“They’re always the most effective.” Knowing he’d scored, he gave her hair a quick, affectionate tug. “Look, it should work out for everyone, but give it a couple of weeks. If it’s not working, I’ll find an alternative.”

“All right. But if he starts having drunken poker parties or orgies—”

“We’ll try to keep them discreet,” Josh finished and grinned. “Thanks.” He kissed her and took the baby. “He’s a good man, Laura. One you can count on in tight squeezes.”

Laura wrinkled her nose at his back as he carried J. T. out of the room. “I don’t intend to count on Michael Fury, particularly in a tight squeeze.”

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The last place Michael Fury had expected to take up residence, however temporarily, was on the great Templeton estate. Oh, he’d visited there often enough in the past, under the subtly watchful eyes of Thomas and Susan Templeton and the not so subtly watchful eye of Ann Sullivan.

He was well aware that the Templeton housekeeper had considered him a mongrel let loose among her purebreds. And he assumed that she’d been worried about his intentions toward her daughter.

She could have rested easy there. As lip smackingly gorgeous as Margo was, and always had been, she and Michael had never been more than casual friends.

Maybe he’d kissed her a couple of times. How was a red-blooded man supposed to resist that mouth? But that had been the beginning and end of it. She’d been for Josh. Even that long ago and despite the shortsightedness of youth, he’d realized that.

Michael Fury didn’t poach on a pal.

Despite their different backgrounds, they had been friends. Real friends. Michael didn’t consider many people real friends. He would, and had, gone to the wall for Josh, and he knew he could depend on the same.

Still, he would never have asked for the favor and would likely have refused it but for his horses. He didn’t want them boarded any longer than necessary in a public facility. He’d gotten sentimental over them, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. In the last few years they’d been one of the few constants in his life.

He’d tried a number of things. He’d drifted. He liked to drift. Joining the merchant marine had been an escape, he’d reveled in it. He’d seen a lot of the world, and he liked some of it.

It had been cars for a time. He still had an affection for them, liked to drive full out. He’d had some success on the race circuit in Europe, but it hadn’t satisfied him in the long term.