She Didn’t Move Away Fast Enough, And Somehow, She Was In His Arms.

“Daisy,” Kell rumbled softly. “I was hoping I’d just imagined what happened between us.”

Daisy shook her head. She hadn’t imagined anything. But before she could reply or even pull away, he was kissing her. Softly at first, a mere brushing of warm lips, then it escalated into something far more intense.

Break away now while you still can, she told herself. Or you’ll never be able to settle for less.

Daisy twisted her face away from his, her voice uneven as she murmured, “This isn’t very smart.”

“Believe it or not, I didn’t plan for this to happen,” Kell said, panting as if he’d just finished a ten-mile run.

“Trust me, sweetie, neither did I.”

Dear Reader,

Silhouette Desire is starting the New Year off with a bang as we introduce our brand-new family-centric continuity, DYNASTIES: THE ASHTONS. Set in the lush wine-making country of Napa Valley, California, the Ashtons are a family divided by a less-than-fatherly patriarch. We think you’ll be thoroughly entranced by all the drama and romance when the wonderful Eileen Wilks starts things off with Entangled. Look for a new book in the series each month…all year long.

The New Year also brings new things from the fabulous Dixie Browning as she launches DIVAS WHO DISH. You’ll love her sassy heroine in Her Passionate Plan B. SONS OF THE DESERT, Alexandra Sellers’s memorable series, is back this month with the dramatic conclusion, The Fierce and Tender Sheikh. RITA® Award-winning author Cindy Gerard will thrill you with the heart-stopping hero in Between Midnight and Morning. (My favorite time of the night. What about you?)

Rounding out the month are two clever stories about shocking romances: Shawna Delacorte’s tale of a sexy hero who falls for his best friend’s sister, In Forbidden Territory, and Shirley Rogers’s story of a secretary who ends up winning her boss in a bachelor auction, Business Affairs.

Here’s to a New Year’s resolution we should all keep: indulging in more desire!

Happy reading,

Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

DIXIE BROWNING

Her Passionate Plan B

Books by Dixie Browning

Silhouette Desire

Shadow of Yesterday #68

Image of Love #91

The Hawk and the Honey #111

Late Rising Moon #121

Stormwatch #169

The Tender Barbarian #188

Matchmaker’s Moon #212

A Bird in Hand #234

In the Palm of Her Hand #264

A Winter Woman #324

There Once Was a Lover #337

Fate Takes a Holiday #403

Along Came Jones #427

Thin Ice #474

Beginner’s Luck #517

Ships in the Night #541

Twice in a Blue Moon #588

Just Say Yes #637

Not a Marrying Man #678

Gus and the Nice Lady #691

Best Man for the Job #720

Hazards of the Heart #780

Kane’s Way #801

[*]Keegan’s Hunt #820

[*]Lucy and the Stone #853

[*]Two Hearts, Slightly Used #890

[†]Alex and the Angel #949

[†]The Beauty, the Beast and the Baby #985

The Baby Notion #1011

[†]Stryker’s Wife #1033

Look What the Stork Brought #1111

[‡]The Passionate G-Man #1141

[‡]A Knight in Rusty Armor #1195

Texas Millionaire #1232

The Bride-in-Law #1251

[§]A Bride for Jackson Powers #1273

[§]The Virgin and the Vengeful Groom #1331

More To Love #1372

Rocky and the Senator’s Daughter #1399

The Millionaire’s Pregnant Bride #1420

[**]Beckett’s Cinderella #1453

[**]Beckett’s Convenient Bride #1484

Social Graces #1550

Driven to Distraction #1568

[††]Her Passionate Plan B #1628

Silhouette Special Edition

Finders Keepers #50

Reach Out To Cherish #110

Just Deserts #181

Time and Tide #205

By Any Other Name #228

The Security Man #314

Belonging #414

Silhouette Romance

Unreasonable Summer #12

Tumbled Wall #38

Chance Tomorrow #53

Wren of Paradise #73

East of Today #93

Winter Blossom #113

Renegade Player #142

Island on the Hill #164

Logic of the Heart #172

Loving Rescue #191

A Secret Valentine #203

Practical Dreamer #221

Visible Heart #275

Journey to Quiet Waters #292

The Love Thing #305

First Things Last #323

Something for Herself #381

Reluctant Dreamer #460

A Matter of Timing #527

The Homing Instinct #747

Cinderella’s Midnight Kiss #1450

Silhouette Books

Undertow 2003

Lone Star Country Club

The Quiet Seduction

Silhouette Christmas Stories 1987

“Henry the Ninth”

Spring Fancy 1994

“Grace and the Law”

World’s Most Eligible Bachelors

[‡]His Business, Her Baby

DIXIE BROWNING

A painter and gallery-operator whose interests include archaeology and astrology, folk music and baseball, Dixie Browning branched out in a brand-new direction in 1976, starting with a weekly newspaper column on art. Since then she’s written more than a hundred romances. Now living with her retired husband on North Carolina’s Outer Banks where she grew up, Dixie uses the area she knows best as background for many of her stories.

For a personal reply, fans may contact her at P.O. Box 1389, Buxton, NC 27920, or through her Web site, www.dixiebrowning.com.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

One

Daisy, who prided herself on her dependability, was upset that she arrived late for the graveside service. First the blasted phone wouldn’t stop ringing, and then, in the middle of getting dressed, someone had pounded on the front door, causing her to accidentally kick one of her good shoes under the bed. Faylene had been there to answer it, thank goodness—it had been the power people wanting to know when to suspend service.

She had dashed back upstairs in her stocking feet and retrieved her shoe, in the process pulling a run in her only pair of dark panty hose. As a result of all that, plus the fact that her car was always cranky in wet weather, she was already more than ten minutes late.

Standing stiffly apart from the few others gathered at the graveside of her late patient, she felt the cold, blowing rain begin to soak through her raincoat, which was old, but at least it was black. Her yellow slicker had seemed somehow inappropriate.

Egbert, of course, was already there. She’d never known him to be anything other than punctual. Under the cover of a pair of oversize sunglasses, Daisy studied the man she had picked out to marry. When it came to making matches, she was old enough to know what mattered and what didn’t. She wasn’t about to make the same mistake a second time.

Egbert hadn’t a clue, bless his heart. It would never occur to him that any woman would deliberately set out to seduce him into marriage—but then, modesty was one of his better qualities. Daisy had scant patience with overt “testosteronism,” or blowhards as she called them.

For the first time, a slight shift in the few people huddled on the other side of the grave gave her a clear view of the man standing next to Egbert. Now, there, she mused, was the perfect example. If that man had a modest bone in his long, lean body, she would be seriously surprised. Even the way he was standing with his feet spread apart, his arms crossed over his chest, spelled arrogance.

I came, I saw, so what the hell—I conquered.

She could almost read his thoughts.

She could almost feel his thoughts.

Egbert was wearing his usual dark suit along with a nicely cut black raincoat. A sensible man, he had brought along an umbrella. He really was a nice-looking man, she thought objectively. Maybe not Hollywood handsome, but certainly moderately attractive.

Daisy was a firm believer in moderation. Unlike her two immoderate best friends, she didn’t have a string of failed marriages behind her, only a single ego-numbing near miss. Once he realized what a perfect wife she would make, Egbert would be her first. Theirs would be a lasting union between two mature professionals, not one of those starter marriages that were so popular these days.

A noisy flock of ducks flew overhead to settle on the nearby river. She followed the ragged chevron until they were out of sight and then her gaze strayed back to the tall stranger.

No sensible raincoat for him, much less an umbrella. Rain beat down on his bare head, plastering gleaming black hair to a deeply tanned brow. For reasons she was at a total loss to explain, she felt a shiver of purely sexual interest. If she’d learned one thing from the past—and she’d learned several—it was that the minute sexuality kicked in, common sense flew out the door.

The man was a full head taller than Egbert, which would have made sharing Egbert’s umbrella difficult even if he had offered. And knowing Egbert, he would have offered, because he was not only polite, he was genuinely caring—another big mark in his favor.

Between sneezes, the preacher managed to get in a few words about the man they were there to honor while Daisy wondered some more about the mysterious stranger. If she’d ever laid eyes on him she would definitely have remembered, not just because he was the only one present who was not appropriately dressed.

Although she had to admit that his blue jeans and leather bomber jacket were far better suited to the weather than her six-year-old black dress and leaky black raincoat, not to mention the muddy pumps that were slowly sinking into the wet earth.

It wasn’t very cold, but the rain was beginning to come down in earnest now. Hardly a time to be wearing sunglasses, but then, people often did at funerals, she rationalized, if only to hide eyes that were red and swollen from tears.

Or, as in Daisy’s case, to shield open curiosity.

No, he definitely wasn’t from around here. She knew everybody in Muddy Landing by sight, if not by name. Besides, if Sasha and Marty had ever laid eyes on him, he’d be heading their list of eligible bachelors. That is, if he was eligible.

She tried to see if he was wearing a ring. He wasn’t, but that was no guarantee. He had tucked his thumbs under his belt with his fingers splayed out over a flat abdomen. The phrase washboard abs came to mind.

Washboard abs? She’d been watching too much television. Since Harvey, her longtime patient, had died so unexpectedly, she’d had trouble getting to sleep, but from now on she’d stick to the weather channel.

He hadn’t moved a muscle. Maybe he was from Fish and Game, checking to make sure no one slipped down to the river for a spot of illegal duck hunting. No uniform, though. Besides, his hair was too long for a fed.

On a day like this, she mused, he could at least have worn a hat. She pictured him in a Stetson—a black one, not a white one, with the brim turned up on one side and a showy cluster of feathers tucked under the band.

Almost as if he could feel her staring at him, the stranger suddenly looked directly at her across the blanket of drowned flowers and artificial turf. Daisy stopped breathing. There was nothing unusual about blue eyes, but when they were set under crow-black brows in a face the color of well-tanned leather, the effect was…well, riveting, to put it mildly.

The service came to a hurried conclusion just as a fresh wave of rain blew in off North Landing River. With no family to console, the preacher sneezed again, glanced around and mumbled a few apologetic words to no one in particular before hurrying to the waiting black minivan. The pitifully small group of mourners began to straggle away—all but two.

Oh, Lord, they were headed her way. Not now—please!

Pretending not to hear Egbert calling to her, Daisy hurriedly splashed her way through puddles to where she’d left her car in the potholed parking lot. She was in no mood to have anyone—not a stranger and certainly not Egbert—see her with wet hair straggling down her neck, wearing a six-year-old rayon dress and a soggy raincoat that was even older. Not that she was egotistical in the least, but that would probably set her plans back at least six months.

The timetable she’d set for herself didn’t allow for six months. She wasn’t getting any younger. Three months from now Egbert would have been widowed exactly a year. Timing was everything. She didn’t want to rush him, but neither did she want to wait until some other woman moved in and staked a claim.

She pulled out onto the highway, the windshield wipers slapping time with her disjointed thoughts.

She would finish all the sorting and packing that had to be done, and then she would sit quietly and listen while Egbert explained for the third time all the legal whereases, whereinafters and heretofores that prevented him from simply reading poor Harvey’s last will and testament and turning everything over to the beneficiaries. Which in this case were the housekeeper Harvey had shared with Daisy’s two best friends, and a loosely organized, poorly funded historical society.

A glance in the rearview mirror told her Egbert was two cars behind, driving precisely two miles under the speed limit. Some devil made her press her foot on the accelerator until she was doing five miles above the speed limit.

Daisy never exceeded the speed limit. Caution was her middle name.

“We’ve got to do something about Daisy.” Rain droned down outside as Sasha propped her elbows on the table, carefully stroking glittery purple polish on her long fingernails. “She’s showing signs of being seriously depressed.”

At Daisy’s request, neither of her friends had attended the graveside service. They hadn’t insisted.

“She’s not depressed, she’s grieving. She’s always like this after she loses a patient, especially a long-term patient. That color clashes horribly with your hair, by the way.”

Sasha studied her nails, then looked at her friend, Marty Owens. “Purple and orange? What’s wrong with it? You know, the trouble with Daisy is that she takes every case so personally. It’s bad enough working all those long hours, but when she actually moves in with a patient the way she did with poor Harvey Snow…” Sighing, she wiped off a smudge of polish.

“I guess it made sense when she got evicted and he had that big old empty house going to waste.”

“She wasn’t evicted. Everybody had to move out after the fire. Where else would she have gone? The nearest motel still open is in Elizabeth City—that would have added at least forty minutes to her daily commute. Anyway, it probably wouldn’t have hit her so hard if either one of them had any other family.”

Nodding in agreement, Marty poured herself another glass of wine. She was already over her limit, but weekends didn’t count. Trouble was, since being forced to close her bookstore, every day was a weekend. “I never heard her call him anything but Mr. Snow, but you know what? I think she considered him sort of a surrogate grandfather. Who’ve you got in mind for our next match, Sadie Glover or the girl with the thick glasses who works at the ice-cream place?”

The two women—three, when Daisy was with them—were accustomed to topic-hopping. Sasha said, “How about Faylene?”

Marty’s eyes widened. “Our Faylene? Well, for one thing, she’d kill us.”

“Daisy needs a distraction. Can you think of a bigger challenge than to find a mate for Faylene?”

“She’d be a challenge, all right. The trouble is, we’re running out of male candidates unless we expand our hunting range.”

“Oh, I don’t know—I’ve got a couple of possibilities in mind,” Sasha said thoughtfully.

Several years ago it had been Sasha and Daisy who had lured Marty into helping set up a shy, elderly neighbor with the cashier at the town’s only pharmacy. At the time, Marty had just lost her second husband to another woman and needed a distraction. The match had been deemed a success when the neighbor had rented out his house and moved in with the widowed cashier and her seventeen cats.

The three women had toasted their success and begun looking around for any others who might need a deftly applied crowbar to pry them out of a lonely rut. Soon matchmaking had become their favorite pastime. Not simply shoving a pretty single woman into the path of any eligible man. There was no challenge in matchmaking for winners.

But for those who had given up hope—for the terminally shy, the jilted, the plain and the socially inept—now, there was a worthwhile cause. Without actually planning it, the three friends began identifying needy singles in the area and tactfully offering makeovers and even a few hints on dating protocol where needed. Often all that was required was a simple boosting of self-confidence. Or as Sasha put it, echoing a song from her humongous antique record collection, accentuating the positive and eliminating the negative. After that, they engineered situations that threw the prospective couple together, the local bimonthly box suppers being a favorite venue, and let nature take its course.

“Forget Faylene,” Marty said now. “Why don’t we just find a man for Daisy?” Of the three women, Daisy Hunter was the only one who had never married. Marty, having buried one husband and divorced another, had officially sworn off men for herself.

Sasha had divorced four husbands and readily admitted to having abominable taste in men, but that didn’t keep her from choosing mates for other singles. “Lost cause,” she said now. “Daisy knows plenty of men—what about all those doctors she works with?”

“What, after Jerry whatsisname? He of the sockless Gucci loafers? He of the Armani suits and the blow-dried hair, not to mention that god-awful cologne? The jerk who dumped her the night of the rehearsal dinner?”

“Yeah, there is that. You know what? The trouble with the nursing profession is that most of the people Daisy meets are either doctors or patients. When a patient happens to die, it’s bound to be depressing, especially when it’s one she’s had as long as she had old man Snow.”

“Well, duh. She’s a geriatric nurse, for Pete’s sake. She knew what she was getting into when she chose that specialty.”

“She chose that specialty,” Marty reminded her friend, “because she had the hots for the guy who used to manage that adult day-care center, remember? The one who turned out to be skimming profits?”

Sasha shrugged. “Okay, so she’s got lousy taste in men. Join the club.”

“That’s right, your second husband got sent up for money laundering, didn’t he?”

“Hell, no,” the redhead said indignantly. “It was my first. I was only eighteen—what did I know?”

Both women chuckled. Marty said, “Right. So while she’s grieving, house-sitting and packing stuff up for the thrift shop or whatever, we can start trolling for eligible bachelors between the ages of what, twenty-five and fifty? By the way, who’ve you got in mind for Faylene?”

Sasha frowned at her nails. “Hmm, it is sort of flashy, isn’t it? Okay, two possibilities come to mind, but I thought we might start with Gus down at the place where I just got my brakes relined. I happen to know he’s single.”

“Gay?”

“You ever heard of a gay mechanic?” Sasha slipped off her sandals and contemplated her unpolished toe-nails while Marty continued to sip her wine.

“You know what, Sash? If we want to get Daisy involved in another project we really need to wait until she can sit in on the planning session. Maybe if we encourage her to come up with a few candidates on her own, she’ll perk up and get involved. But I still say Faylene will have a hissy fit if she finds out what we’re up to.”

Applying purple glitter polish to a toenail, Sasha slanted her a grin. “She can have all the hissy fits she wants, just so she doesn’t quit. You know me and housecleaning.”

A few miles outside the small soundside town of Muddy Landing in a handsome old house that had seen far better days, Daisy Hunter packed another box of her late patient’s clothing, to be dropped off at the Hotline Thrift Shop the next time she was in Elizabeth City. It would’ve been better if she’d moved out the day after he’d died, but her apartment still wasn’t ready. And then Egbert had suggested she stay on at least until she took on another case, and one thing had led to another.

“The estate will continue to pay your salary while you inventory and pack away personal property. Aside from that, houses left standing empty for any length of time tend to deteriorate rather rapidly,” he’d told her. Egbert had a precise way of speaking that, while it wasn’t particularly exciting, was certainly reassuring. A woman would always know where she stood with a man like Egbert Blalock.

Up until Harvey’s death she and the banker had been only nodding acquaintances. Since then they had met several times to discuss Harvey’s business affairs. It was during the second such meeting—or perhaps it was the third—that she’d begun to consider him from a personal standpoint. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that he was excellent husband material. After all, she wasn’t getting any younger, and if she ever intended to have a family of her own—and she definitely did—it was time.

So while Faylene, the three-day-a-week housekeeper, gave the old house one last going-over, including rooms that had been closed off for decades, Daisy made lists, packed away various personal effects and thought about how to go about making a match for herself. She knew how to do it for someone else, but objectivity flew out the window when she started thinking of deliberately engineering a match for herself.

Naturally she hadn’t confided in either of her friends. Knowing Marty and Sasha, at the first hint of any personal interest they’d have taken over and mismanaged the whole affair. Sasha tried on husbands the way other women tried on shoes. Marty was not a whole lot better, although she swore she’d learned after her last experience.

Catching sight of herself in the large dresser mirror, Daisy touched her rumpled hair. At least it was dry now, but the color wouldn’t attract a dead moth, much less a man. She was long overdue for a trim, but before she did anything too drastic she needed to find out if Egbert preferred long hair or short. Did he like blondes, and if so, how blond? Platinum? Honey? Her hair was that indeterminate color usually called dishwater.

His was a nice shade of medium brown, thinning slightly on top. Not that hair loss was anything to be ashamed of, she reminded herself hastily. These days baldness was a fashion statement. It was even considered sexy. And while Egbert wasn’t exactly sexy, neither could he be labeled unsexy. Sasha had once called him dull. Daisy hadn’t bothered to correct her. Egbert wasn’t dull, he was simply steady, reliable and dependable, all excellent traits in a husband. Some women might prefer a flashier type—not too long ago, Daisy would have, too. Now she knew better. Been there, done that, to use a cliché.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Once she’d returned to the house after the service, she had quickly changed out of her damp clothes and gotten to work again, anxious to get the job done so that she’d be ready to set her own plans in motion. A stickler for propriety, she preferred to wait until she was finished here before launching her campaign.

Folding another of Harvey’s tan-and-white-striped dress shirts—he must have had a dozen, all the same color and style—Daisy allowed her thoughts to drift back to the brief rainy service and the stranger she’d seen there. Whoever he was, he definitely wasn’t a local. She’d have noticed him if she’d ever seen him before. What woman wouldn’t? Those long legs and broad shoulders—the high, angular cheekbones, not to mention the startlingly blue eyes. As a rule, eye color was barely discernible from a distance of more than a few feet, but the stranger’s eyes had reminded her of glow-in-the-dark LEDs.

What color were Egbert’s eyes, she wondered idly—hazel?

Brown. It was Harvey whose eyes had been hazel, usually twinkling with humor despite his painfully twisted body. Bless his heart, he should have had a family with him at the end, only he didn’t have a family and most of his friends had either died or moved away. A couple still lived in Elizabeth City, but their visits had dwindled over the past year.

As she went about layering articles in a box, Daisy thought back to the last hour she had spent with her patient. The noise of the television had bothered him, so she’d read him the newspapers. They’d gotten as far as the editorials when somewhere in the middle of Tom Friedman’s piece on nation-building he’d fallen asleep. As it was nothing unusual, she had quietly refolded the paper, adjusted the covers and turned off the light.

The next morning she’d prepared his morning meds and rapped on the door of his bedroom. Hearing no response, she had entered to find her patient sleeping peacefully.

And, as it turned out, permanently.

She hadn’t cried, but sooner or later she probably would. She’d been closer to Harvey Snow than with other patients, maybe because she’d admired his courage. Living alone with a steadily worsening case of rheumatoid arthritis and then two small strokes, he had never lost his sense of humor.

