Big-city Bachelor. Ingrid Weaver

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СКАЧАТЬ made it three times in the past week she’d threatened to quit. A new record. Alex took a deep breath and turned his head to look at his housekeeper.

      Mrs. Gray was perched on the antique settee, the least comfortable piece of furniture in the room. She lived up to her name. The starched dress that she wore was a sober gray, as was her tightly curled hair. Even the long-haired cat that curled on her lap was gray, except for the spots where its fur still bore traces of the twins’ purple paint.

      The housekeeper had come highly recommended by the agency Alex had always dealt with. And she’d lasted almost four months, which was longer than any of her predecessors. But one look at her closed expression and he suspected that she might actually follow through with her threat.

      “I’ll have the damage to your car repaired, Mrs. Gray,” he said. “And we can discuss your salary—”

      “Don’t think you can buy me off this time, Mr. Whitmore. Your money doesn’t solve everything. Never in all my years have I worked with such—” She broke off, extending her arm to point a shaking finger at his sons. “Mark my words, they’re on the path to a life of crime. You don’t need a housekeeper, you need a warden.”

      He rose to his feet, keeping his hands on the twins’ shoulders. “We’ll talk about this later.”

      “They’re bad seeds. They’re demon children. They—”

      “Mrs. Gray,” Alex said. “That’s enough.”

      At his harsh tone, she pressed her lips into a bloodless line and stood up, cradling her purple-tinged cat to her chest. She glared at the twins, then sniffed and stalked out of the room.

      “She’s a goner,” Jason said happily.

      “Yeah,” Daniel said, bouncing on the sofa cushion.

      Alex heard a door slam in the depths of the house.

      He had never particularly liked Mrs. Gray, but her loss was going to throw a major wrench into the smooth-running machinery of his life. He wanted to kick something. He wanted to tip back his head and vent his frustration in a blistering string of curses. But as always, he did neither. He breathed in deeply, striving for control, feeling a familiar throbbing start at his temples. The men with the hammers were already warming up.

      “Hey, who’s that? Is she gonna be our new sitter?”

      Alex followed the direction of his son’s gaze. Lizzie was standing just inside the doorway, her lips parted as she took in the scene.

      Wonderful, he thought. This was a hell of a way to impress a new partner. How much farther off track could his plan to dazzle her get? “Boys, this is Miss Hamill. And, no, she’s not your new baby-sitter.” He turned to Lizzie. “I’m sorry I dragged you out here,” he began.

      “No, it’s understandable. You were worried.” Lizzie crossed her arms and rubbed her palms over her sleeves, glancing toward the bay window that overlooked the garden. Even from within the lighted room, the glint of Mrs. Gray’s car was clearly visible in the moonlight. “You’re better off without her.”

      “What?”

      “If that was your housekeeper, you’re better off without her. Losing control of her car is one thing, but blaming it on innocent children…” A blush rose in her cheeks. “Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

      Her defense of his sons, as misplaced as it was, brought an unexpected rush of warmth. It was a different warmth from the kind caused by her smile. But it was just as unwelcome. He frowned, trying to remember what he’d told her about the accident on the way over here. “Mrs. Gray wasn’t driving.”

      “That’s even worse. If she let someone else—”

      “We were only borrowing it,” Daniel interrupted.

      “We were sharing,” Jason said. “Barney says it’s good to share.”

      “It was just like our cars,” Daniel added.

      “Except it went fast.”

      “Yeah, real fast.”

      Alex shuddered as he pictured his children treating the ton and a half of metal like another one of their toys. He’d given them battery-powered cars a month ago. He’d thought the boys had enjoyed puttering around in them, but evidently they hadn’t been satisfied. They’d only been training for the real thing.

      Lizzie looked from one twin to the other, her eyes widening with dawning comprehension. “You mean that…” Her gaze settled on Alex. “Are you telling me that these children were driving?”

      He nodded stiffly.

      “But…” She looked at the boys again. “How?”

      “Jason stood on the seat to steer and I pushed on the pedals,” Daniel said, twisting on the sofa to face Lizzie. “Smart, huh?”

      She lifted her hand to her mouth, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, Lord love a duck.”

      “We took the keys when Mrs. Gray went to the bathroom,” Jason said. He wrinkled his nose. “She stays in the bathroom forever.”

      “Forever,” Daniel echoed.

      “It was easy. Just like our cars. ’Cept the key made a weird noise until I let go of it. Like this. Kshckkk,” he said, doing a fair imitation of the sound of grinding starter gears.

      Alex tried to keep his tone even, despite the anxiety that pulsed along his nerves whenever he let himself think about what could have happened. “What you did was wrong, boys. It was dangerous. You could have been badly hurt.”

      “We only wanted to borrow it. We were going to give it back,” Daniel said, pushing out his lower lip.

      “See?” Jason mumbled to his brother. “He is mad. Told ya.”

      “Don’t be stupid.”

      “I’m not stupid. You’re the one—”

      The budding squabble was halted by a muffled shriek from the back of the house.

      Alex grimaced. Now what?

      “Uh—oh,” Daniel said, climbing over the back of the sofa and dropping to the floor.

      Jason scrambled after him. “Uh—oh.”

      There was the sound of a door opening, followed by Mrs. Gray’s indignant shout. “Mr. Whitmore, there are worms in my suitcase!”

      Without a backward glance, the boys ran out of the room and headed for the stairs.

      LIZZIE SIGHED as she sank into the luxurious cushions of the ivory-colored couch. She looked around, marveling once more at the beautiful room. Like the Whitmore and Hamill office, Alex’s home practically oozed wealth and sophistication. It was like something out of a decorating magazine, from the lustrous wood of the delicate side tables to the pale upholstery and the antique settee.

      Except magazine photos didn’t usually include muddy footprints.

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