Mr. Hyde’s Assets Read online

  Candice sighed inwardly and resigned herself. “I met him, sort of, last week at the clinic. He was outside—painting a sign. He stopped a pesky reporter from following me inside the building.”

  The housekeeper looked alarmed by this news. “Do you think he followed you here? Should we have the police run a check on him?”

  “No, I—”

  “I think we should. I’m tellin’ you, Mrs. Dale, I don’t trust Mr. Howard’s deadbeat family. I don’t trust them at all.”

  “They wouldn’t dare do anything to hurt the baby. Besides, I think Dr. Jack knows this guy personally.” Candice hated the way her voice trembled. She wasn’t as confident as she wanted the housekeeper to believe, and she couldn’t forget the sound of shouting she’d heard when she’d returned for her purse. It had not been Jack Cruise’s voice she’d heard, but the painter’s. Rough and angry. Very angry.

  Mrs. Merryweather gathered the stripped bedclothes and crossed the room to stand before Candice, wearing a familiar stern frown.

  “Don’t brush off the danger, Mrs. Dale. With you out of the way, those Vanausdales would get all of Mr. Howards money, and they wouldn’t have to wait for a judge to decide.”

  Candice attempted to reassure her. “I’m not brushing it off, really. But I’m not going to jump at every shadow, either.”

  With a sharp jerk of her head in the direction of the window, Mrs. Merryweather said, “You’ve seen for yourself—he’s no shadow. A big, brawny man like that could snap a woman in two. If I’d known about this, I wouldn’t have hired him.”

  Candice felt compelled to defend him, since she’d sowed the seed of suspicion. “He seems harmless…”

  “We’re all alone here.”

  “We’ve got neighbors—”

  “You think they’d hear us? Two acres of woods surround this house!”

  Candice was beginning to get spooked. Before long, she would become as paranoid as the housekeeper. Then they would both go insane. Firmly, she said, “We can’t fire him on such flimsy suspicions. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  The housekeeper rounded her eyes. “Who cares what’s fair if we’re dead in our beds?”

  A mighty splash interrupted their heated conversation. Both women froze. Candice stared in question at the housekeeper, who stared back, equally puzzled.

  “Do you think he… ?” Candice turned in the direction of the patio doors that led to the pool area, Mrs. Merryweather on her heels. “Do you suppose he fell in?” she whispered, pulling the curtain aside to take a look.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.” The older woman pressed her nose to the glass and squinted.

  They gasped simultaneously. The handyman floundered in the deep end of the pool, splashing frantically. His head went under, then he bounced up again to claw the air.

  “Help!”

  His muffled, gurgled shout made Candice jump. “Dear God, he can’t swim!”

  Mrs. Merryweather pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, Lord, neither can I! But what if this is just a trick to lure you into the pool so he can drown—”

  But Candice wasn’t listening. She scrabbled at the door latch, yanking the sliding glass open so hard it bounced back into Mrs. Merryweather as she followed. A man was drowning; there wasn’t time to worry about hidden agendas.

  She hurried to the far side of the pool where the handyman had been working, her heart in her throat, vaguely aware the plump housekeeper followed. Looking around, she searched for something—anything—she could use as a lifeline as the man continued to thrash in the water. She spotted the utility pole and grabbed it up. Leaning over as far as she dared, she stretched the net across the water.

  “Grab the pole!” she shouted, her voice raspy with panic.

  His answer was a gurgle as he dropped once again below the surface. Candice moaned in fear. Was it the third time? There was no time left—no time to wonder if she would be strong enough to save him. She had to try.

  Quickly, she shed her pumps and jumped in, gasping as the sun-warmed water rushed over her, soaking her expensive linen slacks and white silk shirt. She kicked to the surface and swam for the drowning man. When she reached him, she slid her hands beneath his arms and lifted him up until his head broke the surface.

  He struggled, but, thankfully, he wasn’t struggling against her. As he sputtered and gasped for air, she felt the roughness of his jean shorts as the waves slapped his lower body against her thighs. The thin material of her pants was now plastered to her like a second skin, leaving little to protect her from the oddly intimate contact. Unnerved, she quickly moved her legs out of reach, still holding on to him.