Sooner or later the tears would come, probably at the worst possible time. It did no good to try to suppress them, this much she knew, both as a nurse and as a woman. Spare the tears and suffer a head cold. The correlation might not have been clinically proved, but she believed it with all her heart.

A deep sigh shuddered through her as she closed the box and taped it shut. Wrenching her thoughts from her depressing task, she made up her mind not to wait any longer to have her hair trimmed, styled and maybe even lightened. She needed cheering up. In fact, she might even take a day off to go shopping, keeping in mind that Egbert’s tastes were probably more conservative than her own. But even a classic shirtwaist could be unbuttoned to show a hint of cleavage and maybe a flash of thigh.

As long as she was shopping, she might as well look for something long and swishy in case he invited her to go dancing. The holidays were coming up, and it had been ages since anyone had taken her out dancing. That used to be her favorite aerobic exercise.

Did Egbert even dance? Maybe they could brush up on their skills together. Dancing skills as well as a few other skills, she thought, trying to drum up a twist of excitement.

She was too tired for excitement. It had been a long day—a long, depressing day, but at least it was nearly over. First thing next week she would get on with her own agenda.

In fact, she could get started right now by calling Paul and making an appointment to get her hair done. Nothing too noticeable, just enough to make Egbert take a second look and wonder if he’d been missing something.

She reached for the phone just as the darn thing rang. Startled, she dropped the roll of tape she’d been holding. The calls had started as soon as word got out about Harvey’s passing—everything from tombstone salesmen to local historians wanting a tour of the house, to antique dealers and real estate people wanting to know what, if anything, would be sold off.

She referred all calls to Egbert as Harvey’s executor. “Snow residence,” she snapped. What she needed was an answering machine, only she wasn’t going to be here that long.

“Daisy, honey, you sound like you need a massage—either that or a stiff drink and a three-pound box of chocolate-covered cherries. How’d it go today?”

“You mean other than the fact that it was pouring rain and the preacher kept sneezing and only a handful of people showed up?”

“Hey, we offered,” Sasha reminded her.

“I know, I’m just being bitchy. Make that chocolate-covered coconut and I might bite.” Daisy dropped tiredly down on the sleigh bed that had been moved back into the room after the rental service had collected the hospital bed. She’d been fighting depression for days.

“Look, Marty and I were thinking—it’s time we took on another project. Now that she’s closed her bookstore she’s drinking too much.” Daisy could hear the protest in the background. “I know for a fact that she’s gained five pounds. You game?”

Smiling tiredly because she knew they were only trying to cheer her up, she said, “Count me out on this one. The last thing I need now is to try to rearrange someone else’s life when I’m up to my ears in artifacts that so far as I know, no one even wants.”

“Oh, honey—I know it’s real sad, but moping’s not going to get you anywhere.” Sasha had a softer side, but she’d learned to cover it with a glitzy style and an offhand manner.

“I’m not moping.” As a professional, Daisy knew better than to get too personally involved with a patient. On the other hand, she’d been with Harvey longer than with most of her previous patients.

“How ’bout it, you ready for a challenge?” Sasha teased.

Daisy sighed. She’d been doing a lot of that lately. Better they think she was grieving than making plans for her own future. If she even hinted as much, the next thing she knew she’d be engaged to some jerk candidate they’d found in a singles’ bar.

No, thanks. Once she set her mind on a course of action she preferred to manage it on her own, the same way she’d been doing ever since her foster parents had split when she was thirteen and neither of them had wanted her. She had managed then, just as she would manage now. By this time next year she fully intended to be settled in Egbert’s tidy Cape Cod on Park Drive, with—in layman’s terms—a bun in the oven.

“Da-aisy. Wake up, hon.”

“I’m here, just barely. Okay, who’ve you got in mind?”

“Faylene.”

Her jaw dropped. “No way! A new project is one thing, but a lost cause is exactly what I don’t need at the moment.” For the past several years Faylene Beasley had worked part-time for Harvey and part-time for Daisy’s two best friends. As a housekeeper she was superb, but a target for matchmaking? “You’re not serious,” Daisy said flatly.

“Serious as a root canal. Honey, have you noticed how grouchy she’s been getting lately? That woman needs a man in her bed.”

Outside, the rain continued to drone down on the steep slate roof. So much for the Indian summer the weatherman had promised. Daisy’s stomach growled, reminding her again that she hadn’t eaten since a skimpy breakfast. “Look, call me tomorrow. Right now I’m too tired to think about it. I’m going to grab a bite of early supper and fall into bed. I might have another bachelor candidate for us to work with.”

Not for Faylene, though. Oh, no—whoever he was, he had to be someone extra special.

Two

Kell’s boots still weren’t dry, but at least he’d scraped most of the mud off. As disappointed as he was that he’d arrived too late to meet his half uncle, he had to admit he’d enjoyed watching the mystery woman dancing around, trying to keep from sinking up to her ankles. Not that he was a leg man, but she had nice ones. She was a blonde—sort of, anyway. With her hooded raincoat and shades, he hadn’t been able to see much more than half a pale face, a few wet strands and a pair of mud-spattered legs. But she definitely had world-class ankles.

Still reeling from learning that the guy he’d come so far to see had died, Kell hadn’t bothered to ask Blalock about the woman who had answered the phone when he’d called from the outskirts of town the night before. The one who had referred him to the banker. The bank had been closed by that time and he’d been forced to wait until this morning.

He should have called back when he’d first discovered a possible connection between the Snows of North Carolina and the Magees of Oklahoma City, but he’d had some things to wind up before he could leave town. Then, too, he sort of liked the idea of turning up unexpectedly, picturing Half Uncle Harvey opening the door, taking one look and recognizing him as his long-lost nephew.

Yeah, like that would have happened. Kell didn’t look anything like his dad. They might be built along the same lines, but Evander Magee had had red hair and freckles. The only facial features they shared were eye color and a shallow cleft in a chin that had been likened a time or two to the Rock of Gibraltar.

Okay, so he might’ve been overly optimistic, taking off without even notifying Snow of his intentions. A pessimist probably wouldn’t have bothered to track down a possible relative in the first place. Trouble was, even now, after all that had happened in his thirty-nine-plus years, Kell was a dogged optimist. Back in his pitching days he’d gone into every game fully expecting to win. As a starter, he might not go nine innings, but he’d damned well do seven. So it stood to reason that once he’d started the search, he’d had to follow through every lead.

It hadn’t helped when he’d got to Muddy Landing after dark only to find that the town’s only motel had been closed ever since Hurricane Isabel had blown through back in September. He’d had to drive miles out of the way and settle for a hole-in-the-wall place where the bed was too short, the walls too thin, the pillows padded with that stuff that fought back. If he hung around much longer he might be tempted to buy himself a camper and a good pillow, only he didn’t think the Porsche was rated for towing.

Bottom line—he had found Harvey Snow a couple of days too late, spent a miserable night on a lousy mattress and, as a result, overslept. He had skipped breakfast, showed up at the bank nearly an hour past opening time and then had to wait to see a man named Blalock who had tried to brush him off, claiming he was pressed for time.

Kell was no quitter. Blocking the door of Blalock’s office, he’d introduced himself and explained why he was there—that he’d been given his name, and that his father had had a younger half brother named Harvey Snow. And that he needed to know how to locate the man as the phone book listed a rural-route number instead of a street address.

That was when he’d heard the bad news. “I’m sorry to tell you, but the man you’re looking for recently passed away. He’s being buried today, in fact. I’m on my way to the service now, so if you’ll excuse me?”

It had taken Kell a moment to digest the news. He hadn’t moved.

“So far as anyone knows,” the smug banker had gone on to say, “Mr. Snow left no surviving relatives.”

Kell had felt like protesting, Dammit, I’m a surviving relative!

Instead he’d ended up following Blalock through a driving rain along miles of narrow blacktop to a country graveyard. After that, he’d followed him back to the bank. Only now, after the banker had called up a few records on his computer and then grilled him like a trout on a spit, was he finally headed out to see where his father had once lived.

Supposedly lived, as Blalock had stipulated.

Kell figured he could spare five days. A week at most. The boys back home could handle things at the store. If not, they had a go-to number.

Somewhere along the line, working with at-risk kids had segued into even more of a full-time job than the sporting goods store he used as a training ground. He was also in the process of turning a working ranch into a baseball camp, so he had just about everything a man could want. Satisfying work, financial security and enough women of the noncommitted variety to keep him happy well into his senior years.

On the other hand, there was this roots thing. Once he’d started digging, he hated like hell to give up. Blalock might have reservations about the Snow-Magee connection, but Kell trusted his instincts, and those were signaling loud and clear that he was right on target. His dad might have spent most of his life in Oklahoma, but Kell would bet his seven-figure portfolio that his roots were in Muddy Landing.

Following the narrow, wet highway between flat fields and a marshy shoreline dotted with private landings and small boats, he was wishing he’d paid more attention back when his old man used to reminisce about bear hunting in the Great Dismal Swamp and fishing on the Outer Banks. Both areas were less than an hour’s drive from Muddy Landing. That alone was evidence that he was on the right track.

Trouble was, he’d usually been too impatient to listen. Hanging in the open doorway, baseball glove in hand, he’d been like, yeah, yeah, look, I gotta run now, the guys are waiting. He wished now he’d paid more attention when his dad had had a few beers and got to rambling, but at the time about all he’d been interested in was playing pickup baseball and showing off his best stuff in case any girls were watching.

Speaking of girls—or in this case, women—he had a feeling the woman in the black raincoat was the same one he’d spoken to on the phone, the one who’d referred him to Blalock. Hadn’t Blalock said that Snow’s nurse was still staying at the house, winding up a few things? Kell thought it was damned decent of her to show up at the funeral. Not many others had bothered. Dressed the way she was, with those wraparound shades, she’d reminded him of one of those mysterious women you saw in movies standing alone at some high-class funeral. They always turned out to be the Other Woman.

The question was, whose Other Woman was the lady in black? Half Uncle Harvey’s?

If Blalock knew, he wasn’t talking. After only a couple of brief conversations before and after the graveside service, Kell got the distinct impression that the banker was reluctant to uncover any possible link between his client and Kell’s father. From an executor’s point of view, a relative coming in from left field at this stage of the game might muddy up the waters. Blalock struck him as the kind of guy who liked his waters nice and clear with no hidden snags.

Kell should have assured him right off the bat that he wasn’t interested in the estate. Now that it was too late to meet his relative, all he wanted was a chance to learn more about his father’s early life and maybe even meet a few cousins if any lived nearby.

The trail had split some fifty-odd years ago when sixteen-year-old Evander Magee had left home. Kell, who’d been fourteen when both his parents had died in the fire that had blazed through their double-wide, burning any documentary evidence they might have possessed, had never even thought about his roots until recently. The combination of watching his fortieth birthday barrel down on him and becoming a godfather to his best friend’s twin sons had set him to thinking about family.

That’s when Kell had first confronted the fact that he was the last in the Magee line. That was a pretty heavy burden on the shoulders of a man who had conscientiously avoided anything that even smelled like commitment.

He thought again about the bedraggled blonde in black. Kell liked blondes. He liked women, period—wearing black or any other color. Better yet, wearing nothing at all. She’d sounded pretty cool on the phone. She’d looked cold, wet and miserable in the flesh.

He wondered if she’d thawed out yet.

The day of the funeral seemed endless. By late afternoon the rain had finally tapered off. While her friends, who evidently thought she shouldn’t be left alone, sipped iced tea and leafed through an old issue of Southern Living, an exhausted Daisy relaxed in the dark green cane rocker on a screened porch that had been damaged in the hurricane and never repaired. She watched rose-tinted clouds float over the hedgerow, smelled the fresh green scent of broken branches and wet, overgrown pittosporum. This was her favorite place to sit as long as the mosquitoes weren’t too bad.

It had been slightly more than two months since Hurricane Isabel had come whipping across the sound, roaring upriver all the way to Muddy Landing and beyond. Things were still in a mess. Construction workers, already pushed to the limit building those little starter houses that were springing up like toadstools, had quit building to repair hurricane damage. The owner of her apartment building kept making excuses as to why the place wasn’t ready for reoccupancy, and she understood, she really did, but darn it, she couldn’t stay here much longer. She had her own life to get on with.

Sprawled out in the glider, Marty and Sasha were talking about a DVD they had recently rented, arguing the merits of Jude Law over Johnny Depp. Daisy wished they would leave so she could get on with the job of going through closets, drawers and shelves, and helping Faylene give one last cleaning to rooms that hadn’t been used in decades. Maybe tomorrow she’d feel more like shopping and doing something about her hair, but not now. Not when she was surrounded by reminders of a gentle man whose entire adult life had been filled with pain and loneliness.

“Stop mooning about that poor man. He lived a full life,” Sasha said.

“I doubt it,” Marty murmured. “Didn’t you say he was bedridden, Daisy?”

“Only the last few months. After his strokes. Before that he got around just fine in his chair. And I’m not mooning, I’m tired. I promised Eg—Mr. Blalock we’d have the house ready to show by the end of next week.”

“Show to who? Whom?”

She shrugged. “All those people who’ve been calling, I guess.” She drifted off again, thinking of all that needed doing and where to draw the line. Thank goodness she had never collected much beyond her clothes, a few nice pieces of furniture and a shelfful of her favorite authors, the latter thanks to Marty’s generous discount. That was one of the benefits of having a bookseller for a friend.

Sasha said, “Well, he’s always been pleasant to me, even when he had cars lined up waiting for service.”

Who, Harvey? Daisy jerked her meandering thoughts back to the present. Being nice to a gorgeous redhead was no big deal, but since when had Harvey had cars lined up? He hadn’t driven in years. Didn’t even own a car anymore.

“His garage is neat as a pin—for a garage, that is. And we know he’s honest,” Sasha continued.

Oh. They must be talking about Faylene’s potential suitor. “How do we know that?” Daisy wasn’t particularly interested in the prospective match. If they’d been talking about matching up anyone but Faylene she might have opted out, but none of them could get along without the housekeeper. If Faylene wasn’t happy, someone had darned well better find out why and do something about it.

“For one thing,” the redhead explained, “when he changed my oil and rotated my tires last week he charged me exactly what he charged Oren.” Oren being her next-door neighbor.

“Okay, so it’s just barely possible he won’t try to con her out of her life’s savings.” Having once been taken for everything she owned by a man who claimed to adore her, integrity ranked high on Daisy’s list of requirements—another area where Egbert scored in the top one percentile. “When it comes to dealing with his customers he might be trustworthy, but—”

“Look, all we’re trying to do here is get them together for a first date. They’re bound to know each other casually, the same way everybody in Muddy Landing knows everybody else here, right?” Sasha waited for nods of agreement. “So all we have to do is get the two of them up close and personal and see if anything clicks. I mean, Gus is no Joe Millionaire and Faye’s certainly not whatsername, fill in the blanks, but they’re probably about the same age—fiftyish—and they’re both single. Who knows, he might take one deep look into her eyes and—”

“And ignore everything else,” Marty said dryly. “Okay, so Gus has all his own hair and teeth, and Faye—well, you have to admit she has great legs.”

It went without saying that her hair was a disaster and her face had more wrinkles than a box of prunes. Her exact age remained a mystery, but she wore white sneakers, white shorts and support hose in all but the coldest months so that her legs, which really were shapely, appeared at first glance to be bare and smoothly tanned.

Daisy said, “He’ll freak if she takes him home with her.” Faylene lived in Crooked Creek Mobile Home Park, the small area surrounding her single-wide graced by forty-seven pieces of concrete sculpture at last count.

“So she collects art.” Sasha shrugged. “He probably collects something, most men do.” Two of her three husbands had collected other women.

“Whatever, they can work it out between them. Anyone heard anything about his sexual practices?”

“Does he practice?”

“The question is, how many hours a day does he practice?”

“No, the question is, how good is he?”

The two other women batted that particular ball back and forth until Daisy broke into a reluctant grin. Chuckling, Sasha said, “Oh, hush up, y’all know what I mean. After that last fiasco, we need to be sure of his, uh—persuasion.”

Marty said, “Methodist. You reckon he goes to any box suppers? I don’t remember seeing him there.”

“If he does, that means he probably can’t cook,” Daisy offered.

“Or that he’s big on charity.” The box suppers raised money for various charities, most recently for victims of Hurricane Isabel. The three women had found it a handy place to dish a little dirt and scout out matchmaking prospects—or as Daisy put it, victims.

“If he can thaw and microwave, that’s more than Faye can do,” Sasha reminded them.

“Here, here.” Marty lifted her glass of iced tea in a toast. “So are we going to do boxes for the next supper?” We, meaning Daisy. The other two women provided the raw material; it was Daisy who turned it into a delectable feast. “I think it’s Wednesday after next—or maybe this coming Wednesday. What’s today’s date, anyway?”

Daisy’s attention had strayed again. Maybe she should try one of those short, spiky cuts. Or maybe not. Egbert probably preferred a more conservative style. “Hmm? What date? Oh, Faylene’s date.”

Sasha glanced at her watch, which, depending on the button pushed, revealed everything from the phase of the moon to the Dow Jones averages. “Okay, this is Friday—it’s this coming Wednesday. Outside if the weather holds, in the community center if it rains or turns out cold.”

“Oh, great,” Marty said dryly. “That’ll be romantic. Dibs on the table by the john.”

“Oh, hush, the weather will be perfect. So…shall we do our usual, only this time four boxes instead of three? I have a big purple gift bow I can donate. All we have to do then is tag one of the boxes with Faylene’s name and tip Gus off that the one with the purple bow has all his favorite food inside.”

“First we’ll have to find out what his favorite foods are,” said Daisy, ever practical.

“No, first I’d better do something about her hair.” Sasha was into hair. Her own had ranged from apricot to auburn to titian over the past few years. When she’d claimed to have forgotten what her original color was, Marty had suggested she watch her roots for a clue.

“Well, she can’t wear those shorts to a church box supper. Her legs might look great from a distance, but once you get closer—” Marty shook her head and grinned.

“As the lucky guy who buys her dinner will inevitably do.” Sasha again. “Okay, I’ll work on her hair. Marty, you organize something decent for her to wear. That leaves the box. How about it, Daisy?”

The youngest member of the group by two or three years was still gazing out at the soybean fields and hedgerows bounding the Snow property. She would miss the peacefulness once she moved back to her apartment. Muddy Landing had started life as a tiny settlement with only a few farmhouses—one of them being Marty’s—a farm equipment dealer and a bait-and-tackle shop. Over the past few decades it had tripled in growth, and now that the Greater Norfolk Area was spilling out across the state line, it was rapidly turning into a bedroom community.

Sasha snapped her fingers. “Earth to Daisy. You still with us, hon? What about it, you want to do your famous buttermilk fried chicken, a few of those luscious corn fritters, maybe some slaw and a couple of slices of that sinful chocolate-rum pie?”

“What? Oh…well, sure, but maybe we should run through a few more candidates first.” Daisy might be still single, but she knew how these man-woman things were supposed to work. Chemistry was important, but it would get you only so far. Unless there was something solid underneath, once the initial reaction fizzled out you were left with a total stranger.

Not that chemistry was even an issue where Egbert was concerned. That was the soundest part of her plan. Since there was no chemistry to begin with, it wouldn’t be missed when it fizzled out, as it inevitably would. She might not be as experienced as her friends, Daisy assured herself, but that didn’t mean she was naive. Far from it. The difference was that, unlike either of her two friends, she recognized good, solid husband material when she saw it.

At least she did now.

The wonder was that they hadn’t already added Egbert to their list of candidates. His wife had been dead almost a year now.

When the phone rang inside the house, Daisy groaned and got up to answer it, muttering about what she would do if one more salesman tried to sell her anything.

The moment she left, Sasha and Marty started talking in hushed tones. “Dammit, I told you she was depressed! She can’t even keep track of what we’re talking about—she just stares out there as if she’s lost her last friend,” Sasha hissed.

“Well, they were close. He was sort of a grandfather figure, especially once she moved in with him.”

“Big mistake. I told you so at the time, remember?”

“Yes, well, spilt milk and all that.” Marty looked around for her glasses. They were on top of her head.

“Anyhow, she said Faylene’s coming over this evening, so we need to get her to find out what she likes and doesn’t like in a man.”

“What who likes, Daisy or Faylene?”

“Both. Either. Oh, you know what I mean. The trouble with Gus is he lives over that garage of his. Even if things work out, can you see him toting Faylene up those stairs to get her across the threshold?”

Marty pursed her lips. Sasha had told her more than once that if she’d just get a few collagen injections, she could pass for Julia Roberts, only with bigger eyes. “He could always use the lift—that thingee he uses to get cars hoisted up so he can see all the whatchamadoodles underneath.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that for a former bookstore owner, your vocabulary is lamentably lacking?”

Before Marty could come up with a suitably erudite response, Daisy was back.

“That was Egbert—Mr. Blalock,” she said. “I’ve been routinely referring calls to his office since Harvey’s lawyer died last fall. He said a man showed up this morning who claims to be a relative.”

“Of Harvey’s? I thought he didn’t have any family,” Marty said.

“I don’t think he did, at least no one close enough to count. But Egbert—that is, Mr. Blalock’s been going over some records since the service this morning and he thinks this one might warrant checking out. He said the man had even insisted on going to the funeral.”

