1
Jo Montgomery jumped at the shrill ring of the telephone, but her eyes never left the ominous bank notice on the desk in front of her. PAST DUE. Frowning, she picked up the handset. "Montgomery Group Interiors. This is Jo."
"This is John Sterling," the caller identified himself. "I believe my secretary spoke to you last week about the possibility of you doing some work for me."
Jo's mind raced. Her weighty appointment with the Pattersons scheduled for this afternoon had pushed other projects from her mind. As she shook her head to clear it, the observation nice voice skated on the edge of her subconscious.
She nudged the bank statement aside and opened a file drawer, walking her fingers through the tabs. "Yes, Mr. Sterling, my notes are right here." Withdrawing a folder, she read, "Residence on 69 Kings Court, five thousand square feet." The conversation was starting to come back to her. John Sterling was an architect from Atlanta, recently relocated to Savannah. "Your secretary mentioned this would be a comprehensive job."
"The works," John Sterling confirmed, his voice rushed. Jo could hear papers rattling and the solid thunk and click of his briefcase being closed. "Furniture, wall coverings, window treatments—everything."
Oh, that voice. "I know the street," Jo confirmed. "When would be a good time to stop by and review samples with you...and your wife?"
The man stilled a few seconds, and Jo assumed he was consulting a calendar. "I'm a widower," he said softly.

Remorse shot through Jo. "I'm so sorry—"
"Why don't you come by the house today and take a look around?" His tone was back to business. "Then we can get together in a few days to discuss the job more fully."
Eligible, affluent, successful and a very sexy voice. Of course, she had Alan, so she wasn't interested. But if John Sterling's looks were passable, her friend Pamela would be ecstatic.
"Will you be there?" Jo asked, intrigued.
"No, but my kids and their nanny will be."
The stirring screeched to a grinding halt. Jo winced. She'd never been particularly fond of children, but the last residential job she'd taken had had her maneuvering around the terroristic activities of the five-year-old Tyndale triplets. Now the pitter-patter of little feet struck fear in her heart. "K-kids?" she stammered, forcing cheer into her voice.
"Yeah," John Sterling confirmed, his voice slowing and flooding with warmth. "But don't worry—my children are angels."
Jo instinctively threw up her arms only a split second before the water balloon exploded against her chest. A shocked gasp stole her breath as she staggered back. The drenched salmon-colored silk coatdress instantly puckered against her skin. Carefully selected brochures and fabric samples fluttered around her feet, absorbing the pools of water, effectively ruined. Stupefied, Jo stared at the owlish face of the little blond girl who stood motionless in the doorway before her. The child's myopic green eyes nearly disappeared behind thick lenses. Little Einstein tilted her head up to look at Jo, then blinked.
War whoops rang out behind the girl, and Jo gaped in amazement. In the open family room, two male savages, disguised as a toddler and a school-age boy, raced around a middle-aged woman tied to a chair. Each armed with a bucketful of water balloons, they alternately pelted their victim. Water ran down the walls of the large empty den and puddled on the wooden floor. Colorful rubbery remnants littered the room, including the branches of a scraggly leftover artificial Christmas tree standing in the corner.
"Help me," the woman cried to Jo, straining pitifully at her bindings.
Jo smoothed her hands uselessly across the front of her sopping dress and addressed the bespectacled girl. "What on earth is going on?"
The girl seemed primarily concerned that the book she protected in the crook of her arm remained dry amidst the battle, but she shrugged and stepped placidly to one side to allow Jo entry. "The boys are playing with Miss Michaels."
"Help me," Miss Michaels pleaded again as she twisted in the chair to dodge another balloon that splattered onto the floor. The woman straightened to turn fright-wide eyes in Jo's direction. "Save me from these monsters."
The monsters seemed oblivious to Jo's arrival. Shouting and singing, they moved their half-naked, finger-painted bodies around the room in abandon. Jo cautiously stepped into the room, ducking to escape another randomly flung minibath. Reaching into her purse, she retrieved a silver whistle, raised it to her mouth and blew with gusto.
Everyone froze, the boys startled into abrupt silence.
"Wow," the older boy said as he stared at Jo in awe. "Can I have that?"
"No," Jo snapped, then bit her lip to stem her mounting frustration. She took a deep breath and continued in a calmer tone, "What's going on?" Hands on hips, she glanced from the girl to the older boy.
The red-haired boy frowned and grumbled, "It's just a game. Miss Michaels said we could tie her up."
Jo looked to the woman in the straight-back chair, whose dark jersey dress clung to her frail body, her graying hair hanging in wet strands where it had been driven from its bun. She gave Jo a beseeching look. "I didn't know they had water balloons, and I didn't realize Jamie—"
"I'm Peter!" the older boy bellowed, glaring.

"Sorry," the woman said hastily, then added in a low voice for Jo's benefit, "Jamie thinks he's Peter Pan. Anyway," she continued more loudly, "I didn't realize Peter could tie knots so well."
Jamie-Peter grinned, his chin lifted in pride. "Cub Scout training," he explained.
Jo addressed Miss Michaels. "Are you Mr. Sterling's nanny?"
"Yes. Who are you?"
Jo glanced toward the materials she'd dropped at the door and ran a hand through the short damp layers of her hair. "Mr. Sterling's interior decorator. I take it these are his children?"
Miss Michaels nodded, then motioned with her bedraggled head. "Claire is nine, Jamie—"
"I'm Peter!"
"—Peter is six, and little Billy is almost three." At the sound of his name, blond-haired Billy held up three chubby fingers in confirmation, then hid behind Jamie, peering at Jo around his brother's bucket.
Jo narrowed her eyes at Jamie and jerked her head toward Miss Michaels. "Untie her."
The boy engaged her in a stare-down, challenging her questionable authority. "You're not my mother," he said, resentment burning in his green eyes.
Jo felt a pang of acknowledgment over the boy's loss, but knew first impressions were crucial when establishing authority—and she did not relish a repeat of the Tyndale-triplet disaster. Walking toward Jamie, she leveraged her not-considerable height advantage as she drew herself up and crossed her arms. "But I'm bigger than you are," she said calmly, then barked, "so move!"
To her surprise, he moved. The bucket of water balloons crashed to the floor as he bolted forward to fumble with the knots at the woman's wrists. Begrudgingly, Jo admired the boy's handiwork, and how he seemed to loosen the tangles easily enough. Within seconds, Miss Michaels was free.
Displaying astonishing agility for a woman her age, the nanny leaped up and dived into a nearby coat closet, emerging with a hat perched on her wet head, pulling on a coat and retrieving keys from her boxy purse. She spoke to Jo over her shoulder as she moved toward the still-open front door. "They're all yours. Good luck." With that, the nanny disappeared outside.
A full two seconds passed before the woman's words sank in. Jo's stomach pivoted. "What? Wait a minute." Jo trotted after the woman, stooping along the way to scoop up a handful of waterlogged samples. "You're not serious," she called. Miss Michaels strode toward an older-model sedan sitting in the driveway. Jo laughed nervously and smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You can't just leave."
The woman unlocked the car door, then turned a victorious smile toward Jo. "Watch me."
Jo's mouth opened and closed like a puppet's, but she couldn't speak. She gestured wildly, finally sputtering, "But you have an obligation to watch these children."
"So sue me." Miss Michaels swung into her car, started the engine, backed up and roared out of the driveway.
Panic swelled in Jo's heart as she watched the sedan disappear down the suburban street. She turned to find the three children huddled on the stoop in the warm January sunshine, eyeing her suspiciously. Was John Sterling's lucrative project worth all this extra baggage? Jo swallowed and tried to ignore the moisture gathering around her hairline. The only thing she knew about kids was that she knew nothing about kids. In her vocabulary, kids had always been a four-letter word.
"Miss Michaels was a wimpy nanny," Jamie declared. "Just like the other two."
"We don't know you," Claire said cautiously, extending a hand to Billy to gather him closer. "And we aren't supposed to talk to strangers."
Jo's mind raced. Regroup. The last thing she needed on her hands right now were three hysterical kids. She walked casually back to the children and donned a professional smile. "I'm Jo. Jo Montgomery. So now I'm not a stranger."

Jamie scoffed. "Jo's a dumb name for a girl."
Jo felt a flash of irritation at his rudeness. "It's short for Josephine. Besides, I know a girl named Jamie."
"My name's Peter!" he shouted.
Claire's chin came up. "We need to see some identification. You might be a kidnapper."
Jo let out a dry laugh. The only person less likely than she to steal a child would be her boyfriend, Alan. She flipped open her purse and pulled out her license, leaning toward Claire. "See?"
Claire frowned, obviously unappeased. "What are you going to do with us?"
Hoping the answer would come to her out of the blue, Jo stalled, shifting from foot to foot. When it became apparent that divine intervention was not forthcoming, she sighed and asked, "When does your dad come home?"
Claire shrugged. "Usually around seven."
Jo glanced at her watch. Two-thirty, and she had a meeting with the Pattersons at four. "Then let's go call him and ask him to come home early, shall we?" She moved her arms in an awkward shooing motion to herd the threesome into the house.
Sighing, Jo massaged a throbbing temple. A touch at her knee startled her, and she looked down into Billy's big green eyes. Under all that warpaint, he was a cute kid, she supposed. His other hand tugged at his bunchy cotton shorts, the only stitch of clothing he wore. Jo frowned. "It's warm today, but it's still wintertime. Where are your clothes?"
"Poopy diaper," he said solemnly, and lifted his arms to be picked up.
Jo rolled her eyes heavenward. This she did not need.
She stooped and carefully lifted the child, catching a stiff whiff of the offending diaper. "Oh, good Lord," Jo muttered, exhaling quickly. Walking as gracefully as possible in stiletto heels while holding a thirty-pound toddler away from her, Jo reentered the house.
"Claire, Billy needs his diaper changed," Jo said, and bent forward gingerly to set him on the floor. But the toddler resisted, maintaining his hold around her neck like a death grip.
"Noooooooo!" he screamed, and Jo, at a loss for his tantrum, stood back up.
"He's difficult," Claire offered unnecessarily, pushing her wire-rimmed glasses back up the bridge of her nose.
"Just go get a diaper," Jo said, awkwardly rummaging through her purse with one hand. When she found John Sterling's business card, Jamie pointed her to a phone in the kitchen. On the way, Jo gave the house a practiced once-over.
The two words that came to mind were big and bare. The rooms boasted interesting lines, which probably appealed to the architect in John Sterling, but Jo had never seen such a complete absence of color and style as existed in this luxurious house. The wooden floors were glorious, the base and ceiling moldings ornately beautiful, but the sparse furniture looked tired and lackluster, the walls appallingly naked.
"He wants you to make the house more homey," John Sterling's secretary had directed her over the phone. No small feat, Jo now realized as she heard the woman's voice come on the line.
"Hello, Susan, this is Jo Montgomery from Montgomery Group Interiors. I need to speak with Mr. Sterling." Jo shifted Billy's weight lower on her hip and felt a wide run zip down to the ankle of her panty hose.
"Mr. Sterling isn't available, can I take a message?"
Jo took a deep breath. "I'm at his house and his nanny just quit. He needs to come home right away." A flash of pain in her left earlobe nearly blinded her. "Owww!" Jo screamed, bending with the pain, realizing Billy had found her dangling earring and seemed intent on pulling it clean through her ear.
Susan clucked her regret. "Mr. Sterling is on a plane en route from Fort Lauderdale. He won't land in Savannah until—" she paused and Jo distantly heard papers rattling "—six-fifteen."
Bent double and holding Billy's hand rigid, Jo said tightly, "I have a very important meeting in an hour and a half—what am I supposed to do?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," Susan chirped.
Biting her cheek to gather her patience, Jo took another tack. "Do you have a list of sitters Mr. Sterling uses?" Jo glanced over to see Jamie standing on a tall, rickety sofa table, holding the end of a thin curtain sheer and gauging the distance to the ground. Surely he's not going to jump.
He brandished a plastic sword in one hand to an imaginary enemy on the floor. "Off with your hand, Cap'n Hook!"
He's going to jump. "Jamie!" Jo shouted, half lunging toward him, but she wasn't quick enough and the phone cord brought her up short.
"I'm Peter!" he yelled as he grabbed the curtain with his free hand and leaped from the tall table.
"Watch out!" Jo yelled as the curtains fell. Jamie was buried in an avalanche of dingy sheers. She dropped the phone and rushed over to the little boy. "Are you all right?" she gasped. Billy cheered for his older brother.
After a terrific ripping sound, Jamie's head popped up. He grinned. "That was fantabulous!"
Jo exhaled noisily, then commanded, "Get out from under there and sit still until I get off the phone."
Rushing back to the swinging handpiece, Jo shifted Billy to her other hip and said, "Are you still there?"
"Yes," Susan said, her voice smug.
"So, do you have a list of sitters?"
"I used to."
"Used to?"
"It became a short list very quickly after Mr. Sterling moved to town. Now there isn't a day care in town who'll take the boys."
"You're joking."
"No, I'm quite serious."
"Well, if you won't help me, then I'll find someone myself."
"Good luck," Susan said, and hung up.

Claire emerged, empty-handed. "We're out of diapers."
Jo closed her eyes and counted to ten. "Claire, is there a neighbor you can stay with for a few hours until your dad gets home?"
The little girl shook her head. "We're not allowed to go to the neighbors'."
"Not even in an emergency?"
Claire shook her head more emphatically. "They posted signs to keep Jamie out."
"I'm Peter!"
"Your neighbors posted signs?"
Claire nodded. "Yeah."
"I'm probably going to regret asking this, but why?"
"He set off smoke bombs in all of their garbage cans."
"Cub Scout training," Jamie injected proudly.
"Claire, do you have a list of sitters your dad uses?"
"It's in the back of the phone book."
Jo could feel a new kind of wetness seeping through her dress and eyed Billy warily. "Did you pee-pee?"
Billy grinned. "Uh-huh."
She groaned, then said sternly, "You have to get down for a few minutes until I can change your diaper." When the little boy resisted, she shushed him. "Just until I make a few phone calls." Claire took Billy's hand and tried to divert him.
Jo pulled out the phone book and turned to the back page. Fifteen names or so had been handwritten below "babysitters," but each had been struck off with a black marker. Jo decided to try anyway.
"Hello?"
"Hello," Jo said pleasantly. "Is this Carta?"
"Yes," the girl said cautiously.
"My name is Jo Montgomery and I need a sitter for John Sterling's kids—"
Click.
"Hello?" Jo asked. "Hello?"
After receiving the same response from the next two sitters, Jo glanced at her watch nervously. If she missed the meeting at four, she'd sacrifice the biggest deal of her career, and possibly jeopardize her entire business.
She scanned John Sterling's card for his office address. Maybe she'd just leave them with good ole Susan until Mr. Sterling arrived. But the address was across town, and Jo knew she'd never be able to make the trip and get back to her own office in time to meet with her client.
Frantically, she redialed Susan's number.
"This is Jo Montgomery again. I'm taking the children to my office for a few hours." She gave the secretary her number and address. "I'll bring them back here once my meeting is over. Could you let Mr. Sterling know so he'll be home as soon as possible?"
"Sure thing," Susan said cheerfully. "I hope you have good insurance."
Jo hung up, and muttered, "What a witch. Okay, kids," she announced with much false bravado. "Everyone's going with me.
"We can't," Claire said, her face serious. "We're not supposed to leave with people we don't know very well."
Jo nodded patiently. "And that's a very smart thing but right now, I have no choice but to take you with me. Tell you what, why don't we write a note to your daddy about where you're going, and we'll leave it for him in case he comes home before we get back, okay?"
Claire considered the situation, then relented. "But I'll write the note," she said in a superior tone.
"Fine," Jo said, glancing at the boys' painted bodies. "I'll get these two cleaned up. Where's the bathroom?"
Jamie led the way up curving stairs to a cyclone-tossed bedroom with two beds on the floor. "This is our room," he announced. "Me and Billy."
Jo smiled woodenly, her nerves fraying at the sight of the unkempt quarters. Toys lay broken and strewn, bedcovers loose and knotted in disarray. The dingy off-white walls were punctuated with small holes and marks from shoes, paint, markers and crayons. Juice boxes and food wrappers dotted the floor. An aquarium bubbled in the corner on a broken-down desk, its water suspiciously purple. Goldfish darted from corner to corner, apparently unaffected. At Jo's unasked question, Jamie offered, "If you mix red and blue food coloring, you get purple."
Jo picked her way through the mess and at last they entered a spacious bathroom. A shower curtain hung from three rings. The mirror above the toothpaste-caked sink was cracked. Gaping holes and scars above the naked window testified to another set of curtains Jamie had bested.
"Well, now," Jo said cheerfully, "out of these clothes and into me shower."
"We don't take showers," Jamie said, his arms crossed. "We take baths."
"Showers are much quicker," Jo cajoled. "Besides, I know for a fact Peter Pan took a shower every day."
"Nuh-uh," Jamie said warily.
"Uh-huh," Jo said, nodding. "He hung a bucket with holes in it from a tree and stood under it for his shower."
Jamie's eyes lit up. "Let's try that—I've got a bucket and there's a big tree in our neighbor's backyard!"
"Whoa," Jo said, catching me boy as he started to run from the room. "We'll save that for another day. Right now, we're in a hurry." She leaned into the tub and turned on the faucet, adjusting the water temperature.
Jamie obliged by stripping off his shorts and underwear, then winding them up and zinging them past her head into the bedroom. Completely comfortable with his nakedness, he jumped into the tub and squealed with glee when Jo turned on the shower.
"Where's me soap?" Jo asked, opening the vanity drawer but coming up empty.
Jamie's face fell. "We gotta use soap?"
"Definitely."
"It's under my bed," he grumbled.
Jo sighed and returned to the bedroom. She lifted me corner of me covers falling over the edge of me first bed and reached underneath, terror bolting through her when her hand touched something warm and furry. Jo fell back, screaming as a creature lunged at her from the darkness.
"What's wrong?" Jamie yelled, running into the room, dripping wet.
"A rat!" Jo shrieked, jumping out of her heels and onto a chair, peering all around for the rabid creature.
Jamie giggled. "It's just Tinker, my hamster. She got loose." He bent over and scooped up the fuzzy brown animal. "Thanks for finding her, Jo."
Jo's shoulders went limp. "Anytime." She climbed down from the chair and reclaimed her shoes, then gingerly stuck her hand back into the darkness. She sighed in relief when her hand closed around a bar of dust-covered soap. Victorious, she ordered Jamie back to the shower. She returned to the bathroom and finally managed to undress Billy, then shrank back from the horrible odor as she peeled away the heavy diaper. Jo gagged twice, fighting for control of her rolling stomach.
"Peee-yuuuuu!" Jamie yelled from the shower.
"Pee-yu." Billy giggled, his hands immediately finding the smelly mess.
"No!" Jo yelled, grabbing his wrists. "I don't believe this," she muttered. Holding his hands high with her one hand, she stuffed toilet paper in her nostrils to ward off the fetid smell, then washed Billy's hands in the sink.
"Are you finished, Jamie?" she asked.
"I'm Peter!" he roared.
"Are you finished?"
"Yeah," he said, emerging to stand on the bath mat Jo had spread on the floor.
One glance at his still-paint-streaked body and Jo jerked her thumb toward the tub. "Back in, mister, and lather up." She stood Billy in the shower and ordered Jamie to look after him while she went in search of a scrub brush. Claire helped her find one in the utility room. "I need you to find a washcloth and take care of Billy," Jo said, rolling up her sleeves and heading back to the bathroom. "I'll handle Jamie."
"How much?" Claire asked, rooted to the spot.
Jo turned back. "How much what?"
"How much are you gonna pay me?"
Jo's jaw dropped. "Pay you? You're kidding, right?"
Claire pursed her lips and shook her head slowly.
Glancing at her watch, Jo decided to postpone the lecture that came to her lips. "One dollar."
"Two dollars," Claire said stubbornly, her expression never
changing.	
Jo crossed her arms. The little chiseled "A buck fifty."
After another adjustment to her glasses, Claire said, "One dollar and seventy-five cents."
"Okay," Jo agreed tiredly, taking a step toward the bathroom.
"Cash in advance," Claire said, primly holding out her little hand.
Jo stopped, sighed and reached for her purse. "I see we have a budding lawyer in the family," she declared as she counted coins. "Now, let's get your brothers washed up."
Jamie was blasting out an ear-splitting rendition of "I'll Never Grow Up," and Billy was sitting in the front of the tub, safely out of reach of the cleansing spray, seemingly fascinated with the water swirling down the drain. He giggled and hiccuped, and Jo watched in amazement as a huge soap bubble formed in the O of his mouth, then popped out and floated away. Billy laughed and more bubbles floated out.
Jamie stopped singing long enough to join in Billy's laughter. "He took a bite out of the soap," he informed Jo, pointing to a missing chunk.
"Oh my God!" Jo yelled, reaching in the tub to grab Billy by the shoulders. She hardly noticed her hair and shoulders were being splattered. "Shouldn't we call poison control or something?"
"He'll be all right," Claire declared. "He's done it before, why we have to hide the soap. He'll have the poops for a couple of days, that's all."
Billy giggled again and blew bubbles into Jo's face. She leaned back on her heels and clutched her hand to her heart in an effort to slow her pulse. "Let's get to work," she instructed Claire.
"Yeooowwww!" Jamie screamed when Jo reached in and raked the brush across his back.
"Stand still," she ordered. "It's soft and it won't kill you." She ruthlessly scrubbed every stain from the boy's body in between his protests. With some aggressive cleaning, Claire managed to remove most of the paint from a protesting Billy. Jo glanced at her watch again. Forty-five minutes left, and the drive would take fifteen.
Claire had found two towels and the boys were soon rubbed dry, their skin now glowing pink.
"Get dressed," Jo commanded Jamie.
"We're out of diapers for Billy," Claire reminded Jo.
Jo expelled a noisy sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, summoning patience. "Find a white hand towel."
Once Claire had provided the towel, it took Jo several minutes to persuade a wriggling Billy to lie still while she found a way to pin it around him. After several false starts and a couple of bloody stabs into her own fingers, she finally fashioned a passable diaper and fastened the sides with two lapel pins from her ruined dress. "Shouldn't you be potty trained by now?" she mumbled to the bejeweled toddler.
"He's difficult," Claire repeated.
"I'm ready," Jamie announced.
Dressed in a green sweat suit, a la Peter, he stood proudly, arms akimbo, a black towel tied around his neck and trailing down his back.
"What's with the towel?" Jo whispered to Claire.
"It's his shadow," she whispered back. "Don't you know anything about Peter Pan?"
Jo took a cleansing breath. She instructed Claire to find clothes for Billy, then herded everyone downstairs. Hurriedly, she added a few sentences to Claire's note to John, then locked the front door with a key Claire produced on a chain around her neck.
As Jo unlocked her sports sedan, however, Claire balked. "Where's the car seat?"
Jo blinked. "Car seat?"
"For Billy, he has to sit in a car seat."
Jo chewed her bottom lip. "Really?"
Jamie frowned, disgusted. "Aren't you a mommy?"
Foolishly feeling as if she'd just received the ultimate insult, Jo cocked an eyebrow and leveled her gaze on him. "As a matter of fact, no, I'm not a mommy."
"We have an extra car seat in the house," Claire offered quietly, pushing her glasses up.
The trip back inside for the car seat was followed by another for Billy's bedraggled blankie, then one more to retrieve another book for Claire. Somehow in all the commotion, the girl had managed to finish reading the first one.
By the time she strapped everyone in, Jo had eleven minutes left to make the fifteen-minute drive. As soon as she turned over the engine, her car phone rang.
Jo picked up the handset as she pulled out of the driveway. "Hello?"
"Josephine, where the green blazes are you?"
Jo smiled at her aunt's familiar habit of misspeak. "Hattie, I'm on my way. Have the Pattersons arrived?"
"With shoes on."
"You mean, 'with bells on'?"
"No bells, dear, just shoes."
Jo shook her head and muttered a prayer for strength. "Stall them—I'll be there in a few minutes."
"Jo, how was the Sterling appointment?"
At that precise moment, Billy's blankie slid to the floor. On cue, the toddler's bottom lip jutted out, his head dropped back and he howled.
"Jo? Do I hear a baby?"

"Shh, shh," Jo breathed to Billy, and switched the phone to her left shoulder. Keeping one hand on the wheel, and one eye on the road, Jo stretched as far as she could, but couldn't reach the blanket without risking life and limb of everyone in the car.
"Jo? Are you there?"
Billy's cries had reached a crescendo when he saw even Jo couldn't get his blanket back. "Hattie," Jo gasped. "I'll be right there." She slammed down the receiver and tried to console Billy, but he thrashed his arms in fury.
Jo looked in the rearview mirror for help, but Claire had buried her nose in the new book. Without glancing up, the little girl did offer one morsel of wisdom.
"He's difficult."
Jamie seemed quietly preoccupied with making tortuous faces at the little girl in the car next to them. Both of the older children appeared adept at tuning out their little brother—an acquired skill, Jo noted.
She welcomed the next red light, and used the opportunity to unfasten her seat belt and retrieve the blanket, but Billy was wound up and not ready to relinquish his control over his captive audience. The car to her left honked and Jo looked over to see the woman passenger had rolled down her window. Jo frowned and did the same, only to hear the woman screech, "Can't you control your own children? That boy of yours is scaring my Kathy."
Jo craned her neck in time to see Jamie cross his eyes at the little girl. "Jamie!" she admonished over Billy's cries.
"I'm Peter!"
"Stop making faces!"
Jamie glared, and sat back in a huff, then shouted, "Itsy, Bitsy Spider."
"What?" Jo asked, wincing at the decibels Billy reached.
"Sing Itsy, Bitsy Spider," Jamie yelled. "It's Billy's favorite."
Jo rolled her eyes, and declared, "I don't sing." But minutes later when Billy had turned blue from his efforts at breaking the sound barrier, she sighed and started singing low and off-key.
Billy stopped midscream and looked at Jo expectantly.
"You gotta do the hand motions," Jamie supplied in a bored voice.
Jo leaned forward and slowly banged her forehead against the steering wheel.

2
John Sterling shifted in his first-class seat, then folded a stick of sugarless gum into his mouth and began chewing to ease the pressure in his ears. Somewhere behind him in coach an infant started crying, and he hoped the mother knew enough to give it a bottle or a pacifier to suck on. An instant later, he bit down on his bottom lip and shook his head in self-recrimination. As if he were some parenting guru to dole out advice.
The faces of his children passed through his mind—Claire and Billy so blond, Jamie as darkly redheaded as himself. His heart wheeled, as it always did when he thought of his rambunctious crew. Once the plane reached cruising altitude and the drink carts emerged, he inserted a credit card into the phone slot on the seat in front of him and released the receiver. Within a few seconds of dialing, the flat peal of his home phone sounded in his ear. After five rings, the recorder picked up and Jamie's gruff little voice came on the line.
"This is the Sterling house, home of the great Peter Pan. Leave a message at the beep and my daddy'll call you back. Oh, and talk fast."
John smiled and injected extra cheer into his voice. "Hey, kids, it's Dad. Just calling to see how things are going. I'm sure you're being very good for Miss Michaels, because we're lucky to have her and we really need to keep her around, right, guys? I'll be home in time to tuck you in." John swallowed. "Daddy loves you. Bye."
Surmising Miss Michaels had taken the kids to the park in the unusually warm weather, John breathed a word of thanks to have acquired a nanny of her qualifications on such short notice. Both Miss Springston and Miss Anderson had left him in the lurch, but at last he'd found someone whom he could trust.
He dialed again and Susan's voice came on the line.
"Just checking in," John said, opening his pocket calendar on his knee. "Anything going on this afternoon?"
"Mr. Tyler called around two-thirty about the zoning for the Standler Mall. He needs to talk to you ASAP."
Susan sounded especially nasal today, he noted with mild irritation, scratching abbreviated notes on any patch of white space he could find.
"And Stewart phoned—he wants you to speak at the builders' association luncheon next Thursday."
"Anything else?"
"No, sir."
"Did Miss Michaels call?"
"Oh," Susan said with sudden recollection in her voice. "She quit."
John's heart and pen stopped. "She what?"
"She quit," Susan repeated.
John nearly dropped the phone, but juggled it back to his ear. "Wh-who's with my kids?" he sputtered.
"Jo Montgomery."
Recognition tickled the perimeter of his brain. "The interior designer?''
"That's correct."
In the past month, John had learned it was best to speak calmly and clearly when dealing with Susan, even when she didn't. Especially when she didn't. He sighed. "Susan, start from the beginning."
"Miss Montgomery stopped by your home today, and apparently your nanny walked out while she was there. She couldn't find anyone to watch the children, so she took them back to her office."
"You're kidding, right?"
"No." Susan sounded very serious.

Incredulous, John yelled, "You let a woman I don't even know take my children away from my home and to her office?" An older man sitting next to him lowered his newspaper to stare. John passed his hand over his face. Too late, he realized he'd gone too far. The phone line fairly crackled with Susan's indignation.
"Sir, contrary to popular belief, a secretary is not the gatekeeper to her boss's personal life."
John sighed again, this time contrite. "You're right, I'm sorry. I can't believe Miss Michaels just up and walked out."
"Yes, sir." Susan cleared her throat. "Well, Ms. Montgomery said she'd take them back home after she met with a client, and asked that you meet her there as soon as possible."
"Thank you, Susan." John hung up, annoyed and worried. He flipped to the back of his organizer to find Jo Montgomery's card. Four times he dialed the number, only to receive a busy signal on each attempt.
Never more than a split second from his mind, the children had crowded his brain all day, leaving less room than usual for demanding work pressures. John brought one hand up and absently stroked his chin. He missed Annie every day. Unbidden, hot tears pricked his eyelids, but he bit the end of his tongue hard and the moisture vanished just as quickly. Life goes on, he'd told himself a million times in the two years since her car accident.
Moving from Atlanta to Savannah a month ago had been a good step for him and the children. Christmas in their new, empty home had been heartbreaking, but less brutal than last year in Atlanta. Jamie and Claire would enter new schools in a few days for the last half of the school year, and he'd promised himself he'd start looking for a suitable mother for his children as soon as possible. Someone like Annie...dear, sweet Annie, who wore bright aprons and made chocolate-chip cookies and gave puppet shows for all the kids in the neighborhood.
John had met several women since Annie's death, anxious to salve his deep wounds, but he hadn't been able to conjure up an interest in most of them. The few who had warranted further consideration had soon proved themselves to be less than ideal mom material—most of them were too involved with their own career. Three months ago, his sister, Cleo, had sat him down and explained the harsh reality.
"John," she'd said, smiling sadly, "you're not going to find an exciting career woman who's willing to give up everything she's worked for to take care of someone else's kids. And you're not going to find many single women in Atlanta who aren't career-oriented."
Thus the move to a smaller town where he thought his chances of finding a homey wife might be better. Not that he had anything against working women. Some of the most interesting women he'd met were just as driven to succeed as their male counterparts. But he felt his children deserved a full-time mom to make up for lost time.
John nodded his head firmly in silent determination. He'd date every eligible woman in Savannah until he found another woman like Annie, someone for whom mothering was...first nature.
"Hurry up!" Jo screeched, practically dragging the children through the door of her small office building. As she trotted down the hall, Billy perched on her hip and her briefcase bouncing against her other leg, she could hear Hattie saying, "I'm sure Jo will be here any minute. She had to...er..."
Her beloved aunt turned from the man and woman standing before her and stared at Jo coming down the wide hallway, the older woman's glassy eyes bulging in shock. The consummate professional, Hattie recovered quickly. "She had to...pick up the children, of course." She beamed at Jo. "Darling, I was getting worried about...all of you."
"Forgive me for running late," Jo said, setting down her briefcase and extending her hand to the coifed, well-preserved woman standing beside Hattie. "I'm Jo Montgomery, and you must be Melissa Patterson."
"And my husband, Monroe," the woman said, inclining her blond head slightly. "Oh, aren't they precious?" Mrs. Patterson reached over to tweak Billy's rosy cheek.
The toddler gave her a toothy grin, and said, "Me Billy."
"And who else do we have?" Mr. Patterson smiled warmly at the other two children.
Jo swallowed nervously. How would she explain this situation? "This is Claire and Ja—Peter. Claire and Peter."
The tall, thin man with heavy black glasses leaned over to shake hands with the older children, then straightened. He smiled at Jo, his eyes dancing. "Ms. Montgomery, I must admit, in our eyes you already have an edge over your competition for our day-care account."
"Well," Hattie injected brightly, her eyes warning Jo to keep quiet, "why don't I take the children and let me three of you talk business?"
"Who are you?" Jamie asked, frowning at one of Hattie's trademark feathered hats.
Jo laughed nervously and scrambled to cover Jamie's gaffe. "Today Aunt Hattie is...Mary Poppins, right, Hattie?"
Hattie nodded, reaching for Jamie's hand. "Yes, indeed. Let's go fetch my umbrella, shall we? And I've got three lollipops in my office that need licking."
"Any green ones?" Jamie asked hopefully, already won over.
Hattie smiled brightly. "Let's go see."
Claire glanced at Jo with questioning eyes, but Jo nodded encouragingly and handed Billy to his sister. A remarkable feeling of relief swept over her as she saw the children walk away with Hattie. Free at last. Had she been gone only two hours? It seemed like two lifetimes. She turned to the Pattersons and awkwardly swept her arm in the direction of the meeting room. Her muscles had grown weak lugging Billy around. "Shall we?"
"Ms. Montgomery," Melissa Patterson said as they walked, "you failed to mention you had three children when we spoke on the phone. I've very glad we decided to consider your design firm for a bid on our account."

