Sandi couldn’t wait to get to Shady Grove. Though she usually obeyed speed laws, she drove over the limit all the way so she could arrive at O’Banyon Manor before dark. The mansion had so much family history.
No matter what its style, the mansion had a fairytale charm. She was going to love working here.
Lucille Coltrane had seemed nice on the phone, too. Warm and friendly. The kind of woman you feel you know after one conversation.
C.J. had told her that Kitty O’Banyon lived in the house as well, and that Dolly Wilder visited so often she might as well live there. All three women were her mother’s friends.
“Kitty’s an herbalist. She used to have a little shop that sold the neatest things. Natural-healing oils and sleep masks filled with lavender. She grew up on a farm. Mom used to say if you wanted to know something, just ask Kitty.”
Sandi looked forward to cozy evenings chatting with Kitty O’Banyon. A woman like that who knew about domestic matters such as cooking and milking cows and pickling eggs might give her a tip or two on selecting a domesticated man. Or at least one already leash trained, one who would heel at the sound of the wedding march.
Heaven only knew, Sandi needed advice. And she needed it quick, before her rapidly aging eggs got too old.
Sandi was going to have fun in this house full of women—girl talk, laughter and tears.
She parked her l960 baby-blue Thunderbird convertible underneath a magnolia tree, grabbed her duffel bag and art supplies, then bounded up the steps to ring the doorbell.
The door swung open, and there stood the hunk who had rescued her hat only three days earlier. When he saw her bag, he gave her a scowl.
“Yes?”
His tone of voice would frost toes. Sandi refused to be frosted.
“Hi, I’m Sandi Wentworth, and I’m here to paint Lucille Coltrane’s portrait.”
“Your timing is off, Ms. Wentworth. My mother is a very sick woman and in no condition to pose for you.”
“Oh, I won’t ask her to pose. I’ll merely sit with her a little each day, get to know her features, her personality. She won’t have to do a thing except lie in bed. I can even feed her broth and read to her, if you like.”
“Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. You won’t be doing any of those things. Good day, Ms. Wentworth.”
Sandi had seen people in movies stick their foot in a closing door, but she’d never thought she would be one of those people. She was deciding whether to sacrifice her right or her left foot, when a stunning woman with flaming titian hair and a bright-red blouse tucked into her jeans appeared in the doorway.
“You must be Sandi,” she said. “Please do come inside.”
Sandi cast a suspicious eye toward the guardian dragon. “Are you sure it’s all right?”
“Don’t mind him. That’s Lucy’s son, Matt. His bark is worse than his bite.” The woman took her bag and handed it to the crown prince of intimidation. “Take her bag upstairs, Matt. The pink room in the east wing. And stop that scowling. It’ll give you wrinkles. At your advancing age you don’t need any more of them.”
The woman grabbed Sandi’s hand and practically dragged her into the hallway. “I’m Dolly Wilder.”
She lifted an eyebrow, and Sandi took her cue. “The star of stage and screen. I’m delighted to meet you, Ms. Wilder.”
“Please, call me Dolly.” She raised her voice and added, “Or Aunt Dolly, if you wish. That’s what Matt calls me.” If he heard he didn’t let on. “Oh, Kitty…look who’s here.”
Kitty O’Banyon had come from the back of the house swathed in a white apron. At first glance she appeared to be a plain woman without a single redeeming feature. But she had the kind of strong, arresting face you couldn’t look away from. Sandi still remembered it from the wedding. Up close she saw the wide-set gray eyes and a generous mouth that might have been pretty if she’d bothered with makeup.
“We’re delighted to have you with us.” Her greeting was far more reserved than Dolly’s, but her smile was genuine. “I hope you like rack of lamb with rosemary and mint.”
“It sounds delicious, but I don’t want to intrude on a family meal. I’ll just pop downtown and get a hamburger.”
“Absolutely not!” Dolly said.