Daisy’s eyes suddenly widened. Please, not the cowboy! If that’s who was claiming to be a relative, she was out of here. Vamoosed. Whatever. All she knew was that she couldn’t deal with anyone that distracting. Besides, he hadn’t looked anything at all like Harvey.

After a sleepless night and an endless day she looked like something the cat dragged in.

Not that it mattered, she told herself as she hurried to the bathroom to do something about her hair.

Three

Kell Magee neared the house where he was all but certain his father had spent his first sixteen years. If he’d learned one thing over a wildly erratic thirty-nine years, it was to keep his expectations realistic. That was one of the things he tried to pass on to kids who usually preferred to talk about his short career as a starting pitcher. The first thing most of them wanted to know was how much money he’d made, his stock answer being, “Not as much as Greg Maddux or Randy Johnson, but a lot more than I ever expected.”

It was late that evening when Kell pulled into the driveway under a row of big pecan trees, taking care to avoid parking under any of several dangling limbs. He checked his notes again. Oh, man, he mused, gazing up at a house that looked like a wedding cake that had been left out in a hard rain. Just to be sure he hadn’t made a mistake, he climbed out of the Porsche and walked back to recheck the name on the mailbox.

H. Snow. The small, stick-on letters were starting to peel off.

It was when he turned back toward the three-story house with all the gables, the stained-glass windows and the dangling gutter that he saw the woman standing in the doorway. Even with the sun glaring in his eyes he recognized her as the same woman he’d seen at the cemetery that morning. Something about the way she was standing looked familiar, even though she was considerably drier now and minus the raincoat.

Squaring his shoulders—that bed last night hadn’t done his back any favors—Kell ambled toward the front porch. “Hi there,” he greeted once he was in range. “You left before Blalock could introduce us this morning, but he probably told you I’d be along.” The way she confronted him with her arms crossed over her breast wasn’t exactly welcoming. “You must be Ms. Hunter. The nurse?”

She waited to speak until he got close enough to see the spattering of freckles across her cheeks. “May I see some identification?”

At the bottom of the steps he froze. “Sure…” He had the usual stack of stuff crammed into his wallet. He’d left copies of most of it with Blalock. Why the hell hadn’t the guy warned her that he’d be coming out to see the place? “Name’s Kelland Magee,” he said, reaching toward his hip pocket. “I guess Blalock at the bank told you we’re pretty sure Harvey Snow was my uncle? Half uncle, at least.”

By now Kell was all but certain of the relationship, even though Blalock insisted on reserving final judgment—probably waiting for a DNA comparison.

Propping a foot on the bottom step, he adjusted his outward attitude, shooting for friendly and nonthreatening, but with subtle overtones of authority. “Did he tell you my dad’s mother married a man named Snow from this neck of the woods after her first husband died?” Shuffling through his credentials, he moved up another two steps. Once he reached the porch he stopped and held out a driver’s license and his social security card, which he knew better than to use as identification, but at this point he was getting a little desperate. Without moving a muscle, the lady was messing with his mind. This time her ankles had nothing to do with it.

While she studied his credentials, Kell pretended to take in the littered lawn while his excellent peripheral vision roamed over her streaky blond hair and a pair of steel-gray eyes that were about as warm as a walk-in freezer. Early to midthirties, he estimated. Nice mouth. If she ever relaxed so far as to smile, it’d probably be in a class with her ankles.

He waited for her to invite him inside. Finally she looked up, nailing him with a chilly stare. “What did Mr. Blalock tell you?”

“About what?” He scrambled through his two brief meetings with the banker, trying to recall everything that had been said while he’d attempted to convince the man to let him at least look over the place where his father had allegedly grown up.

“About—well, about Mr. Snow.” Her voice was soft but firm, and if that was an oxymoron, then so were all those mattress ads. “You said he might have been your uncle. How do I know you’re not a—a dealer of some sort.”

“Come again?”

Still guarding the doorway, she handed him back his documents and recrossed her arms. And then for no apparent reason, she seemed to drop her guard. “Oh, all right. You might as well come inside, but I’m warning you, if you try to sell me anything, or want to buy anything, you’re out of here, is that understood?”

Well, hell. In other words, look but don’t touch. “Yes, ma’am.”

Kell followed her inside, unable to keep his eyes from widening. The entire place, at least what he could see from the front hall, was crammed with stuff that looked like it all belonged in a museum. In his stellar, if somewhat abbreviated, career as a major league pitcher, Kell had stayed in some fine hotels. He had run with the kind of folks who had money to burn. In fact, for a while he’d burned his share, too—that is, until he’d wised up and started putting it to a better use.

But this was different. This was real stuff. The kind that was handed down, not the kind decorators went out and bought when they were commissioned to fill up an empty space. He knew. Once, back in Houston, when he’d gotten tired of staying in an apartment that looked as if he was waiting for the rest of his furniture to show up, he’d hired one. After three months and a whole bunch of money, he’d ended up surrounded by a lot of chrome, black marble, thick glass and white leather. As for the pictures, they had reminded him of the graffiti you saw scribbled on ruined walls in the barrio—not that he’d ever claimed to be an art critic.

“Well, are you coming, or are you going to stand there gawking all day?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am, you lead the way and I’ll follow.” If her backside looked anywhere near as good as her frontside, he’d follow her all the way up those stairs to the nearest bedroom. Only he didn’t think that was what she had in mind.

Nor, he reminded himself sternly, was it what he had in mind. At least it hadn’t been until he’d seen her up close and more or less undraped. Funny thing, the way some women could trigger a certain reaction. He’d read somewhere that the average male had seven spontaneous erections over the course of twenty-four hours, five of them when he was asleep.

Oh, man, this could prove embarrassing.

She’d changed into a pair of khaki shorts and a faded blue T-shirt. Hardly mourning clothes, but definitely not Frederick’s of Hollywood, either. As for her eyes…

Kell had never been real partial to gray eyes. Several women he knew wore colored contacts, but gray was actually kind of nice. Sort of restful. Might even call it romantic in a mysterious sort of way.

Get with the game, Magee, you’re missing the signals.

Bypassing the curving stairway, she led him to a big, high-ceilinged kitchen where an older woman in tight white shorts was stacking dishes in an open box. The woman pointed at him, using a flowered teapot as a pointer. “I know you! Who are you?”

“He says his name is Kelland Magee,” the blonde supplied, as if she hadn’t devoured every line on the cards he’d handed her. “He says Mr. Snow was his uncle.”

“I said he might have been,” Kell corrected. “I mean, I’m pretty certain a man named Harvey Snow was my father’s younger half brother, but the courthouse was closing just as I got there, so I won’t know for sure if this is the right one until we do some more checking.” And this was Friday, dammit. “There might’ve been more than one Harvey Snow around here.” He waited, tense as a rookie pitching his first game in the majors.

While his overall education was a little spotty, Kell had learned to trust his instincts. Right now those instincts were telling him that no matter what Blalock said, this house, as different as it was from anything he could have imagined, was where his father had spent his first sixteen years, or near enough.

“I’m pretty sure this is the right place. I mean the right Harvey Snow. The Dismal Swamp—” He nodded in the direction where he thought it might be located, hoping to impress her with his knowledge of the area. If that didn’t work, he’d try out his charm on her. Stuff used to work on groupies, but hell—that had been more than ten years ago. The use-by date on any charm he might once have possessed had long since expired.

Taking a deep breath, Daisy did her best to pretend she was wearing a freshly laundered uniform instead of her grunge clothes. Cleaning and packing was hot work. It wasn’t enough that the first time she’d seen him she’d probably looked like a witch on a bad day—now she looked even worse. She hadn’t had time to do much with her hair, and unless she used a blow-dryer and a big roller brush on it, it always ended up looking like last year’s squirrel’s nest.

And all this matters…why?

She didn’t know why, she really didn’t, except that there was something about his voice—and his face. Not to mention his body. Her gaze fell to his pelvic area and she felt heat rush to her face. He had on the same pair of low-rise jeans he’d been wearing this morning, the kind that were cut full in the groin area to accommodate…whatever.

“Miss?”

“Yes, all right!” If anyone had ever offered her even the smallest chance to learn something about her own heritage, she’d have jumped at it. The least she could do was give him the benefit of the doubt. “All right, come on, then. This is Faylene Beasley.” She nodded toward the housekeeper. “It’s late and we’re both busy, but I guess I can make time to show you around.” Her slight effort to sound gracious fell about five miles short of the mark.

The Beasley woman squinted at him. “Magee? Sounds kinda familiar. Long drink o’ water, ain’t you? I bet you played basketball.”

Kell shook his head. “Basketball? Sorry, must be some other Magee.” The nurse had sailed off down the hall, so he hurried after her. He had an idea the fuse on her patience was burning down fast, but before it fizzled out he intended to squeeze every drop of information from her he could. If nothing else he could enjoy the view.

She stopped beside the polished oak stairs and said, “What did Faylene mean, she knew you?”

“Faylene?”

“The housekeeper you just met. She said she knew you.”

Housekeeper, huh? Funny uniform for a housekeeper. More like the Playboy bunny from hell. “Beats me. I guess I’ve got one of those generic faces. Be surprised how many people think they know me from somewhere.”

She didn’t bother to hide her skepticism.

Amused, Kell considered telling her about his fifteen minutes of fame. It was more like five seasons, three of them going into play-offs, but that might sound like bragging. He had a feeling the lady would not be impressed.

Idly, he wondered what it would take to impress her.

Determined to show him around and get rid of him, Daisy popped open one door after another on the second floor, allowing him to peer inside before she hurried him down the hall. With all her heart she wished that the stranger she’d first seen this morning looked less impressive at closer range. He was setting off alarms in parts of her body that had been peacefully dormant for years.

“They’re all furnished more or less alike,” she told him, keeping her tone impersonal. They had vacuumed about half the rooms and replaced the dust covers. Reaching a door at the far end of the hall, she popped it open and then started to close it, having had about all she could take for one day. Before she could pull the door shut again, the man who said his name was Magee brushed past her. Intensely aware of the scent of leather, aftershave and healthy male skin, she wished she’d had time to shower and change into something fresher.

No, she didn’t! Of course she didn’t!

The small room was lit only by light that fell through a west-facing dormer. Not bothering to switch on the overhead fixture, she said briskly, “There’s nothing of interest here, so if you’re ready?”

Instead of backing out, he stepped into the room. “Hey, my mama had one of those things back in Oklahoma,” he exclaimed, sounding as if the fact that the Snows and the Magees had something in common proved his case beyond a doubt.

The article in question was a treadle sewing machine, its shiny black head gleaming with gilt scrollwork. Surrendering to the inevitable, Daisy moved inside the small room. The sooner his curiosity was satisfied, the sooner he’d leave. She said, “I believe Mr. Snow’s mother used this as a sewing room. I don’t think it’s been used for anything else since then, except maybe for storage.” Did sewing machines count as personal property or furniture? She’d have to ask Egbert. “Are you ready?” She would have tapped her foot to illustrate her impatience, only she lacked the energy.

“Those boxes, what do you suppose is in them?”

Oh, shoot. She’d forgotten those. “Probably fabrics. Maybe mending that never got done.” And because she was physically exhausted and emotionally stressed, the poignancy of the whole situation suddenly struck her. She could picture it, even though she had seen nothing like it in her entire life: a pile of clothes—shirts and small overalls—stacked beside the sewing machine, waiting for patches to be sewn on and seams to be stitched up.

She didn’t need this, she really didn’t. She had never even known Harvey’s mother. Couldn’t remember his even mentioning the woman.

Turning away, she swallowed a sob, only to choke on the next one. There was no holding back. By the time she started making squeaky noises in the back of her throat he was hovering over her.

“Daisy? Ms. Hunter?”

God, how embarrassing! “Go on downstairs. I—I’ll just—I’ll just…”

His hands came down on her shoulders and he pulled her into his arms. She shook her head. I don’t want this, I really, really don’t.

But she really, really did. Irrational or not, there were only so many tears a body could hold before the dam broke. “Allergies,” she muttered while he made small, comforting sounds in a language that was universal.

Even with her nose stopped up she was aware of it again—that leathery, woodsy scent that was so essentially male. She tried to blame allergies for causing her to break down. She’d been allergic to her ex-fiancé’s cologne. Jerry, a typical metrosexual who spent more on maintenance each month than she did in an entire year, used cologne lavishly.

Magee was nothing at all like Jerry. Feature by feature, he wasn’t even handsome, not by Hollywood standards, yet the sum total was—

She didn’t want to think about the sum total, not when all it took was a few comforting words spoken in that dark molasses voice of his to affect regions of her body that had been neglected far too long.

She was a noisy crier, which was one of the reasons she tried not to indulge if there was anyone within hearing distance. Once she got started, she bawled, boohooed and squealed like a day-old piglet.

It didn’t help that he kept making those warm, rusty, there-there sounds while his hands stroked her back. His chin was moving over the top of her head, probably searching for her off button. She took a deep, steadying breath but didn’t pull away. Another few seconds, she promised herself.

Maybe she’d make him close his eyes first. As if this morning hadn’t been bad enough, add red eyes and a wet nose. By now her hair must look as if she’d just lost a battle with a leaf blower.

“Better now?” he inquired softly. The way he was holding her, there was no way she could fail to be aware of every hard, interesting contour of his body. She’d heard of an embarrassment of riches. This was an embarrassment of embarrassment.

“Thanks for your, uh—patience,” she said with all the dignity she could muster, which wasn’t a whole lot. “If you’re through here, Faylene can show you around downstairs.” She pulled away and backed into the cardboard box that had started the whole pathetic episode.

Well, hell. Let Faylene deal with whatever was in the box. She could give it away or dump it in the river, because Daisy couldn’t handle another decision.

“Why can’t you show me around downstairs?” Still the same warm honey tones, but she detected a steeliness now that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“Because I’ll be busy in the attic.” She’d forgotten about the attic until the box had reminded her.

He followed her out and closed the door, then nodded toward a narrow door in the shadowy end of the hallway. “Is that the attic stairway? Be funny if it turned out my dad had left some stuff up there, wouldn’t it? I guess anything he might have left downstairs would have long since been tossed out, but attics…you never know, right?” He sounded as cool and impersonal as if the past few minutes had never happened.

Instead of turning toward the front stairway, he moved toward the attic door. “Why don’t we check it out together? It’ll only take a few more minutes.”

Four

Daisy surrendered to the inevitable. The sooner she satisfied his curiosity, the sooner he’d leave. At least she had herself under control now, pink nose, puffy eyes and haystack hair notwithstanding.

This was turning out to be the day from hell. What more could happen? She’d planned to grab a nap as soon as she got home from the funeral and then start on another closet with Faylene’s help, but Marty and Sasha had come by and stayed for almost an hour. No sooner had they left than the Lone Ranger had turned up with his blue eyes and his sexy voice, making all sorts of demands.

Actually, they were more requests than demands. All the same, she didn’t need any more stress added to what she was already dealing with. “You can take a quick look, but whatever’s up there is just junk. Things that were too good to throw away but not good enough to use. You know what attics are like.”

“Matter of fact, I don’t,” he said, sounding far too guileless for a man who stood more than six feet even without the cowboy boots he affected. “We didn’t have one where I grew up.”

That’s right, she thought, knowing she was being unfair—turn on the boyish charm, why don’t you?

Trouble was, it was working. “Oh, come on then, if you must,” she grumbled. “But make it fast, I still have a lot to do today.”

The steps were narrow, steep and dark with ancient varnish. Four steps, then a landing and four more. She caught up with him on the landing where the pull cord was anchored, but before she could yank on the single bulb at the top of the stairway, he barged ahead.

“Watch out, there’s a—”

Too late. He stumbled over the rocking chair she’d dodged the other day when she’d gone searching for boxes.

Bending over to rub his shin, Kell said, “Hey, this thing looks familiar. Maybe I saw it in a picture or something. It’s possible, isn’t it?”

How could he simply ignore what had happened in the sewing room when every cell in her body was still buzzing with—well, it was hardly sexual awareness, Daisy told herself. It had to be embarrassment. Shrugging, she said, “Sears Roebuck probably delivered thousands of them. A few might even have made it to Oklahoma.”

It was as if he’d pulled down the shades on those brilliant blue eyes, shutting off the look of boyish expectation that made him seem younger than the lines around his eyes indicated. “Yeah, I must have seen one just like it in one of the better soddies out there in the panhandle. At our house we used to sit on upturned buckets, but for company, we always brought in the milking stool.”

Thoroughly ashamed of herself, Daisy closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” She did, but knew she shouldn’t have. “I’m tired—I’m in a rotten mood—but that’s no reason to take it out on you.”

It would help if he weren’t so…distracting. She actually found herself wondering what he liked in a woman—whether he’d be attracted to someone neat and practical or someone sexy and wildly impractical. One thing was certain—no man could be attracted to a grungy-looking crybaby who fell apart at the sight of an old sewing machine.

While he examined the rocking chair and prowled the shadowy space under the sloping ceilings, Daisy mentally distanced herself by thinking about her plans for the future. In a few minutes—half an hour at most—he’d be gone.

She tried not to watch him as he moved around, touching things, studying old license plates someone had nailed to the rafters, shaking his head over a pair of dried and cracked rubber waders. Even the way he moved was distracting. Those long legs, that gorgeous gluteus—

Stop it. Just stop thinking about what you’re thinking about! Think about Egbert and how thoroughly decent he is. Think about the way he’ll smile, shy and a little nervous, when you walk down the aisle with a bouquet of spring flowers. It would be a small wedding, she’d already decided on that much, but definitely in church. Dressy, but not formal, as there was no point in buying an expensive gown and wearing it only once—although Sasha would argue with her there. Her hair would be lighter and probably shorter, but not too short.

Try as she would to bring the picture into focus, the man waiting at the altar wore jeans, a leather jacket and western boots. A man she’d first seen only hours earlier. A man with a crooked grin and a wicked gleam in his eyes, and as she saw him waiting at the altar, all she could think of was—

Too much stress. She had flat out lost her mind.

Recovering her lost train of thought, she looked guiltily at the broken rocker. “I really am sorry, Mr. Magee. It’s just that—well, I guess it gets to me, dealing with all these personal effects. As a rule I’m never involved in that sort of thing, but Mr. Snow didn’t have anyone else and I hated to think of strangers pawing through his belongings. He was—he had too much pride for that.”

He didn’t say a word, just stared at her with those enigmatic blue eyes. Flinging her hands out in a gesture of helplessness, she said, “Look, I liked the man, all right? He was my friend as well as my patient, and this is one last thing I can do for him. So if you don’t mind—”

“Just get the hell out of the way so you can finish, right?” he said softly.

She turned away, blinking rapidly. Oh, dammit, not again!

Across the room under a small stained-glass window sat a humpback trunk. That, too, would have to be gone through. She’d almost sooner cart it down to the river and throw it overboard unopened.

“Daisy?”

“What!” she snapped without turning around. Daisy the unflappable, known far and wide for her composure, was coming apart at the seams, leaking embarrassing emotions all over the place.

“It’s chilly up here and you’re not wearing enough clothes. Let’s go down and see if what’s her name can brew up some coffee, okay?”

“Faylene,” she said, grasping any excuse to cut short the tour. “Her name is Faylene Beasley, I told you that twice already. She worked three days a week for Mr. Snow and one day each for my two best friends, and I don’t know why I’m telling you all this because I never babble.”

He nodded soberly and led the way, probably expecting her to collapse from overwrought nerves. If she happened to fall and break a leg, he’d be just the type to compound the fracture by sweeping her up in his arms, leaping aboard his white horse and galloping off to the nearest emergency room. God save her from amateur heroes.

“My grandmother might have sat in that rocking chair,” Kell said quietly after closing the attic door. “I don’t know if Blalock explained or not, but my dad and Uncle Harvey shared a mom.”

“I believe you mentioned it once or twice.” Uncle Harvey? Daisy knew exactly what he was trying to do. He was trying to stake his claim. But it wasn’t up to her to decide.

They reached the front of the second-floor hall, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the newly waxed floor, his worn, western-style boots making whispery sounds. He continued, saying, “Half Uncle Harvey, if you want to get technical. Anyhow, Blalock said Harvey had never married and it’s usually women who save stuff. Guys just toss it or cover it up with more junk. So my grand-mom was probably the one who stashed that old trunk up there.”

“So?” She should have sent him packing when he first showed up. Let Egbert deal with him, this wasn’t part of her job description.

Oh, sure—like housecleaning and sorting through tons of stuff was?

“So there might even be a few old pictures of her and her two sons up there, you reckon?”

He waited for an answer and she didn’t have one. As far as she was concerned he could have any pictures he found. He could even have that box of mending for all she cared. She’d leave it to Egbert’s interpretation of Harvey’s will and whatever he found out about the cowboy’s claim.

If he thought turning on the charm would win her over he was flat out of luck. She’d already been vaccinated. What had happened upstairs had been a momentary aberration, not a sign of weakness on her part.

Daisy waited for him to leave. When he didn’t, she turned toward the kitchen. Let Faylene deal with him.

His leathery-woodsy scent and whispery footsteps were right behind her. “Don’t you think it’s significant that both Harvey and Evander had names with V in them? I mean, what are the chances?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t hear many names with V in them, do you?”

“Victor, Vance, Vaughn, Virginia—Virgil.”

