Holt’s body reacted to the idea of that pert rear under his own hand.
“You will have to continue your search later, Miss Caitlin,” Farrell interjected. “Mr. Ridley has need of the office.”
She huffed and planted her fists on her hips, then, with the heir in the room, must have thought better of arguing. She turned and closed the cabinet door. “Let me know when ye are done if ye will,” she requested and with a nod to each, strode past them and out the door.
“Young, isn’t she? Yet she’s the appraiser?” Holt couldn’t wait to hear how Miss Caitlin had developed her expertise.
“The very same,” Farrell replied. “She comes highly recommended.”
Holt thought about the view he’d gotten when he first saw the room and decided highly recommended didn’t begin to describe her.
CHAPTER2
Long before the end of the day, Holt became convinced his notion of a quick return to California was a lost cause. The house was too big, contained too many valuable things mixed with utter beachykitsch, and needed too much work for him to be able to manage the estate contents and real estate sale from a distance. And if he didn’t stay, he’d have to return next week anyway to answer the damned summons. He texted his assistant to pack a week’s worth of cold weather clothing in two suitcases and overnight them to him. He always slept raw, so the lack of anything to wear tonight didn’t bother him. He could live in what he had on his back and in his go-bag long enough for two boxes to arrive. He’d managed with less.
He leaned back from the desk where he’d settled after touring the house to study the papers the lawyer had left with him. The room had darkened around the pool of lamplight while he read. Days were short this far north this time of year. He rang for Farrell, who appeared so quickly, Holt figured he’d been hovering outside the office door. “I’ll be here for a week— possibly as much as ten days. Which room should I use?”
“For the holiday, sir, would you like us to decorate the house, then?”
Holt snorted. “Not on my account.”
Farrell nodded. “Follow me if you’re ready. I’ve had the master suite prepared in the event you’d remain with us overnight.”
He should have expected that. “Not there. Are my mother’s old rooms available?”
“Apologies, sir, but Miss Caitlin is currently using that suite.”
He didn’t bother to ask what was behind Farrell’s hesitation. Miss Caitlin had quickly made herself at home, it seemed.
The master suite loomed large in his imagination. If Holt were a superstitious man, the idea of sleeping in his evil great-aunt’s bed would give him nightmares. He shook off the feeling. He wasn’t a child. “Very well, lead the way.”
The master suite was as ostentatious as the rest of the house. The heavy furniture and draperies didn’t surprise him. Nor did the plumbing in the master bath, barely modernized to early twentieth-century standards. It had the look of old-fashioned luxury but lacked twenty-first-century amenities. Still, it was better than what he’d grown up with. It would have to do.
“Your great-aunt had many of the rooms updated, baths included, but preferred her own as you find it,” Farrell told him. “The bedding, of course, has been changed, and we will acquire any toiletries you prefer. I hope you will be comfortable here.” He put Holt’s go-bag on the brocade-covered padded bench at the end of the bed.
Holt had slept in worse surroundings. “Thank you.”
Farrell went to the door, then paused. “Make yourself at home. Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes. I’ll escort you?—”
“I can find my way to the dining room.”
“The small dining room, if you please, sir.” Farrell nodded and left him alone.
Holt unpacked his go-bag and hung up his spare pants and shirt, then wandered around the room, picking up and replacing objects without really seeing them. He tried to recall details of the house’s main floor Farrell had shown him, but they blurred together into a montage of walnut paneling, colorful carpets, and beveled glass.
The master bedroom windows looked out over the back garden to the ocean, but night had fallen quickly, hiding the view. He stared out into the darkness for a moment, then checked his watch and realized he was going to be late. His stomach should still be on California time, where it was mid-afternoon, but perhaps refusing the meal and taking the tour immediately after a sleepless night coming cross-country had not been his best idea. Now that he was alone, he realized he was hungry as well as tired. He supposed a meal would help him adjust to the local time. He pictured the route to the small dining room as he headed out the door, then his mind turned to a potentially more pleasant matter. Would Caitlin Paterson be at dinner, too?
* * *
Caitlin entered the small dining room. Candlelight replaced the expected glow of the overhead chandelier. She noticed the second place setting at the head of the table and supposed that was the reason for the mood lighting. The new master was on the premises. No doubt, the staff wanted to make a good first impression. Not that she thought of Farrell and Mrs. Smith as mere staff. They’d been kind to her, and they cared for this place as if it was their own. They were special people. She hoped Ridley came to see them the way she did and took care of them, whatever he decided to do with the estate.
She took her usual seat at the side of the long table which, over her objections, Farrell had insisted she use for her meals. At least they hadn’t insisted on using the formal dining room, easily three times the size of this one. She should count her blessings, but she would’ve been more comfortable eating in the kitchen than out here by herself. Well, she wouldn’t be eating by herself tonight, would she? The laird of the manor had arrived.
She’d been so embarrassed by the way he’d found her, she’d kept her gaze down and barely recalled what he’d looked like. Tall, dark hair, athletic build, that was the sum of the impression she’d gotten as she hastened out of the office. She never looked at his face. What must he think of her?
Mr. Holt Ridley, billionaire heir to all of this, must have had quite a view— her with her head in the cabinet and herarsein the air. The thought made her blush, even now. She’d closed those pocket doors for a reason, damn it. But she couldn’t fault Farrell, not with the laird demanding entrance.
She dreaded their second meeting. What would shesayto the man? Worse, what would he say to her? As far as he knew, she was just part of the hired help. Would he object to sharing the table with her? That thought didn’t bother her as much as she knew it should. Still, she would happily escape to the kitchen or her chamber, if she could.
