Breakfast In Bed. Ruth Dale Jean
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“Meaning I am?”
He shrugged. “If the shoe fits...”
“It doesn’t. I just don’t see anything to be gained by...by taking crazy risks.” She felt herself growing flustered and wondered why.
“Hey, betting on whether or not a cat’s got any smarts is hardly the same as taking a crazy risk—especially if you have the courage of your convictions. How about this—I’ll bet I can get cozy with your cats before you can make friends with my dogs. Name your own stakes. Make it easy on yourself.” He gave her a knowing wink.
She recoiled in horror only partly mock. “No way!”
He ignored her protest. “So what are the stakes? Let me think....” He made a great show of entertaining a plethora of fleeting thoughts, at last sitting up straight with a snap of his fingers. “Hey, I’ve got it! This is a B ’n’ B, right? How about the winner gets breakfast in bed?”
“How about—” And then she realized he was laughing at her and her outrage evaporated. She finished lamely, “We forget the whole thing? Cats are not taken in by cheap tricks and neither am I.”
“Meaning dogs are?”
“I don’t know anything about dogs and that’s more than I care to know.”
“An unreasonable attitude if I ever—”
The mellow clang of the entry bell startled them both. Brooke hadn’t realized how deeply he’d drawn her into the escalating confrontation until she was jolted out again.
Glad of the interruption, she headed through the parlor to the front door, Garrett at her heels. Elderly Grace Swann stood outside, tapping one foot impatiently. Her chauffeur stood two steps to the rear, holding her Maine coon cat in his arms and looking bored.
Brooke greeted one of her best customers with a big smile. “Hi, Mrs. Swann. I see you’ve brought Pookie for a visit. His room’s all ready and waiting.”
“I’d expect nothing less from you, my dear.” The woman stepped inside, gesturing with an arm dripping with diamond bracelets. “Higgins, you know the way. Please see Pookie to his room.”
Higgins rolled his eyes but not even a twitch marred the straight line of the man’s mouth. He’d been with Grace Swann long enough to understand these things. The little woman stepped forward, bending to look the cat in the eye.
“Now, you be a good boy,” she admonished fondly, rubbing his furry ears. Pookie regarded her with emotionless dark eyes.
The chauffeur said, without changing expression, “Now, madam?”
She sighed. “Now, Higgins.”
With a nod of acknowledgment, he marched into the hallway, carrying the shaggy fifteen-pound cat as formally as he’d carry a silver tray.
Brooke heard Garrett mutter in a tone filled with awe, “What is it, a lion?”
Mrs. Swann also heard. “It’s a cat, young man.” She fixed him with a steely stare which dripped with disapproval. “A champion cat, as a matter of fact. May I inquire who you are?”
Brooke rushed to fill the breach. “This is Garrett Jackson, Mrs. Swann. He’s Miss Cora’s great-nephew and he’s come to—”
“Garrett Jackson, is it? Then I know who he is and why he’s come.” Grace Swann glared at him. “I was Cora’s dearest friend for fifty years, don’t forget. I happen to know everything.”
“In that case, you’re in a class all by yourself.” Garrett stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he added, sounding sincere and looking boyishly attractive.
“Don’t be too sure about that.” She ignored the hand but a smile twitched around her mouth, as if she found him hard to resist. “Time will tell. It always does.”
Garrett smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
The old lady’s mouth twitched as if she were suppressing a smile. She turned to Brooke. “Have you any questions before I go, my dear?”
“Have there been any changes in diet or routine since Pookie’s last visit?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Then my only question is, how long will he be with us this time?”
“I’m not sure.” Grace cocked her silver head thoughtfully. “The entire summer, most likely. I’m going first to visit family in Rhode Island and then to a film retrospective in Madrid. From there...well, I’m just not sure. I’ll drop in from time to time to check on my angel, though.”
“That’s good. I give him a lot of attention but he still misses you.”
Mrs. Swann looked pleased. “As well he should. You just be sure you take good care of him, dear.” She turned toward the door. “He’s my baby, bless his little heart. You know I wouldn’t dream of leaving him with anyone except you, Brooksey.”
“I appreciate that, Mrs. Swann.” Brooke followed the woman outside where they lingered, waiting for Higgins to reappear.
Mrs. Swann leaned close to speak in a conspiratorial tone. “Keep Pookie away from that young man,” she advised. “He’s far too good-looking to be trustworthy, and I should know.”
Brooke gave a little gasp of surprise, then realized she shouldn’t be. Mrs. Swann might be pushing ninety but there was obviously a lot of life in the old girl yet.
Filled with curiosity, Garrett watched Brooke and the feisty little woman whispering together on the front porch. Not that he thought they were saying anything particularly interesting or relevant, probably just cat talk. But he’d always had an insatiable curiosity about everything and everyone he met.
Perhaps that was what made him a good attorney.
The chauffeur, Higgins, returned, collected his mistress, installed her in the gleaming Bentley parked in front and then drove slowly away. Only after the automobile had rounded a curve in the leaf-shadowed road did Brooke come back inside the house.
Putting his finger to his lips, Garrett pointed to his sleeping child, sprawled on a sofa with Carole Lombard for a pillow. Brooke’s tight expression softened into a gentle smile.
What was it about women and children? Garrett wondered. If the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, then the way to a woman’s heart must be through the nearest kid.
Since all was fair in love and war, he’d have to remember that.
She came close to him, presumably so she could speak softly to avoid disturbing the slumbering child. “I have to go check on Pookie,” she whispered. “If you need to leave now—”
“I’m in no hurry,” he said blandly. “I’ll just wait, if you don’t mind. Maybe make friends with a cat or two, just to show you I can and win our bet.”
“Your bet.” She made a soft, scoffing sound. “Don’t bother—breakfast in bed is out.”
“I can think of other prizes, if I absolutely have to.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I find you very corrigible.”
She gave him a slightly confused glance before turning away. He watched her through the doorway, then walked over to sit down gingerly on the very edge of the ottoman where Clark Gable lay napping. The cat opened one eye and gave the interloper a challenging glance before going back to sleep.
Ignoring the cat, which was the only way to treat the entire breed, Garrett watched Molly, still sound asleep. Since they’d be here for the better part of the summer, he supposed he should probably...explain her to Brooke.
In the meantime...he sighed and met the blue-eyed gaze of Carole Lombard. The white cat seemed to stare at