“Hmm…never thought of those. Remind me not to play word games with you.”

If his smile was meant to disarm, it wasn’t working. “I never play games,” she informed him.

His smile widened into a grin. “Ri-ight.”

They were still standing there when something struck the side of the house. Daisy said, “Oh, no—it’s probably a bird. I’d better go see if it’s hurt. Sometimes in the late afternoon the sun reflects on the glass and—”

She was hurrying toward the front door when the same sound came again. This time they stared at each other, then both looked in the direction the sound had come from.

Kell said, “Upstairs.”

Daisy said, “Outside.”

“Might be a branch,” he murmured. “The wind’s picked up.”

“Oh, great. That means more raking. I’d forgotten about the yard.” In an unspoken truce, they hurried outside and looked for signs of a stunned bird among all the pecans, pine cones and broken branches littering the unkempt lawn.

“What about a lawn service?”

“Some crews came by right after the storm and collected whatever Faylene and I could drag out to the road. We cleared off the porches and the driveway, but we never got around to doing anything more.”

“You do the yard work, too? I thought you were a nurse.”

She shrugged. “As long as I’m living here rent free, I try to earn my keep. Anyway, it’s easier to do things myself than try to find someone else to do it, especially now.”

Especially now after the hurricane? Kell wondered. Or especially now that she was out of a job? “What about gutters?” he asked, remembering the one he’d seen dangling when he’d first driven into the yard.

“Gutters,” she repeated. “Well, shoot. I told Egbert they needed repairing, but he said repairs could wait until the estate was settled.”

“Which will be…?”

“Six months, I think. I’m not sure—Egbert needs time for any creditors to come forward, anyway, or any other—” She broke off and he finished for her.

“Or any other claimants. Don’t worry, I’m not.” She shot him a skeptical look—she had it down pat. Kell didn’t bother to set her straight. “Place is a mess, isn’t it?” he mused.

She flashed him a smile that disappeared almost before it could register. The tip of her nose was still slightly pink, but it didn’t affect the impact. Funny, he thought, because he usually liked his ladies groomed to a high polish. She was anything but.

“If it was a chunk of gutter banging up against the side of the house, I might be able to reach it and pull it down.” He knew damned well she didn’t want him here. The thing was, the more she wanted him to leave, the more determined he was to hang around. “So why don’t I take care of it now?”

Right. Magee to the rescue. He knew what gutters were for, everybody knew that. He even knew roughly how they were attached to a house. The rest he should be able to figure out.

Shielding his eyes from the low sun, he stared up at the dangling section of gutter. If he’d needed an entrée, this just might be it. He could offer to tack up hanging stuff and saw off whatever couldn’t be nailed back up. Men’s work, he told himself, unconsciously bracing his shoulders.

When it occurred to him that researching his family tree might not be the sole reason he wanted to hang around for a few days, he was quick to deny it. No way, he told himself. The lady was…interesting, but not his style. Besides, he didn’t do overnighters.

“Oh, yeah, that definitely needs to come down,” he murmured as they stood shoulder to shoulder and gazed up toward the eaves. “Lucky thing it didn’t hit that window with all the stained glass.”

Nodding, Daisy turned toward the back door where Faylene waited with a market basket of assorted hand tools. “Told you that thang weren’t gonna stay up there if the wind shifted.”

Kell reached for the basket, but Daisy beat him to it. Faylene said, “Want me to help you get the ladder out? While you’re up yonder, you might want to whack off that big limb hangin’ over the screen porch.”

“Where’s the ladder? I’ll get it,” Kell said, all but flexing his muscles to prove his prowess.

“I know I’ve seen you summers before,” the housekeeper said thoughtfully. “You weren’t one o’ them bachelors on the TV, were you?”

He grinned and shook his head. “No, ma’am, not in a million years, Ms. Beasley.”

Granted, he was a bachelor, and he’d definitely been on TV, but never in the context she’d mentioned. Before the housekeeper could recall where she’d seen him he turned away, pausing only when he reached the bottom step and hesitated.

“I wondered if you knew where you were going,” Daisy said dryly. “The shed’s around back. The ladder’s hanging on the outside wall—at least it was before the storm. It might be over in the next county by now.”

“No problem. I passed a hardware store on my way here.”

“You’re not buying any ladders,” she said, as if she suspected him of trying to ingratiate himself. Sharp lady. “There it is,” she said. “You take one end and I’ll carry the other.”

“Be easier if I just balance it on my shoulders.” He could tell she wanted to argue, but instead, she marched off toward the house, giving him a perfect view of her shapely, well-toned backside. In a starched uniform she might be able to pass herself off as a dragon, but in rumpled shorts, a T-shirt and grimy athletic shoes, with her hair tumbling from the shaggy wad on top of her head, she was—

Suffice it to say that dragon was hardly the word that came to mind.

They worked surprisingly well as a team. Having been treated for various sports-related injuries, Kell had seen the way nurses slapped tools into the palm of an attending physician. He wasn’t particularly eager to have her slap anything in his hands, especially not a hammer, nails or a screwdriver, so he selected a few basic tools and tucked them under his belt, took a deep breath and started climbing.

Three rungs from the top he braced himself, held on and shifted his weight experimentally, waiting to see if the ladder was going to settle any deeper into the damp earth. Eyeing the nearby stained-glass window, he called down, “She’s one fancy house, all right. Tall, too.”

Daisy was watching him, shading her eyes with a slate shingle she’d picked up from the debris on the ground. “Be careful up there,” she warned.

“I’m always careful. What’d you say it was called, Victorian?”

“I didn’t say.” Then, as if relenting, she said, “Gothic. I think.”

“Ri-ight, that’s what I thought it was.” When it came to architecture, he didn’t know Gothic from gator eggs.

Kell knew better than to look down. Truth was, he wasn’t that great on heights. A pitcher’s mound was about as high as he felt comfortable unless he was flying, preferably first class, preferably in an aisle seat and preferably with a shot of single-malt whisky in hand to settle his nerves.

Daisy steadied the ladder with both hands while he reached out to unscrew the single screw holding the gutter to the eaves. He called down to warn her to stand back just as the screw came loose and the section of copper gutter fell to the ground.

“Ouch!”

Kell twisted around to see what had happened. When the ladder tilted under him he let out a yell and sailed off to one side. They both ended up on the damp ground, with Daisy frowning at a ten-inch scrape on the outside of her leg where the falling gutter had grazed her. Kell massaged his butt and pulled out the cluster of pecans he’d landed on. The yard was littered with the damned things.

“You okay?” he asked.

“What were you doing, trying to amputate my leg?”

“I warned you to stand back.”

“You warned me after the thing was already falling.”

He stood up, flexed his limbs to be sure they were still working, then held out a hand. “Sorry, I guess my timing was off. Gutter work’s a little out of my line.”

Ignoring his hand, she stood and then leaned over to examine her injury. “I’d better go put something on this. Did you break any bones when you fell?”

“I didn’t fall, I jumped.” He followed her into the house. “That thing’s probably going to stiffen up on you once it starts healing.”

“Jumped, ha! Nice six-point landing, though.”

“Two feet plus two hands equals four, not six. Do the math.”

“You left out the two cheeks,” she quipped, slipping through the back door he held open. Glancing over her shoulder, she grinned. “Hope you didn’t bruise anything valuable.”

Well, what do you know? The lady had a sense of humor after all. He liked that in a woman, he really did. He’d been right about that mouth of hers, too. Without a lick of paint on it, she had a smile that could melt steel-belted radials.

Kell asked if she was up on her tetanus shots and she withered him with a look. “I am a nurse,” she reminded him. “What are you, by the way? You never did say.”

“Hungry, at the moment. Kinda tired, too, come to think of it. It’s been a long day.” He didn’t feel like getting into his life story, it only complicated things. He either came off sounding like a failure or a braggart, and actually, he was neither.

“Where are you staying?” Daisy uncapped a bottle of Betadine and studied the scrape on her leg.

“I spent last night at a motel out on the highway. I’m not sure, but I think the owner’s name is Bates.” He leaned against a counter and watched as she carefully mopped the raw area with a damp cotton ball. “Maybe you can recommend another place, preferably one near a decent restaurant.”

“There’s a motel in town, but it’s been closed ever since the storm. Something about a mold problem.”

“What about restaurants? Most of the ones I saw looked closed, too. Don’t folks around here eat?”

She capped the bottle and set it aside. “Most of them live around here. They don’t have to rely on restaurants. There are some nice ones in Elizabeth City—motels, too. That’s only about eighteen or twenty miles on the other side of Muddy Landing.”

“Yeah, I found that out when I was exploring the countryside late last night, looking for the Muddy Landing city limits.”

“Oh.” She glanced at him, then looked away, almost as if she was embarrassed by the fact that he was hungry and homeless and it was growing dark outside.

Kell did his best to look hungry and homeless until finally she broke. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, I suppose if you’d like to you could spend the night here. There’s certainly enough room.”

He barely managed to suppress his triumph when Faylene came in, bristling with mops, feather dusters and cleaning rags. “Plenty of rooms upstairs,” the housekeeper declared. “None of ’em made up, but I guess I could dig out some sheets. Daisy, my bingo’s at seven and I need to run home and change first, so if you’re lettin’ him stay, I’ll do up that corner room.” She measured him with narrowed eyes. “It’s got that big ol’ bed. I ’speck it’ll fit him all right.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate that,” Kell said before the offer could be withdrawn. “I was thinking about buying a camper and some bedding just so I could get a decent night’s sleep.”

Daisy knew the minute the invitation left her lips that she’d spoken too hastily. The way she reacted to this man on a purely physical level was totally illogical. “Although I suppose I really should check with Egbert first,” she murmured.

He barely hesitated before saying, “Blalock? Good idea. By now he’s probably checked out my bona fides. Mind if I help myself to a glass of water?”

The crazy thing was, she knew very well she was being manipulated, only she couldn’t quite figure out how he was doing it. How could any man who looked like a cross between George Clooney and that Joe Millionaire Evan Marriott elicit sympathy simply by asking a simple question about motels?

While Faylene put away her cleaning gear, Daisy leaned against the refrigerator and watched him down the glass of ice water he’d poured for himself. All right, so he was tall and well built—what was so unusual about that? And blue eyes were hardly uncommon. They only seemed that way because of his deep tan and his jet-black hair—not to mention eyelashes any woman would envy. As for his body—

She was a nurse, for heaven’s sake. She knew what men’s bodies looked like. Just because those old jeans of his worn low on his narrow hips happened to bag in all the right places and hug in a few others, that didn’t mean what they concealed was all that special. Underneath his clothes he was probably bowlegged, chicken-breasted and hairless.

In fact, some men actually worked at being hairless to the point of shaving their heads and waxing their bodies. Personally, she’d always liked a moderate amount of hair on a man’s body.

Good Lord, her brain had been taken over by an alien. “What?” she snapped.

“I said, maybe I could buy you dinner?” He set his glass in the sink. “In exchange for a place to sleep, I mean? Or we could order takeout if you’re too tired to go out. I can pick it up if delivery’s a problem out here.”

Daisy dropped down onto a chair, wincing as the wound on the side of her left leg protested. “I told you everything’s still closed since the storm. That includes the ones that do takeout.”

“Never mind, then. I’m not really hungry. A bed I don’t hang off of will be fine. This has been a long day.”

Well, shoot. If he was going to be nice about it—“Look, if you don’t mind fried chicken, I’ve got some soaking in buttermilk in the refrigerator that needs to be cooked. How good are you at making salad?”

Five

Kell was a wizard at making salads, especially when the greens were bagged and the other ingredients lined up in order. Dutifully, he chopped sweet onions and bell peppers, hearing behind him the sound of hot grease spattering in a cast-iron skillet. Faylene popped in to say the room was all ready. “ESPN! I knew I’d seen you somewheres before. If she’s frying chicken, make her use bacon grease, else she’ll use that canoodle oil. Stuff don’t have no flavor a-tall.”

“It’s canola, and you’d better hurry or you’ll miss your bingo,” Daisy said, but she was smiling. The two women might have different ideas of what constituted a sensible diet, but they obviously liked each other.

“My dad used to like greens boiled with bacon. Mom used to cook up a potful two or three times a week. She was a barrel racer, did I tell you that? Of course, that was before I came along. She was known for her bean bread, too. Best in all Oklahoma.”

“Bean bread?”

They discussed the nonthreatening topic of food while Kell divided the salad between two bowls. He glanced around for whatever else needed doing just as Daisy bent over to drag something out of a lower cabinet, offering him a clear view of the back of her thighs.

There was something intimate about a woman’s tan line, he mused. Most of the women he knew well enough to be familiar with their tan lines didn’t have any. Daisy’s tan line was about midway on her thighs.

He reminded himself that Daisy’s tan line, no matter how provocative, was none of his business. At least she didn’t wear stockings with her shorts like the other one. Now, there was one weird lady.

Realizing she’d caught him staring, Kell blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Legs—ah, limbs. Tree limbs, I mean. Lots of trees around here. I’ll bet Uncle Harvey climbed ’em all when he was a kid. He ever talk to you about the old days?”

Without replying, she placed another drumstick in the hot grease, jumping back when it spattered. “Watch it,” he warned. “Stuff can do you some major damage. I knew a guy that got hot grease splashed in his eye.”

“Well, gee, I forgot my safety goggles.” The words dripped sarcasm, but he had her number now. Her bite wasn’t nearly as bad as her bark.

Hips braced against a countertop, he crossed his legs at the ankles, watching her work. “Blalock mentioned that you’d been here for more than a year. I expect you and Uncle Harvey got to know each other pretty well. He happen to tell you any stories about when he was a kid? Most old folks like to talk about the good old days.”

Hell, he didn’t know what old folks liked to talk about. His former teammates liked to talk about cars, golf scores and women. As for the kids he worked with, they mostly bragged about what they were going to do—everything from joining the marines to building the world’s biggest airplane.

Which reminded Kell that he needed to get on with finding whatever there was to be found here, if anything. This dilapidated old mansion might not look much like the double-wide where Evander Magee had spent his last fifteen years and Kell had spent his first fourteen, but if there was anything here of his dad’s, he intended to find it. He didn’t have so much as a snapshot of either his mom or his dad. Those had burned along with everything else—his mom’s trophies, the long-legged, long-billed birds his dad had whittled that shared space with a bunch of flowered plates and cups in the corner cabinet between the living room and the dining area. He couldn’t really see his dad living in a house like this, but he’d like a few more days to try and get a better feel for it.

“Your uncle—that is, Mr. Snow, was physically unable to do much tree-climbing. He was born with rheumatoid arthritis. Are you finished with the salad?”

Kell waited a long, stunned moment. “You mean he was a—”

“He was a wonderful man who couldn’t climb trees. Seeing you on a ladder, I’d say you weren’t much good at tree-climbing, either. Now, is the salad ready?”

“Already on the table.” If he was going to make the most of his time here, he needed to choose his topics carefully. Evidently a few areas were off-limits. “I was just thinking about some of my dad’s stories about hunting bear in the Dismal Swamp. Back then, I didn’t even know where the Dismal Swamp was located. Did Uncle Harvey ever mention anything about bear hunting? I doubt if it’s something a guy would do alone.”

He didn’t know if it was or not. Maybe if a guy needed to put meat on the table for his family…

On the other hand, folks who lived in fancy three-story houses probably didn’t run short of groceries between paychecks.

“Better watch that stuff,” he said just as Daisy jumped back and grabbed her arm. She swore softly and so did Kell as he pulled her away from the danger zone. “Dammit, I warned you. Here, let me see what you’ve done to yourself.”

“I’m all right,” she protested, twisting away.

Holding on to her shoulders, he peered around to see the bare forearm she was clutching in front of her body. “Uh-oh, that one’s going to blister.” Leading her to the sink, he turned on the faucet and held her forearm under the stream of cold water. “You got anything to put on it?”

She shot him a look that reminded him he was here on sufferance, as if he needed reminding. With her hair tickling his chin, he inhaled sharply and then had to wonder how a blend of roses and bacon grease could put him in mind of warm nights and hot, tangled sheets.

“Turn the chicken for me, will you? I’ll be back in time to take it up.” She twitched her shoulders free of his hands, shoved the fork at him and headed for the door, still clutching her forearm just above the angry red burn.

Kell stared after her, liking the way she moved. Liking even more the feel of her body against his. This made twice now. He was starting to look forward to the scent of her hair and the way her body felt—the contrast between softness and firmness. If he reacted this way after only a few hours in her company, he just might have a problem by the time he headed West again. A smart man, he reminded himself, would clear out before he got hooked.

Laying aside the table fork she’d been using to turn the pieces of chicken, he searched through drawers until he found a long-handled cooking fork. Speaking of smart, any woman smart enough to be a nurse should know enough to use the right tool for the job. While he’d never claimed to be a handyman, even he knew better than to use a short-handled tool to do a long-handled job.

The chicken was browned to a turn by the time Daisy returned. Shoving him aside, she lifted each piece out and placed it on papers to drain. Leaning against the refrigerator, Kell noticed that she’d taken the time to braid her hair in a single rope that was already coming apart. Unruly hair, he mused. What else about her refused to obey the rules?

Her face was damp. Evidently she’d splashed it off, but she hadn’t bothered to do any more than that. Not that she needed to. While she might not be the most beautiful woman in the world, something about her definitely made an impression.

An impression. Right. Like a big white light coming at him in a dark tunnel.

One more thing a smart man should know—to get the hell out of the way or else prepare to face the consequences.

They ate in the kitchen. Kell had yet to see a dining room, but there probably was one. Houses like this might even have two, one for family, one for company.

“I suppose you need to check out of wherever it is you’re staying,” Daisy said.

Kell cut off a bite of white meat. Man, did she ever know how to fry chicken. “Uh, actually, I already did that. I’d planned to find someplace with bigger beds and softer pillows.” And maybe a gray-eyed, streaky-haired blonde to share it with me.

She glanced up then, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. He felt his face growing warm. “How many rooms did you say there were?” he asked hastily. “We never got around to finishing the tour.”

Get your mind out of the bedroom, Bubba.

“Just the usual,” she said, drizzling balsamic vinegar on her salad.

“That many, huh?” Okay, so he’d try again. Somewhat to his surprise he was far more interested in her reactions to his questions than he was in the actual answers. A house was a house was a house.

But a woman was an eternal mystery. “Do porches count as rooms?” he asked, wondering whether or not to reach for another drumstick.

“If you want to count them. Five rooms downstairs, not counting the porches, the kitchen or servants’ quarters. Actually, that’s only a small bedroom and a half bath with a shower.”

“Why wouldn’t you count those?” Was there another conversation going on underneath the words spoken, or was it only his imagination?

She shrugged. “Count them if you want to, it hardly matters.” She reached for her second piece of chicken and so did he.

Kell liked that in a woman—a healthy appetite. Made him wonder about her appetite in other areas.

The moment they finished, Daisy stood and started collecting the dishes. Kell lifted them from her hands. “Let me,” he said, his voice dropping half an octave. “You don’t want to splash your arm.” Without thinking, he’d lapsed into the honeyed tones he used to use on attractive, available women before he’d become famous enough not to need any special tactics.

Funny thing, he mused—the good old days no longer seemed all that great.

“You mentioned bear hunting,” Daisy said as she moved around the kitchen, putting away the condiments and wiping off the table. “I think there might’ve been a stuffed bear’s head in the library until a few years ago.” She was moving fast and talking fast, almost as if she was trying to outrun something…or someone.

“What happened to it?” He turned on the hot water, squirted a stream of liquid detergent on a plate and scoured it with the sponge. When he held it under the faucet to rinse, water splashed across the front of his shirt.

Her lips quivered on the edge of a smile. “The bear’s head? I never actually saw it, but there’s a lighter place on the north wall where something big used to hang. Faylene’s been working here for years, and now that I think about it, I seem to remember her mentioning a bear’s head that was taken down when it got the mange, or whatever happens to stuffed animals. Moths, probably.”

“If Uncle Harvey didn’t shoot it, maybe my dad did. I think he was only about sixteen when he left here, but that’s old enough to hunt.” Kell dried the last of the silverware—heavy pieces with an S on the handle. “Hmm,” he said, holding up an ornate salad fork. “An M would have been nice, but I guess that’s too much to hope for.”

Daisy felt almost sorry for the man. If Kell wanted to find some connection to a place, a man or a family, who was she to deny him? It was only smart to learn about your genetic background. Not that she was particularly eager to meet the woman who had given birth to her thirty-six years ago. The woman who kept her for nearly three years before abandoning her in the ladies’ room of a shopping mall with a note pinned to her snow-suit that read, “Her name is Daisy and I can’t keep her.” She’d been adopted soon after that, but that hadn’t worked out, either.

Kell’s voice dropped back into that same chocolate-covered-gravel range he’d tried on her before. “How you feeling now? Does your arm hurt? Leg stiffening up on you?”

Daisy knew what he was up to. Trying to soften her up so she’d let him poke and pry until he found something he could twist into an excuse to hang around until he was declared a legitimate heir and could compete with the historical society for whatever was left. In this case it would be loser take all. Between age, more than a century of storms and what she suspected were termites, it was going to take a fortune to keep the place from crumbling into the ground. Thank goodness it wasn’t her worry. Kell, Egbert and the historical society could fight it out.

