Housekeepers Say I Do!: Maid for the Millionaire / Maid for the Single Dad / Maid in Montana

Because they talked about work most of the meal, Liz paid for dinner, calling it a business expense, and parted company with Ellie on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. When she slid behind the steering wheel of her car and saw the clock on the dashboard her mouth fell open. It was nearly nine. No time to go home and change into a Happy Maids uniform.

She glanced down at her simple tank top and jeans. This would do. No matter how messy his house, she couldn’t damage a tank top and jeans.

Worry over being late blanked out all of her other concerns about this job until she pulled into Cain’s empty driveway. Ava had been correct. Cain’s guests hadn’t lingered. But suddenly she didn’t want to see him. She really wasn’t ready with the “right words” to tell them about their baby. She wasn’t in the mood to “play” friends, either, or to fight their attraction. Their marriage might be over, but the attraction hadn’t gone. And that’s what made their situation so difficult.

If they weren’t so attracted to each other there would be no question that their relationship was over and neither of them wanted to reopen it. But because of their damned unpredictable attraction, she had to worry about how she would react around him. Not that she wanted to sleep with him, but he’d seduced her before. And they were about to spend hours alone. If she was lucky, Cain would already be in the shower.

She swallowed. Best not to think about the shower.

But as she stepped out of her car into the muggy night, she realized it was much better to think of him being away from her, upstairs in his room, ignoring her as she cleaned, rather than close enough to touch, close enough to tempt, close enough to be tempted.

Cain watched her get out of her car and start up the driveway and opened the front door for her. “Come in this way.”

She stepped into the echoing foyer with a tight, professional smile.

She was wary of him. Well, good. He was wary of her, of what was happening between them. It was bad enough to be attracted to someone he couldn’t have. Now he was melting around her, doing her bidding when she looked at him with her big green eyes. He’d already decided the cure for his behavior around her was to treat her like an ex-wife. But he knew so little about her—except what he knew from their marriage—that he wasn’t quite sure how to do that, either.

When he’d finally figured out they needed to get to know each other as the people they were now, he’d had Ava call with the request that Liz clean up after his dinner party. Maybe a little time spent alone would give them a chance to interact and she’d tell him enough about herself that he’d see her as a new person, or at least see her in a different light so he’d stop seeing the woman he’d loved every time he looked at her.

“Most of the mess is in the kitchen,” he said, motioning for her to walk ahead of him. He didn’t realize until she was already in front of him that that provided him with a terrific view of her backside and he nearly groaned, watching her jean-clad hips sway as she walked. This was why the part of him that wanted her back kept surfacing, taking control. Tonight the businessman had to wrestle control away.

“And the dining room.” He said that as they entered his formal dining room and the cluttered table greeted them.

“I thought you were eating outside?”

“My bragging might have forced me to prove myself to the partners by being the chef for the steaks, but it was a formal meeting.”

“Okay.” She still wouldn’t meet his gaze. “This isn’t a big deal. You go ahead to your office or wherever. I can handle it. I’ve been here enough that I know where to put everything.”

He shook his head. If they were going to be around each other for the next few weeks, they had to get to know each other as new people. Otherwise, they’d always relate to each other as the people they knew from their doomed marriage.

“It’s late. If you do this alone, it could take hours. I’ll help so you can be out of here before midnight.”

The expression on her face clearly said she wanted to argue, but in the end, she turned and walked to the far side of the table, away from him. “Suit yourself.”

She began stacking plates and gathering silverware at the head of the table. Cain did the same at the opposite end.

Though she hadn’t argued with his decision to help her, she made it clear that she wasn’t in the mood to talk. They worked in silence save for the clink and clatter of silverware and plates then he realized something amazing. She might be wary of him, but she wasn’t afraid of his fancy silverware anymore. Wasn’t afraid of chipping the china or breaking the crystal as she had been when they were married.

Funny that she had to leave him, become a maid, to grow accustomed to his things, his lifestyle.