Jo's smile froze and she nearly stumbled, but caught herself and kept moving forward, flanked by the Pattersons.
"Oh, yes," Mr. Patterson continued. "It's crucial that the interior designer we hire for our day-care chain is in tune with children. We don't think we could have built such a successful business had we not raised five of our own."
Panic spiraled through Jo. The Pattersons owned twenty-one day-care centers in and around Savannah. Her business had been mercilessly slow, and she'd taken a calculated risk by investing heavily in a new sophisticated computer system. Last week her accountant had announced he wanted his quarterly fee in advance. And this morning's past-due loan notice was still vivid in her mind.
This business was her livelihood—and her aunt Hattie's. Adding the Pattersons to her clientele would provide her with the capital she needed to recover and expand. The Pattersons were looking to overhaul and update every day-care center they owned. This project promised to be so lucrative, the couple were conducting interviews just to select firms to bid on the job. Jo knew she could do a top-notch design job for them. But she couldn't take steps to acquire the account under false pretenses—could she?
"Well, the children aren't really mine," Jo said, then at the startled looks on the couple's faces, added, "I didn't give birth to mem, that is."
Mr. Patterson smiled. "Adopted?"
"Er, no. Their father—"
"Ah, stepchildren." He gave her an understanding nod.
Mrs. Patterson touched her arm. "Very admirable of you to take on three of them, and a toddler at that."
Jo swallowed. Ethical quicksand.
Mr. Patterson squinted at Jo and laughed. "I thought it was a bit odd that a dark-haired woman like you would have blond and redheaded children."
"Do they take after their father?" Mrs. Patterson asked.
Jo had no idea. "Um, yes."

"Is he a blonde or a redhead?" the woman pressed conversationally.
"Um, kind of...strawberry blond," Jo improvised, beginning to perspire as they entered the meeting room. She hadn't given John Sterling much thought since their telephone conversation this morning, but now pictured him as an affluent absentee father who obviously neglected his children. Jo frowned, then turned her attention to the matter at hand— saving her business.
Upon entering the conference room, Jo guided the Pattersons into comfortable stuffed chairs around a small, elegant dark cherry table. Walking toward a computer in the corner of the room, Jo was alarmed to find herself shaking. The day's events and her own little lie of omission were beginning to take their toll.
Only then did Jo realize how disheveled she must appear to her wealthy clients, and, for an instant, she panicked. In less than two hours, those kids had ruined a two-hundred-dollar outfit and had undone an image of polished self-confidence she'd worked for years to develop. An instant later, she'd made a decision: So what if she let the Pattersons believe the kids were hers? She needed this account desperately. John Sterling and his brat pack owed her that much, right?
She took two deep breaths and faced the couple, remaining on her feet to give herself authoritative leverage. "I'd like to demonstrate a computer package I've invested in which I think you'll agree gives my firm an edge over every design company in the area." Jo sat down before the computer workstation and forced her quaking hands to still as she placed them on the keyboard. Within a few keystrokes, a large overhead screen mirrored the display on Jo's monitor.
"The program allows me to build structures to any specification and populate the rooms with furniture, wallpaper, window treatments, floor coverings and accessories. All of my major suppliers provide their patterns and colors on databases which the program accesses. I can develop a room's theme with only a few movements of the computer mouse." Jo demonstrated, pulling together a child's bedroom using an outerspace motif in less than two minutes.
"If you decide you'd like to see the design in a different color," she went on, "we can view the change right here without spending an additional cent." Two mouse clicks changed the room from dark blues to deep golds. The Pattersons murmured and nodded appreciatively, exchanging glances. Jo's confidence flooded back as she launched into the real selling point of the package.
"We can stroll through the rooms I design for you on-line just as a person would naturally. We can turn the camera, so to speak, and view the room from any direction, any angle." Jo showed them the stunning effects of the program which bordered on virtual reality.
"Once a scheme has been decided upon," she told them, "the program also estimates materials needed and labor hours required, depending upon the complexity of the decor. I can have an updated estimate within seconds of making changes." The presentation was powerful, and after twenty minutes, the Pattersons seemed appropriately dazzled.
Watching their expressions, Jo pushed down her uneasiness about misleading the couple. Children or no, she was the best person to do the work. She'd spent hours wooing the Pattersons to her office and cataloging ideas for the project—she wasn't going to lose this crucial job to a competitor just because she wasn't maternally inclined.
For an instant, anger sparked within her. As a woman, she was expected to like and want children. Even the close friends to whom she'd confided her true feelings on the subject had patronized her. "You'll feel differently someday," they'd said.
And her mother. Oh, God, that was another story.
She forced her attention back to her clients. Standing, Jo faced the seated couple and made eye contact. "I'd like the chance to visit one of your day-care centers and then take a few days to develop a full computerized presentation. My bid will be competitive, and you'll be able to view the entire job before you spend a dime."
Mr. and Mrs. Patterson glanced at each other again, and Jo saw the woman nod almost imperceptibly. A barb of excitement bolted through her and Jo resisted the urge to grin. But Mr. Patterson frowned slightly. "We would need to see your presentation Monday afternoon—can you be prepared by then?"
Jo's mind spun. Today was Thursday. She'd have to work most of the weekend, but she could easily finish the presentation with time to spare. "Yes. But I'd like to arrange a visit tomorrow morning at one of your day-care centers to make a few notes."
Mr. Patterson turned to her and said, "We like what we've seen so far, Ms. Montgomery. It seems you have both the personal and professional qualifications for the job. If your presentation is as impressive as your preliminary legwork, I think we'll be doing business."
Despite the worry triggered by his comment about her "personal qualifications," Jo conjured up a professional smile and extended her hand to the Pattersons in turn. On the way to the door, Jo consulted her day calendar to set up a time Friday morning to walk through one of the day cares.
"We'll meet you there tomorrow at ten," Mrs. Patterson said, smiling. "Bring your children along—I like to gauge the reactions of little ones to our centers."
Jo's smile froze and she could only manage to say, "I'm not sure what their father has planned for them, but we'll see."
Mrs. Patterson stopped at the door and leaned toward Jo, giving her a generous smile. Pointing to the dark wet stain on Jo's hip, she said, "I see you're potty-training your toddler. I noticed his creative diaper sticking out of his waistband. Diapering him with a towel is a wonderful idea because he'll be uncomfortable when he wets. He should be trained in no time. You're a good mother, Ms. Montgomery."
An uneasy smile found its way to Jo's shocked mouth. She managed to nod and mumble something nice in return. As soon as the door closed behind the Pattersons, her body went slack with relief. Then she grabbed her purse and dashed into the ladies' room. One look in the mirror elicited a groan. Her hair was a mess, her dress rumpled and wrinkled. Her makeup had vanished, except for the black smudges of mascara beneath her dark eyes. She reached into her purse for a hairbrush, but her fingers touched pink vinyl. Withdrawing her palette of birth control pills, Jo impulsively popped one into her hand and downed it without water.
Another glance in the mirror revealed a dark brown stain over her left breast. Cautiously, Jo lifted the fabric and sniffed, confirming her worst fear. Closing her eyes, she valiantly fought the urge to swallow a second pill.
"This is John Sterling. I need to speak with Jo Montgomery." He switched his cellular phone to his left shoulder and squinted at the street sign he passed.
An older woman who'd identified herself as Hattie responded in a tone somewhat higher than when she'd first answered. "Oh, Mr. Sterling. May I say what beautiful children you have?"
Pride outweighed his annoyance at not yet being able to get through to the woman who'd taken his children without his permission. It wasn't often people praised his children. "Thank you," he said sincerely, then glanced around frantically to get his bearings. Savannah was still new to him, and, after dark, landmarks looked different. But now the third appearance of a neon sign flashing Pinky's told John he was indeed driving in circles. Banging his fist on the steering wheel in frustration, he turned his attention back to the phone and asked, "May I speak with Ms. Montgomery?"
"She just left, sir. We fed the children and she's taking them back to your house."
John closed his eyes briefly, then thanked the woman and hung up. He'd hoped to beat them home, anxious to see his children's faces and to tuck them in. A dull worry descended when he remembered he didn't have a sitter for the following day. He glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. Seven-thirty. Probably too late to round up someone tonight. Then he brightened.
This Montgomery woman sounded as if she was good with kids. Perhaps he could persuade her to watch them tomorrow, then he'd have the weekend to line up another sitter. He sighed at his wishful thinking, suddenly craving a cigarette. The desire for one hadn't been this strong in the three years since he'd quit, but he forced it back.
One hour later, John pulled into his driveway. He'd left the damned garage-door opener inside, so he parked next to an unfamiliar sport sedan. A low light burned from the den window, and various other lights glowed throughout the big house. At least the children were still awake. John drew his briefcase and suit jacket from the passenger seat, and walked the short distance to his new home, shivering in the late chill. As always, he hesitated at the door.
God help him, he didn't want to go in. Into a houseful of sad kids he couldn't console or control. Into empty, unfamiliar surroundings. Into a big lonely bed. Some nights were more overwhelming than others. Tonight, unlocking the door was pure torture. Only the thought that his kids were probably unsettled and upset at having spent the afternoon with a stranger moved him forward.
Quietly closing the door behind him, John stepped into the foyer which opened immediately into the large family den. "Father Knows Best" played on the television, the canned laughter echoing in the large room. John automatically reached up to loosen his tie, scanning the room, but his hand froze in midair.
On a small cream-colored rug in the middle of the wooden floor, a slim woman lay asleep on her side, her knees and arms bent in repose, her slender legs extending from her slightly rucked-up dress. Her pumps had slipped off her shapely feet and lay on their shiny sides, a stray silver icicle from the Christmas tree wrapped around one stiletto heel. Short dark hair swept across her face, obscuring it from his view. And piled around her were all three of his children, Billy nestled against the woman's chest, Jamie close behind him, and Claire flat on her back less than a half foot away, her small fingers touching the woman's limp hand.
John inhaled sharply, stretching his neck forward and squinting to refocus. His heart pounded, and all moisture left his mouth. He swallowed painfully, then took a silent step forward before setting down his briefcase. As he moved closer, the woman moaned and turned her head. He stopped and watched the dark hair slide from her face, revealing a beautiful profile of straight nose, high cheekbones, full mouth and sculpted chin. As she worked her mouth in sleep, a dimple appeared and disappeared beneath her right cheek.
Holding his breath, John allowed his eyes to travel down the length of Jo Montgomery, taking in her rounded breasts, the curve of her hip, the fine bones of her slim legs. John felt an unfamiliar tightening in his groin and pulled at his waistband. The two years alone had been excruciatingly long. Taking a cautious step forward, he bent at the waist and searched for the one item he sincerely hoped the slumbering beauty didn't possess: a wedding ring. Her shapely left hand curled toward the rug, her fingers hidden. Damn! The most unusual scent reached him, kind of...fruity. Apples? No. He sniffed again. Pears. The woman smelled like pears. He shifted uncomfortably.
His children were motionless, except for Billy's occasional sucking on the two fingers he'd thrust into his mouth. John sighed. Between that mangy blankie, the finger-sucking and the aversion to potties, Billy was fast becoming a therapist's dream. Jamie lay tangled in his black terry-cloth shadow, his red hair in wild disarray. Shaking his head, John wondered if he'd made a mistake by playing along with his son's fantasies, which seemed to have grown more creative in the past few months.
And Claire. John smiled, and squatted to stroke the fine white-blond strands splayed across the rug. The very image of Annie, but as introverted as her mother had been outgoing.

Bookish and solemn, his daughter rarely spoke, and displayed emotion even less. His concern was greatest for Claire because she remembered Annie the most and missed her so.
Nothing to worry about, a child psychologist had told him. Love, patience, and time healed all wounds. Children are more resilient than they look, she said. And other comforting words John prayed were true. Here they were, so starved for female affection, they lay curled up to a virtual stranger. His eyes began to sting again.
"Hello," a woman's voice whispered.
Starting badly, John blinked and caught himself with one arm to keep from falling on his behind. "Hello," he said quietly. Sleeping Beauty had the biggest, brownest eyes he'd ever seen.
Jo squinted into the light of the ornate ceiling fan, trying to focus. She sincerely hoped the man squatting near her was John Sterling and not a burglar, because she didn't have the strength to run for help. Billy stirred beside her, then quieted.
"I'm afraid to move," she said, grimacing at the blurry man. "I might wake them." A thought so harrowing she was willing to lie there until the Second Coming.
"Give me your hand and I'll help you up." She immediately recognized his deep voice. Hesitantly, Jo lifted her hand and was pulled gently to her stockinged feet. She swayed to gain her balance, and his strong arm steadied her.
Jo lifted her head to thank him and stopped. John Sterling's eyes were the palest green, framed with gold lashes and set in a tanned face sprinkled with dark freckles. Deep auburn hair as thick as an animal's pelt faded to burnished gold around his temples, the same color as his sunlightened eyebrows. His square jaw glinted with a day's growth of red-gold whiskers— he looked like the type who might have first shaved in the sixth grade, a man who could sprout a beard over a long weekend. A half smile played upon the man's mouth, revealing laugh lines that promised to become deep channels with the accompaniment of a grin.
She searched his eyes, and found...surprise, awareness, confusion. His lips parted slightly and Jo experienced a strong sensation of deja vu. She knew this man, but had never met him. An age-old acquaintance in a stranger's body. Where have you been? she felt on the verge of asking.
He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and imposing. His tie was loosened and his shirtsleeves rolled up just below his elbows, revealing more golden hair on his thick forearms. He could not have looked more masculine if he'd been wearing a loincloth and carrying a shank of raw meat. Jo knew her mouth hung open because she could feel her breath moving across her teeth, but only two words came readily to mind.
"Me Jane," she murmured.
His forehead creased and he leaned toward her slightly. "Excuse me?"
"Me Jo," she said more loudly, then recovered and stepped back, causing him to relinquish his hold on her arm. "That is, I'm Jo. Jo Montgomery." She smiled awkwardly, then extended her hand. He clasped her clammy hand in his warm one, sending so much electricity through her nerve endings, Jo was sure he could see her skeleton like a flash of green X ray.
"John Sterling," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting higher. "It seems I'm indebted to you, Ms. Montgomery." He released her hand and waved an arm toward his sleeping children.
Jo glanced at the tangle of little arms and legs, and gave him a small shrug. "They weren't much trouble," she lied outrageously.
He laughed softly. "Your clothing tells a slightly different story."
Self-consciously, she ran a hand over the neckline of her ruined coatdress, coming up with a gob of stale peanut butter. With a little laugh, Jo wiped it on her smudged lapel and said, "Okay, maybe they were a little less man angelic."
John had the grace to blush. Splaying his hands apologetically, he said, "When I made me remark this morning about my kids being angels, I didn't realize you'd be stuck watching them most of the day. I'm sorry, and I'm also very grateful. Please send the bill for your dress to my office."
"I'll put it on your account," Jo said cheerfully, referring to her future design job.
"It's pretty bleak around here, isn't it?" John asked, surveying the room. "How soon can you get started?"
"I didn't get a chance to look around today, so I'll come back tomorrow if someone is going to be here."
Shifting uncomfortably, John said, "I don't have a sitter lined up yet, so I might have to take the kids to the office with me in the morning, but I'll be back around lunchtime. You can wait until then or I'll give you a key."
Remembering her morning appointment with the Pattersons, Jo made a snap decision. "I can come by in the morning to make some notes and watch the kids until you get home."
Incredulity registered on John's face.
"That is," she continued nervously, "if you don't mind me taking them on a quick errand."
"No," he nearly shouted, and Jamie turned over on his stomach. They both glanced down and held their breath. "I mean, no," John said, his voice lower. "I don't mind at all. But," he hastened to add, "that's not necessary."
"I want to," Jo said, smiling tightly.
John angled his head. "Really?"
Swallowing guiltily at the delight shining in his eyes, Jo put her hand behind her back and crossed her fingers. "Really."

3
"Where's Jo?" Jamie murmured sleepily, his eyes only half-open. Claire and Billy were already safely tucked in and slumbering. Normally, John saved Jamie until last, since he was the most difficult to persuade to go to sleep. Which amazed John considering the energy his son expended in a day.
"She had to go home," John said gently, pulling the sheet over Peter Pan pajamas and up to his son's strong little chin.
"She's a nice lady," Jamie said, blinking heavily.
John smiled. "Liked her, huh?"
"Yeah." Jamie nodded, his hair dark and unruly against the white pillowcase. "Can we keep her, Daddy?"
The question slammed into John like a steel beam. His smile vanished and he searched his son's questioning green eyes, swallowing the lump that lodged in his throat. Slowly reaching forward to tousle Jamie's hair, he said, "She's not a puppy, son."
"But she's pretty—don't you like her?"
"Jamie—"
"And she's no one else's mommy—I already asked."
John blinked fiercely. "Is that so?"
"Uh-huh."
He couldn't fault his son's taste. "Well, there's more to it than that." John spoke carefully. "Being a mommy is tough work, and not every lady wants to have children."
Jamie's face crumpled. "She didn't like us?"
"Of course she liked you," John assured him. "And she's going to fix up our house, so she'll be around a lot."
"When will I see her again?"

"She's coming back in the morning to start working. In fact, she's going to keep an eye on you guys until I get home at lunch."
A grin appeared, revealing small white teeth. "So she does like us."
"I guess so," John said, his heart crashing at his son's elation. He raised his index finger and wagged it with mock fierceness. "But no more quizzing her about being a mommy, okay?" He leaned forward and whispered, "We don't want to scare her off!"
Jamie giggled, and John kissed his forehead. "Now go to sleep so you'll be wide-awake when she gets here."
In a rare moment of obedience, the little boy rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut John patted him on the behind before he stood up. He switched on the Tinker Bell night-light, cast one more glance over his sleeping boys, then left the room with a hundred emotions, new and old, jabbing at him.
Ten o'clock. Too early for bed, but he didn't feel like opening his briefcase. John slipped off his dress clothes, tossed his rumpled shirt into a dry cleaner's bag and rehung his suit. He turned his wallet over in his hands several times, then opened it, flipping past the credit cards until he came to Annie's picture.
Just a snapshot, the picture had been taken when she was pregnant with Jamie. Radiantly round, her pale blond hair was tossed over one shoulder, her hands resting proudly on her protruding tummy. John remembered the day, he'd insisted on taking the picture because she had never seemed more beautiful.
Carefully, he removed the faded photograph, cropped to fit inside the plastic sleeve, and rubbed his finger over the image of her smiling face. Gone but not forgotten. In a split second of revelation, John suddenly realized he still compared every woman he met to Annie. But it wasn't fair to the other women, it wasn't fair to him and it wasn't fair to his children.
John slowly walked to his nightstand and slid open the drawer. Annie's family Bible rested near the bottom, under paperbacks, magazines, old newspapers and other odds and ends. He opened the cover and placed her photo inside, on the page where her ancestors' names were logged, where he'd penned her date of death the afternoon he'd returned from the funeral. "Goodbye, Annie," he whispered as he closed the cover and replaced the volume.
John dragged his hand over his face and exhaled noisily, then turned toward his cavernous bed. Alone again. He was beginning to loathe the smell of his own faded aftershave on the pillows, night after night. The scent of pears suddenly seemed especially appealing.
He stretched out on top of the comforter and reached for the remote control, again experiencing the need for nicotine. John ground his teeth and wondered if Jo Montgomery had gone home to a vacant bed, and absurdly hoped so. She hadn't been wearing a ring. Then he frowned at his wishful thinking. Fat chance. A beauty like her, married or not, undoubtedly had someone to keep her warm at night.
Jo reached over and ran her fingers across Victor's furred chest, and smiled at his growl of contentment. Presenting his pink tongue to Jo with a gigantic yawn, he snuggled deeper into the covers.
"I know," Jo crooned sympathetically to her aged collie. "Twenty-three hours of sleep a day just isn't enough, is it, boy?'' Too late, he was already in dreamland. Which is where Jo had thought she would be by now. Especially after a day with the Sterling stampede. She sighed. Eleven-thirty, and sleep was nowhere in sight.
Flat on her back, Jo blinked at the rotating ceiling fan. She had to concede it was John Sterling who had trampled her emotions more than his needy children. Why had he caught her by surprise?
Because she associated fatherhood with thinning hair, a spare tire. The words virile and sexy shifted her parenthood paradigm. And John Sterling turned it upside down.
As Jo's lids became heavier, she brushed away the shiver of anticipation at seeing him again, and strained to remember the last time a man had shaken her to the core. Long ago, Alan had affected her that way...hadn't he?
The nagging buzz of the alarm gave way to a nagging buzz at the base of her brain, some leftover negativity Jo couldn't dredge up until she rolled over and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. Then she grimaced. The Pattersons. In four hours she was expected to show up with her three little darlings in tow and her best mothering face in place. Jo soothed her guilty feelings by reasoning she desperately needed me account, plus she didn't plan to charge John for baby-sitting. They'd be even.
As she made the bed, she mentally ticked off her morning route: drop by the office to open up and leave instructions with Hattie, on to John Sterling's to begin her stint as interior designer/impromptu nanny, then over to the Pattersons for a combination idea-generating and schmoozing session.
Stepping over the silky pile of ruined coatdress, Jo smiled wryly. If she'd learned anything yesterday, it was what she shouldn't wear around children. She opened her closet door and flipped on the light. So the imminent question was, did she have anything hanging in her closet made of paper, plastic or metal?
Settling on a washable dark gray knit ensemble, Jo slipped in and out of the shower in record time, finger-fluffing the damp layers of her hair. She quickly applied makeup, then stepped into one-inch heels to lend a dressier look to the leggings. She had one dangling silver earring on before she remembered Billy's inquisitive hands and switched to posts. Then Jo shrugged into a stadium-length jacket, yanked her shoulder bag from the bureau and trotted out the door of her duplex into the chilly winter air. The sun was already shining, though, so it looked as though another record warm day was on tap.
As she backed out of her driveway, she glanced over at Hattie's half of the house to see if her aunt was up and about.

Jo wasn't a bit surprised when Hattie emerged in a chic running suit, gloves and muffler, bouncing from foot to foot, warming up. Jo rolled down her window and yelled, "You're up early!"
"The early bird gets the can of worms!" Hattie shouted before waving and jogging off in the opposite direction. Shaking her head, Jo laughed out loud. Hattie was an original, and at the age of sixty-four, had more energy than most women half her age. Indeed, at thirty-one, Jo sometimes had a hard time keeping up with her.
Always a bit outrageous, her widowed aunt seemed to grow a little more eccentric every year. Several months ago she'd confided to Jo she'd been having vivid dreams about her first love, a military man she'd fallen in love with during college, but had lost track of when he left to fight in the Korean Conflict, as Hattie called it. Eventually she'd met and married Uncle Francis, but he'd died suddenly several years ago.
Jo was astounded to hear that Hattie intended to research the whereabouts of a man she hadn't seen in more than forty years, especially since she'd thought her aunt and the older woman's longtime friend, Herbert Mann, were a couple. Hattie insisted the recurring dreams meant her soldier was still alive, and wanted to reunite with her as much as she did. Jo worried what it might do to her aunt if she discovered he was married and unavailable, or perhaps had passed away. But Hattie was determined to find him.
Shaking her head, Jo wished her mother was as adventurous as her spirited older sister. It seemed that Helen Montgomery's sole purpose in life was to see her daughter properly engaged, then married.
Weekly Sunday dinners consisted of familiar rituals where her mom cleverly pried into Jo's love life, extracting updates and offering her own remedies for inducing Alan Parish to propose. "Josephine, three years is long enough for a man to make up his mind," had become a running part of her mom's matrimony monologue.

Thank goodness for Dad, she thought, tapping her finger on the steering wheel to the distinctive beat of John Mellencamp.
City police officer Madden Montgomery had raised Jo with a stern hand and a kind heart. Although he'd never said, Jo secretly suspected he'd wanted a boy when she'd been born. He'd dubbed her Jo, a nickname that her mother refused to use to this day. Since she was an only child, he'd waved aside convention and raised Jo much as he would have raised a son.
But when Jo entered college and declared interior design her major, her mom had noisily proclaimed victory, asserting she knew all along Jo was best suited to taking care of a home and children.
Which couldn't have been further from the truth.
In fact, she'd first chosen to study architecture, but an unending semester of physics and drafting, combined with a part-time job in her aunt Hattie's design firm, convinced Jo her talents lay elsewhere. Her mother refused to understand there was more to interior design than picking out pillows to toss on a sofa. Jo specialized in commercial design and not only graduated with honors but received awards for her term work in ergonomic office layouts. She was a natural to buy and take over Hattie's business, and now her aunt worked for her.
The future of Montgomery Group Interiors rested solely in her hands.
Jo wheeled into the parking lot and pulled into the first space, feeling responsibility descend on her shoulders like a yoke. She forced herself to take a deep breath and smile, then left her car in a burst of energy, feeling her spirits lift with pride as she unlocked the office door and flooded the rooms with fluorescent light.
Within minutes she had the coffeemaker bubbling and the radio on her favorite classic-rock station. Pulling out a sheet of clean paper, Jo made a list of the sample books she'd need to pull for the day's schedule, then checked her calendar for notes from Hattie. A bright yellow adhesive note announced,

"Alan arriving Friday afternoon—will pick you up for dinner at duplex around seven."
Jo waited for a wave of pleasure to wash over her. After a few seconds she decided she'd be satisfied with a simple splash of pleasure. When none seemed forthcoming, Jo sighed and settled for a trickle.
Okay, so it wasn't...electric with Alan. But he was a good man and easy to look at, and they shared common goals. And he loved her very much, of that she was certain. He'd been in Atlanta for ten days, and had wanted her to go with him for a minivacation, but she'd declined. Worry over the precarious foothold she had on her business kept her rooted, guilt eating at her for concealing her financial woes from her boyfriend of three years.
But Alan wouldn't understand. He'd be furious if he knew how deeply over her head she'd dived. Alan had never failed at anything. His computer consulting firm was fast becoming one of the largest in the state, and he was well respected in the community. He could easily bail her small business out of debt, but Jo was determined to succeed or fail on her own.
Anyway, the fact that Alan hadn't called since he'd left only proved how comfortable and solid their relationship stood. The thought he might want to spend the night skittered across her mind, but she dismissed it. After mentally tracking Alan's libido for three years, Jo thought she had his schedule pinned down: every other holiday. At this point Presidents' Day looked lucky.
Jo scolded herself and began to jot down notes for Hattie on where she could be reached and what deliveries to check on today. The phone rang, a low bleeping sound. Jo glanced at her watch and frowned. No one called this early except bill collectors and long-distance companies. "Hello?"
"I knew you'd be there."
Oh, and Pamela Kaminski.
"Hi," Jo said to her lifelong friend. Then she added more cautiously, "What's up?"
"Does something have to be up for me to call? Can't I just be calling my bestest friend in the world to say I've been thinking about how much you mean to me and I hope you have a wonderful day?"
"What's up, Pam?"
Pamela sighed dramatically. "Okay, okay. I need to borrow Alan."
"Again? I'm starting to wonder about the two of you."
"Cripes, Jo, you know he's not my type—I prefer men who have a pulse."
"If you're trying to butter me up, it's not working."
"I'm joking, okay? You know what I mean, Alan's the perfect gentleman. I tend to bring home the strays. Unfortunately, my latest stray doesn't have a tux and I need an escort to the art council's charity dinner tomorrow night. Is Alan back in town?"
"Uh-huh."
Pamela breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. So, can I have him?"
"I'm not his keeper, you know. He might have other plans."
"I'll call him, but I wanted to check with you first."
Jo smiled, shaking her head. "By all means, call."
"I owe you one."
"You owe me about a thousand."
"I'll let you sleep with Nick me All-Nighter sometime."
"Promises, promises," Jo said, then hung up.
Walking to the catalog room, her thoughts lingered on her bubbly friend. A pang of envy flashed through her when she considered Pam's lifestyle, her personality. Jo fingered the familiar spines of me sample books, searching for the ones she needed.
Her best friend was a leggy blond bombshell, unabashedly sexual, and a fabulous real-estate agent in spite of it—or because of it, Jo couldn't decide which. Her flamboyance and scatterbrained bearing opposed Jo's no-nonsense demeanor in a way that defied the laws of friendship. They agreed on little, except to accept each other, which was all that really mattered, they'd decided long ago. Besides, Jo liked having Pam around. She felt like a more exciting person just for knowing Pam.
For Hattie's reference, Jo logged the catalogs she'd removed, then loaded everything into the trunk of her car. She refused to acknowledge her trembling fingers as she unlocked the sedan's door. The appointment with the Pattersons loomed over her like an inquisition. Had she lost her mind? How was she going to pass off the Sterling kids as her own?
Jo inhaled deeply as she pulled into traffic. Just this once. She'd pretend to be stepmother to the kids just long enough to firmly implant her momminess in the mind of the Pattersons. From that point on, she'd make excuses for being alone on the job. Suddenly the implication of her assumed role hit her dead center: if she was going to pass herself off as the children's stepmother, she would also be passing herself off as John Sterling's wife.
John strode into the kitchen, wrestling with his top shirt button, but alert and wary. Strange smells emanating from the room had convinced him he was needed, or would be shortly.
Billy sat in his high chair, the remnants of who-knew-what down the front of the clean shirt John had put on him only minutes ago. "Daddy funny," he squealed, pointing to John's face.
John made a comical face, feeling the tightness where a half-dozen little scraps of toilet paper blotted razor cuts. "Daddy needs a new razor. Billy, do you have to go potty?" John nodded hopefully.
"No!" Billy said earnestly, his eyebrows diving center. "Bad monster potty."
John turned to Claire, who stood on a step stool at the counter, wearing one of Annie's old aprons. He smiled. "What smells so...strong?" he asked, gently tweaking me little girl's ear, then checking the stove for flames. A pan of oatmeal had been cooked within an inch of its life—more of it oozed over the sides man remained in the pot. The cleaning lady, Mrs. Harris, would need safety glasses to remove the mess from the stove. At least the burner had been turned off.
"Sit down, Daddy," Claire said, giving him a rare smile. "I fixed you breakfast."
John took the long way to the table, trying to find the source of the horrific odor. He stopped at the microwave, and opened it. Something had exploded. The acrid smell wafted out and scorched his nostrils. He slammed the door shut. "Oh my God, what was it?"
"Eggs," Claire said solemnly, carrying a loaded plate to the table, her concentration intent. "Jamie tried to scramble them."
John swallowed. "In the shells?"
"Uh-huh."
"Where is he? Jamie!"
"I'm Peter," came the loud reply from the den.
"He's watching for Jo," Claire said, still holding the plate, a hurt look on her face. "Aren't you going to eat, Daddy?"
John hurried to sit down. "Of course, sweetie." He smacked his lips as she set the plate before him. A ball of rock-solid oatmeal sat in the center, with a spoon standing straight up in the middle of the mass. Two pieces of smoking black toast were artfully arranged around the edge. A glass of green Kool-Aid sat nearby, filled to the brim, only a little of it spilled over the sides. His stomach pitched.
"It looks great, honey," he said convincingly, and took a bite out of a charred slice of toast to prove it. "Mmm-mmm!" He was rewarded with a big grin. Claire covered her mouth with her hand, giggling.
"Jamie, come and eat your oatmeal," John yelled into the den.
"Peter Pan has to keep a lookout," came the gruff response.
"We already have a lookout, it's called a doorbell. Now, come and eat."
"Do I hafta?"
"Get in here."

The tone must have worked, because Jamie came shuffling in, dragging his feet. "I don't like oatmeal," he whined.
John sighed and frowned. "You love oatmeal."
"Not when it's as hard as a baseball," he said sourly. "I want pancakes like Granny used to make us."
A flash of self-reproach stabbed John. The children missed Annie's mother, whom they'd lived near in Atlanta. She'd taken over the mothering role after Annie died, but her health had begun slipping a few months ago. John suspected that watching the kids had taken its toll on her. Savannah was still close enough for his in-laws to visit and really enjoy their grandchildren now, instead of sharing the burden of raising them.
"I know Granny was a good cook—" The ringing doorbell cut John off.
"Jo's here," Jamie yelped, tearing from the room.
John's pulse thrummed faster, and he had a hard time swallowing the dry bit of toast stuck in his throat. He could hear his son murmuring an excited greeting, and Jo's lilting voice responding. Wiping his mouth, he stood, preparing to greet her. Jamie came rushing into the room carrying a white bag with both hands.
"Look—McDonald's!" he cried. "Jo brought pancakes!" He jumped around like a pogo stick.
Jo hung back from the kitchen entrance, holding a second bag. John's stomach jumped, but he wasn't sure if the reaction was triggered by the wonderful smells emanating from the bag, or by the sight of Jo Montgomery in her leggy little outfit.
"But I made breakfast." Claire's voice was clouded with hurt. John looked at his daughter and saw her lower lip trembling slightly.
Jo took one glance at Claire's wounded face and realized her mistake. "I'm sorry," she said. "I should have called first to check." Awkwardness swirled in her stomach, combined with an odd queasiness at seeing John Sterling again. He wasn't quite ready for work yet, his top shirt button open enough for a plain cotton T-shirt to show. Even standing in his sock feet with a toilet paper-spotted face, he looked out of place in the kitchen, the calm nucleus in the chaos around him. She sniffed. What was that god-awful smell?
"Between Claire and Miss Montgomery, we'll have a feast," John proclaimed cheerfully. "Right, Claire?"
Claire worked her mourn from side to side, then relented with a little nod, and busied herself mining a chunk of oatmeal from the lump on her plate.
Jo recognized the retreat and said, "Claire, I brought chocolate milk."
The little girl's wide green eyes swam with tears behind the thick glasses, and she perused Jo thoughtfully. "No, thank you," she said quietly, then lifted her glass of green Kool-Aid to her mouth for a sip.
Without meaning to, she had undermined the girl's attempts to take care of her family. Jo tried not to analyze the troubled feelings Claire's dismissal aroused.
"Thank you, Miss Montgomery," John said with a grateful incline of his head. He reached to take the bag she held. "I'll pay you for the food."
"That's not necessary," she said hurriedly. It's the least I can do for the use of your kids. She felt a guilty blush crawl up her neck.
Jamie tore into the bag, sending packets of condiments flying. Within seconds, he was devouring a stack of pancakes, drenched in butter and syrup. Billy drank his fill of chocolate milk, disproving the claim of the spill-proof cup he used. Even Claire relented and nibbled on a biscuit. John made a big show of finishing his ball of oatmeal and most of the toast before rounding it out with some of the fast food.
Jo took in the happy, domestic scene at me circular pickled-oak table from the safe distance of the bar that separated the kitchen from the den. She leaned her hip against the counter and munched on a muffin, smiling. Breakfast with her father remained one of her happiest memories of growing up. Dressed in his navy blue policeman's uniform, he always looked so handsome and smelled so good. He'd let Jo wear his hat while he listened to her read the comics from the morning newspaper.
"Jo," John said, startling her out of her reverie. "Why don't you join us?" Hearing her name on his lips stirred something inside her, then panic rumbled in her stomach. She felt out of place in his home—she certainly didn't belong in the middle of it. She straightened. "Thanks, but I need to go back out to the car for some supplies so I can get started right away."
"I'll help!" Jamie offered, standing and sending his chair flying back. Syrup trailed off his chin.
"You, eat," John said pointedly. "I'll help Miss Montgomery." He wiped the syrup from his own chin and stood.
Already on her way out of the kitchen, Jo tried to wave him off. Despite her protests, he followed her, slipping on dark dress shoes at the door, then walking alongside her, close enough to scatter her nerve endings. What was wrong with her? After all, he was just a client.
Just a client who made her legs so weak she had to lean against the trunk of her car for support.
"Nice day," he observed.
She nodded her agreement as she lifted the lid, then proceeded to fill his arms with bulky catalogs.
"Uh, Jo."
"Yes?" she asked, surprised at the hesitant tone of his voice.
He looked extremely uncomfortable, and lifted his free hand to finger his loose collar. "This may be a bit premature, but...oh, what the heck! Would you have dinner with me this evening?"
Jo felt her face flush from an unexpected rush of pleasure. She looked into his expectant eyes, and found herself intrigued by the interest she saw there. The scraps of white tissue dotting his face gave him a boyish air, earthy and appealing. She opened her mouth to say yes, then she remembered Alan, and her heart dipped. "I'm very flattered, J-John," she said, stammering over his first name, "but I already have plans."