  She began to backpedal, dragging him along. When she reached the edge of the pool, she leaned against it to catch her breath, supporting his weight with the help of the water.

  He rolled in the water, and she gasped when his hand flattened against her stomach as if he were searching for something to brace himself. Candice froze, telling herself it was an accident, that there was nothing personal about his touch. And of course he was dazed—that was why he was taking so long to remove his hand. She lifted his arms and encouraged him to hang on to the side until he caught his breath—so she could catch hers.

  He obeyed sluggishly, as if still dazed by what had happened. Finally, she noticed his breathing begin to even out. Candice continued to watch him closely, working at stabilizing her own breathing. He’d given her quite a scare.

  “Mrs. Dale, are you all right?” From the side of the pool, Mrs. Merryweather crouched down and studied Candice with a worried frown. “You know you shouldn’t be lifting.”

  “He wasn’t heavy, Mrs. Merryweather. The water…” She wiped her streaming hair out of her eyes, watching the handyman do the same. Yes, he was coming around. His eyes no longer looked wild, and he’d stopped choking on the water he’d swallowed.

  “I’ll get some towels.” Mrs. Merryweather caught Candices eye and gave her a meaningful look before she added loudly, “I’ll be right back—I won’t be out of sight. Just over here at the pool house.”

  Candice covered a giggle with a wet hand, pretending to cough as the housekeeper hurried after the towels. The man was half-drowned, and Mrs. Merryweather still thought they were about to be murdered!

  “What’s so funny?” a slightly raspy voice asked.

  She jerked her head around, losing her grip on the side of the pool and treading water as her startled gaze collided with the handyman’s. Spiky black lashes framed vivid blue eyes, eyes that were regarding her with unmistakable curiosity and—was that a hint of censure?

  The latter confused Candice.

  Whatever happened to a simple thank-you? she wondered. Reestablishing her grip on the coping, she slicked her hair away from her face and glanced toward the pool house and Mrs. Merryweather. “It’s—it’s a private joke.” She tried to cross an arm over her chest and still hang on to the pool side, conscious of how transparent the wet silk of her blouse was. At any moment, he might look down and see… She cleared her throat nervously, wishing the housekeeper would hurry with the towels. This was nerve-wracking. “Are you okay now?” she asked.

  “I’m fine. Thanks.” With a mighty lunge that nearly launched a shriek from her throat, he lifted himself up and out of the pool in one graceful motion.

  He shook himself like a wet dog, slicking his gold-streaked hair away from his tanned face. “Give me your hand,” he commanded softly, staring down at her.

  Candice swallowed and obeyed, gasping when he lifted her out of the water as if she weighed nothing. When she stood, he held her steady with big hands encircling her waist. Candice knew it was nothing more than a courtesy, but she trembled regardless, remembering the housekeeper’s comment: A big, brawny man like that could snap a woman in two.

  She pushed the terrifying thought away and attempted something she hadn’t in a long time—normal conversation with someone other than the housekeeper, Jack Cruise, and her lawyer. “I—I guess this means we’re even.�
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  He didn’t pretend not to understand. A faint smile of remembrance curved his mouth. “I don’t know about that. I’d call the trade a little uneven—my life versus your privacy?”

  “I—Mrs. Merryweather didn’t tell me your name,” she ventured, moving away a bit as she changed the subject. He dropped his hands without hesitation, and Candice let her breath out slowly. She was also wrong about his ogling her. He kept his eyes on her face with a searching intensity that popped a question into her mind: What was he looking for? After a moment, he gave a faint nod, as if he found his inspection satisfying.

  When he finally took his eyes from her face, it was to glance briefly in the direction of the pool house. Before she could relax, he pinned his gaze on her again and thrust out his right hand.

  “I’m Austin Hyde.” His voice was deep, low, just as she remembered it.

  Hesitantly, she placed her hand in his. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. At his touch, a tremor ran up her arm, straight into her chest, and her heart began to beat swiftly.

