Blind Love (3 page)

Fawn’s face darkened and her eyes narrowed with rage. “I’ll tell him what you did.”

“Fine. Tell him whatever you want.
After
he recovers.” Catherine practically spit the angry words. In six weeks, Father wouldn’t even remember her name.

Fawn’s hands fisted by her side. How dare that bitch throw her out? Catherine acted like she’d pushed Walt down the stairs on purpose, when all she wanted to do was help him hold an erection long enough to make love to her. How was she to know it would make him dizzy?

Just over three weeks ago, she and Walt spent their first night together at the Hilton, and then he asked her to come home with him. She never dreamed she’d be living in a mansion overlooking Santa Barbara and the Pacific Ocean. It was by far the nicest house she’d ever lived in, but it needed color. She’d planned to convince the old man to marry her, then put her stamp on this house and make it her own. She wanted to paint the walls something bright and cheerful and replace those ugly sculptures and stuffy tapestries with abstract paintings, but it wouldn’t happen now. His stupid daughter was forcing her to leave.

She packed quickly, so Catherine didn’t get a good look at the things she put in her bags. By the time she finished packing, the guard with the security company had arrived.

After the paramedics took Walt to the hospital last night, Fawn emptied his wallet. Seven hundred and fifty-two dollars wasn’t much, but she could hock the jewelry she’d taken from his bedroom. You’d think a rich man would have more money and jewelry in the house, but if he did, she couldn’t find it. She’d moved the furniture in the bedroom looking for a hidden safe, but she didn’t find one. There wasn’t one in the study, either. There had to be one somewhere in this house, but she wouldn’t find it now.

Maybe she could come back in a few days and search again. Walt would be in the hospital for a few days, and she had the gate opener from his T-Bird in her purse. The only problem would be Sanchez, who lived on the property. She’d tried to get Walt to fire him like he’d fired the cook and maid, but Walt wouldn’t do it. He said Sanchez did his job and didn’t cause any trouble.

The security car followed her down the hill and into Santa Barbara, and then the car turned around and drove back toward the hills.

Fawn headed for the nearest pawn shop. Better get rid of the jewelry now, before Catherine the Bitch found it gone.

<>

After the security people escorted Father’s bimbo off the property, Catherine tried to figure out where to put her father when he came home from the hospital. At one time, he’d talked about putting an elevator in the house, but he never had, and aside from the maid’s apartment, all the bedrooms were on the second floor. She could have someone carry him upstairs, but he’d be stuck up there for weeks and the nurses would be running up and down stairs taking care of him. He needed a bedroom on the main floor.

She walked into the maid’s apartment. If the wall could be removed between the bedroom and sitting room, she could turn that into a bedroom for him. With the orange Formica walls in the dinky shower and old fixtures with dings and cigarette burns, the bathroom looked like it had been transplanted from an ancient gas station. It had to come out. A wheelchair wouldn’t fit through the door anyway.

Catherine sighed deeply, wondering how she could get the work done before Father was released from the hospital. Cara’s husband owned a construction company. Maybe he had someone he could send down to do the renovations. She needed to speak with Cara about the show anyway.

She punched in the phone number in Gig Harbor, Washington, and Cara answered. “Cat, it’s so nice to hear from you.”

A baby cried in the background. “Can you hold on a minute while I get the baby?”

“Sure.” Interesting that with all her wealth, Cara didn’t have a nanny for her baby boy. She and Nick took care of him themselves.

A minute later, Cara came back on the line. “Max doesn’t like wet diapers.” She had a smile in her voice. “So what’s happening with you? Any new men in your life?”

“God, no, and that’s the way I like it.”

“You’ll change your mind when you find the right guy. So, how’s the job?”

“That’s one reason for this call. I came up with an idea for a new television show, a reality show with a spin.” She explained the concept to Cara.

Cara laughed. “I love it.”

“There’s just one little problem. We need a place to film the show. I’d use my father’s house, but he’d never go along with it. It isn’t a good time anyway. He fell last night and broke his leg and hip.”

“Oh, no!”

“It’ll be a long time before he can use the stairs. I thought I could turn the maid’s apartment into a bedroom for him, but I don’t know any carpenters, and I hate hiring someone I don’t know.”

“Nick’s cousin is at my estate. I’ll have my pilot fly him in tomorrow. Tony can handle whatever you want done. He did most of the finish work on my house, and it’s beautiful.”

“Great. Tell him to let me know when to expect him, and I’ll pick him up at the airport.”

Shifting gears, Catherine asked, “Cara, would you be interested in renting out your estate for a month?” Cara Andrews Donatelli was one of the richest woman in the world. Her family estate near San Francisco was fully staffed, but it sat empty most of the time, since Cara and Nick and their baby lived near his family in Gig Harbor.

Silence from the other end told Catherine her friend was surprised by the request. “I’d have to clear it with the staff first.”

Interesting that she’d ask her staff before making a decision, but Catherine understood. Although all the original art work had been moved to the museum, there were still a lot of valuable things on the estate.

“I’d want everyone run through a security check, and I’d want you there to keep an eye on things.”

“Absolutely. It won’t be filmed until June. Father will be chasing a new bimbo around the bed by then.”

“You know, Tony might like to be the bachelor on your show. He’s thirty-four, lives with his mother, and you won’t find a better looking guy anywhere. You can interview him when he comes to remodel your house. If you don’t think he’s right for the show, that’s fine, but give him a shot at it. He’s a great guy, and he’s had lousy luck with women lately.”

“Sure, okay.” It was a small concession. If Tony wasn’t right, she wouldn’t use him.