He looked disappointed, and nodded his understanding. "I see. And if I were to ask again, would you have plans that night, as well?"
Never before since she'd been dating Alan had she been tempted to see another man. John Sterling affected her in a way she couldn't describe, and for a split second, she desperately wanted to explore the chemistry between them. "I—"
"Daaaaa-deeeeeeee!" Jamie yelled from the front door. "Susan the witch is on the phone. She told me to come and get you."
One glance at the way he held the phone verified Susan had heard every word.
"Where on earth did he hear that?" John muttered, then more loudly, "Tell her I'll be right mere."
Jo swallowed guiltily. She'd have to watch her mouth around the three little Sterling sponges.
"About dinner—you were going to say...?" he prompted.
She took a deep breath. No doubt, John Sterling was a very tempting man, but Jamie was a timely reminder that John had little room in his life for a love interest, and she had no room in her life for a ready-made family. So why jeopardize her stable relationship with Alan over a lost cause?
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm involved with someone."
He eyed her thoughtfully for a few seconds, then to her amazement, he juggled his load, reached forward and lifted her left hand, his thumb closing over the knuckle on her bare third finger. "Either you're being untruthful," he said slowly, "or the man's an idiot." He dropped her hand, and walked back to the house.
His words bolted through her like an electrical connection searching for a ground. Jo remained rooted to the spot for a full minute, fighting to regain her composure. The vague thought surfaced that she should be angry with him for what he'd said, but she couldn't seem to conjure up any feeling except... Jo swallowed... lust?
She grabbed a few loose brochures, then reentered the house. John was just hanging up the phone. "Have you seen the entire house?" he asked. The awkwardness of the previous moment had vanished.
"Not all of it," Jo said, thankful to get back on business footing.
"How about a tour before I leave?"
She nodded agreeably, and grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil. John instructed the kids to finish eating, then turned to Jo with a smile and motioned for her to follow him. She did, trying not to focus on the athletic way he carried himself. He was a big man who was clearly comfortable with the space his body occupied.
John showed her the laundry room between the garage and the kitchen, then explained he'd like to make better use of the snack bar that separated the den from the kitchen. He also expressed his displeasure at the light fixtures in the stark, empty dining room.
"Do you still have furniture in storage?" Jo asked, assuming he owned a dining-room suite and den furniture she hadn't seen.
"No," he said. "My house in Atlanta was smaller man mis one, and I gave most of my furnishings to my in-laws before I moved to Savannah. Some of the pieces were heirlooms from Annie's family, and I wanted me furniture to be kept out of harm's way until me children are old enough to inherit it."
Annie. A tiny shock wave moved through Jo at me sound of his wife's name. Annie was a lovely name...Jo knew the woman must have been lovely, as well. Probably blond, based on Claire's and Billy's coloring. A woman with everything: a loving husband, three bright children. John looked at her, and Jo saw distant pain in his eyes. He must have seen me question in hers, because he said quietly, "My wife was killed in a car accident two years ago."
Jo analyzed his voice for longing, for desperation, but heard only acceptance. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her heart constricting. In the seconds that passed in silence, she felt as if they had taken a giant step toward...something. The sensation left her head spinning with possibilities.

He nodded wordlessly, then walked across the den, through a set of French doors and into a study. This room was almost fully furnished, and Jo nodded in approval at the clean lines of the heavy desk, chair and armoire. "I could use a couple more pieces in here, too," John noted. "Maybe a chair or two, and a table—whatever you think."
A sliding door revealed a wet bar, with another sliding door beyond leading to the formal living room, also vacant. Another set of French doors took them back into the entryway. John placed his hand on the banister and waited for Jo to join him before he began to climb the curving stairway to the second floor.
"I'm open to whatever ideas you have," John explained. "I don't have the time or the patience to coordinate the decorating myself, I just want the house to be comfortable for the kids."
They took a familiar left at the top of the stairs. The first room on the left was a guest room, empty and expansive. This room shared the large bathroom that led into the boys' room. If possible, their room was even more of a wreck than it had been the previous day. John shrugged his apologies. "I want new furniture in here, and as you can see, the sturdier, the better."
Claire's room was opposite the boys' room. Jo decided changes were necessary at the first glimpse of the dark-wood twin bed and matching dresser. Everything was in its place, painfully neat. "New furniture in here, too," he said, his face softening. "Something pretty for my little girl."
As they walked past the staircase to the other side of the house, Jo's heart began to pound. He was obviously taking her to the master-bedroom suite. He stopped at a closed door, his hand on the knob. "This is my room," he said, then pushed open the door.
The room was gorgeous, flanked by a deep bay window on the short end of the room, and another one on the adjacent wall. An elaborate trey ceiling contained two skylights. The pale carpet was thick and plush. Absurdly, the first question that entered Jo's mind was whether the large copper-colored wrought-iron bed was the one he'd shared with Annie. The worn comforter had been yanked up over the sheets hurriedly, the pillows were still squashed at odd angles. "Your bed looks new," she said before thinking. Then, to hide her burning cheeks, she bent her head to scribble furiously on the pad of paper she carried.
"It is new," he confirmed. "But, as you can see, I need new bed linens, curtains, everything. The only other furniture was a straight-back chair with a towel hanging over it, and a wooden dresser with wrought accents to match the bed. "A comfy chair would be great," he continued. "Along with a new mattress."
Jo chanced a glance at John's face and found him studying her. "A new mattress?" she parroted.
"Yeah," he said slowly, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "My back hurts when I get up. I think the mattress is too hard."
Jo swallowed and willed herself not to lick her trembling lips. "So you'd like something softer?"
He stood unmoving, his gaze locked with hers. "Something softer in my bed would be a definite improvement."
"Dad." Claire's voice startled Jo. She hadn't seen her walk into the room.
John obviously hadn't, either. He stood up straight. "What is it, honey?"
She frowned slightly, her eyes glancing back and forth from Jo to her father. "You're going to be late for work."
He turned his wrist to check his watch and nodded in agreement. "You're right, sweetheart. I'm almost through showing Jo around. Can you get my beeper from my desk drawer and put it by my briefcase?"
She nodded, casting one more wary glance toward Jo before leaving.
John cleared his throat. "Anyway, the mattress aside, I'm Worried I made a mistake buying the bed."
Puzzled, Jo asked, "Why?"

He folded his hands, a sheepish look on his face. "You don't think it's too...masculine? I mean, would a woman... uh..." He blushed furiously.
Understanding flooded through Jo. John Sterling intended to remarry someday and wanted the room to be a place where a woman could feel comfortable. "It's a beautiful bed," Jo hastened to assure him. "And I'm sure any woman would...uh...like it." Now it was her turn to blush.
He grinned. "I guess I'll have to take your word for that."
"Daddy?" Claire's voice echoed from downstairs.
"I'm coming," John called back. He hurriedly showed Jo the sitting room, huge bathroom and walk-in closet connected to his room, all equally bare, then they descended the stairs together. Jo tingled from his nearness and from their earlier banter in his bedroom. This man aroused feelings in her she didn't want to scrutinize.
The children stood by the door, queued for a goodbye kiss. Jo had the ridiculous urge to get in line. Instead, she averted her eyes during the noisy smooches. When she peeked, Claire was plucking the bits of tissue from her father's face as he stood patiently, bent at the waist.
"Jo," he asked, standing and turning toward her. "Are you sure you don't mind keeping an eye on the kids? I can take them to work with me for a few hours—I've done it before."
"No," she said, smiling brightly. "I need to get started here, anyway. And I have to dash out to a client not too far from here, but it's a day care, so the kids should be fine for a few minutes." Could he see that her heart was still jumping from their encounter? Or was it racing due to her planned act of deception with the Pattersons?
He shook his head and pulled on his suit jacket. "If you're sure."
"I'm sure."
"Okay, then I'll be back around twelve-thirty or so." He stooped to pick up his briefcase.
Jo carried a catalog to the cluttered kitchen table, anxious for this unsettling man to leave. She spied his black and mustard-colored silk tie under a wad of napkins.
"John," she said, reaching for the tie and holding it up.
He turned, eyebrows up.
"You forgot something."
He tapped his forehead lightly with the heel of his hand. "Thanks. I was having so much trouble with my button, I put the thing out of my mind."
Abandoning his briefcase, he walked toward her. He reached for the tie, then draped it over his shoulder. Jo watched while he struggled with the button at his shirt collar, stretching his neck like a rooster to gain a fraction of an inch more room to maneuver.
She smiled and crossed her arms, amused to watch an accomplished man reduced to such contortions.
He fumbled with the tiny button, the tip of his tongue protruding in his deep concentration. After several attempts, he conceded defeat. "Forget it," he said, shrugging. "My fingers are too big for these ridiculous tiny buttons."
"Let me," she offered, stepping forward with her hands raised. She stopped a half step in front of him, her hands in midair, embarrassment flooding her when she felt his proximity. Her heart thudded in her chest, her throat tightening like a vise, forcing her to swallow hard and audibly. His green eyes held hers bondage, pulling her toward him. "Th-that is, if you want me to," she stammered.
He hesitated until she began to lower her arms, then said, "I'd like that very much."
Slowly, Jo lifted her hands to his neck. John raised his chin but Jo could feel his gaze riveted on her. She focused on the troublesome button, fighting to rechannel her rampant emotions, to quiet her pounding pulse. Placing her trembling fingers on his collar, Jo was struck with the intimacy of such a simple act. She might have been his wife, helping him to dress in the last hectic seconds before they both kissed and rushed off to day care, and then to work.
Except the mood now was anything but hectic. Time seemed to slow, like cooling molasses, the intensity of the act stretching out each millisecond. As she tugged the ends of his collar together, her fingers brushed the warm, smooth skin of his neck. She was close enough to smell his woodsy aftershave and see a tiny patch of missed whiskers under his chin glistening red-gold in the light.
Jo carefully twisted the tiny button through the hole. She released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and chastised herself. Right now her brain could use all the oxygen her quivering lungs could deliver. "There," she squeaked, lightly patting the area beneath the button.
"Thanks." His voice vibrated warm and low, but he didn't move a muscle as he stared into her eyes, his lips parted ever so slightly.
Jo remained frozen, her hands glued to the front of his shirt. Suddenly, a faraway sound made its way into her brain. John must have heard it, too, because he turned his head the same time she did.
One hand hiding his mouth, Jamie shook with giggles. Claire stared, too, but Jo couldn't read her expression. Billy stared because the other two were staring.
Awestruck, Jamie asked, "Are you going to kiss her, Daddy?"

4
John took a half step back to escape Jo's nearness, instantly missing the weight and warmth of her hand on his chest. As if on cue, she too had retreated, leaving a safe cushion of five feet between them.
"Finish your breakfast, Jamie," John admonished in exasperation.
Jamie frowned. "I'm Peter," he grumbled, returning to the kitchen.
Looking back to Jo, John said, "I'm sorry about that." Her flaming cheeks brought a smile to his face. Not that she could be as embarrassed as he at that moment. He laughed nervously and lifted his hands. "Kids say the darnedest things."
Jo smiled, and looked around the room, finally settling her gaze on him again. "It's okay," she said, then turned to follow Jamie to the kitchen.
John slid his tie around his shirt collar and began to fashion a knot, then made the mistake of glancing up. At the sight of her receding backside, he yanked the tiny knot at his neck to a stranglehold, then fumbled several seconds for relief. I have to get out of this house. He stooped to pick up his briefcase. "Kids, remember," he said, using his best fatherly voice, "be good for Miss Montgomery, okay?"
His answer was a chorus of okays, Billy's coming a half beat behind Jamie's loud one and Claire's quiet one. He met Jo's eyes, and recognized a flash of panic. Had he spooked her with his desire to kiss her? He'd warned Jamie the previous night not to scare her off, yet he himself seemed to lose his head around her.

She gave him a shaky smile and nodded encouragingly for him to go. With one last glance at his motley crew and their temporary keeper, he left the house and walked to his car. He'd forgotten to stow it in the garage the night before, because his mind had been consumed by thoughts of Jo Montgomery.
Feeling slightly dazed, John let the car warm up for a few minutes, then backed out of his driveway and headed toward the interstate. Twenty-four hours ago he would never have envisioned the scene he left this morning. Jo Montgomery was a dream come true. Stunningly beautiful, intelligent, stunningly beautiful, his kids liked her, stunningly beautiful, unmarried. And to think she'd be spending lots of time at his home over the next... well, he'd have to think of a way to drag out this decorating project.
For the first time in two years, a feeling akin to pure happiness crept into his heart. She had a boyfriend, but she wasn't married yet. He felt certain he'd seen desire in her eyes more than once this morning. And if she could evoke such a powerful response from him helping him get dressed, she'd put him in another galaxy helping him get undressed.
She'd looked interested. And interesting. Life was good. He turned up the radio and sang along badly with the tune, daydreaming about Mrs. Jo Montgomery Sterling.
With a start, John realized he'd driven four miles past his exit. He frowned and banged his hand on the steering wheel. A large sign announced the next exit lay a half mile down the interstate, so he settled back in his leather seat. Suddenly, the engine light blinked and the car slowed. He maneuvered to the shoulder, pressing on the gas but receiving no response. He glanced at the gas gauge and cursed. Completely empty, much like his befuddled brain.
The steering wheel received a harder whack this time. Then he released the trunk latch, got out and locked his door, retrieved the well-used gasoline container and began walking toward the exit.
Oh, well, the walk would give him time to think of a way to get close to Jo Montgomery. He'd be an idiot to pass up this chance—even a fool could see she was a natural with kids.
"What the heck is 'time-out'?" Jo asked Claire, flinching at Billy's increasingly hysterical wails. He fell to the floor, his little body stiff with anger. Rolling side to side, he wallowed in the remains of a building-block high-rise which had been rendered to scattered debris with one sweep of Jamie's arm.
Claire sighed, rolling her eyes mightily as though Jo were as dense as a tree. "Time-out is when Daddy makes Jamie sit in a room by himself for a few minutes until he can control himself."
"Until who can control himself—your dad, or Jamie?"
"Jamie," Claire said, clearly trying to be patient.
"I'm Peter!" Jamie screeched, attempting to pull away from the firm hold Jo had on his shirttail.
"Anyway," Claire continued in a calm voice, "you should put him in time-out now for wrecking Billy's house."
"It was an accident," Jamie howled, straining to gain freedom.
"Good," Jo said. She reined him in a few inches and tipped his chin up with her cupped hand to force him to look at her. God, he was a carbon copy of his father. Every feature—from the shape of his eyebrows to the set of his stubborn little mouth—mirrored John's, only smaller and softer. Her heart tripped double time. "Since it was an accident, you'll sit down and rebuild it with Billy, okay?"
While Jamie turned over this option in his mind, Jo realized she couldn't make the boy do it, so what if he refused? Kids today baffled her. She'd seen plenty of preschoolers talk back to their parents, turning adults into quivering masses, pleading with their children to behave.
She bent down to his level, still holding his chin gently but firmly. "Okay, mister?"
Jamie worked his mouth, then gave her a lopsided frown. "Okay," he grumbled.
Jo smiled and nodded. "I knew I could count on you." She gave him a pat on the shoulder as he turned toward his quaking brother. Billy quieted and sat up when Jamie began sorting the blocks in preparation for construction. Within a couple of minutes, they were playing together quietly.
Claire poked at her glasses, her mouth set in a straight line. "Daddy would have put him in time-out."
Jo eyed her carefully. This one would not be won over easily. "Come on, I'll help you clean up your kitchen." She was careful to give ownership of the domain to the little girl.
"Mrs. Harris will be here in a few minutes—she always cleans it up."
"Then let's tidy it a bit," Jo cajoled. "I need the table to spread out my decorating books and I could use your help coming up with a color scheme for all the rooms."
Claire squinted while she thought it over. Then she looked at Jo and asked, "How much?"
Jo blinked. "How much what?"
"How much you gonna pay me?"
She should have seen that one coming. Jo pondered the question, crossing her arms and tapping a finger on her chin. "Does your dad pay you to do everything?"
"Uh-huh."
Just like a guilty parent, Jo decided. "Tell you what—I've got a set of Nancy Drew books I've had since I was your age. Fifty-four, I think, plus the cookbook. If you help me, they're yours."
Claire's eyes bulged. "Really?"
Jo smiled. The books were among her most prized possessions, but she and Alan didn't plan on having a family, and she'd probably never meet another girl who enjoyed reading as much as Claire obviously did. "Really."
The deal struck, Claire skipped to the kitchen and started gathering used napkins from the table. When the table had been cleared and the dishes loaded in the dishwasher, Jo spread her catalogs open on the smooth surface of the wooden table. "First, we decide on a color scheme for each room. Let's start with your room," Jo suggested, and Claire nodded eagerly. Pointing to a page covered with matching swatches of solid, striped and polka-dotted fabric, she smiled at the plain little girl and asked, "How about pink and white?"
This nod was enthusiastic enough to cause Claire's glasses to slip down to the tip of her nose. She poked them back in place, her eyes shining. Jo felt a funny little stir in her heart for this solemn little bookworm, denied the warmth and love of her mother at such an impressionable age.
For the first time, Jo scrutinized the girl's clothing, and her heart squeezed. While undoubtedly good quality, her clothes were dull and shapeless, unflattering to the child. She wore stiff little khaki pants and a button-up shirt that was too small for her. Her small feet were shod in ugly, sensible black shoes. Her father hadn't recognized that her fair coloring required bright accents. The child nearly disappeared in all that bland.
Jo looked back to the samples and carefully said, "Do you pick out your own clothes, Claire?"
Shaking her blond head, Claire replied, "No, mostly I just wear clothes I wore at our old school in Atlanta."
"Was it a private school?"
"Uh-huh."
Which explained the uniform quality of her outfit. "The spring semester starts here pretty soon, doesn't it?"
Claire nodded. "One week. We're going to a public school, though, so I don't have to dress like everyone else."
"Have you gone shopping for new clothes?"
She shook her head vigorously. "Aunt Cleo's coming over from Atlanta next Saturday to take me—she said it would be a day for just us women." She smiled timidly, and Jo nodded, satisfied the Sterling family had the situation under control. It had been foolish of her to think otherwise.
Heads together, they pored over the heavy sample books. They quickly chose shades of blue for the boys' bed and bam, then moved on to me guest room.
"Granny Watts would like the rose color," Claire asserted, pointing.
"Good choice," Jo responded, impressed. "Rose is a great color to lie down beside your pink room and the boys' blue one." She couldn't resist finding out more about John's relatives. "Tell me about your grandparents."
"There's just Granny and Grandpa Watts. They're my mom's parents and they live in Atlanta. Granny took care of us after Mom died, but then she got sick and we moved here." Her mouth drew down and she chewed on her lower lip. "We were too much trouble, I guess."
Jo wanted to hug her, but instead she swallowed and said, "I'm sure that's not true. People just get sick sometimes, that's all. I bet you miss them."
Claire nodded. "They were going to get us a dog."
"You'll be able to visit them," Jo said kindly, immensely sorry she'd raised the subject. "And thanks to your help, the house will look great when they come to see you." This coaxed a smile from Claire.
"Now for your dad's room." Jo's stomach squirmed annoyingly.
"Make it purple," Claire said, her confidence growing.
"Hmm." Jo pondered the color, then brightened in agreement. "Purple it is—that's the color for royalty, you know."
Claire beamed, and Jo decided the little girl was quite pretty when she was happy. With a slight pang, Jo wondered how often that was. "We'll throw in cream and black for accent colors," Jo added enthusiastically. "I'm sure your dad will like it." She paused and leaned toward Claire. "You're very good with colors."
Claire's eyes dipped, then she glanced back up at Jo beneath her lashes. "I like to paint." She poked at her glasses unnecessarily.
Delighted, Jo asked, "You like to paint pictures?"
She nodded. "My mom painted pretty pictures, but Daddy has mem all packed away."
Jo felt another tug for Claire's loss. Jamie's memory of his mother would be dim at best, and Billy would never know what he missed. But Claire remembered and still nursed the pain. Smiling, Jo reached forward to place her hand over the girl's small one. "Promise me you'll paint a picture someday for my office."
Claire brightened. "I promise."
They moved on to the rooms on the first floor and before long had selected taupe and white for the living room, brown and gold for John's study, and coral and gray for the den. All that remained was the kitchen, and Jo turned to a palette of beautiful clear greens. "Since the bar will allow both rooms to be seen at once, green in the kitchen will be a perfect complement to the den's coral," she said, patting her notepad in finality.
But Claire's face wrinkled into a dark frown. "Red."
"Red with coral?" Jo asked, perplexed.
"The kitchen has to be red, with strawberries," she said, crossing her arms resolutely. "It's what Mom always wanted."
Unknowingly, she'd hit an exposed nerve, but Jo knew when to back down. She glanced at her watch. "We'll have to leave a few loose ends. Right now, we need to get going." But almost another hour had passed by the time she herded up the boys, combed everyone's hair, tamed one red cowlick, washed two sticky faces and knelt on the floor to change one diaper.
Jo shook her head and clucked as she bent over the toddler sprawled patiently on the floor, naked from the waist down. "Billy, if you're old enough to get a diaper, bring it to me and ask for a change, you're plenty old enough to go to the potty."
Billy's eyes turned dark. "Bad potty," he said ominously.
She sat back on her heels and glanced around the room. "Where's Jamie?" she asked Claire.
Suddenly a car horn sounded in the driveway. Her car horn. Fear stabbed Jo's heart. "Oh my God, he can't be in my car!" She raced to the door, threw it open and tore down the steps, nearly tripping in her haste.
Jamie was not only sitting in the driver's seat, elevated by two thick catalogs, but he had the engine running, the windows down, the stereo blasting, and was sporting Jo's sunglasses. But by some miracle, the car hadn't moved from its spot in the driveway. She glanced at the busy street at the end of the driveway and shuddered at what could have happened. Some mother she would make, all right. No kid would last a month in her care.
"Can I drive, Jo?" Jamie asked excitedly, turning the steering wheel sharply left, then right.
Make that a week—she'd kill them with her own hands.
"Whoa, he really needs a time-out now," Claire breathed.
Jo was so scared and angry, she didn't trust herself to speak. Her hands were shaking and her heart thudded in her chest. Finally, her feet propelled her to the car, where she reached in and yanked the keys from the ignition.
"Hey!" Jamie said in a loud, cross voice.
"Don't you 'hey' me, young man," Jo said, her voice low and trembling. "Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in?"
His chin went up. "I wasn't afraid."
"Out of the car, right now!"
Jamie quickly obliged, his towel-cape swirling around him as he jerked to a halt before Jo, his green eyes wide.
Jo took a deep breath and knelt in front of the little boy, her hand on his shoulder. "If the car had gone out into the road, you could have been killed, Jamie." Her voice was shaking. "Do you know what that means?"
"Yeah," he said. "Like my mom was killed by a car."
Jo hesitated, then said, "That's right. And you know how sad your daddy was when that happened?"
He nodded solemnly. "Daddy cried."
Her heart was getting an aerobic workout this morning, she thought as it squeezed tighter. "I'm sure he did. But if something happened to you or Claire or Billy, your daddy would never stop crying. Do you understand?"
Jamie nodded, tears welling in his eyes. "Don't tell Daddy, okay, Jo?"
She sighed, then pulled the little boy to her for a hug.

"Okay, but if you ever do this again, I'm going to give you time-off for a jillion years, got it?"
He sniffed, then giggled against her neck. "It's time-out, Jo."
His small body melted into hers, his arms going around her neck like a vise. "Whatever," she mumbled, her insides turning over at his touch. When he loosened his grip, Jo glanced at her watch and gasped. "We're late!" She dashed back into the house to rustle up light jackets for everyone and to grab her purse from the hall table. Mrs. Harris was pulling in when she came out carrying Billy's car seat. The kids ran to the buxom gray-haired woman and received hugs and kisses in return. Jo introduced herself and chatted for a few minutes before hurrying the kids into the car. This time she instructed Jamie to sit up front, and put Billy in the back where Claire could tend to his needs if necessary.
Jamie turned around and stuck his tongue out at Claire. "I get to sit up front!"
"And Claire gets to on the way home," Jo interjected smoothly, sticking her tongue out at Jamie. In the back seat, Claire giggled.
Aside from stopping to make Jamie apologize for throwing a wad of bubblegum onto the windshield of the police car behind them, the trip to the day care was relatively uneventful.
A row of four-foot-tall red lockers lined the walls of the entryway for the day care, colorful coat sleeves hanging out here and there. A big-boned brunette woman dressed in chinos and a sweatshirt greeted Jo. She looked to be in her mid-forties. At first, she presented a wide smile to the group, then her eyes swept the children and the smile froze beneath her bulging eyes.
Jamie lifted his hand in a wave. "Hi ya, Cap'n Hook."
Already nervous, Jo's stomach dived and her eyes darted to his impish grin. "Jamie, do you know this nice lady?"
"He should," the woman said sourly. "He did everything short of cutting off my hand the week he was here." She looked at Jo, then straightened, as if suddenly remembering her place. "I'm Carolyn Hook," she said, "the director here at KidScape. As I explained to Mr. Sterling and to his last nanny, the boys are too disruptive to attend our day care." She smiled tightly and angled her head in a sympathetic gesture. "I'm sure you understand, Ms...."
"Jo Montgomery." Jo extended her hand, fighting a frown. Some bedside manner for a day-care director. She didn't love kids herself, but at least she hadn't made it her career. "But I'm not Mr. Sterling's nanny." She paused for a few seconds to let the woman ponder her role in the Sterling household. "My design firm is going to bid on redecorating all the area KidScape day cares. Mr. and Mrs. Patterson said it would be all right if I stopped by to have a look around." She hesitated, but the woman's bearing bit into her, so she delivered the kicker. "And they asked me to bring the children along for feedback on how things are run." A smile tickled her mouth as she watched realization dawn in the woman's eyes.
"I beg your pardon, I had no idea Mr. Sterling had gotten mar—I mean..."
Say nothing that can't be explained away later, Jo reminded herself. She donned a tolerant smile and bent to set Billy on his feet, then took his hand firmly in hers. "I'm still getting used to the children myself, Ms. Hook."
Cap'n Hook straightened and for a moment Jo thought the woman might salute. "Right this way, Ms. Montgomery. Mrs. Patterson is in the storytelling room."
Melissa Patterson sat on a tiny stool, reading aloud from a bright storybook to a group of preschoolers on the floor. She winked at them, then wound up the story with a flourish, and the children clapped their hands. Rising from her stool, she smiled and addressed Jo. "I'm so glad you brought the children," she said, then bent over and patted Jamie's arm. "You'll like it here."
"No, I won't," he said simply. Jo winced.
Mrs. Patterson recoiled in surprise and said, "But you just arrived."

"Me and my brother and sister were here for a while when we first moved here," he explained in a bored voice.
"Why did you leave?" she asked, concern on her face.
Jamie jerked his thumb toward Carolyn Hook. "Ask Cap'n Hook."
"Urn, Mrs. Patterson," the woman began nervously.
"Yes, Carolyn?"
"These are the Sterling children," she said politely, but distinctly.
"The Sterling children?" Melissa Patterson looked confused.
"Remember?" Cap'n Hook asked, her eyes wide with meaning. "The flood in the boys' bathroom? The huge insurance claim?"
Mrs. Patterson's eyebrows went up. "Ohhhhh, you mean..." She pointed to Jamie, and Cap'n Hook nodded.
Great, Jo thought. I'm playing stepmother to impress these people and I pick the kid who nearly destroyed their day care. Jo sighed. "Jamie, why would you do such a thing?"
"Because," he said, shrugging, "it's boring here. All they do is tell stories."
But before Jo could apologize, Mrs. Patterson raised her hand. The woman clasped Jamie's hand and asked, "Would you come with me and tell me the kinds of things you'd like to do at day care?"
Jo allowed herself a small smile at Jamie's accidental coup.
An hour later, Melissa Patterson followed Jo out to the car. Once the children were inside with seat belts fastened, she said, "I would appreciate it if you would incorporate some of your stepson's ideas into the design bid—a multimedia room, a stage, a nature room—all of them. He's a very creative boy...and that Peter Pan act is adorable."
Guilt tugged at Jo's heart as she looked in the car at the children. "They're all special," she agreed.
"I didn't realize you'd married John Sterling," the woman said, startling Jo. "I assume you still go by your maiden name?"

Jo nodded numbly, then, very near panic, asked, "Do you know John?"
"I spoke with him once over the phone about the flood incident, and he was a wonderfully gracious man." She pursed her lips and frowned slightly in recollection. "In fact, I would have allowed the boy to come back, but poor Carolyn said she couldn't take it, and I couldn't afford to lose her." She smiled apologetically, then brightened. "I'll have a talk with her and see if we can work out something."
"That would be very helpful," Jo said, smiling gratefully. "Mr. Ster—I mean, John a-and I—" she felt heat suffusing her cheeks "—would appreciate taking the kids to a place we feel good about, at least for the next few days until school starts again. After that, it'll just be Billy."
"Consider it done," Mrs. Patterson assured her in a professional tone, then changed the subject with an inquisitive tilt of her head. "Your husband just moved here from Atlanta and took over as head architect for Wilson Brothers, didn't he?"
Jo's mind raced, then she remembered the firm name from his business card. "Yes, that's right."
"Whirlwind courtship?"
Jo laughed nervously. "You could say that."
Mrs. Patterson's eyes narrowed slightly. "He must be a very persuasive man."
"I picked up lunch on the way home," John said, holding the basket high. "It's such a warm day, I thought we'd go to Forsythe Park and have a picnic."
Jamie and Claire cheered, and Billy chimed in.
"Jo, too, Daddy?" Jamie asked, his eyes shining.
John turned his gaze on Jo. "I hope so."
Jo tingled under his stare. She was still reeling from her morning of pretending to be Mrs. John Sterling, mother of three. The merry slant of his eyes tempted her. She could think of worse ways to while away the afternoon than sharing a sunny picnic with John Sterling. But her anticipation scared her. Two days ago she didn't even know the Sterlings—in an alarmingly short time, she'd become tangled in their lives. "I really can't," she said. "I need to get my notes together so we can talk about the contract."
"There'll be plenty of time to talk at the park," John said.
A very persuasive man.
"Please, Jo?" Jamie hugged her waist and pulled at her hands, his eyes soft and expectant.
"Well..." She wavered and her stomach growled audibly.
John must have heard it. "Fried chicken," he prompted, angling his head and lifting one side of the basket to allow a wonderful spicy aroma to escape.
What could it hurt? she wondered, other than her cholesterol count. It would give her a chance to review her notes with him. Alan would understand—it was strictly business. It had nothing to do with the fact she found John breathtaking in jeans and a pale blue sweatshirt. And how intimate could it be with three children along?
"Maybe just for a little while," she agreed softly, but added, "I'll drive my car in case I need to leave early."
Jamie and Billy clapped their hands. Claire looked at Jo, her tiny green eyes neither friendly nor adversarial, just questioning. For an instant, Jo wondered how much the girl might have picked up on this morning at the day-care center. "Want to ride with me, Claire, and keep me company?"
The little girl nodded listlessly, and everyone piled into the cars. When they were under way, Claire remained quiet, sitting forward in her seat, engrossed in the passing landscape. At last, she seemed to relax, and settled back in her seat.
"Were you smart in school?" Claire asked, fingering a loose thread on the seam of her pants.
Surprised by this odd, lone question, Jo nodded cautiously. "I guess so."
"Did you wear glasses?"
Jo smiled. "As a matter of fact, I did. I switched to contact lenses when I started high school."
Claire pondered this bit of information for a few seconds.