Kitty added, “I love to cook, and we usually have food going to waste. I hope you’ll eat all your meals with us while you’re here.”
“Thank you. You’re more than generous.” Considering the circumstances, their festive air surprised Sandi.
As if she’d read her thoughts, Dolly put on a long face. “Poor Lucy, of course, won’t be joining us.”
“No,” Kitty said, her own face drawn downward. “Poor Lucy.”
Dolly brightened. “You just have time to freshen up. Let me show you to your room.”
Sandi followed Dolly Wilder across a cavernous ballroom, through several ornate sitting rooms and hallways then up a winding staircase.
“I hope I don’t get lost,” she said.
“If you do, just ask Matt. He’s in the room next to yours.”
Great, only a wall to separate her from the man who never smiled. She hoped he didn’t give her nightmares.
After Dolly left her, Sandi wished she’d asked exactly what was meant by freshen up. Did they dress for dinner? Certainly the surroundings called for full makeup and a fancy dress. The fact that the owner of the mansion was near death could change things, though. Perhaps Dolly only meant wash your face and comb your hair.
On the other hand, Dr. Darkness would be there, probably still in his three-piece suit and tie. He acted as if he hated her already. There was no reason to give him further cause.
Besides, you never knew when the opportunity to find a husband would strike.
Remembering Matt Coltrane’s scowl, she shuddered. “Please, God, don’t let opportunity strike here.”
She settled on a great-looking little black dress, then swept her long hair into a French knot with flyaway tendrils.
She got lost twice before she finally found the dining room, which was filled with a delicious spread of food. She noticed that Matt was absent.
“Matt decided to eat with his mother,” Dolly said. “He offered his apologies.”
Sandi doubted that, but she was too polite to say so. “I’m sorry she’s so ill,” she said taking a seat at the table.
“How kind of you. Matt’s brilliant, you know,” Dolly added, taking a seat and glaring at Kitty.
“Ouch,” Kitty said, smiling. “Lucy’s son is a top-notch divorce attorney. She’s very proud of him. We all are.”
“Rich,” Dolly said. “I’m surprised some lucky girl hasn’t already run off with him. Have some more mint sauce, Sandi. It’s good for you.”
“I made it with fresh herbs from the garden.” Kitty’s whole face lit up when she spoke of her garden. Sandi seized the opportunity to steer the conversation toward domestic matters.
“It’s delicious. I’d love to make a garden in my backyard. I just don’t know if I have enough room for a garden as well as a playground for the children.”
“You have children?” Kitty seemed excited about the idea and looked disappointed when Sandi shook her head.
“Not yet. I’d like a big family someday, though.”
“Good.” Dolly acted as if the whole brood would be born for her benefit. “Matt adores children, too. He’s quite a Romeo, you know. It wouldn’t surprise me if he fathers five or six.”
“More mint sauce, dear?” Kitty picked up the bowl and ladled it onto Sandi’s plate before Sandi could protest that she couldn’t eat another bite.
“He’s a real Casanova,” Dolly said.
“Wasn’t Casanova unscrupulous?” The words flew out of Sandi’s mouth before she could stop them. To make matters worse, she added, “I’ve had it with men of that sort.”
What in the world was wrong with her? She knew better. She hadn’t even touched her wine. One sip made her tipsy and half a glass shot her over the moon. She looked down at her plate as if it might provide answers, but all she saw was the sick green sauce swimming all over her half-eaten lamb.
“Well, naturally I didn’t mean anything of the sort about Matt.” Dolly didn’t seem to be taking offense, which made Sandi feel better. “He knows a lot about romance, that’s all. He’s true blue, as good as gold, salt of the earth, cream of the crop.”
“One bad metaphor was more than enough, Dolly.” Kitty picked up the damnable bowl of mint sauce. “More sauce, dear?”
Sandi shielded her plate with both hands. “No, please. Any more of that and I’ll be dancing on the table in my black-lace thong.”