“It seems weird to see how comfortable you are with the china.”

She peeked up at him. “Until you said that, I’d forgotten how uncomfortable I had been around expensive things.” She shrugged. “I was always afraid I’d break them. Now I can twirl them in the air and catch them behind my back with one hand.”

He laughed, hoping to lighten the mood. “A demonstration’s not really necessary.”

She picked up a stack of dishes and headed for the kitchen. He grabbed some of the empty wineglasses and followed her. If discussing his china was what it took to get her comfortable enough to open up, then he wasn’t letting this conversation die. “I never did understand why you were so afraid.”

“I’d never been around nice things.”

“Really?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Liz, your job took you all over the place. You yourself told me that you had to wine and dine clients.”

“In restaurants.” She slid the glasses he handed her into the dishwasher. “It’s one thing to go to a restaurant where somebody serves you and quite another to be the one in charge.”

“You wouldn’t hesitate now.”

“No. I wouldn’t. I love crystal and china and fancy silver.”

The way he was watching her made Liz selfconscious, so embarrassed by her past that she felt the need to brag a little.

“I’m actually the person in charge of A Friend Indeed’s annual fund-raiser.” Her attention on placing dishes in the dishwasher, she added, “When we were married, I couldn’t plan a simple Christmas party, now I’m in charge of a huge ball.”

“There’s a ball?”

Too late she realized her mistake. Though she wanted him to know about her accomplishments, she wasn’t sure she wanted him at the ball, watching her, comparing her to the past. As coordinator for the event, she’d be nervous enough without him being there.

“It’s no big deal,” she said, brushing it off as insignificant. “Just Ayleen’s way of getting her rich friends together to thank them for the donations she’ll wheedle out of them before the end of the evening.”

She straightened away from the dishwasher and headed for the dining room and the rest of the dirty dishes.

He followed her. “I know some people who could also contribute.” He stopped in front of the table she was clearing and caught her gaze. “Can I get a couple of invitations to this ball or is it closed?”

Liz stifled a groan, as his dark eyes held hers. There was no way out of this.

“As someone working for the group, you’re automatically invited. You won’t get an invitation. Ayleen will simply expect you to be there.”

But he would get invitations to Joni’s barbecue and Matt’s Christmas party. As long as he volunteered for A Friend Indeed, he’d be connected to her. She had to get beyond her fear that he would be watching her, evaluating her, remembering how she used to be.

The room became silent except for the clang of utensils as Liz gathered them. Cain joined in the gathering again. He didn’t say anything, until they returned to the kitchen.

“Are you going to be uncomfortable having me there?”

She busied herself with the dishwasher to cover the fact that she winced. “No.”

“Really? Because you seem a little standoffish. Weird. As if you’re not happy that I want to go.”

Because her back was to him, she squeezed her eyes shut. Memories of similar functions they’d attended during their marriage came tumbling back. Their compatibility in bed was only equaled by how incompatible they’d been at his events. A Friend Indeed’s ball would be the first time he’d see her in his world since their divorce. She’d failed miserably when she was his wife. Now he’d see her in a gown, hosting the kind of event she’d refused to host for him.

“This is making you nervous.” He paused, probably waiting for her to deny that. When she didn’t he said, “Why?”

She desperately wanted to lie. To pretend nothing was wrong. But that was what had gotten her into trouble with him the first time around. She hadn’t told him the truth about herself. She let him believe she was something she wasn’t.

She sucked in a breath for courage and faced him. “Because I’ll know you’ll be watching me. Looking for the difference in how I am now and how I was when we were married.”

He chuckled. “I’ve already noticed the differences.”

“All the differences? I don’t think so.”

“So tell me.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be reminded of the past.”

“Maybe if you told me about your past, you wouldn’t be so afraid. If what you’re fearing is my reaction, if you tell me, we’ll get it out of the way and you won’t have anything to fear anymore.”

