Housekeeper at His Beck and Call. Susan Stephens

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      She had been wondering how long it was since he’d had his last military haircut. Some time, she guessed now as he ruffled his inky-black hair. ‘Positive,’ she confirmed, refocusing. Maybe he’d grown his hair to cover his scars? She could see more of them cutting through his tan now he’d brushed his hair back from his forehead.

      ‘I haven’t been up here recently,’ he admitted, ‘and, as you can see, things have got kind of neglected.’

      She felt a little glow of pleasure that he cared. She’d suspected he’d a human side and just hid it well. Or maybe she was clutching at straws and shouldn’t allow herself to get carried away; she liked Cade Grant far too much already. ‘All I need,’ she reassured him, ‘is a bed, a window and a door.’

      He wanted to smile, but stopped himself in time. She’d struck a chord with him. He’d grown up in undiluted splendour, but what Liv described was how he’d felt on the day he’d joined the army. ‘I wouldn’t object to you making a few improvements…’

      If she was here long enough there would have to be more than a few improvements, Liv reflected, and not just to the house.

      CHAPTER THREE

      CADE was full of surprises, Liv thought, gazing at the clothes he’d brought upstairs. She’d smiled when he’d asked her to take them to the cleaners in town where they did a turn-around service. How nice was that? He must take care of his gran’s cleaning for the old lady. And now Liv was on the point of leaving her attic room, to undertake this, the first of her missions—settling in having taken her all of thirty seconds, which was the time it took to throw open the window, turn back the bed, and discover that Cade had a lot to learn about bedding.

      But his heart was in the right place. And it wasn’t just this kind deed. He had magicked up some acceptable army gear for her to wear, comprising a plain blue track suit and trainers in the correct size. Apparently he ran courses in the grounds when he was home—another plus point in his favour—and kept a stock of clothes. And then he’d insisted on giving her a wad of money ‘for anything else she might need’. When she’d protested her needs were few, he’d quirked a brow and she’d given in. She must buy some new clothes—an interim solution, he’d said. He’d just shrugged when she’d assured him she’d pay back every penny out of her wages. ‘I haven’t hired you yet,’ he’d reminded her.

      Which had made her doubly determined to nail the job. Cade might seem a little gruff on first meetng, but life had made him that way. She had seen a different side of him briefly, and, however well hidden that side might be, she liked what she saw.

      Wasn’t it easy to find excuses for a man who made her thrill with just a glance? Liv’s inner voice suggested. And was it the thought of those condoms in the drawer or the barren room that was making that quiver run down her spine now?

      The room, Liv told her inner voice firmly; there was so much she could do with it. For someone who revelled in frills and flounces it was a blank canvas upon which she couldn’t wait to get started. What it amounted to was this—whatever Cade threw at her, she had to tough it out. She had nowhere else to go. And after the wedding fiasco she had no intention of becoming known as a serial bolter. People thought she was ditsy enough already, just because she looked a certain way, and this was her opportunity to prove them wrong. Yes, the thought of going into town on the afternoon of her aborted wedding frightened the pants off her, but she had to show her face in town some time, so why not make it now?

      He frowned as he watched Liv marching down the drive. It hadn’t occurred to him she couldn’t drive. It hadn’t occurred to him anyone over the age of seventeen couldn’t drive. It made him wonder what else was lacking in her education. Recalling her horrified reaction when she’d spotted the condoms in the drawer, he had to consider the possibility she was a virgin. The thought of taking up the role of educator appealed to him. His body apparently agreed with this proposition.

      He considered the ruined wedding dress, currently residing in a black plastic bag on top of the bins. What had torn Liv away from her own wedding? She must have known what she was getting into. She appeared to be the girl with everything…or was she the girl with nothing, who had realised how empty her life would become, and had decided to do something about it?

      She was as pigheaded as he was, he concluded as she reached the gates. She had left without speaking to him first and clearly didn’t know the local bus only stopped every two hours outside the gates and she had just missed the last one. He could chase after her and explain, but something told him she wouldn’t appreciate that; she wanted to do things on her own, to prove she could.

      She barely paused at the bus stop, before starting off down the road. Did she know how far it was to the next stop? There was a rusty bike languishing in the back of the garage, or he could even drive her into town, but didn’t he expect rookies under his command to use their initiative? Something told him Liv Tate would do just that. Plus she’d suffered enough for one day, and if she was anything like him she needed time and space to find her own solutions. Whatever had happened to her in the church that morning she had managed to put it behind her, and now she was determined to get on with the rest of her life. He could only admire that, and even envy it a little. Pulling away from the window, he left her to it.

      She hitched a lift into town. Olivia Tate, formerly known as Miss Prissy-Pants-Caution-Is-Her-Watchword, waited as long as she could bear to for the bus and then hitched a lift into town with a lorry driver; a lorry driver moreover who offered to share his hamburger with her. How good was that? Having ascertained that that was all he wanted to share, she thanked the fates for being kind to her and declined politely.

      By the time she climbed down from the cab on the outskirts of town Big Harry and Liv were good friends, but her buoyant mood was rudely shattered by the vicar’s wife, who lost no time in telling her that Olivia Tate was not welcome in town. ‘Why, Olivia Tate. I’m amazed you dare to show your face today of all days! And what on earth were you doing with a…truck driver?’

      Liv’s eyes narrowed. Had this sort of thing been going on all along, and she’d only just noticed how ridiculous people were? ‘Big Harry?’ she said, affecting surprise. ‘Why, he’s my friend.’ And a better friend than you are, Liv concluded. Hugging Cade’s gran’s clothes for comfort, she turned her face towards the high street and the next part of her mission.

      Liv was the first to admit she had a problem with shoes. She could never pass a sale sign without taking a look, and sale signs seemed to be everywhere, tempting her today. But she was looking for sensible shoes to wear at Featherstone—sturdy lace-ups with flat heels, she decided, forcing her reluctant feet past rows of massively discounted designer footwear.

      She spent some of Cade’s money, and then a little more—telling herself she would work it off—before finally taking cover from the rain inside the Minster Tea rooms while she waited for the local bus to arrive.

      Having drained the last of her coffee, she glanced at her watch. It was time to collect Cade’s gran’s clothes from the dry-cleaner’s. It made Liv smile every time she thought about them. Cade was all bark and no bite, she had decided. And now she really must go. She had collected a timetable from the bus station, and had no intention of being caught out a second time.

      Of course, she could always take a taxi, Liv reflected, looking out of the window at the pouring rain; Cade had given her plenty of money…

      And have him think her a wuss?

      Smiling at the waitress, she asked for the bill.

      He’d had to drive into town to СКАЧАТЬ