a chance! I’m not a gambling woman.” Too true; Brooke didn’t take chances when she could avoid them. “All I want is for you to get that beast away from my cat.”
“Okay, okay, I can take a hint.” Stepping around her, he stuck his head into the hallway. He was wearing sky-blue shorts and a white T-shirt, with white leather sneakers. His body was as attractive as his face, which hardly seemed possible.
Or fair.
“Molly!” he called. “Will you come in here, honey?”
Brooke’s brows rose. “Wife? Girlfriend? Significant other?”
His grin broadened, became almost challenging. “Daughter.”
Brooke felt a little jolt of relief. “I see.”
“You don’t, but that’s okay.”
A small form appeared in the doorway and his smile became less predatory, more gentle. “There you are, sweetheart. Think you can call old Larry off the lady’s cat?”
The little girl nodded gravely, then looked at Brooke with solemn curiosity. “Hello,” she said. “My name is Molly Jackson.”
“My name is Brooke Hamilton. I’m pleased to meet you, Molly.”
“Thank you very much.” Such a serious little thing; not so much as the hint of a smile. “I’m five years old,” she continued. “How old are you?”
Brooke melted. The child was exquisite, dainty and blond, golden-eyed like her father. She waited a moment for Garrett to intervene; instead he simply looked interested so she said, “I’m twenty-five.”
“That’s almost grown-up,” Molly observed.
Brooke stifled laughter. “Sometimes I wonder.”
“Gart is thirty-two,” the child offered.
“Gart?” Brooke glanced at the man beside her. “She calls you Gart?”
He shrugged. “She can’t handle Garrett, for some reason.” Kneeling before the child, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Can you call Larry off now, Molly? That barking is driving us all nuts.”
“Yes, sir.” Snapping her fingers smartly, if silently, she said in an imperious tone, “Larry! Come, Larry! Come!”
Larry stopped yapping and cocked his head, his ears standing up straight. Then he turned and trotted back to his pint-size mistress.
All Brooke could see was the dog’s vicious white teeth and powerful jaws. Frightened, she edged around Garrett, always keeping him between herself and that creature. When the coast was clear, she darted to the fireplace to snatch Gable to safety.
The cat curled himself around her shoulder and neck, his expression indignant in the extreme. “Gee, Gable,” she murmured, rubbing his chest. “I’m sorry. It’s not my fault, honest.”
Garrett rolled his eyes. “You’re apologizing to a cat?”
The way he said cat sent a warning shiver down her spine. “Why not? I got him into this mess when I let him coax me into coming along today. Of course...” She glanced significantly at the broken glass, which was all that remained of the fire screen. “I’m not entirely to blame. Do you have any idea how much that piece of stained glass was worth?”
“No idea whatsoever.” He looked around the room. “Or anything else in this mausoleum, for that matter. What a tomb!”
“A tomb!” Aghast, she stared at him. “It’s not a tomb. It’s a beautiful Victorian mansion brimming with fabulous old treasures and priceless antiques.”
“I like young stuff myself.” His glance skimmed over her lightly but insolently, head to toe. He had the most intimate way of looking at her, as if he already knew something she didn’t. It made her wish she’d put on something more impressive than jeans and a plaid shirt this morning.
“You inherited very little young stuff,” she said tartly. “We’re old-fashioned around here. We do, however, have telephones.”
“Is that a crack?” If it was, he didn’t appear to be put off by it.
“I wasn’t expecting you until next week,” she reminded him.
“I’ve been trying to call for four days, ever since Molly and I left Chicago.” He ruffled the little girl’s soft curls, but he was watching Brooke.
“You drove?” But of course they drove. How else would they be accompanied by that obnoxious little dog now licking his young owner’s hand?
He nodded. “Had a nice time, too, didn’t we Molly, old girl? The dogs were a bit of trouble but—”
“Dogs, as in plural?” She glanced around with fresh alarm. “You mean, there’s more than one?”
“Had to bring old Baron.” He gave a whimsical shrug. “He’s a German shepherd and not nearly as noisy as Larry.”
Brooke couldn’t stifle her groan. “I suppose he bites first and asks questions later.”
Garrett frowned. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t care for dogs?”
“I’m trying to tell you that I don’t see how anybody could care for dogs. They’re big and mean and they bite people and dig holes and—” she glanced significantly at the shattered glass on the hearth. “—break things.”
“Unlike cats,” he inserted smoothly, “who are little and mean and sneaky, with sharp teeth and claws made for shredding furniture and clothes—”
“Of all the nerve!” She glared at him, instinctively clutching Gable more tightly. That ungrateful wretch responded by jerking away. Leaping from her shoulder onto the cut-velvet sofa, he proceeded to dig his claws into the upholstery even as she defended him from such scurrilous charges.
Garrett’s quick smile was mischievous. “Sorry, I got carried away. I take back the part about the furniture.”
She gave him a sheepish grin. “Apology accepted.” She added, “Stop that, Gable!”
“Can I pet your cat?” inquired an anxious little voice.
Brooke glanced from the child to the father, asking a question with her eyes. Is it all right?
He nodded. “But first let me put Larry out into the hall.”
“Good idea.” Brooke drew Molly forward. “Did you ever have a cat?”
The little girl shook her head. There was something so solemn about her, as if she didn’t laugh nearly enough. “Only dogs,” she said. “I got Larry when he was a little puppy.”
Brooke’s heart sank. Molly’s ownership would give that miserable mutt privileged status. “Cats are nicer,” she said staunchly. “Now, you must remember never to try to grab a cat. They don’t like that. You have to make them think that everything’s their own