"Did you have a boyfriend before you...you know—" she stabbed at her glasses "—started high school?"
Another heart tug. These kids had a knack for causing tugs. Apparently, Claire had heard the old "boys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses" saying. Jo fastened her teeth on her lower lip. But nine years old was a little young to be interested in boys...wasn't it? She glanced at Claire's troubled eyes. "Well," she began, keenly aware of the girl's fragile confidence, "David Knickerbocker followed me around trying to carry my books, so I guess you could call him my boyfriend."
Claire giggled, a tinkling sound. "Was that his real name?"
Jo nodded, grinning. "He was shorter than I was and his ears were as big as dinner plates."
They both laughed, then Claire asked, "What happened to him?"
"I gave him a black eye in the sixth grade on the playground and he didn't talk to me again until we were sixteen. By that time he'd grown into his ears and was very, very cute."
Riveted, Claire murmured, "What did he say when he talked to you again?"
Jo leaned toward her conspiratorially, "He said he thought I was prettier wearing my glasses, but he asked me to the sweetheart dance anyway."
Claire looked hopeful. "Really?"
"Really," she said, and Jo looked back to the road.
She poked at her glasses. "Is he still your boyfriend?"
Jo hesitated when she thought of Alan. "Uh, no, I have a different boyfriend now."
"Are you going to get married and have babies?"
Squirming, she reached to fiddle with the radio knob and tried to tamp down her irritation. It wasn't Claire's fault that her father was causing her feelings for Alan to short-circuit. And to think she was having dinner with him tonight after spending the afternoon with John. "Alan hasn't asked me to marry him yet."

Claire tipped her head back and looked up at Jo. "But what if he does?"
"Then I'll...I'll give him an answer." Relief flooded through her when she spied their turn. "Oh, look, here we are.
From the parking lot, Jo saw colorful blankets dotting the green expanse of sunny lawn of Forsythe Park. Other couples and families were already enjoying the break in the January weather. She retrieved a Frisbee from the trunk of her car, along with a jacket and ball cap for herself. Predictably, Jamie wanted to know why she had the Frisbee. "I bring my dog, Victor, here all the time to play catch," she said. The children froze.
"You have a dog?" Jamie asked, his eyes huge.
"A real dog?" Claire asked.
"Puppy?" Billy piped in.
"Oh, no," John groaned. "They've been after me for months now to get them a dog."
"What kind is he?"
"Is it a boy or a girl?"
"Puppy?"
Jo laughed and described her collie. "He's kind of old," she said. "I've had him since I was little, but he's still pretty spunky."
"Can we see him?"
"Does he do tricks?"
"Puppy?"
She looked at them and burst out laughing.  "The next time we come to the park, I'll bring Victor, okay? Meanwhile, you can play with his Frisbee, if your dad says it's okay."
John nodded. "For a few minutes while we get the picnic out. Don't go far," he warned. Jo handed the orange toy to Claire and watched them scamper off to an empty strip of grass and begin flipping it back and forth.
"I give them five minutes before at least one of them is crying," John said, spreading the blanket he'd brought on a smooth patch of grass.

"Maybe six," Jo said, biting back a smile.
It was a glorious day, a southern breeze whispering through the limbs of the nearly naked trees on the park's perimeter. In the distance, behind the fountain, a game of touch football was under way. They were only a few miles from the ocean, so the air smelled and tasted vaguely of salt.
John knelt on a corner of the blanket and opened the basket. He lifted out container after container of great-smelling food from Houchin's Deli.
Jo inhaled and groaned appreciably, sinking to her knees a few feet away from him. "I see you've found the best deli in our fair city."
He turned his face toward her and smiled faintly, rocking back on his heels and resting his big hands on his thighs. He studied her until she became fidgety, then his grin widened. "I seem to have found all the best the city has to offer in a relatively short time."
The tingle started in her ears, quickly enveloped her head, zigged through her torso, then zagged out to her extremities. Her pinkies had grown quite numb. She shouldn't be surprised, she chided herself. He'd made it clear this morning he was interested when he'd asked her to dinner. She knew she shouldn't indulge this flirtation...but she'd come along on the picnic anyway. What did that say about her?
John cleared his throat and bent forward to remove the lids from the containers. "Well," he said, his voice animated, "how were the kids this morning?"
"Not bad," Jo said uneasily, trying to put Jamie's near-driving incident out of her mind. "Claire has her heart set on a strawberry-red kitchen." She reached into the basket, carefully dodging his hands and forearms to withdraw a vinyl tablecloth and silverware.
John's mouth tightened. "Annie always talked about a strawberry-red kitchen."
"I heard," Jo said sympathetically. "I can make some modifications if that's what you want."
He shook his head and gave her a wry smile. "I don't think that would be a good idea. I'll talk to Claire," he promised. "It's really been tough on her, first losing Annie, then moving away from her grandmother."
"I can only imagine."
"She needs a woman around the house," he continued, then shrugged and smiled, glancing over at her. "I guess we all do."
Her pulse quickened at his forthright implication. "I'm sure you'll remarry someday," she said softly.
He studied his children at play for a few seconds, and Jo turned, too. For once, they were all playing together and laughter abounded as the Frisbee bounced along the ground.
"Yes," he said confidently. "I'm sure I'll remarry. I owe them that much."
Jo swallowed audibly. How had they gotten onto such an intimate subject when all she'd mentioned was the kitchen decor? "Well," she said, withdrawing her notebook, "Claire was a big help. We did get a lot accomplished this morning. Were you busy at me office?" Instantly, she bit her tongue at the wifely question.
"Swamped," he said quickly, but for some reason couldn't meet her eye. She suspected he, too, was caught by the domesticity of her simple question.
Hurriedly she reviewed the color schemes she'd chosen and talked about one or two pieces of furniture she envisioned for each room, just to get a feel for his tastes.
"I'll leave it all up to you," he said, raising his hands in acquiescence.
"That could be expensive," she told him, laughing.
"I trust you to do a good job and to give me value for my money," he said. "If it suits your taste, then I'm sure it will suit mine."
She averted her eyes from his clear green ones. "I'll work up the design on my computer this weekend. Can you come by on Wednesday to take a look at it?"
He nodded. "I'd be glad to."

Jo snapped her fingers in recollection. "Do you have a sitter lined up for next week?"
His face collapsed into a worried frown. "No."
"I talked to the director at KidScape on Morrow Road this morning—that was the errand I had to run." She swallowed her guilt, and brushed at a fluff of blanket fuzz on her sleeve. "The director said she'd be willing to take them for the week until school resumes, and Billy after that."
John's head came up and he straightened. "Really?"
Jo grinned. "You sound like your kids."
He was visibly relieved. "I can't thank you enough. That's one huge load off my mind."
"No problem," she said.
He looked at her, and she blinked under the intensity of his stare. The wind ruffled his hair, lifting it and tossing it over to one side. He studied her mouth intently. Involuntarily, her lips parted and she moistened their dryness with the tip of her tongue. John leaned forward, his face stopping scant inches from her face, inviting her. As if drawn to him by some invisible force, Jo leaned toward him, her mouth suddenly parched. She stared into his eyes, narrowed and dark with desire. The bill from her cap shadowed his nose. She could feel his breath on her lips, she could see the gilded tips of his eyelashes.
Suddenly the Frisbee bounced off John's forehead. She heard Jamie giggle and ask, "Are you gonna kiss her, Daddy?"

5
"How about a welcome-home kiss?" Alan asked, lowering his mouth to hers.
For a split second, Jo didn't respond while his lips moved soft and familiar upon hers. She couldn't help thinking that John's two near misses had evoked more passion in her. She recovered, though, and kissed him back hard, trying to conjure up a stab of desire.
At her intensity, Alan's eyes widened. He lifted his head and leaned back to give her an appraising look, chuckling. "I guess I was gone longer than I realized."
Jo smiled, feeling sheepish. "Ten whole days."
"I asked you to go with me to Atlanta," he reminded her, his tone faintly shaded with annoyance.
"I know," she said quickly. "But I've been working. Yesterday I picked up a big residential account, and the Pattersons agreed to let me bid on the KidScape account, as well."
He gave her arm a squeeze and angled his blond head indulgently. "Sounds like yesterday was an eventful day."
An understatement of gigantic proportions. She nodded shakily. "You might say that."
Suddenly, he squinted at her, and reached up to smooth a thumb over her cheek. "If you've been working so hard, how did you get the sunburn?" he asked in a teasing voice.
Jo swallowed. "I, uh...that is, I sat outside with a client to review preliminary ideas." It was sort of the truth.
"Did it happen to be a man with a white goatee?"
Jo frowned, puzzled.
"You smell like fried chicken."

Her mind raced, then she forced herself to relax. "We had a box lunch while we went over the prep work." It was sort of the truth.
"This would be your new residential project?" he asked, not probing, but out of courtesy, Jo felt.
She nodded, adopting what she hoped was a convincing smile.
"Anyone I know?" He dropped his hands to her waist, and leaned against the back of the couch.
"N-no," she assured him. "The man is an architect from Atlanta. New in town."
He nodded pleasantly. "What's his name?"
"John. John Sterling," she said, nodding with him. "K-kids," she stammered, lifting her hand in an awkward wave. "He has lots of kids."
Alan pulled a comical face. "A repeat of the Tyndale fiasco, huh?"
"Well, they're not that bad, I guess," she said, frowning slightly. "But it's a lively place, that's for sure." She was still nodding. "It took longer than I expected—th-that's why I'm running a little late." She glanced at his impeccably creased slacks and collarless dress shirt, then down at her grease-stained tunic and leggings. "Just give me a few minutes to change."
Alan looked at his watch. "Sure, but we need to hurry."
Jo gave him a tight smile and made a hasty exit to her bedroom. She closed the door behind her and leaned heavily against it, sighing in exasperation. Normally she wouldn't mind Alan letting himself in to wait, but for some reason anger had flared through her when she'd pulled into the driveway and spotted his Mercedes. Of course, being annoyed with Alan was completely unreasonable considering she'd been late because she was having such a good time with another man.
Victor roused, lifting his head from the rug to greet her with a nose twitch.
"Oh, Vic," she whispered, stepping forward and sinking to her knees to ruffle his silky ears. "I've been a very bad girl."

His groan sounded comforting, his brown eyes moist and sympathetic.
"There's this guy who has three kids—don't look at me like that, I realize I'm nowhere near mom material, but this guy is so...I don't know how to explain what happens to me when he's around."
Victor blinked and yawned.
She laughed wryly. "Okay, I get the hint." Jo rose and walked over to the mirror and leaned in close. With a small amount of relief she noted the absence of a forehead banner reading, Alan, Your Girlfriend Has The Hots For Another Man. Yet she was terrified her body language might somehow betray her before the night ended.
Jo stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, then inspected her closet with a thoughtful eye. At last, she withdrew a snug-fitting full-skirted yellow dress and navy high heels. She was in and out of the shower in two minutes, dressed in another two, dusted on powder to tone down her picnic glow, then slicked a layer of bright color on her lips. Bending forward, she brushed her hair upside down, then swung back up and fluffed the layers with her fingers.
The low whistle Alan emitted when she walked into the living room was gratifying. He drew her into his arms for a brief turn around the living-room floor to imaginary music. She fought to banish the stiffness from her body—Alan didn't deserve to have his evening ruined just because she was feeling out of sorts.
"You look wonderful," he said, wagging his light eyebrows. "If I didn't trust you so much, I'd be afraid someone might snatch you up while I'm traveling."
Jo forced a laugh to join his, then spun around to retrieve her purse. "Ready?" She maintained a tight smile while she slipped her arms into the coat he held for her.
"You know, Jo," Alan murmured as they walked to his silver roadster. "I could stay over tonight"
She shivered involuntarily.

"Chilly?" He held open the passenger door of the two-seater.
"A little," she said, lying.
He frowned. "It's still so warm, I was hoping we could leave the top down."
"By all means," she said hurriedly, smiling wide. "I'm not that cold, after all."
Alan looked perplexed, but hopeful, as he shut her door. "Are you sure?"
She gave him a big nod, still smiling. "Absolutely." There goes my hairdo. She opened the glove compartment to pull out the scarf she kept inside and instead withdrew a long black satiny glove.
When he swung into his seat, he glanced over at the glove dangling from her raised fingers and shrugged good-naturedly. "Lower your eyebrows—it's Pamela's. She left it in here after the Chef's Gala last month." He inserted the key, turned over the ignition, then waited until her seat belt was fastened and her scarf tied in place before shifting into gear.
"Did she call you?" Jo asked as they turned out of her neighborhood.
"She called," he confirmed, giving her a lopsided grin. "I'm just a tux for hire. Don't you want to do something together tomorrow night?"
"Actually, the Pattersons want to see my presentation Monday afternoon, so that'll give me a chance to work on it tomorrow evening. Go—I don't mind at all."
"If you're sure...Pam said Daniel Gates will be there and I've been trying to wangle a meeting with him for months to talk about replacing his mainframe computers."
"Then you should definitely go." For a moment, Jo studied Alan's perfect profile in pure appreciation. There was no denying he was a very handsome man, with Ken-doll good looks and an enviable wardrobe. And very charismatic. His blue eyes sparkled behind tiny wire-rimmed frames, and his blond hair was cut in a trendy, precision style. He was almost as beautiful as Pamela. They probably attracted every eye in the room when they went places together. Her mother had been incredulous when Jo mentioned that Alan often escorted Pamela to special events. "Are you mad?" she'd demanded. "The woman's a man-eater."
Jo had laughed then and chuckled now. There were no two people on this planet less compatible than Alan, the uptight obsessive-compulsive, and Pamela, the ditzy nymphomaniac. Alan had made it clear what kind of woman he was looking for. career-minded, poised, successful and above reproach— not to mention willing to share a childless marriage. Jo had always felt fortunate that she fit the bill and shared many of Alan's goals—she'd never relished the thought of trying to juggle a career and family.
John Sterling and his half-pint gang galloped into her mind. T-R-O-U-B-L-E. Trouble she did not want or need. She pushed them from her thoughts, then reached over to cover Alan's hand with hers. He lifted her hand to his mouth for a kiss, and grinned. She laughed and nodded to herself in affirmation. Alan was one of the most eligible bachelors from one of the finest families in the old coastal town. Thousands of women would trade places with her in the blink of an eye. She was a very lucky woman.
It was sort of the truth.
"But Mom wanted a red kitchen with strawberries," Claire whined, her voice and chin trembling.
John sighed and nodded. He lowered himself to sit on her narrow bed and wrapped an arm around her shoulder to draw her close. "I know she did, sweetheart, but Mom's not here anymore, and I don't think it would be such a good idea."
Claire stared at her hands. "Would it make you sad?"
"Probably," he admitted.
"Her furniture and paintings made you sad, didn't they?"
His chest squeezed. Either he'd been wearing his heart on his sleeve, or his nine-year-old was more perceptive than he'd imagined. "Yes, sweetie, they did make me sad."

"Do you want to forget her?" Claire whispered, her voice barely audible.
John's throat clogged with emotion, but he swallowed heavily. His and Annie's personal relationship had had its pitfalls, but she was an impeccable mother, and he'd loved her. "I could never forget her."
She placed her small hand in his. "I don't want to, either, but sometimes I can't remember her face and that scares me."
He tipped her chin up and kissed her on the nose. "All you have to do is look in the mirror, sweetie, because you look just like her."
At last, a tiny smile appeared. "Mommy was pretty, wasn't she, Daddy?"
"Very pretty."
"Do you think I'm pretty?"
He pulled her into his lap and tickled her. "I think you're Miss America."
She giggled. "You're funny, Daddy."
"Claire," he said gently, studying her fair face, "wouldn't you like to have a new mother someday?" She stiffened, her eyes wide, and John held his breath.
"Who?" she asked, a slight note of accusation in her voice.
"No one," he said quickly, keeping his tone light. "I mean, no one yet. But I need to know how you feel about having another woman in the house, just in case."
Her green eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Jo already has a boyfriend—she told me today they're gonna get married."
The air left his lungs as if he'd been kicked. Was Jo that seriously involved?. "I wasn't talking about Jo," he insisted.
"Then why did you almost kiss her?" Claire asked, struggling to get up.
John let her go. "I didn't kiss her."
"You would've if Jamie hadn't butted in," she said, and pouted, arms crossed.
"Maybe," John admitted. "But I didn't know she had a serious boyfriend, and now I do." He leaned toward her, softening. "Don't you like Jo, Claire? I know she likes you."
She mulled over his question, hugging herself and working her mouth. "I guess she's okay. She said she'd give me her Nancy Drew books for helping her with decorating the house."
He felt a little relieved. "That's great. How about let's go downstairs and watch television with the boys? That is—" he grinned at her "—if they haven't killed each other by now."
She grinned, too, and took his hand as they left the room.
"Dad!" Jamie yelled from the bar as they walked into the den. "Billy drank two whole cups of cola!"
John nearly staggered with the knowledge of the effect the caffeine and sugar would have on his already active toddler. He'd be bouncing off the walls. "He's not supposed to be drinking it this late."
"I know," Jamie said in. a grave tone that announced he was really gleefully waiting for John to pronounce Billy's punishment.
Billy looked up from his seat on the floor, his chin stained dark from the sweet drink. "I drink pop," he said, holding up the cup for John's inspection.
John pressed his lips together, trying to hide his frustration. "Jamie, how did he pour soda into that little cup from that great big bottle?"
Jamie didn't hesitate. "He's too little, so I had to help him."
"I see. Well, I'll let you clean up this mess while Billy and I visit the potty."
Billy's eyes widened. "Bad potty."
But John didn't give in to his toddler's resistance this time. When Billy succumbed to tears, John scooped him up, talking to him in a low voice, but heading to the downstairs bathroom off the foyer.
John set Billy on his feet just inside the closed bathroom door and squatted to talk to him. "Billy, don't you want to be a big boy?"

Billy nodded, sniffling through his tears, but calming.
"Then you have to learn to pee-pee like a big boy."
"Daddy a big boy?"
"Uh-huh."
"Jamie a big boy?"
"Uh-huh."
"Billy a big boy?"
John pointed to his son's diaper. "Big boys don't wear diapers. Big boys pee-pee in the potty."
Billy's lower lip protruded and the tears welled again. "Billy want to be big boy."
John sighed in relief. "Good. If you learn to use the potty, we'll throw away the diapers and then you'll be a big boy, okay?"
"Okay," he agreed happily.
"Okay, so here we go." John took him by the hand and led him toward the commode and the bright red and blue potty-chair sitting next to it. They'd gone less than a step when Billy froze and began to howl, yanked his hand loose and ran back to press his face against the door.
"Bad potty," he cried. "Monster get Billy."
"No," John said soothingly. "Good potty. Watch Daddy." As John unzipped his pants, he smiled over the age-old father-son lesson. "See," he said patiently. "Daddy's a big boy."
"Mean, monster potty," Billy insisted, grabbing at the doorknob to escape.
Exasperated, John zipped up, then declared, "I know you have to go after all that cola. Come over here and stand by Daddy."
Billy shook his head wildly. "Billy no be big boy."
He strode to his son and lifted him, but Billy stiffened and shrieked hysterically when they neared the commode. Finally, John relented and carried him out of the bathroom. They were both exhausted.
"Claire, why is Billy so scared of that darn potty-chair?"
She looked up at him from her cross-legged position in front of the television and shrugged her thin shoulders. "He's difficult."
John's prediction about the combination of caffeine and sugar on his youngest son proved to be hair-raisingly correct. After an hour of chasing, catching and reprimanding, John wearily dropped onto a bright green beanbag chair and watched little Styrofoam balls pop out of the splitting seams. "We need furniture," he said to the ceiling. A paper airplane sailed over, scant inches from his nose. He blinked, but remained otherwise motionless. Children were like an anesthetic, numbing a parent's normal reflexes.
"What are those. Daddy?" Claire asked, pointing to the television.
John lifted his head and glanced at the screen, then froze. A perky brunette was extolling the virtues of a new and improved tampon design. He watched as the device expanded impressively when dipped into blue water. All moisture left his mouth.
By his estimation, it would be at least two, maybe three years before Claire would begin her cycle. Isn't that what Annie had told him once? Oh, God, help me. He cleared his throat. "That's a...thing, yeah, a thing that...women use...in the bathroom...when they're, uh...old enough to...have a baby." Not bad.
"Oh," was her only comment. The commercial had ended, and she turned her attention back to the teenage situation comedy she'd been watching.
He lay his head back and mentally patted himself on the back for handling the matter so smoothly. But he'd call his sister, Cleo, tomorrow and ask her to talk to Claire when they went shopping next weekend, let her know what she could expect to happen over the next few years. His gut tightened at the thought of his little girl maturing, and boys buzzing around her like little bees with big stingers. He groaned and pushed the tormenting thoughts from his mind. He had enough to worry about in the present without heaping on future problems.

His thoughts skipped around, searching for a more pleasurable resting place, and settled on Jo Montgomery. Despite his insistence to Claire that he wasn't entertaining thoughts of marrying Jo, he had to admit the idea of wedding and bedding a gorgeous woman who liked his kids held more appeal with each passing millisecond. Smiling, he absorbed her image fully into his mind, remembering their close encounters of the day. If he had kissed her, would she have kissed him back? He puckered involuntarily. Those velvety dark brown eyes, that wonderful dimple, that luxurious mouth.
Which was probably kissing another man right now.
John frowned. His dream woman was most likely sharing a romantic dinner with her boyfriend, discussing plans for having their own family someday soon.
"No kids," Alan told the maitre d'. "Smoking is fine, but no kids."
The balding tuxedoed man nodded quickly and consulted his seating chart. He frowned in concentration, then gave the hostess a table number. "Right this way, sir."
Jo squashed a twinge of annoyance at Alan's words as they were led to a table partially hidden by miniature palms and giant ferns. She, too, had had more than one good meal disturbed by rowdy children. She just wished he wouldn't announce his disdain for kids quite so often and so publicly.
Alan looked around the table suspiciously, pulled out Jo's seat for her, then took his own.
"Don't you want to check under the tablecloth?" Jo asked, her voice slightly sarcastic.
Alan grinned, then reached to cover her hand with his. "I don't want anything or anyone to spoil our dinner."
"Tell me about Atlanta," she said, opening the menu. While he talked about his business in the city, Jo forced herself to concentrate on his words. John's face kept appearing in her mind and she couldn't seem to find anything on the pricey menu that looked as good as fried chicken from Houchin's Deli. A waiter appeared and took their wine and food order, then left them alone. Jo realized she had never felt so uncomfortable around Alan—and hoped he wouldn't notice.
"Is everything all right?" he asked, leaning forward.
"Oh, sure," she said, conjuring up a smile. "I guess I'm just preoccupied with the Patterson account."
"Baby-sitting, isn't it?"
"Day cares," she corrected. "Twenty-one day cares."  "I can't believe there's so much demand for that kind of service," Alan said, shaking his head. "Why do people have children if they're not willing to raise them?"  The waiter arrived with the wine, so Jo bit back her retort. As the pale liquid splashed into their glasses, she gathered her thoughts, but saved her reply until the man had moved out of earshot.
"Some people have to work, Alan," she said tightly, lifting her glass to take a sip. "So they have to place their children in day-care centers." The wine tasted sharp and slightly bitter.
"If it takes both parents working to make a living, then they shouldn't have children," he said matter-of-factly.   "What about single parents?" she pressed.
He took a long drink, then held up his half-empty glass to inspect the wine, nodding in satisfaction. "With both people working and kids to deal with, too, no wonder the divorce rate is so high."
 Jo felt her ire rising by the second. "What if one of the parents has passed away and the survivor has no choice but to work to feed his children?"  "This is starting to sound personal."  Jo shrugged and looked away.
"This new client of yours—Mr. Extra Crispy—is he by chance a widower?"
Her pulse vaulted, but she tried to sound nonchalant. "As a matter of fact, he is."
His expression softened and he nodded congenially. "And you feel sorry for him. That's understandable." He stroked the back of her hand, smiling. "I'm just glad we'll never have to worry about it."

Toying with the hem of her linen napkin, Jo spoke quietly. "Alan, just because we don't want to be parents doesn't mean you should hold it against other people who do."
He propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward in a conciliatory manner. "You're absolutely right—if other people want rug rats underfoot, it's nothing to me, right? Just as long as they don't insist on bringing their monsters to nice restaurants."
As if on cue, something flew through the wall of ferns and smacked Alan on the temple. In disbelief, he watched a buttered dinner roll bounce onto their table and stop beside the silver candlestick holder. A woman's big blond head appeared immediately through the same opening. She smiled apologetically, her eyes shining.
"I'm so sorry, sir. Preston got carried away and threw his bread." She poked an arm through the foliage and swiped a napkin at the trail of butter on Alan's head, then grabbed the roll and disappeared with a smile.
Alan clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes dangerously in the direction of the ferns. "Of all the—"
The reappearance of the woman's head cut him off.
"Tell the man you're sorry, Preston," she said in a pleading voice. She held a small boy horizontal by his waist and thrust him into Alan's face.
"No!" the boy yelled, and stuck his tongue out, nearly licking Alan's nose.
"Say it," his mother cajoled. "Say you're sorry and Mommy will buy you a toy on the way home."
"I sorry," the little boy snarled.
"There," his mother said brightly. "He's such a good boy." And they promptly disappeared again.
Jo maintained the silence for a full minute as she watched Alan slowly wipe the remains of the greasy mess from his cheek with shaking hands. "That," he said with venom in his voice, "is a prime example of a parent who doesn't know the merits of discipline. Imagine, that child will be operating a vehicle one of these days."

She tried to keep her eyes down, but her shaking shoulders must have given her away.
"Josephine," he said in a shocked voice. "This is not funny."
"I'm s-sorry, Alan," she said, fighting to keep down the giggles. "But if you could have seen the look on your face—" She erupted into laughter, holding her napkin over her mouth to muffle the sound.
"Oh, and what kind of message are we sending these pint-size terrors when we laugh at their antics?"
Dabbing at her eyes, Jo said, "Lighten up, Alan, he's just a little kid." A movement across the restaurant caught her eye and she glanced over, then froze in horror.
Melissa and Monroe Patterson were striding toward their table, all smiles.

6
JO'S stomach somersaulted. She jerked her head over to look at Alan, who was wiping his face so intently, he hadn't yet noticed the couple.
"Alan!" she gasped, holding the cloth napkin to her forehead. "I feel faint—please get a pitcher of ice water."
He glanced up, frowning with worry. "You've never felt faint in your life."
"Well, I do now!" she said desperately, lurching forward. "Would you just find the waiter and get me some water?"
"Okay," he said, his eyes wide. "I'll be right back."
He had just walked out of earshot when Melissa Patterson glided up to the table. "Ms. Montgomery," she exclaimed coolly, extending her hand. "What a nice surprise."
Jo shot to her feet and yanked a smile from thin air. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Patterson." Pumping their hands furiously, Jo angled her body to block the couple's view of Alan's receding back.
"We were just leaving," Mr. Patterson said with a smile, "when Melissa looked over and saw you sitting here."
Mrs. Patterson craned her neck to peer around Jo. "I see we just missed your husband, John."
Jo nodded emphatically, then changed directions abruptly, shaking her head just as emphatically. "No, mat's just a friend—a friend of mine and John's, actually," she said cheerfully. She used the napkin to dab at the perspiration on her forehead. "John is...home with the children, of course."
Smiling tightly, Mrs. Patterson said, "I hope you enjoyed the visit this morning—your stepchildren are just so adorable."
Jo couldn't stop nodding. "John's children are adorable, aren't they?" Then she cleared her voice, and glanced over her shoulder, alarmed to see Alan returning. She swung back to the Pattersons. "Well," she said brightly, "don't let me keep you."
"Hello," Mr. Patterson said to Alan as he walked up and stood next to Jo.
"Hello," Alan said politely, extending his free hand, holding a pitcher of ice water in the other. He looked to Jo for an introduction.
"Oh," she said, straightening. "Alan, this is Melissa and Monroe Patterson. And this is Alan Parish."
"Nice to meet you," Melissa said, smiling wide. "I hear you're a friend of John Sterling's."
Alan looked confused. "Well," he said with a small laugh, "Jo knows him a little better than I do."
The Pattersons laughed uproariously, and Jo joined in belatedly, elbowing Alan into a small bewildered smile.
"Well, we'd better be going," Mr. Patterson said, and his wife nodded, waving as they walked away. "We're looking forward to the presentation Monday."
Jo slid into her seat and heaved a sigh of relief.
"I see you recovered," Alan said, setting the pitcher of water on the table.
"Not quite," she mumbled, ignoring the water and downing her glass of wine.
He sat down. "Did I miss something?"
"N-no," Jo stammered, unable to meet his gaze.
"What's the connection between the Pattersons and your other client?"
She opened her mouth and let the words fall out, hoping they would make some sort of sense. "Remember I told you the man has kids? Well, they go to the Pattersons' day care I visited this morning, that's all."
"Oh," Alan said, already losing interest.

But Jo's anxiety had reached dizzying proportions by the time their entrees arrived. Although her salmon smelled delicious, she did little more than push it around on her plate.
"Jo," Alan chided, "you've hardly eaten a bite. Are you still feeling ill?"
"Yes," she said truthfully, the full weight of her lie wallowing heavily in her stomach.
"Should we go?"
"No," she said quickly. "My appetite's gone, that's all. Enjoy your meal." It took her a few more minutes to convince Alan they should stay, then, to distract him, she asked him to tell her more about his business trip. With an air of satisfaction, he described the deal he'd arranged with a former competitor, punctuating the details of the final meeting with a flourishing twist of his fork. When he finished, she asked, "Did you get to have any fun?"
He shrugged. "A couple of dinner shows that were pretty good."
"Were you able to find the watch you were looking for?"
Alan shook his head and smiled, a beautiful picture of curvy lips and straight, white teeth. "No, but I did find something for you today."
Her heart blipped. They'd often joked about looking for a ring, but surely he hadn't bought one—not today. "S-something for me?"
He grinned. "I wasn't going to tell you, but you know I can't keep surprises. I left it in the car—I can't wait to give it to you."
"What is it?" she asked, smiling tremulously and raising her refilled wineglass for another deep sip.
Alan tilted his head and gave her a sly smile. "Let's just say it's something you've needed for a long time, something we've both been putting off. I bought one to match for myself."
She inhaled sharply, choking on the wine sliding down her throat. Collapsing into a seizure of coughing and sputtering, she quaked in her chair, aided in no way by the backslapping, arm-jerking actions of Alan and a nervous waiter. When she'd finally regained composure, Jo asked again, "What did you buy?"
But he only shook his head. "Let's wait until I take you home, I've already given away too much."
Jo sweated through dessert, and fretted through cappuccino. By the time they pulled into the driveway of her duplex, she was nauseous with dread.
"Go on in," Alan encouraged with an engaging grin. "I'll get the surprise."
The few steps into her living room seemed like her last, taking her to the pit of doom. Jo's head spun. What was she going to tell him when he gave her the ring? Her mother's face popped into her head. "Tell him yes, Josephine, what else?" Then Hattie's face appeared, her finger wagging. "Is he the man who floats your goat?" Then John Sterling's face appeared. "Either you're being untruthful, or the man's an idiot."
Her heart was nearly leaping out of her chest when she heard Alan enter the room.
"Don't turn around," he warned. Paper bags rustled behind her.
"Okay," he said. "You can look."
Jo turned around ever so slowly, her throat closing in anticipation. Alan's grin was blinding as he proudly presented matching tan lizard-skin briefcases. Her knees weakened in relief.
"Do you like it?" he asked excitedly, thrusting the more streamlined version toward her. "The leather is virtually indestructible, the combination lock is solid brass and the handle is guaranteed for life."
"It's beautiful," she murmured, fingering the nubby finish and feeling somewhat foolish. How like Alan—so practical.
Alan smiled happily, stroking his own briefcase. "Now I can toss my old one and you can get rid of that worn-out black bag you've been carrying for years."
Jo bit back a frown. Hattie had given her that worn-out black bag for college graduation—it was the same leather briefcase Hattie had used for most of her own professional life, and it meant a lot to Jo.
"Don't you love it?" he pressed. "It's made out of top-quality lizard—look, hardly any seams at all."
"Mhmm," she agreed, grasping for some level of enthusiasm for his thoughtful, expensive gift. "It's just lovely, Alan," she said, walking into his arms for a hug and a quick kiss.
"I wish you were feeling better," he murmured. "I could be talked into spending the night."
She drew back from him, both surprised and annoyed he'd chosen today of all days to become so amorous. Had she last seen him naked on Halloween? "Maybe next time," she said softly. "Thank you for the briefcase, it's beautiful."
"I knew you'd like it," he breathed, making her feel a little worse. He gave her a sweet, lingering kiss, then said, "I'll call you on Sunday and let you know how Pam's banquet went."
Jo nodded, then walked him to the door. She waved as his car lights passed over her when he backed out of the driveway. Sighing, she hugged herself tight and leaned against the door frame, trying to sort out the jumbled thoughts in her head. Why had John Sterling's name been on the tip of her tongue all night? Why had she seen his face instead of Alan's every time she glanced across the table? And why had she been so terrified when she thought Alan was going to propose?
Hoping Hattie was home, Jo stepped out onto her tiny porch and pulled the door shut behind her. A slight breeze had kicked up, chasing dried, dead leaves across me small lawn. She walked down the steps and all the way around the side of her house to the other housefront nearly identical to hers. Except where her shutters and door were dark green, Hattie's were bright yellow. While Jo's fall mums were long gone, Hattie's double-bloom pink and white camelias were lovely in the winter moonlight. And where Jo's doormat read simply Welcome, Hattie's read, Don't Bother Knocking, Come On In.