He wasn’t exactly right, but he had made a point without realizing it. Maybe if she told him the truth about her humble beginnings and saw his disappointment, she could deal with it once and for all.

She returned to the dining room and walked around the table, gathering napkins as she spoke, so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

“When I was growing up my mom just barely made enough for us to scrape by. I’d never even eaten in a restaurant other than fast food before I left home for university. I met you only one year out of school. And though by then I’d been wining and dining clients, traveling and seeing how the other half lived, actually being dumped into your lifestyle was culture shock to me.”

“I got that—a little late, unfortunately—but I got it. We were working around it, but you never seemed to adapt.”

“That’s because there’s something else. Something that you don’t know.”

Also gathering things from the table, he stopped, peered over at her.

Glad for the distance between them, the buffer of space, she sucked in a fortifying breath. “I…um…my parents’ divorce was not a happy one.”

“Very few divorces are.”

“Actually my mom, sisters and I ran away from my dad.” She sucked in another breath. “He was abusive.”

“He hit you?” Anger vibrated through his words, as if he’d demand payback if she admitted it was true.

“Yes. But he mostly hit my mom. We left in the night—without telling him we were going—because a charity like A Friend Indeed had a home for us hundreds of miles away in Philadelphia. We changed our names so my dad couldn’t find us.”

He sat on one of the chairs surrounding the table. “Oh.” Processing that, he said nothing for a second then suddenly glanced up at her. “You’re not Liz Harper?”

“I am now. My name was legally changed over a decade ago when we left New York.”

“Wow.” He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s certainly not your fault that my father was what he was or that I lived most of my life in poverty, always on the outside looking in, or that I didn’t have the class or the experiences to simply blend into your life.”

“That’s why you’re so attached to A Friend Indeed.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

A few seconds passed in silence. Liz hadn’t expected him to say anything sympathetic. That simply wasn’t Cain. But saying nothing at all was worse than a flippant reply. She felt the sting of his unspoken rejection. She wasn’t good enough for him. She’d always known it.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

She snorted a laugh. “Tell my perfect, handsome, wealthy husband who seemed to know everything that I was a clueless runaway? For as much as I loved you, I never felt I deserved you.”

He smiled ruefully. “I used to think the same thing about you.”

Disbelief stole her breath. Was he kidding her? She’d been the one with the past worth hiding. He’d been nothing but perfect. Maybe too perfect. “Really?”

“I would think why does this beautiful woman stay with me, when I’m an emotional cripple.” He combed his fingers through his hair as if torn between the whole truth and just enough to satisfy her openmouthed curiosity. Finally he said, “The guilt of my brother’s death paralyzed me. Even now, it sometimes sneaks up on me. Reminding me that if I’d left a minute sooner or a few seconds later, Tom would still be alive.”

“The kid who hit you ran a red light. The accident wasn’t your fault.”

“Logically, I know that. But something deep inside won’t let me believe it.” He shook his head and laughed miserably. “I’m a fixer, remember. Even after Tom’s death, it was me Dad turned to for help running the business and eventually finding a replacement he could trust with his company when he wanted to retire. Yet, I couldn’t fix that accident. I couldn’t change any of it.”

“No one could.”

He snorted a laugh. “No kidding.”

A few more seconds passed in silence. Fear bubbled in her blood. She had no idea why he’d confided in her, but she could see the result of it. She longed to hug him. To comfort him. But if she did that and they fell into bed, what good would that do but take them right back to where they had been? Solving all their problems with sex.

She grabbed her handful of napkins and walked them to the laundry room, realizing that rather than hug him, rather than comfort him, what she should be doing is airing all their issues. This conversation had been a great beginning, and this was probably the best opportunity she’d ever get to slide their final heartbreak into a discussion.

She readied herself, quickly assembling the right words to tell him about their baby as she stepped out of the pantry into the kitchen again.