“One of the women he dated was so obsessed with him, she wouldn’t leave him alone, so he’s spending a few months in California.”

If this guy checked out, it could solve two problems. He could remodel those rooms, and he could find the love of his life on
Blind Love
.

As if anyone could find love on a television show.

Chapter Two

C
atherine visited her father again the next morning. He fussed at the nurse, and then he turned on Catherine. “Why in the hell can’t you get me out of this damn place?”

“It isn’t my fault you were playing house with someone half your age. Maybe you should choose your playmates more wisely.”

“Get the hell out of here,” he yelled.

Without another word, she walked out the door. Stung by her father’s rebuke, she sat in her car, folded her arms over the wheel, and leaned her forehead on them, crying and willing her heart to stop pounding so hard. If he had anyone else to help him, she’d bail out right now.

At his age, broken bones could take a long time to knit, and he’d broken his leg in three places. Add the surgery to replace his fractured hip joint, the discomfort of being in the hospital, and the frustration of not being able to do anything for himself, and he wasn’t a pleasant person to be around. Of course, Walt Timmons wasn’t often a pleasant person to be around. She should know. She’d grown up with him, and he’d often taken his anger out on her.

He wouldn’t just need a bedroom downstairs. He’d need nurses, a housekeeper, a cook, and someone to grumble at. She had to hire people who’d bully him back or he’d walk all over them. Or worse. He could fire them, and she’d have to take care of him herself.

To hell with that! His little tantrum this morning had sealed it for her. If he yelled at her again, he could fend for himself. She wasn’t hanging around Santa Barbara a minute longer than absolutely necessary.

Her cell phone rang. She half expected it to be Father calling to rag on her some more. As if it was her fault he fell down the stairs. She wiped her face, blew her nose, and answered the phone.

A smooth, deep voice said, “Catherine, this is Tony Donatelli. Cara said you needed help getting your house fixed up for your father.”

“Yes, I do.”

“The pilot just landed at the Santa Barbara airport, so I’ll see you soon.”

Something was going right. If Tony Donatelli looked half as sexy as he sounded, she had her first bachelor for
Blind Love
.

She drove to the airport and saw a man standing outside the terminal building, a duffel bag on his shoulder.
Please, God, let that be Tony Donatelli.
He wore faded jeans and a dark red T-shirt that hugged his muscled arms and torso. And here she was, with wrinkled slacks, a baggy shirt, no makeup, and her eyes swollen from crying. He was drop-dead gorgeous and she looked like a bag lady.

Shoving big sunglasses on her face to cover her swollen eyes, Catherine walked toward him. “Tony?”

“That’s me.” His deep, sexy voice sent tingles down her arms and settled in a pool of liquid heat low in her belly. She’d waited her entire life to meet a man like this, and she looked awful.

“I’m Catherine Timmons. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“No more than a minute.” His eyebrows knit. “Are you all right?”

His apparent concern caused a wave of self-pity she couldn’t shake. “Sure, just great. My father’s in the hospital and someone else is handling my television show. The cook and housekeeper quit, my father is in a foul mood, and I get the pleasure of handling everything by myself.” She was babbling like an idiot.

“Not quite,” Tony said gently. “I’m here.”

She felt brittle and drained after the confrontation with her father. Willing herself to hang onto her composure, because falling apart in front of this man wasn’t an option, she walked out to the car with Tony.

“Why don’t I drive and you navigate?” said Tony.

“Afraid I’ll wrap you around a telephone pole or something?”

“Or something,” Tony said, taking the keys from her shaking hand. She had a tear streak down her cheek. Poor girl needed more than a carpenter. Cara was right. Catherine needed a friend.

He slid behind the wheel and glanced at the woman sitting beside him. She was a mess, wearing baggy, wrinkled clothes. She had her hair pulled back, but it was coming out of the clasp. Big sunglasses perched on a freckled nose hid most of her face. Cara said her friend was a short redhead, so he’d expected a well-dressed, well-groomed socialite, a short Grace Kelly with red hair. This frumpy girl didn’t fit the image. Not even close.

He’d never been especially fond of redheads, but he didn’t come here to date her. He’d come to work on her house.

Following her directions, Tony drove into the hills. Minutes later, she pushed a button on the visor and big iron gates swung open. The long, private drive spiraled around the hill, ending at the mesa on top. Impressive. The house wasn’t as big as Cara’s mansion, but it was a whole lot bigger than anything he’d ever lived in, and the view was unbelievable. The Pacific Ocean glittered in the morning sunshine, and the city spread out below him like something out of a movie. “Awesome view.”

“Yes, it is.”

The interior of the Spanish-style house was more spectacular than the outside, with polished cherry floors, wall coverings in muted shades, tapestries with intricate designs, and sculptures rich in detail. The house was formal and elegant, and he knew without asking that this wasn’t Catherine’s doing.

He left his bag in the kitchen while Catherine showed him the maid’s rooms. Walking through two dingy rooms and a tiny bathroom, he asked, “What do you want done in here?”

“I want it to look as much like his bedroom upstairs as possible.”

“Okay, let’s go look upstairs.”

She’d taken off her sunglasses. Her bright green eyes were bloodshot and unadorned with makeup. Either she hadn’t put any on or she’d cried it all off. Freckles sprinkled her cute little nose. With a little effort, she could be a knockout, but she didn’t seem to care about her appearance. Maybe she was too upset about her father to care.

Catherine led the way upstairs and groaned. “I forgot to put the furniture back.” She grabbed the armoire and pulled on it.

“Hey, I’ll do that. Where does it go?”

She pointed and he moved it.

“The bed goes under the painting. He had some stupid woman in here, and she moved everything. I stopped her before she started painting.”