Housekeeper Under The Mistletoe
Maid for the millionaire?Angelica Witherspoon is hopeful that a housekeeping job is the fresh start she’s been looking for. Until she arrives at the remote lakeside mansion full of enthusiasm and has the door slammed in her face!Reclusive millionaire Jefferson Stone clearly stated chatterboxes need not apply, but Angelica is tenacious, and reluctantly he gives her a trial. Recently widowed, Jefferson has cut himself off from the world, but Angelica’s warmth and stunning smile are tempting him to step out of the shadows and sweep her under the mistletoe!
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Jefferson took a deep breath and looked into the pleading eyes of the woman who had landed, uninvited, on his doorstep.
Was this who he had become? So embittered by the death of his wife that he could turn a woman so obviously terrified away from his door?
“Geez …” Jefferson muttered under his breath. He was a man who made decisions every day. That was what he did for a living. His decisions often had millions of dollars riding on them, and the livelihoods of thousands of people.
And yet this decision, this split-second decision, about what kind of man he would be, felt bigger than all of those.
Jefferson Stone stepped back marginally from his door. It was all she needed. She catapulted over his threshold and into his house.
Into his life, he told himself grimly. “Thank you,” she breathed.
“Nothing has been decided,” he told her gruffly, though somehow he knew it had been.
And she knew it, too. She was beaming at him.
“It’s not going to be a walk in the park,” he told her. He was already annoyed that his decision had been based on a moment of pure emotion, not rationale. He had to get things back on track and make sure she was aware this was a professional arrangement.
CARA COLTER shares her life in beautiful British Columbia, Canada, with her husband, nine horses and one small Pomeranian with a large attitude. She loves to hear from readers, and you can learn more about her and contact her through Facebook.
To all the people who share my love of the wild and untamed beauty of Kootenay Lake.
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“UNDER DIFFERENT CIRCUMSTANCES,” Angelica Witherspoon muttered to herself, as she drove down a main street where the summer sun was filtered through a thick green canopy of leaves, “this is the kind of place I would adore.”
The city of Nelson was nestled in the Selkirk mountain range of British Columbia. It was quaint and charming.
She angle parked her car and noted plenty of activity on the wide sidewalks in front of historical buildings. It made her feel safe enough to vacate her car and get out and stretch. Her muscles were cramped with tension. In the distance, she could catch glimpses of the sparkling waters of the west arm of Kootenay Lake.
Angie sighed with longing. “This is a place I would love to explore.” But she reminded herself, sternly, it was her old life that would have allowed her to explore the vibrant, artsy and scenic community.
In her new life she was extraordinarily tired and on edge. And it took money to explore. Angie had six dollars and twenty-two cents left to her name. She had allowed herself one cash machine withdrawal and was still in shock at how quickly two hundred dollars, the maximum she could take, had evaporated.
Under a colorful awning, just in front of where she had parked her car, there was an outdoor café. The savory smells of rich coffee and of spicy Indian food enveloped her. She felt a pang of hunger. It was the first time in a week on the run that her stomach had unknotted enough for her to feel hungry.
But, she told herself, if she bought a loaf of bread, and some sliced meat she could make her six dollars and change go a bit further than if she gave in to the temptation to sit down to a restaurant meal. She looked around for a corner store.
Tires squealed off in the distance, a jarring sound, and Angelica felt her heart begin to hammer, and a fine bead of sweat broke out on her lip. She fought terror as she scanned the street, making sure she was not being watched.
Inwardly, she talked herself down from the ledge.
“Of course you are not being watched,” she chided herself. “How could anyone have followed you when you were not sure yourself where you were going?”
But it was part of this surplus of caution that wouldn’t allow her to use the bank machine again. Winston had shown remarkable creativity in invading her life. What if he could track her transactions? No, she would find a loaf of bread. Peanut butter might be a better choice than meat, because it would be easier to keep.
And thenwhat? she asked herself. With her quickly dwindling resources, she was going to have to give this up and go home?
Home. A shudder ran up and down her spine.
He’d been in her home, she reminded herself. Winston had been in her home. In her bedroom. What had he touched?
“Ugh,” she said as repulsion shuddered down her spine, making her uncertain that she was ever going home again. But, realistically, she had to be back at school in September—summer would not last forever. Surely this would be over by then? What if it wasn’t?
She thought of faces of her students, the changes she saw in those faces over one school year, the sense they gave her of being needed, and she nearly wept at the thought she might not be able to return to them and to the job she loved.