Straightening away from the counter, she refrained from glancing at her two injuries. She really must be tired. She’d never been particularly accident-prone before. “I’m feeling just fine,” she said briskly. “Thank you.”

He shot her a skeptical look as he draped the dish towel over the rack and smoothed it out. Rather than meet his eyes, she watched his hands straightening the damp linen to military precision. He really did have nice hands. Square palms, long fingers, clean, neatly trimmed nails.

Not that there was anything at all wrong with Egbert’s hands, she quickly reminded herself. They were exactly what one would expect of a white-collar worker: pale, soft—softer than hers, in fact—and flawlessly manicured.

“I don’t know about the hunting regulations around here, but even if my dad was too young to get a license, I’m pretty sure he never broke any serious laws. He was basically a good guy.”

And so are you, Daisy admitted silently, surprising herself with the thought. “How many times have you washed dishes before this?”

“What, you’re not impressed by my technique?” He teased her with a smile and she stared, mesmerized, at his mouth.

“Technique. Is that what you call it? Squirting each piece individually with detergent and then holding it under the faucet to rinse?”

“Hey, if I was doing something wrong, you should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t say it was wrong, only different.”

“You don’t like my style. That hurts.”

“I doubt it,” she said dryly. The trouble was, she liked his style a little too much, considering she’d known him only a matter of hours. Inviting him to stay had definitely been a mistake. Evidently being physically tired and emotionally drained was starting to affect her judgment.

She’d give him tonight, she vowed silently. Tomorrow she’d find some way to uninvite him.

They reached for the light switch at the same time. Their fingers brushed and she snatched hers back. Damn, damn, damn!

Placing a hand lightly on the small of her back, Kell led her from the old-fashioned kitchen. “How about fishing? Did Uncle Harvey ever talk about that? Fishing’s something you can do sitting on a bank. Plenty of those around here.”

Arching away from the warmth of his touch, she said, “Not that I recall. Mostly he talked about shipwrecks and how he wished he’d been able to try scuba diving. I think he has books on it—on diving, I mean. He has books on practically everything you can think of, and all of them need dusting.” She was babbling again. If she had a grain of sense she’d shove him out and lock the door, and to heck with good manners and genetic histories.

“And you’re going to dust every single one of them, right?”

She was. Call it duty, call it closure—Faylene called it foreclosure—Daisy knew only that she wasn’t ready to take on another patient. “Mr. Snow would have hated strangers pawing through his personal belongings.”

“You said most of the rooms had been closed off for years. Why didn’t he just move into a smaller house?” Kell gazed up at the transoms over the doors that enabled warm air to flow freely throughout the house. “Place must be tough to heat with these high ceilings, let alone the maintenance involved.”

“Because he had a deep sense of family responsibility. This house was built by his grandfather.”

“Hmm… Kind of makes you wonder why he never even tried to locate his brother if he had such a deep sense of family responsibility.”

“If he actually had a brother.”

“For that matter, I don’t know if my dad ever tried to get in touch with him, either. Dad could be…I guess you could call it stubborn.”

Daisy didn’t want to hear about his family. The man was enough of a distraction without knowing anything about him personally. As a nurse she rarely had trouble maintaining her objectivity, but as a woman she hadn’t always been so successful. A little candlelight, a little music and pretty soon you’re confiding secrets you’ve never told a single soul, not even your two best friends. One intimacy led to another, and before you knew it you were engaged to marry a sneaky, lying, conniving jerk with all the moral integrity of a feral cat.

No candles and definitely no music, she warned herself. As for intimacy, she would simply have to…what was that old saying? Gird her loins?

God, no! Don’t even think about loins!

“I guess this room would be called a parlor.” Kell opened the nearest door and peered into the gloomy interior. Without meaning to, she stared at his narrow hips, wondering just how hard he’d landed. Should she offer to rub liniment on his achy parts? Acting strictly in a professional capacity, of course.

“Back parlor,” she informed him, unconsciously mimicking the rental agent who had shown her through her apartment seven years ago. “There are two.”

She might as well get it over with. Obviously he wasn’t going to be satisfied until he’d seen all there was to see. She switched on the chandelier, wishing she’d remembered to replace the burned-out bulbs. The shadows lent the chilly room an intimacy she could do without.

Kell shook his head slowly as he took in the horse-hair sofa and matching chairs, a straight chair, an uncomfortable-looking platform rocker and a scroll-based table, its dusty surface taken up by a stuffed owl, a stereopticon and a vase of faded dried flowers laced together with spiderwebs.

“I’m no expert on antiques, but this stuff, heirloom or not, strikes me as flat-out ugly.”

“Try shifting it to clean underneath,” Daisy said dryly. Surrounding an ugly floral rug in the center of the room, the varnished floor gleamed dully under a layer of dust. “I guess you can tell the cleaning hasn’t progressed this far.”

“If you’re going to clean under all this stuff, you’re going to need help. Some of it must weigh a ton.”

For the next few minutes they wandered through interconnected rooms while Kell, using skills developed by working with fragile, at-risk kids, drew her out about the kind of man his half uncle had been—the kind of things he’d enjoyed.

“Your father never mentioned Harvey’s…um, situation?”

“Situation? I told you, my father never mentioned anything at all about his family. Or if he did, I was too young and too stupid to listen until it was too late.”

“Mr. Snow was able to drive until a few years ago, but his library was his real pride and joy, from childhood on.” As they entered the library, she nodded toward several shelves of what were obviously children’s books. “I don’t really know anything about his early life but someone obviously spent a lot on books and board games. We packed up boxes full and gave them to the Salvation Army last Christmas.”

“I imagine there were a lot of medical expenses,” Kell said quietly. “That might explain why my dad left home—to help earn money in case it was needed.”

Or maybe because he was jealous of his needy younger brother, he thought. He would never know, and perhaps that was best.

Daisy said, “I used to read to him. Newspapers were hard for him to handle after his stroke, but books…” She sighed. “He introduced me to some wonderful authors I’d never even heard of. He had a wonderful sense of humor. You’d have liked him.”

“Yeah, I probably would,” Kell said, wondering if it was true that blood was thicker than water. He sank down on the edge of the ugly tapestry sofa, searching his memory for anything his father might have said about his younger brother.

Damn. If only he hadn’t waited until it was too late. To come all this way, after all this time, and find…nothing. A funeral and a houseful of relics.

Daisy yawned. “I wish I could help you, but I only moved out here August a year ago. Before that, Mr. Snow had a nutritionist and a physical therapist—and Faylene, of course. I came three times a week.” She yawned again.

He glanced at his watch, reluctant to see the evening come to an end. By tomorrow she might have changed her mind about allowing him to stay. Or Blalock might find proof beyond a doubt that Evander and Harvey couldn’t possibly have been related, in which case, he’d have no more reason to hang around.

Dammit, he wasn’t ready to head back. Somewhere over the past few hours his focus had shifted, leaving him off balance and uncertain. Not to mention semiaroused.

It was an uncomfortable combination, he told himself as he studied the woman in the light of three sixty-watt bulbs. Except for a couple of twists up near the top, her braid was all but unraveled. Curly wisps framed her face and nestled at the back of her neck. Unbidden, he pictured her jogging through a flowery pasture in slow motion, like the woman in the allergy medication commercial.

She took a deep breath and he wondered if she was deliberately calling attention to a pair of high, rounded breasts under her faded T-shirt. Probably not, he conceded reluctantly. There was nothing even faintly seductive about either her attitude or her outfit.

“Well…if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to turn in. You know where everything is. You’re in the first room on the left at the head of the stairs. Bathroom’s across the hall.”

Kell managed to hide his disappointment that the evening was ending so early. His head was teeming with new questions. No way was he about to leave until he had a few answers. “Just don’t try to move any of this stuff without me,” he warned.

“How’s your back? After your fall, I mean.” Standing in the doorway, she yawned. Lifting a hand to cover her mouth caused her shirt to ride up just enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin at her waistline.

“My jump, you mean. Uh—back’s fine. Good to go.” He swallowed hard and tried not to stare as his body shifted into full-alert status. Like any other red-blooded man, he enjoyed looking at a bare-skinned woman—the barer, the better.

But who’d have thought that under the right conditions, modesty could be an even bigger turn-on than full nudity?

“Great,” she said. “Then if you have time before you leave tomorrow you can help us shift some furniture. Most of it hasn’t been moved in so long it’s probably stuck to the floor.”

Had he said anything about leaving tomorrow? “My pleasure,” he assured her. And it would be, even if he had to herniate himself shifting that monster of a sofa. He might no longer be a professional athlete, but he’d never let himself get out of shape like a few of the guys he knew who’d quit training once they were out of the game. If he had to, he could still do a session in the batting cage and follow it up with a few fast laps around the diamond.

Or the bedroom. When it came to women, he was an old hand. Although not even a certain sexy meteorologist, whose face he couldn’t quite bring into focus at the moment, had ever got him this turned on, this fast, with no more than a quick glimpse of waistline.

Six

It was just past four in the afternoon the following day when Kell let himself into the house again. Hearing voices from the side porch, he headed that way in time to see an attractive redhead lift her glass in a toast. “Thank you, doll—the mark of a true lady, I’ve always said, is her ability to pour from a mason jar without spilling a drop.”

“You never said that in your life,” Daisy retorted.

“Comes from emptying bedpans,” teased another woman who was less striking, but pretty in a quiet sort of way. “Besides, it’s a wide-mouth bottle, not a jar.”

“Oh, hush, you two!”

Kell didn’t know whether to back out or to join the group. Daisy settled the matter. Catching sight of him, she waved him out onto the once-screened porch and introduced her two friends. Before either of them could voice the questions that were obviously about to spill over, the housekeeper poked her head through the side door. “You want to clean out that library ’fore I leave today or wait till tomorrow?”

Grinning, Sasha said, “Oh, goody, dirty books!”

Daisy’s lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. To the housekeeper she said, “I’d just as soon get started now, if that’s all right with you.”

“I guess that’s our cue to leave. When you’re finished here, Faylene,” said the redhead, “Marty could probably use help finding a place to store all those boxes of paperbacks.”

“Just so they’re not dirty as them books in the library,” Faylene said. “I never seen so much dust. Poor man, he didn’t read ’em no more, but he wouldn’t let me touch a one of ’em. Said he knew right where ever’thing was, and I’d put ’em back all wrong.”

Leaning against the wall, Kell enjoyed the byplay among the four women as the party broke up. A few minutes later Marty and Sasha roared off in a red convertible. Faylene handed him a half-empty box of cheese straws. “Might’s well finish these up, else Daisy’ll do it and she don’t need ’em. He’p yerself to the wine.”

A few minutes later, fueled by half a dozen cheese straws, his muscles lubricated by half a glass of a regional wine, Kell followed Daisy and the housekeeper into the library, where he shifted desks, tables and chairs. Under Daisy’s instructions, he moved roughly a ton of books so that she could dust the shelves while the housekeeper vacuumed the stacks of books.

By the time it began to grow dark Kell was not only hot and hungry, he was sore in places that hadn’t had a good workout in years. For all her diminutive size—she couldn’t be more than five-five and about a hundred-ten pounds—Daisy was a dynamo. So was the housekeeper. “You two in a hurry?” he’d asked, watching the way they worked together.

“Of course we’re in a hurry. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to look around before you leave.” Daisy picked up a daddy longlegs spider, took him to the front door and dropped him on the porch. Faylene just shook her head and said, “Nice lady, but she’s sure got some crazy notions.”

Seeing the look on Kell’s face when she returned a moment later, Daisy said defensively, “They’re harmless. They eat mosquitoes.”

He nodded slowly and stacked up her eccentricities against her understated sexiness. Sexiness won, hands down.

Daisy lifted an arm to wipe her forehead, then shoved a hand through her hair. “I guess we’d better quit before I get too tired to make supper.”

“Not me,” said the housekeeper. “I got me a play-off game to watch tonight.”

“If you can think of a place anywhere nearby that’s still open,” said Kell, not wanting Daisy to feel obligated to feed him again, “call in an order and I’ll pick it up. I don’t mind driving a few miles out of the way.”

“More like twenty-five or thirty.” Faylene pulled on a bulky pink cardigan embroidered with white poodles. “My game starts in half an hour—I’m outta here. If I was you, Daisy, I’d get me a good hot soak, else you’ll wake up stiffer’n an ironin’ board.”

That might work for Daisy, Kell mused. In his case, though, a cold shower was called for.

Unbidden, his imagination sketched a picture of the two of them in a hot tub, jets going full blast, soft music in the background and maybe a shot of that eighteen-year-old Balvenie single malt he’d left in his office back home. Man, something in the air around here was affecting his mind, big-time.

As soon as the door closed behind the housekeeper, Daisy turned to him and said, “If you have anything else you’d like to see, then see it now, because I don’t intend to be here much longer.”

“Message received. Now, what about that takeout?” He wasn’t going to get sidetracked.

“You really don’t mind driving all that way? I can tell you how to get there, but first I’d better call to see if they’re still open. They do great barbecue, too.”

“Whatever you want, you call it in and I’ll go get it. Do we need anything to drink? Beer? Wine?” He grimaced at the memory of that cloying wine.

She smiled then, and as tired as he was, he had to smile back. “No more wine, thanks. I’ll make iced tea.”

“Baseball!” Faylene exclaimed, pointing a knobby forefinger at him the next morning. Today, instead of a head that resembled a pompom that had been left out in the rain, she was wearing a flowered scarf with her pink sweater, white shorts and stockings. “You used to play with Houston a few years back—or was it Seattle? Told you, I never forget a face. What was it, first base or shortstop?”

Daisy glanced up from the cleaning closet where she was searching for another can of furniture polish. “You did?”

Kell looked embarrassed. “I pitched a few years. What do you want moved first, the stuff in the middle room?”

Faylene tugged the scarf down over her ears. “’Scuse the stink. Miss Sasha called last night and told me to come by on my way to work ’cause she had something for all them broken ends I was telling you about, Daisy. Goopy stuff stinks something awful, but if it works, I guess it’s worth it. I gotta quit wearing my scroogy, though. She said that’s what’s causing my hair to break off.” Without missing a beat, she turned back to Kell. “Did I tell you my sister’s boy plays ball? He’s good, too.”

Here we go, thought Kell. He wanted to say he had no more pull than the next guy when it came to getting a kid noticed, but that wasn’t quite true. He still knew a few scouts. He always passed on a tip whenever he ran across a promising prospect. “How old is he?”

“Fourteen. He’s small for his size, but he runs fast, and man, can that boy swing a bat! He’s playing after school in that empty lot at the crossroads there by the Feed-and-Seed if you want to come watch.”

He was small for his size. Ho-kay. And he could swing a bat, too. Connecting might be a different matter. Families weren’t always objective where their kids were concerned.

Kell promised the housekeeper he would drop by and take a look, as the place she’d described was on the way into town. He’d been planning to give Blalock another push, anyway. Either the banker was deliberately dragging his feet, or he was a hell of a lot busier than he looked.

Daisy came up with a can of polish and a handful of clean rags. As she led the way, Kell couldn’t help but wonder how the two women would have managed if he hadn’t come along.

“Okay, you want stuff moved all the way to the center of the room or just out from the wall, or what?” If every piece in the house needed shifting, that might buy him another few days. As to how he’d use the time, that was still open for debate.

He knew how he’d like to use it. In any old bed in the house, with no particular deadline, exploring all the ways a man and a woman could find pleasure. It didn’t make sense, but there it was.

“If you can just shift the furniture out and set it on the rug, we can wax and polish underneath,” said Daisy. “I don’t know about the rug itself—maybe one of those machines you rent at the grocery store—or maybe we’ll just make do with a thorough vacuuming.”

Across the hall, a telephone shrilled. “Oh, shoot,” she muttered.

“You want me to get it?” the housekeeper offered.

“No, I’d better, it’s probably Egbert.”

Standing in the doorway, Faylene cocked a hip and shook her head. “That there table might not look it but it weighs a ton. Solid oak. You reckon anybody wants them dried flowers? I might could freshen ’em up some with spray paint.”

“Couldn’t hurt—might help.” What the hell did he know about dried flowers? Lifting one end of the sofa, he swung it a few feet out from the wall and then reversed ends, repeating the action, gradually walking it into position.

“I could pick up a couple of cans at the hardware, maybe pink and blue. Monday I’m going shopping with Miss Marty. It’s s’posed to be a secret, but I heard ’em talking, her’n Miss Sasha. They’re cooking up something and they don’t want me wearing my shorts.”

“Uh…right. You want to clear off that table?”

“I’ll just set them flowers out in the hall. I don’t reckon nobody wants that dead owl—I sure don’t. What about that other thing, the picture viewer?”

“Better ask Daisy.”

“Bank’ll probably haul ever’thing off to that hotline place. I don’t know about the house—that there society is s’posed to get it. If I was them I’d auction it off and save myself a lot of trouble. I heard one o’them big discount stores is looking for property out this way.”

Over my dead body, Kell thought. He was about to step up to the plate to defend his ancestral home when Daisy appeared and handed him the cordless phone. “Here, it’s for you.”

Lifting a questioning brow, he reached for the instrument that was possibly the most modern piece of equipment in the house. It was still warm from her hand. “Who is it, Blalock?”

She shook her head. “A woman. She didn’t give her name, she just asked for you.”

Just so it wasn’t someone calling to tell him they’d found genetic evidence proving that his branch of Magees was in no way connected to the local Snows. You’d think his being here somehow threatened to topple a dynasty.

“Yeah, Magee here,” he said cautiously, still eyeing Daisy. He liked the way her hair curled around her face and neck, no matter how hard she tried to control it. Hair with a mind of its own on a woman with a mind of her own…yeah, he liked that.

“Kell, this is Clarice. Moxie’s in jail and I need you to talk to Chief Taylor. He won’t listen to me.”

He held the phone away to protect his eardrums. “Okay, calm down, honey. How bad is it?” A few of the kids he worked with had a tendency to backslide, fifteen-year-old Moxie being one of the riskiest.

Still holding the phone a few inches from his ear, he listened to the shrill voice on the other end, nodding occasionally. “Uh-huh…uh-huh. No, don’t do that.” Daisy had led Faylene out of the room to afford him some privacy, but they had to be hearing every word, at least on his end of the conversation. Possibly the other end, too. Clarice had been one of the kids. Now she was opening her own business. She had a tendency to be loud when she was excited.

“Look, I’ll call the chief and explain—yeah, right away. He might not buy it this time, though. In that case, Moxie’ll just have to hang in there until—” Closing his eyes while he sieved the resulting flood of information for pertinent data, he waited for her to wind down. Then he said, “You quit worrying now, y’hear? Concentrate on getting ready for the big day. I want to see that neon sign all lit up when I get there, okay?” Sighing tiredly, he waited until she’d finished speaking. “Sure I’ll be there. I promised, didn’t I?”

Pushing the off button, he took a deep breath, then stepped out into the hall where Daisy and the housekeeper were pretending not to have overheard. Forestalling any questions, he said, “Look, this friend of mine seems to have run into a spot of trouble. Mind if I make a long distance call? I’ll put it on my home account.”

“How did she get this number?” Daisy’s eyes weren’t icy, but they were decidedly unwarm.

“Seems my cell phone coverage has a few holes in it. Muddy Landing’s one of them. I called last night, put it on my tab and gave her this number in case of emergency. I wasn’t expecting her to have to use it.”

Daisy had that look on her face again. He’d thought they had gotten past her reservations, but maybe not. He’d have to work on it, but first he needed to settle a few things back home.

“I guess it must be an emergency if you’re having to talk to the chief. Chief of what, may I ask? Fire? Police?”

“Uh, police.”

She didn’t say another word. Didn’t have to, her eyes said it all. Kell got the message, but he had to do what he had to do. “I’ll explain everything, but first I need to call Chief Taylor, so if you don’t mind?” He held up the receiver and turned away.

The two women returned to the parlor, allowing Kell his privacy. Faylene said, “I thought you had a hot one there, but now I’m startin’ to wonder. Did he tell you he used to be this big baseball star till he dropped out of sight? What with ever’body gettin’ traded around an’ a few of ’em not gettin’ picked up, I never thought to find out what happened to him.”

“You and your baseball games,” Daisy said absently as she surveyed the disarranged room. She should never have invited him to stay. Egbert wasn’t going to like it. At the time, though, it had seemed like the right thing to do.

“You stick to them romance books if you want to, but there’s nothin’ I like better when my very-close veins is killin’ me than to kick back with a cold brew an’ watch a bunch of good-looking guys in tight pants bendin’ over the sack.”

Thankful that the rain had ended the day before, Marty lugged the last box of books out of the tiny stand-alone building that had started out life as a service station, morphed into a tackle shop, and for the past seven years—until she was finally forced to admit defeat—had been Marty’s New-and-Used Bookstore.

“Next time I decide to relocate, remind me to look for a town where at least half the citizens are literate.”

“Have you thought about something for Faylene to wear?” Sasha examined her nails for any damage she might have done clearing out the last few shelves of books.

“Still working on it. Close the flap, will you? Who knows how long it’ll be before I have a place to unpack.”

Sasha looked at her nails, wrinkled her nose and closed the flaps.

“Well, I guess that’s it. I’m officially out of business. You know what? I feel like crying,” said Marty.