Cain stood by the dishwasher, arranging the final glasses on the top row. She took a deep breath, but before she could open her mouth, he said, “Do you know you’re the only person I’ve ever talked about my brother’s accident with?”

“You haven’t talked with your family?”

He shrugged and closed the dishwasher door. Walking to the center island, he said, “We talk about Tom, but we don’t talk about his accident. We talk about the fact that he’s dead, but we never say it was my fault. My family has a wonderful way of being able to skirt things. To talk about what’s palatable and avoid what’s not.”

Though he tried to speak lightly, she heard the pain in his voice, the pain in his words, the need to release his feelings just by getting some of this out in the open.

This was not the time to tell him about their baby. Not when he was so torn up about the accident. He couldn’t handle it right now. Her brain told her to move on. She couldn’t stand here and listen, couldn’t let him confide, not even as a friend.

But her heart remembered the three sad, awful years after the accident and desperately wanted to see him set free.

“Do you want to talk about it now?”

He tossed a dishtowel to the center island. “What would I say?”

She caught his gaze. “I don’t know. What would you say?”

“Maybe that I’m sorry?”

“Do you really think you need to say you’re sorry for an accident?”

He smiled ruefully. “I guess that’s the rub. I feel guilty about something that wasn’t my fault. Something I can’t change. Something I couldn’t have fixed no matter how old, or smart or experienced I was.”

“That’s probably what’s driving the fixer in you crazy.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not your fault. You can’t be sorry.” She shook her head. “No. You can be sorry your brother is gone. You can be sorry for the loss. But you can’t take the blame for an accident.”

“I know.” He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “That was weird.”

“Talking about it?”

“No, admitting out loud for the first time that it wasn’t my fault. That I can’t take the blame.” He shook his head. “Wow. It’s like it’s the first time that’s really sunk in.”

He smiled at her, a relieved smile so genuine that she knew she’d done the right thing in encouraging him to talk.

The silence in the room nudged her again, hinting that she could now tell him about their baby, but something about the relieved expression on his face stopped her. He’d just absolved himself from a burden of guilt he never should have taken up. What if she told him about her miscarriage and instead of being sad, he got angry with himself all over again?

She swallowed, as repressed memories of the days before she left him popped up in her brain. All these years, she’d thought she’d kept her secret to protect herself. Now, she remembered that she’d also kept it to protect him. He had a talent for absorbing blame that wasn’t really his.

If she told him now, with the conversation about his brother still lingering in the air, he could tumble right back to the place he’d just escaped. Surely he deserved a few days of peace? And surely in those days she could think of a way to tell him that would help him to accept, as she had, that there was no one to blame.

“We’re just about finished here.” She ambled to the dining room table again and brought back salt-and-pepper shakers. “I’ll wash the tablecloth and wait for the dishwasher, but you don’t have to hang around. I brought a book to read while I wait. Why don’t you go do whatever you’d normally do?”

“I should pack the contracts we signed tonight in my briefcase.”

“Okay. You go do that.” She smiled at him. “I’ll see you Friday morning.”

He turned in the doorway. “I’m not supposed to be here when you come to the house, remember?”

She held his gaze. “I could come early enough to get a cup of coffee.”

Surprise flitted across his face. “Really?” Then he grimaced. “I’m leaving town tomorrow morning. I won’t be back until Friday night. But I’ll see you on Saturday.”

Another weekend of working with him without being able to tell him might be for the best. A little distance between tonight’s acceptance that he couldn’t take blame for his brother’s accident and the revelation of a tragedy he didn’t even know had happened wouldn’t be a bad thing.

“Okay.”

He turned to leave again then paused, as if he didn’t want to leave her, and she realized she’d given him the wrong impression when she’d suggested they have coffee Friday morning. She’d suggested it to give herself a chance to tell him her secret, not because she wanted to spend time with him. But he didn’t know that.