Only Jo did knock, because she knew Hattie's penchant for late-night meditation—in the nude.
Within a few seconds, Hattie answered the door, predictably knotting the belt of a housecoat at her waist. She smiled wide. "Jo, my dear, come in."
"Am I interrupting something?"
Her aunt scoffed as she stepped aside to admit Jo. "I don't have a man in here, if that's what you mean." She grinned, smoothing her silver hair, and added, "Darn it."
Jo shook her head and laughed. "Hattie, you're shameless. I'm surprised Herbert can keep up with you."
"He can't," quipped Hattie, "which is why I'm waiting for my soldier to come home. Has Alan already gone home?" At Jo's nod, Hattie winked and said, "Since he's been out of town for so long, I figured the two of you would be celebrating all night."
Smiling wryly, Jo said, "I wasn't feeling well." She followed Hattie into a modest-size country kitchen decorated with a rooster motif, and sat at the table while her aunt poured greenish tea into two stoneware cups.
"You do look a little flushed," Hattie said, squinting at her and sitting down.
Jo winced sheepishly. "It's a sunburn."
"Oh?" Her aunt's eyebrows rose over the cup she lifted to her mouth. "Do tell."
She shrugged, avoiding Hattie's gaze. "Nothing to tell."
Hattie sipped loudly. "Would there happen to be a client of yours sporting the same sunburn?"
Jo sipped. "Maybe."
Hattie sipped. "And would this happen to be the same man with whom the Pattersons think you share three children?"
Jo sipped and looked up into her aunt's bright blue eyes. "Maybe."
Hattie set her cup down. "So tell me about this John Sterling."
Shifting in her seat, Jo contemplated her answer, and decided to go with the innocent version. "He's a widower—"

"Jo," her aunt chided gently, "skip the resume and tell me why he has you so flustered."
Sighing, Jo said, "Okay, he asked me to dinner."
"And?"
"And I told him I was already involved with someone."
"So what gives with the sunburn?"
"When I brought the kids back from our visit at the daycare center, he had a picnic packed and asked me to go so we could discuss plans for his house."
"Ah." Hattie nodded, satisfied, then retrieved her cup for another sip.
"What's 'ah'?" Jo inquired defensively.
Hattie shrugged. "Go on."
"There's nothing else to tell."
"So are you interested?"
Jo nearly choked on her tea. "No!"
"Why not? Is he hard on the eyes?"
Taking a calming breath, Jo spoke carefully. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."
Hattie nodded agreement. "And do you behold him?"
Jo couldn't help smiling at her aunt's persistence. "I suppose he's handsome in a rugged sort of way."
"Ah."
"What's with the 'ah'?"
"Why don't you go out with the man?"
Jo pretended to ponder the question. "Let's see," she said, holding up one hand to count. "He has three children, I have a boyfriend, and he has three children."
"Well—" Hattie grinned "—at least you know he can get it up."
"Hattie!"
"Which brings us back to your second point—of having a so-called boyfriend."
"Hattie, I know you've never been crazy about Alan, but—"
"I only want what's best for you, Jo, and Alan Parish is so much like his dad, he couldn't be very good in bed."
Jo's jaw dropped. "Hattie, you mean you and Aldred Parish actually..."
Hattie clucked. "Call it two weeks of insanity before I found your uncle Francis, and while I was still mourning my soldier, Torry." She sighed dreamily. "Ahhh, Torry. Now there was a lover. A Frenchman had sold him this fuzzy little contraption—"
"Hattie," Jo interrupted, trying to steer the conversation back to the present "I've never complained about Alan's... virility."
"You didn't have to," Hattie drawled. "The man's always gone by ten o'clock."
"He respects me," Jo said, frowning slightly.
"Which is a good thing," Hattie agreed, studying the dregs in the bottom of her cup. "But the real question is—" she raised her eyes, suddenly turning serious "—does Alan move you?"
Jo allowed the words to sink in, turning them over in her mind, dissecting and analyzing them. Alan was gorgeous, successful, intelligent—everything a woman could want, everything she'd ever wanted. So why was she suddenly feeling so...restless? Straightening her shoulders, she said, "Hattie, it takes more than great sex to make a relationship work."
"Maybe so," her aunt relented with a nod. "But you can't have a good relationship without it." She smiled at Jo. "The nighttime secrets you share are the memories that make you feel close to your lover even when you're apart. I think that's why Torry is still so strongly on my mind after all these years." Her grin deepened. "I simply can't wait to see him again."
Jo's eyes bulged. "You've heard from him?"
"No, but the detective called me this afternoon and said he had some promising leads."
While fairly sure this "detective" Hattie had hired to find her lost soldier was a bit of a swindler, Jo nonetheless tried to mirror her aunt's enthusiasm. "That's wonderful, Hattie, I'm sure you'll find him soon."

Hattie nodded happily, then said, "Life is short, Jo—don't settle. Wait for the man who warms your heart and heats your bed."
John Sterling's face came to Jo again, this time in alarming clarity. She stood up to shake the unsettling feelings her aunt had stirred. "It's getting late—I'd better go." She headed toward the door, then turned around at the last second. Hattie still sat at the table, cradling her teacup. "Thanks for the talk, Hattie."
Her aunt smiled and nodded wisely. "Just remember, Jo, a hard man is good to find." She raised her cup in a good-night salute. Jo smiled and shook her head, then pulled the door shut.
"I called to ask you to bring your puppy the next time you come over."
Whistling under his breath, John walked into the kitchen in time to overhear his son's words. He frowned, hands on hips. "Jamie, who are you calling at this hour?"
"Jo," me little boy said matter-of-factly, not bothering to cover the mouthpiece.
John's heart vaulted. "Jo Montgomery?"
"Yeah."
Astounded, John gasped. "Where did you get her number?"
"If you dial zero, me lady that answers will tell you everything," Jamie said earnestly. "Do you want to know where Jo lives, too?"
"No!" John sputtered. "I mean..." He thrust out his hand. "Give me me phone, young man."
"Bye, Jo," Jamie said breathlessly into me mouthpiece. "Daddy wants to talk to you now." He tossed the handset to John and scooted out of the kitchen, just clearing his father's light swat.
John cursed under his breath as the handset slipped through his fingers and bounced twice on the hardwood floor. He scooped it up and juggled it a few seconds longer before he raised it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hello," Jo said, the laughter clear in her voice.
"Jo, I'm so sorry. I can't believe my son called you." He laughed nervously, wondering if the man she was involved with was sitting—or worse, lying—beside her, rolling his eyes at the Sterling family antics. "We interrupted your evening," he asserted.
"Not really," she replied. "I'd just returned from visiting my aunt Hattie. She lives in the other side of my duplex."
"You don't have...company?" he asked lightly.
"Just Victor, my dog," she said, then laughed. "By the way, I didn't get to tell Jamie that I usually don't take Victor to work with me."
John relaxed. "I guess the Sterling then keep hoping you'll make exceptions in our case."
"The picnic was an exception," she said pointedly.
He grinned. "Then we're wearing you down?"
She laughed again. "You both get points for persistence."
"I had a good time today."
"It was fun." Her voice sounded cautious.
He took a gamble. "I can be fun without my three groupies, too."
She was silent for a few seconds during which he was sure she could hear his heart thumping across the line. Finally she said, "John, I've always made it a rule never to mix my business and personal lives." Was that the tiniest hint of regret in her voice, or was he simply wishing too hard?
"Okay," he said, not even trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. "Business it is."
After an awkward pause, Jo said, "I need to swing by your house Monday morning with my laptop, if that's okay."
"Fine," he agreed quickly. "In case we're already gone, I'll leave a key under the mat." He coughed lightly. "I want to thank you again for making the arrangements with KidScape—you must do a lot of work for mem to be able to call in a favor."
She laughed, a musical sound. "Well, actually, I'm still vying for their business, but I think I'm making progress."

"I wish you luck," he said, then winced as a crashing sound reverberated from upstairs. "I have to say goodbye," he said. "Unless my ears deceive me, I'd say yet another piece of the boys' bedroom furniture has bitten the dust."
"Are they okay?" she asked, sounding alarmed.
"I don't hear any screaming, so that's a good sign," he said. "I'll talk to you soon, I hope."
"Soon," she parroted softly, then quickly added, "Goodbye."
John stared at the phone for a few seconds, then turned and bounded up the stairs.
"So what do you think?" Pamela Kaminski asked, turning sideways. Jo blinked and glanced at her mother who seemed a bit awestruck by Pam's silhouette in the shimmering minidress.
She looked back to her curvaceous friend. "It's smashing, Pam. The gold is perfect with your hair."
"Think so?" the blonde asked, squinting in the mirror.
"You look cold," Helen said, frowning.
Jo elbowed her. "Mother, please," she hissed out of the side of her mouth.
"Well, she does," Helen whispered. "That's not a dress— it's a belt."
"Try the black one," Jo urged, smiling at her friend.
When Pamela disappeared into the dressing room, Helen sighed loudly. "Josephine, I cannot believe you're actually helping this woman pick out a gown to wear on a date with your boyfriend."
Jo inhaled deeply. She should have her head examined for inviting her mother to join them shopping. "It's not a date, mother—it's a business obligation and I don't mind."
"You're practically asking him to be unfaithful," her mother mumbled.
"I trust Alan," Jo said earnestly. "And Pam, too." More than she trusted herself these days. She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. John Sterling had haunted her dreams all night and she'd awakened feeling cranky. A distracting morning of shopping had sounded appealing a few hours ago. Now it stretched before her like a life sentence.
Minutes later, the demure black dress cast aside and the gold belt-dress bagged and paid for, Jo strolled toward the food court between her best friend and her mother. "How about ice cream?" she asked, trying to cut through the tension emanating from her mother.
"I'm game," Pam said cheerfully.
"Are you sure?" Helen asked, cocking one eyebrow toward Pam. "That zipper looked a bit strained to me."
Pam's eyes narrowed, and Jo angled herself between the two women. "Now, Mother—" She broke off when Helen was jostled from behind.
"Well!" her mother huffed as a child streaked by. Jo's breath caught when she recognized the unfurled edge of a black towel.
"Jamie!" John's voice reached her ears through the crowd. "Come back here, right now!"
Jo sprinted forward and caught the edge of the towel just as the boy yelled, "I'm Peter!"
She pulled him up short, then spun him around. His frown changed to a huge grin when he saw who held him. "Hiya, Jo!" he exclaimed.
John jogged up to them, bouncing Billy on his hip, with Claire lagging behind. "Jo," he said, his voice full of surprise.
"John," she acknowledged, alarmed at the rush of pleasure she felt. He wore a dark green leather bomber jacket and loose-fitting jeans topping athletic shoes.
He swung Billy to the ground, then straightened and grinned, brushing back waves of auburn hair from his forehead. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Jo?" Helen asked, walking up with a small frown. Pamela's eyes were devouring John's bare left hand and Jo was dismayed at the twinge of jealousy that pulsed through her. Quickly, she made introductions, feeling ridiculously nervous as Pamela extended her beautifully manicured hand to John and batted her gorgeous eyes.
John nodded to Pam, then turned back to Jo and smiled, sending her pulse racing. "Shopping?"
She waved toward her friend. "Pam needed a party dress for tonight."
"A business engagement," Pam quickly assured him. "Jo was good enough to lend me her boyfriend as an escort. I'm not currently seeing anyone," she told him with a slight tilt of her head.
"Hey, Jo," Jamie said, tugging on the hem of her shirt. "When are you bringing over your puppy?"
Billy raised his arms to her. "Poopy diaper," he said. Jo winced, then bent over to pick him up.
"Jo," Claire said, stabbing her glasses back in place. "Daddy said you're coming to decorate our house while we're at day care this week. Can't I stay home with you?" she pleaded. "I want to help."
"Me, too!" Jamie yelled. "I want to stay with Jo."
"Me, too!" Billy shouted, sticking out his bottom lip.
"That's enough," John said. "Jo can't work if she's got the four of us underfoot, can she?" He reached for Billy, but the toddler only tightened his grip around Jo's neck.
"Don't worry, Claire," she said, winking. "We'll work out something." Then to John, she asked, "Shopping?"
He looked sheepish. "Not really. The VCR is broken." He frowned in Jamie's direction. "And I was hoping to find something here to entertain them while Mrs. Harris cleans the house." He lowered his voice and leaned toward her. "Any ideas?"
Jo thought for a few seconds. "There's a pet store down the west wing," she said, pointing.
He brightened. "Great idea. Come on, Billy," he said. "Let's go see the puppies."
Billy clapped his hands and allowed John to take him. The older children shouted goodbye and scampered ahead.

"The rest rooms are a few doors down," she said to John. "They probably have a changing table."
"I'm trying to potty-train him," John said, frowning at his youngest.
Billy's face screwed up. "Monster potty."
They both laughed, locking gazes for a few seconds. Jo's heart thumped against her chest. When she remembered their audience, she looked away. "Well," she said, "good luck at the pet store."
"Nice to meet both of you," John said, inclining his head to Helen and Pam.
"The pleasure was mine," Pam said smoothly, offering him a model smile.
Jo watched him walk away, laden with Billy and a diaper bag, fighting the urge to follow them. Pam walked up beside her and watched, too. "Yummy," she said, her eyes reflecting blatant admiration.
Helen pursed her lips and smirked. "I didn't know you were so fond of children, Pamela."
Pam's gaze was still glued to his retreating backside. "I didn't say I wanted to marry the guy, just—" Her eyes snapped to Helen as if she suddenly remembered who she was talking to. "Just see him," she finished with a smile.
Protective feelings curled low in Jo's stomach, but she remained silent. She had known it would only be a matter of time before Pam discovered the eligible John Sterling. The two of them might even hit it off.
The drought bothered her immensely.
Early in the evening Jo drove to her office to work on the Patterson presentation. Because hers had been the last firm granted permission to bid on the day-care account, she had less time to prepare, but her software lent her a huge advantage in the design stage. A few hours tonight, a few more tomorrow, and she'd be ready for the presentation Monday afternoon. As she turned on her computer, she chuckled at Jamie's adamant assertion that the day care was boring. Within two hours, she'd assembled a media room and a nature room just as he'd described.
Jo relaxed in her desk chair and stretched her arms overhead. She felt sure the Pattersons would be pleased. Mentally she ticked off the hours until she made her proposal. Three o'clock Monday afternoon. While reaching for her calendar, her hand touched the Sterling home file, and Jo opened it impulsively.
She itched to begin the project. Although commercial jobs were her bread and butter, the residential jobs were some of her favorites because they unleashed her creativity. And the Sterling house...well, she was looking forward to making it more comfortable and homey for the children. Guilt over her lie to the Pattersons pawed at her. Making sure John's kids had a warm, attractive environment was the least she could do.
The peal of the delivery bell broke her reverie. Jo glanced at her watch. Nine o'clock—but some of her new vendors delivered at odd hours. She glanced down at her tattered jeans and faded pink jersey. At least it wasn't a client. She picked up her ring of keys and headed to the front door, frowning at the shadow of a large man through the lightly frosted glass. She was always wary when she worked alone, especially at night. When she reached the door, she yelled, "Do you have a delivery for Montgomery Group Interiors?"
"Sort of—Jo, it's me...John Sterling."
Her pulse leaped and she immediately thought the worst. Had he discovered her little lie? Had he come by to confront her? What on earth was she going to say? Her hand shook as she tried to insert the key into the lock.
John had convinced himself on the drive over that delivering the catalog she'd left at his house was a legitimate excuse for seeing Jo. But now, standing in the semidarkness and shouting through the woman's office door, the idea seemed slim at best.
"John," she said from the other side of the door, "what are you doing here?"

He couldn't tell if she was annoyed or simply surprised. Say something provocative, Sterling. "I wanted to see for myself a woman who works while her boyfriend goes out with her beautiful girlfriend."
A few seconds passed. "Is that all?"
So much for provocative. "No—I brought a catalog you left at my house."
She was silent for so long John wondered if she'd walked away from the door. Well, one thing was sure—she wasn't nearly as anxious to see him tonight as he'd been to see her. He cleared his throat. "How about if I just leave it here on the doorstep?"
She swung open the door and squinted into the glare of the outdoor light. "Sorry," she said, offering him a small smile. She looked all of eighteen in her jeans and adorable ragged sneakers. She blushed, fingering the hem of her shirt. "I wasn't expecting anyone."
He looked into her big brown eyes, unnerved by the longing she evoked in him. "You look great," he said softly.
She laughed awkwardly. Peering toward his car in the darkness, she asked, "Are you alone?"
"Yeah," he said. "My in-laws came down from Atlanta to spend the night with the kids, so I'm on my own." He thumped the catalog. "Mrs. Harris found this under Billy's bed, and since I knew you were working late..." His voice petered out because she crossed her arms under her breasts and his throat suddenly closed. She was not wearing a bra and she obviously felt the chill.
"Would you like to come in for a few minutes?" she asked. "I was just about to make some coffee."
"Sure," he said too quickly, dragging his gaze from her chest. "The temperature has definitely dropped."
"Mmm," she murmured agreement as she shut the door. Her skin and eyes were luminous. "I knew the heat wave wouldn't last long."
Sweat popped out on his upper lip as he stared at her, completely taken with her beauty. "It's warm in here," he said softly, feeling his temperature rise with her every movement.
Jo laughed nervously and nodded toward the light streaming into the hallway from an open door. "I hope you like decaf."
John nodded agreeably, then unabashedly watched her rear end as she led the way to a brightly lit office. The room contained a desk, a computer workstation, a small couch, plus a worktable in the corner stacked high with fabric and paper samples.
"I'm obviously taking you away from something," he said.
Glancing up from the coffeemaker, she said, "Actually, I'd just finished a segment for a large account I'm bidding on, and I'd picked up the folder on your house."
Hoping to extract more information, he kept his voice light and teasing. "I hope my project isn't keeping you from spending time with your boyfriend. I'd hate to stand in the way of true love."
She caught his gaze for a few seconds, then looked down again and said, "You're not."
He bit his lower lip, then threw caution to the wind. "Do you mean I'm not standing in the way, or it isn't true love?"
She looked up again and he saw the briefest glint of desire in her eyes. "Like I said, I don't mix my personal and professional lives." Jo reached for the catalog, her hand brushing his in the exchange.
Encouraged by her expression and bolstered by her touch, he shrugged good-naturedly. "My kids would never forgive me if I didn't give it my best shot." Grinning, he added, "They're crazy about you."
Something unreadable passed over her face, but she remained silent.
Trying to smooth over the awkward moment, he said, "I should thank you for the pet-store idea. The kids had a blast, although now they're begging me for a dog more than ever."
She seemed relieved with the change in subject and waved a hand toward the small couch, gesturing for him to sit. "Is there a reason they shouldn't have a dog?" she asked.

This time he laughed out loud. "In case you haven't noticed, my household isn't exactly orderly. A dog would take it a step beyond chaos, don't you think?"
"It might help the kids become more responsible—" She broke off and blushed. "Not that I'd know," she said softly. "About kids, I mean."
He sat down, grimacing at the distance between the couch and where she seated herself behind her desk. "You seem pretty maternal to me," he said breezily. "Do you see children in your future?'' He wondered if his question would seem as transparent to her as it sounded to him.
But she only laughed, her dimple appearing at last. "You sound like my mother."
"Uh-oh," he said, enjoying the banter. "One of those mothers."
Rising at the beep of the coffeemaker, she nodded. "She can be pretty relentless." He watched her move gracefully around the room, loving the way no movement was wasted. When she turned her back, he feasted on her behind in snug jeans, the faded pockets worn white around the edges, the fabric papery thin. He squinted, trying to make out the design on her underwear, then straightened when she turned toward him.
"Cream or sugar?"
Mesmerized, he shook his head dumbly.
She handed him a steaming cup, then set her own on a small table beside the couch. Walking back to her desk, she retrieved a folder. "While you're here," she said, "perhaps you can answer a few questions about your house."
John didn't care if the folder contained crossword puzzles as long as it got Jo Montgomery next to him. He inhaled sharply as she sat down, her leg brushing against his. Jo opened the folder, the motion wafting the wonderful pear scent from her skin to his nose. His groin tightened at her nearness, his hand twitching with the need to touch her face. Biting his tongue hard, he gave himself a mental shake. One would think he'd never been around a woman before.

A delectable, smart, great-smelling, mommy-material woman.
"—so I'll let you decide," she finished, smiling at him expectantly.
He had no idea what she'd been saying. The various sketches she held gave him no clues. "You're the expert," he said with a shaky laugh. "I'll defer to your judgment."
"But it's your bedroom," she said, glancing up.
He caught her gaze and dared her to look away. She didn't. "I'll love anything you do in my bedroom," he said, his voice husky.
The pupils of her eyes dilated, and he moved toward her ever so slowly, determined this time to capture her lips. Jo remained motionless, but he saw her lips part, as if she was readying herself for him. Carefully, he angled his head and closed the distance between them until their noses touched and her breath whispered against his mouth. He searched her dark eyes a split second before his lips caressed hers. Her lips softened beneath his, but she didn't respond until he offered the tip of his tongue. Then a moan erupted from her throat, and she melted into him. Nearly weak with desire, John groaned and reached to gather her against him.
Suddenly a bolt of white-hot pain exploded in his groin, a sensation so horrific, he tore his mouth from hers and howled, jumping to his feet. His empty coffee cup rolled from his lap and bounced on the carpet. With no thought other than getting the wet heat away from his privates, John unzipped his fly and pulled the heavy fabric away from his skin. A dark stain covered the crotch of his chinos.
"Oh, my," Jo gasped, her hand over her mouth.
Feeling like an idiot, John angled himself away from her as much as possible to hold the thin cotton of his boxers out and fan his scorched skin. He didn't even want to look down. The pain had subsided to a screaming throb.
"John," she said, stirring behind him. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." He cringed. "But it's a good thing I already have a family."

"Is there anything I can do to...help?"
He turned back to see her biting her lip, clearly torn by the implied intimacy of the situation.
John gave her a lopsided grin. "Can you help me find a hole to crawl into?"
She smiled.
He laughed.
She chuckled.
John's shoulders shook with mirth and mingled pain. Jo crossed her arms and pressed her lips together, her amusement bubbling to gay laughter. After several minutes, John wiped his eyes, and said, "Well, this would be hard to explain to someone walking in, wouldn't it?"
She nodded, her dimple highlighted, her eyes shining.
Still cloaked in embarrassment, he fastened his pants and zipped them, then turned back to face her. "This isn't what I had in mind when I came over here."
Jo pursed her lips, her expression growing serious. "Good." She studied the toe of her sneaker for a few seconds.
"Jo," he said nervously. "About what happened—"
"It can't happen again," she said firmly, lifting her gaze to his. "Alan and I have an understanding, and kissing clients isn't part of it."
He took a deep breath and swallowed his disappointment, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he nodded and turned to leave. At the door, he paused. "Next time, you should try to negotiate in that 'kissing clients' clause."
"Discipline," Helen Montgomery said, wagging her head in dismay. "Discipline is what kids need today. Have another piece of meat loaf, Josephine." Without waiting for Jo's reply, her mother plopped a second generous slice onto her plate. "Take those kids yesterday—what was the man's name? Sterling? His children are completely out of control." "Mom," Jo murmured. "The man lost his wife—" "Sad, I know," her mother agreed, spooning more whipped potatoes beside the unwanted meat on Jo's plate. "But he's not doing his kids a favor by not making them mind."
Jo's father glanced her way. "She's even harder to follow when she starts talking in double negatives."
"Hush, Madden," Helen warned with a fork.
"I've met them," Hattie said, holding a green bean up to the light as if to inspect it for lint. "They seemed like pretty good kids to me."
"Uh-hmm," Helen responded, clearly voiding her sister's opinion. "I know what I'm talking about—just three more kids who'll grow up with no respect for authority, no sense of right and wrong—"
"Mother," Jo broke in, supremely annoyed. "I think John Sterling is a moral person, able to teach his children the difference between right and wrong."
"Did you salt the potatoes more than usual?" her father asked her mother.
Helen dipped her fork in for a taste. "No," she said, frowning. "Does it taste like it?"
"No," Madden said, winking at Jo. "I was just trying to get you to stop talking, Helen."
Her mother frowned. "All I'm saying is the man obviously spoils his children—"
"Mother," Jo interrupted again, stabbing her meat loaf, "can't you understand why he would?"
"Well, Josephine," Helen huffed, "I certainly hope that when you and Alan have children—" she frowned at Hattie's snort "—you teach them discipline."
"Helen," Jo's father said sternly, "I've heard Jo and Alan both say at this table more than once that they don't intend to have children."
"Oh, posh." Jo's mother waved off the notion. "Josephine will change her mind once they're married and her biological clock starts ticking." She crinkled her nose at Jo and sang, "Tick, tock."
"Aren't you putting the cart before the camel?" Hattie asked. "Jo doesn't even have a ring yet."

"Well," Helen chided, "if she'd invite him over to Sunday dinner more often, he might be more eager to join the family."
"Oh, he'd be dragging her to the altar," Jo's father agreed earnestly, causing Jo to giggle.
"Although," Helen said, completely ignoring her husband and fixing Jo with a pointed look, "no doubt today he's still recuperating from a night on the town with Pamela Kaminski."
Jo sighed, her guilt mushrooming over me kiss she shared with John. "Mother, I told you, it was a business function—"
"Josephine, Alan is never going to propose if you continue to give him freedom."
"That's right, Jo," her father said, smacking the tabletop. "Dangle that ball and chain in front of his nose and watch him fall to his knees."
"That's enough, Madden," her mother snapped. "Eat, Josephine—you're much too skinny."
"Helen," Hattie said. "What makes you think Jo's going to say yes to Alan, anyway?"
Jo glanced at her aunt, wondering how much she had given away with her body language on the drive over to her parents'.
Helen laughed. "Of course she's going to say yes, aren't you, dear?"
All eyes landed on Jo. She squirmed nervously, then said, "Let's wait until he asks before everyone gets in an uproar, shall we?" Then she lowered her gaze to her plate and pretended to eat with relish, feeling her aunt's knowing stare upon her.
When they left her parents' house, Jo expected more probing from her aunt, but Hattie simply sat with her eyes closed and her palms turned upward on her knees until Jo had parked the car and turned off the engine.
She twisted and looked at her aunt expectantly in the dark.
"I sense that you're going to have to make a decision soon, Jo," Hattie said, breaking the silence.
Jo frowned. "About what?"
"About your men," Hattie whispered gravely, her eyes still closed. "You can't burn your bridges at both ends, you know."
"Hattie—" Jo began, then stopped. "Good night," she said simply, then hopped out of the car.
She released a frustrated sigh as she flipped on a light in her living room. Reaching for the remote, she sank onto the floor and sat cross-legged, her back against the couch. For a few hours, she wanted to forget about John Sterling and Alan Parish and the Pattersons and how much trouble she'd be in if someone uncovered her pack of lies.
But the thought that throbbed like a hangnail was that perhaps one of her biggest lies was denying her attraction to John Sterling.
Lifting a hand to her lips, she closed her eyes and relived the sensation of the few seconds before and during their abbreviated kiss. Her phone rang, startling her badly. She pushed the mute button on the TV remote—Alan would be calling to tell her about the banquet.
"Hello," she said, trying to sound cheerful.
"Hey," Pam said, her voice bubbling with excitement. "Guess what I just did?"
Jo frowned, instantly wary. "I can't imagine."
"I called John Sterling and asked him out."
Her stomach pivoted, and she tightened her grip on the phone. "What did he say?"
"He said yes, on one condition."
Jo tried to ignore her pang of disappointment. "What?"
"That we go on a double date—me and him, you and Alan. Won't that be a blast?"

Jo stood motionless and listened to a sound she'd never heard before in John Sterling's house: complete silence.
No whining, no crying, no tattling, no pushing, no hair-pulling, no jumping, no running, no falling.
And no laughing.
Jo frowned and set her new lizard briefcase on the cluttered snack bar, her finely tuned day-care design presentation on a diskette locked safely inside. From another case, she retrieved her laptop computer, then scooted a hardened glob of orange modeling clay out of harm's way, and created a small work area. While the machine booted up, she looked around the kitchen. One glance at the stove revealed that Claire had cooked breakfast again, except this time the secret weapon appeared to be scrambled eggs instead of oatmeal.
She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed, feeling nervous and restless. She hoped a morning of "drawing numbers," as Hattie often called the tedious preliminary work, would both relax and distract her from the afternoon's presentation. But on top of worrying about filing for bankruptcy if she didn't pull off this charade, she now had another tiny problem: she was dangerously close to falling in love with John Sterling.
Jo leaned against the counter and smacked her palm repeatedly against her forehead, hoping if she cracked her head open, a bit of good sense might fall inside. She had every reason to avoid the man, so why couldn't she?
A hysterical laugh escaped her lips. Alan assumed she would marry him someday, the Pattersons thought she was married to John, and John thought she was "maternal"—the biggest joke of all.
With a sigh, Jo withdrew her rolling measuring stick and began to record dimensions of every flat surface in the kitchen: walls, floor, countertops, windows. She then entered the figures into a program on the laptop and the structure of the room emerged on the screen, plane by plane. Stepping around toys, she moved through the house and repeated the process, saving each room in a separate file which would serve as input to the sophisticated design software at her office. Nearly two hours had passed when she nervously made her way toward John's bedroom suite, the rooms she'd saved for last.
The door creaked loudly when she swung it open. Slowly she stepped inside, allowing John's essence to envelope her. He was in every corner of the room: stray clothing, loose papers, his earthy scent. Desire stabbed Jo, warming her midsection, shocking her with its intensity. The rumpled bed beckoned her, and she imagined John's body stretched out on top of the covers, smiling at her, inviting her to join him. Her fantasy continued to unfold, then took a left turn as she visualized Claire, Jamie and Billy running past her and leaping onto their father's bed. John wrestled and tickled them until they were all laughing, then they settled around him to watch TV. She imagined John suddenly remembering her, and patting a tiny spot beyond the children where she could sit.
Her desire disintegrated. John Sterling was looking for a mother for his children, and who could blame him? Jo mentally shook herself. She had no business lusting after him. The children aside—a huge aside—she had a loving boyfriend.
She willed herself to get back to work. The measurements were more tricky in the master bedroom because of the bay windows and trey ceiling. Jo extended the handle of the ruler as far as possible, then stood on a solitary straight-back chair to reach every nook and cranny. She nearly fell when the ring of the telephone on the nightstand broke the silence. Jo hesitated, then decided to answer in case John or Hattie was calling for her.

"Sterling residence."
"Mrs. Sterling?" a worried female voice asked.
Jo's tongue felt thick. "Urn, this is Jo Montgomery."
"Oh, good. This is Carolyn Hook at KidScape, and we have a little problem."
Alarm bolted through her. "Are the children okay?"
"Uh, yes. But Jamie started a little fire—"
Jo gripped the phone. "What?" she screamed.
"No one was hurt." The woman's voice sounded soothing, with only a little panic around the edges. "Actually, there wasn't a flame, only a little smoke, but the sprinklers went off and we need to close early to clean up."
Jo's heart pounded. "Does Mr. Sterling know?"
"I called his office first since it's the number listed for emergencies, but when I reached his voice mail, I said I'd try his wife at home."
"What?" Jo screamed again.
"That was all right, wasn't it?" Ms. Hook sounded confused.
Jo forced herself to remain calm. "Y-yes, that's fine. I'll be there to pick up the children immediately."
After banging down the phone, Jo squeezed her hands into tight fists. Relax, breathe. She retrieved the spare car seat and jogged to her car, then dialed John's office from her mobile phone as she pulled out of the driveway. Susan answered on the second ring.
"Wilson Brothers, this is John Sterling's office."
"Susan, this is Jo Montgomery."
"Oh, hello. Mr. Sterling's not in."
"When will he be back?"
"I'm not sure."
Jo sighed in exasperation. "I need you to page him."
"Is this an emergency?"
"Haven't you checked his voice mail?"
"No, he checks it. You see, if I'm on the phone when someone calls—"
"Never mind," Jo cut in impatiently. "Just page him and tell him I'm picking up the kids from the day care, but I've got a very important appointment this afternoon, so he needs to come home as soon as possible."
"Haven't we had this conversation before?" Susan asked dryly.
"Thanks, Susan," Jo said, then hung up. Her next call was to the Pattersons' office, where she was immediately connected to Melissa.
"Jo," the woman said warmly. "How are you?"
Jo frowned at the phone. She'd expected her reception to be a little frosty, considering the boy Mrs. Patterson thought was her stepson had nearly set fire to one of her day-care centers. "I'm fine, Mrs. Patterson. Have you talked to Carolyn Hook?"
"Yes, she called me immediately." The woman's voice sounded almost singsongy. "My husband and I both apologize for the workers leaving your stepson alone for even a minute—I mean..." She laughed. "Well, you know what I mean. They're so...rambunctious at that age. I'm sure you and your husband both understand that accidents can happen."
Realization dawned on Jo that Mrs. Patterson feared a lawsuit. Being a business owner herself, she understood the apprehension of liability. But she felt sure John wouldn't hold the Pattersons responsible for Jamie's behavior.
"John and I are reasonable people," Jo said slowly. "I'm on my way to pick up the children now. What happened exactly?"
"According to Carolyn, Jamie was showing the other children how to start a campfire from scratch."
"Oh my." Jo swallowed, suddenly grateful he wasn't her child to deal with. "Mrs. Patterson, I may need to reschedule my demonstration this afternoon. I haven't been able to reach John yet and I don't want to leave the children alone."
"I understand," Mrs. Patterson said soothingly. "But can we make it later this evening? Monroe is leaving the country tomorrow for several weeks and we wanted to make a decision soon. Yours is the only proposal we haven't seen, so we'll be able to make a decision rather quickly."
With a jolt, Jo wondered what effect today's events would have on the Pattersons' choice—would they favor her in an attempt to lessen the possibility of a lawsuit over today's accident? Guilt barbed through her, but the ominous letter from the bank flashed before her eyes.
"Later this evening would be better—can I call you?"
"Of course," the woman said sweetly, and Jo once again felt a flash of remorse. "I hope your children aren't too upset by what happened today."
Jo hung up, her foot pressing harder on the gas pedal. She shook her head when she thought of Jamie trying to start a fire with a rapt audience of preschoolers. Her heart shivered when she thought of all the horrible things that could have happened.
A moment later, she slid into the parking lot at KidScape, squealing tires, then jumped out of the car and hit the ground at a full run. Carolyn Hook, drenched and completely unraveled, opened the door and ushered her in. The Sterling children, apparently the last ones to be collected, were huddled together in a damp playroom. "Here's your mommy," Carolyn announced to them.
Jo started to react to the woman's remark, but tears sprang to her eyes when she saw Jamie's clothes were dingy from smoke. A sooty streak zigzagged his cheek.
"Jo!" he yelled, jumping to his feet. "I knew you'd come!"
She knelt to pull him into a fierce hug, then held him at arm's length, her arms shaking. "Jamie Sterling—" her voice was louder than she intended "—what on earth were you thinking, trying to start a fire?"
"I'm Peter," he mumbled, his eyes welling up with tears.
"No," she said sternly. "You are not Peter Pan. You're Jamie Sterling and you did a very, very dangerous thing. You could have been hurt, or someone else could have been hurt— do you understand?"

