CHAPTER THREE

      FELICITY FAIRFAX was the last person he wanted to chat to…if he happened to be in a chatty mood, which he most definitely was not!

      But of course he did want to know how Mandy had been.

      “Fine.” His tone was gruff, his manner abrupt as he took off across the landing…with her at his heels. “You can talk while I make myself a snack.”

      “I said I’d made shepherd’s—”

      “I don’t want you cooking for me.” He bounded down the stairs…but she stuck to him like a shadow. “I’m used to looking after myself.”

      “Mandy says you fired your housekeeper after your—”

      “I’ve never liked strangers around the place.” There, that should knock some of the pep out of her. “When I come home from the office, the last thing I want is to have to make small talk with—”

      “That’s you. But what about Mandy? Who’s been making her meals for the past three months?”

      “I have.” He leaped down the last few steps in one bound.

      She scuttled down after him. “You can cook?”

      His heels clicked on the marble foyer as he crossed to the kitchen corridor. The lighter, dainty click of her sandals irritated him. “Sufficiently well to keep us from starving.”

      He slid the kitchen door open and stood back to let her enter first. As he followed, he was so taken up with the delicious savoury aroma in the air, he almost tripped over the cat which suddenly scooted out from under the table.

      “Sorry,” she said. And obviously sensing his displeasure, added, “I’ll pop him down to the laundry room.”

      “Can’t you just put the beast outside?”

      “He needs a few days to get his bearings, take over his new territory, before I can give him that freedom. He’d probably rocket away and then not be able to find his way back…and it would break my heart to lose him.”

      Break her heart to lose a cat? What kind of a heart did the woman have, that it could be broken so easily!

      She went out into the corridor with the mewing animal. He heard her open the door to the basement, then heard her clattering down the basement’s wooden stairs.

      He turned to the fridge.

      The mouth-watering aroma drifting from the oven seemed to intensify by the moment. Trying to ignore it, he poked about in the fridge and took out a head of lettuce, a large tomato, a wedge of cheddar cheese, and a jar of mayonnaise, and set them on the counter along with a bottle of beer.

      Then he reached into the bread bin for the loaf he’d bought at the deli two days ago…and came up with nothing.

      What the—

      “Are you looking for bread?” The tinkling voice came from behind him. “Mandy loves bread pudding so I—”

      He turned to face her. “So you…?”

      “I made some. And I’m afraid I used up the last of your loaf. I’d noticed the freezer in the basement, and I just assumed you’d have more loaves down there, but…” She spread out her hands in a “How was I to know?” gesture. “I can pick up some bread and rolls when I go out tonight.”

      “You’re going out?”

      “I have to finish my packing,” she reminded him. “The movers will be coming in tomorrow.”

      “How are you going to get over there? I can’t drive you, can’t leave Mandy—”

      “A friend’s coming to pick me up, after I call.”

      “Why don’t you phone her now?”

      “It’s a him, not a her. OK, I’ll do that. He lives in the area so he’ll be here in a few minutes, I’ll just have time to fill you in on Mandy’s day.” She whirled around, made for the wall phone and picked up the handset.

      She made the arrangements, and finished by saying, “Come to the back door, Hugh. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

      After putting the phone down, she took the shepherd’s pie from the oven, and set the steaming dish on the island. Next she brought out a smaller casserole. Removing its lid, she revealed piping-hot, chunky-cut carrots and green peas.

      Before he could say, “Thanks, but I’ll just make myself a salad,” she spoke first.

      “Mandy is so sweet!” She scooped a generous helping of shepherd’s pie onto a plate. “She gave me a tour of the house and grounds.” Adding vegetables to the plate, she prattled on about how much they’d both enjoyed their day, as she set the plate in front of him. “Now what else do you need? Oh, salt and pepper—”

      “Miss Fairfax, you and I have to talk. I—”

      “Call me Felicity.” She gestured toward the table. “Don’t stand there, sit down and eat your dinner. Here,” she commandeered his bottle of beer, “let me.”

      Before he could stop her, she’d taken an opener from the cutlery drawer and levered off the cap. Then she set the bottle and a dimpled glass beer mug on the table.

      “There,” she said. “I think that’s everything. Sorry there aren’t any buns or bread. As I said, I’ll get some when I’m out.”

      Jordan felt as if he were being rolled over by a runaway train—and he snatched at something to stop it in its tracks. “You were holding that cat—” he looked at her accusingly “—just before you dished up my food!”

      “I washed my hands in the laundry room. For heaven’s sake, Jordan, sit down and try not to be so difficult. Since I’m going to be head cook and bottle washer from now on, you’d better get used to—”

      “I didn’t hire you as a cook!” He scowled at her. “You’re here to look after Mandy. Period. Don’t include me in your plans to play house!”

      “I’m not here to play house.” Exasperation threaded her voice. “This is for real, Jordan. I want to make Mandy happy, and for that, the child needs a warm, secure and loving home. I need to be the next best thing to a mommy to her. And that means doing ‘mommy’ things, like cooking and cleaning and—”

      “I don’t need a cook/housekeeper! I can cook for myself, and I hire an excellent cleaning company to—”

      “But I don’t want to be your—quote—cook/housekeeper. I know I can never be Mandy’s mother, but I don’t want her to think of me as a servant, either. I want her to experience the things mothers and daughters do together—like dusting, and tidying cupboards, and making cookies, and arranging flowers, and—”

      “Point taken.” His own voice sounded dour, churlish. “So,” he said grudgingly after a few moments, “am I to understand you want me to cancel the cleaning company? You’ll do everything yourself?”

      “Yes.” She sighed. “Look, I know you don’t like me—and to be truthful, I don’t know yet how I feel about you. So far,” her tone was dry, “I have to admit I’m not favorably impressed. But for Mandy’s sake, we must agree to live amicably. She’s had enough stress in her young life without having