“Well, don’t, it’ll ruin your mascara.”

“I’m not wearing any.”

“That’s the hell of being a redhead.” Sasha affected a dramatic sigh. “You want something to show up, you have to paint it on—anything besides freckles, that is. What are you going to do with a thousand and one used paperbacks?” Without waiting for a response, she said, “I started on Faye’s hair this morning. She’s supposed to shampoo out the conditioner as soon as she gets home, but even if it works miracles, I don’t think she can take a foil job.” The housekeeper’s hair had been abused so many times with old-style chemicals it was a wonder it hadn’t eroded down to the scalp. “I made an appointment with Paul for a trim and maybe an ashy rinse.”

“Good. Anything stronger than a temporary rinse and she’ll go bald.” Marty shoved her own chestnut-brown hair back. It might be drab, but at least it was healthy. “Have you heard anything from Daisy today?” She opened the door of her minivan to let the heat escape. The temperature was only in the low sixties, but there wasn’t a speck of shade around.

“No, but the news is all over town about this studly gentleman who’s staying out at the Snow place. Evidently Kell and Blalock are trying to find out whether or not he was any kin to old Harve.”

“Studly, hmm? Having met him, I’d say that was a slight understatement. Dibs on him if Daisy kicks him out.”

“Thought you were immune,” Sasha teased. “Now, me, I never claimed to be immune. Besides, my spare room’s not stacked full of books.”

“What about all those sample books? What about those bolts of drapery material you’re waiting to get made up? What about—”

“Yeah, yeah—well, at least we won’t have to worry any more about cheering Daisy up,” Sasha said as Marty slammed shut the side door of her minivan. “If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll put him through his paces before she turns him loose.”

“Right,” Marty said dryly. “And you’ll decide to enter a nunnery and I’ll write a bestseller and go on Oprah.”

The voluptuous redhead tested the vinyl seat with her hand before sliding inside. “She definitely needs a man, though. She’s got that tight look around the eyes. She needs to pump up her immune system with a little preventive sex.”

Marty pulled out of the potholed parking area and headed toward her Sugar Lane address, named, according to local legend, for the enormous sacks of sugar delivered there back when moonshining was in vogue. “According to you, sex is the miracle drug. I doubt if Daisy would agree with you, I know I wouldn’t. She didn’t seem all that interested in her studly gentleman.”

“Don’t let her fool you, she was trying a little too hard not to look interested.” Sasha tilted her seat back and propped her size-five platform sandals on the dash.

“After Jerry, who can blame her for not trusting men?”

“I doubt if she trusts anyone except for you and me.”

“And we’re plotting behind her back,” Marty said with a sigh. “Some friends.”

“Well, dammit, somebody’s got to take care of her. You want her to end up an embittered old woman, living alone on social security with a houseful of cats?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Well, not to me. It’s unnatural. The only men she’s dated since Jerry dumped her were losers, and even then she never dated any of them more than twice.”

“Well, duh.” Marty snickered. “That means she’s smarter than you are.”

“I’m going to forget you said that. And what about all those doctors she works with?”

“Probably married. You know the drill—first wife puts him through med school, second wife comes along once he’s made it and claims the reward. Meanwhile he probably has a mistress waiting in the wings for act three.”

“God, you sound jaded.”

“I’m not jaded, I’m simply a realist,” Marty declared. “Anyway, picking a mate in the same profession almost never works out. My first husband was in publishing. I loved him dearly for the first three weeks, but after that we started disagreeing about everything. He thought what I read was trash—I thought what he read was pretentious crap.”

“What kind of publishing?”

“How-to books for computer dumbbells.”

“Oh. Then he wasn’t actually literary, he was a nerd who knew how to spell.”

“Yeah, well—at least he was good at it. He made a lot of money teaching other people how to be good nerds before he got sick.”

Both women fell silent, thinking of former relationships that hadn’t worked out. Then Sasha said, “Drop me off at the corner—unless you need help getting those boxes into the house?” The two women lived a block and a half apart in a small subdivision that had been built back in the seventies when Muddy Landing had first begun to expand. Marty’s house had been built several years before the rest, so it wasn’t actually a part of the development that had grown up around it. Pulling over to where a curb would be if the neighborhood ran to such amenities, she said, “I’m going to leave everything in the car for now.”

“Whatever. Save the juiciest ones for me, okay? You know the authors I like. I’m doing a new office complex at Kitty Hawk starting next week, which means I’ll be running up to Norfolk a lot, but I’ll still have plenty of time to read.” Sasha was an interior designer. She opened the door and extended one long, silk-clad leg.

“Speaking of prospects…” said Marty.

“Were we?”

“Speaking of prospects, if Daisy doesn’t want the studly gentleman, maybe we should add him to our list of candidates.” The skimpy list ranged from the barely possible to the enthusiastic hubba-hubba, but not every prospect turned out to be available.

“For Faylene?” Sasha looked horrified. “No way!”

“Didn’t we decide on Gus for Faylene?”

“Oh, right. But we’ll let Daisy have first pick. What do you think, does wearing western boots and being from Oklahoma make a man a cowboy?”

“Beats me.”

“Yee-haw, ride ’em, cowboy,” Sasha caroled, wriggling her well padded behind.

Marty laughed. “It’ll help if you haven’t destroyed what’s left of her hair with that smelly goop you call a conditioner.”

“Hey. A friend of mine invented that goop. She’s trying to get it patented.”

“As what? Insect repellant?”

Seven

The air coming through the open window smelled of marshy riverbanks rather than soybean fields and pine woods. Daisy yawned and stretched. Evidently the wind had shifted. If rain was on the way, she hoped it would get it over with by Wednesday. She still had a few reservations about the plans for Faylene and Gus, but now that Marty’s bookstore had closed, her friend needed a distraction.

Rolling over onto her side, she slid her foot over the smooth percale sheet. This had always been her favorite time for planning, before the affairs of the day intruded.

One intrusion in particular came to mind. Kell Magee. To have known him no longer than she had, he was making far too large an impression. How long was he planning to stay? If the woman who’d called here was an employee, the sooner he got back, the better. She didn’t sound particularly capable, not when he’d had to call the police on her behalf.

It was none of her business, Daisy warned herself.

The trouble was, the longer he hung around here, being helpful, looking sexy and wistful, asking questions she couldn’t possibly answer, the harder it was to remain detached.

She moved her foot again on the narrow bed, imagining how it would feel to encounter a warm, hairy calf. Then, with an impatient exclamation, she sat up and rubbed her scalp, trying to restore a bit of circulation to her obviously oxygen-starved brain.

Order of the day, she told herself firmly: get up, finish what has to be done, get out of here and get on with your own plans. “And while you’re at it,” she muttered, “forget you ever met Magee.”

Easier said than done, she admitted ruefully as she went through a few lackadaisical stretching exercises. At least now she was clear on her priorities. With the start they had already made, it shouldn’t take long to finish up in the library and whip through the last few rooms. By the end of the week, or maybe even sooner, she’d be finished.

By that time Kell would have wound up his affairs and be on his way back to Oklahoma.

Well, good. That settled that, then. One lucky cowboy would never know how close he’d come to having his bones jumped by a sex-starved female whose brain was on temporary leave.

By the time she’d showered and pulled on a pair of scrubs, Kell was gone. The coffeemaker was cold and empty, and there were no dishes in the sink, which meant he was either going without breakfast or headed out of town.

Whatever, it meant he wouldn’t be hanging around, offering to help with whatever job she tackled. Tempting her with quick grins and lazy, drawling double entendres.

Not that they were, it was only that in that dark-chocolate voice of his, a simple question about the local schools sounded like foreplay. “Miss Daisy, you are truly pathetic,” she murmured, amused and a little bit alarmed. At least she knew now that the use-by date on her hormones hadn’t expired.

The house was almost too quiet as she finished her skimpy breakfast. She washed her bowl and mug and left them to drain dry, bracing herself to tackle the last few things in the library—stacks of periodicals, the photo albums and the big desk. She hated the responsibility of having to be the one to decide what to trash and what to save, but then, that was why Egbert had asked her to do it. She’d known Harvey better than anyone in his latter days.

By late afternoon Daisy was exhausted and grimy up to her elbows. If Egbert wanted the old newspapers and periodicals cataloged along with the books, he could call in a librarian. As for the photo albums, unless Egbert objected, she intended to offer them to Kell. He could take them back to Oklahoma with him and resurrect a complete family history, real or imaginary.

And no, she did not feel sorry for him, not one bit. At least he knew who his parents were. Evander and Lena, the half-Cherokee barrel racer who cooked something called bean bread. That was far more than she was ever likely to know about her own parents.

A few minutes later she was standing by the refrigerator, drinking ice water straight from the container before washing and refilling it, when she heard Kell drive up. If she’d wanted to make a good impression on him—not that she particularly did—but if she had, this was hardly the way to do it.

Painfully honest, Daisy admitted that in the back of her mind a plan had begun taking shape. By the time he returned, having finished the library, dusted under all the doodads in the parlor, she’d imagined herself relaxing on the side porch wearing something casual, but flattering. If he came close enough he might catch a hint of her Tea Rose body lotion, but nothing heavier. Perhaps a hint of blusher and tinted lip balm…

Instead, a light rain was blowing in on the porch, she looked like Cinderella on a bad hair day and reeked of dust, furniture polish and Murphy’s Oil Soap. So much for best-laid plans.

“There you are.” Kell poked his head into the kitchen, his hair and tanned face gleaming with moisture. He reminded her of one of those sports car advertisements that always showed some flashy guy racing along a winding road at a hundred miles an hour with the top down. All he lacked was a pair of aviator shades.

“You look like you’ve had a successful day.” The observation sounded snide even to her own ears.

“Yep, sure did.” One more eye-twinkling grin, Daisy thought, and she’d buy him a damned sports car herself and tell him where he could road test it. The Himalayas came to mind.

“Fine. Me, too.” She set the water container in the sink, added a drop of detergent and turned on the tap.

“Had supper yet? I found this service station that has a deli on the side not too far down the road.” He draped his damp leather jacket on a chair back, then thought better of it and hung it in the utility room.

Supper? She hadn’t even had lunch, not that she intended to admit it. The last thing she needed was for him to offer to feed her when she was obviously in a weakened condition. “Late lunch,” she lied. “If you’re hungry there might be a few cans of soup left in the pantry.”

He was staring at the boxes she had lugged out into the hall, planning to load them in her car once the rain stopped. “What’s all this?” he asked, pointing to the stack with the toe of his left boot.

And that was another thing, she fumed. Boots like that were purely an affectation on anyone who didn’t ride, and there wasn’t a horse in sight. “Stuff to go,” she said. “Some to the dump, some to the thrift shop.”

“Anything I might be interested in seeing first?”

“I doubt it. I left the photo albums on the table in the library. If you’re interested, I’d appreciate it if you’d go through them and take whatever you want, because I’m hauling the rest away first thing tomorrow.”

He waited two clicks and then said, “Got a headache, have we?”

“No, we do not have a headache.” She did. It had come on the moment he’d strolled into the kitchen and caught her looking like a refugee from the city landfill, drinking ice water straight from the container.

“Sit down and let me work out some of that tension,” he offered.

“No thanks, I’m not tense, I’m just tired,” she snapped, feeling defensive for no real reason.

“Daisy,” he taunted softly. “Hey, I’ve been on the receiving end of a good massage more times than I can count.” She’d just bet he had. “Believe me, it helps.”

“I know that. I’ve been giving therapeutic massages for years.”

“Can’t give yourself one, though, can you?”

Before she could escape, his hands came down on her shoulders and he pressed her down into a chair. Slowly he began to move his thumbs. A soft moan escaped her lips. “You’re way too tense.”

Her head fell forward. She was tense, all right. Unfortunately, not all the tension was in her shoulders.

“Met some interesting people today,” he said as he kneaded the back of her neck, his touch just short of painful.

“Hmm?”

“Couple of guys in Elizabeth City. One of them belongs to the historical society, lives out on Wellfield Road. Fascinating fellow. You wouldn’t believe the things he knows. Talk about a walking encyclopedia.”

A small sound escaped her lips as he touched a particularly sensitive spot. “That hurt?” he said, softening his touch to stroke the back of her neck.

“A little. It feels better, though. Really.” She sighed. Unfortunately, the tension that had left her shoulders had settled in another part of her anatomy.

“What you need now is a long, hot shower. Set it to needle-spray and let it beat down on the back of your neck, and I guarantee when you’re through you’ll be floating on air.”

“If I can move at all,” she said, huffing a little laugh because it was either that or fling herself into his arms and beg him to redirect his therapeutic attentions.

Ten minutes later she had to admit that he’d been right about the shower, at least. Not that she wouldn’t have prescribed the same thing for herself. Hearing noises coming from the kitchen, she headed that way, clean and wearing scented body lotion and her last clean pair of scrubs instead of her favorite caftan.

“Soup’s on,” Kell announced. He had tucked a tea towel under the front of his belt. She stared at it and felt her face grow warm.

Warning: curiosity may be hazardous to your health.

“Taste it. Too much horseradish?” He held out the long-handled cooking spoon he’d been using to stir whatever was in the pot on the front burner.

“Tomato?” She reached for the spoon. Their fingers brushed and she could have sworn she heard the sizzle of an electrical arc.

“With a few of my own gourmet touches. I’m not totally clueless in a kitchen, you know.”

She tasted, not because she was hungry—well, she was, but it was more that she couldn’t resist a tall, handsome guy wearing lean jeans and a tea towel, regardless of what he was offering.

“Oh, my—oh, wow!” Her eyes watered as she tried to catch her breath.

“Too much horseradish?”

“Funny—I didn’t hear the smoke alarm go off.”

“Sorry about that. There was a clump in the bottom of the jar and it all fell out before I could catch it.”

She fanned her mouth and reached for the milk. Four percent would have been better for putting out the fire, but two percent was the best she could do short of licking out the butter dish. “Dump in another can of soup,” she gasped. “Maybe if you dilute it…”

They dined on pyromaniac’s delight, Daisy’s term for the concoction Kell had made from a perfectly innocent can of store-brand tomato soup, plus a select few incendiary seasoning ingredients. The heat didn’t seem to bother him in the least.

“So what did your historical friend have to say?” she asked when she was sure her tongue would work.

“He knew my dad…at least I think he did. He also claimed to have helped the Wright brothers find a place to park their bicycles while they tested their plane. That would make him pretty precocious, to say the least. He can’t be that old. You want to finish up the last of the soup?”

“No thanks,” she said hastily.

“How’s the tension?”

“Better. Gone, in fact.” But not for long if you don’t stop looking at me that way.

“You feel up to showing me those albums tonight? I’ll just put this stuff in to soak and wash it later.”

Daisy didn’t want to spend any more time alone with him for the simple reason that she wanted it too much. “I need to call Egbert,” she said, reminding herself what was important and what was strictly temporary.

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

She gave in far too easily. “I guess. I just needed to be sure of what to get rid of and what to leave here.”

“Get rid of?” He looked worried.

She found herself torn between smoothing the frown from his rumpled brow and making a run for it while a few of her synapses were still firing. “Donate or recycle. I’ll check with the library, but they probably already have all the back issues of State Magazine and The Daily Advance they need.”

She let him put the dishes in to soak and then led the way to the library. Looking wary, almost as if he were afraid of what he might find, Kell picked up one of the albums. “While you glance through those,” she said, “I’ll just finish going through these drawers.”

As executor, Egbert had already removed anything pertinent to the estate, but he hadn’t bothered to sort through the rest of the contents. She was flattered that he trusted her to handle something that was technically his responsibility.

She started with the middle drawer. A few bent paper clips, a notepad advertising a real estate firm and a letter opener. She emptied everything into the trash box and opened the next drawer.

From time to time Kell made a remark as he leafed through the pages of the old photo album. Once or twice, he even laughed aloud.

Glancing up, she seemed to recall that the album he was going through now held mostly black-and-white photos. She’d glanced inside each one before setting it aside, but looking any further had somehow seemed like an invasion of Harvey’s privacy. Obviously, Kell didn’t feel that way.

“Come here a minute, I want to show you something.” He was smiling.

As determined as she was not to involve herself in his odyssey, there was no way she could refuse. “What’s so funny?”

The pictures were held in place by those little black corners. He pointed to a deckle-edged snapshot of a young man standing on a ladder behind a half-decorated Christmas tree holding a wreath over his head as if it were a halo. The sheet draped over his shoulders was probably meant to go around the base of the tree.

Daisy had little trouble recognizing him even though he was laughing so hard his eyes were nearly closed. “That’s Harvey. The angel on top of the tree,” she said softly. “I told you he had a sense of humor, didn’t I?”

Her gaze moved to another picture on the same page, this one of a skinny, barefoot boy in baggy overalls pulling another boy in a wagon. The one in the wagon was hanging on to the sides and both boys were laughing. Recognizing the passenger by the distinctive curve of his back, she could have wept.

But it was the other child that Kell pointed to, the one pulling the wagon. “What do you bet that’s my dad?” he said softly. The two boys looked nothing alike, but then, it wasn’t a particularly good picture.

Without thinking, Daisy squeezed his shoulder before moving back to the desk across the room. Too many shared emotions could be hazardous to a woman’s health, she reminded herself as she busied herself sorting through loose rubber bands, a roll of old stamps, more paper clips, dozens of pencils and assorted ball-point pens, some with caps, most without. She set aside the stamps and tossed the rest.

The next drawer held only a box of personalized stationery. No point in saving that, either, she told herself, adding it to the growing pile in the discard box. She was about to close the drawer when something at the very back caught her attention—a square white envelope. It was not addressed; there was no return address, but there was a twenty-three-cent stamp in the upper-right-hand corner.

Twenty-three cents? Mercy, how long ago had that been? Curious, she turned the envelope over. The flap was stuck, and after only a moment’s hesitation she slid her finger underneath and pried it open.

“Oh, no,” she whispered as she stared at the heart-shaped Valentine. Handwritten across the pastel face of the card were the words “Roses are red, violets are blue, someone you know is in love with you.”

It was signed “Yours truly, Harvey Snow.”

Not until Kell touched her on the shoulder was she aware of having read the words aloud. She had no idea there were tears on her cheeks until he brushed them away with his thumb.

One touch was all it took. When the floodgates opened, she turned to him, pressing her face against his waist. He stood beside her chair, patting her shoulder and cupping the back of her head in his hand. “This is so embarrassing,” she burbled. “I never cry, honestly.”

She had broken down twice in just the short time he’d been there.

“Shh, I know that.” He lifted her from the chair by her arms and led her to the sofa. Even after she was able to stem the flow of tears, a matter of a few minutes, she made no move to pull away.

Nor did he make any move to release her. Instead, he leaned back, his arm around her, her face still hidden in the hollow of his shoulder. “Daisy?” he murmured after a while.

She sniffed. “I’m all right now.” And she was, truly she was. Any minute now she would pull herself together, get up and apologize for soaking his shirt. Any minute now.

“Daisy, look at me.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not.” She knew very well what she must look like. Was there a woman on earth who looked seductive in scrubs? Add to that bloodshot eyes and a red nose and she might as well throw herself on the discard pile.

Leaning back against the arm of the sofa, he drew her across his chest while his hands moved slowly over her back. He was making those soft rumbling noises again—sounds that were probably meant to be comforting. She could have told him that was hardly the effect they were having.

Sniffing, she drew in a shuddering breath, suddenly aware that she was draped over his torso like a tartan, with one arm flung over his shoulder. What’s more, she was far too comfortable to move away.

“Better now?” he murmured, his voice more a vibration than a sound.

“A Valentine.” For whom? Why had it never been mailed? “It’s just so sad,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he said. His thumb moved slowly over the back of her neck. If he was trying to ease her tension again, he was going about it the wrong way. A bucket of cold water might have been more effective.

She sniffed again, inhaling the clean, outdoorsy scent she had come to identify with the man. If the stuff could be bottled and sold, someone would make a fortune.

“I wonder who she was,” Kell said softly.

Daisy shook her head. “Poor Harvey.” Reluctantly, she steeled herself to get up. She even went so far as to slide her arm from around his neck. That’s when she caught sight of his face. Where a moment ago his eyes had been blue, they were now black except for a thin, incandescent rim of color.

When he murmured, “Daisy, I’m going to have to kiss you,” she didn’t even try to fight it. Some things were simply inevitable.

Long moments later, having been kissed until she was roughly the consistency of Silly Putty, she told herself that the trouble with scrubs was that they didn’t button down the front.

The good thing about them was that they fit loosely enough to accommodate a pair of skilled, exploring hands.

When Kell found her hardened nipples they both groaned. Cupping her breasts in his hands, he proceeded to drive her crazy, using his teeth and his tongue, until she was ready to rip off every shred of clothing—his and hers—and do whatever it took to ease the throbbing demands of her body.

I am not a sensual woman, she reminded herself desperately.

The trouble was, she had proof to the contrary.

“Bedroom?” he said urgently, his breath steamy on her bare flesh.

She shook her head, then, realizing that he could hardly see her when his face was pressed against her stomach, she said, “Here…now. Please?” If she had to move she might come to her senses, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.

