“Maybe your gardener and I could work together on a new look. Would that be okay?”

“Sure, why not. I’ll give him a call and tell him you’re the boss.”

She’d never been the boss of anyone, unless she counted Hannah. “That would be great, thanks.” She knelt down to wake up her daughter, who made sleepy sounds of resistance as she snuggled against Belle. “Bedtime, sweetie.”

Hannah finally got her to her feet, although she leaned heavily against Valerie. It had been a long, tiring day for both of them. “Say good-night to Mr. Falcon.”

“’Night,” she said softly.

“Thank you for everything,” Valerie added, still unable to believe her luck.

“It’s a month, Valerie,” he said.

The grace period. She’d already forgotten about that, she was so sure of her ability to please him.

She nodded. “Good night.”

“I hope you both sleep well. Belle, stay,” he ordered quietly as the dog started to follow.

Valerie was aware of him watching as she made her way down the stairs and through the yard, holding Hannah’s hand and stepping carefully. She didn’t look back until they were entering the cottage. She could just make out his silhouette. He hadn’t moved.

Her heart swelled at the protectiveness of his actions. She was accustomed to looking out for herself and Hannah, without help from anyone. And although David was her employer, she felt he was also looking out for them.

It was a very nice feeling.

Chapter Three

Valerie had learned to cook at a young age and had begun teaching Hannah when she was a toddler. She wasn’t a picky eater. They often read recipes and talked about them—how a dish might taste, what could be served with it. Valerie looked forward to cooking for David, starting this morning.

Hannah was still asleep when Valerie was ready to head to the house. She went into her daughter’s room and sat on her bed.

“Good morning,” she sing-songed, brushing Hannah’s long hair away from her face.

“Mmpff.”

“Are you awake? I need to tell you something.”

Hannah flopped onto her back and opened her eyes halfway. “I’m awake.”

“I’m going up to fix Mr. Falcon’s breakfast. As soon as he leaves, we’ll eat. In the meantime, you can watch television.”

Hannah’s eyes opened fully. “I never get to watch TV in the morning.”

“Some things are going to be different for us here. We’ll have to figure out new rules.” She stood. “There’s an intercom by the front door. If you need me, push the talk button and shout, okay?” She guessed that’s how it worked, anyway. She wasn’t worried, since she could see the front door of the cottage from the kitchen window at the big house.

“Okay.”

“After breakfast we’ll go grocery shopping and stop by the school district office to get you registered, so put on some nice clothes. I put everything away before I went to bed last night. Check your dresser and your closet.”

Hannah sat up. “I’m kinda hungry.”

“There’s a box of cereal and a couple of granola bars in the kitchen cupboard but no milk. I’ll probably be gone about half an hour, however long it takes to make breakfast and put it on the table. Unless he has more to tell me or some job to do.”

“Mom, I’m eight. I’ll be fine.”

Yes, her grown-up girl. She’d had to mature fast, like so many children of single parents.

When Hannah was settled on the living room sofa, granola bar in hand and the TV turned to cartoons, Valerie opened the door and was greeted by Belle. She got up, wagging her tail.

“Good morning, Miss Belle. I assume you’re looking for Hannah.”

Belle barked. Hannah jumped off the couch and ran over, falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around the dog. “Belle! Mom, look. Belle came to see me. Can she stay?”

“For now. I’ll find out when I get up to the house. Don’t let her on the sofa with you, though.”

“Okay. C’mon, Belle.” They sat on the floor in front of the couch.

Valerie headed out and up the pathway. The morning was exquisite—a crystal-clear sky, the crisp scent of pine in the air, a mild midsixties or so, although probably another hot day ahead.

At the house, the kitchen door was unlocked, and since Belle was out, Valerie knew David must be up. She’d checked the contents of his refrigerator when she’d gotten the salad out last night, seeing very little beyond condiments, although he did have eggs.

“Good morning,” he said, coming into the kitchen. “How’d you sleep?”

“Exceptionally well.” He also looked exceptionally good in his khakis and light green polo shirt, a shade lighter than his eyes. His dark hair was still damp. He smelled good, too, fresh from the shower, kind of soap scented or a light, pleasant aftershave. “Could I fix you an omelet?”

“I’ll just have cereal, thanks.”

“Are you sure? You’ve got eggs and cheese and—”

“Okay, you talked me into it.” He poured himself a cup of coffee from a carafe on the counter. “I made a full pot, if you’re interested. Didn’t know whether or not you drink it.”

It was something she’d given up because she couldn’t afford it. “Yes, thanks. Do you have likes and dislikes, foodwise?”

“I like meat and potatoes. And most vegetables. Not a big dessert eater, except apple pie and chocolate-chip cookies. And ice cream.” David leaned against the counter, sipping from his cup, watching her whisk eggs and grate cheese. “When you have time today, I’d like you to read through the files I left on my office desk and familiarize yourself with them. We’ll talk about them tonight. Tomorrow I’ll stay home longer in the morning and show you how to access files on my computer.”

“When will you leave town again?”

“Sunday.”

This was Wednesday. He figured she should be up to speed by the time he left. They would spend a lot of time together, just the two of them.…

She poured the eggs into the pan, moving gracefully and efficiently from task to task, then he saw her realize he was watching her, and her cheeks turned pink. He shoved away from the counter and went to the window, surveying the morning.

“It’s so quiet here,” she said hesitantly, as if needing to fill the silence. “I feel like I’m on vacation.”

“I know what you mean. Some days I can’t wait to get home. And now that Belle’s home, too, it’ll be even better.”

“Oh, I forgot! Belle is with Hannah in the cottage. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine. I saw her wander down there this morning and sit in front of your door.”

“You’ll need to tell me what to feed her, and when.”

“Her bowls are in the laundry room, and an extra water bowl on the deck. One scoop of dog food, twice a day.”

“When you’re gone, should she stay in the cottage with us?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I think my daughter would raise quite a ruckus if Belle couldn’t be there.”

“I figured that.” He took another sip of his cooling coffee. He rarely had someone to talk to in the morning, and now he couldn’t decide if he liked it or not, accustomed to silence as he was.

“Is this enough food for you or do you prefer a bigger breakfast?” she asked.

“I eat what’s put in front of me.” Maybe he shouldn’t have told her he’d fix his own breakfast most of the time, after all. Maybe it would be nice having her there in the morning, fixing something hot and filling.

“You look like you work out.…” Her words drifted.

He turned in time to see her swallow, obviously uncomfortable.

“I mean, you don’t look like you overeat.” She stopped, closed her eyes. “I mean—Shoot.”

He decided to rescue her. “I could say the same about you.”

“Good genes,” she said in a tone indicating that conversation was over. She tipped the omelet onto the plate next to the toast she’d just buttered.

He came forward, taking the plate from her, not wanting things to get any more personal—for both their sakes. Maybe he should have let Hannah hang around more, to keep things professional.