  The frightening reaction brought her back to reality. Caution returned. He was a man—a powerful man. Maybe not rich powerful but strong powerful and also, she suspected, controlling powerful. The straight, square set of his jaw told her that. She pulled her hand free and crossed her arms over her chest. Strong-willed. Demanding. Commanding. Those were qualities she had to avoid.

  To their left, they heard the slamming of a door. Mrs. Merryweather emerged from the pool house wearing a thunderous expression and carrying two small towels. “Well, I don’t feel so guilty anymore about having to let that lazy Misty go,” she complained. “I always said, ‘Misty, make sure there are plenty of towels in the pool house,’ but did she listen? No, she didn’t. Never gave it a thought, I’ll wager.”

  Candice took one of the towels from her hand and began to dry her hair, avoiding Mr. Hyde’s amused gaze.

  “So, you don’t know how to swim?” Mrs. Merryweather looked disapproving, although Candice knew the housekeeper feared water nearly as much as she feared snakes.

  He answered her, but his gaze remained fixed on Candice. She shivered and pressed the towel against her chest.

  “Can’t seem to get the knack of it. Maybe I haven’t had the right teacher.”

  Was he implying—? Candice jerked her gaze away, mentally shaking her head. Of course he wasn’t hinting she should teach him to swim! Years of isolation had turned her into a silly fool. She didn’t know how to act or react to men, and she didn’t have a clue how to guess what was on their minds. But then, she firmly reminded herself, she didn’t want to know. Ever again.

  Mrs. Merryweather continued to glare at him. “Well, I guess you should stay away from the pool until you learn. Mrs. Dale ain’t in no condition to be hauling giants like you out of the water.”

  Instead of being offended by her tone, he seemed to be amused. He reached behind him and plucked a faded tank top from a lounge chair and casually slipped it over his head. “Pregnancy doesn’t necessarily make a woman an invalid.”

  The housekeeper bristled. Candice hid a smile behind her towel, trying not to gawk at the sight of his rippling muscles. Mr. Hyde obviously had no idea what he was getting into by challenging Mrs. Merryweather, mother of three.

  “Oh?” Mrs. Merryweather queried archly. “You know a lot about pregnancy, do you? Married with kids of your own? I don’t remember you mentioning that on your application.”

  Candice held her breath, telling herself it didn’t matter, it was none of her concern, and she certainly wasn’t interested.

  “No, but I’ve researched the subject some.”

  Candice’s breath whistled quietly between her teeth. So, he wasn’t married. She didn’t really care, and it wasn’t relief she felt, not really. Or maybe simply relief that he could devote more time to the multitudinous tasks requiring his attention.

  Like the unfinished nursery.

  Before she could lose her nerve, she asked, “Mr. Hyde, would you like to come in for a glass of lemonade? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “But, Mrs. Dale! You can’t—”

  “We’re not out of lemonade, are we?” Candice lifted an eyebrow, trying to convey a silent message to the housekeeper: She wanted to find out why Mr. Hyde was here, why he’d applied for the job, and she was tired of spying. “I’m sure Mr. Hyde could use some refreshment after his ordeal.” She shifted her gaze to his for a brief moment. “Couldn’t you, Mr. Hyde?” Secretly, her courage surprised her. But there was something about the man that inspired trust. And he had saved her from the reporter.

  His eyes twinkled as he swiped the small towel across his neck and face before tucking it into the waistband of his low-slung shorts.

  “After all the chlorinated water I swallowed, lemonade sounds good.”

  Mrs. Merryweather seemed to realize she wasn’t going to win the argument. But her expression spoke volumes, and Candice knew she would be in for a lecture later about welcoming this relative stranger into the house with her.

  “Well, I guess I can take time to whip up a sandwich or two to go with it,” the housekeeper said reluctantly. “I’ll just go on ahead and get that laundry from your room, Mrs. Dale, and close your doors. You get out of those wet clothes now, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She flashed the housekeeper a cheeky smile. “We’ll be right along.”