His hand moved between them and, as if by magic, the tie at her waist came undone. She heard the sound of a zipper just as she felt the cool air on overheated parts of her body. Feeling the dampness between her thighs, she couldn’t help but remember the tube of lubricant she’d bought a few weeks after she’d started seeing Jerry. He’d wanted to see if they were suited. At the time she’d thought they were, but evidently he hadn’t agreed.

Why was this happening? Why did it feel so right? Kell’s hands were sheer magic. When he replaced his hands with his mouth, she uttered a cascade of whimpering sounds that would have embarrassed her had she even been aware of them. Again and again he brought her to the precipice, only to pull her back before she could fly away.

They were both breathing in jerky gasps when she gasped, “Hurry, hurry…”

At the same time he said, “Are you…?”

“Yes!” she practically shouted.

“On the pill?”

Her head fell back on the padded arm of the sofa. “No, but don’t you have…?”

He was nestled between her thighs, hot and hard and ready. With a groan, he whispered, “Back home—bedside table. I’m not carrying.”

So disappointed she could have screamed, she squeezed her thighs together, managing to trap a part of him she would have much rather trap somewhere else. “Well, that’s really stupid.”

“Yeah,” he said, making no move to release his trapped “part.” He moved his hips slowly, his eyes closed, his teeth clenched. Reaching between them, he whispered hoarsely, “Let me do this for you.”

She shook her head, so disappointed she could have wept all over again. “Just let me up…please?”

With the utmost gentleness, he pulled away and smoothed her top down over her naked breasts. His jeans were around his knees. By all rights he should have looked ridiculous. Instead he looked remorseful, frustrated, and so damned desirable she was tempted to pull him back down to finish what they’d started, protection or no protection.

But if he could be sensible at a time like this, she thought despairingly, then so could she. Forcing herself to sit up, she straightened her clothes while he stood and began pulling up his jeans. He wore navy briefs. Brief briefs. And he was definitely packing heat!

Eight

Daisy waited as long as possible the next morning before going in search of caffeine. The first thing that caught her eye was the note on the table, anchored with the salt shaker. Knowing sleep would be elusive, she had taken a book to bed. An hour later, unable to remember a word of what she’d read, she’d given up and turned off the light.

Sometime later she had opened her eyes to darkness. The luminous dial on her alarm clock read eighteen past four. She’d listened for whatever sound had aroused her, her heart going triple time. Then she’d heard it again, this time from the kitchen.

A burglar? Hardly. The crime rate in Muddy Landing was minus zilch. There were only two deputies assigned to the area, and both of them spent most of their time reading comic books. Faylene occasionally arrived early, but never this early. It had to be Kell.

Dammit, it would serve him right if he’d had as much trouble getting to sleep as she had. What was that old saying about letting sleeping dogs lie? She’d thought all that craziness was behind her. As a nurse she had seen too many tragic results of having one’s brain overruled by one’s libido—everything from broken marriages to unwanted pregnancies to assault and battery, heartbreak being among the least of them.

Which was why Egbert was so perfect, she reminded herself now. She had no doubt that they’d be compatible in the bedroom. At their ages, sex once or twice a week should suffice, leaving them to focus their energies on their respective careers. She liked being a home-care nurse. It was a portable profession. She happened to know Egbert intended to move up in banking circles, which would certainly mean relocating. When—not if, but when—he moved to a larger area, she could easily relocate with him. At least that was the way she had pictured their joint futures before she’d met Kell.

Now all she could think of was what it would be like to be married to a man who could melt her bones by simply staring at her mouth. Or by touching her hair. Or by simply talking about anything at all in that grave drawl of his. As a nurse, she knew that sound waves were no more than vibrations in the air. Certain vibrations could touch off landslides, but she’d never dreamed how they could affect a woman’s body.

She must have dozed off again, because when the alarm clock went off, she knocked it over trying to shut off the intrusive sound. She’d been dreaming the kind of dream that left her hot and damp and restless.

Trying to recapture the dream, she heard the clink of dishes in the sink. A few moments later when she heard the sound of the front door opening and closing, she was torn between relief and disappointment. After last night’s farcical seduction scene—and for the life of her, she couldn’t have said who had tried to seduce whom—the last thing she needed was to have to face him across the breakfast table.

Part of the trouble was that she liked the man. Honestly, genuinely liked him. They could have been best friends if only something about him didn’t set off fireworks whenever she looked at him—or even thought about him.

For one thing, he appreciated Harvey’s home even though, as it had been willed to the historical society, he wasn’t in line to inherit. That spoke volumes about his character—or maybe about his common sense. It might be charming, even romantic, but the place was a ruin. The slate roof alone would cost a fortune to repair; the half basement flooded whenever it rained; and she was pretty sure termites had already invaded the floor joists. Which meant that sooner or later the whole thing might collapse unless someone poured a fortune into restoring it.

Watching the sky gradually brighten in the east, Daisy lay there wondering how, after mapping out a safe, sane future for herself, she’d managed to get herself involved with termites and sad Valentines and sexy men.

Striding back to the school parking lot, Kell pumped a fist in the air. If he’d just hit the grand slam that had won the World Series he couldn’t have felt any better. Screw you, Blalock, who needs you? I’ve found what I came for!

It had taken all day, but it had been worth it. First the courthouse records had been a mess, having been stacked up out of the tide’s reach back in September. The clerk who’d been there for years had recently retired and her replacement was evidently in the throes of on-the-job training without a trainer. Following an interesting but largely unrewarding morning, he’d headed for the local high school, and that’s where he’d struck gold. The school librarian was still arranging books that had also been stored for protection against the storm. Old annuals were the least of her worries, but she’d come through for him.

He had slipped out before Daisy was up this morning, uncertain of how to deal with what had happened between them last night. Actually, nothing had happened—the game had been called in the early innings because he’d forgotten the first entry in any bachelor’s rule book.

Which might have been a blessing in disguise, because he had a feeling Daisy was no gamer. He couldn’t afford to set up any expectations as he’d be leaving in a few more days.

Her car was still in the driveway, but the boxes were no longer stacked on the back seat. That meant she’d been busy today, too. Eager to share the good news, he braced himself for what might be an awkward moment. But awkward or not, he had a feeling Daisy would appreciate it more than anyone else. Definitely more than Blalock would, although he looked forward to telling the smug bastard.

“Daisy?” he called as he opened the door. “Are you home?”

“I’m in the kitchen. Wipe your feet, Faylene waxed the front hall this morning.”

He wiped his boots on the faded old crocheted rug she had put there for that purpose and headed for the kitchen, caution fighting with elation. “Chicken again? It sure smells good.” So much for not setting up expectations. He could easily get hooked on her cooking alone, never mind that she was one of the sexiest women he’d ever met. Her brand of sexiness was all the more effective for being subtle.

Unable to repress a grin, he slapped a thin stack of papers down on the table and pulled out a chair. Aware of a subliminal sense of well-being, he thought, it doesn’t get much better than this. The thought made him oddly uneasy, but he brushed the feeling aside.

“I’ve been trying to use up everything in the freezer before they cut the power off,” Daisy explained without looking around. “It was mostly bread, chicken and fish. I tossed the fish. No telling how long it’s been in there.” She spared him a quick smile that didn’t involve her eyes.

He nodded. Speaking of chicken, she looked finger-licking good. He didn’t figure she’d appreciate the compliment.

“You look like you struck pay dirt,” she said, not sounding particularly interested.

“Are you using a long-handled fork?”

She held up a cooking fork for his approval. “What did you find out?”

Gloating over his success, Kell tried not to stare at the lines of her bra under her thin yellow T-shirt. Why couldn’t she wear a sweatshirt like the other one—Faylene? Or another suit of those baggy pajamas she called scrubs.

He thumped the stack of papers before him. “Photocopies. God bless technology.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Daisy lifted her eyebrows. Only a shade or two darker than her hair, they made her look innocent, mysterious and seductive all at once—although damned if he could figure out how. Most women relied on cosmetics to turn up the heat.

She said, “Open that grease can for me, will you? Photocopies of what?”

Only too glad of the distraction, Kell leaped to obey. She still wore a bandage on her right forearm, but at least she hadn’t added any more burns. Holding a lid on the pan, she drained it, then lowered the heat and set it back on the burner, all without looking directly at him. Kell had a feeling it wouldn’t take much to send her running for cover.

“So tell me,” she said finally after adjusting the heat and the lid to her satisfaction. “You found something good, right? Does Egbert know?”

Steering his mind back on course, he said, “Not yet. I never set out to prove anything to him, just to myself.” While it wasn’t quite true, at this point it was irrelevant. “You ready to look at what I found?”

She moved, almost reluctantly, it seemed, closer to the table, still holding the fork. No wonder she was spooked. What had happened the night before had started when they’d shared a few photographs in an old album. Not that those had proved anything conclusively, as there were no captions. The kid pulling the wagon could’ve been anyone, but Kell knew in his bones that it was a young Evander giving his kid brother a ride.

As for the Valentine…

Ah, jeez. Harvey, I’m sorry, old man.

“Okay, here we go. Exhibit one,” he said, cheering immediately when he produced the copy of a page from the R. L. Snowden High School album, class of ’69. “Class pictures, eleventh grade. Check it out.”

Laying the fork aside, Daisy braced her forearms on the table and leaned over to study the faces, some grave, others smiling. Kell leaned over her shoulder, trying not to be distracted by her warmth, her scent. Dressed in full body armor, she would still be risky business.

“What did I tell you?” he gloated. After all these years of wondering—well, maybe not years; he hadn’t started on this quest until a few months ago—he felt like a bottle of champagne that had been shaken and then opened too quickly.

Forcing his feelings back under control, he pointed to the top row, then read aloud the fine print beneath a picture of a boy with unruly hair and a shallow cleft in his chin. “Evander Lee Magee. Childhood Delight—Barney Google.” He cocked his head at an angle to look up at her face. “What the hell is a Barney Google?”

Daisy laughed softly and shook her head. “Who knows?” So he went on to read the small print. “Radio club, photo club, archery. Notice the chin? Add a few pounds and a few years—well, maybe a lot of years—and that’s my dad. Color would help, but even in black and white you can almost tell he had red hair and freckles.”

“You can? I mean, he did?”

“Sure did. Only thing I inherited from him was maybe the color of his eyes and that split on his chin.” Kell fingered the shallow cleft in his bristly chin, reminding himself that he was overdue for a shave. It wasn’t a fashion statement; he was simply a twice-a-day shaver. “Hey, you know what else? You see these check marks?” He shuffled through several pages and pointed to two other student pictures. “I found both these guys listed in the Elizabeth City phone book.” He leaned over her to point out the surviving classmates, and her behind brushed against his groin, setting off a chain reaction. Catching his breath, he inhaled the faint, familiar scent of roses and bacon grease. “You flavored your canoodle oil again, didn’t you?” he teased.

When she glanced up, her face almost collided with his. Desire hit his bloodstream like a shot of tequila. Her lips parted in surprise as her eyes widened warily.

“Daisy,” he rumbled softly.

“No. Oh, no.” But she didn’t move away fast enough, and then, somehow she was in his arms.

He said, “I was hoping I’d just imagined it.”

Daisy shook her head. She hadn’t imagined anything. But before she could reply, much less pull away, he was kissing her. Softly at first, a mere brushing of warm, moist lips that dragged slightly against her own—back and forth, back and forth, tugging her lips apart. The softness quickly escalated into something far more intense, more invasive. The rasp of his beard brought a rush of goose bumps that spread like wildfire down her flanks.

How could his taste be so familiar when she’d known him so briefly? She was reminded for no reason of warm summer evenings, of fresh-cut grass and honeysuckle and fireflies…. When his hands stroked down her back to cup her against his groin, warning bells went off in her mind. Break away now, while you still can. Else you’ll never be able to settle for less.

This time she didn’t even bother to tell herself that Egbert wouldn’t necessarily be less.

“Daisy, I stopped off at the drug store. I bought—”

“So did I,” she whispered, trying not to feel embarrassed. She’d always prided herself on being sensible, and a sensible woman prepared for the unexpected.

The unexpected?

Hardly. She hadn’t been able to focus her mind on a single task after what had happened last night—the way she had come apart in his arms. He could hold seminars on the fine art of kissing alone, she thought, as parts of her body that had lain dormant for too long once again came to life.

She twisted her face away from his, her voice uneven as she murmured, “This isn’t very smart.”

Panting as if he’d just finished a ten-mile run, he said, “Why not?”

Daisy hung on to his upper arms until the room stopped spinning and then she reached for a chair back for support. Aware of her burning cheeks and the urgency that grew steadily in spite of the fact that he was no longer touching her, she said, “Because—because I need to finish what I was doing.”

As pathetic as it was, it was the only excuse she could think of at the moment. She wasn’t about to tell him how long it had been since she’d even kissed a man before last night, much less how long since she’d had sex. Or even wanted to have sex.

“Believe it or not, Daisy, I didn’t plan it this way.” His voice was sincere, but his pupils were dilated, his breathing uneven. A quick glance revealed that that wasn’t the only evidence of his arousal.

Of course you didn’t, she thought, amused in spite of herself. Neither did I. That’s why we both stocked up on condoms.

Swallowing hard, Kell glanced down at the pages scattered across the table. “I guess I just got carried away, finding all those pictures of my dad. It was better than winning the lottery. You feel like celebrating at a time like that, you know what I mean?”

If that kiss had anything to do with his dad, Daisy didn’t want to know about it, she really didn’t. Taking another deep breath, she reached for something cool and intelligent to say—something that would put everything in perspective. “I’m sick of fried chicken, but the freezer was full of it and it’s all got to go. Bags and bags of it—Harvey liked chicken. Help yourself if you’re hungry. Day after tomorrow I’ll finish the last of it for the box supper, then I can unplug the freezer.”

Well, that ought to cool his ardor, she thought, amused in spite of the fact that she was still aroused.

“Anything I can do to help?” He stacked his copies and ruffled the edges, looking awkward and all the more appealing for it. She wondered fleetingly if that was a part of his seduction technique.

If so, it was working. From wanting to kick him out she’d gone to wanting to—

At this point she didn’t know what she wanted, she only knew that irresistible or not, some short-term treats had long-term consequences. Any woman who’d ever tried to lose weight knew that much.

“I suppose now that you’ve found what you were looking for, you’ll be leaving.” Turning away, she began packing fried chicken into a container to take to an ex-patient who lived alone.

“I’m planning to stay a couple more days, but I can move to a motel if you’re uncomfortable having me around.”

She was tempted to take him up on it, but that would be as good as admitting she didn’t trust herself around him. She didn’t, but he didn’t need to know it. Besides, staying in the house where his father had once lived obviously meant more to him than it was ever likely to mean to anyone else. She had a feeling Harvey would have approved. “Stay if you’d like to,” she told him. “Faylene and I plan to wind up things here by the end of the week, so we’ll both be busy.”

If he was relieved, he hid it well. “Right. I’ve got a couple of appointments tomorrow, then I’d like to drive around, check out a few places I’m pretty sure my dad mentioned. A lot’s probably changed since then, but some things are bound to be the same. I picked up a map showing the Dismal Swamp and the Outer Banks.”

He left her feeling a mixture of dismay and relief. At least he wouldn’t be underfoot much longer, Daisy rationalized, tempting her to throw away all her plans for a brief, wild fling.

The best medicine wasn’t always easy to swallow.

On Monday evening Daisy looked for something to read from Harvey’s collection to help her fall asleep. Nothing appealed to her, but at least the books were clean now. Today she’d done the linen closet, packing away scores of yellowed sheets and monogrammed pillow slips, leaving only a pretty spread for each bed. It wouldn’t be long before she was ready to move out.

As to where she would move, that was another matter. Her apartment still wasn’t ready—something about a mold problem now. If she didn’t know better she might think the owner was stalling.

She hadn’t seen or heard from Kell all day. Tired and oddly discouraged, she ended up driving into town. As flaky as they sometimes were, her friends never failed to cheer her up.

“How’s the studly gentleman?” Marty asked after Daisy had picked out half a dozen romantic suspense titles and set them aside.

“How’s who?”

“That’s what people are calling him around here. It didn’t take long for word to spread. You should’ve heard Gracie—she moved here from Edenton this past August to take over Miss Hattie’s job at the courthouse? Well, to hear her tell it, he looks like that guy from Norfolk—the reality show bachelor, Evan Marriott? Only Kell’s taller, broader in the shoulder and narrower in the hips, not to mention—”

“Marty,” Daisy wailed. “Don’t! Whatever you were going to say, just don’t, okay? Granted, he’s sort of nice-looking, but—”

“Sort of nice-looking. Right. And Bill Gates is sort of solvent.”

“Anyway, he’ll be leaving in a day or so.”

“Too bad. I was thinking about inviting him to the box supper. Not that I’m interested in anything long term, but I wouldn’t mind a little light entertainment.”

Daisy thumbed through a Sandra Brown large print, wondering if she’d read it before. “You’ll be too busy stage-managing Faylene’s and Gus’s opening act. That should be entertainment enough.” She glanced up, a spark of amusement lighting her tired face. “She knows we’re up to something. How could she not, after all you two have done to her—”

“For her, you mean.”

“Whatever. Just don’t be surprised if she comes after us with a meat cleaver when she finds out who you’ve picked out for her.”

“Well, jeez, she doesn’t have to marry him, all she has to do is show up and eat supper with him. So…what does Egbert think about him?”

“Think about who, Gus Mathias?”

“No, silly, your cowboy.”

“Does it really matter? Kell’s not interested in the estate. All he wants is to find out something about his father. He’s done that, so he’ll probably be headed West again tomorrow—that’s if he hasn’t already gone.”

He hadn’t. She’d peeked into his room to see. His bomber jacket was hanging on the chair, his open bag on the bed. The room smelled like whatever soap and shaving lotion he used. She’d been tempted to check out the brands, but then she might have done something extremely foolish, like buy a bar or a bottle or a tube of whatever it was just so she could sniff it and remember him.

As if she could forget.

Marty went on stripping covers from new paperbacks to return to the publisher for credit in case she ever opened another bookstore. Glancing up, she said, “I’ll bet Egbert wasn’t too happy when he came nosing around. Poor sweetie, I knew Egbert in high school. Even then he was a stickler.”

“Egbert? I’d hardly call him a stickler,” Daisy hedged. “Although in his profession, it’s probably required.”

“So tell me more about him.”

“You’ve known him longer than I have.” Daisy had gone to school in Elizabeth City, which was two counties away.

“Not him, the hottie. We know he drives a Porsche, he has black hair, blue eyes and a truly bodacious bod. Sasha wanted to bet me you’d have him in your bed by now. How about it, do I owe her a seafood platter?”

“Oh, hush up! If that’s all you can talk about, I’m taking my books and going home.”

“Don’t blame you one bit, sugar. If I had what you’ve got waiting at home for me, I’d be in a hurry, too.”

Daisy had to laugh. “And you’re the one who claims she’s sworn off men?”

“Hey, I can swear on again, can’t I? Has Faylene said anything about Wednesday?”

“The box supper? No, but like I said, I’m pretty sure she suspects something. I saw her smirking after we talked on the phone yesterday.”

“She’ll have a ball, you wait and see. You wanna stick around and help me strip books?”

“No thanks. I’d better go—and wipe that smirk off your face. I’m going to make a peanut butter sandwich, pour myself a glass of milk and go to bed. To read,” she stressed.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” her friend jeered. “When’s your apartment going to be ready?”

“Who knows? Now they’re talking about mold, and you know what that means.”

“I heard he had a buyer on the hook wanting the property. Those old apartments don’t bring in all that much revenue with land values going up so fast. Taxes and maintenance probably eat up any profits.”

Well, that made sense, Daisy thought morosely. “The good news just keeps on pouring in, doesn’t it?”

“Hey, you’re not alone. My wiring’s acting up and I can’t get an electrician to even look at it, much less give me an estimate. The last one—oh, by the way, he’s single and not bad-looking, so I’ve already added him to the list. Anyway, he said he wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole, not even with insulators.”

“Tough. Did y’all decide who’s going to tip Gus off as to which box to bid on tomorrow night?” With one hand on the doorknob, Daisy juggled her stack of books.

“Sasha said she’d do it. Show me the man who can refuse her anything. The joys of being a redhead.”

“Or the joys of having an hourglass figure,” Daisy said dryly.

“I keep telling her if she doesn’t change a few habits she’ll be all butt and boobs by the time she’s forty.”

Daisy laughed, feeling some of her earlier depression lift. Friends were invaluable, and she had the best. “Thanks for the books. I’ll return them as soon as I’m finished.”

“Hey, used is used. Just don’t drool on the pages if you-know-who happens to pass by on his way to the shower.”

Nine

Some two hours later when Daisy pulled into the driveway, the house looked dark and unwelcoming. It hadn’t occurred to her to leave a light on, as she hadn’t expected to be gone this long. While she was out she’d taken time to drive by a few rentals in case she had to move. Actually, a house would suit her better than an apartment, anyway. With a yard of her own, she might even get a cat or a dog for company.

But then, when she married Egbert, her plans might change. Something temporary, then…

There was no sign of Kell’s car. Could he have come back, packed his few things and left without even saying goodbye? One part of her, the sensible part, hoped he had.

Another part—the one that lacked even a single grain of common sense, felt like crying. But at least, she rationalized, she wouldn’t be able to make comparisons later on.

