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As Faith stepped back, she noticed that Spencer had brought Tigger over to get a better look at Theo. Boy and dog were peeking around the edge of a large rose-colored armchair.
Theo saw him at that moment, too. “That your son?”
“My nephew.” Faith tried to motion Spencer out of hiding. “Spencer, this is Ms. Burke.”
But Spencer wasn’t moving. He was just a pair of round, dark eyes under a mess of spiky brown hair. He held Tigger tightly in his arms.
“None of this Ms. Burke stuff. Everybody calls me Theo. Everybody I like, that is, and I already know I like you, Spencer. Know how I know?”
Spencer’s brow wrinkled subtly. Faith could tell he was curious, but of course he didn’t say a word.
Luckily, Theo didn’t seem to require an answer. “I’ll tell you how I know,” she said, unscrewing the body of the vacuum with a tiny silver tool she had whisked out of her pocket. “I know because your dog likes you. Dogs know who the good people are.”
She held out the loose screw. “Hold these for me, would you, Spencer? And don’t drop them.”
To Faith’s amazement, Spencer inched out from behind the chair. He took three steps closer to the vacuum cleaner and opened his small palm. Theo dropped the screws into his hand and went on working, as if nothing peculiar had happened.
Faith, too, tried to pretend nonchalance. It was such a little thing, compared to the old Spencer, who had always been sociable and talkative. But the new Spencer rarely even made eye contact with strangers.
After a few minutes, Theo tugged out the green tassel. It was crumpled and dingy, but intact. Then she wiggled the hanger free, too.
She held it up with a smile. “You were lucky. Could have done some real damage with this, but you just melted the belt.”
She tilted her head and scrutinized Faith, who was sucking on her index finger, trying to soothe it where the nail had broken below the quick. Faith stopped with a guilty start and tucked her hand behind her back as if she had something to hide.
“Okay, I’ve got to know.” Theo grinned, suddenly looking twenty years younger. “It’s none of my business, but I’m going to ask you anyhow. I always do. Anybody can tell you that.”
“Ask me what?”
“What made a woman like you decide to take a job as a housekeeper? I’d be willing to bet the cost of that glamorous manicure that you’ve never actually touched a vacuum cleaner before.”
“Well, of course I ha—”
Theo’s prim silver eyebrows arched, and Faith’s fib died on her lips.
“You’re right,” she said. “I am very new to this. I’ve never used one of these canister vacuums, and I haven’t a clue how to baste a pheasant, either. Sadly, I’m no Melissa Fairmont.”
Theo let out a gruff bark of laughter. “You can say that again. Melissa could have built you a whole new vacuum cleaner with just this hanger, two stamps and a thumbtack.”
Faith smiled ruefully. So Reed Fairmont was used to living with a domestic goddess. Poor man. He volunteered to do a good deed, and look what happened. A domestic dummy invaded his lovely house, drenched his shirt and melted his belt. He was probably already kicking himself hard for being such a patsy.
She took a deep breath. “It’s all right, Theo. I think I know what you’re trying to tell me, and I really do appreciate the warning.”
Theo rose with a grunt and handed the screwdriver to Spencer. “Put that back together for me, would you, please? You saw how I took it apart, right?”
When the little boy accepted the screwdriver, Theo nodded briefly, then turned to Faith. “What exactly do you think I’m trying to tell you?”
“Well…” Faith felt herself coloring. “Just that Melissa Fairmont was a very unusual, very accomplished woman. And that Dr. Fairmont may be disappointed to discover how little his new housekeeper has in common with her.”
“Well, that’s part of it.” Theo smiled. “You may disappoint him in some ways. But you may also make him laugh.” She looked at the broken vacuum.
“In fact, I’m absolutely positive you will. And a little laughter may be what this house needs most of all.”
REED HAD TOYED with the idea of skipping dinner—he had plenty of work to do in the clinic—but he’d finally decided that would be too cowardly.
He had to sit down and share a meal with his new houseguests sooner or later. And, as he’d learned the first day at med school, when it came to facing a problem, sooner was always better.
