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He cursed to himself. High school. Amazing he could remember that far back. It seemed like a century ago.
“You don’t live in the city?” Beth asked as they turned onto the bridge, her eyes widening on the arched lights of the Golden Gate.
“No, Sausalito.”
“I’ve never been there.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “How long have you been living in San Francisco?”
“Almost a year. But Tommy and I always seemed to be working so we didn’t go out much.”
Amazing how calmly she could speak of the jerk, when he himself wanted to punch the guy’s lights out. “What do you do?”
“I was a secretary.” She sighed. “But I got fired. I also worked as a waitress three evenings a week, but…” She turned to the window again, her shoulders sagging. “It didn’t work out.”
No doubt Tom had a hand in getting her fired at that, as well. But she still said nothing negative about him, for which David didn’t know if he should admire her or shake her. Of course, he reminded himself, it was none of his business.
She was none of his business. Only one night’s lodging. That’s all he’d offered her. As she’d pointedly informed him, she was not a child. She could take care of herself, even though she looked as if she were fifteen.
He knew what was really bothering him. His birthday was coming up next month. The big one. And his mother had some awful notion that she should have a huge party for him. As if turning forty was something to celebrate.
Well, there wouldn’t be any damn party, even if he had to take off to Hawaii for the weekend. He glanced over at Beth, who’d turned back to staring out the window. Maybe she was just the distraction his mother needed.
He slowed as they approached the security gate at the bottom of his driveway. Beth gasped when he started to punch in the code to let them in, and he darted her a look.
“You live here?” Her eyes were wide with surprise, her lips curved.
He followed her gaze toward the house, or at least what could be seen of it through the trees and darkness. There were a lot of lights on but he wasn’t sure what had interested her. “This is home, all right.”
“It’s huge, and there are so many lights and windows. Can you see the ocean from there?”
“It’s built into the hill but we have a pretty good view of the bay from most rooms.” He finished putting in the code and watched the gate slowly swing open.
As he drove up the winding driveway his gaze drew to the house. He’d had it built as high on the hill as possible for maximum view and privacy with more windows than was probably prudent. He had to admit, the place did look quite impressive with all the lights blazing through the trees. It had been a long time since he’d noticed or appreciated its simple beauty.
“Gosh, this is incredible.” Beth continued to stare, wide-eyed as they rounded a curve into a clearing before the garden crawled up the slope to the house. “Keeping this place in shape must take all your weekends.”
David laughed, but then realized she was serious when she darted him an odd look.
She made a face. “That was silly of me. Of course you have someone to help you with all this.”
Help? He cleared his throat. Not only had he never set foot in the garden, he couldn’t tell one flower from another. He hit the garage-door opener and impatiently edged the car in while the door lifted.
As soon as they got inside, Beth would be his mother’s problem. She’d love every second of the fussing, and he could get to work. In his den. Alone. The thought held enormous appeal. Not that Beth was a bother but he liked routine, and having her beside him for the past half hour was anything but normal.
He parked, turned off the engine and unfastened his seat belt. Beth sat motionless. He glanced over. She was pale.
“What’s wrong?”
She winced. “Nothing, really.”
“Why are you holding your stomach?”
“It’s nothing.”
David hesitated, unsure what to do. Should he press her? Assume it really was nothing? Where the hell was his mother?
Beth laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry. It’s not the baby or anything. I’m just a little carsick.”
Her touch was gentle, featherlight, yet it sparked an odd sensation in him. Quickly he shifted away and got out of the car. “I may have taken the curves too fast. I wish you’d said something.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I didn’t mean to—” He shook his head and went around the car to open her door. First opportunity he got, he was going to fire Tom Snyder’s ass. The guy had been such a jerk to the poor girl; she thought she had to apologize for getting sick.
She’d already opened her door and swung her legs out of the car by the time he got there. He stopped and stared at her shapely calves and slim ankles. She was short but all legs. Great legs.
Fortunately she was too busy trying to hold her stomach and lift herself out of the car to notice him staring. His reaction disgusted him. He had no business wondering what the rest of her looked like under that big coat. None whatsoever.