He bit his lower lip and nodded, the tears spilling down his cheeks as he dived into her arms. "Don't tell Daddy, Jo," he pleaded. "Don't tell Daddy."
Jamie clung to her, and Jo's heart nearly exploded at the feel of his little body against hers. The sound of more crying reached her ears and she looked over her shoulder to see Claire and Billy holding on to each other. She waved them to her and they ran to join her group hug. "Jo-mommy," Billy whimpered over and over. With three wet, sticky bodies clinging to hers, Jo said a resigned goodbye to the cream-colored crepe pantsuit she wore. And she now fully understood why she'd never wanted to have children—because the responsibility and commitment were more than she could bear. What if these were her children? And what if something had happened to one of them? Worse, what if something happened to one of them while they were in her care?
When she could no longer endure the feeling crowding her chest, Jo cleared her throat and pulled back from the children, looking at each one of them in turn, then smiling sadly at Jamie. "Your daddy has to know about this," she said softly. "But we'll tell him together, okay?"
"Okay," he said, sniffling.
"Okay," Jo said as she straightened. "Let's go home." The words slipped out, sending shock waves through her already sensitized nerves. Her legs felt quite shaky as she swung Billy into her arms.
"Jo-mommy," he declared.
"Not Jo-mommy," she said, glancing around for Carolyn Hook. "Just plain Jo."
"Just Plain Jo," he whispered loudly in her ear, then added, "Poopy diaper."
Jamie claimed Jo's free hand, then Claire chained on to his, and the four of them traipsed outside together.
"Jo Montgomery to the rescue," John whispered as he read Susan's message on his text pager, already moving toward his car. At the last minute, he turned and yelled an explanation to the inspector he was abandoning at the site of the new strip mall, then sprang into his car and peeled away.
He tapped the steering wheel impatiently as he dialed KidScape on his car phone.
Carolyn Hook answered. "Oh, yes, Mr. Sterling, the children are fine. Your wife just left."
"My wife?" he asked, puzzled.
"Yes, I was able to reach Jo at your home and she came right over to get the kids."
John started to correct the woman, then it occurred to him that even though the day-care director had incorrectly assumed Jo was his wife—a thought that pleased him immensely—she might be nervous if she knew she'd turned over the children to a nonrelative. He thanked her, then hung up and continued toward his house.
Concern for his children assuaged, John's thoughts turned to the woman who had so quickly become an important person to him and to his children. Jo had wanted him to kiss her the other night at her office—he would have bet his house on it. And she had responded to him enthusiastically before the humiliating coffee incident had given her time to reconsider. He frowned. If he could just get this boyfriend of hers out of the picture, he might stand a better chance of winning her over. Which, he acknowledged with only a slight jab of guilt, was the reason he'd accepted Pamela Kaminski's dinner invitation on the conditional double date. He was looking forward to meeting the man of Jo's dreams on Friday night.
When he pulled into his driveway beside Jo's familiar car, he decided he could get used to this routine—coming home to her and his children, to a peaceful, orderly, happy home.
He stepped into the foyer, closing the door behind him quietly. Claire and Jamie stood in the den, staring at each other belligerently, arms crossed. "I'm not cleaning up your messy building blocks," Claire declared, raising her chin.
"Then I'm not picking up your books," Jamie retorted, dropping the armload he'd collected.

"Hey!" Claire shouted, giving him a shove. "Those are my books!"
He shoved her back. "Then pick them up yourself!"
John started to speak, when Jo appeared from the direction of the bathroom. Her light-colored pantsuit looked a little worse for wear. She carried a diapered Billy almost horizontally under one arm and held a whistle between her teeth which she blew heartily to get the attention of the older two. "Timeout," she said. "Claire, you pick up the books, and Jamie, you pick up the building blocks. No more arguing and no more pushing, understand?"
Claire's lower lip protruded, but she nodded. Jamie gave Jo an adoring glance, then jumped to finish the task she'd given him. John laughed out loud, giving away his presence.
"Daddy!" the children chorused, and ran to meet him.
He hugged each of them in turn, then looked at Jamie with a grave face. "What's this I hear about almost setting a fire, young man?"
Jamie bit his bottom lip. "It worked just like it was s'posed to," he said, a shadow of pride in his voice. "But Jo told me I could have hurt somebody. I'm sorry," he finished bravely.
Frowning sternly, John said, "Don't ever try that again, and don't ever play with matches, okay?"
Jamie nodded solemnly, then leaned forward and whispered, "Daddy, Jo came and got us, just like a real mommy would!"
John felt his heart stir, then raised his eyes to Jo standing in the background, out of earshot. A tiny smile curved her lips, and he stood to greet her. "Hi," he said lamely as he walked toward her, he and his children moving forward as a unit.
"Hi."
"Nice whistle."
She laughed and shrugged. "My dad's a police officer, he makes me carry it for protection."
He looked into her eyes until she dropped her gaze and cleared her throat. She was remembering their kiss, he knew it.

"Kids," he said, still watching her carefully, "why don't you finish picking up your toys and let me talk to Jo alone for a few minutes, okay?"
Jamie tugged on his pants leg. "Are you gonna kiss her, Daddy?"
John sighed, exasperated. "I'll yell for you if I do, okay, son?"
The kids scampered away, giggling. He smiled at Jo apologetically. "I must thank you again—I know you have better things to do than to deal with the Sterling family crises."
She shrugged, then nodded slowly. "I did have to postpone an appointment with the Pattersons this afternoon, but since they were aware of the extenuating circumstances, they agreed to meet with me later."
"Do you think they'll give you the account?" he asked.
"I'm not sure—there's a lot of stiff competition."
"I hope your association with my notorious children doesn't hurt your chances."
"I d-doubt that," she said unconvincingly.
He suddenly recalled his conversation with the day-care director. "Oh, and by the way—" he smiled sheepishly "—Carolyn Hook has the notion that you and I are married."
Jo's eyes widened. "Did you correct her?"
"No, I'm sorry, I should have, but I figured it was an honest mistake and that she might be alarmed at having signed out the children to a nonrelative."
"Th-that's okay—no harm done."
"Were you able to get anything done around here this morning?"
She nodded. "I'll be ready for our meeting Wednesday." She seemed nervous as she retrieved her briefcase and grabbed her purse, then reached for her laptop.
"Let me," John offered, covering her hand with his.
She stared at their hands for a few seconds, then lifted her gaze. "Okay," she relented, pulling her hand from beneath his.

John followed her outside to her car. "I hear we have a date Friday night."
Jo's shoulders straightened. "Yes," she said with a smile. "My friend Pam seems quite taken with you."
"Seems like a nice woman," he said smoothly.
"Pam's a lot of fun," Jo said, offering a glimpse of her dimple.
"I'm anxious to meet...uh, Adam, is it?"
"Alan," she corrected him, and blushed furiously. She lifted her chin slightly. "I think you'll like each other."
"We should," John agreed. "We have a lot in common."
Jo didn't respond, only swung into her seat. "Bye." She started to shut the door, but John caught the edge and held it open.
"Good luck with the Pattersons," he said. "I'll see you Wednesday."
She nodded, then closed the door and backed out of me driveway.
John stood watching her car until it disappeared.
The Pattersons had not yet arrived when Jo pulled into the parking lot of her office building. She stepped from the car and frowned at her wrinkled, stained pantsuit, then retrieved her laptop and briefcase. Her heart thumped with anticipation as she walked through the front door.
"Hi," Jo said, sticking her head in her aunt's office.
"Hi, yourself," Hattie said, her smile beaming beneath the brim of her fruit-bearing straw hat. "Another emergency with the Sterling family, I presume?" she sang.
"Don't start, Hattie."
"What was it this time?"
"Jamie almost set fire to the Pattersons' model day-care center."
"Oh my," Hattie said, wincing. "Was anyone hurt?"
"No, but I think it might influence the Pattersons' decision today."

"You're afraid they'll drop you because your presumed stepson has caused them so much trouble?"
"No," Jo said, sighing. "I'm afraid they'll sign me because they're afraid of a lawsuit."
"Oh my," Hattie repeated.
Jo frowned. "How do I get myself into these messes?"
"No one need be the wiser," her aunt offered.
"But I know the truth," Jo insisted, exasperated.
"Well, if it bothers you that much, just tell the Pattersons it was all a misunderstanding."
Right, Jo thought, and risk losing all we've both worked for. Of course, she could call Alan, and he'd have her delinquent loan payment—or the entire loan—taken care of with a simple transfer of funds.
The doorbell chimed, announcing the arrival of the Pattersons. Jo's stomach twisted.
"Hello," Mrs. Patterson said as she entered, her hair and clothing impeccably neat and stiff. As Jo shook her hand, she noted that Melissa Patterson could be a very daunting woman if she deemed it necessary. Mr. Patterson was his cordial self.
"I trust you found your children in good hands at the day care?" Mrs. Patterson asked, her eyebrows raised hopefully.
"Oh, yes," Jo said, her stomach queasy.
"I hope Mr. Sterling wasn't too upset," she continued, her tone probing.
"Just relieved the children were okay," Jo said quickly. She nodded toward the meeting room. "Shall we begin?"
Avoiding Hattie's eyes, Jo followed the couple into the room and switched on the powerful workstation in which the design software resided. She chitchatted while tweaking the presentation screen and preparing the machine for the data she'd developed. Hattie slipped in with mugs of flavored coffee, then left again.
Jo reached for her briefcase to withdraw the computer diskette containing her work for the Patterson account. She frowned when the brass latches refused to budge, then smiled nervously at the attentive couple. "New briefcase," she explained, then pressed the buttons again with all her might, to no avail. Double-checking the line of shiny digits that made up the combination, she smiled in relief, seeing the numbers were no longer aligned. She remembered finding Jamie playing with it—he must have turned the brass wheels to different numbers. She adjusted them back to her combination, then tried once again to open the latches. Nothing.
She lifted her head and smiled again at the Pattersons. "I'll be right back," she said, exiting the room with her briefcase in hand.
"What's wrong?" Hattie said when she saw Jo's face.
Closing the door to Hattie's office, Jo fought her panic. "My presentation is in mis briefcase—the diskette, the written proposal, graphs, contracts, everything—and I can't get it open."
"I noticed you'd finally traded in my old bag," Hattie said.
"I didn't," Jo said in exasperation. "Alan bought this for me while he was in Atlanta."
"Hmmph, figures—it's pretentious as hell."
"I can't get it open. I think Jamie must have jammed it somehow."
Hattie grunted in her effort to move the latches, then gave up. "Did you make a backup of the files on me machine's hard drive?"
Jo shook her head miserably. "Dumb, huh?"
"Yep."
Groaning, Jo said. "This is an omen. What am I going to do?"
Hattie sighed. "We'll just have to break inside."
"How? Alan said it's virtually indestructible."
"Except in the hands of a six-year-old."
"Good point."
"Let's gather our tools and see what we've got."
Five minutes later they surveyed their options. A metal ruler, a pair of pliers, a hammer, a flathead screwdriver and a nail file.

"Okay," Hattie said, "so we're not Bob Vila. Let's try the nail file."
Jo slid the pointed tip under one of the latches and tried to pry it loose. Nothing. One by one, they exhausted the tools. After ten minutes, the briefcase remained intact, but Jo had one smashed thumb, three broken nails and a gash across her palm.
"That blood will never come out," Hattie said mournfully, fingering Jo's crimson-spotted crepe jacket.
"Hattie!" Jo exclaimed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "Help me think of something."
"Do you care about ruining the briefcase?"
"No," Jo admitted. "I'll think of something to tell Alan."
"Well, it's a risk," Hattie said.
"What?"
A few minutes later, Jo sat behind the wheel of her car, shaking her head. "I can't believe this."
"Okay, Jo," Hattie yelled. "Back up!"
Jo put the car in reverse, then cringed when she bumped up and over the briefcase. She stopped and waited while Hattie bent to inspect it. "No, try again."
Swallowing hard, she pulled up, then backed over it again.
After the seventh time, Hattie squinted and nodded. "I think it's giving a little. Do you have a crowbar in the trunk?"
Jo nodded, sick to her stomach. When Hattie lifted the briefcase, she nearly choked. The beautiful, nearly seamless lizard hide was tire-crossed and scarred. Numb, she pulled herself from the car and opened the trunk.
"Ms. Montgomery?" Monroe Patterson yelled from the door of the building. "Is everything all right?"
Jo hid the briefcase behind the trunk lid and smiled. "I'll be right there, Mr. Patterson."
He nodded and disappeared inside.
Hattie jammed the crowbar into the tiny opening between the two halves of the battered briefcase and twisted hard. The latches groaned, then popped under the strain, the lid bouncing up with a sickening tear. A familiar hardened ball of orange modeling clay rolled out and onto the pavement.
"Wha-lah!" Hattie exclaimed, gasping for breath.
"Wha-lah," Jo mumbled, grabbing the diskette and the papers she needed, then dashing back inside. "Here we are," she said cheerily, dimming the lights before the Pattersons noticed her dirty, streaked and spotted suit.
At least the presentation went smoothly—a little too smoothly, Jo thought. Halfway through, Mrs. Patterson announced they had seen enough and asked to see the contract. Five minutes later, they shook on the deal, the Pattersons signed a hefty check for the advance, then walked toward the door.
"Once again," Mr. Patterson said solemnly, "please tell your husband how much we regret today's accident, and how pleased we are to be doing business with you."
After they left, Jo sat slumped in her desk chair staring at the check, riddled with guilt. The advance was more than enough to cover her late loan payment.
She sighed, leaning her head back. Facts were facts—she'd won the coveted account based on a series of lies. She'd saved her business but, in the process, had flushed her integrity down the toilet. How could she face John on Wednesday?

8
"Did you get the Patterson account?" John asked.
Jo stood in the doorway of her office. "Y-yes," she stammered, her pulse racing. Thanks to you and your kids.
"Good," he said, flashing her a white smile. "Then we'll have something to celebrate Friday night."
Her stomach dived at the thought of the double date, then she waved him toward the meeting room to show him the results of her design ideas for his home. He walked so close to her, she could hear the crisp swish of his jeans as he moved. He looked earthy and handsome in a snug ribbed white henley shirt tucked into his loose waistband, no belt. Jo stumbled on a carpet fiber and he grabbed her arm, unnerving her further when he maintained his hold on her until they entered the meeting room.
"Nice," he murmured, scoping the room. He pulled a seat close to where she'd be sitting in front of the computer.
"Um, the view is better in the back," she murmured, pointing to the wall screen only a few feet in front of them. "This is a little close."
"This is fine." He inched his seat even closer.
She dimmed the lights with a handheld switch, and with a deep breath launched the presentation.
He emitted a low "Wow" as the rooms in his home came alive on the big screen, the walls painted and papered, the furniture functional and smart. He nodded, impressed with each room on the first floor, then smiled his approval when they viewed the kids' rooms.
She tensed when his bedroom suite appeared on-screen.

Through the magic of animation, she'd designed the room around one theme: inviting. She'd elevated the bed with a platform so the piece dominated the room. A black and grape-colored comforter was turned down to reveal matching sheets, piled high with large, deep pillows. She'd arranged a darkwood entertainment center along the opposite wall to house a television and stereo equipment. With the press of a few keys, jazz sounded low and sexy from her computer, giving the illusion that the sound came from the stereo speakers featured in his bedroom. Deep upholstered chairs punctuated the open spaces, along with low tables and tall lamps.
"I knew I'd like it," he said, giving her a warm smile in the dim light.
The sitting room had been converted into a pseudo library, with glass-fronted bookshelves and a chess table. A fire glowed in the fireplace between matching reading chairs, flanked by an overstuffed couch. He nodded, obviously pleased. Jo progressed through the bathroom, then opened the doors to the large walk-in closet. She'd inserted an organized system of racks, drawers and shelves. A man's wardrobe hung on one side, a woman's on the other. John looked at her, eyebrows raised, an amused expression on his face.
Jo blushed at the implication of the redesigned bedroom suite—rooms that could be comfortably shared. "You seemed to be worried about, um, the rooms not being too masculine," she reminded him.
"Oh, I'm more than pleased," he assured her, then leaned near her ear. "And do you think a woman would be cozy in these surroundings?"
She scanned the planes of his handsome face and decided that even Pamela Kaminski might forgo her flamboyant taste and aversion to kids for a chance to conjugate with this man. "I don't think you have anything to worry about," she croaked, staring straight ahead, then turned up the light. "That's it."
John squinted and nodded. "When can you start?"

"Don't you want to see how much all of this is going to cost you?"
He shrugged. "Sure."
Jo walked her fingers through several papers on her desk, then withdrew one and handed it to John.
He frowned. "Are you sure this is right?"
Jo bit her bottom lip. "If it's more than you had in mind—"
"No," he cut in and lifted his gaze to hers. "I've been in this business long enough to know what a job like this should cost, Jo. This figure looks suspiciously like wholesale—you can't be making any money."
She shuffled the remaining papers nervously. She already felt guilty about the wealth she'd be gaining from the Pattersons' account—she wasn't about to capitalize on his project, as well. "I—I'm giving you a preferred-customer discount."
He laughed. "I'm flattered, but I wouldn't accept this kind of cut unless you were my wife."
Her gaze bounced to his and held there.
His smile was slow and sweet, and oh so tempting. With a slow movement, he turned her swivel chair so that she faced him. "Of course, if this price comes with a marriage proposal, I'll consider it," he said.
Warmth flooded her limbs, melting her muscles and loosening her tongue. "The price or the proposal?" she whispered.
His hands stumbled along the table, then came up with the dimmer control. Jo inhaled sharply because he leaned closer as the lights lowered.
"Are you sure your aunt won't be back for a while?" he whispered.
"Yes," she breathed. Dusk descended around them.
"No flying Frisbees around?"
"No." She could barely make out his face.
"No spillable hot drinks within reaching distance?"
"No." Blackness enveloped them.
"You mean it's just us?"
"Just us." She couldn't see him, but the breath left her lungs when his lips descended on hers hungrily. Jo lifted her hands to both sides of his face, to meet him, to guide him in his exploration of her mouth. With a groan, he shifted and lifted her to his lap, surrounding her with his warm arms, kneading her skin with his big hands. His fingers grazed her neck, then skimmed down her back to span her waist. Jo arched into him, biting at his tongue, clicking her teeth against his.
She realized they'd been careening toward this moment since the second their eyes had met. Her hands clawed at his shoulders, his back, drawing him closer to her. His hand slipped up the front of her untucked blouse, and she moaned at the feel of his fingers burning through the flimsy fabric of her bra. He captured a hardened nipple between forefinger and thumb, and Jo shivered in response.
His mouth traveled up her cheek and over her eyelids, punctuated by his hushed whisper of her name. "Jo...Jo...Jo." At the sound of his desire for her, physical need billowed hot within her, stealing her body's ability to support her weight. She melted into him, driving her fingers into his thick hair, and urging his mouth lower.
He clasped her hips and twisted her around so that she was straddling him. His mouth moved with greater intensity, nipping at her collarbone and nuzzling the top of her cleavage as low as her buttons would allow. Jo strained into him, desire for him crowding out any rational thought. All she wanted was for his hands, his mouth, to be on her skin. She tore at the buttons of her blouse, freeing them, inviting him to explore further. Within seconds, he found the front closure of her bra. Beneath her loosened blouse, she felt the silky straps of her bra fall down her shoulders.
With another groan, he sought her mouth again for a hard kiss. A rush of cool air whipped across her bare nipples an instant before he claimed both breasts with his warm hands. Desire stabbed her low and moisture gathered between her thighs. She moaned into his mouth, he breathed hot air into hers.
Jo had never felt such exquisite pleasure. She felt alive, on fire, desirable, wanton. He dragged his mouth from hers, breathing her name against her skin as he moved lower to capture the peak of her breast between his lips.
Jo's groan of approval coincided with a loud knock at the door.
She jerked her head up, her back ramrod-straight Panic bolted through her as reality came crashing down. The enormity of their indiscretion settled around her even as she struggled to her feet and fumbled with the buttons on her blouse. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God." She snapped on the lights to speed her frenzied dressing.
John blinked against the bright light and sighed heavily in exasperation. "Is this a conspiracy?"
"Jo," Alan's voice sounded low and polite through the door.
"Oh my God." Dread washed over her, and her knees nearly buckled. "If it is, now my boyfriend's in on it," she whispered frantically.
"Oh, great," he murmured, slowly raking a hand through his disheveled hair.
She straightened her clothing, the blood pounding through her ears. Sweat popped out along her hairline. John's lazy perusal of her from his seated position unnerved her. After smoothing one hand over her blouse, she stepped forward, raised the hem of her shirt and wiped her lipstick from John's mouth with a hard swipe.
"Ouch," he complained, holding a hand to his lip.
Jo ignored him and walked toward the door.
"Wait!" he whispered hoarsely.
She turned back, her eyebrows raised. "What?"
He sighed, then pointed to his crotch. The long, hard ridge of his erection was painfully evident.
She waved her arms. "Make it go away."
His face was incredulous. "I can't just say abracadabra and, presto, it's gone!"
"Jo?" Alan asked through the door, knocking lightly.
"Just a minute, Alan," she said carefully. "We're just winding down in here." She turned back to John. "Do something!" she hissed.
"I have to stop thinking about you for it to go away," he said calmly.
"Well?"
"Well, I can't stop thinking about you while you're still standing there." He rose to his feet, the bulge still as imposing. He lifted his hands palms up, and smiled. "In fact, I can't stop thinking about you no matter what."
Her heart flipped over. "John—" She stopped. "Stay right here."
Trembling, she slipped from the room and closed the door behind her. Alan stood across the hall, hands in the pockets of his designer suit, critiquing a sculpture sitting on an antique sofa table. Guilt and sadness bolted through her as he turned around and smiled. Dependable, predictable Alan.
"Hi," he said, walking toward her.
"Hi," she said, lifting her cheek for his quick kiss.
He sniffed. "New cologne?"
She stiffened, then waved her hand in front of her nose and lowered her voice. "My client is wearing so much cologne, I've been choking through the presentation."
"Sorry to bother you," he said. "Hattie wasn't around, and I didn't realize you were busy. Is it the Pattersons?"
"No," she said, then turned when Alan's eyes focused beyond her. She swallowed. John was walking toward them and, thankfully, it appeared that he'd managed to stop thinking about her.
"Hello," John said, extending his hand to Alan. "I'm John Sterling."
"Alan Parish." The men stood toe to toe. Their handclasp stretched on and on as their gazes locked. Jo felt age-old territorial hormones emanating from both of them. She cleared her throat loudly.
At last Alan released John's grip, lightly shaking off his hand. "I understand you're interested in Jo's friend Pam."

"Well," John drawled, "I'm discovering Savannah is full of interesting women."
Alan's eyes darted from John to Jo, then back to John. "Jo says you have three small children."
John nodded. "Ages three, six and nine."
Alan whistled low, his smile smug. "Sounds like a handful."
John's grin was slow and wide. "I have big hands."
Jo bit her tongue at the unmistakable implication. "Alan," she said brightly, "did you need something?"
After a few seconds, Alan's eyes finally cut back to her. "I wanted to see if you were free for lunch."
She smiled. "That's nice, but John and I still have a few papers to sign before we finish."
Alan looked at John and rocked back on his heels in quiet confidence. "I'll wait."
"Hattie should be back in a few minutes," Jo said quickly, "then I can leave. You can wait in my office, Alan."
The men stared each other down for a few long seconds, then Alan inclined his head in parting. "Sterling."
"Parish."
Jo turned and walked back to the meeting room, all too aware of the still-unfastened bra beneath her blouse. As she stepped into me room, she closed her eyes in trepidation. What was she doing playing post office with another man? And enjoying it, for heaven's sake.
"Nice boy," John observed, closing the door behind him.
Jo frowned. "Alan doesn't deserve that, and he doesn't deserve what I've done to him, either."
"Jo," he said, "you don't owe him your undying devotion if you don't love him."
She raised her chin. "Who said I don't love Alan?"
He angled his head. "Unless I'm mistaken, you did—with your mouth and your hands and your body."
Jo's mind spun, and she inhaled deeply. "Just because I'm physically attracted to you doesn't mean I'm not in love with Alan." Oh, God, she was starting to sound like her mother.

John frowned as he sorted her words. "You don't have to beat around the bush with vague double negatives, Jo. Are you in love with the man or aren't you?"
Her bottom lip trembled as loyalty toward Alan ballooned inside her. "I love him, yes."
"Ah," he said, walking up to stand a few inches from her. "But are you in love with him?"
Jo's chest heaved as she fought the sexual gravity pulling her toward John's body. "That's between me and Alan, don't you think?"
John lowered his mouth toward hers, then just as her lips parted, raised his head again. "Not if I'm what's standing between you," he whispered, his eyes dancing with his proven point.
She watched as he whipped out the contract she'd shown him earlier. He scribbled a note at the bottom, then signed his name. "I'll see you Friday," he said calmly, then left the room.
Jo stood quietly, breathing deeply, desperate to regain some sense of normalcy. She walked over to gather up the papers, palmed the door key he'd left and scanned the contract he'd modified.
With the unfortunate absence of a marriage proposal, amount due will be exactly double the price quoted. Signed, John Sterling.
Thursday morning found Jo at her desk, feeling skittish and out of sorts, as if she were coming down with something. After nearly twenty-four hours of reliving John's mouth and hands on her body, she was finding it hard to concentrate.
"Jo?" Hattie stood in Jo's office door, her forehead creased. "Are you feeling okay, dear?"
"Fine," Jo said, forcing a bright smile. She reached for her coffee cup and nudged it, sending the liquid splashing across the top of her desk. Biting back a curse, Jo snatched up the papers she'd been working on, and turned a cheerful face toward her aunt. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Hattie said, her tone wary. She glanced at her watch. "Didn't you have an appointment with the seamstress this morning at the Sterling house?"
Jo gasped, picked up the clock on her desk, then banged it back down. "Thirty minutes ago!" She grabbed her purse and swung her coat around her shoulders as she dashed out. "If she calls, I'm on my way!"
Between getting stuck behind a mail truck and hitting every possible red light, the trip to the Sterling house crawled. As she pulled into the empty driveway, the woman she'd missed called on the car phone to reschedule in two hours. Jo sighed and thanked her, then hung up and sat staring at John's beautiful house.
White brick made the large structure seem even more imposing. Double columns flanking the steps added a touch of southern-plantation charm, and dark green shutters contributed warmth to the expanse of white. The landscaping provided by the builder was attractive, but on the lean side, which was typical these days. She squinted and imagined a towering trellis of pink roses on the left side of the house, and a row of red azaleas under the limbs of me massive oak tree squatting near me road.
Jo opened her eyes and shook her head to clear it. This wasn't her homestead to be planning—John Sterling would decide what kind of landscaping he wanted. She'd do well to take care of the job he hired her to do. Pressing her lips together, she drove the memory of his kisses from her mind and straightened her shoulders. She might as well get a jump on the window measurements.
When Jo opened the front door, she thought a television or stereo had been left on, but as she entered me den, she recognized John's voice coming from the open door of his office. She froze, debating whether to turn and run for her life before he heard her. But John appeared suddenly in the doorway, a telephone between his ear and shoulder, his hands full of blueprints. He wore burgundy pajama bottoms...and nothing else. He grinned when he saw her, and Jo's mourn went dry. Gold hair sprinkled his muscled chest, then grew more dense over his flat abdomen before disappearing into his waistband. She tried to swallow. It was too soon after their close encounter yesterday to face him while he was so...bare.
He juggled the papers and held up a finger indicating he was winding down the conversation. Jo nodded and wheeled back toward the den, trying desperately to stem the flood of adrenaline in her blood. She shrugged out of her coat and busied herself with measuring tools, suddenly wishing she'd worn something more utilitarian than the stretchy skirt and short jacket. Although she'd have to strip down to her turtleneck later, for now, every stitch of her clothing, no matter how restrictive, was going to stay put. For emphasis, she reached up and fastened the top button on her hunter green jacket.
"Well," his voice sounded behind her. "This is a nice surprise."
Jo turned and met his gaze, conjuring up a casual smile while she fought to keep her eyes above shoulder level. His jaw was darkened by morning beard, his auburn hair sticking up slightly in the back. He was knee-weakeningly handsome. She suddenly remembered her voice.
"I—I was supposed to meet the seamstress here to measure for curtains, but I missed her, so I thought I'd get a jump on the legwork." She gestured awkwardly toward her supplies, then crossed her arms, trying to gather her defenses against his blatant appeal. "I didn't realize you were here, I should have knocked first."
"I parked in the garage," he explained. "But don't worry, I left the key yesterday so you could come by whenever you need to—or want to." His eyes teased her, and his voice softened. "But be forewarned, you might occasionally find me in a state of undress."
The turtleneck was growing uncomfortably tight around her vocal cords. "Wh-why are you home?" she asked, ignoring his remark.
"Small emergency." He waved toward his office. "I got a call this morning at five, and I've been working ever since." John laughed, his eyes sparkling. "And I thought the mornings couldn't get more chaotic around here."
"How did the kids get to day care?" She glanced at his skimpy outfit, then quickly back to his face.
"Mrs. Harris came by to straighten up and offered to take them for me."
Jo nodded, trying to ignore the fact that he was standing only a few feet from her looking so decadent. He scratched his shoulder, the muscles in his arm dancing with the movement. Jo felt her body blush in awareness and uncrossed her arms self-consciously. "So," she squeaked, "did you get the problem worked out?"
"Yeah," he said, hands on hips, nodding.
Jo pressed her lips together and nodded. "Good."
"Yeah," John agreed, still nodding.
Jo couldn't stop nodding.
They spoke at the same time.
"About yesterday—" he said.
"We need to talk—" she said.
Jo stopped and laughed along with John until he stepped closer. Then her humor vanished and she stiffened at the proximity of his naked torso. He stood within arm's reach, the waistband of the pajama bottoms sagging slightly, revealing a vague tan line and a glimpse of his white briefs. The hair stood up on the nape of her neck. He reached forward to clasp her hands in his, and his touch jolted her into motion. "J-John," she protested, stepping backward.
But he kept pace with her, holding her hands loosely and giving her a knowing, serious smile. "Jo, you have to admit there's something between us."
"I—I don't know what you mean," she said, still moving steadily backward. Her pulse raced and she nearly groaned at the desire welling inside her chest.
He walked with her, squeezing her hands, and shook his head slowly, obviously unconvinced. She felt the wall at her back and inhaled sharply as he closed in on her. "Liar, liar, pants on fire," he whispered, his mouth inches from hers. He held her arms down at her sides, but she could have pulled away at any second...if only she hadn't been exactly where she wanted to be. His mourn descended on hers with authority, and Jo resisted the heady kiss for a heartbeat before opening her lips for his searching tongue.
Then all was lost
John moaned and pressed his body against hers. Jo could feel his swelling need for her and strained into him, her nerve endings screaming. No, no, no, her head warned, but her body would have none of it. "Yes," she murmured. "Yes, yes."
He gasped, driving her mouth wider to accept his foraging tongue. Releasing her hands, he reached around to cup her rear and lifted her against the wall. She opened her knees, allowing him to wedge into the cradle between. He was a vocal partner, and his guttural sounds excited Jo in a way she would never have imagined. Delicious chills ran across her shoulders as he slid his hands under her skirt and pulled the stretchy fabric up to her waist. She inhaled deeply, drawing his sleep scent into her lungs. Her clothes were choking her. She pushed him away gently, her gaze remaining locked with his as she slowly unbuttoned the jacket and let it drop to the floor. He held her suspended, his breathing ragged as she drew the turtleneck over her head, the choppy layers of her hair swishing against her cheeks as it fell back into place.
John's gaze dropped to her cream-colored satin bra, then he closed his eyes and smiled, as if to savor the sight. Jo felt a welling of pride, thrilled he was pleased with her body. With a savage moan, he pulled her away from the wall and lowered her to a rug on the wooden floor. The nubby yarn felt coarse and stimulating against her back, arousing her further. John stopped long enough to roll her panty hose and skirt down to her knees, then Jo kicked them off and lay before him in bra and panties. He fumbled with his own clothes, never taking his eyes off her. Jo smiled languidly at his haste, then bit her bottom lip when he stood nude before her. Doubts nipped at her, but John was beside her, on top of her in an instant, and the touch of his skin against hers crowded all other thoughts from her mind.
He breathed her name before kissing her again, then moved lower. He quickly unfastened the front closure of her bra, then moaned his appreciation as he freed her breasts. Cool air and warm breath swirled over her nipples, bringing them to bud. He teased first one peak, then another with his tongue, then his teeth, causing Jo to writhe beneath him. He frantically tugged at her panties, and she raised her hips to allow him to whisk them off. Jo tore at his shoulders and arms, drawing him up and closer to her, until his hard shaft branded her thigh. He reclaimed her mouth and moved between her raised knees. Jo's breathing was beyond erratic as she reached down to clasp him and guide him inside. John eased in, gritting his teeth in obvious restraint, filling her inch by slow inch.
Surely heaven was no sweeter, Jo thought. Even as he began to stroke her inner depths, an urgent rhythm was beginning to surface. She threw her head back and rocked beneath him, stiffening in preparation for an intense release. She ran her fingernails over his back, down his waist, across his clenched buttocks as they moved together with increasing urgency. John's murmurings were sweet and encouraging as he trailed hard kisses over her neck and fingered a sensitive, rigid nipple. "I want to hear you, Jo," he whispered fiercely. "Let me hear you."
"Yes," she moaned. "Yes, John, I'm almost there."
"I'm waiting for you," he gasped.
His husky whisper sent her over the edge. Jo opened her mouth and released a long, low cry of climax, which John chorused seconds later. They moved in unison, their hips connecting in unbelievable intensity as they rode out their mutual pleasure. At last, they lay quiet, melded together, their heartbeats mirrored.
Slowly, very slowly, reality drizzled, then flooded into her brain, and Jo tried to move. The enormity of what just transpired washed over her.
"Mmmph," John said in her ear.

