Family Man

the house to change his wet clothes.
    Zeke, who had been smart enough not to go rushing out into the rain, was waiting at the far end of the hall. He gave Luke an inquiring look over the rim of his dish.
    “I guess that answers the question about the lady who was leaving all those damn messages on the answering machine,” Luke said to the dog. “I can now state with unequivocal certainty that Ms. Wade is a genuine holy terror. A true self-appointed Gilchrist guardian angel. Someone should have told her a long time ago that on good days Gilchrists eat angels for breakfast.”
    The first messages on the answering machine had caught Luke's attention because the warm, feminine voice had been infused with cheery charm. Luke had played them back a couple of times before erasing them. The nights could get long in his aerie by the sea. The sound of a woman's voice was not unwelcome.
    By the time the twelfth message had been recorded, however, the charm had vanished. In its place was a feisty determination that had been just as interesting in its own way. The lady was obviously the sort who made a point of seeing a task through to completion. She would not give up until she had either reached her goal or been knocked out of the fight. That kind of gutsy fortitude could spell trouble, Luke knew, but he had to acknowledge a certain grudging respect for it.
    Katy's letters and the telegrams had been equally fascinating. The first of them had been full of enthusiasm and vitality. They had projected a boundless optimism that had made Luke feel ancient and cynical.
    She had tried almost everything to convince him to come to Dragon Bay. The one thing she had not done was whine. Luke liked that. He could not stand whiners.
    Toward the end the letters had turned into fierce little lectures on the subject of family honor and responsibility. The last telegram had been no less than a ringing call to arms:

    THINK OF FUTURE GENERATIONS STOP DON'T BE AFRAID TO TAKE UP THE CHALLENGE STOP YOU CAN DO IT STOP .

    Luke had known when he received that one that the next step was probably going to be a personal visit from Katy Wade herself. He had found himself looking forward to it. He wanted to see if the lady matched her voice.
    Now his curiosity was satisfied, he thought in disgust as he peeled off his soaked sweater. Katy Wade was everything he had suspected from her letters. She was a bright-eyed crusader who had, thanks to an unusual set of circumstances, assumed the thankless task of saving a bunch of Gilchrists.
    She was young, probably only twenty-seven or twenty-eight at the most. Luke scowled. She was far too young and inexperienced to have the responsibility for saving Gilchrist, Inc. on her shoulders.
    And she was a redhead.
    Luke had not guessed that from her messages and letters, but somehow he was not surprised. He had never been fond of red hair. Still, he had to admit that the sunrise color of Katy's hair suited her. He had liked the way it curved in at her chin, framing her delicate features and emphasizing the deep blue of her eyes.
    Luke rather wistfully recalled a few other details he'd noted thanks to a wet silk blouse and a snug-fitting skirt. Katy had a neat, subtly curved body. A good body. Healthy. Strong. Vital. Female .
    There was an oddly restrained, rather naïve sensuality about her that he had found unexpectedly disturbing.
    More than disturbing. He had a feeling he was going to have trouble getting to sleep tonight because of Katy Wade. And she was not even his type.
    No doubt about it, he had spent too many nights alone here during the past three years. Odd he had not realized it until today.
    Luke ran his fingers through his hair to get rid of the excess moisture. Then he pulled a black cotton shirt out of the closet and shrugged into it.
    She was not really pretty , he thought. He frowned as he went down the hall to his study. Not compellingly beautiful the way Ariel had been .
    But somehow, what with all the feminine vitality Katy exuded, he hadn't particularly noticed the absence of classical perfection in her features.
    Still, she was not like Ariel. And if he were ever to remarry, he would definitely want a woman like his first wife.
    Exotic, witchy, mysterious Ariel with her long ebony hair and pale silken skin. Even now, three years after her death, she sometimes stole into his dreams, trying to seduce him once more.
    Luke had been certain from the moment he first saw Ariel that she was his natural