Breakfast In Bed. Ruth Dale Jean

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