Dying to Please Read online

  Merilyn was everywhere, chatting and laughing. She was one of those hostesses who loved a party, and her pleasure was infectious. At one point she was standing with a group of men— flirting, actually—when she spied Sarah and beckoned her over. Sighing inside, because it looked as if she were going to be put on display, Sarah put on her bland, professional expression and approached.

  “Sarah, I just found out both of these gentlemen also tried to hire you after the awful thing that happened to Judge Roberts,” Merilyn said. “Carl Barnes, Trevor Densmore, this is Sarah Stevens, domestic organization specialist.”

  “How do you do?” she murmured with a modified bow. She didn't offer to shake hands; that was usually a woman's prerogative, but not a butler's. If someone offered to shake her hand, she would, but she waited on their preference.

  Trevor Densmore was a tall, slim man with gray hair and a shy smile; he actually blushed when she gave him a slight smile. Carl Barnes, however, a blond man with harsh features and cold eyes, looked at her with hooded speculation, as if he was wondering if Sonny Lankford found his way out to the little bungalow at night. She recognized both names; Trevor Densmore was the man who had sent her two letters offering employment. Carl Barnes's offer had been so high she'd had to wonder exactly what duties he expected her to perform in addition to running the household. Probably he'd thought his offer was preemptive; instead it had made her suspicious.

  “I'm pleased to meet you,” Mr. Densmore said in a voice as soft and shy as his smile. He blushed again and looked down at his shoes.

  “If I were you, Merilyn, I'd keep an eye on Sonny,” Carl Barnes said in a voice that was just a little too loud. “With a woman who looks like this around, a man might get some ideas.”

  Implying that she herself would go along with any such ideas, Sarah thought, hiding her temper. She shouldn't let herself respond, but when Merilyn looked startled and temporarily speechless, Sarah murmured, “A gentleman wouldn't.” She could make some implications of her own.

  Mr. Barnes flushed, and his cold eyes glared at her. Merilyn recovered enough to slap him on the arm. “Carl, if you're going to be nasty, go stand somewhere alone so you won't bother the other guests. I didn't introduce Sarah just so you could insult her, as well as both Sonny and me.” She managed to make her tone just firm enough that he knew she was serious, without being nasty in return.

  “I was just joking,” he muttered, taking refuge in the classic passive-aggressive response.

  “I'm sure you were.” This time she patted his arm. “Come on, let's find Georgia; there's something I need to tell her.” She towed him away with her, in search of his wife. Watching them go, Sarah had to hide a smile. He thought everything was just fine, glossed over; instead Merilyn was remanding him into his wife's custody.

  “I'm sorry,” Mr. Densmore said. “Carl can be crude when he's had too much to drink.”

  “No offense taken,” Sarah said, lying without compunction. “It was so nice to meet you, Mr. Densmore. I remember your letters; your offer was very kind.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled shyly. “I wasn't certain if I should . . . I mean, I didn't know how I should contact you. I hope you didn't mind.”

  Mind a job offer? “I was flattered.” She glanced around. “Excuse me, Mr. Densmore, but I have duties I have to attend to.”

  “I understand. It was nice meeting you, too, Miss Stevens.”

  She was glad to escape and return to more familiar territory. She made certain to stay away from Carl Barnes, however.

  She was beautiful. He'd wondered how she would dress, if she would wear pants, perhaps a feminine version of a tuxedo, though the Lankford party wasn't formal. Her choice was understated and severely elegant: a long, narrow black skirt, slim but not confining, teamed with a tailored white shirt and a short, fitted black jacket. The outfit looked vaguely military, though without the brass buttons or braid. Her thick dark hair was pulled back in a very neat bun, and she wore small gold hoops in her ears. She wasn't wearing the pendant.

  At first he'd been a bit insulted, until he realized it would be out of place for the function she was performing. What had the Lankford woman called her? Oh, yes—a domestic organization specialist. She wouldn't be wearing diamonds and rubies in that capacity. The pendant was for when they were alone.

  Though perhaps he'd been a bit stingy with the pendant. When compared with the monstrous canary diamond ring Merilyn Lankford wore, the pendant was insignificant. He wasn't in the habit of buying jewelry, so he might have erred. How humiliating, to think that perhaps Sarah wasn't wearing the pendant, not because it was inappropriate, but because it was paltry!

  No, she'd never think anything like that. She was too much a lady. Why, look how she had handled that crass boor, Carl Barnes. Not by a flicker of an eyelid had she betrayed any expression, giving only that murmured reply about “a gentleman”—which, obviously, Barnes wasn't. He'd been so proud of her.

  He had watched her all evening. She was unobtrusive, discreet, and paid excruciating attention to detail. Any mishap, no matter how small, was dealt with immediately and with a minimum amount of fuss and embarrassment. Her dedication to her job was heartwarming in this age when clerks acted as if it was an imposition to help customers.

  Could Merilyn Lankford even begin to appreciate the honor Sarah did her by being there? Of course not. Merilyn had no idea what a jewel she had, or how briefly she would have her.

  The situation was even more intolerable than he had supposed. His Sarah shouldn't be exposed to crude remarks such as the one Carl Barnes had made. When she was at his house, she would be shielded from that. He would protect her from the world. Things were almost ready to his satisfaction; a few more preparations, and then it would be time to bring Sarah home.

  The party broke up around one-thirty, which wasn't all that late. These people were businesspeople, pillars of the community, and most of them were regular churchgoers; they couldn't sleep very late the next morning and still attend services.

  Merilyn still looked as fresh as she had when the party started, her green eyes sparkling. “Well, that was a success!” she declared, looking around the wreck of her ballroom-size living room. Nothing was actually destroyed, but nothing seemed to be in the correct place, either. “No one threw up, no one set anything on fire, and no fights were started. That's pretty good, if I do say so myself!”

  Sonny regarded his wife with fond, if weary, indulgence. He was a stocky man with graying dark hair and a collection of laugh lines. “You can say it on our way upstairs,” he said, spreading his arms and pretending to herd her in the direction of the stairs. “I'm bushed. Let's go to bed.”

  “But there's still—”

  “Nothing that Brenda and I can't handle,” Sarah said, smiling. “I'll lock up and set the alarm when I leave.”

  Merilyn hated to go to bed when anyone else was still awake, afraid she might miss something, even if that something was cleaning and loading a multitude of plates and glassware. “But—”

  “But, but, but,” Sonny said, no longer pretending to herd her but actually doing it, crowding her with his body and gradually forcing her toward the stairs. “No matter what you think of, there's nothing that won't wait until morning.”

  She backed up, but she peeked around him like a child being torn away from the playground. When he succeeded in getting her started up the stairs, Sarah waved good night, then joined Brenda and her crew in the kitchen.

  Things were well in hand, because Brenda had had someone washing dishes from the very beginning. As they were brought in soiled, they were washed. That way there was always a fresh supply if needed, and when the evening was over, there wasn't an avalanche of dirty dishware to be cleaned before it could be packed in the boxes and taken back to the shop. As a result, the last wave of dirty plates and glasses had already been washed, and the crew was busy packing up the chafing dishes and folding a small mountain of table linens.

  With everything going well t