“You’re wearing a lace thong?” Dolly clapped her hands. “That’s absolutely perfect for romance.”
It hadn’t worked for Sandi yet, but she wasn’t so far gone she planned to admit defeat in the romance department.
“What time is it?” Kitty looked at her watch, and Dolly jumped up from the table.
“Bedtime.”
“It’s only eight-thirty,” Sandi said, which wasn’t like her at all. Such bad manners. Her grandmother would be spinning in her grave.
“We go to bed early, don’t we, Kitty?”
“With the chickens.”
Kitty cleared the table while Dolly linked arms with Sandi and led her into a walnut-paneled room with cozy chintz furniture and bookshelves filled with interesting-looking books. Lucy’s romances occupied two whole shelves.
Every single one of the titles made Sandi feel inadequate. You Plus Me Equals Love, Love Is All We’ve Got, Love Is Bustin’ Out All Over, just to name a few. All that printed passion made her dizzy, and she had to sit down.
“Help yourself to anything in the library.” Dolly sashayed to the desk and came back with a deck of cards. “You might want to play some cards.”
“I don’t play solitaire. It seems so lonely, somehow.”
“I was thinking of strip poker.” She patted Sandi’s arm. “Well, good night dear. We’ll send Matt down to make sure you can find your way to your room.”
More than likely he would show her the door…unless she could think of some way to win him over so she could complete the portrait she’d been commissioned to do. Perhaps if she asked his advice, appealed to his ego. Men liked that.
There she was, curled up in a chintz chair waiting for him like a black widow spider. In his favorite chair, to boot. Posing, for God’s sake. Pretending to read a book. She sat with one foot tucked under her, head tilted exactly right so the lamp would shine on those little strands of hair so artfully draped against her cheek.
Matt was going to kill Kitty and Dolly. They’d stopped by his mother’s room and announced they were off to bed and he should escort their guest to her room.
He could have pointed out that Dolly never went to bed till midnight and that Sandi Wentworth was not his guest, but he didn’t want to make a scene in front of his mother. She was so weak she was barely coherent. He couldn’t get a thing out of her except, “It’s my heart, son.”
Aunt Dolly was no better, which didn’t surprise Matt. She was known for beauty not brains. But Kitty was a different story. Usually she was articulate and sensible. He supposed his mother’s condition had her so upset she couldn’t think straight. After all, they were as close as sisters.
Why had Ben Appleton gone out of town and left his mother in that condition? It wasn’t like him to be so careless. He was the one Matt really wanted to talk to. And he would, even if he had to storm the travel agency to find out where Ben had gone.
But first he had to deal with the enticing little tramp sitting in his chair.
“Your book’s upside down.”
She gave a guilty start, then batted her big eyes at him. For a moment he almost forgot she was a shameless vixen. Green eyes ought to be outlawed.
“Oh, I didn’t hear you come in.”
Darned if she didn’t put her hand over her chest. Another nasty ploy. All those pearly-pink nails resting on those nicely rounded little breasts.
Matt strolled casually across the room then whirled back and sat in the chair next to hers. He stretched so far his knee rested against her leg.
She jerked back as if he’d branded her with a hot poker. That would teach her to try to outfox a warhorse. He’d had years of practice in keeping his opponents off balance.
“I see you were reading one of my mother’s books.”
“Yes, I was trying to learn.”
“Learn what?”
“About love. I’m a miserable failure at it.” She did that thing with her eyes again.
“I doubt that.”
“Really, I am. Of course, I didn’t expect much from my first fiancé. Pierre was the artistic type.”
Wimpy. Weak. Matt pictured him with a certain malicious glee.
Sandi leaned toward him and he almost missed the false earnestness on her face because of the low cut of her dress.
“My second one didn’t have any staying power,” she said.
Probably some wealthy old geezer who needed Viagra. Clearly she’d been trying to kill him with sex.
“Raoul was a bullfighter.” Matt’s image of the old geezer died an ignominious death. “I think he’d had one too many close calls with a bull.”
