Kara Lennox - The Millionaire Next Door

The surprise was finding her in this backwater town.

“What can I do for you this fine spring day?” she asked.

“We’re looking for a furnished house to rent. Ed Hardison said I should go through Tri-County.”

Amanda smiled. “You’re friends of the Hardisons? Such nice people,” she went on without waiting for an answer. “I sold Allison Hardison’s house a few months ago when she and Jeff got married. What kind of house are you looking for?”

“We want a house with a lake,” Bethany said.

Amanda beamed. “We have some lovely lakefront homes available. Are you new to the area?”

“Just visiting,” Hudson said. “We’ll only be here a month. We’re looking for a furnished rental.”

Amanda’s smile faltered. “Oh.”

“Is that a problem?”

“It’s just that most of the rentals require at least a six-month lease. But that’s okay. I can find something. Let me check our listings.”

“We want the big house—out there,” Bethany said, pointing to the outer office.

Amanda got a dreamy look in her eye. “You must mean the Clooney place. It’s the prettiest house on the lake. Unfortunately, it’s not for rent.”

Hudson almost agreed to buy it. It was hard for him to deny his daughter anything. But the house probably wouldn’t come with furniture, and he didn’t want to spend his whole vacation buying stuff for a house he would occupy for a few weeks, tops.

“I’m sure we can find something else,” he said.

Amanda’s pretty hands flew over her computer keyboard in a curiously sensual way. Hudson found himself staring at those hands, and the way her breasts jiggled ever so slightly with the enthusiasm she put into the typing. That sheer blouse revealed a lacy camisole underneath.

She called up property after property on the computer, rejecting each one for one reason or another. Some weren’t furnished. Some wouldn’t take children. Some were already rented.

“You don’t have any pets, do you?” Amanda asked.

“No,” Hudson said. Thank God.

“But I’m going to get a pony,” Bethany said hopefully.

Amanda pored over her listings, but she couldn’t locate a single rental house on the lake that didn’t have some barrier to Hudson renting it. He could have offered more money. Every fussy landlord had his price. But he didn’t want to call attention to his financial status. He was playing the part of an average guy, and an average guy didn’t have money to burn.

“I have several rentals in town,” Amanda said hopefully. “There’s a beautiful Victorian right on the square.”

“I want to be on the water,” Hudson said firmly. “I’m here to fish.”

“What about the Skillman cabin?” Margie called from the reception area.

Amanda’s face stiffened. “I don’t think you’d be interested in that one.”

“Why not?” Hudson asked.

“It’s small, for one thing.”

“There’s just the two of us.”

“And I’m little so I don’t take up much room,” Bethany added.

“It’s furnished,” Margie called.

“Margie, do you want to come in here and work with Mr. Stack?” Amanda asked, though the teasing tone in her voice softened the sarcasm. “I could take a coffee break.”

“Well, I’m just trying to help. Jeez.”

“So what about this cabin?” Hudson asked. “Do you have a picture of it?”

Amanda sighed. “Yes, somewhere. It’s not in the computer yet. I’m afraid it doesn’t have much curb appeal. It’s rather…rustic.”

Bethany climbed up in her chair and leaned over the desk, to better observe what Amanda was doing. “What does rustic mean, Daddy?”

“It means, um, old-fashioned and not very luxurious.”

“Like Grandma Ruth’s apartment?”

“Sort of.” Hudson’s mother-in-law lived in an old brownstone, with fashionably worn Oriental rugs, creaking wood floors, 1960s appliances and a rotary telephone. He supposed some people would consider that rustic. Ruth Hanover had enough money to buy any modern luxury she wanted, but she insisted nothing worthwhile had been manufactured in the past thirty years.

Finally Amanda produced a creased photo of a no-frills A-frame log cabin, not very big. But it did have a dock.

“Does it have electricity and running water?” Hudson asked.

“Sometimes. I really don’t think—”

“It’s like Abe Lincoln’s house!” Bethany exclaimed. “I want to live there, Daddy.”

Well, that cinched it. “Can we go see it?”

“Okay,” Amanda replied without much enthusiasm.

AMANDA WISHED Margie had kept her suggestions to herself. She didn’t want to rent out the Skillman cabin, because it happened to be next door to her own. Every single renter who’d leased the cabin had been noisy, annoying and low class. The last tenant had thrown loud parties and trashed the place, and the Skillmans hadn’t bothered to clean it up. Now it was empty, and Amanda preferred it that way.

Still, Hudson didn’t appear to be rowdy, though it was always hard to tell on a first meeting. He was good-looking, that was for sure. Though he was at least in his mid-thirties, his body had a youthful vigor, all lean muscle and smooth coordination. His hair was short and dark, but she could tell it had some natural curl to it. He had a square jaw, square shoulders and square hands—not much softness to him.

She liked that.

His East Coast accent called to mind Kennedys and Rockefellers. But somehow she doubted he fell into that category, or he’d be vacationing in Martha’s Vineyard or some such place. Cottonwood’s reputation as a fishing and boating mecca was growing, and it drew visitors from Dallas and Houston. But Boston?

The fact Hudson was even considering the rundown Skillman cabin meant he probably didn’t have a lot of money. Still, a commission was a commission. Maybe he’d like it here and decide to stay, and she’d sell him a house.

At any rate, she wasn’t going to let Mary Jo Dickens get him. Mary Jo was vying with Amanda for first place in sales this month, and Amanda didn’t like it one bit. Amanda had boasted top sales every month for four years, and she intended to maintain her streak. Even a small commission might be enough to edge Mary Jo ahead of Amanda.

She unlocked the doors of her silver Lincoln with a press of a button on her key chain.

“This is a pretty car,” Bethany said when they were all settled into the soft leather seats.

“Thank you,” Amanda said. The payments were eating her alive, but she firmly believed a luxurious car put her clients in the mood to buy. “So what brings you to Cottonwood?”

“Daddy got fired,” Bethany announced, as if it were something to be proud of.

Alarm bells went off in Amanda’s mind. If Mr. Stack didn’t have a job, how was he going to pay for even a small rental house? Lakefront property wasn’t cheap, not even the Skillman cabin.

“Let’s call it a leave of absence, Bethany,” Hudson said quickly. “A long-overdue vacation, really.”

“And what sort of work do you do?”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought he tensed at the question. And he didn’t answer right away. Finally he said, “I work at a hospital.”

She observed him from the corner of her eye. His clothes, while a bit rumpled, appeared to be quality made. He had a good haircut and nice teeth that had probably seen braces. Nice eyes, too, a very deep, sincere brown.

“Are you a doctor?” she finally asked when he offered no more details.

Again, that slight tension. “I do repair work.”

Was he lying? Was he an escaped convict, or a non-custodial dad who’d kidnapped his daughter?

Well, it was none of her business, so long as he could pay the rent. And if he really was a repairman, maybe he could do some work on the Skillman cabin. The owners would probably give him a break on the rent if he did a little patching and painting. She mentioned this possibility to him.