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“Is that how you handled growing up with seven siblings?” Bo asked Ismay. “By bulldozing everyone to get what you want?”
“Being the oldest had its advantages,” she quipped, hardly penitent for dragging him back to the big house.
Remy would be furious when he found out Bo wasn’t where he was supposed to be. There was some pleasure in giving him the proverbial finger, but it didn’t come without risk...
Bo could’ve explained to Ismay that her fiancé had called to tell him not to go back to the main house. But he knew she’d feel as though she had to rise to his defense, and he would not put her in the middle.
After he’d stripped off his rain slicker and boots in the mudroom, and she’d kicked off the tennis shoes she’d been wearing—which were no kind of footwear for this weather—she led him into the kitchen and put his sandwich on the table. But then she seemed to think twice. “Why don’t you go take a hot shower first? It’s a cold sandwich, so it can wait.”
He was chilled through. The idea of a steaming hot shower—one where he wouldn’t have to worry about stepping into an inch of brown water on the floor afterward—definitely sounded appealing. But it also felt strange to be making himself so comfortable in the Windsors’ expensive vacation home. Although the cottage sat empty quite a bit, he’d never even been tempted to shower or sleep there. He had little interest in taking anything more than what the Windsors owed him. As long as he had his freedom, his health, a place to live, and plenty of books, he figured he was a rich man. “My clothes are wet.”
“We could go back to your place and get some dry ones,” she suggested.
No. Going to that much effort made him feel even more conscious of defying Remy’s wishes. “We just came from there. I’m fine.”
“You’re freezing. Get in the shower, and I’ll just throw your clothes in the dryer.”
He tried again to refuse, but she insisted there was no reason to be uncomfortable. “You’re makingwaytoo big a deal out of this,” she said, and maybe she was right. If he wasn’t who he was—so conscious of every sharp edge in life—this would be nothing.
“Fine. Which bathroom do you want me to use?”
“You can take your pick,” she said. “There are four in this house with fresh towels in each. Whichever you choose, I’ll be there to get your clothes in a minute.”
He wasn’t going to use the master, he knew that. There was a suite downstairs, too, but he decided to use the bathroom off the hallway at the top of the stairs. Besides the master, that seemed to put the most distance between him and Remy’s fiancée.
But, true to her word, he heard her voice on the other side of the panel just a couple of minutes later. “Are you ready to hand me your clothes?”
He wrapped a towel around his lower half, picked up what he’d dropped on the expensive marble floor, and opened the door.
She was waiting there with a thick white robe she handed over before accepting his clothes. “I realized I should wash this stuff before drying it, and that takes longer than a shower, so this will give you something to wear in the meantime.”
He was already regretting making himself at home in his employer’s house. “Whose is it?”
“I’m guessing it’s Mort’s,” she said as if it didn’t matter. “I found it in the master.”
“I don’t feel comfortable—” he started, but she broke in.
“It’s just a robe, Bo. I’ll wash it when you’re done and hang it back up. No one will even know you used it.”
Reluctantly, he accepted the robe and closed the door. But when he got out of the shower and pulled it on, he couldn’t help wondering if the storm was going to cost him his job.
Ismay had left a pair of slippers by the bathroom door after putting Bo’s clothes in the laundry. But when he came downstairs, he had nothing on his feet. Apparently, wearing Mort’s slippers was crossing the line for him. She could tell he wasn’t even happy about wearing Mort’s robe, which was too small for him, anyway. Mort was maybe five-nine and not nearly as wide across the shoulders, but she hadn’t been able to find a robe of Remy’s or Bastian’s.
“Coffee?” she said as he came into the kitchen. “Or I bought a six-pack of beer...”
“I’ll take a beer,” he said and sat down at the table.
“How was the elderly neighbor?” she asked as she got it for him. “Did you have a chance to check on her?”
He accepted the can. “Honey? She was doing great. No problem at all.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
“I mentioned your brother to her.” He popped the top and took a drink. “She didn’t make any commitments, but she sounded as if she might be willing to have him house-sit.”
“It’d be nice to get him a place that easily and that close. I’m so worried about him.” Jack had been on her mind all day. She’d tried calling him twice after she’d spoken to her mother, but he hadn’t picked up. “Thanks for broaching the subject with her.”
Bo took his first bite of the sandwich. “This is delicious,” he said after he’d swallowed.