It wasn’t, in the end, quite as awkward as he’d feared. Theo’s chicken-mushroom casserole was delicious, of course, and Faith had obviously worked to set a homey tone. She’d filled a small cut-glass bowl with yellow apples for a centerpiece, and she had found Melissa’s favorite green-flowered napkins, which looked great against the maple table.
She was good at keeping the conversation going, too. She showed an intelligent—though undeniably artificial—interest in every detail of his veterinary practice. To help her along, Reed trotted out his silliest stories—the duck that bit the sheriff, the lizard that liked to have his tummy rubbed, the bunny that hatched an egg and the cat that delivered her kittens in a birdcage.
He even mentioned that he was heading out after dinner to see those newborn kittens, and suggested that Spencer and Faith could join him if they liked.
But, though both he and Faith kept sending encouraging glances down to Spencer’s end of the table, the kid never cracked a smile.
When it was over, Spencer had dashed upstairs to his room, Tigger close on his heels. Now Faith and Reed were in the kitchen washing dishes in a silence that was strangely comfortable.
Suddenly the telephone rang. Faith whirled toward it so eagerly Reed thought for a moment she planned to answer it herself. She seemed to remember just in time that this wasn’t her house.
“Sorry,” she said. She backed away with a sheepish smile and returned to the sudsy water. But her posture was tight and wary. He could tell she was listening intently as he picked up the receiver.
It was just the Petermans, the overprotective owners of the spoiled lizard. Reed managed to assure them that Spike was quite contented, eating well, but not too much, missing them, but not too much, getting plenty of attention, but not too much.
Finally he hung up the phone with a chuckle and turned to Faith. “Spike’s owner. Apparently Spike suffers from separation anxiety. If he looks lonely, I’m supposed to give him extra food. Unfortunately, I’m having trouble reading the nuances of his facial expression. It always looks like a cross between superbored and mildly ticked off.”
She smiled half-heartedly. “Well, maybe lizard nuances are more in their body language.”
Reed shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe the Petermans are nuts.”
Truth was, though, Reed did believe in body language, in animals and in people. And right now Faith Constable’s body language screamed tension. She had wanted that telephone call to be someone else. But who?
He took Theo’s rinsed casserole dish from her hands and began rubbing it with his thickest kitchen towel. “I wondered—the way you went for the telephone. Are you expecting a call from someone?”
“Not expecting, really.” She tried to smile again, but it clearly was becoming more of a strain every minute. “Just hoping, I guess.”
He looked at her sad mouth and wondered if there was a boyfriend back in New York City, a guy who was ordinarily in charge of making her smile. “But I thought—I mean, who even knows you’re here?”
“Detective Bentley. He promised he’d keep me posted. About the investigation. About whether they’re closing in on…on—”
“On Doug Lambert.”
“Yes.”
“But it’s only been one day. Surely it’s too soon?”
“Yes. I know.” She took a deep breath. “I know it is.”
They worked in silence another moment, and then she spoke again.
“It’s just that…they did expect to hear from the florist today. The one who might have sold him the roses.”
“The roses?” Reed was careful to keep any overly curious quality from his voice. He didn’t want to pry, but he wanted to know everything he could. And it would do her good to talk about it. After her tears last night, she had seemed much more relaxed. She had let him guide her to the bedroom door as limply as an exhausted child.
“They found three rose petals in my kitchen that day, next to my sister’s body.” She scrubbed at an already clean glass so hard her knuckles turned as white as the suds. “The problem was that these roses hadn’t come from Doug’s regular florist. He sent me roses all the time, but not this kind.”
Reed wanted to take the glass out of her hand. She was holding it much too tightly. But he didn’t dare break the flow of words.
“These roses were a much rarer variety. At first the police thought that meant it hadn’t been Doug after all. But Detective Bentley sent the petals to a botanist, who said it was a variety called ‘Faith.’”
Reed made a noise in spite of himself.
A shiver seemed to pass through her, and the glass slipped, plopping into the water. She fished it out again with trembling fingers.
