voice was low and ominous, like the rumble of an approaching freight train. And she was tied to the tracks. “You’re supposed to be teaching my son. Not leading him into a potentially dangerous situation.”
“All of life is potentially risky,” she said in her defense. “Children need to explore and grow. New experiences are—”
“Stop.” He held up a hand to halt her flow of words. “I don’t need a lecture.”
“Perhaps I’m not explaining well.”
“You’re fired, Madeline.”
“What?” She took a step backward. Perhaps she deserved a reprimand, but not this.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. Peeling off a hundred-dollar bill, he slapped it down on the counter. “This should cover your expenses. Pack your things and get out.”
Looking past his right shoulder, she saw Alma enter through the back door with a couple of grocery bags in her arms. The housekeeper wouldn’t be happy about Madeline being fired. Nor would Duncan.
But Blake was the boss. And his attitude showed no willingness to negotiate.
Though she would have liked to refuse his money, pride was not an option. She was too broke. With a weak sigh, she reached for the bill.
“Daddy, no.” Duncan rushed across the kitchen and wrapped his skinny arms around his father’s waist. “I like Madeline. I want her to stay.”
Blake’s eyes widened in surprise, and she knew that her own expression mirrored his. They were both stunned by this minor miracle. Duncan was touching his father, clinging to him.
As Blake stroked his son’s shoulders with an amazing tenderness, she wondered how long it had been since Duncan had allowed him to come close.
The boy looked up at him. “Please, Daddy.”
Blake squatted down to his son’s level. Though Duncan’s eyes were bright blue and his hair was a lighter shade of blond, the physical resemblance between father and son resonated.
Blake asked, “Do you want Madeline to stay?”
The hint of a smile touched Duncan’s mouth. He reached toward his father’s face with his gloved hand and patted Blake’s cheek. “I like her.”
With the slow, careful, deliberate motions used to approach a feral creature, Blake enclosed his son in a yearning embrace. A moment ago, he’d been all arrogance and hostility. Now, he exuded pure love.
Empathy brought Madeline close to tears. Her hand covered her mouth. Staying at Beacon Manor was like riding an emotional roller coaster. In the basement, she’d been terrified. Facing Blake’s rage, she was defensive and intimidated. As she watched the tenderness between father and son, her heart swelled.
The front doorbell rang.
“Get the door,” Blake said to her.
Hadn’t she just been fired? “I don’t—”
“You’re not fired. You’re still Duncan’s teacher. Now, answer the door.”
Not much of an apology, but she’d take it. She needed this job. Straightening her shoulders, she walked down the corridor to the front door.
Standing at the entryway were two women. A cheerful smile fitted naturally on the attractive face of a slender lady in a stylish ivory suit with gray-blue piping that matched the color of her eyes. Her short, tawny hair whisked neatly in the breeze. Confidently, she introduced herself. “I’m Beatrice Wells, the mayor’s wife.”
Madeline opened the door wider to invite them inside. “I’m Madeline Douglas. Duncan’s teacher.”
When she held out her hand, she noticed the smears of dirt from crawling around in the basement and quickly pulled her hand back. “I should wait to shake your hand until I’ve had a chance to wash up.”
“It’s not a problem, dear.” Beatrice gave her hand a squeeze, then turned toward her companion. “I’d like you to meet Helen Fisher.”
As in Teddy Fisher? Madeline couldn’t imagine that creep had a wife. “Are you related to Dr. Fisher?”
The frowning, angular woman gave a disgusted snort. “Teddy is my brother.”
She stalked through the open door in her practical oxblood loafers. Her nostrils pinched and the frown deepened as she set a battered briefcase on the floor. She folded her arms below her chest, causing a wrinkle in her midcalf dress and brown cardigan. Though the month was July and the weather was sunny, Helen Fisher reminded Madeline of the drab days at the end of autumn. Everything about her said “old maid.” Madeline suppressed a shudder. For the past couple of years, she’d feared that “old maid” would be her own destiny. If she stayed at this job long enough to put some money aside, she really ought to invest in something pretty and sexy. A red dress.
Beatrice Wells twinkled as if to counterbalance her companion’s grumpy attitude. “Helen is our town librarian, and we’re here to talk with Blake about the renovations.”
“Beacon Manor is a historic landmark,” Helen said. “The designs have to be approved by the historical committee.”
“I really don’t know anything about the house. My job is Duncan.” She looked toward Beatrice. “I wondered if there was a baseball team in town. Something I could take Duncan to watch.”
“We have an excellent parks and recreation program. There’s even a T-ball program for the children.”
Though Madeline wasn’t sure if Duncan could handle a team sport, T-ball might be worth a try. “I’ll certainly look into it.”
When Blake came down the corridor toward them, he seemed like a different man. An easy grin lightened his features. He looked five years younger…and incredibly handsome. Even Helen was not immune to his masculine charms. She perked up when he warmly shook her hand. A girlish giggle twisted through her dour lips.
Given half a chance, Blake Monroe could charm the fish from the sea.
Chapter Five
As Blake escorted Beatrice Wells and Helen Fisher into the formal dining room with the ornate ceiling mural, he listened with half an ear to their commentary about the historical significance of Beacon Manor. In their eyes, the painting of cherubs and harvest vegetables rivaled the Sistine Chapel.
His thoughts were elsewhere. When he’d held Duncan in his arms, his blood had stirred. His son had smiled, actually smiled, and responded to a direct question. For the first time in years, Blake had seen a spark in his son’s eyes.
Then Duncan had turned away from him and marched to his seat at the kitchen table for his usual silent lunch.
For today, one hug was enough. Maybe tomorrow…
Helen placed her fat leather briefcase on the dropcloth covering the carved cherrywood table and pulled out a stack of photographs. “These pictures were taken in the 1940s during an earlier restoration. Perhaps they’ll be useful in recreating the ceiling mural.”
