Dad By Choice. Marie Ferrarella

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      There was a guest cottage on the premises, barely visible off to the side. Hidden from view were the tennis court and the pool that Kyle knew were located at the rear of the property. The tennis court alone was larger than the lot on which his boyhood home had stood.

      The rich sure knew how to live, he thought. It was a talent he was still trying to acquire. But work kept getting in the way. Another skill he had yet to acquire, he knew, was the ability to delegate. But he couldn’t overcome the nagging fear that if he wasn’t involved in all phases of operation, everything would break down and come to a grinding halt. Being on the leading edge of communications technology meant never slowing your pace.

      It looked as if Abby hadn’t been blowing him off about the “meeting,” after all, Kyle thought as they approached the mansion. There was a squadron of cars parked in the circular gray-and-white paved driveway. He quickly surveyed the various makes and models. They would make an automobile aficionado drool.

      It was difficult not to feel out of place, even behind the wheel of a Mercedes. He supposed that was because no matter what the numbers on the ledgers said, deep down he was still that scrawny, awkward kid in his cousin’s hand-me-downs.

      Kyle was beginning to have doubts that he would ever be entirely free of that image.

      But for now, he pushed that negative thought aside, just as he had countless other times during the early years of his business when all his efforts looked as if they might blow up in his face. It had taken fierce determination for him to believe in himself, but it had paid off.

      He was as good as any of these people, Kyle told himself. He just had to hold on to that thought.

      After pulling up beside Abby’s car, Kyle turned off the engine and got out quickly. Abby was already ahead of him, waiting on the bottom of the steps that led up to the massive front door. Kyle lengthened his stride, sensing she would only wait a moment. “You drive too fast.”

      The blunt observation surprised Abby. People who wanted to win you over to their side didn’t start out by admonishing you. It seemed the man was full of contradictions. He was also undoubtedly accustomed to getting his way, if not through sheer force of will, then by his looks. She found herself wondering if any woman had ever said no to him—and meant it.

      “So my brothers say,” she acknowledged, inclining her head. “I tend to do that when I’m running behind.” The look she gave him was long, penetrating and deep. “I’m sure someone like you can understand that.”

      He could, but he also knew better. Life had taught him that. “Better late than never,” he countered. When she raised a quizzical brow, he added, “My mother drove like you do. She died in a car crash a little more than sixteen years ago.”

      Caught unprepared, Abby could only murmur, “I’m sorry.”

      He said nothing, merely shrugged as he fell in beside her. There was no point in going over what was in the past and couldn’t be changed. He was interested in the present, and how it could influence the future.

      Kyle drank in the splendor that was Maitland Mansion. The word grand seemed hopelessly insufficient. It took him back to the boy he’d been. The dreamer. “I’ve always wondered what it looked like inside.”

      The admission made Abby smile. He probably didn’t realize that he sounded almost wistful. Taking the lead, she hurried up the steps. “Then wonder no more.”

      She rang the doorbell even though she had a key. Harold would be there to open the front door before she ever located her key within the jumble of her purse.

      The stern face that appeared when the door was opened broke into a wreath of smiles as recognition sank in. Clear blue eyes crinkled with pleasure. “Miss Abby, how nice to see you again.”

      She could remember a time when the tall, stately man had seemed larger than life to her. Now there was a touch of frailty hovering over him that tugged on her heart strings. “Hello, Harold.”

      She surprised Kyle by brushing her lips over the butler’s cheek. The pale complexion grew pink where her lips had touched it.

      “Am I the last one?” she asked, walking in.

      Harold nodded. “They’re all in the living room.” He inclined his head in that general direction, but his eyes rested on Kyle. There was not even the slightest spark of curiosity in them. To Harold, curiosity was a plebeian sentiment. What he needed to know he would be told, by and by.

      Abby glanced toward the living room. The doors were closed. Not a good sign. She wondered if anything had been decided yet.

      The slight, almost imperceptible clearing of a throat made her remember the man at her side. And her manners. “This is Kyle McDermott. Mr. McDermott, this is Harold, without whom everything in the Maitland household would fall to pieces.”

      The modest smile threatened to take possession of the butler’s entire face. “You flatter me, Miss Abby.”

      She caught the old man’s arm in a quick, affectionate embrace. “Not nearly enough.” She released her hold. Time to see what was going on. “Please show Mr. McDermott to the library, Harold.” She spared Kyle a quick glance. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

      “I’ll be waiting.”

      “I’m sure you will,” she murmured, hurrying away.

      Kyle watched her for a second, noting that the gentle sway of her hips increased as she picked up speed.

      “This way, sir.”

      It sounded more like a command than a request. Turning away, Kyle followed the older man.

      The butler was silent as he led the way down a hallway discreetly showcasing fine sculptures and paintings that looked vaguely familiar from an art history course dating back to Kyle’s freshman year in college.

      He wondered if he should be dropping bread crumbs to help him find his way back, in case the good doctor forgot about him. He would have been willing to bet that more than one person had gotten lost here.

      “May I bring you some refreshments?” Harold asked as he opened the double doors that led into the library.

      The room more than deserved its name. The mingled scent of lemon oil, leather and roses greeted him. For a moment, Kyle didn’t acknowledge the butler’s question, as he looked around the room. It rose two stories, with books residing on dark oak shelves that completely lined three of its walls. In the rear of the library, stairs led to an alcove that housed more books and a long table.

      Had Abby done her studying here? Kyle wondered. Or was this all for show? “Quite impressive.”

      “The Maitlands all like to read, sir. Some of the books here are over two hundred years old,” Harold told him. “About the refreshments?” A gray brow rose.

      Kyle shook his head, still looking around. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

      Harold remained standing where he was. “It might be a while, sir.”

      Kyle looked at the man, feeling as if he had been given a subtle hint. “In that case, make it a scotch. Neat.”

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