouble, the telephone service way up here in the middle of nowhere was so iffy that she never knew from one minute to the next if they had contact with the outside world. Knowing she shouldn’t, she still heard herself saying, “Okay, if you meant it when you said you’re not too particular, I suppose I could find something for—”
“Hey, thanks!” He didn’t even wait for her to finish the invitation. Grabbing Molly by the hand, he lifted her to her feet.
“But no dogs,” Brooke said sternly. Picking up the television remote, she clicked off the set before facing him. “You and Molly can come but no dogs.” Maybe that would dissuade him; she could but hope.
Instead of objecting, he nodded. “I’ve got food for the dogs,” he said cheerfully. “It’s Molly and me who are starving, right, sweetheart?”
The little girl nodded, keeping all her attention focused on Brooke, who knew when she was licked.
There was nothing to do but coax Gable down from his perch and onto her shoulder, then lead the invaders to her own sanctuary.
Which, she had a strong premonition, would never be the same after Garrett Jackson invaded it.
Garrett hated to tie his dogs to a tree out front of his late great-aunt’s moldy old mansion, but he really didn’t have much choice. With the toothsome Ms. Hamilton looking on, he did the dastardly deed quickly and efficiently. When he turned back to his little audience of woman, child and cat, he’d have sworn the furry four-legged observer was smiling with evil satisfaction.
But he wasted little time or attention on the cat, much more interested in the woman. Brooke Hamilton, he thought with satisfaction, was quite an eyeful. Even so, he’d early on got the impression that she either didn’t know that or didn’t much care. For one thing she was dressed without even a nod to fashion, and if she wore a speck of makeup, he couldn’t see it. That natural look wasn’t something he had much experience with but he found it surprisingly appealing.
He liked the sleek and shiny brown hair framing an oval face with high cheekbones and a full, tenderly shaped mouth. Her brown eyes sparkled with a quick, intelligence, which simultaneously drew and repelled him—drew him because he appreciated wit where he found it, repelled him because past experiences with smart women had been...chancy. They tended to look beneath the surface of things, beneath the surface of him. That wasn’t an experience he relished.
Garrett Jackson preferred the quick and superficial when it came to women and much else in his life. No strings, no regrets; easy come, easy go. Except for Molly, of course. He looked at the little girl, rising on tiptoes beneath an arbor of tangled vines to stroke that damned cat still cuddled in Brooke’s arms.
Molly had been a little trooper on this trip. When they’d started out, he’d thought they could benefit from a little time alone together and he’d been right. Although she hadn’t exactly turned into a chatterbox, she’d shown a lively interest in everything going on around her. He was grateful for that, and for anything else that helped pull her out of her shell.
Except cats.
“I’m ready when you are,” he announced brusquely.
Brooke looked up with a quick smile. Damn, she had a beautiful mouth, curving and sweet and somehow vulnerable.
“Dogs all tied up?” she asked somewhat anxiously.
“Yeah, and I hated to do it. I hope you don’t expect—”
“But I do,” she said quickly, turning with that orange monstrosity still draped over her arm like a stole. “It’s the only answer.”
“What’s the question?”
“How to keep your dogs and my cats separated, for openers.”
“How hard can it be?” He fell in beside her on the path, made up of individual stones set into the earth with some kind of moss growing between. “We’re only talking about two cats and two dogs, four animals in total.”
“Not... exactly.” She gave him what might have been an anxious glance.
He felt a prickle of apprehension. “Not...exactly?”
“I have a few more than two cats.”
He groaned. “How many’s a few more?”
“Well...four. Of my own, that is.”
She hesitated at an ivy-covered gate, and he stepped forward to open it for her and Molly. Through a thick stand of pine, he caught a glimpse of their destination—actuary, the former gatehouse to Glennhaven. And as he knew too well, his crazy great-aunt Cora had left the gatehouse to Brooke Hamilton, along with an acre of land.
An acre of land in the shape of a pan, the “handle” providing access to the main road—and effectively controlling access to the main house and the bulk of the estate. The bequest to the lovely Ms. Hamilton had left the future of the estate in doubt; the whole situation was a mess. He figured Cora must have been a raving lunatic, or else Ms. Hamilton was not the wide-eyed innocent she appeared to be.
Then Brooke’s possible meaning sank in. “Four cats of your own?”
She nodded. “Uh...I guess you don’t know about my business.”
“You run a business from the gatehouse?” This was getting worse and worse.
She turned onto a well-defined path leading through the trees, and again he fell in beside her with Molly trotting along behind. All of a sudden Brooke stopped and opened her arms for Gable—check that, for that damned cat—to leap to the ground.
“He’s getting away!” Molly’s voice turned shrill.
“Don’t worry, honey.” Confidently Brooke took the little girl’s hand. “He’ll just lead us back home. He likes running through the trees. I try to let him, when I’m there to watch out for predators.” She shot a quick, veiled glance at Garrett.
“Can I run, too?” Molly looked from one adult to the other. “Can I, can I, please?”
Brooke deferred to Garrett. “Is it okay? The house is right there, where we can see it. We’ll be right behind her.”
He didn’t like it but he liked the disappointment on Molly’s face even less. Everybody was always telling him he was overprotective and maybe he was. With an effort, he began, “If you’re sure...”
That was enough for Molly, who took off with her thin brown legs flying. Brooke smiled at the sight.
Garrett watched for a moment before returning to the subject at hand. “You were talking about your business,” he prompted.
“Oh, that.” Her smile was absolutely angelic. “I run a bed-and-breakfast for—”
“Jeez, a B ‘n’ B?” Garrett stared at her incredulously. “Does that mean I can expect to find hordes of strangers wandering around at all times of the day and night?”
“Goodness, no.” She laughed lightly but he saw her twist her hands together behind her back.
“Then, what?”
“It’s not a B ‘n’ B for people,” she said. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s called Catty-Corner.”
Before that could sink in, she whirled and ran down the path after Molly and Gable. Garrett stared after her in a state of shock.
He’d just inherited an estate dedicated to the one animal on this earth traditionally despised by his entire family.
CHAPTER TWO
BROOKE, tried to keep her reservations at bay as she showed her guests around Catty-Corner. Maybe Garrett wouldn’t be as difficult about the cats as she feared, she decided in a burst of positive thinking. Maybe he’d give in gracefully.
Maybe pigs would fly.
Following her around the premises, he gave no indication of either approval or disapproval, although he did seem a bit more subdued than he had earlier. Even suspecting he was waiting for his chance to confront her, she still couldn’t conceal her pride in what she’d accomplished.
“With Miss Cora’s help and approval, of course,” she added, opening a door and gesturing them through. “None of this would have been possible without her total understanding and support.”
They entered a large, cozy room containing ten spacious kitty condos spaced against the walls with Brooke’s work and storage area in the center. Each compartment had a private window for bird-watching—a popular pastime of the residents—and pet-door access to an enclosed and partitioned sunning porch for felines only.
Garrett stared, his expression incredulous. “You’re kidding,” he said at last.
Brooke hardly knew how to take that. “Certainly not.” She lifted her chin a notch. “What did you expect? Surely not cages!”
“That’s exactly what I expected,” he admitted.
She shuddered. “My business comes from cat lovers, not sadists.” She slipped her fingers through the wire mesh to tickle the chin of a dainty black cat named Chloe.
