Cinderella's Tycoon. Caroline Cross

a leafy vine abloom in white flowers gave off a faintly spicy perfume.

      Captivated, Susan again tried to start up a conversation. “Oh, how pretty. Is that a clematis?”

      He set down the suitcases and reached to open the door. “Beats me. You’ll have to ask Maxine.”

      “Maxine?”

      “My housekeeper.” His voice took on a distinctly sardonic tone. “She likes to think she knows everything.”

      “Oh.” Susan felt a pang of dismay. While she was relieved to discover that they weren’t going to be all alone in the house, she didn’t know a thing about having hired help. Heavens, she’d never even had a cleaning lady. What if this Maxine didn’t like her?

      She didn’t have to wait long to find out. She’d barely crossed the threshold before a tall, energetic woman dressed in trim white slacks and a bright turquoise blouse materialized at the end of the hall. “Well, I declare, it’s about time you two got here,” the newcomer drawled with a pronounced Texas twang as she marched purposefully closer. “I was startin’ to worry. I put the last touch on the cake half an hour ago.”

      Sterling’s eyes narrowed. “What cake?”

      The woman, who appeared to be in her fifties, and who had shrewd brown eyes, a weathered face and improbable blond hair swept up in the sort of elegant chignon that Susan could never achieve, smiled at him blandly. “Why, your weddin’ cake, boss. You didn’t think I’d let something as important as your gettin’ hitched pass without at least fixin’ you a special dinner, did you?”

      Blithely ignoring his obvious lack of enthusiasm, she shifted her focus. “You must be Susan,” she said warmly. “Why, aren’t you a pretty little thing! The boss never said a word about that, but then, he wouldn’t.” She flashed her employer a brief, reproachful look, then brightened. “But I guess I’m gettin’ the cart before the horse. I’m Maxine, and I take care of most of the important things around here. I’m sure this must all seem a tad overwhelmin’ at the moment, what with the baby and this quickie marriage, but you just wait and see, you’ll be settled in no time.

      “Now, why don’t you let me show you your room, and then you can see the rest of the house. I’ll get one of the boys to bring up your suitcases later, unless you need something right away.”

      Susan glanced at Sterling, feeling a bit dazed. Unless she’d missed something, it appeared he’d explained their situation to his housekeeper. While she didn’t mind exactly—when she stopped to think about it she could see that anything else would have raised all sorts of awkward questions—he could at least have warned her.

      Yet conversing with her was clearly not high on his list of priorities. “You go ahead,” he said, his expression once again impossible to read. “I need to call my office.”

      “Yeah, and you need to call your lawyer,” Max informed him tartly. She made a sour face. “I’m tellin’ you, for such a supposed hotshot, that man is plenty excitable. He’s called here three times, babblin’ about some message you left on his answering machine and insistin’ he has to talk to you.”

      “Great,” Sterling murmured. “Anything else?”

      “As a matter of fact, yessir there is. Greg Hunt called. Said he had some information for you about that immigrant you and some of the other gentlemen from the Cattleman’s Club are sponsoring and that he’d appreciate it if you’d give him a call.”

      “Terrific.” With a stiff nod, he walked down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

      Susan stared after him, telling herself to give him the benefit of the doubt. Rather than being deliberately rude, he probably just hadn’t adjusted his thinking yet to include a wife. Once he did, he’d no doubt be appalled at his thoughtlessness in practically abandoning her at the front door.

      As if reading her mind, Maxine laid a hand on her shoulder and urged her toward the sweeping staircase that curved up to the second floor. “Don’t mind him, darlin’,” she said breezily. “The first thing you gotta know about the boss is that beneath all that growl, the man’s a cupcake. Not—” she rolled her eyes “—that he’d ever admit it, you understand.”