“I think that was when Detective Bentley began to believe me. He finally found the little shop that sold them. It was two blocks from my apartment. We’re waiting for the owner to get back from vacation, to see if he can identify Doug as the man who bought the roses that day.”
“Of course it was.”
“Yes.” Her voice was even huskier than usual. “But they need evidence. For a jury. For a conviction.”
Reed moved closer to the sink. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry that call wasn’t Detective Bentley.”
“It’s all right.” But her voice cracked, and he knew it wasn’t true.
She turned to hand him the glass. As he reached out, it fell from her shaking fingers and smashed on the wooden floor, splinters of crystal scattering in all directions.
He bent quickly, and so did she. As they knelt, their faces were only inches apart, and he could feel waves of stress pulsing from her. Her brown eyes were almost black, and a sharp sliver of glass glinted on her shirt, right over her heart.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, and he could feel her struggle to hold herself together, to keep her emotions from flying into a hundred different pieces, just like the glass. She gathered shards quickly, filling her palm. “Please. I’ll clean it up.”
He caught her by the wrist. “It’s all right,” he said.
“No, it isn’t.” She bit her lower lip hard and inhaled deeply. The pulse in her wrist was like a jackhammer under his thumb.
“I hate this,” she said. “This isn’t me. I’m not like this.”
“Like what?”
She held out her palm full of sparkling bits of glass. “Like this. Clumsy. Incompetent. You probably won’t believe it, but I have my own business. I’m good at what I do. I don’t break everything I touch.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“And I’m not weak. I never cry. Never. I don’t know what happened to me last night. I’d hate for you to think that I—”
A sudden noise in the kitchen doorway stopped her. She looked up and saw Spencer standing there, staring at them curiously. She glanced at Reed, who let go of her hand. She stood up, all the ferocity instantly draining from her expression.
“Hi,” she said to her nephew. “Don’t come in, honey. I broke a glass, and it’s all over the place.”
The little boy didn’t protest. He waited in the doorway, holding on to Tigger’s collar to keep the puppy safe, too. They finished cleaning up the shards quickly, and then, at a nod from Faith, Spencer walked in, holding out a large piece of paper.
She took it with a smile. “What’s this? Oh—how cute! I’ll bet you drew this for Dr. Fairmont, didn’t you?”
Spencer didn’t answer, of course, but he didn’t snatch the paper back, either, and even Reed could see that the little boy was comfortable with Faith’s deduction. His somber brown gaze transferred to Reed, as if he were waiting for his reaction.
“Look,” Faith said, handing it over. “It’s the kittens you were talking about at dinner.”
The kid was pretty good. Reed could clearly see three tiger-striped kittens sleeping inside a large, domed birdcage. Spencer had even added a colorful parrot on top of the cage, staring down, bewildered by what had become of his home.
Reed chuckled and looked over at Spencer. “Nice job,” he said. “It’s very good, and it’s funny, too.”
Spencer didn’t smile, exactly. But he worried at his lip, as if he had to work to keep himself from smiling, and that was good enough for Reed. It felt good to see even the tiniest bit of pleasure on that pinched, freckled face. Kids weren’t meant to be so sad.
“Spencer, what’s that?” Faith bent down and tugged on a bit of leather that stuck out of the little boy’s back pocket. “You brought Tigger’s leash? Why?”
Spencer darted a quick look over at Reed, and Faith made a low sound of sudden comprehension. “Oh, I know. Maybe you’ve decided that you would like to go out with Dr. Fairmont to see the kittens?”
The little boy answered by leaning down and affixing the leash to Tigger’s collar. The puppy immediately began turning around in frenzied circles of joy.
Faith looked up at Reed, delighted surprise written all over her lovely face. Apparently it was something of a miracle that Spencer would actually be willing to go out into the night with a stranger, even to see newborn kittens.
“Sure,” Reed said easily. “I’d love to take him along.”
Oops—he must have phrased that wrong. Spencer’s brow wrinkled deeply under his shaggy brown bangs. He tugged on Faith’s sweater. When he got her attention, he walked to the far counter and grabbed her purse. He came back and handed it to her.
