The long drive detoured around several large oak trees before it ended in a circle. A gray brick house dominated the landscape, its ranch style sprawling in a U shape with a garage on one end. In the middle of the circle was a large teardrop-shaped flower garden. An immaculate lawn stopped abruptly at the circle. A patch of blue cement suggested a swimming pool might also inhabit the estate.
Lisa snapped her sagging jaw shut. Never would she have guessed such a lavish home existed in these rustic mountains. At least he hadn't lied about the house . . . if it was actually his, and if the mother and daughter existed. He didn't look like a rich man, but then, what did a rich man look like? Maybe he only maintained the house for someone else.
He strode around to her side of the car and opened the door for her. "Mom is fixing supper and I'm sure she has something you can wear in the morning."
She stared up at him in amazement as she absorbed his offhanded invitation. "I . . . I couldn't stay here," she stuttered.
His tone was uninterested. "Then come in and use the phone if you want." His mouth twisted into an ironic smile that never reached his eyes. "I'll warn you, though. Mom will insist that you stay."
Why would his mother insist that she stay? She swung her legs around and firmly planted her feet on the ground before accepting the hand he offered. The movement brought a painful awareness of how stiff her muscles were becoming. She winced as she stood, and glanced up into blue eyes that gave every indication he could read her mind.
His steady gaze warmed. "It gets lonely out here for a woman with no companion but a three-year-old girl." He released her hand, but his eyes still held hers in a hypnotic trance that made her think of Dracula. "Anyway," he added, "We have a guest room."
Avoiding his eyes as she walked past him, she tried not to limp. All the same, he gently took her elbow and led her to the house. At the door, he opened it and stepped back, motioning for her to enter first. She stepped into the room, her face flushing at the knowledge that she had become an unnecessary burden. "Thank you," she said. "I appreciate your help and I will be glad to pay for your generosity . . ." The words of formality trailed off as she stared at the room.
A huge marble fireplace dominated the large family room, its image reflected on the shiny expanse of hardwood floor. The furnishings were of a dark wood, possibly cherry, with hand carved designs. The cushions on the couch and chairs were thick and inviting. Paintings hung on every wall and expensive looking pottery lamps with hand painted shades gave the room a warm glow.