“Here.” He offered her a hand.
“I’m okay, but if you’d get my bag I’d appreciate it.” Her gaze warily slid up the stairs going to the kitchen door.
Hell, he’d forgotten about that. The garage had been built under the house and his mother sometimes complained the stairs were too steep.
He stood aside while she got out by herself but as they approached the stairs he took her elbow.
She didn’t protest, but simply held the railing with one hand and her tummy with the other. He hoped she was right, and that her queasiness was a result of carsickness. That would pass within an hour.
“I’m really not such a wimp, you know,” she said, a little breathless, as she looked over at him.
Her eyes were the clearest blue he’d ever seen and her skin was nearly flawless. Her face was still pale but some rest and a good meal would probably take care of that.
“Not for a moment have I thought of you as a wimp. Watch your step.”
“Oops.” She faltered, but he tightened his hold on her elbow and she leaned into him.
A subtle fragrance drifted up from her hair. Jasmine. Or maybe gardenia. He inhaled deeply. Definitely jasmine. “Okay?”
She nodded and straightened. “My coat’s too big. I almost tripped on the hem.” She looked up at him, her eyes so innocent and blue and something stirred inside him.
“We’ll have to do something about that,” he murmured, thrown off balance by the sudden urge he had to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way up the stairs.
“David?”
At his mother’s voice, he looked up at the top of the stairs. She stood at the open door, a perplexed look on her face as her gaze slid between him and Beth.
He quelled the asinine impulse to release Beth. But they’d done nothing wrong. “Hi, Mother, I hope I’m not keeping you awake.”
“Nonsense.” She smiled at Beth, and then stepped back to hold the door open for them. “He didn’t worry about keeping me awake forty years ago,” she said, winking at Beth. “The little monster kept me in labor for thirty-two hours.”
Beth darted a surprised look at him.
He glared at his mother. He wasn’t forty yet.
“Mother, this is Beth—” He stopped when he realized he had no idea what Beth’s last name was.
“Anderson.”
“I’m Maude.”
He breathed a sigh of relief as the women took over. Or more accurately, his mother had taken charge. She ushered Beth through the laundry room to the kitchen, sat her down and got her a glass of water. Ida was already in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot. It smelled like her homemade chicken soup. David hadn’t had any in ages.
“Be a love and put Beth’s bag in the blue guest room,” his mother said, “and then come back down and have something to eat.”
She gave him only a brief glance and then all her attention went back to Beth who looked a bit overwhelmed. David didn’t bother telling her he’d had a late lunch and would have a snack later while he worked in his den. He seldom got home early enough to eat dinner at home. Anyway, she was already busy tending to Beth, looking more animated than he’d seen her in a long time.
He carried the bag to the first floor guest room, and then went to his own room upstairs to get out of his suit. At least two hours of work waited for him in his briefcase and…
His briefcase—he’d left it in the car.
Dammit.
He shrugged out of his coat, loosened and pulled off his tie, got rid of the gold cuff links. He hated the possibility of going through the kitchen and getting waylaid. Bad enough he’d lost an hour already, but he had no choice. He needed the briefs and his day planner.
David swore. He’d left his day planner on his desk again. He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled off his socks. God, he hated being thrown off his routine.
“NOW, BETH, anything you need, you feel free to ask.” Mrs. Matthews set the cup of tea beside the glass of water she’d already filled twice, and Beth wanted to cry. “In fact, if you see it, don’t ask, help yourself.”
“You’re being so kind,” Beth murmured, overwhelmed with gratitude for the unexpected thoughtfulness these strangers showed her. “Please don’t make a big fuss. I’m fine.”
“Nonsense. We’re not fussing. Are we, Ida?”
The housekeeper gave a dismissive snort as she ladled rich yellow broth into a bowl. Her round face had been wreathed in a welcoming smile from the minute Beth laid eyes on her. She was probably the same age as Mrs. Matthews, early sixties, Beth guessed. But as slim and tall as Mrs. Matthews was, Ida was short and plump. They made quite a pair in their contrasting red silk and gray chenille robes.
