on your lap. If you don’t startle him, he may decide to stay. But if he wants to go, don’t try to hang on to him, okay?”
“Okay.” Molly sat down on the sofa, sliding back until her legs were straight out before her on the wide cushion. Carefully she smoothed her blue cotton skirt over her lap, then looked up expectantly.
Brooke leaned close to Gable’s ear. “You be nice now, you hear?” she murmured. Gently she deposited the cat on Molly’s lap.
Gable sank down like a puddle of orange pudding, turning his head to look into Molly’s eyes with a “How’m I doin’?” expression. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he began to purr.
“He’s making noises,” Molly exclaimed, looking up at Brooke anxiously.
“That’s because he likes you,” Brooke interpreted. “You can scratch his ears, if you’re very gentle, or underneath his chin. He likes that.”
“I like him,” Molly declared fiercely. “Oh, Gable!” Unable to restrain her enthusiasm, she leaned forward and gave him a big hug.
Which was way too much for any self-respecting cat. He slipped out of her embrace as quickly and easily as smoke from a clenched fist. Before she could recover, he’d shinnied up the heavy brocade drapes to perch atop a tall bookcase.
Molly looked close to tears. “Make him come back,” she pleaded.
Brooke slipped her arm around the child’s shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “I can’t, honey. Nobody can make cats do anything they don’t want to do. The trick is to make them think you don’t really care, and that what you want them to do is really what they want to do.”
Garrett, leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed over his chest, gave a derisive peal of laughter. “Are we talking about cats here, or women?”
Brooke pursed her lips. “Very funny.”
“So are you, if you think I don’t mean it.”
“Are we talking about women here, or cats?”
“Touché!” His laughter this time sounded delighted. “Although I know as much as I care to know—about cats.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. To Molly, he added, “We don’t have time for cats now anyway. You said you were hungry, so let’s see if we can find the kitchen. If we do, maybe we’ll also find something for you to eat.”
Brooke felt a little fissure of alarm. “It’s after one o’clock. Are you saying this child hasn’t had lunch?”
He shook his head. “But that’s all right. There’s probably something around...anything at all. We’re not particular.”
“There’s not a bite to eat in this house.” Why did he have to look so...pitiful? “The cook cleaned everything out of the kitchen before she left.”
“Ouch.” He crossed to Molly’s side. “I guess that means we’ll have to drive all the way down the mountain to feed you, you poor little thing.”
Brooke was being set up and she fought it. “If you had called, I could have stocked the kitchen for you,” she said defiantly.
“I tried—didn’t you hear what I said before? I think the telephone lines must have been down or something.”
Brooke groaned. He had mentioned that. Although she didn’t know of any trouble, the telephone service way up here in the middle of nowhere was so iffy that she never knew from one minute to the next if they had contact with the outside world. Knowing she shouldn’t, she still heard herself saying, “Okay, if you meant it when you said you’re not too particular, I suppose I could find something for—”
“Hey, thanks!” He didn’t even wait for her to finish the invitation. Grabbing Molly by the hand, he lifted her to her feet.
“But no dogs,” Brooke said sternly. Picking up the television remote, she clicked off the set before facing him. “You and Molly can come but no dogs.” Maybe that would dissuade him; she could but hope.
Instead of objecting, he nodded. “I’ve got food for the dogs,” he said cheerfully. “It’s Molly and me who are starving, right, sweetheart?”
The little girl nodded, keeping all her attention focused on Brooke, who knew when she was licked.
There was nothing to do but coax Gable down from his perch and onto her shoulder, then lead the invaders to her own sanctuary.
Which, she had a strong premonition, would never be the same after Garrett Jackson invaded it.
Garrett hated to tie his dogs to a tree out front of his late great-aunt’s moldy old mansion, but he really didn’t have much choice. With the toothsome Ms. Hamilton looking on, he did the dastardly deed quickly and efficiently. When he turned back to his little audience of woman, child and cat, he’d have sworn the furry four-legged observer was smiling with evil satisfaction.
But he wasted little time or attention on the cat, much more interested in the woman. Brooke Hamilton, he thought with satisfaction, was quite an eyeful. Even so, he’d early on got the impression that she either didn’t know that or didn’t much care. For one thing she was dressed without even a nod to fashion, and if she wore a speck of makeup, he couldn’t see it. That natural look wasn’t something he had much experience with but he found it surprisingly appealing.
He liked the sleek and shiny brown hair framing an oval face with high cheekbones and a full, tenderly shaped mouth. Her brown eyes sparkled with a quick, intelligence, which simultaneously drew and repelled him—drew him because he appreciated wit where he found it, repelled him because past experiences with smart women had been...chancy. They tended to look beneath the surface of things, beneath the surface of him. That wasn’t an experience he relished.
Garrett Jackson preferred the quick and superficial when it came to women and much else in his life. No strings, no regrets; easy come, easy go. Except for Molly, of course. He looked at the little girl, rising on tiptoes beneath an arbor of tangled vines to stroke that damned cat still cuddled in Brooke’s arms.
Molly had been a little trooper on this trip. When they’d started out, he’d thought they could benefit from a little time alone together and he’d been right. Although she hadn’t exactly turned into a chatterbox, she’d shown a lively interest in everything going on around her. He was grateful for that, and for anything else that helped pull her out of her shell.
Except cats.
“I’m ready when you are,” he announced brusquely.
Brooke looked up with a quick smile. Damn, she had a beautiful mouth, curving and sweet and somehow vulnerable.
“Dogs all tied up?” she asked somewhat anxiously.
“Yeah, and I hated to do it. I hope you don’t expect—”
“But I do,” she said quickly, turning with that orange monstrosity still draped over her arm like a stole. “It’s the only answer.”
“What’s the question?”
“How
