Will gave Sam a faintly accusing look as he finally sat. “So why didn’t you just tell Kate Marten she’s getting in over her head, and find someone else to move in?”
Sam let out a frustrated breath. “I tried.” He knew from the moment it was suggested that it wasn’t going to work out. But Kate hadn’t accepted that. And here he was, Sam thought, still having to deal with Kate. His four older sons exchanged speculative glances, forcing Sam to explain further as he picked up some clothes off the floor and clumped them together on the piano bench. “Look, I know her,” Sam muttered, picking up a few empty soda cans, too. “We grew up together. I can try talking to Kate Marten until I’m blue in the face and it’s not going to matter one whit until she figures it out for herself. However…” Sam sighed. “Once Kate’s here for a few days—” if it even took that long, Sam amended silently “—she’ll realize she wouldn’t wish this job on her worst enemy. By then, I’ll have found another housekeeper for us. Kate’ll be able to leave, knowing she did her part to help us survive in the interim, and everyone’s happy.” His aunt and uncle would be satisfied Sam had given Kate a chance, and Kate could move on to her next do-gooding project. And best of all, he’d be rid of Kate and her interference once and for all.
“Gee, Dad, don’t think you have to sugarcoat it for us,” Riley retorted glibly.
Sam shrugged and continued just as bluntly, “We gotta face facts here, guys. Collectively, you boys have not been easy on the help.”
The boys exchanged disgruntled looks. “That’s ’cause we don’t like them,” Will growled finally, standing and looking immensely irritated at being forced to stick around.
Abruptly, Sam realized he was missing a son. “Where did Brad go?” he demanded irritably. How was he supposed to have a family meeting if one or another of the boys kept running off whenever he turned his head?
“He’s where he always is, upstairs on the phone with a girl,” Lewis said.
Will paced aimlessly, tossing his football around. “He’s in a panic cause he’s only got one date so far tonight instead of the usual three.”
Irked to find even the smallest details of his life unmanageable, Sam strode to the front of the house and bellowed up the stairs, “Brad, get down here now!”
Footsteps rumbled across the third, then the second floor. Reeking of aftershave, Brad appeared at the head of the stairs, the phone glued to his ear. “But, Da-ad…”
“Now, Brad!” Sam ordered.
Outside, a car door slammed. In tandem, the boys rushed to the window and peered out. “Kate’s here—” Lewis reported, looking happy to see her.
Brad stopped checking his reflection long enough to look out the window. He let out a wolf whistle. “Man, oh, man…”
“Brad…” Sam warned.
“We’re serious, Dad,” Riley added, his jaw dropping open in amazement. “You ought to see her.”
That was just it, Sam thought wearily, the dread inside him increasing by leaps and bounds. He didn’t want to see Kate. At all.
KATE KNEW SAM and his boys were desperate for help the first time she’d met with them at the hospital after Kevin’s accident. That impression had been reinforced when she’d come to the house to talk to Sam alone. Kate had been hoping Sam and the boys would clean up a bit before she arrived. They hadn’t.
Technically, of course, the contemporary Victorian home with the slate-blue paint, white trim and dark gray roof, was one of the largest and loveliest homes in Laramie. Or at least it had been when Ellie was alive. Sam had inherited the place from his folks. But it was Ellie who had, over the years they’d lived in Dallas, made it into an elegant summer and holiday retreat for the family.
A waist-high white-picket fence placed just inside the sidewalk that ran along the street framed the large square lot. Live oak trees shaded the front yard. Low-lying juniper and holly bushes edged the porch. The flower beds had been filled with an astonishing profusion of Texas wildflowers that bloomed year after year with little care. Some, like the Texas bluebonnets, bloomed in early spring. While the Indian paintbrush, shasta daisies, scarlet sage, rocket larkspur, baby’s breath and pink evening primrose bloomed all summer long and into the fall.
A rope-hung swing with a wooden seat hung from one of the trees. On the wide shady porch that adorned the front and both sides of the large, three-story Victorian home, were comfortable groupings of cushioned wicker furniture. Ellie had worked hard to make it warm and welcoming.
Kate shuddered to think what Ellie would make of the unkempt condition of the home now. The grass was thick with weeds and hadn’t been cut in several weeks. Bats, balls, bikes, skateboards, lacrosse sticks, a soccer ball and goals were strewn across the front yard. Worse than the disarray, was the air of neglect. Spiderwebs clung to the porch ceiling. A wasp’s nest had started atop one of the shutters. The glass had been broken out of one of the old-fashioned porch lamps and the windows were covered with a thick layer of dirt and smudges. And that was just the outside. Knowing the inside was in even worse shape, Kate squared her shoulders, shoved her sunglasses atop her head and rang the bell.
The front door opened and Sam’s boys filed out en masse. Despite the fact they were still grieving Ellie’s death intensely in their private moments, all were glowing with good health and physical strength and tons of somewhat misguided energy. They were an intelligent, handsome group of boys, with Sam’s dark hair and Ellie’s soft eyes.
Kate greeted them all in turn. Although they’d been happy enough to speak with her at the hospital during the aftermath of Kevin’s accident, to her dismay they did not seem anywhere near as enthusiastic to see her now. Probably because she was going to be the family housekeeper, aka Hired Gun, for the next few days.
Tension radiated from Sam McCabe as he stepped out onto the porch.
He was wearing neatly pressed olive-green slacks and a sport shirt in a slightly lighter hue. His face was clean-shaven and his short brown hair had been combed away from his face in a no-nonsense style that mirrored the look on his ruggedly handsome face. His dark brown eyes were shadowed with a fatigue that seemed months old. In previous summers his face had always been tanned. This year he looked as if he hadn’t spent a second outdoors. His lips pressed together thinly, Sam continued to regard Kate in a way that was meant to intimidate.
“Now can I go?” Will asked Sam impatiently.
“No,” Sam answered his oldest son, his implacable gaze totally centered on Kate’s face. “No one leaves here until after dinner.”
Kate had been hoping Sam McCabe would greet her with more enthusiasm than he had shown when she had pressured him into letting her help out. Obviously, she conceded silently, that wasn’t going to happen.
Sam gestured at Kate. “I’ll show you around,” Sam said, leading the group back into the house. “Then I’ve got some work to do.”
“I’m hungry,” Riley complained loudly.
“Kate will get you guys dinner in a few minutes,” Sam promised.
“Okay, but not take-out again,” Riley interjected. “I’m sick to death of it. That’s all we ever have for dinner when one of the housekeepers quits.”
“And whose fault is that?” Sam asked, abruptly wheeling around and looking at his sons. A guilty silence fell all around. Having subdued them all for a moment, he turned back to Kate. Wordlessly he took Kate’s elbow and steered her inside. “I want this to be a strictly business arrangement, so I’ll