“It’s been too long since David has brought a friend home,” Mrs. Matthews put a carafe of coffee on the table, and then brought out cups. Not mugs, but real china cups and saucers.
“I’m not exactly a friend,” Beth muttered, not sure what David had told them.
“Well, we’re delighted to have you. Would you rather eat in the dining room?”
“This is fine.” Beth watched Ida root through the refrigerator. “Please don’t go to any more trouble.”
She brought out what looked like a lemon meringue pie. Only one small piece was missing. “Trouble?” Ida grunted. “About time there’s someone around here to eat my pastries. Those two take one little nibble and start worrying about their arteries.”
Mrs. Matthews sighed and threw Ida a long-suffering look. “You put a pound of butter in everything you bake.”
“Neither of my parents knew what an artery was and they both lived until ninety-six.” Ida sniffed. “Mind you, they ate plenty of butter and cheese, too.”
Beth laughed. The two women obviously shared a friendship beyond the employer-employee relationship.
Mrs. Matthews laughed, too. “Don’t mind us. Ida and I go back more years than we care to admit.”
“Quit talking and let the poor girl eat.” Ida put two dessert plates on the table and then took a seat and picked up a knife.
“You’re having another piece of pie?” Mrs. Matthews asked, as she sat across from Beth with a cup of black coffee.
“You mind your business, Maude.” Ida smiled at Beth. “So, how do you know our David?”
Beth had just swallowed a mouthful of the chicken soup but she pretended to chew. The truth was pretty embarrassing, yet she didn’t want to lie, either.
“And you tell me to mind my business?” Mrs. Matthews’s perfectly arched brows went up. “Really, Ida, can’t you let the young lady eat in peace?”
Color climbed all the way to Ida’s salt-and-pepper hairline. “Of course. Eat.” She motioned with her chin to Beth before digging into the large wedge of lemon meringue in front of her.
Beth quickly spooned up another portion of the delicious soup. She was hungry but also grateful there’d be no more questions. At least for now.
Mrs. Matthews looked exactly like Beth would have pictured her had she thought about it. Perfectly styled chestnut-colored hair, even at bedtime, perfect teeth, a perfect figure. Her nails were manicured and polished a subtle pink. She looked and smelled rich. Old money rich. Just like David.
Of course they were from old money, according to Tommy. Their family went back to the gold rush days when the Matthews name became a prominent San Francisco fixture. In the legal arena, their firm was number one, if she could believe Tommy. He seemed awfully impressed with that kind of social stuff these days, so she figured he ought to know.
What impressed Beth was the way Mrs. Matthews treated Ida. The woman was a polar opposite—on the frumpy side, her curly graying hair in need of a trim, her roughened hands looked like those of a farmer’s wife.
“Are you ready for another bowl?” Ida asked, and to Beth’s humiliation, she realized she’d practically inhaled her food.
“No, thank you. This was plenty.”
Ida grunted as she got up and took Beth’s empty bowl. “That was hardly enough to keep a bird alive.”
“But I had two pieces of that great bread. Did you make it?”
Ida nodded, her face one big smile. “No store-bought baked goods in this house.”
“She’s determined to make me fat.” Mrs. Matthews sipped her black coffee with a look of phony disdain.
“Don’t mind her. She thinks three strawberries with a teaspoon of fat-free whipped cream is dessert.”
Beth smiled. “Sorry, but nothing beats real whipped cream, or freshly churned butter. I haven’t had either since I left the farm.”
Both women stared at her. Ida spoke first as she set another bowl of soup in front of Beth. “You actually lived on a farm?”
Beth nodded, and silently cursed her big mouth. These people would think she was some kind of hick. She brought her napkin to her lips—a linen napkin, no common paper stuff here. That she’d momentarily been ashamed of her roots shamed her even more. First her parents, and then her brother provided her with a good home in Rock Falls. Better than good, it had been idyllic.
She lifted her chin. “Back in Rock Falls, Idaho. My family has owned it for five generations. We were all born right there in the master bedroom.”
“My heavens.” Mrs. Matthews set down her coffee cup, the china making a pleasant tinkling sound. “How long have you been here in the city?”
“A little over a year.”
