to keep an eye on Biff.
“Seen any puppies around here, Biff?”
“Puppies? Naaah. Say, wait. I think Henry has some at his place. Some golden retrievers.”
He thanked his foreman and guided Alexis and Tara around the structure, pointing out its features and explaining things to Tara, an intelligent child who possessed a healthy curiosity. The warehouse was a relatively simple structure, and he had built suspension bridges, municipal buildings, schools and mansions, yet his pride in showing Alexis and Tara that uncomplicated job—what he did and who he was—eclipsed his regard for his previous accomplishments. As they headed for Henry’s cottage, the significance of his feelings worried him.
Henry stopped mowing the grass as they approached. “I guess you come for your little puppy.”
Tara looked at her mother, who pinned soft, warm brown eyes on him.
“All right, all right, but we’ll have to establish some house rules, and it has to be a male.”
Tara squealed and hugged his leg, and Henry disappeared into the house. Telford liked animals, but he didn’t keep pets. As a child, he feared losing things he loved, so he hadn’t let himself love. His mother, Etta Harrington, used to disappear whenever it suited her, or it seemed that way to a small boy, and when he was in the third grade, his best friend died of the flu. There’d been times when he’d tried not to love his brothers for fear of losing them.
Henry returned with a puppy in a towel-lined basket, his face bright with smiles as he handed it to Tara, and it dawned on him that the little girl gave the old man unqualified love and affection, a new life.
Tara looked up at them as she cradled her treasure, her face the image of pure joy. “Thanks, Mr. Henry. I’m going to name him Biscuit, ’cause Mr. Telford loves biscuits. I like ’em, too.”
What a sensitive child. If she’d learned that from her mother… He shoved the thought aside. He rarely walked around the Harrington property or took the time to enjoy its beauty, and he realized that he found pleasure in it now because he shared it with Alexis and Tara. If he was smart, he’d shake off that domesticity right then.
The little girl held her basket with one hand and grasped his fingers with her other one. “Where we going now, Mr. Telford?”
“We’re going home. You need to take care of your puppy, and I’ve…uh got to do some work.”
He wanted to ask Alexis if she was always so serene or if… No, that wasn’t it. Maybe he just didn’t understand her facial expressions. And maybe you’d better not try, a niggling voice warned him.
“Thanks for showing us around,” she said, as he prepared to leave them at the bottom of the stairs. “And for letting Tara have the puppy. You’ve made her so happy.”
“My pleasure.” Remembering his father’s words, “Always get it straight in advance,” he sat on the steps and pulled Tara into the curve of his arm.
“Puppies need rules. He cannot run through the house. For now, he sleeps in your room, but when he’s older, on the back porch. You bathe him at least once a week. Henry will tell you about feeding him. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” To his amazement, her little arms snaked around his neck and she pressed kisses to his cheek. “I have to go take care of Biscuit,” she said, cradling the basket. “Bye.”
Tara ran off, but Alexis remained there. He looked at her, and this time he could read her, because he’d caught her off guard with her feelings naked in her eyes. He didn’t think he saw gratitude there, but with lightning speed, she pulled a curtain over her emotions, leaving him unsure. In that second, she set off something inside him that he couldn’t shove aside, and unless he put on the brakes right then…
He jumped up. “See you at supper.”
She called it dinner, thanks to her Yankee roots, and the Southerner in him thought of it as supper. He half smiled. Another of their inconsequential differences.
“Thanks again, Telford.”
Her voice, soft and sweet, soothed him, gave him a strange peace, and he had to admit that she represented what he needed and didn’t have: a warm and loving woman in whom he could lose himself and his cares.
Suddenly, he spun around. “What am I thinking? I won’t be home for supper tonight. Tell Henry, if you don’t mind.”
He’d been single for thirty-six years and content with his status. Alone, he’d sent himself and his brothers through school, held his family together after losing his parents, and he’d done it on his own, gone through the tough times by himself. These days, life was a piece of cake by comparison. He wasn’t about to complicate his life. But what a temptation Alexis Stevenson was! When she fixed her wide, soft brown eyes on him and subjected him to the peaceful air she wore like a cloak, she weakened his defenses. Inviting. Captivating. Her smooth black skin, patrician nose, luscious lips and full breasts did all kinds of things to his libido. He exhaled a harsh breath. Every perfect curve of her body said woman. Jack Stevenson had to be either a fool or a modern tragedy.
When he opened his room door, he thought of Tara expecting him at supper. Now what? He waited twenty minutes and dialed Alexis’s phone number.
“Mind if I speak with Tara?”
“Not at all. Just a second.”
No preliminaries. He liked that. “Hello, Tara. This is Telford. Have you fed your puppy?”
“Yes, and he’s already asleep.”
“Good. I’ll see you in the morning at breakfast.” He hadn’t lied, and she wouldn’t expect him, so she wouldn’t be disappointed. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. An hour later, he was in his Buick Le Sabre headed for Frederick.
Alexis finished pulling the red caftan over her head, tied the thongs of her sandals around her ankles, walked over to her daughter and put the phone back into its cradle. “What did he say?”
“He told me to feed Biscuit.”
“That’s all?”
“No. He said he’d see me in the morning. Can I have my keyboard now?”
She gave Tara the keyboard, opened the door and walked out into the garden. He’d decided not to have dinner with them and, remembering that Tara would miss him, he’d prepared her. A kind, thoughtful man, but he walked alone, and after what she’d suffered the past four and a half years, she preferred to do the same. Whether she’d made a mistake in signing the contract with Telford would depend on how they deported themselves. Worrying about her reaction to him was a waste of time, and she intended to focus on her sculpting.
“Mummy. Telephone.”
“Hello,” she said, winded after running halfway across the garden. “Velma! I’d begun to wonder if you’d gotten my message.”
“I did, but I’ve been flying around like crazy. What’s he like?”
She prepared herself for the third degree. “What’s who like?”
“Don’t try to bamboozle
