Booties And The Beast

She was. “I’m Winton. What’s wrong with Miranda?”

Miranda was the owner of the HomeBody Agency. Normally she would see a client as important as Sam herself and Winton was obviously well aware of it. “She’s tied up with…” As her annoyance grew, Haley swallowed the rest of her apology for Miranda’s absence. “Do you think we could discuss this face-to-face, Mr. Winton? Or would you rather conduct the entire meeting by intercom?”

A buzz like a swarm of angry bees drowned out his reply as the tall, iron gates swung gracefully inward. Haley got back into her car and drove through. As soon as she had cleared the gates they closed behind her. Common sense told her they were triggered by some kind of sensor mechanism, but she felt an uncomfortable sensation of prison doors clanging shut.

She pulled up outside the imposing Federation-style house and got out but was stopped by a blur of movement she caught out of the corner of her eye. The owner of the Baskerville howl came tearing around the side of the house, churning gravel under its floor mop feet. Haley barely had time to scramble back into the car and pull the door shut, before a dog the size of a small pony threw itself at the window. Her heart pounded as she stared down a throat rimmed by teeth that would have done a shark proud.

“Down, Dougal. Heel.”

The command was given with all the authority of a major general, so Haley wasn’t surprised when the dog bolted away from her car window as if shot. Had the command been directed at her, she would probably have obeyed it, too. She shivered and wondered if it was from reaction to the sudden appearance of the dog—or its master.

Haley was relieved when the dog settled itself meekly at the heels of the man waiting at the foot of the front steps. It was Sam Winton himself, she saw, recognizing him from the photograph on his books. Except that her first sight of him in the flesh destroyed most of her preconceptions in one go.

She didn’t know what she had expected the children’s writer to look like, but it wasn’t this vibrant man who exuded energy the way high-voltage wires hum with power. His skin was burnished with healthy color, and his hair was as black as baby Joel’s only a lot thicker. It curled almost to his collar, it was in a style that reminded her of medieval knights in old movies, though instead of armor this knight was poised in an ivory polo shirt and chinos as black as his hair.

She was used to thinking of him as The Beast, her sister’s nickname for him, but he didn’t look in the least beastly. He was taller than she had imagined, perhaps half a head taller than Haley herself. He was also well built, but not with the showy musculature of an athlete as much as someone who simply took care of himself.

Right now, the most beastly thing about him was the deep vee of a frown that cut a swathe between two of the bluest eyes she had ever seen. His frown deepened as she looked warily at the dog. “You can get out now. He won’t hurt you.”

When she did so, the man reached for her hand and a jolt like electricity surged along her arm, affirming the high-voltage impression she’d already formed. She tried to pull away but his grip was like steel. Alarm shrilled through her. “What are you…”

He offered her hand to Dougal, who sniffed it, making her wonder if the dog’s next move would be to swallow her hand up to the wrist. He looked more than capable of it. But Sam said, “Friend, Dougal. Friend.”

At first the dog’s tail moved listlessly then waved like a banner in a stiff breeze and he gave her hand in Sam’s a mighty lick. Relief coursed through her and she rubbed the dog’s shaggy chest with her free hand. His wiry coat teased her palm and he lowered his great head and butted her gently. She smiled, wondering how she could have been afraid of the shaggy animal for a minute. “Good dog.”

Sam nodded approvingly, obviously noting that she hadn’t made the elementary mistake of trying to pat the dog on the head. “You know dogs?”

“I love them. When I was a child, I had an Australian kelpie called Buddy.” The feel of her hand in his distracted her, making it hard to think straight.

He didn’t seem to notice her discomfort, keeping his fingers threaded through hers as he straightened. “You bolted as soon as Dougal appeared.”

Naturally, he’d seen her undignified scramble back into the car. It put her at a further disadvantage and she drew herself up defensively. “For all I knew, he was a guard dog, trained to eat intruders.” She didn’t add, “like his owner,” but it must have been in her voice.

When he released her hand, she chased away a surprising sensation of disappointment. “Dougal is supposed to be a guard dog, but he’s more likely to lick an intruder to death in his joy at having company.”

A feeling not shared by his owner, she thought, not sure where the certainty came from. “Do you get many intruders?”

