staff? Full-time guards, not just the housekeeper and nanny who came during the day to help her poor mother. But Shauna had this thing about her children being raised “normally,” not surrounded by live-in helpers and armed guards.
Realizing now was a poor time for I-told-you-so, Brooke drew a deep breath, tried to swallow her fears and gather authority. It felt like a futile effort given the unflinching gaze that rested on her with such unsettling intensity. She knew she looked a wreck, her clothing rumpled, her shoe broken, her hair a hopeless damp tangle after her nightmarish journey here.
Still, she had to conduct herself with dignity and courage. The safety of Shauna’s children might depend upon it.
“What are you doing in Shauna Carrier’s house?” she demanded.
“Who’s Shauna Carrier?” he asked with only the mildest of interest.
Brooke eyed him narrowly, trying to sniff out subterfuge. Surely every man in the Western world, and perhaps beyond, knew who Shauna was.
At least every man Brooke had the misfortune to date. They knew and had no scruples about using the personal assistant to try to get closer to Shauna.
The fact the actress had been happily married for the last twelve years seemed to make no difference to the myriad men who wanted to make her acquaintance.
But Brooke decided the man before her looked capable of many things—not all of them kind—but subterfuge? Nothing in the stubborn strength of his features suggested he would see any need for it.
“Shauna Carrier,” Brooke explained. “She owns the house you are ensconced in. She’s the mother to those children you are holding.”
“Well, that answers my question about who would be nutty enough to have five children. She’s a movie star, or something, right?”
“She’s not a movie star. She’s an actress.” Of course, it was the wrong time entirely for a debate on semantics.
“Whatever.”
His lack of being impressed was completely unfeigned, but it seemed to Brooke this unexpected visitor to the estate was not being particularly forthcoming.
“Who are you?” she demanded, sliding the zipper open on her purse as a first step toward getting at the Mace she kept secreted in her handbag.
For this whole long trek, she had been cursing Shauna for her overly active imagination when it came to her kids.
The phone, Shauna had reported to Brooke yesterday, almost in tears, was not working at Heartbreak Bay. Shauna was a devoted parent, and she spoke to her children every day when she had to be away.
The actress had fallen in love with the wild Kootenay region of Canada several years ago. She had purchased lakeside property and built a home there, declaring the remote location the perfect place to raise her family, away from life in L.A. and the prying of the press.
To Brooke, it seemed if Shauna was determined to have a retreat in the Canadian wilderness she had to factor in minor inconveniences like bears and mosquitoes and unreliable phone and power service. Even cell phones—essentials of modern communication—were inoperable in the area because the house stood in the shadow of mountains that soared to dizzying heights.
Yesterday, Brooke’s calls on Shauna’s behalf had determined the phones were out because of a severe windstorm.
Shauna had only been slightly mollified by the news that her difficulties in contacting her children were being caused by technical problems. She had that feeling.
Brooke heartily hated that feeling, which Shauna had also had about each of the men who had dated Brooke since Brooke had joined her employ. And, in each case, it had been entirely, heartbreakingly correct.
And so, Brooke had been dispatched to check on things in Canada. The trip was nightmarish, as always. The final indignity had been a huge tree across the highway just miles from Shauna’s lakeside estate.
“Ma’am, we’re going to be a while cleaning up this mess,” a road-crew member had informed her helpfully. “You might want to think about getting a room in Creston and trying later in the week. Or if you’re en route to Nelson, you can go the other way.”
But she was not en route to Nelson, and she wasn’t about to be thwarted at this stage of the journey. She hadn’t succeeded as a personal assistant to someone as famous and temperamental as Shauna because she lacked determination.
So, here she was, her shoe broken, most of her nylons left behind on the branches of a fallen tree she had skirted, her gray silk suit smudged, rumpled and stained beyond repair, her hair falling in her eyes and sweat trickling down her neck from the final climb to Shauna’s cliff-top mansion.
Facing a gorgeous and mysterious man who felt like an adversary. Of course, lately, she felt pretty adversarial toward all members of the male species, fickle swine that they were. And the better-looking they were, the more adversarial she felt. No excuses needed.
Brooke’s exhausted mind tried to figure out if she disliked the man before her on principle, or if she sensed real danger. It did seem like a horrible possibility that Shauna’s misgivings might be founded, once again. The facts: a notoriously handsome stranger with ice-blue eyes and the look of a warrior king was in Shauna’s house and held two of her unsuspecting children captive in his powerful arms.
Brooke tried not to let the terrifying thoughts that were flitting through her mind show on her face. What if the fierce-featured man in front of her was holding Granny Molly and the children hostage? Even if he truly didn’t know who Shauna was, the house announced to any who glimpsed it that the owner had a great deal of money, if not a whole lot of taste.
“Who are you?” she demanded again, her voice stronger as she slid her hand unobtrusively into her bag and searched around for her can of Mace.
“Who are you?” he returned, unforthcoming. His eyes narrowed and flickered to where her hand was imbedded in her purse and then back to her face. “We’re expecting the housekeeper, which you obviously aren’t.”
We’re expecting the housekeeper. As if he lived there!
“Addie Bwookie,” Kolina informed him by way of introduction.
“I’m Brooke Callan,” she said. “Shauna Carrier’s personal assistant.” She debated offering her hand, but she would have had to pull it out of her purse to do so, and she had almost found the Mace. Also, both of his hands seemed to be full.
And then, while debating what tone to take, she realized she was just too tired to be civil or cautious.
“I want to know what you are doing in Shauna’s house. Where is Grandma Molly?”
She realized she should have summoned the energy for a more civil tone, because she did not like the look on his face, the tightening of his jaw or the squint in his eyes one little bit. She found the can of Mace and wrapped her fingers firmly around it.
In a blur of motion, he set Kolina on the ground and caught the wrist of the hand Brooke had inserted in her purse. His grip was not painful, but it was relentless.
“Let me go,” she said and felt the first surge of true panic. This man was obviously much stronger than her. If he
