The Millionaire Next Door. Kara Lennox
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.
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