The voice was low, more of a growl, but Rebecca had faced worse every morning before 9:00 a.m., and all less than three feet tall. She straightened her mouth into a tight line.
“No.”
“Didn’t think so,” he said, brushing his hair and shrugging out of his coat, tossing it onto the coatrack, and hitting it expertly.
She wanted to ignore him—she really should ignore him—but this one drew her eyes. He was a good head and shoulders taller than her, silky hair, black eyes, thick lashes that still held a few stubborn flakes of white.
The stubble-darkened jaw was square and hard, just another indicator that this man was not a cheery person, nor would he probably ever be. Such magnetic personality traits were the reasons that she kept looking, noticing the brown off-the-rack sweater. Off-the-rack had never looked so good. The blue jeans were old Levi’s, faded, molded to lean hips and long legs. He was thinner than the current style dictated, but it looked right. He was lean, mean and had never owned a Bentley in his life. What a shame. A definite “C” on the Eligibility Scale, although she gave bonus points for smoldering sexuality. If this was any indication of the man quality at Timberline, she could get on board with this new plan. So what if the kids needed her? So what if she didn’t have a job? After all, with the right husband, food and shelter wouldn’t be an issue. And the right position at a philanthropic foundation could do wonders for other kids. New kids, underprivileged, rather than overprivileged.
Rebecca took a deep breath, hung up her coat (the nonathletic way) and stepped aside right as a tiny old lady came up to greet her.
“Miss Neumann, I’m Helen Krause. We’ve been expecting you. I was worried with the weather, thinking you’d be stuck somewhere on the roads.”
“Not a problem for me,” said Rebecca. “I took the train. Mass transit is my friend.” Rebecca lifted her suitcase and the older woman waved it back down.
“Let Roland take care of that.”
“Roland?”
“He’s our doorman, as well as my husband.”
Rebecca envisioned a ninety-year-old man trying to lug her four-ton suitcase up three flights of stairs and frowned. “I can do it.”
Helen took the suitcase in her feeble, birdlike hand. “But you’re a guest.”
Rebecca reached out, ready to protest, but Mr. Lean, Mean and Bentley-Less stepped in between them. “Where’s it going?”
Mrs. Krause smiled nicely, obviously not a devotee of the women’s movement. “Follow me. Aren’t you a dear man to help?”
The man grumbled something that sounded vaguely obscene, but fell into line behind the old woman. Rebecca followed, watching him move up the winding wooden staircase. Okay, there was more ogling, but he moved with an easy, athletic grace that was fun to watch, and filled her with a marvelous tingling sensation. What harm was there in that?
They went up three flights, down a hallway, around a corner, around another corner and then down another long hallway. Finally Mrs. Krause stopped outside a room and the man dropped the suitcase with a loud thud. Rebecca winced at the echoing noise. Yes, she should have packed lighter, but a woman needed her accessories.
Mrs. Krause beamed at the man. “You’re staying with Miss Neumann then?” She turned to Rebecca. “I thought you’d be traveling alone.”
“She is,” the man answered. “I’m waiting for the snow to let up. Do you have a restaurant or place I could sit for a few hours? A bar would be great.”
Mrs. Krause looked out the bank of windows, shaking her head. “The dining room will be open for tea shortly, but I’m not sure the snow will be stopping anytime soon.”
“I’ll be fine. You tell me where I can wait and be out of the way.”
“The library’s as nice a place as any. And there’s hot cider and gingerbread cookies.”
His eyes didn’t look happy, but he didn’t say anything, merely headed downstairs. The old woman watched him curiously, before turning her attention back to Rebecca. “You know, I’m not sure your room is ready. I asked the maid to put the portable foot spa in your room, and I don’t think she’s got to it yet. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind waiting in the library, too? I’m afraid this weather has thrown everyone for a loop. The second shift maid couldn’t make it in and we’re a bit shorthanded.”
Rebecca didn’t mind at all. For a portable foot spa, she’d walk through hot coals. She smiled easily. “Not a problem, Mrs. Krause.”
“Please call me Helen.”
“Helen, then. And I’m Rebecca.”