said as they entered the large room decorated in various shades of blue. “Gracie’s room is right next door.”
He dropped his suitcase on the floor. “I’d like to see her room.”
Gracie’s room was the second largest in the house, only slightly smaller than the master suite where Libby slept. Gracie’s bedroom looked as though it belonged to a fairy princess. It was all pink and ruffles, and filled with toys that rarely got played with because Gracie would rather be acting than anything else in the world.
Libby stood in the doorway and watched while Clay walked around the room, his brow wrinkled in thought. The man had shoulders that looked as if they could carry the weight of the world. His tanned face was all taut lines and angles. In a town where handsome men were a dime a dozen, Clay West made most of them look mediocre.
He touched nothing, but seemed to be memorizing everything in the room. There was a calm steadiness to his movements. He lingered for a long moment at the bank of windows, checking the locks, then gazing outside.
“Why don’t I let you get settled in and I’ll meet you in the sunroom with the letters in about half an hour,” she suggested.
He turned and looked at her, his green eyes direct and intensely focused. “My suitcase is in my room. I’m settled. Why don’t we make it ten minutes?” Although his deep voice remained pleasant there was an underlying edge of steel to it.
She thought about holding her ground, then shrugged. “Fine. The sunroom is just off the living room. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”
She hurried toward her bedroom at the end of the hallway. There was no way she was meeting him without first getting out of the swimsuit and into something more appropriate.
As she changed clothes, she wondered how long he’d be in her home, in their lives. She wasn’t at all sure she liked him, although he was definitely easy on the eyes.
Of course, Libby hadn’t met a man she liked in a long time. She’d once thought herself in love with Gracie’s father, but she’d been young and foolish and so eager to get out of her parents’ house.
It hadn’t taken her long to recognize that he was just another person in her life who hadn’t understood her drive and ambition.
Libby had been pregnant when he’d disappeared from her life, telling her he was too young to be a husband, too young to be a father. She’d waited until Gracie was three months old, then had packed her bags and moved to California.
By the time Gracie was two, Libby had committed herself to seeing that Gracie had all the opportunities, all the avenues to reach her dreams that Libby hadn’t had.
Yes, the handsome cowboy might be easy on the eyes, but there was something about him that set her on edge. She hoped that once he read the letters Gracie had received, he’d come to the same conclusion that she had; that there was no clear danger and Charlie had overreacted.
If that happened, then Clay West would go home and leave Libby alone, as she’d been for most of her life and planned to remain.
Clay glanced at his watch as he headed back down the stairs in search of the sunroom. Five-fifteen. His stomach rumbled and he wondered when he’d get an opportunity to eat something. It had been a long time since he’d had breakfast and there had been no time for lunch.
She’d said the sunroom was off the living room, but before going there he wandered around to get a feel for the lay of the house. As he walked the lower floor, once again he was surprised by the opulence, the luxury of the place.
Little Gracie Bryant must be doing quite well. He wondered how many people she was supporting at the tender age of eight. He’d heard the horror stories of these poor kids who supported family and staff at an age when their only worry should be that rain might keep their play indoors instead of outside.
Not my business, he reminded himself. He was here to do a job, not to make judgments about the lifestyle of the rich and famous.
He stepped into a glass-enclosed room with white rattan furniture and a plethora of plants. Surely this was the sunroom. He sat on one of the chairs at a glass-topped table and glanced at his watch once again. It had taken him six minutes to get to this room. She should be here at any minute.
Leaning back in the chair, he cast his gaze outside onto the lush lawn and gardens. This would be a peaceful place to sit and ponder. As he waited, what he found himself pondering was Libby Bryant.
The woman was hot to look at, but he’d sensed a cold core inside her. She was probably going to be a bitch to work with, but he’d survive the ordeal.
Clay was accustomed to dysfunctional people. In his line of work as a bodyguard he’d pretty much seen it all. He’d seen the best and worst that the human race had to offer. Nothing Libby Bryant could do would surprise him.
He glanced at his watch again and frowned. It had been twelve minutes since they’d agreed to meet in ten. At that moment, he heard footsteps approaching. But it wasn’t Libby, rather it was a uniformed maid.
She smiled, a cool, professional gesture. “Ms. Libby wondered if you’d like something cold to drink while you wait for her.”
“A glass of iced tea would be nice,” he replied, wondering how long Ms. Libby intended to keep him waiting.
The maid nodded and disappeared, only to return a moment later with a tall glass of tea and several wedges of lemon. “Would you care for anything else, Mr. West?” she asked.
Yes, I’d like you to tell Ms. Libby to get her ass down here. “No thanks, I’m fine,” he replied.
The maid left him alone and he took a sip of the tea, frowning once again. There was nothing Clay hated more than to be kept waiting. He believed in punctuality and thought tardiness to be the height of rudeness.
In Libby Bryant’s case, he had a feeling it might be a control issue. By being late she was subtly maintaining control of him and the situation. Definitely a ball-buster, he thought.
Ten minutes later she entered the sunroom. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, although no apology rang in her tone. “I had to chase down Maddie Walker, Gracie’s secretary, to get the letters from her.”
She’d changed clothes. Gone was the bathing suit and cover-up, replaced by navy slacks and a navy- and royal-blue blouse that intensified the color of her eyes. Her hair was loose, falling below her shoulders in shiny waves. Instead of smelling like chlorine and coconuts, the fragrance that wafted from her smelled expensive.
She sat in the chair opposite him and stared down at the bundle of letters she clutched in her hands. “These are copies of the letters. I gave the originals to the private investigator I hired. I’m hoping you’ll read these and realize that Gracie’s agent has overreacted and there is no danger.” When she looked up at him there was absolutely no emotion shining from her eyes.
She pushed the letters across the table toward him, then leaned back and stared out the window over his shoulder. “How many people handled the originals?” he asked.
Her