"John," she said softly. Panic stirred deep in her belly.
"Uh-huh?"
"We...I have to get up."
He sighed heavily, then kissed her ear. "Not yet, love."
His words spurred her into motion. She pushed hard against his shoulders. "Yes, now. I have to get up."
John raised his head and frowned slightly, looking confused, but gently extracted his body from hers and sat up. "What's wrong, Jo?"
Jo scrambled to her feet and began to gather her clothes. "We just had sex, that's what's wrong." Her hands were trembling as she tried to cover herself with her clothes. Suddenly his arms came around her from behind to still her movements.
"Call me old-fashioned," he murmured into her hair, "but I'd say it was lovemaking."
Jo closed her eyes and wrenched out of his arms to spin and face him. "What we just did had nothing to do with love. It should never have happened, and it will never happen again."
John pursed his lips and crossed his arms. "What about Parish?"
Jo inhaled deeply and lifted her chin, trying to regain her equilibrium. "I hope you'll be a gentleman, and keep this...indiscretion between us. There's no need to hurt Alan. And I hope this doesn't affect our working agreement."
His lips tightened and he was silent for a full moment, studying her. Jo clutched her wad of clothes to her chest trying to quell the embarrassment and panic mushrooming inside her. John took a deep bream and bent to scoop up his own clothes. Unable to bear his silence, Jo said, "John, I need to know you won't say anything to Alan about what happened here."
He stepped into his clothes and pulled up the loose pants, snapping the waistband. "What do you mean?" He shrugged, his voice casual. Leveling his gaze at her, he spoke softly, resolutely. "Absolutely nothing happened here." He turned and headed toward the stairs, adding over his shoulder. "I have to shower and get to the office."
Jo watched him climb the stairs, a sense of loss overwhelming her.
"John, you're even more handsome than I remembered," Pam said, smiling widely. Casting aside convention, she kissed him on the cheek, brushing an imaginary crumb from his collarless bottle-green shirt, her fingers trailing down to the waistband of his chocolate-colored pleated slacks.
"I hadn't forgotten how lovely you are," he said easily. Pamela Kaminski was a gorgeous woman who filled out the long-sleeved white stretchy dress to alarming proportions. Her legs were deeply tanned for January, curvy and long, lengthened further by three-inch heels. Her hair swished across her golden shoulders, curly and full. Her lips were bee-stung and her pale eyebrows perfectly arched. But John didn't find her as intimidating as most men probably did—his mind and heart were full of Jo Montgomery. He felt comfortable flirting with Pam because he had nothing at stake.
The short ride to the riverfront restaurant was pleasurable. Pamela was a bright conversationalist who knew most of Savannah's upper crust and had lots of juicy tidbits to share. His stomach was rolling at the prospect of watching Alan Parish make a fuss over Jo all evening, but he'd determined the only way he was going to get their lovemaking off his mind was to see her with her boyfriend. Pamela chattered comfortably, demanding little response. He forced himself to relax, lulled by her silky, sexy voice.
Cruising slowly along the cobblestone alleys and streets, John seized an empty parking spot within easy walking distance from the restaurant. When they entered the establishment, his eyes instantly settled on Jo. She stood in the crowded waiting area, smiling up at Alan—dammit—looking like an entree herself in a long fitted red dress. Now he knew what treasures lay beneath the snug garment. She turned and caught his gaze, her smile slipping a little before she raised her hand in a wave. John's breath caught in his chest as he steered Pamela in their direction.
The women embraced, and Alan's handshake seemed a little more cordial, but not much. Jo's expression was unreadable, but she appeared at ease with Alan's arm wrapped around her waist. Alan was a good-looking man, John acknowledged, with model-perfect hair and teeth. And he'd done some checking of his own—the man was loaded and on his way to the top. Young, rich, with no children, versus older, poorer, with three children. John's heart suddenly dipped. Who was he fooling? He didn't stand a chance.
But when his eyes flicked back to Jo, he was surprised to find her gaze upon him. Pamela and Alan were eyeing someone across the room and talking in low tones.
"Hi," he ventured. "Staying busy?"
She nodded, her gaze dropping to the mixed drink in her hand. "Working on the Patterson project. How are the kids?"
Nice, safe conversation. "Fine. My sister, Cleo, is coming down from Atlanta tomorrow to take Claire shopping."
Jo nodded. "I remember Claire talking about it."
"I need to pick up a few things for the boys, too."
"That's nice," she said, lifting her drink for another sip.
She looking completely at ease, he noted. Did she often indulge in brief affairs? He didn't think so, but obviously she hadn't been quite as shaken by their encounter as he'd been.
Their name was called and a young hostess showed them to a preferred table by the window. John strategically positioned himself opposite Alan, with Jo to his left and Pamela to his right.
"So, John," Alan said once they'd ordered appetizers, "who's baby-sitting tonight?" The blond man's smile was deceptively pleasant.
John bit the inside of his cheek. "A baby-sitter."
Pamela laughed gaily, touching John's arm. "I'll bet your children are adorable," she crooned.
"Well, I'm a little biased," John said, smiling.

Alan gave John a watery smile. "Jo and I don't plan to have children."
"Oh?" John asked. "I didn't realize you were engaged."
Alan's face remained impassive as he studied John. "We're not, but someday we'll be married." He reached over and patted Jo's hand possessively.
"Well, some people are not cut out for the responsibility of parenthood," John said agreeably.
Alan frowned. "It's not that we can't handle it, we don't want to handle it—there's a big difference."
"It's not for everyone," John repeated, smiling. "Me? I wouldn't trade it for the world. A lover can pass through your life," he paused, hoping his point landed home, "but children—they're forever."
"Yeah, forever," Alan said, chuckling and trying to gain Jo and Pamela's support with his sideways glances. "That's exactly what I mean."
John shook his head sadly. "You're right, Alan—some people just can't commit."
Alan blanched, but the arrival of their appetizers prevented his response.
Everyone placed their order except Jo, who frowned at the menu while the waiter hovered. "I can't decide," she said, shaking her head.
Alan and John spoke at once.
"Try the chilled pasta."
"Try the grilled chicken."
Jo looked from man to man, shifting uncomfortably.
Alan's eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke to John across the table. "You obviously don't know Jo very well, because she doesn't eat a lot of meat."
"No, I don't know Jo very well," John agreed slowly, "but I happen to know she does like chicken." He smiled at the man, knowing from Alan's quick, accusatory glance at Jo that he'd heard some version of their picnic in Forsythe Park.
Jo cleared her throat and handed her menu to the waiter.

"I'll have the grilled chicken pasta," she said, lifting her drink for another sip.
Alan frowned, then his gaze bounced around the restaurant. "Pamela," he asked suddenly. "Is that Charles Browden in the next room?"
Pamela turned discreetly in her seat to look in the direction Alan indicated, then nodded. "He's with his wife, Evelyn. I found a house for their oldest daughter a couple of months ago—a gift from Daddy, of course."
"Do you know them well enough to introduce me?" Alan pressed.
"Sure," Pamela agreed, curls bouncing. The California couple excused themselves and left John and Jo alone, much to John's delight.
"Well," he said, lifting his glass in the air, "here's to chicken."
She hesitated, unsmiling, then chinked her glass to his. "You're determined to get me into trouble, aren't you?"
"If you didn't tell him everything about our little picnic, I don't suppose you got around to mentioning—"
"John—"
"Ms. Montgomery, I don't believe it!" a female voice said behind him.
From the look on Jo's face, she didn't believe it either. "M-Mrs. Patterson," she said weakly.
John turned around to see a well-preserved blond woman smiling at both of them.
"Savannah is small, but I seem to be running into you everywhere!"
Jo smiled woodenly, her complexion ashen.
"This must be John, he looks so much like Jamie."
John rose and shook the woman's hand. "John Sterling."
"Mr. Sterling, I'm Melissa Patterson."
He smiled. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"You must be so proud of your new wife."
John blinked. "My new wife?" He glanced at Jo and found her staring at him with pleading eyes. Pleading for what?

"My husband and I both are so impressed with her operation, and by the fact that she has taken on three stepchildren, as well."
John looked back to Mrs. Patterson and nodded noncommittally. What the heck was this woman talking about?
The woman laughed merrily. "In fact, when we first saw Jo herding those kids through the door of her office, we knew we'd found the right person to handle our account."
He was completely baffled. "Is that right?"
"Oh, yes." Her smile was blinding. "We told her up front the fact that she had children gave her a definite edge in vying for our account."
John's fingertips tingled as realization began to dawn on him. "Really?" He gave the woman a tight smile, then glanced back to Jo. She held her fingers to her lips and her cheeks ballooned as if she might heave any second.
"Oh, yes, it's important that our designer be in tune with the needs of small children."
He pressed his lips together and nodded as anger began to well within him. Jo had pretended his children were hers in order to get the Patterson account.
"And I'm sure Jo expressed how concerned my husband and I were about your son's little mishap earlier this week."
"Yes," he said through clenched teeth. "My new wife is good about telling me everything."
"She assured me the two of you understood it was simply an unfortunate accident—our workers are typically very diligent."
Fury boiled through his veins, but he remained calm. "No, I don't hold the day-care center or the workers responsible for the, um, mishap. I know my son's tendencies."
"Well," she said brightly, tilting her head, "it was so nice to meet you. And might I say you make a very handsome couple."
"Thank you," John said tightly. She waved goodbye, then walked away. John turned his head ever so slowly to look down at Jo. Her eyes were closed, her napkin covering her mouth.
He sat down heavily, his eyes flicking over her gray complexion. Hurt, anger and betrayal washed over him with such force he, too, felt physically ill. "The least you can do," he said in a low, deadly voice, "is look at me."
Jo's shoulders rose as she inhaled deeply, then she opened her eyes. They swam with unshed tears.
Incidents flashed in his mind with a new perspective—Jo watching his children and taking them on "errands," her picking them up from day care, the voice message from Carolyn Hook referring to his "wife," Billy's confusing reference to her the last couple of days as "Jo-mommy." His heart shivered in disappointment.
"You've been using me and my children to position yourself with the Pattersons." Was that his voice? He sounded like a wounded animal.
Jo lowered the napkin slowly. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
John laughed harshly. "Well, I guess you can nominate me for fool of the decade. I had actually convinced myself that you had grown fond of us. Although I can't imagine why," he added sarcastically, picturing them grappling naked on the rug.
"John," she said, her voice scratchy. "I'm sorry. I—I'll understand if you want to cancel our contract."
Business...she was all business. There wasn't a maternal cell, muscle or bone in her great body. He stared at her. "Well, at least now I understand why I qualified for such a deep discount."
She blinked rapidly. "John—"
Alan and Pamela chose that precise moment to return to the table. Alan was so pleased with the outcome of the conversation with Charles Browden, he failed to notice the change in Jo's demeanor. But John saw Pamela glance between them suspiciously before asking, "Jo, are you feeling all right?"

Jo coughed into her napkin, then straightened and said, "A bit of an upset stomach, that's all."
Pamela squinted at John. "You don't look so swell, either." John shifted miserably in his seat. "Unfortunately, Jo and I shared a bitter morsel while you two were gone." Jo suddenly jumped up from her seat and sprinted toward the ladies' room.

9
Sixty-eight and a half. According to her digital clock, the blades of the ceiling fan in her bedroom turned exactly sixty-eight and a half times every minute. Jo lay staring at the movement, wishing the monotony would lull her to sleep. From the floor, Victor snored happily, his conscience obviously less burdened than Jo's.
She had hoped the staggering feeling of deceit might ease as the evening wore on, but every time she looked at John's face, shame washed over her anew. He had been coolly cordial, turning his attention to Pamela, leaving Jo to converse with Alan, who was already plotting his strategy to obtain Charles Browden's account. And all she had to do was look across the table to be reminded of her betrayal to Alan.
A tiny voice rationalized that Melissa Patterson's revelation was for the best. Her feelings for John Sterling were ridiculous, considering where they might logically lead. Marriage and motherhood? She laughed out loud, the sound startling her in the dark emptiness of her bedroom. She was no Carol Brady, and John's children deserved a mother who...well, a mother who knew how the heck to be a mother. Not a clueless, shoot-from-the-hip, career-minded woman with an aversion to grubby fingerprints on her silk suits.
Toward dawn she dozed fitfully, her dreams a mishmash of chasing hellion kids and growing old alone. Her eyes snapped open when her telephone broke the silence of the late morning. She sat up and glanced at her clock as she reached for the handset. Ten-thirty.
"Hello?"

"Jo?" Claire sounded breathless.
Immediately, Jo tensed. "Claire? Is something wrong?"
The little girl started to cry. "Aunt Cleo can't come to take me shopping and I need c-clothes for school Monday. Can you take me? Daddy doesn't know how to buy g-girl things." She sniffled, waiting for Jo's answer.
Jo bit her bottom lip. "Claire, does your daddy know you called me?"
"No," Claire said miserably. "I didn't want to hurt his feelings."
Jo smiled. "That's nice, but maybe you'd better put him on the phone."
Sniffing mightily, Claire relented. "Okay, hang on."
Steeling herself, Jo ran her fingers through her hair and encountered a nest of tangles from her night of tossing and turning.
"Hello," John said abruptly.
"John, it's Jo," she said quickly.
"I'm sorry Claire bothered you." His tone was clipped. "I'll let you get back to...whatever you were doing."
"It's okay," Jo said hurriedly. "She said your sister couldn't make the trip from Atlanta."
"Emergency at work."
"Claire was so looking forward to shopping for school clothes."
"I'll take care of it," he said evenly.
Jo gripped the handset so tight her fingernails hurt. "John, I'm glad Claire called—I needed to talk to you anyway."
"If it's about the house, just use your key—"
"It's not about the house," she cut in nervously. "It's about the situation with the Pattersons." She sighed. "Please believe that I didn't fabricate an elaborate lie to convince them I was your w-wife and the children's m-mother." The words were extremely hard to get out. "They simply assumed the children were mine. At the time, I thought I had a good reason not to correct them—I really needed their account—but now..." She inhaled a shaky breath. "But now, I realize it was thoughtless and hurtful and embarrassing for you. I'm very sorry."
After a few seconds of silence, John asked, "Is this where I'm supposed to say all is forgiven?"
"No," she said softly. "I wouldn't ask that of you—I just wanted you to know how I feel about what I've done." When he didn't respond, she hurried on. "And I'd be happy to take Claire shopping—you know, just us girls."
John sighed heavily into the phone. "Jo, I don't think you realize how attached to you my children have become. I don't want them hurt any more than they already will be."
Jo swallowed the lump in her throat. "I understand how you feel, but it means so much to Claire that she have the right clothes for her new school—you know how girls are at that age."
His laugh was hollow. "Actually, Jo, no, I don't, but I'm muddling through."
"Well, I know," she said, "because I was just like Claire. Let me do this for her."
"I don't think—"
"It's the least I can do under the circumstances," she offered. He hesitated, so she pressed on. "I'll shower and meet you at the front entrance of the mall in...thirty minutes?"
He sighed. "Better make it forty-five. Billy and I are tackling the potty again this morning."
She laughed and agreed, relief flooding her. When she replaced the handset, Jo's heart lifted a little. Perhaps she could repair a fraction of the damage she'd wrought.
The phone was ringing again when she stepped out of the shower. "Hello," she said, wrapping a towel around her hair.
"Hey, beautiful." Alan's voice rumbled low.
"Hi," she said, swallowing guiltily.
"I was hoping I'd catch you before you left for the day. Are you feeling better?"
"Much," she said truthfully.
"Good. How about dinner on Tybee Island tonight?"
"Uh, sure," she said breathlessly.

"Pick you up at six?"
"Six is fine," she said, then hung up slowly. Victor stared at her sorrowfully as she jumped up to finish dressing.
Not surprisingly, the Sterlings were late, their noisy entry to the mall causing Jo to smile. Jamie ran up to her, looking naked without his black cape.
"Taking a break from flying today?" she asked.
His lower lip protruded. "Daddy wouldn't let me wear it— it's too new."
"Nuisance," John clarified, walking up. "Too much of a nuisance."
Jo smiled tentatively, her heart tripping at the sight of him. "Hi."
He nodded, his expression neither friendly nor adversarial. "Hi."
"Jo-mommy!" Billy exclaimed happily, sharing a toothy grin.
She avoided John's gaze and smiled at the toddler. "Just plain Jo, okay, Billy?"
"Just Plain Jo," he mimicked.
"Hi, Jo," Claire said, slipping her small hand into Jo's. She pushed up her glasses and smiled shyly.
Jo felt a tug at her heart. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all. "Are you ready to spend some money?"
Claire nodded, her white-blond hair swinging around her face. "Daddy gave me his credit card."
Jo grinned. "Terrific." She looked at John. "Is there anything special we should look for?"
"I'm leaving it up to you," he said, his voice and expression showing his reluctance.
She nodded, and dealt with the flash of pain in her chest. She couldn't blame him for being angry with her.
He looked at his watch. "It's eleven-thirty now, let's meet back in the food court for lunch around two, okay?"
She and Claire went in one direction, John and the boys went in another. As they passed other shoppers, Jo studied the clothing girls Claire's age were wearing. They walked into the girls' section of Jo's favorite department store and Claire became more shy than ever. She chewed on her lip and poked at her glasses every few seconds, and only nodded or shrugged when Jo held up outfits. After thirty minutes, they'd gotten nowhere. "Tell you what," Jo said. "You tell me your three favorite colors and go into the dressing room. Then I'll round up several outfits and you can try everything on at once." Claire nodded happily and Jo left her in the hands of a dressing-room clerk. She returned a few minutes later with an armload of bright-colored clothing, thrilled to watch the transformation as Claire pulled on the pretty clothes.
The little girl grinned and laughed easily, her cheeks glowing. After buttoning a particularly becoming pink polka-dotted blouse, Claire looked at herself in the mirror, enchanted with the way she looked. "I'm almost pretty," she breathed. "Do you like it, Mommy?" Her eyes cut to Jo in the mirror, then she realized her slip. Her eyebrows crumpled and she pressed her lips together, trying her best to still her quivering chin while unbuttoning the blouse as fast as she could.
"Hey," Jo said softly, leaning down to squeeze Claire's shoulder. "It's okay."
"I forgot," Claire whispered, her eyes full of tears.
"Shh," Jo said, holding her tight. "It's okay, really." She pulled back and smiled sadly at Claire. "Did your mommy take you shopping?"
The little girl nodded.
"I wish she could see how smart and how pretty you are, Claire. I know she'd be so proud of you."
"Daddy says I look like her."
"I'm sure she was a very beautiful woman."
"Daddy wants to find us a new mommy."
Jo's stomach flipped over. "Did he tell you that?" she asked softly.
Claire nodded. "I think he wants you to be our new mommy."
Jo blanched, then she touched the little girl's silky cheek.

"I think you misunderstood, Claire. He'll find you a new mommy someday, but it won't be me."
Claire frowned and studied her sock feet. "I don't blame you for not wanting to be our mommy—we're a lot of trouble."
Swallowing to dispel the lump in her throat, Jo pulled Claire down beside her on a tiny bench. "Claire, this is hard to explain. It's not that I don't want to be your mommy, but I don't think I'd do a very good job of being anyone's mommy. Do you understand?"
Claire sighed and nodded sadly. "I guess so."
"Good." Jo smiled. "And you three are not so much trouble. I'm sure there are lots of women out there who would love to be your mommy."
"I hope so," Claire whispered. "I'm not a very good cook."
Jo laughed out loud, then glanced at her watch. "We'd better hurry if we're going to meet the boys!"
Claire quickly tried on jeans, skirts, shirts, and vests. For the briefest moment, Jo visualized watching a little girl of her own try on school clothes, and for the first time, a distant longing echoed deep in her heart. Seconds later, the feeling had vanished and Jo decided she'd imagined the faint stirring.
After they'd settled on several mix-and-match outfits, they bought hair ribbons, socks and shoes. Laden with packages, they were only ten minutes late meeting John and the boys, who had already claimed a table and were somewhat less burdened by purchases.
"Wow!" Jamie exclaimed. "I'm going with Jo the next time."
John surveyed the bags with amusement and tweaked his daughter's nose. "Am I going to have to sell the house to pay for all these?"
"No," Claire said, giggling. "But I might need a bigger closet."
"Just Plain Jo bring puppy?" Billy asked, tugging on Jo's shirt.

"No," she said sadly. "He's at home sleeping."
He held up his arms. "Poopy diaper."
"Again?" John sighed as Jo swung him into her lap. "I just changed you, Billy."
The little boy shrugged his little shoulders, unable to offer an explanation.
Jo laughed, then for a moment, all was quiet at their table. Jamie looked at Jo, then at John. Claire looked at John, then at Jo and Billy. Billy looked at John, then at Jo. Jo looked at the kids, then at John. And John simply looked at her. Her heart pounded at the intimacy of the situation—an all-American family. All around them, mall shoppers talked, laughed, walked and bustled by, insulating them in a quiet pocket. A trickle of sweat slid between her breasts, but Jo couldn't bring herself to end the peaceful moment.
A flash exploded in their faces. Jo blinked, then focused on a round man who lowered a camera and grinned at John. "Nice-looking family, sir. Five dollars for the memory." The man winked at Jo and waved the instant photograph in the air.
"What a night," Alan said, spreading his arms to the night stars and inhaling deeply.
Jo smiled wide, glad Alan was in such a congenial mood. Her own thoughts had remained with the Sterlings long after she'd escaped the photo opportunist. After their unforgivable lapse at his home and the dinner disaster last night, her relationship with John—whatever its label—would never be the same, but she was glad they could at least be cordial.
"The water is gorgeous, hmm?" Alan asked, slipping an arm around her shoulder.
"Mmm," she agreed. The night air was chilly, so they had the beach to themselves.
She looked up at Alan's profile, boyish and handsome, his golden hair glowing in the moonlight. Admiration, fondness and genuine love washed over her. Alan had been her rock when she was getting her business off the ground. He'd introduced her to all the right people around town and treated her with respect and kindness throughout the three years they'd dated. Alan might not inspire the same depth of emotions she experienced with John Sterling, but he shared her goals. She sighed and leaned into him, grateful for the good times they'd shared and for the good times still ahead.
"Do you remember the first time we walked this beach, Jo?"
She smiled and nodded. "Our first solo date."
He stopped and looked into her eyes. "That's the night I knew, Jo. I knew I wanted to marry you."
As he withdrew a small square jeweler's box, tiny hairs raised on the nape of her neck, triggering a full-body shiver.
"I thought it only fitting to bring you back here for the proposal." He lifted the hinged lid, revealing a huge solitaire diamond twinkling and flashing in the moonlight.
Jo felt her jaw loosen and drop.
"Jo Montgomery," he whispered, removing the ring and sliding it onto her finger. "Will you marry me?"
She stared at the winking stone for several long seconds, alarmed when John Sterling's face appeared in her mind. Then she heard Claire saying, "Daddy wants to find us a new mommy." She didn't want a package deal—she wanted a man to love her for herself, not because he was a struggling single dad. And even if John ever could love her, she wasn't ready for an instant family.
Jo lifted her gaze to meet Alan's. His love for her shone in his eyes, and Jo said the words she'd imagined saying hundreds of times since they'd first started dating. "Yes, Alan Parish, I will marry you."
He swept her in his arms for a long, sweet kiss. When he pulled back, he was beaming. He lifted her off the ground and swung her around, whooping. They continued walking down the beach, their hands clasped tightly together.
Squashing her anxiety, Jo laughed nervously and said, "Well, you certainly surprised me."
Alan smiled. "To be honest, I should call your friend John Sterling and thank him."

Jo's head snapped up. "John? What does he have to do with this?"
"I'm not blind, Jo, I can see the guy has eyes for you. Besides, he said something last night about commitment that hit home." Alan shrugged, palms up. "I called a jeweler first thing this morning."
Jo conjured up a watery smile.
"Do you have any feelings about a wedding date?"
"Soon," she whispered. "As soon as possible."
"Great," he said. "That will keep both of our mothers from making a big production out of the whole thing."
Jo nodded. "Yeah."
"So," he shouted into the night air, "thank you, John Sterling, wherever you are!"
"Well, it's about time!" Helen shouted, pulling Jo close for a suffocating hug. "Let me see the ring." She pursed her lips as she inspected the diamond, nodding her satisfaction. "Looks like a carat and a half, what do you think, Madden?"
Jo's father squeezed her hand, smiling. "I think it's none of our business how much the stone weighs, Helen."
From her perch by the sink, Hattie held up a glass of iced tea. "Here, here."
Helen frowned at her sister, then turned back to Jo. "A spring wedding would be nice, don't you think, dear? I'll call first thing tomorrow to book the string quartet that played at Margaret Fitch's wedding. Remember the little crab quiches they served?"
"Whoa, Mom," Jo said, holding up her hands. "I hate to disappoint you, but Alan and I have decided on a small church wedding in the very near future."
"How near?"
"Three weeks."
"What?" Helen screeched, clutching her chest. "It's impossible to organize a wedding in three weeks, Josephine."
"No, it isn't. Alan and I compared our work schedules and it's the best time for both of us. It'll give me time to finish a residential job I'm working on." She felt a pang in her side. "When I come back, I'll start a big commercial job that will probably take at least a year to finish." Another pang, this one worse.
"Where are you going on your honeymoon?"
"Fort Myers Beach."
Her mother's face crumpled. "But that's so common! With Alan's money you could go to Hawaii, or Europe!"
Jo felt for her mother, she really did. Her only daughter was marrying a wealthy man and she was being robbed of the social recognition that accompanied a glamorous wedding. "Mom, we discussed it, and neither one of us wants to be too far away from our business in case there's an emergency."
"What does it matter?" Hattie asked. "All a couple needs is a bed and a remote control."
Jo's mother shot her sister an annoyed glance while Jo flushed and pressed her lips together to conceal a smile. Hattie swept over to Jo to scrutinize the ring, then whispered, "Or in Alan's case, just a remote control will suffice."
Jo pinched her aunt on the back of her hand. "Behave," she said.
Sunday dinner was even more stressful than usual, with Helen making suggestions and Jo gently shooting them down. Exasperated, her mother finally said, "Josephine, will I be invited?"
"Of course," Hattie said quickly. "With that hair, Helen, you're the something old and the something blue."
"Mother," Jo said softly, "why don't you meet me for lunch tomorrow and we'll pick out invitations?"
Somewhat assuaged, Helen nodded morosely.
Later, Jo's father followed her outside to wait for Hattie.
"This is a big step, sweetheart," he said. "Are you sure you're ready for it?"
Jo looked up into her father's warm eyes and nodded. If nothing else, her experience with the Sterling family had proved to her that her personal life had reached an impasse.

She needed to move on. "Dad, did you always want children?"
He crossed his arms. "I think so, yes."
She bit her bottom lip. "Did you ever regret it?"
"Not for one second," he said, drawing her into a hug. "Besides," he added, pulling away to smile at her, "that would have left me with just your mother."
Jo laughed, poking her dad in the ribs.
On the drive home, Hattie was quiet—not meditating as usual, just studying her hands in silence.
After the first mile, Jo sighed. "What, Hattie?"
Her aunt's eyes widened in innocence.
"Out with it," Jo said. "You haven't said twenty words since I broke the news."
"I was wondering what your Mr. Sterling thinks about you getting married."
"He's not my Mr. Sterling, and it doesn't matter what he thinks."
"You haven't told him, have you?"
"Alan only asked me last night, Hattie. Anyway, after the way I used John and his kids, I'm sure his reaction would be 'good riddance.'" And that wasn't the worst of it, she thought as scenes of their lovemaking flashed in her mind.
"Did you tell John you played along with the Pattersons because you were close to defaulting on your loan?"
Jo nearly swerved off the road. "How did you know that?"
"I know how much it takes to keep the office running, much less make that hefty loan payment every month."
Jo winced. "Do you think I made a bad decision?"
Hattie sighed. "Jo, my dear, some of your decisions are questionable, but the software was a good investment—it helped you land the Patterson account."
"No," Jo said painfully. "The Sterlings helped me land the Patterson account."
"Which brings me back to your questionable decisions."
"You're right. If I had it to do over, I'd never have let the Pattersons believe I was a supermom."

"Jo," Hattie said, and sighed impatiently, "not that decision. I'm talking about your decision to marry Alan."
"Hattie, we've been over this ground before—"
"And I would keep my mouth shut if I thought you were completely happy."
Frowning, Jo asked, "Don't I look happy?"
"No," Hattie murmured softly. "You don't. I think you're more attached to those children than you care to admit."
Alarm ballooned in Jo's stomach. "Y-you must be imagining things, Hattie. I've never wanted children."
"Have you ever thought that could be because you've never met a man you wanted to have children with?"
Jo swallowed, wanting her jumbled feelings to go away, to be replaced by confidence that she was doing the right thing. "John doesn't love me, Hattie," she said. "He's attracted to me, but he's looking for a woman who can be a full-time mom to those kids. At least I know Alan loves me and I can be my own person with him."
After a few seconds of silence, Hattie said, "If you're sure."
Inhaling deeply with resolve, Jo said, "I'm sure."
"Well, I was hoping Torry would be here for your wedding, but three weeks might be a little optimistic, even for me."
Her tone cautious, Jo asked, "Have you heard from him?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"He spoke to me in a dream last night—he said we'd be together soon."
"Oh. That's nice."
Hattie clasped her hands together. "Jo, that's the kind of love I want for you—the kind you don't have to question—a love for all time."
"I've made my decision, Hattie."
Her aunt clucked. "You've made your bed, but you still have time to decide who's going to lie in it with you."

10
Friday afternoons were normally low-key around the office. As with every day this week, she'd spent the morning with the painters at John's house, careful to arrive after she was sure he was gone, and leave well before everyone came home. The workers had accomplished a lot in five days, but there was still plenty to do in the two weeks that remained. Jo was determined to cut all ties with the Sterlings before she walked down the aisle with Alan.
She had just put down her purse and switched on her computer when the phone rang. "Montgomery Group Interiors, this is Jo."
"Miss Montgomery, this is Mary Avondale, the school nurse from Brookwood Elementary."
Her mind spun as to why she should know the woman. "Yes?"
"I'm with a student, Claire Sterling, who insists she needs to talk to you."
Sitting up straight, Jo said, "Put her on."
"Jo?" Claire sounded tearful and frightened.
"Claire, what's wrong?"
"Can you come and get me? I'm very sick."
"What's wrong, sweetheart?"
"I can't tell you over the phone—it's real bad. I need for you to come right away."
"Did you call your daddy?"
"No!" Claire exclaimed. "He can't know. Promise me you'll come instead of Daddy."
Jo's heart wrenched at the fear in the little girl's voice. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Put Miss Avondale back on the phone."
"Hello?"
"Miss Avondale, do you know what's wrong with Claire?"
"No, ma'am. She said she wouldn't talk to anyone but you."
Phone crooked under her chin, Jo scribbled directions to the school, then hung up, yelled to Hattie, and ran out the door.
Biting her nails on the way over, Jo chastised herself for not informing John that Claire looked flushed last Saturday. For all she knew, she could have spinal meningitis by now. Some mother she'd make—she couldn't even tell when a child was sick. She depressed the gas pedal harder, sliding into a parking space in the school lot at an odd angle.
Running from office to office, she finally found the nurse's station, relieved to see Claire hugging her knees, sitting on a low padded bench in the small reception area.
"Jo!" She jumped up and threw her arms around Jo's waist. "I knew you'd come."
Kneeling, Jo felt the girl's forehead. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"
"I'm pregnant!"
Jo nearly swallowed her tongue. Thankfully, her closed throat kept her from screeching her surprise. Taking a deep breath, Jo wiped the alarm from her face. "Claire, has anyone ever touched you anywhere you didn't want them to?"
Claire frowned, looking completely puzzled. "No."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Jo bit back the smile that threatened to break through. "What makes you think you're pregnant?"
The little girl shifted uncomfortably, then leaned forward, tears in her eyes. "My boobies hurt. Stacy Whetter told me that's how her older sister knew she was pregnant." Her bottom lip trembled, and she fell against Jo, sobbing. "Oh, Jo, I don't want to have a baby!"
Jo hugged her close, patting her back, trying to help her regain her composure. She wouldn't subject Claire to further indignities by laughing at her misguided concerns. "Shh, sweetheart, don't cry—you're not pregnant."
Claire pulled back and hiccuped. "I'm not?"
Smiling, Jo shook her head. "No, you're not. I suspect, however, that you are beginning to develop, um, boobies, and that's why they're hurting. Do you have any training bras?"
Eyes wide, Claire shook her head gravely.
Tilting her head, Jo wiped Claire's tears and said, "Then we'll fix that."
Claire sniffed, then grinned and poked at her glasses.
Consulting her watch, Jo said, "It's only another hour before you leave. I'll see if I can sign you out."
Predictably, the school secretary wouldn't allow Claire to leave with a nonfamily member, so Jo dialed John's office from a pay phone in the corner. Susan put her through to John with minimal drilling.
"Jo?"
His voice was so deep and so...welcome. Jo squashed the flash of lust she felt, spinning her engagement ring round and round. "John, I'm at Claire's school. She called and asked me to come pick her up."
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice escalating.
"Well, nothing medical exactly," Jo said, looking over her shoulder to make sure Claire was out of earshot. "But your little girl is developing breasts and it scared her so much she thought she was pregnant."
"What?"
"You heard me."
"I don't think so, because I heard you say the words 'your little girl,' 'breasts' and 'pregnant' all in the same sentence."
"John, I don't suppose you've talked to Claire about the birds and the bees?"
"She's only nine years old!"
"And she'll be able to conceive a child in about three years."
"Aaagggh! Don't say that."
"Sorry to be the bearer of unwanted news," she said wryly. "Since I'm here, I thought I'd take her out to get a few underthings she'll be needing—or would you rather do it?"
"No!" He cleared his throat noisily. "I mean, no, I'm sure she'd rather you pick out her...underthingies."
"Fine. Just call the school back and give them permission to let her go with me, and I'll drop her by the house in a couple of hours."
"Sure," he said. "Oh, and Jo..."
"Yes?"
"Um...thanks."
After he called the school, John sat back in his desk chair and scrubbed his hand over his face. It was a sad, sad day...his little girl had breasts.
John sighed, then slowly reached over to open a desk drawer, and pulled out a cigarette. Then, shaking his head, he put it back in the package and relaxed into his chair. From the same drawer he pulled a photograph—the five of them collapsed in the stiff chairs at the mall food court. He and Jo were looking at each other, and the children were all looking at them. Such a neat little fit of scattered puzzle pieces. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he forced himself to remember that Jo Montgomery had used him and the children to gain a lucrative decorating account. She wasn't attached to him and his family; she'd been pretending all along.
Or had she? He might be a little rusty, but he'd bedded enough women to know an enthusiastic response when he felt one. And she'd seemed happy to take Claire shopping last weekend, plus take time out of her work schedule today. But then again, she could be doing it to make up for her little game of deception.
Leaning back in his chair, he banked miniature paper wads into his wastebasket until it overflowed. Sighing, he stood and stretched, unwilling to dive into the paperwork for the new airport hotel. He was restless now, and he ruefully acknowledged it probably had something to do with the fact that Jo Montgomery would be coming to his house this evening, if only to drop off Claire.
He couldn't wait to see her.
"You're pathetic, Sterling," he mumbled.
Susan walked into his office and knocked at the same time. She held a newspaper in her hand. "I've been meaning to show this to you all day, but I'd forgotten until Jo Montgomery just called." She carefully unfolded the paper, then turned a couple of pages. "There," she said, pointing. "Nice picture, eh?"
John's breath froze in his chest. Jo Montgomery smiled back at him, and the caption beneath her photo heralded Montgomery and Parish Announce Forthcoming Vows.
JO'S PULSE beat more erratically the closer her car got to John's home. Claire sat in the passenger seat, clutching the bag containing six new Comfort-eeze stretch training bras, identical to the one the little girl wore under her Mickey Mouse shirt.
Suddenly Claire leaned across the car seat, staring in awe. "Is that an engagement ring?"
Laughing nervously, Jo nodded and held it out for Claire to see.
"Wow! Does that mean you're getting married?"
"Uh-huh. My boyfriend asked me last weekend."
Claire bit her bottom lip. "So I guess my daddy won't be trying to kiss you anymore?"
Jo pressed her lips together and nodded. "That's right."
"Jo, don't you think my daddy is nice?"
"Of course I do."
"Why don't you marry him instead?"
Jo sighed. "Because I'm marrying Alan."
"What if something happens and you don't marry Alan, then would you marry my daddy?"
John was right—his children had grown attached to Jo and now they were in for a letdown. Her heart ached. "But nothing's going to happen."