“Not with Dougal around. Off you go. Finish your bone.” At the magic word, the dog’s ears twitched and he loped back the way he’d come. Sam gestured toward the steps. “Shall we go inside?”

His sudden switch to a businesslike tone chilled the atmosphere as effectively as a stiff breeze shredding a mist. For a moment she wondered if he could possibly know who she was, then realized that his anger was in response to hers. This would never do if she was to get to know him better. “I’m sorry if I sounded rude down the intercom when I arrived,” she said, biting back any hint of self-justification by reminding herself that Miranda trusted her to behave herself.

“You did,” he agreed, “But you also had a point.”

His response told her it was as close to an apology as she was going to get so she followed him into the rambling old house. He led the way down a wide arched hallway past a double living room furnished with wonderful antique furniture, past the partially open door of a bedroom that looked recently vacated. Had he been sleeping in the middle of the afternoon? she wondered. But then he was a writer. He probably worked unconventional hours.

He pulled the bedroom door shut before she could do more than glimpse a vast four-poster bed covered in rumpled bedclothes that suggested he was either the world’s most restless sleeper or did some of his entertaining in bed.

The thought troubled her, making her wonder why it was harder to think of him as a beast, lonely and unloved, than as a sexual athlete for whom her sister had been one of many conquests. Both images took her into territory she resisted exploring. His personal life had nothing to do with her reason for wanting to meet him.

He opened another door on a vast library with floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with books. Many of them were reference books on a wide variety of subjects, she saw when she scanned them with instinctive curiosity. Off the library, another door led to what looked like an office, judging by the computers, printers and other paraphernalia visible through the opening. His work space looked chaotic. Surprising, she thought, since he appeared to be the kind of man who liked his life run with military precision.

“Take a seat.” He gestured to a leather-covered couch. Iron-gray hairs scattered over the soft leather suggested that Dougal often kept him company while he worked. The thought almost made her melt until she resolutely drove it away. So he allowed his dog to sleep on an obviously expensive piece of furniture. So what? It didn’t make Sam any less The Beast than before.

“Coffee?” Sam asked as she perched on the edge of the sofa. He probably thought she feared getting dog hair on her clothes. If he knew the real reason why she was so on edge, he’d probably command his dog to see her on her way.

“Thank you,” she said. Socializing with Sam Winton wasn’t part of her plan, but the liquid might help to ease the dryness in her throat. “I like it black with no sugar.”

“Sensible woman,” he muttered. When she frowned, he said, “It’s the only way to drink decent coffee. I have mine flown in from the Kona Coast in Hawaii.”

“How nice for you,” she said under her breath, mentally contrasting his freedom to order coffee from halfway across the Pacific with her own need to watch every penny to provide for baby Joel and herself. Most of her savings had been spent easing Ellen’s last months, as well as paying the many medical bills that hadn’t been covered by her sister’s insurance, so being broke was a way of life for her these days.

As a computer consultant, usually she was well paid, but since Ellen’s death, the hours she could work had been restricted by the need to care for Joel. It was one reason why she had jumped at helping Miranda for a couple of weeks. Not only could she take the baby to the office with her, but the salary was helping to cover some of the endless stream of bills.

Haley’s mother and stepfather, Greg, had helped as much as they could, but they were both hopeless with money so most of the burden fell on Haley herself. She hadn’t grudged her sister anything that had eased her final months, but she didn’t appreciate the reminder that Sam Winton could have helped if he’d wanted to.

“I didn’t catch that,” he said, drawing her back to the present. “Don’t you like Hawaiian coffee?”

“I…uh…said it’s very nice,” she improvised. All of a sudden she felt a pressing need to get out of there before she threw something at Sam. What had possessed her to think any good would come of meeting Sam face-to-face? When Ellen had told him she was expecting his baby, he hadn’t exactly welcomed her with open arms. The opposite, in fact. According to Ellen, he had told her in no uncertain terms that he couldn’t possibly be the father of her child and had all but thrown her out of his house.

