for the guests. Mrs. Rutherford had a stylist come out to select all her clothes for the weekend. They should be finished soon.”
A stylist who made house calls on holiday weekends and picked out a grown woman’s clothes for her as his mother had for him. When he was four. It was a strange, strange world sometimes.
Footsteps sounded on the back stairs, and seconds later Ruthanne, Richard’s wife, strolled in. Dressed in a bright floral dress and gold jewelry, and carrying a wide-brimmed straw hat, she radiated youthful energy and was the perfect contrast to her husband’s overblown self-importance.
“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” she asked.
“Yes, Ms. Ruthie.” Mrs. K crossed to the fridge. “I made lemonade this morning. Would you like some?”
She smiled broadly. “How sweet. Yes, thank you.”
“The Jet Skis are ready whenever you want to take a ride,” Jared said.
“We’ll probably wait until after tea.” Ruthie accepted an ice-filled glass from Mrs. K. Pausing before taking a sip, she said, “You remember the guests aren’t actual daredevils like you.”
Jared snapped his fingers. “Damn. There goes my plan to hang glide off the nearest lighthouse.”
Lemonade sloshed over the rim of her glass as Ruthane whirled. “Jared, you’re not really—”
He held up his hand. “I know how to handle tenderfoots.”
“They’re not all that delicate,” Ruthie said, linking arms with him. “You’ll like …” She stopped as she noticed the housekeeper on her hands and knees. “Mrs. Keegan, what are you doing down there?”
“The lemonade, Ms. Ruthie.” She rose and tossed the paper towel she held in the trash. “A chef’s kitchen should be spotless.”
“This kitchen is always spotless, and there’s no need to put on airs for my friends.” Ruthanne’s mouth drew into a thin line. “Though I’m not sure about this last-minute couple my husband invited.”
Distracted by the sun’s glare through the back window, Jared wished he’d followed his first impulse and laid out on the dock instead of heading for the house. He’d always rather be outside.
“Jared?” Ruthie said, drawing his attention. “You’ll like my guests. Richard has some business thing going on, as usual, but we’re determined not to let the weekend be boring. Who wants to sit around a stuffy old boardroom all day?”
“Some do.” He shook his head. “Can’t imagine why.”
“Naturally, that’s where you come in.”
“My favorite spot.”
Ruthie patted his forearm. “You’re looking fit as always. What diet are you on?”
“The Jet Ski riding, hang gliding one.”
She sighed, leading him to the small table in the corner of the kitchen. “I have to watch every bite I eat. I must be crazy to invite Shelby out here.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before the intercom on the wall buzzed. “Rutherford residence,” Mrs. K answered.
“Victoria Holmes, Shelby Dixon and Calla Tucker at the gate to see Ruthanne Rutherford.”
Mrs. K pressed a code on the numbered panel. “Yes, we’re expecting you. Come up the driveway, please.”
While the housekeeper rushed around the kitchen, wiping spotless counters, Jared rattled off the weekend activities for Ruthie. In addition to a small yacht and Jet Skis, the Rutherfords had a powerboat for pulling water skis and inner tubes. He also had scuba diving and fishing trips planned.
“It’s Friday, Jared,” Ruthie commented. “We’re going to do all that before Monday?”
He glanced at his watch. “We could do it all by sunset if you like.”
As she shook her head ruefully, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Mrs. K exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron as she shot out of the kitchen.
“I’ve never seen her like this,” Ruthie said, watching the housekeeper rush down the hall. “It’s like a celebrity coming to the house.”
Jared hoped the noted chef could cook something hearty. He wasn’t much on complicated sauces and names of dishes nobody but a native-born Parisian could pronounce. Personally, he’d enjoy a nice, thick steak.
The hallway was soon filled with female voices, and Jared rose as the group approached the kitchen. A blonde, a brunette and a redhead. How diversified.
Ruthie received hugs; he got curious stares.
At his height—six foot four in bare feet and no boots—he guessed his towering presence was a bit intimidating.
To some, anyway.
He spotted the Holmes heiress immediately. She looked like her mother, but not. Her icy-blue eyes warmed as she talked to her friends, then narrowed when aimed at him. Of the women, she was also the tallest, nearly six feet in the blade-sharp black stiletto heels she wore.
She was stunning, but not his type at all. Cool perfection wrapped in moneyed NYC sophistication. When Ruthie introduced them, her smile was as distant as a Montana winter.
She extended her hand. “My idea of adventure is a massage at the spa, so I doubt we’ll be seeing much of each other this weekend.”
As he took her hand, heat slid through his veins, surprising him. There was something about her … something challenging, interesting. He found himself considering ways to thaw her out.
“Your mother didn’t like me much when she first met me, either.” He smiled as suspicion flitted through Victoria’s eyes. “She warmed up eventually.”
2
VICTORIA PULLED HER HAND AWAY from Jared McKenna and resisted the urge to make a fist to dispel the tingling sensation she’d gotten from touching him. “You know my mother?”
“I took her and some teens from the foundation on a cowboy adventure weekend last year.”
Victoria remembered her grandmother mentioning the event, as Nana was determined to get her daughter out of the city and into a wide-open space. Something about fear of dust and a lack of vitamin D. Victoria had been thrilled she hadn’t been recruited.
Fear of dust was a documented condition that specifically targeted people with a mostly black wardrobe.
Victoria raised her eyebrows at the man before her. “My mother rode a horse?”
“No, but the kids and the staff did, and they loved it, so she was happy.”
How could he tell her mother was happy? Had she actually smiled? Complimented him? Joanne