Claire frowned. "Will you still come and see us sometime?"
Looking over at her dejected face, Jo felt like the lowest life-form. "Sure, sweetheart."
She pulled into the driveway, then hesitated. Perhaps she shouldn't go in.
Then Jamie bounded out the door. "Jo! My room's painted all blue—it's nice! Want to see?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "Okay." After she emerged from her car, the children each grabbed a hand and pulled her toward the front door.
"Just Plain Jo!" Billy yelled a greeting from the den where he sat among a stack of building blocks.
"Hi, Billy." Jo waved. Where was John?
"Look, Jo, your picture's in the newspaper," Jamie said, reaching up to the snack bar and carrying the paper to her.
Frowning, Jo took the paper, then her eyes widened. She sighed in annoyance, then muttered, "Well, Mom, I hope you're happy."
"What does it say?" Jamie asked, tugging on her sleeve.
"It says Jo's getting married," John said, walking into the room. He leaned over to hug Claire. "Hi, sweetheart."
Jo's stomach vaulted at the sight of him. And the fact that he knew about her engagement affected her breathing in strange ways. His hair was slightly mussed, as if after he'd pulled me holey jersey over his head, he hadn't bothered to comb it again. He wore white gym shorts that revealed his disturbingly familiar muscular legs, and stood barefoot.
"Look at Jo's ring, Daddy. Isn't it pretty?" Claire asked.
He looked at Jo and pursed his lips, then reached forward and lifted her hand, fingering the knuckle of her third finger much as he had only days ago. "Hmm, nice," he said. "I guess me man's not as big an idiot as I thought."
Jo smiled and shrugged lightly. "He said all your talk about commitment the other night hit home."
John stared at her, then crossed his arms. "Well," he said, his voice deceptively soft above the ears of the children, "the least you could have done was let me in on it—remember me, your husband?"
Straightening her shoulders, Jo changed the subject. "Claire has the things she needs for now, but if I were you, I wouldn't postpone the talk I mentioned for very long."
"Oh?" John asked, his eyes flat. "And you're the parenting expert now?"
The remark hit her like a slap in the face. She wasn't mommy material—not now, not ever. "N-no," she stammered. "I...I have to go."
She turned toward the door and Jamie yelled, "But Jo, don't you want to see my room?"
Blinking furiously, Jo tried her best to smile. "I'll see it tomorrow, Jamie, okay?" She walked across the foyer as fast as she could. As she closed the door behind her, she heard Jamie mumble, "I'm Peter. Daddy, why is Jo crying?"
On the way home, Jo rolled down the window and drove slowly, welcoming the bracing breeze, wishing it would blow away all her problems, all her fuzzy feelings. She owed it to Alan to stay away from John Sterling, but their paths kept crossing. It was impossible to disappoint the children, especially Claire, but she'd have to steel herself the next time one of them called. She simply could not keep riding this emotional roller coaster—front car, no hands.
She dialed her office voice mail to check messages. The third caller was Melissa Patterson. "Miss Montgomery," she said in a cool tone, "I was looking through the paper today and spotted something rather interesting. I think we should talk."
"Mrs. Patterson will see you now," the young woman said gravely, sweeping her arm toward the door. She gave Jo an apologetic half smile.
Jo halted before the closed door, her heart thudding against her chest. She took a deep breath and turned the knob. Mrs. Patterson turned in her tall swivel chair and offered her a chilly smile. "Come in, Miss Montgomery."

Nodding and smiling, Jo took the seat she was offered, trying desperately to calm her rolling stomach. Her palms were wet with perspiration. Inside her purse was a check for most of me advance the Pattersons had given her. If they insisted on full repayment immediately, she'd have to swallow her pride and go to Alan.
"Mrs. Patterson," Jo began, laughing nervously, "I suppose you would like an explanation for the announcement in the newspaper."
The woman pursed her thin lips. "I've narrowed the explanations down to two—either you're a bigamist, or you're a liar."
Clearing her throat, Jo said, "Um, yes, well—"
"I don't have all day, Miss Montgomery, which is it?"
She took a deep breath, then said, "Well, I guess if I would have to pick one—liar."
"That's fortunate since it's the only legal option. And may I ask why you felt it necessary to weave such a fantastic lie?"
Jo cleared her throat again, then spoke softly, carefully. "The day I first met you and Mr. Patterson, you assumed the children were mine. After you mentioned it would help my chances for getting your account, I simply let you go on believing it."
"You mean you played us for fools."
"I certainly didn't mean—"
"And were the children and Mr. Sterling in on it—I suppose to wangle their way back into the day care?"
"No, they're completely innocent."
"The children seemed very attached to you."
Jo took a deep breath and nodded, her lips pressed together. "I'm redecorating the Sterling house. I suppose they latched on to me as a mother figure."
"But the other night in the restaurant, I distinctly heard Mr. Sterling refer to you as his wife."
"We weren't together," Jo said, feeling like a dolt. "Our dates had excused themselves from the table when you appeared. John didn't know what was going on—he covered for me."
"I see," Mrs. Patterson said slowly, studying Jo's face as if trying to determine how a person could do such a thing.
Rising to her feet, Jo said, "I'm sorry for deceiving you, Mrs. Patterson. I feel terrible about this whole situation, and I'll understand completely if you want to cancel the contract."
Her hands steepled, Mrs. Patterson remained silent for a full minute, then shifted forward in her seat. "I'm still of the opinion that we need a designer who is able to connect with children."
Jo swallowed resolutely, then she opened her purse to remove the check.
"And," the woman continued, "I still think we have the right person in you...Jo."
Incredulous, Jo stammered. "Y-you do?"
"You're a natural with kids—you might not see it, but other people do. Those children respond to you. And we were very impressed with your software demonstration—I don't think my husband and I have ever reached a decision so quickly."
"You mean it had nothing to do with worrying about being sued for Jamie's accident?"
Mrs. Patterson shook her head. "We carry millions of dollars' worth of insurance to cover situations like that, Jo. It had no impact on our decision to give you our account." She smiled at last. "You underestimate your sales capabilities."
"Thank you. I'm flattered."
Mrs. Patterson sighed. "But I'm genuinely disappointed to discover those children aren't yours...it somehow seemed so right. Apparently, you underestimate your capabilities in other areas, as well."
Jo left the Pattersons' office feeling stunned. The fact that she still had the account wasn't nearly as amazing as Mrs. Patterson's other revelation.
She actually thought Jo was good with children.
Jo drove by John's house seven times Monday morning, waiting for his car to leave. Finally, when the furniture van arrived, she sighed and pulled into the driveway, bracing herself for the physical onslaught of his presence.
Billy's screams of "Bad potty, bad potty" filled the air when she opened the front door.
"John?" she called.
A few seconds later, he walked in carrying a tearful Billy. "I can't figure it out. What is it about that damned potty?"
"Just Plain Jo!" Billy exclaimed, reaching for her.
Reluctantly, Jo took him, reveling in the feel of his chubby arms around her neck, his chubby legs around her waist. "Poopy diaper," he whispered.
Jo and John exchanged glances. "He's difficult," they said in unison, then smiled.
"Some of the furniture is here," Jo said, nodding toward the front door. "This place will be starting to take shape when you get home this evening."
"I took the day off to potty-train Billy, even if it kills us both," John said, raising his hands palm up. "So you're stuck with me."
"Oh," Jo said, squirming. "Well, I won't be here that long—just until everything's in place. There'll be more furniture delivered every morning this week." She hesitated, then plunged ahead, "John, Claire mentioned once you had paintings packed away that your wife painted."
He stiffened. "Yes."
"Well," she said softly, "I think it would be a very nice thing if your kids could grow up surrounded by her artwork, don't you?" She held her breath.
He stared at her for a long time, then bit his lip and nodded. "Okay, I'll bring them out of storage."
She walked to the door and instructed the men to start unloading the furniture, then walked into the downstairs bathroom to retrieve a diaper. Immediately, he stiffened and whined, "Bad potty, monster potty get Billy."
Sighing, she set him down in the hall, then went into the bathroom and rummaged through the vanity cabinet. When she looked back, Billy had poked his head around the corner. "Monster potty," he whispered ominously.
Jo followed his stare and frowned at the commode and the colorful potty-chair sitting next to it. She stood and walked over to the toilet and touched the back of it. "Good potty," she said.
"Good potty," Billy parroted.
She touched the small potty-chair. "Good potty."
"Good potty." He grinned, but still hung back.
"Come and sit on the good potty, Billy," she said, smiling and nodding.
He shook his head firmly. "Monster get Billy."
"I give up," Jo mumbled, stooping to right a black plastic-dragon toilet-brush holder.
"Monster get Billy!" the toddler shrieked, cowering at the door.
Jo frowned, then looked at the cartoonish animal shape in her hand. "Is this what you're afraid of?" She held it up, and Billy fled, wailing at the top of his lungs.
Straightening, Jo covered her mouth with her hand, laughing quietly.
"What's going on?" John asked from the doorway. "Where's Billy?"
Jo turned and held up the plastic dragon. "He's afraid of the toilet-brush holder."
"You're kidding."
"Nope. There's one in the upstairs bathroom, too, isn't there?"
He nodded. "You mean, all this time...?"
"Yup."
He brought the heel of his hand to his forehead. "I have seen Jamie use them in his Peter Pan escapades—he probably terrorized Billy more than once." Hands on hips, he shook his head and laughed with her. "I owe you big for this one, Jo."
After a few seconds, their laughter faded, and their gazes met. Finally, Jo smiled nervously and said, "Maybe we can call it even, then."

He studied her face for a few seconds, then nodded. "Sure." To her surprise, he extended his hand.
She stared at his big fingers, then slowly lifted her hand and slipped it inside his. Their skin touching was electric, at least for Jo. The nerve endings in her fingers throbbed. Instead of a handshake, the clasp was intimate and warm, palm nestled against palm. At last, Jo retrieved her limp hand, and tried to smile. "I'll get rid of Billy's monster and leave you two alone with the potty." Completely shaken, she left the bathroom, determined to stay out of sight the rest of the morning.
Out of sight was not out of mind, John decided as he sat on the bathroom floor, watching his toddler read while sitting contentedly on the potty. He sighed, wishing he could stop wanting her, could stop...loving her. He blinked at his own admission, then watched as his son craned his neck.
"Just Plain Jo?" Billy asked, pointing to the door.
John nodded. "Jo's still here, Billy." Pain expanded his chest. "Just don't get used to it," he whispered sadly.

11
Between tying up loose ends at the Sterling house and taking care of last-minute arrangements for the wedding, the week flew by. Thursday afternoon Jo did a preliminary walk-through by herself in preparation for John's final walk-through scheduled that evening. On the way back to her office, she stopped at her duplex and boxed her collection of Nancy Drew books, then walked to her car to stow them in the trunk for Claire. She was startled when a handsome older gentleman came around the side of her house and approached her.
"Good day," he called, his breath white in the crisp air.
"Hello," she said, smiling. "Can I help you?"
"I certainly hope so," he said. "My name is Torry Rodgers and I'm looking for Hattie Stevens."
Jo stared at him, stupefied. "You're Torry?"
"Yes, I am," he said, smiling. "Do you know Hattie?"
"I'm her niece, Jo Montgomery." She couldn't stop smiling.
"Well, that's marvelous! Can you tell me where I might find her?"
"I'll do better than that," Jo said, grinning. "I'll take you to her."
He followed her back to the office. Jo didn't go inside— she simply let him in, turned the Closed sign on the door and climbed back into her car. She could work from the duplex today. After all these years, the couple deserved a private reunion. "Good for you, Aunt Hattie," she whispered.
Alan called three times that afternoon to check on minor things, and each time Jo found her patience wearing more thin.

"I really don't care what kind of champagne we toast with, Alan, just make sure there's plenty of it."
To her surprise and delight, Pamela had been her saving grace the past few days, doing anything and everything Jo asked her to do, plus anticipating dozens of things Jo had forgotten.
On the way to the Sterling house, her mother called on the car phone and chatted about nothing for ten minutes, then cleared her throat and said, "Josephine, I hope you remembered to see your doctor and arrange for birth control."
Stunned, Jo realized her mother thought she was still a virgin. It took her a few seconds to recover. "Yes, Mother."
"Good, because the wedding night can be very scary if you're not prepared."
Pamela would not believe this conversation. "Okay."
"So, are you—" Helen cleared her throat again "—prepared, dear?"
Jo bit her tongue to keep from laughing out loud. "I think I know what to expect, Mother, yes."
"Good, because if you have any questions, I'll be glad to answer them, or if I don't know, I'll ask your father."
Jo held up the handset and looked at it, incredulous. She put the phone back to her mouth and said, "Thanks, Mom."
By the time she pulled into John's driveway, she was a walking bundle of nerves. The entire house was lit up, and Jo sat looking at it, realizing how accustomed she'd grown to its rooms, its lines, its ambience. She stepped out of the car, zipping her coat, then pulled the carton of books from the trunk and headed toward the door.
She'd barely reached the top step when the door flew open and the kids came running out.
"Jo!" Jamie cried. "My room is neato!"
"Where's your cape?" she asked.
"I'm just Jamie again," he said bluntly, then smiled shyly, a first. "You can call me that—Jamie, I mean—if you want to."

Claire pulled her down for a whisper. "My boobies don't hurt anymore, Jo. And guess what?"
"What?" Jo whispered back.
"Jeremy Winder carried my books to math class!"
"Really?" Jo's eyes widened.
"Don't tell Daddy," Claire begged.
"It's our secret," Jo promised.
"Just Plain Jo!" Billy said, pulling on her pants leg. "Billy is big boy now."
She noted the lack of a diaper under his jeans with an exaggerated gasp. "Yes, you are a big boy, aren't you?"
"Need a hand?" John asked from the doorway.
She looked up and drank in the length of him, head to toe, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed casually. Her mouth went dry, and she could only hand him the carton. "There are two more in my car," she said, turning back to get them.
He told the kids to come in from the cold, then caught up with her and withdrew the larger box, leaving the smaller one for her. "So, Saturday's the big day."
She smiled, avoiding his gaze. "Uh-huh."
"My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail."
Glancing up, she said, "I didn't think you'd be interested."
"Who knows?" His voice was soft and teasing. "I might just crash the party."
He walked ahead of her, then said over his shoulder. "What's in these boxes, anyway?"
"Books!" Claire squealed from inside the house, lifting volumes from the first carton. They set down the other boxes and Jo watched as Claire arranged the books chronologically, fingering the spines lovingly. Once she'd finished, she rose and hugged Jo around the waist, "Thanks, Jo. I'll take good care of them."
"I know you will," Jo said, stroking her hair.
John cleared his throat loudly, then asked abruptly, "Aren't we supposed to be doing a walk-through?"

"Right," Jo said, releasing Claire. He obviously wanted her to leave as soon as possible.
To force herself to keep her mind on business, Jo grabbed a clipboard and pen, then backtracked with John to the entryway. He coolly approved each selection from wallpaper to sculpture. In his office, Jo noticed that several wide file cabinets had been added, along with a drafting table.
"I decided to move my office home," he explained. "To be with the kids as much as possible."
Jo nodded, her admiration for John growing even as her chest tightened with pain. He was a good father and deserved a partner who would be an equally good parent. She brushed aside the disturbing thoughts and forged ahead with the walkthrough.
They moved throughout the downstairs, Jo's spirits alternately lifting and falling when she recognized how well the rooms had turned out and how much she was going to miss being in them. She especially liked the green kitchen, and had instructed a still life of Annie's be hung by the breakfast table. The overall effect of the first floor was homey and livable. She could tell John liked it very much because his children moved through the rooms so comfortably.
They all climbed the stairs, the boys showing off their room first, then Claire. Jo pretended she had never seen any of it before tonight, exclaiming over every piece of furniture, and every picture. After reviewing the guest room, they left the kids in their rooms and she followed John to the master suite, conscious of her physical reaction to his proximity in the intimate setting.
He opened the door, and Jo caught her breath. The room was still decorated as beautifully as she'd left it, but John had changed it to reflect the way she'd presented it to him with the software: the bed was turned down, jazz music played softly, even a fire in the sitting-room fireplace. It was stunning and titillating.
"H-how's the new mattress?" she asked, her eyes riveted to the bed.

"Heavenly—didn't you try it?"
She raised her gaze to find him staring at her. "No."
His smile was slow and provocative. "Want to?"
Unsaid words hung in the air between them. Jo blinked first. "I'll have to take your word for it," she said quickly, moving away from him. "You're happy with the rooms, then?"
"As happy as I can be under the circumstances."
She looked at him and frowned. "What do you mean?"
He shrugged. "Look around—these rooms are for lovers, not for one man to rattle around in."
She felt her cheeks grow even warmer.
He laughed ruefully. "You know, when I asked you to decorate this home to your taste, I thought it was a brilliant strategy."
"You don't like it?" she asked, alarmed.
"Oh, I like it tremendously," John assured her, then added softly, "but my strategy backfired, because you're in every room."
Jo stared at him, and her mouth opened. Her brain short-circuited and transmitted words of love to her tongue, but they stalled there. She longed to share this room with him, to lie beneath him in his bed—but a frightening thought crossed her mind. What if she sacrificed everything for this man only to discover a few months from now that the lust had diminished and she was left with a husband who didn't love her and three children she couldn't bear to leave?
"I have to go," she said suddenly, backing out of the room. She trotted down the stairs and gathered up odds and ends she'd left lying around in far corners of the house—a ruler, a level, color strips.
When she turned toward the front door, she was surprised to see the four of them standing together. Claire stepped up and handed her a gift wrapped in ratty Christmas paper. "It's from all of us," she said. "So you don't forget."
Jo's hands shook as she removed the paper to reveal a framed picture, painted by Claire. It was the front of their house, impressively detailed and colored. In the yard stood a tall man with red hair, and three children, all appropriately sized and hair-colored. The picture blurred as Jo's eyes watered, her throat clogged with emotion.
"We signed our own names," Jamie said, his voice full of pride. "Except for Billy—he used his handprint."
"And Dad picked out the frame," Claire piped in.
"It's beautiful," Jo said tearfully, kneeling to gather them in a hug. "Thank you. I'll miss all of you."
She released them abruptly, then stood and faced John.
He looked at her, through her, not really focusing. "Good luck, Jo."
She nodded. "Goodbye, John." Then she turned and walked out the door, clasping the picture to her chest.
"Jo!" Pamela admonished. "Everyone's waiting!"
Jo looked up from her handkerchief into her best friend's concerned face. "I can't stop crying."
"It's your wedding day—you're supposed to cry." "Not this much, Pamela. I don't think I can do it." "Of course you can do it. Alan's waiting up there with a huge grin on his face, and I'm wearing this horrid peach taffeta dress—all for you."
Jo smiled through her tears and took a deep breath. "Okay," she said. "I can do this, I can do this." She kept repeating it to herself as she exited the dressing room and her father offered her his arm.
"You look beautiful, sweetheart," he said, beaming. "Are you ready?"
Jo nodded and kept repeating, "I can do this, I can do this." But as soon as me doors to the small chapel were opened, she began to sob and nearly buckled. Her poor father half pushed, half dragged her down the aisle past a jam-packed crowd of family and friends and deposited her beside Alan, whose forehead was slightly creased with concern. "Jo," he whispered, "are you all right?" She nodded, then yanked the silk hankie from his breast pocket and blew her nose mightily.

The music ended, and the preacher began, "Dearly beloved—"
"Wait," Jo said, holding up her hand. The audience gasped.
"Jo," Alan snapped, "what is wrong with you?"
"I need a minute with my aunt."
Alan looked incredulous. "What?"
Jo turned around and held her gloved hand over her eyes against the bright lights. "Hattie, where are you?"
Her aunt stood in the second row and made her way to the aisle. "Right here, dear."
Jo waved her over behind the organist, then turned to the singers and said, "Sing something."
They broke into a hesitant version of 'O Promise Me,' then Jo asked Hattie, "So, how's Torry?"
Hattie's smile was joyous. "He's simply wonderful."
"Do you think you two will get married?"
"Oh, yes." Hattie nodded convincingly, dislodging a bright orange straw hat with a white plume. "He proposed last night."
"You're kidding!"
"Like I said, Jo, you know when it's right."
"What are you going to tell Herbert?"
"That I hope he finds someone who loves him the way I love Torry."
A cold hand wrapped around Jo's arm from behind, and she turned to face her mother. "Josephine Helena Montgomery, are you trying to send me to the grave from a heart attack?"
"Mother, I just want to be sure I'm marrying me right man."
"The right man?" Helen said tightly. "Look at your groom, darling! He's gorgeous, he's smart, he's successful—"
Jo looked at Hattie. "She's right."
"But does he curl your toes?" Hattie asked.
Helen frowned. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"Oh, come on, Helen, I'm talking about the bedroom—"
"Stop right there, Hattie!" Helen held up her hand. "I'll not have you talking about perverted things in front of my daughter."
At the sound of a deep voice being cleared, Jo looked over her shoulder.
"Jo," Alan said, motioning to the crowd. "Everyone's getting a little restless. What's going on over here?"
Jo shooed her mother and aunt back to the pews, then turned to Alan. She looked into his eyes and all the powerful feelings of admiration, respect and companionship were resurrected. Alan loved her, and would make her happy.
"I'm ready," she announced.
They took their places and the singers stopped mid-lyric. The minister began again, and so did Jo's tears. She leaned on Alan and sobbed throughout the introduction. John didn't love her. He'd move on to find a mommy for his kids—someone who could cook and sew and swap coupons with other mothers. When the minister asked if anyone objected to the joining of this couple, the only sound that could be heard were her sobs echoing off the walls.
The minister paused for so long even she looked up at him. Then the peal of a bell sounded, jarring everyone to their feet. "Fire alarm!" the minister shouted. "Everyone stay calm—"
But his words fell on deaf ears. The guests stampeded to the back of the church, out into the hall and down the front steps. Worry and relief flooded Jo when she realized the ceremony would be delayed a little longer. She and Alan were among the last to emerge into the cold, blustery wind. Rain was threatening to spill from the gray sky any moment. Remembering what John had said about crashing the party, she shivered and scanned the milling crowd for his face, wondering if he might have slipped in to sit in a back pew.
"Jo!"
She knew that voice: Jamie. Jo turned to see all three children standing together under a tree, waving. Claire's words came back to her: "What if something happens and you don't marry Alan, then would you marry my daddy?" One look at Jamie's face and she began to suspect who had pulled the fire alarm. She walked over to them as fast as her long dress would allow. "What are you kids doing here?"
Claire raised her chin and poked her glasses. "Jo, we want you to be our mommy."
"Yeah!" Jamie said.
"Jo-mommy!" Billy chimed in.
The minister called for everyone to return to the church. "False alarm!" he shouted.
Jo looked at them and sighed. "Come with me," she said, extending both hands. Linking on to her, the children followed her into the church and down the hall into the dressing room. She sat down and motioned for them to sit at her feet.
"How did you get here?"
"We took a taxi," Jamie said proudly.
"We showed the driver the wedding announcement in the paper and told him to bring us," Claire said. "Then we left a note for Daddy."
"Jo-mommy!"
"Can't you be our mommy, Jo?" Claire pleaded.
Jo's eyes watered, but she was nearly cried out. "Claire, you'll understand this better than the boys, so please listen very carefully, okay?"
The little girl nodded.
"To make a marriage last, two people have to really love each other. Your daddy can't marry me just because the three of you want him to, do you understand?"
Claire nodded. "I think so. You're saying that daddy doesn't love you."
Jo nodded. "That's right."
"Does Alan love you?"
"Yes, he does."
"And you love Alan?"
Jo hesitated, then said, "There are different kinds of love, and yes, I love Alan on one of those levels." She heard a sound behind them, and froze. Slowly, she turned to see not only Alan, but John standing in the doorway. Alan's face was a mask of disappointment, and John's...his was unreadable.

"Kids," she said softly, "I need to talk to Alan alone for a few minutes. Would you wait outside?"
John collected them at the door and herded them into the hall, closing the door behind them.
Jo walked up to Alan and touched his hand. When he opened it, she placed her engagement ring in his palm. "I can't marry you, Alan. I'm sorry. You've been good to me, and I'll always admire, respect and care for you, but you deserve someone who loves you more than I do."
Alan pursed his lips, his blue eyes welling with unshed tears. "It's Sterling, isn't it?"
Jo swallowed, her chest aching for what she and Alan had once meant to each other. "I didn't mean for it to happen, Alan, but yes, I'm in love with him."
"How does he feel about you?" he asked, his voice choked.
She smiled. "I honestly don't know."
"Well," he said, attempting to laugh, "I feel like a marathoner who just lost a race to a spectator."
"Alan," she said softly, "I hope we can—"
"Still be friends," he finished for her, then gave her a pained smile. He inhaled deeply and expelled the breath noisily. "If he's not good to you, Jo, he'll have to answer to me."
She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Alan."
Tears garnered in her eyes as she watched him leave, then she walked toward the door to tell the children goodbye. Suddenly John appeared in the doorway and Jo stopped, unable to move.
"Am I correct in assuming that since your fiance just left looking like a wounded animal, you are now unengaged and available?"
Jo's heart skipped a beat. "Yes."
John walked into the room and dropped to one knee in front of her. His green eyes shone soft and warm. "And if I professed my undying love, would you give your hand in marriage to me?"

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. "Start professing."
"Jo," he said, taking her hand, "I've thought of nothing but you since the first second I saw you." He bit his lip, then smiled. "I'm crazy in love with you, and I can't bear it if you don't love me, too."
Inhaling sharply, she mirrored his smile. "In that case, I have good news."
He grinned and rose to his feet, holding her by her arms. "Say it," he murmured, lowering his mouth to within an inch of hers.
"I love you," she whispered. "With all my strength."
"Say you'll marry me," he breathed.
"I'll marry you."
The sound of giggling reached their ears and they turned to see all three children crowded in the doorway.
Jamie grinned. "Are you gonna kiss her, Daddy?''
John looked back to Jo and laughed, shaking his head. "I sure am, son." He tilted his head and captured her lips in their first truly uninhibited kiss, straining toward each other, but somehow managing to keep it G-rated for their cheering audience.
Amidst the background of clapping, Jo said, "Seems a shame to waste a perfectly good dress and a perfectly good church and perfectly good food, doesn't it?"
John's smile was wry as he glanced down at his khaki pants and V-neck sweater. "I'm not exactly dressed for a wedding, but if it doesn't bother you—"
Jo didn't stay to hear any more. She herded the children in front of her to find her parents and Hattie standing in the hall.
"Josephine, I'm going to have a stroke if you don't tell me what's going on!" Helen demanded.
"Mother, you remember John Sterling, don't you? And his children, Claire, Jamie and Billy?"
"Hello," her mother said suspiciously.
"John, this is my father."
The men shook hands and exchanged greetings.

"Mother, John and I are getting married."
Helen swayed and grabbed her husband's arm. "What did you say?"
"Hattie, would you please round up the organist and the singers and tell them to start from the top? I need to find the minister and give him John's name."
Smiling, Hattie turned to go, then whirled back and patted Helen's arm. "Congratulations, sis—you're a grandmother!"
Helen went limp, but Jo's father waved them on their way. Jo found Pam nibbling her acrylic nails in me hallway and pulled her aside. "Pam, I'm not marrying Alan."
Her friend smiled wryly. "I noticed."
"But I'm worried about him...would you mind going after Alan and...well, keeping an eye on him?"
Pamela frowned and bit her bottom lip, then relented with a nod. "Sure, Jo. Call me tomorrow."
The ceremony was short and sweet. The minister raced through the vows, keeping one eye on Jo. The congregation had dwindled somewhat, but there were still plenty of well-wishers to cut the cake, once the slab with Alan's name had been removed. Jo was overjoyed when Hattie caught the bouquet, laughed when Jamie caught the garter and cried when Claire shyly asked permission to call her Mommy.
After the food had vanished, Jo danced until her feet throbbed, then kicked off her shoes and danced again. When John spun her into a slow waltz, she kissed his ear and nibbled on his lobe. "I didn't know you could dance," she said, fuzzy from the champagne.
"I didn't know you could nibble," he said, moaning.
"What other dungs should I know about you?" she asked, still nipping and licking.
"I have a horrible sense of direction."
"You seem to have mastered up and down," she whispered.
"Kids!" he yelled, lifting his head. "Get your tilings. It's time to go home."
"Home," Jo murmured dreamily. "That sounds so nice, doesn't it?"

They prodded their family through the reception hall as quickly as possible. Jo tried to tame her thoughts, relatively sure she shouldn't be thinking about sex just a few steps away from a church. They piled into the car and made one stop on the way home—to collect Victor. They were home within minutes, but it took quite a while to get everyone settled down, bathed and in bed, then up again for drinks of water and trips to the bathroom. Jo decided to take a few minutes when she tucked in Jamie and Claire to point out the dangers of pulling a fire alarm, but afterward she smothered them with goodnight kisses.
Backing out of their rooms, John warned, "And no one yells or gets back up unless you're bleeding, got it?" He looked at her and smiled ruefully. "I figure we've got thirty minutes, tops."
But at last they were alone. John swung her into his arms and. carried her across the threshold to his bed, where he lay her down and began to peel off the layers of her wedding ensemble, now wet with bubble bath and speckled with food.
Stripped down to wispy lingerie, she arched against the soft mattress, offering her husband an unabashed display of peaks and valleys.
John groaned and began to tug at his own clothing. But Jo sat up to help him undress, freeing his erection into her hands, stroking him until he warned her to stop. He was beautiful, all hard planes and firm muscle, smooth skin and red-gold body hair. He knelt to uncover her breasts, and Jo tensed in preparation for his mouth. He moaned, his voice rumbling over the pebbled tip before he captured it in his mouth, sending her body into convulsions. When she thought she couldn't bear another second of the onslaught, he moved to the other breast and began anew, settling his body over hers.
She pulled at his back, straining into him. His fingers slid under the nearly invisible panties and whisked them away, opening her to his strong, probing fingers. She gasped, and he joined her in a deep kiss, moving his body against her, while readying her with his hands. A low hum of liquid pleasure began circulating deep with her, coaxed closer and closer to the surface with his deft movements. He murmured loving things into her ear, inviting her to enjoy her release, telling her how much he wanted to see her trembling in his arms. She surrendered to the ecstasy, exclaiming as loudly as she dared, bucking beneath him as orgasmic waves engulfed her. "John," she moaned. "John."
He quieted with her, although she could feel his shaft against her thigh, hard and straining. "Jo," he whispered.
"MmHmm," she said, barely able to open her eyes.
He grinned sheepishly, his breath ragged. "I feel like an idiot, but I guess I should ask this time—are you protected?"
She laughed out loud, then nodded. He kissed her mouth, moving to settle himself at her moist entrance, then carefully, carefully, entering her until she took him completely. His guttural moans were pure, raw pleasure, sending shivers up her spine.
"Jo," he whispered again, his voice raspy.
"Mmm?" she gasped, moving under him, keeping pace.
"I won't be...able to...last very long."
"Then can we...do this...again sometime?"
He laughed and moaned and shuddered at the same time, calling her name with each spasm. She rocked beneath him, then descended with him to stillness.
They lay unmoving for the longest time, Jo reveling in the intimate weight of her husband's body on her, in her. Just when she thought he had fallen asleep, he spoke, his breath warm against her throat.
"I'll tell you a secret if you'll tell me one."
"Okay," she agreed.
"You first," he urged.
Jo pondered his request, then murmured, "When I was fourteen, I wrote a letter to Shaun Cassidy and asked him to marry me."
"Really?"

"Uh-huh. Now you."
He was silent for a few seconds, then said, "I was the one who pulled the fire alarm at the church."