There was a god.
Chapter 3
“No wonder you’re not married. Just look at your underwear.”
Katherine didn’t even lift an eyebrow. She just kept on unpacking her things.
“How do you expect to catch a man wearing underwear like this?” Stacy held up one of Katherine’s sensible white panties.
Katherine gave her a long, level look. “I tend to keep my underwear beneath my clothes. It has nothing whatsoever to do with my ability to catch men.” Should she even want such a thing.
“Not true.” Stacy spun the panties around on her finger. “My father’s single, right?”
Katherine knew where this was heading. “This doesn’t—”
“And he’s a total babe, right?”
“Stacy, really, I’d prefer not to—”
“It’s a simple yes or no question, and we both know the answer is yes. Yes, he’s a babe. As least as far as old guys go. This is an undisputable fact. I mean, just look at the man. He could be a movie star.”
Katherine conceded. “All right. Yes. Your father’s quite handsome. But I don’t see what this has to do with—”
“Your underwear?” Stacy finished for her. “But it does. Answer this for me. You’re going to be living in this house for about a month and a half. In the same house Trey lives in. Has the thought even occurred to you that you should hit on him?”
“Hit on your father?” Katherine couldn’t help but laugh as she hung the few dresses she’d brought in the spacious closet. “No, it definitely hasn’t occurred to me. Good grief.”
“So in other words what you’re saying is that you look at him, and you see an extremely attractive man that you know is single and completely filthy rich, and it hasn’t even occurred to you that he might be even potential husband material?”
Katherine tried to lower the heat under the frying pan she was currently sitting in. “It’s just not that simple, Stacy. Not everyone is looking for a husband.”
“You are.” Stacy didn’t leave any room for doubt in her voice. “Look at you. Puppies and babies. You love ’em, right? You probably even have little pink flowers on your nightie.” She started opening the dresser drawers to find the nightie in question, but Katherine leaned against the dresser, holding the drawers shut.
Stacy was undaunted. She gave up trying to open the drawers, but didn’t give up on the conversation. “You want a ring and a wedding gown and Prince Charming. You want happily ever after.”
Katherine watched as Stacy flopped onto the big four-poster bed that sat in the middle of the official nanny’s bedroom. “Is that so awful?” she asked the girl.
“For you?” Stacy made a face. “No way. If it’s what you want, well, good luck. I hope someday you even have twins. Your problem isn’t that you want to get married. Your problem is that you look at guys like Daddy—like Trey—and you automatically assume they’re out of your league. And, this is where we get back to where we started, it’s all because you wear really boring underwear.”
“Well,” Katherine said. “Okay. You’ve truly lost me there.” Maybe it was time to go find Douglas.
Stacy sat up. “Look at it this way. You’re standing here, right? Wearing that old dull underwear. And Trey walks in. And you have a conversation, but nothing happens. Nothing sparks because your underwear is so sensible. The entire time you’re talking, you’re thinking, I’m the nanny, there’s no way he’d go for someone like me.”
For a thirteen-year-old, Stacy was amazingly astute. Still…It was definitely time to go find Doug. “I think this conversation has—”
“Now imagine what might happen if, instead of that dull old boring white underwear, you were wearing something with a green-and-peacock-paisley print? Something made of silk and lace? Something fabulously interesting.”
“Stacy, that’s enough. Stop.”
“I’m about to make my point. This entire conversation has been leading to this very moment. You’re not really going to shut me up now, are you?”
Katherine looked into the girl’s widened brown eyes. She knew she was being manipulated, but she shook her head. “Make your point. God help me.”
“You know that old saying—God helps those who help themselves? That’s what I’m trying to do here. I’m trying to help you help yourself.”
“Is that your point?” Katherine asked. “Because if it’s not, cut to it. Now.”
“Okay.” Stacy stood up. “Here you are. Wearing your nanny clothes the way you are.”
Katherine looked down at the skirt and top she was wearing—it was one of her favorite and most comfortable outfits. Nanny clothes. Right.
“But this time,” Stacy continued, “what if you’re wearing some really amazing underwear underneath? Trey comes in, and you’re right, he doesn’t see your underwear, he doesn’t have a clue you’ve got it on. But you know. And the entire time you’re talking to him, you’re thinking about how good you look in that underwear. And all of a sudden he’s not out of your league because you are as good as it gets. And instead of being nervous and shy, you give him a little attitude, a little extra something in your smile. And before he knows it, he’s asking you to dinner. And that’s why you should burn all that boring underwear right away.”
Katherine just stood there, gazing at Stacy. “Well,” she finally said. “I’ll take it under advisement, thanks. Any ideas where Doug might be?”
“Don’t you want a chance for a rebuttal?” The girl really was remarkably bright. And her point really did make quite a lot of sense.
Given the assumption that Katherine would want Trey Sutherland to ask her to dinner.
And that was a very big assumption.
Katherine was here to find Bill Lewis—not to “catch” Trey Sutherland. Or even dine with him.
“No,” Katherine said. “I’ll pass on the rebuttal, thanks.”
Stacy shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She’d been carrying a skateboard when she first came in, and she took it with her, setting it down on the floor in the hallway.
As Katherine watched, the girl stepped onto it, and giving herself a push with one foot, headed down the corridor, the wheels making a soft whirring sound against the wood. “Isn’t that more of an out-of-doors activity?” Katherine asked.
Stacy shrugged again. “This place is so big, and Trey doesn’t care. Doggie’s probably in the playroom,” she added as she rolled away.
Katherine gave an experimental whistle.
The playroom was empty—or at least it appeared to be empty.
But wherever Doug had gone, it couldn’t have been far. The TV was on, and that same videotape was playing. Lady and the Tramp. An excellent choice for a boy who liked to pretend he was a dog.
She turned off both the TV and the tape, and whistled again. Louder this time.
And there he was. A little pointy chin. A delicately heart-shaped face. Two brown eyes. Peeking out at her from behind the draperies.
As a boy, he was too painfully shy even to face her. But dogs simply weren’t shy. And as a dog, he could watch her rather intently.
Katherine sat down on the floor, glad she’d taken the time to change into her new blue jeans, glad she’d bought the ones that were stonewashed and already faded and soft. She opened the bag she’d brought with her, and took out the squeaky