The Hired Husband. Judith Stacy

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СКАЧАТЬ A tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a dark suit stood with his back to her near the tea service. Her gaze swept the room, then landed on the man once more.

      Where was the accountant? This wasn’t him.

      Alarm filled her once more. Had Mr. Kincade been insulted that she was late? Had he left? Had her best chance of saving her family’s financial future simply walked out because of a lapse in her hostessing skills?

      The man turned his head, saw her, then came around slowly to face her. Rachel’s heart thudded into her throat, setting her pulse to pounding. A jumble of emotions swept her, all too confusing to name.

      Except for one. This wasn’t her accountant. It couldn’t be.

      This man was huge. Tall. Muscular. Square everywhere—jaw, shoulders, knuckles. And he was handsome. Thick brown hair and blue eyes just short of being beautiful.

      This couldn’t be her Mr. Kincade. Never in her life had she seen an accountant who looked like this.

      He studied her for a moment, seemingly as lost as she, then came forward. “Miss Branford? I’m Mitch Kincade.”

      “No, you’re not.”

      He paused and his brows drew together. “I’m positive that I am.”

      “You’re Mitch Kincade?” Rachel’s gaze swept him from head to toe, then landed on his face once more. “You’re my knight in shining armor?”

      Rachel’s cheeks flushed. Good gracious, had she actually said that aloud?

      Mitch’s lips twitched. “You probably don’t recognize me because I left my white steed out front.”

      Then he smiled and the most glorious warmth welled inside Rachel, making her smile in return.

      “Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” she said, her voice little more than a breathy whisper.

      They stared at each other for an awkward moment, then Mitch asked, “Are you Miss Branford? Rachel Branford?”

      “Oh, yes.” Rachel felt her cheeks warm. “And I’m so pleased to meet you. Thank you for coming.”

      He kept looking at her—studying her, actually—until Rachel realized she suddenly couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

      “Would you care for some refreshment?” She blurted out the words, thankful that something intelligent had finally floated through her mind, and walked to the tea service. “I have—”

      Rachel stopped, frozen in horror. This was the wrong tea service. Here it was mid-April and the servants had put out the winter service.

      She pressed her lips together, holding in a gasp and silently berating herself. She should have checked it herself, should have made sure the table was properly set. This simply wasn’t done. No wonder Mr. Kincade had been staring at the tea service when she walked in.

      Rachel turned to him, sure her cheeks had grown even more pink. What could she say? How could she possibly explain this social insult?

      “Is Mr. Parker here?” Mitch asked.

      A few seconds passed before Rachel realized what he’d asked. “Not yet. But I’m sure Uncle Stuart will be here shortly. Would you care to sit down?”

      Hell, yes, he wanted to sit down. Mitch moved to a chair and managed to stay on his feet until Rachel lowered herself onto the settee at his right.

      This was Rachel Branford? The ugly duckling of the family?

      But she was lovely. Tall, slender. Nicely filling out the front of her shirtwaist. Big brown eyes. Coral lips that made him want to—

      “How was your trip?” Rachel asked.

      Mitch shifted uncomfortably in the cramped chair. He wasn’t much for making small talk, especially now, looking at Rachel.

      She sat erect, back straight, hands folded primly in her lap, feet placed firmly on the floor. A lady. A genuine lady perfectly at ease in this elegant, dignified setting.

      “Fine,” he said. She gazed at him, as if expecting more conversation. Mitch cleared his throat and tried again. “The train—”

      “Run!”

      Mitch surged to his feet as a young girl swept into the room, tears streaming down her face.

      “Run!” she shouted at Mitch, then pointed a finger at Rachel. “Get away from her!”

      “Chelsey, please.” Rachel rose and said to Mitch, “My sister.”

      “Run now! While you still can!”

      “She’s fifteen,” Rachel told him in a low voice, as if that explained everything.

      Mitch looked back and forth between the two of them, bewildered. Chelsey, in the throes of an all-out hissy fit, and Rachel, somehow managing to remain calm and composed.

      Chelsey approached Mitch, not bothering to wipe the tears from her puffy eyes. “She’ll take over your life! She thinks she runs everything around here! Everything!”

      “Chelsey, please, this is hardly the time,” Rachel pleaded. “We’ll discuss your situation—”

      “It’s not a situation! It’s my education!” Chelsey drew in an anguished gulp of air. “You’re ruining my life!”

      “Chelsey—”

      She flung out both arms, as if beseeching the heavens. “And no one cares!”

      Mitch was nearly overcome with the need to do something. Intervene, get to the bottom of the problem, comfort one of them—both of them. Do something.

      But his attention darted to the doorway as a young man ambled inside. Dark haired, brown eyed. He vaguely resembled both Rachel and Chelsey. Their brother, surely.

      Mitch guessed the boy fell between the two of them in the family line, probably around sixteen years old.

      He ignored Mitch and his sisters, as if he hadn’t noticed any of them in the room, and went to a low cabinet beside the fireplace. Opening the door, he withdrew a bottle of whiskey, then turned.

      Mitch’s chest tightened. The left sleeve of his shirt was knotted just below his shoulder. The boy had lost his arm.

      “Noah?” Rachel called, making Mitch realize that both she and Chelsey had fallen silent. “Noah, please come meet our guest, Mr. Kincade.”

      With practiced ease, the boy pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth, then caught it in his fingers as he turned up the bottle. He kept walking.

      “Noah?”

      Rachel spoke again, and Mitch heard the quiet desperation in her voice. A knot wound so tight in his stomach that Mitch didn’t think he could bear it.

      Noah managed a salute in Mitch’s direction with the bottle, СКАЧАТЬ