The VW coughed asthmatically

The VW coughed asthmatically as the road narrowed and

began to climb into the Flintridge hills. The houses sat back

from the road, sheltered amid towering live oaks. Discreet

mansions, Cat thought and then wondered if that was a

contradiction in terms. could a mansion be discreet?

Maybe, to qualify for the title of mansion, a certain

flamboyance was required, which would make these just

really, really big, really, really expensive houses.

There wasn't much traffic as the road wound up into the

hills. She passed two Mercedes both black, a silvergray

Rolls and a hunter-green Jaguar convertible. The driver of

the Rolls gave her a puzzled look, and Cat giggled as she

drove through the intersection. Apparently, tomato-red,

thirty-year-old volkswagen Squarebacks were not exactly a

common sight in this neighborhood. She gave the sun-faded

dashboard an affectionate pat.

"Don't pay any attention to them, Ruthie. They wouldn't

know real class if it bit them on the nose."

The VW chugged its way up the next hill and around a

long, sweeping curve, and there was the address Devon

had given her, neatly emblazoned on a rustic redwood post

that sat to the side of a driveway sheltered by the

overhanging branches of an ancient live oak. Cat edged

Ruthie up to the top of the driveway and hesitated a

moment, contemplating the steep slope that dropped away

from the street. All that was visible of the house was an

angle of roof and a sharp glint of sunlight reflecting off a

window.

Luke was down there, expecting his fiancée to arrive for

a quiet dinner. He was probably expecting her to spend the

night. Devon hadn't said as much, but Cat assumed she and

Luke had been sleeping together. The thought added the

acid bite of jealousy to the bevy of butterflies that had

taken up residence in her stomach. Really, maybe mailing

the letter wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe it was actually a

good idea. It would allow Luke a certain privacy to deal

with the news that he'd been jilted. And would allow Cat to

escape like the yellow bellied coward she apparently was.

Muttering under her breath, she turned into the driveway.

The house was not at all what she'd. She'd envisioned

something starkly modern, all redwood and glass, with lots

of eccentric angles. Instead, Luke's home was surprisingly

conventional. The lower part of the walls was stone, with

white siding above, multi-paned windows, a gray the roof

and a wide front porch with stone pillars and wicker

furniture completed a quietly elegant picture. The

landscaping was neat if unimaginative, relying heavily on

the natural beauty of the big oaks that sheltered the house.

It looked like a home rather than the showplace she might

have expected from someone who made bundles of money

buying and selling real estate.

As soon as Cat shut off Ruthie' s engine, the silence

pressed in around her. It was the kind of stillness that made

it easy to forget that Los Angeles, in all its smoggy glory,

lay just over the hill. A mockingbird called a stolen melody

and was answered by the raucous cry of a scrab jay. If she

hadn't been so painfully aware of the reason she was here,

Cat could have savored the quiet beauty. But she wasn't

here to enjoy the semibucolic splendor of her surroundings.

She was here to tell Luke that he'd been dumped in favor of

a dairy farmer from some state beginning with M.

According to Devon, the news wasn't going to break his

heart, but it seemed unlikely to make his day, either.

The doorbell was a quiet two-toned chime. Muttering it,

she shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, fighting the

urge to shove Devon's letter under the door and then run

like mad. Before she could succumb to temptation, she

heard the sound of a dead bolt sliding back. From listening

to Devon talk, she knew Luke had a housekeeper, so when

the door opened, she was not prepared to find herself

looking into Luke's blue eyes.

"Cat?" He sounded surprised, but at least he knew who

she was, which was a relief. It would have been

embarrassing if her heart was beating double time for a

man who didn't even recognize her.

"Luke, I...didn't expect you."

He arched one brow in surprise. "I live here," he pointed

out.

Cat felt her face heat and knew he could see the color

coming up in her cheeks. There was no hiding a blush with

her pale skin. "I was expecting your housekeeper."

"It's her day off." Luke looked past her, and she

wondered if he was looking for Devon. If that was the case,

he didn't say anything when he saw that she was alone but

just stepped back from the door. "Why don't you come in?

It's a little chilly for standing in doorways."

Cat hesitated a moment before accepting his invitation.

She wanted to tell him that standing in the doorway was

just fine with her, but his words had made her aware of the

cold air finding its way past the bulky cable-knit sweater

she wore with her jeans. Besides, she could hardly just

shove the letter at him and run.

"Thanks." He led her across the entryway with its glossy

hardwood floors and through an arched doorway into a

large but surprisingly cozy room. Soft, blue-green carpeting

covered the floor, and the furniture looked both elegant and

comfortable, a rare combination in Cat's limited

experience. A bank of windows along one wall let in the

angled beams of the setting sun, painting everything in

gold and red. There was a small fire in the fireplace, and

the subdued hiss of the flames added a warm intimacy to

the atmosphere.

"Would you like something to drink?" Luke asked,

glancing over his shoulder at her.

Cat shook her head. "No, thanks."

"You don't mind if I have something, do you?" He picked

up a bottle from the tray that sat on an end table. Amber

liquid splashed into the bottom of a snifter. "I was planning

on an after-dinner brandy but I have a feeling I'm going to

need some fortification earlier in the evening."

He glanced at her, arching his brow in question. Cat

flushed and stared at him mutely. This was where she

should say something to smooth the way for the bad news

yet to come. Something mature and intelligent, something

sympathetic but not maudlin, something gentle but not

mushy.