Charade by Sandra Brown Page A

divided it into several pastures where horses and beef cattle grazed. The single-story house was constructed of native limestone. Shading the deep veranda was a wooden grid covered with leafy wisteria. Scarlet geraniums bloomed in clay pots. Everything had a well-tended, well-kept appearance, including the golden retriever that loped around the corner of the house and up the stone steps. "Hi, pooch." The dog sniffed the hand she offered, then gave it
    a friendly lick. "Are you the only one at home? I thought they were expecting me--or Sherry." She rang the bell again. Mr. and Mrs. Walters must be somewhere in the house, she reasoned. It was unlikely that they would leave without closing and locking the front door. Cupping her hands around her eyes, she peered through the screen and called out, "Hello? Anybody here?" Toward the back of the house, a door squeaked open and a man stepped out into the hallway. Cat dropped her hands and jumped back, embarrassed at having been caught peeking through the screen. He was tall, rangy, and barefoot. His jaw was shaded by a dark scruffy beard at least two days old. As he was ambling toward the door, he unhurriedly buttoned the fly of his Levi's, but gave up after securing only two of the buttons. He tried to smooth out his tousled hair, yawned broadly, then idly scratched his bare chest. "Something I can do for you?" He scowled at her through the screen. Cat was bewildered. Had Melia given her the wrong directions? Had Sherry made an error on the house number or mistaken the time of her appointment? Mr. Walters obviously wasn't expecting company. He'd come straight from bed. Had Mrs. Walters been in bed with him? If so, exactly what had she interrupted? Sleep, she hoped. "Uh, I ... I'm Cat Delaney." He stared at her for several moments, then abruptly pushed open the screen door and looked at her even more intently through narrowed, suspicious eyes. "Yeah?" Her name usually evoked a response. When salesclerks realized who had passed them a credit card, they typically became either speechless or gabby. Headwaiters stammered effusively while leading her to choice tables. When sighted in public, she drew double takes. Mr. Walters hadn't even blinked. Apparently her name meant nothing to him. "Actually I'm filling in for Ms. Parks. Sherry Parks? She couldn't make it this morning, so I--" "Git!" he shouted, slapping his thigh. Cat flinched, then realized that he wasn't addressing her. He was speaking to the dog, which was still laving her hand with his long, pink tongue. "Lie down, Bandit," he ordered brusquely.
    She watched sympathetically as the dog slunk to the edge of the porch and did as he was told, settling his head on his front paws but keeping his woeful eyes on her. She turned back to the man. He was holding open the screen door with a taut, straight arm, providing her an unobstructed, intimate view of his armpit. A single drop of sweat rolled down the corrugated surface of his ribs toward his waistline, which tapered into the unfastened blue jeans. She swallowed dryly. "I'm afraid there's been a mistake." "I need some coffee. Come on in." He turned and disappeared down the hall. She caught the screen door before it slammed shut, then hesitated, deliberating the wisdom of following him inside. He seemed in no frame of mind to entertain a guest. His wife had yet to make an appearance. On the other hand, it went against her grain to retreat in the face of adversity. She'd invested over an hour of her valuable time in the long drive out here. If she left now, the trip would be a total washout. Besides, Sherry expected a full report. She couldn't leave without getting to the bottom of this. She was piqued by Mr. Walters's incredible rudeness but curious as well. She'd read the couple's application, and it had excited her. Both were college graduates; forty-something, but, after fifteen years of marriage, still childless. Mrs. Walters was willing to end her career as a librarian to become a