She turned away, a silent encouragement for him to move on. When she turned around again, he was gone.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY, Cain was on the roof of Amanda’s house with a small crew of his best, most discreet workers. Even before Cain arrived, Liz had taken Amanda and her children to breakfast, then shopping, then to the beach. If he didn’t know how well-timed this roof event had to be, he might have thought she was avoiding him.

Regret surged through him as he climbed down the ladder. He’d been so caught up in the fact that their talk had allowed him to pierce through the layer of guilt that had held him captive, that he’d nearly forgotten what she’d told him about her dad.

She’d been abused. She’d been raised in poverty. She’d run away, gotten herself educated in spite of her humble beginnings, and then she’d met him.

Their relationship could have gone one of two ways. He could have brought her into his world, shown her his lifestyle and gradually helped her acclimate. Instead, he’d fallen victim to the grief of his brother’s death and missed the obvious.

He wanted to be angry with himself, but he couldn’t. Just as he couldn’t bear the burden of guilt over his brother’s death, he couldn’t blame himself for having missed the obvious. Blaming himself for things he couldn’t change was over. But so was the chance to “fix” their marriage.

Somehow or another, that conversation over his dirty dishes had shown him that he and Liz weren’t destined for a second chance. He could say that without the typical sadness over the loss of what might have been because he’d decided they hadn’t known each other well enough the first time around to have anything to fix. What they really needed to do was start over.

He went through the back door into Amanda’s kitchen, got a drink of water and then headed upstairs to assess what was left to be done, still thinking about him and Liz. The question was…what did start over mean? Start over to become friends? Or start over to become lovers? A couple? A married couple?

He’d been considering them coworkers, learning to get along as friends for the sake of their project. But after the way she’d led him out of his guilt on Wednesday night, his feelings for her had shifted in an unexpected way. He supposed this was the emotion a man experienced when he found a woman who understood him, one he’d consider making his wife. The first time around his idea of a wife had been shallow. He’d wanted a beautiful hostess and someone to warm his bed. He’d never thought he’d need a confidante and friend more.

Now he knew just how wrong he’d been.

And now he saw just how right Liz would have been for him, if they’d only opened up to each other the first time around.

So should he expand his idea from experimenting with getting to know each other in order to become friends, to experimenting with getting to know each other to see if they actually were compatible? Not in the shallow ways, but in the real ways that counted.

Just the thought sent his head reeling. He didn’t want to go back to what they’d had before…but a whole new relationship? The very idea filled him with a funny, fuzzy feeling. Though he didn’t have a lot of experience with this particular emotion…he thought it just might be hope.

They couldn’t fix their past. But what if they could have a future?

Shaking his head at the wonder of it all, Cain ducked into the first bedroom, the room with the most ceiling damage. He pulled a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket and began making notes of things he would do the next day, Sunday. His crew would have the new roof far enough along that he could fix this ceiling and then the room could be painted. Because Amanda couldn’t be there when any work crew was on site—to keep her identity safe—Liz would paint this room herself. The following weekend he and Billy could get to work on the baseboards and trim.

Proud of himself, Cain left the first room and walked into the second. This room still needed the works: ceiling, paint job, trim. He ducked out and into the bathroom, which was old-fashioned, but in good repair because he had fixed both the commode and shower the first week he’d been here. He dipped out and headed for the biggest bedroom, the one Amanda was using.

He stepped inside, only to find Liz stuffing a pillow into a bright red pillowcase.

“What are you doing here?”

Hand to her heart, she whipped around. “What are you doing down here! You’re supposed to be on the roof.”

“I’m making a list of things that need to be done tomorrow and next weekend.”

“I’m surprising Amanda. I dropped her and her kids off at the beach, telling them I’d be back around six.”

He leaned against the doorjamb. This room hadn’t sustained any damage because of the bad roof. At some point during the week, Liz and Amanda had already painted the ceiling and walls. At the bottom of the bed were packages of new sheets and a red print comforter. Strewn across a mirror vanity were new curtains—red-and-gold striped that matched the colors in the comforter—waiting to be installed.