The implication was unmistakable. Spencer wasn’t going anywhere without his aunt.
“Reed?” She lifted her eyebrows. “Do you have room for all of us?”
“Of course,” he said. “It’ll be fun.”
And he realized that, much to his surprise, he actually meant it. He had thought he’d have trouble relinquishing his accustomed solitude—and yet here he was, downright pleased that he wouldn’t have to make the long drive out to the Lofton estate alone.
Someone knocked on the kitchen door. Spencer froze, then sidestepped behind Faith’s legs, dragging Tigger with him. Soon all you could see were his little white-knuckled fingers around her hips.
“It’s probably just Theo,” Reed said reassuringly. “She’ll be wanting her casserole dish.”
Faith put her hand behind her back to stroke Spencer’s head. “Can’t be Theo,” she said with a smile. “Theo doesn’t knock.”
Reed grinned back—he could easily imagine Theo saying something as haughty as that. So who was it? Mentally crossing his fingers that it wasn’t any kind of emergency, he opened the door.
It was an emergency, all right. Somehow he managed not to groan out loud. It was a bona fide, four-alarm, social faux pas emergency.
It was Pauline Ferguson, the young owner of Waterworks, the newest retail store on Main Street. Pauline, the red-haired beauty from South Carolina who had been chasing Reed for months, trying to coax him into casting off his mourning and rejoining the social scene at her side.
He was supposed to be at her house right now, picking her up for their first real date.
She was angry, but far too clever to show it. Only the bright flash of her green eyes gave it away. Reed had once seen that same flash in the eyes of a furious, wounded fox.
“Oh, hell, Pauline. I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.”
That didn’t help, naturally. But it was the truth. And if she wanted to date him, she was going to have to accept the truth. He’d forgotten their date because it honestly didn’t mean very much to him. He wasn’t ready for a “relationship” and he’d told her so, a hundred times. He’d only said yes because she wouldn’t accept a no.
She had assured him that she wasn’t interested in anything serious, either, her divorce was too recent, couldn’t they just keep each other company? But in those two flashing seconds he saw that she’d been lying.
If only he could just call it off. He’d much rather see whether the kittens, who were as small as hamsters, as blind as bats and as cute as hell, could make Spencer smile.
But he was stuck, of course. He wasn’t selfish enough to insult Pauline like that. He introduced Pauline to Faith—and to Spencer, though Pauline had to take his word for it that a little boy was actually attached to those clutching fingers.
“I hope you’re feeling flexible about tonight’s date,” he said with a smile. “I need to go to the Lofton farm before I can do anything else. And I promised Spencer and Faith they could come along. Dina Lofton has some newborn kittens that are pretty darn cute.”
Pauline was no fool. She smiled, the picture of flexibility. The wounded fox was completely hidden behind the easygoing Southern charm.
“Of course I don’t mind. You know I adore kittens.”
But Spencer began tugging frantically at Faith’s sweater, pulling at her purse, trying to make her take it off her shoulder. His meaning was clear. He was no longer interested in going anywhere.
“It’s okay, Spencer,” Reed said. He felt irrationally annoyed with Pauline, who didn’t realize the damage she’d done just by showing up. “We can still go. We’ll all pile into the truck together. It’ll be fun.”
Spencer froze—and then he came out from behind Faith’s legs slowly. He gave Reed one long, blank look. He reached over and plucked his kitten sketch very carefully from the kitchen table. And then, with Tigger prancing in happy ignorance behind him, the little boy left the room.
FOUR HOURS LATER, Reed let himself into the house quietly, hoping he wouldn’t wake his houseguests. He was tired, and he needed to be alone.
The date had been a disaster.
Pauline hadn’t done anything wrong, exactly. She was as clever as a chameleon, and she’d adapted herself to his mood, going from gaily high-spirited to sensitively low-key in a blink. Her message came through neon-clear: See? I’m the perfect woman. I can be whatever you want.
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