“Maybe you’ll have better luck next time,” he said.
“Oh, but I didn’t. My third fiancé…”
“Your third?”
“Yes.”
“How many fiancés have you had?”
“Three.”
She was worse than Matt had imagined. She had to be…what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? At the rate she was going, she’d decimate the entire bachelor population before she was forty-five.
He had a sudden vision of her on a worldwide husband hunt, selecting and discarding poor unsuspecting males the way she would cheap baubles for her charm bracelet. He applauded himself that he had more sense than to be among that number.
“I suppose you have number four all picked out?”
“Oh, no. That’s the problem. I don’t seem to have the right touch with men.”
If she leaned any farther, she was going to fall out of her chair. Or pop out of her dress. Too bad all that beautiful cleavage had to be wasted on a man-eating floozy.
“Can you educate me?” she said.
He thought he’d heard every line, but this was a new one. He couldn’t wait to see how far she would go.
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”
“You’re an expert. Maybe you can give me a few pointers.”
“I deal with love’s demise, not its birth.”
“Still, you know things about the way men think.”
“Obviously. I’m a man.”
Appearing completely artless, she made a clever movement and one of her straps slid off her shoulder. “Do I arouse you?”
Caught red-handed. Or steel-rodded, as the case happened to be. The scary thing about his condition was that Matt hadn’t even noticed when the power shifted from him to her.
“You can stop playing this game, Ms. Wentworth. Your little tricks won’t work on me.”
“Little tricks? How dare you say such a thing! And I was trying to be so nice.”
She jumped out of her chair, then toppled. Matt caught her with the ease he’d caught pigskin on the high-school football field. She wrapped her arms around his neck and melted all over him in a kittenish display of innocent seduction.
He gritted his teeth. “I should have let you fall.”
“Why didn’t you?” The cute little kitten turned to a tigress. Next she would be unsheathing her claws.
“Because I’m a gentleman.”
“You’re no gentleman.” She shoved at him, then looked up big-eyed and said, “Unhand me,” exactly like one of the heroines Dolly had played in B-grade movies.
“Gladly.” He released her, and she teetered toward the left.
This time he didn’t just catch her around the waist, he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder. All night she’d been asking for a caveman, and that’s exactly what she was going to get.
“Put me down.” She battered his back with her fists.
“You’ve had too much to drink.” He marched toward the door and snapped off the lights on the way out of the library. No sense wasting electricity.
“I don’t drink.”
“That’s a likely story.” The spitfire didn’t bite back. “Or maybe it’s the truth. Maybe this is all part of your act.”
She still didn’t take the bait. Never mind, the front door lay just ahead. He would dump her outside and be done with her.
“This is the end of the line for you, Ms. Wentworth. You’ll have to find some other sucker to deceive.” She was still playing possum. “Ms. Wentworth.” He gave her backside a sharp pat. “Sandi, wake up. Game’s over.”
Dead silence. Plus, she was a dead weight. Matt slid her off his shoulder and she lolled sideways in his arms.
“Shoot.” She’d passed out. Now what was he going to do?
Lucy and Dolly and Kitty were propped up against Lucy’s headboard with their feet in fuzzy bed socks while they watched a rerun of Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr in An Affair to Remember.
“Are you sure everything went all right at dinner?” Lucy asked. “You were subtle, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” Dolly said, and Kitty snorted. “What about all that mint sauce you gave her?” Dolly retorted.
“Do you think I put a little too much muscadine wine in it?”
“What about my pie?” Lucy said. “And while you’re gone, check to see how the lovebirds are doing.”
“What if they catch me?”
“Sneak, Kitty,” Dolly said. “Sneak.”
When Kitty got back, she said, “It looks like a Mexican standoff down there.”
“Is that good or bad?” Lucy asked.
Dolly, who was the expert of the three on account of her many love affairs, pronounced the verdict.
“It could go either way.”