It tore at Haley to recall that Ellen’s tumor had been in remission for a whole year when she’d started working with Sam as an illustrator for one of his books. They would never know whether the remission would have gone on if not for Ellen falling pregnant—and after seeing him, Haley didn’t doubt that Joel was Sam’s baby—but the strain of pregnancy hadn’t helped. Ellen’s life had ended one short month after giving birth to Joel. Only seeing the joy the baby had given her sister, eased Haley’s grief. She knew that Ellen wouldn’t have wanted anything to be different.

Except Sam’s reaction. Her sister had been devastated by his rejection. After all her medical treatments, Ellen had been so sure she couldn’t become pregnant that she hadn’t taken any precautions. Ellen hadn’t gone into details, but Haley assumed that Sam hadn’t taken any, either. Despite the obvious fact they’d slept together, he couldn’t know Ellen very well if he thought she was the type to have any doubts about who had fathered her child.

He probably thought she had picked on Sam because of his fame and obvious wealth. Only Haley knew that Ellen had given herself to Sam out of a moment of acute loneliness and fear. She had been awaiting the results of her latest checkup.

Haley had heard the whole story late one night, several months after they’d learned that Ellen’s illness was back, when her pain made sleep impossible. Hearing her toss and turn, Haley had gone in to see if she could help, not that there was much she or anyone could do, but talking was one way she could take Ellen’s mind off her suffering for a little while.

After Ellen had been working with Sam for some time, she told Haley, she had arrived to find Sam methodically tearing to shreds the divorce papers he’d received in the mail that morning.

In turmoil herself as she waited for her doctor to call with the results of the checkup, she had been as averse to working as Sam and they had taken comfort in each other’s company. He hadn’t known why Ellen was so distressed but he’d sensed that she’d needed his arms as much as he’d needed hers. Joel had been the result.

Knowing what hell her half sister had gone through before she went into remission, Haley couldn’t blame Ellen for taking what pleasure she could in the moment. She also knew her sister’s instinct would have been to try to help Sam. She had always been a giving person.

Haley didn’t blame The Beast for seeking comfort after receiving the cold, hard proof that his marriage was over. Haley knew only too well how it felt when a relationship blew apart. She had been seeing Richard Cross, a business associate, for a few months, and had thought they were becoming close, when he told her bluntly to choose between him and her sister’s baby. She had felt as if her world had come to an end. There had been no real choice. She didn’t regret choosing the baby. But it still hurt.

She couldn’t do anything to hold Richard, even supposing she wanted to after his cruel ultimatum. But she could and did blame Sam for his coldhearted refusal to accept his share of responsibility for Ellen’s baby. The thought gave Haley the strength to do the job Miranda had trusted her to do. Haley opened her brief case and took out a file. “I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather skip coffee and get on with the purpose of this meeting.”

Sam gave a suit-yourself shrug. “I hope you don’t mind if I have some. I’ve been working since five this morning.” Without waiting for a reply, he disappeared into his office. Her anger notched higher as she heard the hiss of an espresso machine followed by the chink of a spoon against porcelain. Sam definitely didn’t stint himself.

Apart from the luxury of an espresso machine in his office, the room around her screamed affluence from the Cedric Emmanuel etchings on the walls to the designer furnishings. Thinking of Joel back at the office with Miranda, Haley began to seethe. How dare Sam spoil himself while his son had so little?

When Sam returned, cup in hand, the rich aroma of the coffee teased at her nostrils. She wished she hadn’t been so hasty in refusing some. Depriving herself wasn’t going to bring Sam into line, and her prickly behavior just might make him suspicious of her real motives.

“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?” he asked, setting his cup down on a side table.

“No, thank you,” she said, astonished that she could actually speak through clenched teeth. She had known that meeting Sam wouldn’t be a picnic, but she had never expected it to be this much of an ordeal. Nor that it would bring back so much of the past tragic year, when she’d nursed Ellen through her pregnancy, knowing that her illness had recurred.

She had had to put her grief at losing her sister aside to take care of the baby. She had come to look upon Joel as her own child. Her anger at Sam was precisely because she now thought of Joel as her baby, she realized. There was no way she could be as objective as she wanted to be—as Miranda needed her to be—so they’d better get this over with before she said something she would regret. “I’d like to get down to business.”