Kara Lennox: The Millionaire Next Door

Another message was from some radio station that wanted to interview him. He erased that one. The last thing he wanted was more publicity.

The final three messages were from women he’d never heard of who thought they were just what a lonely but rich doctor might need to make his life complete. He made a mental note to have his phone number changed—again.

He parked his Jaguar at the curb and stomped through the front door of his Back Bay brownstone. Though he owned two other houses, he’d bought this one because it was close to the hospital. He’d intended to spend only an occasional night here, when he didn’t want to face a long drive home late at night. But he’d found it so convenient, he’d ended up living here full-time.

He headed straight for his home office. But the sound of a little girl’s laughter stopped him.

Bethany. Guilt needled his conscience. He really should spend more time with her. Though his mother and mother-in-law took turns caring for Bethany, and they both seemed anxious for the privilege, nothing took the place of a father’s love and attention. He set down his briefcase and headed up the stairs to the living room. It was lunchtime. He would eat lunch with Bethany, he decided. Then he would figure out his next move.

He found Bethany sitting on the floor of the living room watching TV. She had spread the sofa cushions all over the Persian rug in some game of pretend, and was now sprawled across them, her thumb in her mouth.

“Bethany!” his mother, Judith, called from the dining room. “Lunch is ready. Come quickly, now, before it gets cold.”

Bethany, not seeing Hudson, hopped up and scampered to obey her Grandma Judith. Hudson smiled. His daughter was a well-behaved girl, thanks to the time she spent with her grandmothers, who were already grooming her to be a debutante.

Looking forward to eating lunch with his daughter, Hudson paused to pick up the sofa cushions so his mother wouldn’t fuss. Since his housekeeper always prepared too much food, he knew there would be plenty.

“Is Philip eating with us?” he heard Bethany ask from the dining room. Philip was Judith’s chauffeur.

“Bethany, dear, Philip is a servant. Now that you’re a young lady, you don’t eat with the servants.”

Hudson cringed. He was all for Bethany growing up into a refined young lady, but he didn’t condone snobbery. His mother, however, had been raised in a different era, and she couldn’t be talked out of her opinions about class and station.

“But I like Philip,” Bethany argued. “When he takes me to school, I tell everybody he’s my daddy.”

Hudson froze, horrified.

“Now, Bethany,” Judith said in a very reasonable tone, though her voice shook, “we’ve talked about this. Philip is a very nice man, and you should always be kind to him. But he is not your father.”

Hudson didn’t think, he just acted. He waltzed into the room, a smile pasted on his face.

Bethany stared at him in surprise. “Daddy!”

At least she recognized him. “Good news,” he announced. “Bethany and I are going on a father-daughter vacation. We’re going to learn to fish.”

“Look, Daddy, a cowboy!” Bethany squealed.

Hudson had just pulled his rental car into a space on the Cottonwood, Texas, town square. Sure enough, a wiry man wearing faded Wrangler jeans, pointy-toed boots and a white cowboy hat climbed out of the truck next to their car. He saw them, smiled and tipped his hat before going on about his business.

Bethany stared at him in rapt fascination, and kept right on staring as she climbed out of the rental car. Everything delighted her.

He took her hand and they walked into Tri-County Realty, which George’s friend Ed Hardison had recommended. A woman in her fifties with a bleach-blond beehive and thin, penciled eyebrows sat behind a desk talking on the phone. She made eye contact with Hudson and held up a finger to indicate she’d be with him in a minute.

Hudson nodded, his irritation rising. He’d been looking forward to escaping all the attention he’d been receiving in Boston, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be ignored.

He wandered over to a bulletin board that featured photographs of various properties for sale and for rent. Bethany climbed up on a chair to study the photos with him.

“I want to live here, Daddy,” she said, pointing to the most opulent home on the board, a huge mansion on the lake. The asking price was almost a million dollars, which seemed cheap to Hudson. In Boston a property like that would cost three or four times as much.

“That one’s for sale, not for rent,” he explained, though he had no idea if Bethany understood the difference. “When the nice lady gets off the phone, we’ll see everything that’s available.”

“Margie never gets off the phone,” a voice from an interior office called out. The voice was brisk, but with a honey-edged Southern accent.

Intrigued, Hudson followed the sound of the voice through a doorway, finding himself in a large, well-appointed office with a view of the town square. But the woman who worked here apparently didn’t want to take advantage of the view. She had her desk turned so she had her back to the window, and the shades were drawn.

Her walls were covered with plaques—top seller for her company, at least three years running. Million Dollar Club. An award from the chamber of commerce for Cottonwood’s Ambassador of the Year. Other spots on the wall were filled with framed letters from grateful clients. Hudson recognized the name of a country-western singer and a former lieutenant governor.

The woman stood up and held out her hand, shaking his with a firm grip that made him fear for his surgeon’s hands. It seemed odd that such a delicate hand could wield so much strength. “Nice to meet you. I’m Amanda Dewhurst.”

“Hudson. Stack.” He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable reaction. Back home, if someone didn’t instantly recognize him, they at least knew his name. Oh, you’re that bachelor doctor guy. At which point they would wax eloquent about their uncle’s heart disease or try to set him up with a little sister.

He was tired of dealing with that. He didn’t want anyone bothering him, inviting him to parties, interviewing him for the paper or trying to seduce him. He just wanted to be a guy on vacation with his daughter. He didn’t hold out much hope. His notoriety as a surgeon might not extend this far from Boston, but everyone knew who the Boston Stacks were. They were right up there with the Kennedys. For generations, Stacks had been senators, judges, philanthropists and tycoons.

Amazingly, Amanda didn’t bat an eye. “Pleased to meet you.” She turned a dazzling smile on Bethany. “Hi, sugar. What’s your name? Would you like a piece of candy?” Amanda looked up at Hudson. “Can she have a piece of candy?”

“I don’t eat candy,” Bethany said primly. “It rots your teeth.”

“So it does,” Amanda replied, her composure unshaken. “How about an apple?”

A tiny refrigerator sat behind Amanda’s desk. When she opened it, he caught a glimpse of can after can of Slimfast—and one red apple. She grabbed the apple and brought it out, offering it to Bethany.

Bethany accepted the apple, thanked Amanda, then didn’t eat it. She seemed enthralled with the beautiful office—and with Amanda herself, whom Hudson confessed wasn’t bad to look at. She was petite, with silver-blond hair and a pixie face. Her hair was unfortunately pulled into a tight twist, piquing Hudson’s curiosity. How long was it?

She wore a red skirt with a sheer white blouse and a black patent-leather belt at her slim waist. Her nails were shiny red and salon-fresh, her complexion fair and flawless, her lips skillfully painted. She was about as well put together as any woman he’d ever seen, and he’d spent his whole life around females with wealth and style.