Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 124180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Isolated in this huge house by herself? That must have been tough. He was amazed he hadn’t received her resignation immediately after that. He paid her handsomely. But to be completely cut off in the middle of winter? No amount of money could coerce Miles to endure anything similar.
“Do you need anything?” Mrs. Cole asked again, and Miles shook his head.
“No.” The word came out more curtly than he had intended. “Thank you.”
“You won’t be needing any…uhm, medication or anything?”
His eyes narrowed at the hesitant question. He hated how weak he probably appeared to them.
“I said I don’t need anything.” He felt a pang of regret when she jerked at his abrupt response. Her dark eyes shuttered, and she gave him her back when she turned away to wipe the already clean counters.
“But I think I’ll come with you.” His tone was gentler but, judging by the way her shoulders tensed at his words, Mrs. Cole didn’t like that idea.
Her next words, steeped in formality, confirmed that displeasure, “I’m sure that’s not necessary.”
“It probably isn’t but, nevertheless, I insist.”
“You’ve clearly been ill and should stay out of the cold, wet weather.”
He felt his teeth clench as he fought the urge to tell her to mind her own damned business.
“No need to concern yourself with my health, Mrs. Cole. I know my limitations.”
His physician would get a hearty chuckle out of those words.
“Very well, sir. We’ll leave in half an hour.” The words were forced through tightly gritted teeth, and Miles bit back a grin. The prickly Mrs. Cole was proving to be unexpectedly entertaining. He didn’t respond and refocused his attention on his mouthwatering breakfast.
Fortunately, they left him to his silent enjoyment of the meal. A good thing since the delicious food soon rendered him incapable of coherent speech. He polished off his breakfast in no time and was tempted to ask for seconds but managed to restrain himself. He needed to gain weight and regain his strength, but overindulging could well see the pendulum swing in the other direction, especially since his exercise options were limited while he was still so weak.
He thanked Mrs. Cole quietly and got up.
“I’ll meet you in the garage,” he murmured, and left without further word. He had a bucket load of medication to take and would prefer not to have anyone witness that.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Her employer’s voice held no inflection whatsoever, but Charity knew he wasn’t the slightest bit sorry that he had kept her and George cooling their heels for nearly fifteen minutes. She was riding shotgun in the massive SUV that was rarely used for anything other than shopping.
George leaped out of the car to open the sliding door with an obsequious little bow for their boss. The gesture looked vaguely sarcastic to Charity. She never could figure out the relationship between the two men. George didn’t seem nearly as deferential as he should, and Mr. Hollingsworth always seemed to tolerate it with gritted teeth and a stoicism that ran contrary to his usual assertiveness.
Mr. Hollingsworth took the seat behind hers, and the hairs at the back of Charity’s neck immediately stood on end. She should have anticipated this possibility and now regretted her decision to sit up front. Having someone directly behind her, close enough to sense but not see, made her feel horribly defenseless. She shifted her body to the right, ostensibly to face George in the driver’s seat, but really to keep Mr. Hollingsworth in her peripheral vision.
He had been behaving oddly all day. Mr. Hollingsworth was usually a creature of habit. And she had found his predictability comforting, but the unexpectedness of his demand for pancakes that morning had totally unnerved her, and she didn’t like it.
“Where are we headed?” he asked, his voice curt.
“Knysna,” George responded cheerfully while clipping his seatbelt. “Buckle up, everybody.”
Charity was already belted in, and she knew the friendly reminder was for Mr. Hollingsworth, who hadn’t even attempted to reach for his seatbelt. An aggrieved look flashed across his face. The fleeting expression made his usually austere features boyishly petulant before it smoothed over and he assumed his usual façade of icy indifference.
He said nothing but found the belt and did as he was told.
Charity hid her smile behind a polite cough and fixed her eyes on George’s grizzled profile. The refreshingly frank man was in his mid-fifties, of medium height, and solidly built. His short, black hair was liberally sprinkled with salt, and he always sported a roguish silver stubble. His weathered, dark brown skin wrinkled attractively around his eyes and told the tale of a man who spent a great deal of time outdoors and who laughed frequently.
George lived in town and, though he didn’t have to, often popped in to check on Charity throughout the year. Especially during winter. He was contracted to do any driving errands she required of him, an amenity of which she made regular use.