  When the housekeeper left, Candice’s courage went with her. She was alone with a man other than Howard for the first time in years. Nervous now, she retrieved her pumps and returned to Mr. Hyde, clutching the shoes and the towel against her chest. He stood at ease, thumbs hooked into his waistband. Sunlight glinted off the highlights in his hair and sparkled on the water drops splattering his shoulders.

  Candice tried not to stare but found it impossible, just as she had found it impossible the past three days. Howard had been slim, with soft muscles. Mr. Hyde was firm—hard. When he shrugged or moved, it created a rippling wave of muscle, tempting her to follow it with her fingertips.

  She licked her dry lips and forced herself to meet his gaze. He knows, she thought suddenly. He knows what I’m about to ask him.

  Well, there wasn’t any delicate way of putting it, she decided. She couldn’t relax without knowing. She took a deep breath and blurted it out. “Why are you here?”

  ———

  Austin had been asking himself that same question over and over since Mrs. Merryweather had mistaken him for a job applicant. Taking the position had been an impulsive response, something like Jack would have done—and that thought scared the hell out of him.

  What was he doing here? Spying on the future mother of his baby? Waiting for the right moment to come out with the truth? Mrs. Vanausdale, I hate to give you the bad news, but I’m the father of your baby. Ha! She’d dial 911 so fast, he’d never know what hit him until the cuffs—or the straitjacket—was on.

  He’d hoped by taking the job he would get to know more about her, and that maybe this would give him some idea of what to do about their unbelievable situation. That hadn’t worked out, though, for she’d kept to herself, enclosed in that big, sterile mansion probably making God-knew-what kind of plans for his child.

  Oh, he’d noticed her watching him and had thought curiosity would eventually drive her out to ask questions. But when the third day came and she hadn’t, he had to go to Plan B: pretend to drown.

  And now she was here, in the flesh—wet flesh—and all he could concentrate on was controlling his libido. Mrs. Vanausdale was all woman, right down to the faint curve of her stomach. Austin gritted his teeth, remembering how she’d stiffened when he’d placed his hand there, over their baby. Was she repulsed by him? After all, he wasn’t the suave, sophisticated, rich dude her husband had been.

  So, what was he doing here? Very good question. Only he didn’t have the answer. Not today.

  He shrugged, deciding a half truth was better than an outright lie. “I can use the
money.” She frowned; evidently his answer wasn’t satisfying enough. What did she think? That he had followed her home from Little Miracles like a panting puppy? Or that he was working undercover for the enemy, the other Vanausdales? He suspected the housekeeper thought so.

  Man, would they be surprised to discover how wrong they were.

  And suddenly, inspiration struck Austin as he remembered what the housekeeper had said about Candice’s possibly needing a bodyguard. What better way to get to know the real Candice Vanausdale than to convince her he cared about her welfare and could prove perfectly protective?

  Taking the initiative, he began walking in the direction of the house. “Better get going before Mrs. Merryweather comes looking for us.” He smiled, hoping to ease her tension. She was jumpy on her own, and bashful, to boot. Unusual qualities in a woman of wealth and uncommon beauty.

  She played right into his hands, moving into place beside him. “She’s concerned about me.”

  Bingo. “So am I.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks, a look of such surprise on her face, Austin had to believe it was real. “You are? Why?”

  Now came the tricky part. He schooled his expression into what he hoped was a look of bewilderment. “I’m not sure. When I saw you at Little Miracles, I just got this feeling you needed somebody you could trust. Then Jack mentioned you were looking to hire help and showed me the ad in the paper, and since I was looking for work…” He let her draw her own conclusions, secure in the knowledge he’d already coached Jack on what to say and what not to say.

  She continued walking, and so did he. After a moment, she asked so softly he had to strain to hear her, “Are you someone I can trust?”

  Austin waited for the rush of victory but was disappointed. She sounded lost, hopeful yet afraid. And he felt like a heel.

  He was saved from answering by the buzzing drone of an approaching helicopter. Simultaneously, they tilted their heads and shaded their eyes to look at the sky.

  He recognized the distinct blue and white stripes of the Channel Four news helicopter just as Candice grabbed his hand and began to run the last few yards to the back door, pulling him along with amazing strength.