Jack frowned. He hadn't been distracted by a woman since Beth died — not that a few hadn't tried — and if anyone had asked him twelve hours ago, he would have said he wasn't likely to be. But that was before Abby had literally blown in, and for the first time since his wife died, he'd had no choice but to take notice. It was impossible not to.
Putting Abby's looks aside for the moment — not an easy task — she seemed to have quite a temper on her. That was something he could definitely do without and something the oh-so-efficient Miss Summers hadn't bothered to warn him about. He needed someone calm and collected, someone who would do what he needed without … kerfuffle. And there was a word he never thought he'd use in this lifetime.
Jack sipped at his coffee, brooding. The thing was, her temper had only come out to play when he'd tried to show her to her room. He recalled the way the colour had drained from her face, swiftly followed by pink spots of anger on her cheeks. It was obvious she hadn't known she was to stay at the house. He could understand her dismay if she hadn't been expecting it, but his gut instinct told him there was something more than that behind her reaction, something beyond the understandable reluctance she might have about sharing space with an eligible bachelor.
Whatever her reasons, this misunderstanding over the accommodation he'd offered was going to be a problem. Had he not told Casey that Abby would be staying at the house? Had the woman misunderstood? Or had she told Abby correctly, but Abby had misunderstood?
He raked a hand through his hair. It didn't matter. What mattered was that it was convenient for him to have his assistant on hand. The house was big enough for them to have their own space. It would be ridiculous for her to be to-ing and fro-ing all the time — and with the weather, that wasn't possible right now anyway.
Mrs Macintosh hadn't minded last year. She'd loved her room, been available whenever he asked (as long as it wasn't after ten, when she retired for the night), supplied him with endless hot drinks and often tasty stews, kept herself to herself when she sensed that was what he wanted, and kept him company for the occasional murder mystery on television. And it had all been set up again this year, until her sister had gone and broken her hip.
Worse than Abby losing her temper, Jack had lost his own. He might not know what had made her so foolhardy as to try and drive off like that, but he did know he'd been absolutely right not to let her. He wasn't sorry for that, but he was sorry he might have frightened her, even if his anger was justified, fuelled as it was by such appalling memories. If she'd already been spooked at finding out she had to stay in an old house in the middle of nowhere in impassable weather with a man she'd never met before—and, judging by her reaction, knew little about – he'd hardly helped by yelling at her and manhandling her.
Jack sighed. Maybe an apology was due.
