The Hired Husband. Judith Stacy

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      “I’ll settle for a bookkeeper who can keep his mouth shut.”

      “I already have someone in mind,” Uncle Stuart told her. “An outsider. A man who knows nothing of the situation, except what he’ll discover in the account books and ledgers. He’ll be totally impartial with nothing to gain financially—beyond his salary.”

      “Who is he?”

      “Mitch Kincade. I met him during my last trip up to the Bay Area. He’s helped out in similar situations.”

      “What are his qualifications?” Rachel asked.

      “A financial genius, he’s been called.”

      “Can he be trusted?”

      “Implicitly,” Uncle Stuart said. “I learned of him from the highest sources.”

      “This sort of thing happens often?” Rachel asked, troubled to think of other families suffering the same sort of problems.

      “Yes, unfortunately.” Uncle Stuart shrugged. “But sometimes it’s only suspected, not confirmed. Other times a company might want an outsider to check into things as a way to keep the partners honest. And there are occasions when a fresh perspective from an outside source might reveal ways of doing things better.”

      “If this Mr. Kincade is so intelligent, why doesn’t he run his own company?” Rachel asked. “Why is he working on salary for other firms?”

      “There’s some prestige in being a hired gun,” Uncle Stuart pointed out.

      “What about his background?”

      “Nothing that caused a problem for his other employers. His credentials and references are beyond reproach. He’s worked for several men I know and maintains a sterling reputation.” Uncle Stuart looked down at her. “I’ve covered your immediate debts, Rachel, but I can’t do so forever. Something permanent must be done to contain this situation. And with George gone and your father ill, I’m afraid the problem falls squarely on your shoulders. What do you want to do?”

      Impatience zinged through Rachel. The answer was obvious, of course, and she wanted to get this Mr. Kincade here yesterday.

      Yet her mother’s face floated across her mind. The two of them had spent their time planning social functions, attending teas, redecorating the house room by room. Weighty issues? Matters of finance? Women involved in business? It simply wasn’t done. What would people say? It wasn’t her place. How many times had Rachel heard her mother say those things?

      She’d have do it quietly, Rachel decided. Give the problem over to this stranger, let him come up with a plan. Then let him implement it and avoid the scandal.

      She lowered her lashes, hoping to look demure when what she really wanted to do was race to San Francisco herself and drag that Mr. Kincade down here tonight.

      “Do you think he can come right away?” she asked.

      “I’ll see to it,” Stuart said.

      “People will wonder why we’ve brought in this hired gun, as you call him, and given him free rein into Father’s business affairs,” Rachel said.

      Uncle Stuart thought for a moment. “He’ll stay here at the house. You can explain that he’s a friend of the family, come to visit and offer assistance.”

      Rachel shook her head. “Entertaining a guest so soon after Mother’s death and during Father’s illness? It’s highly inappropriate.”

      “Then we’ll say he’s a very dear, old family friend,” Uncle Stuart told her. “Besides, it will be excellent cover for Edward’s illness. Everyone will think the company records are being brought to the house for your father to review.”

      Rachel might have mumbled a little curse if her uncle hadn’t been in the room. The very last thing she wanted was to attempt to entertain a guest, especially a withered-up, boring accountant. She’d seen the prune-faced bookkeepers at her father’s offices, hunched over their ledgers, squinting at columns of figures. Having such a man underfoot would surely be a trial. Yet she’d have to do it.

      “All right, then. It’s settled,” she said. “How long will this take?”

      “Two weeks, three at the most,” Uncle Stuart said.

      Rachel sighed with relief. Thank goodness. In only a few weeks time, her life would be back to normal.

       Chapter Two

       “T his one must be a dog. A real dog.”

      “Wouldn’t be the first,” Mitch Kincade said and glanced across the hansom cab at his friend sprawled on the leather seat. They’d arrived at the train station barely an hour ago and headed immediately for the Branford home.

      “She’s what—twenty years old? Isn’t that what the old guy, Parker, said? And she’s not married?” Leo Sinclair leaned his head back and laughed. “She’s a dog, all right.”

      Mitch turned his attention out the window and watched the streets of Los Angeles roll past. In truth, he’d scarcely noticed the details of the Branford family that Stuart Parker had related to him two days ago in San Francisco. All Mitch cared was that Parker had showed up in person—the sign of a desperate situation—and hadn’t blinked an eye when Mitch quoted his fee.

      “Bet me. Come on, bet me,” Leo said, still not letting the topic drop.

      “I won’t bet you.”

      “Because the ol’ girl’s a dog and you know I’m right,” Leo concluded. “And because you’ve still got change from the very first dollar you earned and wouldn’t risk it to save your best friend’s life.”

      “You’re my best friend,” Mitch pointed out, “so it should be obvious why I wouldn’t squander my money on such an endeavor.”

      Mitch saw a little grin pull at Leo’s lips; he seemed pleased at being reminded that the two of them were, in fact, best friends. Fate had thrown them together nearly twenty-five years ago when Mitch was only seven and Leo but five; circumstance kept them together.

      “You and your visions, your plan,” Leo said and waved his arm. “Why can’t you relax? Enjoy life? All you do is work. Why can’t—”

      “—I be more like you?” Mitch shook his head, but admitted to himself that, at the moment, the notion had appeal. The afternoon was warm and though he’d tossed his suit jacket and bowler on the seat next to him, he wasn’t nearly as comfortable as Leo appeared to be in his trousers, open-collar shirt and work boots.

      “And there’s something wrong with that?” Leo asked, sitting a little higher on the seat. “I go where I want. Do what I want, when I feel like it. Take this trip. I was free to come down here with you on a whim. Nothing to hold me back. I’ve already had enough structured time in my life, and so have you.”

      Mitch looked away, wanting no further reminders of the years he and Leo had spent growing up.

      “Don’t СКАЧАТЬ