Free Always in My Dreams by Jo Goodman

and cast an orange glow on the platinum threads running through his hair.
    "No," he said deliberately, "it makes you wonder why she'd seek a position here. You're suspicious of everyone. But then, that's why I hired you, and that's why you're sitting here now." He seemed to remember what he was doing suddenly and blew out the matchstick in his hand before it burned him. He replaced the glass globe on the lamp. The indigo centers of his eyes darkened and widened. His assessment of the man he employed to guard his back was frank. "You've suspected every woman I've interviewed today of doing me in with a feather duster. I think you've earned your wage." Parnell's slight smile was condescending. "Now relax a bit and bring this last one in."
    Walker Caide nodded once. "Her name?"
    "Miss Mary Schyler Dennehy." He chuckled, shaking his head. "It's quite a mouthful, isn't it?"
    Walker repeated only the surname, then went to the door and called Skye in. She wasn't sleeping, as he'd suspected she might be. That would have been an improvement on what he witnessed. Instead, she was lying over the padded bench, her bustle tilted toward the ceiling as she fished for something under the seat. If she sensed him behind her, she gave no indication of it. She wasn't modest as she twisted this way and that, trying to retrieve whatever it was that had been lost.
    Walker cleared his throat. His palm itched to lay a well-placed thump on the bustle and the behind it decorated. "Lose something?" he asked.
    Skye twisted around and bolted upright. Her right hand was a closed fist around the object of her search. "Hatpin," she said triumphantly.
    "Yes," he said drily. "I see that."
    Since she'd opted to play the fool, Skye could hardly take exception to being laughed at, even when the tone was delicately edged with sarcasm. Still, she had an urge to stick the hatpin into the pompous ass and deflate him on the spot. She quelled the impulse with some difficulty. Adjusting her bonnet, she secured it with the pin and stood. "My turn, I see."
    "Very good."
    It wasn't what he said, but the way he said it. Skye's green eyes narrowed briefly as she studied his still, calm features. She had always imagined her own father played his cards very close to the vest. This man wasn't even showing the deck. Suddenly Skye felt very young, very gauche. There was something here she didn't understand and wasn't certain she wanted to.
    Walker knew the moment she had been put firmly in her place. A hint of rose stained her cheeks and her eyes slipped away from his. He almost regretted it because he'd found something both amusing and admirable about her. "This way, Miss Dennehy." He gestured with his hand for her to precede him into the parlor.
    Jonathan Parnell stood as Skye entered the room. "Please," he said, and introduced himself. "Won't you have a seat? And some tea, perhaps?" He glanced past Skye's right shoulder to Walker. "You'll bring Miss Dennehy some tea, won't you, Walker? Enough for all of us, I think."
    This was different, Walker realized. Parnell hadn't offered amenities to any of the other women. He hadn't even stood before or offered his name. Walker assumed he just didn't think it was necessary. For some reason Parnell thought it was important now. The change in Parnell bothered him. He wanted to protest about getting the tea, then thought better of it. Hoping he could make it quick, Walker stepped back into the hallway and slid the doors closed behind him.
    Skye didn't particularly want tea but it seemed that since entering the room her mouth had gone dry and her tongue cleaved to the roof of it. She must have made some sort of murmur, which had been taken for an assent. She was peripherally aware of the doors shutting behind her and of being left alone with Jonathan Parnell.
    He was not the fusty old inventor she had imagined.
    During the past three weeks, while waiting to hear for some reply to her letter of inquiry, she'd given some thought to the man her