She refrained from looking to see if his things were still in his room. She had enough to worry about without wasting time on any adolescent daydreams.

She ended up having half a glass of buttermilk and a few stale saltines for supper. By the time she heard Kell come in, she had read the same page at least three times. Before she could switch off her light and pretend to be asleep, he rapped on her door.

“Daisy?” he called softly. “I’m in for the night. I locked the front and checked the back. All secure.”

If the door had been transparent she couldn’t have been any more aware of him just on the other side. He lingered, and finally she blurted, “I thought maybe you’d gone back home.”

“Nope, not without saying goodbye. I drove down the Outer Banks. I thought as long as I was this close I might as well see where Dad used to fish.”

She waited to see if he would leave. When he didn’t, she said, “It’s probably changed all out of recognition since he was there.”

“Probably.” Long pause, and then he said, “There’s a bag of chicken in the refrigerator. Want me to do something with it?”

“That’s the last of it. It’s thawing for the box supper. Thanks, though.”

“No problem.” Even strained through a paneled mahogany door, his voice resonated on every nerve in her body.

Hours later when she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of Kell wearing western boots, a Stetson and nothing in between. He was standing in a kitchen she only half recognized with a cooking fork in his hand, and then he was galloping off on a big white stallion with her sprawled across his lap.

No more reading historical romances in bed—at least, not until the covers had been stripped. While she bore no resemblance to a heroine, Kell was the epitome of every romance hero in the history of the genre.

He was gone when she woke up the next morning. Daisy told herself she was perfectly within her rights to open his door, to see if this time he was gone for good. If so, she could strip his bed and wash his linens along with her own.

And this time she wouldn’t inhale.

His leather coat was gone, but there was a shirt on the back of a chair and his soft-sided bag was open on the foot of the bed. The three photo albums were stacked neatly on the dresser. She tried not to wonder where he’d gone this time. He was obviously as eager to avoid her as she was him. Good thing one of them still possessed a working brain.

With Faylene’s help the house was almost ready to close up, the freezer was finally empty and unplugged, the pantry shelves all but bare. Stripping down for a quick shower, Daisy ignored the bath gel and went for the plain, unscented soap. The last thing she needed was to get her hormones in an uproar again.

She was drying her hair when someone rapped on the bathroom door. She shut off her hair dryer to hear a familiar creamy baritone drawl. “Daisy, you in there?”

“What do you need?” She’d scarcely seen him since Monday evening when he’d come home all full of himself for having found his dad’s old high school annual.

“I’m headed down to the place that sells subs and barbecue. Want me to bring you anything?”

And that was another thing. He knew she was trying to use up all the food on hand, yet he didn’t take it for granted that he was invited to meals. He’d bought a pound of freshly ground Colombian coffee, a box of doughnuts and cereal. Neither of them would be there long enough to use all the coffee. Faylene could have the cereal.

“Daisy? Did you slip down the drain?”

“No, look—there’s this box supper thing at the church out on Water Street. Maple Grove? White frame, with a parking lot in front and a picnic area off to one side? You can try your luck there if you don’t want to drive all the way to Barco.”

“Box supper, hmm? The only box supper I’ve ever seen is the one in that Broadway show, Oklahoma! I’m not much of a dancer and I can’t sing a lick. Does that make me ineligible?”

Laying aside her hair dryer, she reached for her comb and started unsnarling her hair. He was still out there, she could feel him just on the other side of the door. “Of course not.” Long pause. He was still there. She said, “I didn’t know you liked Broadway musicals.”

“It was named for my state, so I figured it was my patriotic duty to see it as long as I was in New York for the play-offs, anyway.”

Snatching her robe off the hook, Daisy rammed her arms in the sleeves and tied the sash around her waist.

“You ever see any Broadway shows?” he called through the door.

She wasn’t about to tell him she’d been too busy baby-sitting, pet-walking, dish-washing and going to classes to take time off for anything more frivolous—not to mention more expensive—than an occasional movie. When she didn’t respond, he said, “Well then, I, uh—I guess I’ll see you later. That is, unless you want me to move out now?”

She did and she didn’t. The weakest part of her didn’t. “Tomorrow will be soon enough,” she called through the door, trying to sound matter-of-fact but sounding breathless instead. If he left in the morning, she could do the last load of laundry and be gone by tomorrow evening.

“Right. Well, thanks.” Still he didn’t leave. She could picture him just on the other side of the paneled door, those cobalt-blue eyes half closed, one booted ankle crossed over the other one, arms crossed over his chest. He might appear tame, but if ever a man had free-range stamped all over him, it was Kell Magee.

Finally, he said, “So…I guess I’ll see you later, then. Have fun at your box supper.”

Daisy’s shoulders drooped as she stared at herself in the steamy mirror. She could think of several interesting ways of spending his last night here, and not one of them involved box suppers.

Holding a hand mirror, Faylene studied her backside in the full-length mirror on her bathroom door. Truth was, she was disappointed at the way her hair had turned out. She didn’t like it near as much as she liked that buffet-style like Dolly Parton’s, which is what she’d been aiming for, only all them bleaches made her ends break off, so even when she got the color right she didn’t have enough hair left to do nothing with.

But hair would grow out, and Miss Sasha said the wrench would wash right out if she changed her mind about the color. Leastwise, her roots didn’t show up so much now.

The pants Miss Marty had bought her fit real good, though, even without her support hose. She didn’t need them to sit at a picnic table eating Miss Daisy’s fried chicken and corn fritters with a new gentleman friend. That might make a certain Mister Somebody set up and take notice, she thought smugly. Oh, she knew what they were up to, these friends of hers. She let them get away with it on account of it suited her just fine.

Bob Ed would hear about tonight. Yessir, there’d be plenty to tell him that if he wanted to lay claim to Faylene Beasley he’d better hurry up and get in line.

Zipping on her bronze leather ankle boots, she went over in her mind the list of possible candidates. Once they set their minds to matchmaking, they did it so slick you’d swear they hadn’t had a hand in it. Good thing they hadn’t put Bob Ed on their list. He might not know it yet, but he was already spoken for. That prissy little man down at the bank was single again, too, the one Miss Daisy looked at like she was measuring him for curtains or something. Poor soul, if them three went after him his goose was already stewed.

The parking lot was nearly full by the time Faylene squeezed in between a long-bed pickup and a muddy SUV. Miss Daisy was parked over in the corner, and there was Miss Sasha’s fancy red convertible, parked right next to the preacher’s minivan. Her and Miss Marty must’ve come together.

Bob Ed drove a truck he’d built himself practically from scratch. That man could do most anything he set his mind to, she just wished he’d set his mind to marrying himself a wife.

Several people greeted her as she strode up the front walk and around to the side where the picnic tables were set up. This weren’t her regular church, but she knew most everybody in town by face if not by name. Smiling, she tried not to appear self-conscious in her new outfit, with her hair right out of one of them ladies’ magazines. Pausing at an empty table, she looked around to see who she could spot.

There was Miss Marty. Faylene waved, and then caught sight of her other two ladies up at the front talking to the auctioneer. The table was stacked full of baskets and boxes, all done up to look pretty. She spotted the one with the purple bow right off, the one that was supposed to be hers. Pinching the creases in her new slacks, she sat down and glanced around just as someone turned the volume down on the boom box that had been blaring out gospel music.

Folks stopped talking and turned toward the auctioneer. He was holding up the first basket and just getting started with his gabble-de-gook, sounding like a tobacco auctioneer, when the new coach passed right by her table. Was he the one they’d fixed her up with?

He pretended like he hadn’t seen her, but they must’ve told him which box to bid on. He was new here—he didn’t know many folks yet, so when Sara from the bank called out something to him, he set down with her. Sorry, girl, you’re too late, Faylene thought smugly. The coach has already got his marching orders.

Just then Miss Marty got up and hurried across to the far side of the picnic grounds. Faylene had to stand to see where she was headed. She frowned. And then her frosted-cherry lips fell open.

Gus Mathias?

She tried to remember if Marty had mentioned any car trouble she’d been having lately. But when her employer pointed to the end of the table where the boxes were stacked, it sure looked like she was pointing right at the box with the big purple bow.

Gus looked at the tableful of boxes, and then he looked straight at where Faylene was sitting. And then he shook his head. Frowning, Marty waved her other two ladies over and the three of them started jabbering up a storm, looking first at her and then back at Gus.

He kept shaking his head. Then, blamed if he didn’t walk off, skinny little arse, spare tire, beer belly and all. After he passed within ten feet without so much as a polite “how do” and headed for the parking lot, Faylene turned to glare at her three ladies. The ones she’d thought were her friends. Gabbling like a flock of guinea hens, they were headed her way.

Rising with all the dignity of an independent, self-supporting woman, she turned up her nose and set off toward the parking lot as fast as she could move. They were still trotting after her, calling for her to wait up, when she slammed her car door shut, cranked up her engine and scratched off, displacing a spray of gravel.

Damn near rammed into Gus’s tailgate while he waited for a break in the traffic, too. “Serves you right,” she muttered. When he honked at her, she stuck her head out the window and yelled, “Take a good look, buster, ’cause this is as close as you’re ever gonna get to yours truly!” She couldn’t believe they thought Gus Mathias was the best she could do! Some friends. Serve ’em all right if she handed in her notice.

Kell recognized the car scratching out of the churchyard just as he turned in. It barely missed a pickup truck that was slower to accelerate. He’d intended to pick up some barbecue and then spend his last evening calling around to see if he could get in touch with another of his dad’s old classmates. Trouble was, he couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything but Daisy—about the way she’d come apart in his arms and then tried to pretend it had never happened. For that matter, so had he. Tried and failed.

And dammit, he knew better, too. He’d always gone for sophisticated women who were out for a good time—women who were no more interested in anything more than a no-fault relationship than he was.

Daisy, with her bare face, her baggy clothes and her easygoing style, had caught him off guard. He should have been satisfied with what he’d found and headed out yesterday.

Instead he’d waited too late. He’d called and made reservations to fly out of Norfolk for tomorrow, which meant he’d have to fly back to get his car once he sorted out the situation back home, with Clarice and Moxie and Chief Taylor.

He had what he’d come for, or as much as he was ever going to get. As for anything else, he’d like to think that by the time he returned he’d have come to his senses. Or at least gained enough perspective to know if this thing they had going between them was all spark and sizzle, or if there was something solid behind it.

While the very thought of “something solid” scared the hell out of him, he’d never been able to walk away from a challenge. Deliberate or not, Daisy was definitely that.

The shower had still been steamy when he’d heard her drive off earlier, carrying a stack of boxes, the one with a purple bow on top. He’d been invited, he reasoned—so why drive all the way to Barco when there was food available right here in Muddy Landing?

By the time he’d located the church and found himself a parking place, he’d made up his mind. If he had to wipe out his entire money-market account to do it, he was going to buy her damned box and spend his last night here with a certain streaky-haired, gray-eyed blonde who smelled like bacon grease and roses. What happened after that was up to her. If he struck out again, at least he’d go down swinging.

He spotted her right away, in a huddle with the flashy redhead and the woman who looked like Julia Roberts, only with bigger eyes and a smaller mouth. He started to cut through the crowd but decided it might be smarter to wait until he had a legitimate claim to her company. Meanwhile, he’d just keep an eye on that purple bow.

Kell stood back and watched as the auctioneer held up first one supper box and then another one, reading off a name and fielding the bids.

“Now, come on, George, you know Miss Tilly’s crab cakes is worth more’n five dollars. Smells like she stuck in a couple of her homemade grape-leaf pickles, too.”

The bidding had been going on for about ten minutes when the auctioneer held up the box with the purple bow. Recognizing it as one of those Daisy had carried out to her car on top of the stack, Kell raised his hand just as a familiar voice called out a five-dollar bid.

On the far side of the church grounds, Daisy was wailing, “I can’t believe I worked this hard for nothing. Didn’t I tell you all this was a crazy idea?”

“Hey, it’s worked before,” Marty reminded her. The box suppers were one of their favorite venues for getting couples together. Marty and Sasha bought the supplies, Daisy did the cooking, making up an extra box. Then the three women would divvy up the other three boxes, dish a little dirt and look around for their next project.

Sasha checked her shoe heels for mud. “You got the freezer cleaned out, didn’t you? Means you’re that much closer to moving out of that old mausoleum.”

“I’d be even closer if I’d stayed home and worked instead of wasting a whole evening here,” she grumbled. “Faylene doesn’t want a man, all she wants is a pair of legs that don’t hurt and a raise.”

“Don’t forget hair like Dolly Parton’s,” observed Sasha.

“So? She can settle for one out of three and consider herself lucky.”

“Five dollars, do I hear ten?” came the tinny voice from the loudspeaker.

Someone called out a bid of seven in a voice that could barely be heard over the sound of children playing tag around the picnic tables.

“I guess now that Gus is gone, nobody else is going to bid on it,” said Marty. “Raise your hand, Sash.”

“Ten!” called another voice before the redhead could comply.

“Fifteen” came the prompt response.

“That sounds almost like…” Daisy stirred uneasily.

“Now, that’s right generous of you, sir. Do I hear twenty?”

He heard twenty-five, followed almost immediately by thirty-five. Not thirty, but thirty-five. Daisy tried to peer over the heads of the crowd. Marty, the tallest of the three women, stood on tiptoe. She whistled softly under her breath and said, “Well, what do you know—maybe this wingding’s not a complete washout after all.”

“Look, I know y’all were only trying to cheer me up,” said Daisy. She had finally figured it out. “It’s not your fault it didn’t work, but with Faylene gone, whoever buys her box will have to make do without a partner. I’m going home.”

“So we goofed,” Sasha said airily. “It’s not the first time—probably won’t be the last time, either. Hey, how else can three smart women of a certain age have fun in a place like Muddy Landing? This doesn’t let Gus off the hook, either. Sooner or later we’ll use him, we just have to find him someone a few years younger.”

Seeing a football tossed her way, Daisy caught it and threw it back. The preacher’s son picked it up and had the good manners to yell, “Thanks, Miss Daisy!”

Miss Daisy. If she’d needed a reminder that she wasn’t getting any younger, that did it. If Gus thought Faylene was too old for him, how long before someone said the same thing about her?

“Trouble is, I don’t know if he’ll ever trust us again.” Sasha tugged at the corset top she’d chosen to wear with her harem trousers. “His exact words when he heard who his supper partner was supposed to be were that he wasn’t about to waste time on a prune-faced female old enough to be his mother when he could be watching the Wednesday night Braves game down at the volunteer fire department.”

“But didn’t you tell him Faylene’s a Braves fan, too?” Marty was hopping around, trying to get a better view of the auctioneer’s table.

“Didn’t have time, he took off too fast,” Sasha replied. “Who’d have thought his ego would be that touchy?” She shook her head. “Men!”

Daisy was tired to the point of being irritable. “Who’d he think we were fixing him up with, Madonna?”

“Too old. Try Britney Spears.”

It was hardly the first time their plans had failed at the last minute, but all the same, Daisy didn’t need any further frustration. She’d had enough of that already. “Look, if y’all don’t mind, I’m just going to go home, eat a bowl of cereal, finish up the last of the scuppernong wine and go to bed. Whoever buys Faylene’s box, you can either join them or explain that she had to leave. Make up something, you’re good at it.”

Gathering her purse and the cardigan she’d brought in case it turned cooler—which it had—Daisy was already on her feet when, in a sudden lull, the auctioneer shouted, “Sold! Sold to the gentleman in the black shirt for one hundred dollars! My saints alive!”

Sasha’s mouth fell open. “A hundred dollars? Who on earth…?” She climbed up on the picnic bench, grabbed the top of Marty’s head for balance and tried to see over the heads of the crowd.

Daisy covered her face with both hands when it dawned on her that she knew “who on earth.” Somewhere under all the layers she’d tried to insulate herself with, she had recognized his voice. Peering out the corners of her eyes, she saw the studly gentleman—her rainy-day cowboy—standing just the way he’d stood the first time she’d ever laid eyes on him at Harvey’s funeral. Arms crossed, booted feet spread, he was wearing the look of a man who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn’t about to go away empty-handed.

I came, I saw, so what the hell—I conquered.

Only this time, instead of a dreary rain, the setting sun gilded his angular cheekbones, turning his tan to pure gold. As for his eyes, even from this distance they looked incandescent.

“Gracious me, if it’s not your cowboy again.” Sasha climbed down and made a show of fanning her ample endowment. “Shall we invite him to eat with us?”

Daisy forced her gaze past Kell, who was making his way to the auctioneer’s table, in time to see another familiar figure. It was Egbert, and he was headed out to the parking lot. “Egbert?” she wailed softly. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, what else can go wrong?”

“Who’d you think was bidding against him? I guess it’s time to add Egbert to the list, now that he’s officially out of mourning.” Marty made a show of scratching a name on her palm with her finger.

“It’s been almost a year,” Sasha said. “Besides, I heard she was thinking about leaving him when she got sick. Sara down at the bank said—”

“Oh, hush up,” Daisy muttered. Suddenly—or maybe not so suddenly—this game of theirs didn’t seem quite so enjoyable.

“Too late, I’ve already got someone in mind for him.” Marty leaned in closer as she watched Kell dodge through the moving crowd. “You know Carrie Stovall? She’s been living with this guy and it turns out he’s got a wife up in Suffolk, and they’re not even divorced? Carrie needs someone steady.”

“Lord knows Egbert’s steady,” Sasha said with a lift of her penciled eyebrows. “Any steadier and he’d have moss growing on his north side.”

“Maybe Daisy knows of a remedy for terminal steadiness. What about it, hon, you want to try your healing arts on Egg-butt?”

Oblivious to the good-natured dishing between her two best friends, Daisy didn’t know whether to weep or kick something. To think she could have shared supper with him. It would have been the first step in her campaign.

“Well, hello there,” Sasha purred as Kell sauntered up to join them. When Daisy glared at him, she added, “Don’t mind her, she woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Daisy had had enough. Ignoring the grinning Kell, who was carrying a big white box full of the food she’d spent the afternoon preparing, she said, “You know what, Sasha? You’re the only woman in the world who would dress like that for a church box supper.”

“Honey, let’s face it—I’m the only one in town with any fashion sense.”

“Which one of you lovely ladies do I have the privilege of sharing supper with?” Kell asked. He was looking straight at Daisy, who was purposefully avoiding his gaze. As if I didn’t know was implied.

“Oh, God, would you just listen to that. Not only a voice to die for, but manners, too,” Sasha murmured. “You get Daisy, but if she doesn’t appreciate you, we’ll be right over there at the table by the magnolia tree. Won’t we, Marty?” She elbowed her friend in the arm.

“We will? Oh, sure.”

Ten

At least, Daisy assured herself, she was surrounded by so many chaperones she could hardly do anything too outrageous. All she had to do was behave sensibly for another hour or so; after that he’d be gone and she could try to smooth things over. The good news—the really encouraging news—was that Egbert had bid on her supper box.

“Daisy?” Kell was studying her, a quizzical smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“All right,” she snapped. A few weeks from now she’d have forgotten all about Kell Magee. By then she should be well on her way to winning Egbert’s—well, if not his heart, at least his very good friendship, which, after all, was the best basis for any marriage.

“Look, if I made a mistake and messed up your plans, I’m sorry. I can leave and you can join your friends, just say the word.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s just—oh, I don’t know, everything, I guess. I’m tired from rushing to get things ready so we can close up the house, and on top of that, I think my apartment’s going to be sold out from under me. And why am I telling you all this?” She shook her head.

“Maybe because you need to unload and I happen to have broader shoulders than either of your two friends over there?”

She relented. It wasn’t like her to be snippy. She’d learned a long time ago never to allow her emotions free reign. It was messy at best, disastrous at worst. “Come on, let’s find someplace where we’re not apt to be hit in the head with a football.”

“Lead on, MacDuff.”

“Actually, I think that’s supposed to be ‘Lay on, MacDuff.’” Daisy rolled her eyes, and seeing her expression, Kell chuckled. She told herself that if she’d managed to resist his charms while sleeping under the same roof, she should be able to manage sharing a meal in a public place.

Taking her arm, he headed for a table down near the creek. And that was another thing—the way he walked. You’d think every moving part in his body had been greased.

One hundred dollars? For plain old fried chicken tied up with a purple bow? She wished now she’d paid attention to the bidding, but she’d been too busy worrying about Faylene and Gus. How hard had Egbert tried to outbid him? Egbert had a reputation for being a good citizen. He always bought Girl Scout cookies and gave them away because he had a wheat sensitivity.

Oh, shoot. She’d forgotten the flour in the corn fritters, not to mention the flour she’d dusted her chicken with. Not to mention the piecrust and the homemade cloverleaf rolls. She’d like to think fate was on her side for once, but that would be too great a stretch.

“After sampling your fried chicken, I’m really looking forward to supper,” Kell said. “This table suit you?”

She wanted to tell him to stop being so damned…decent! How could any man look boyishly innocent and devilishly sexy at the same time? “It’s fine with me, as long as you don’t mind eating supper next to all those tombstones.”

“Not a problem. I don’t believe in ghosts, do you?”

“I don’t know what I believe in, not anymore,” she muttered.

They could always try again with Faylene, but she’d missed a wonderful chance to get better acquainted with Egbert on a personal level. Of course, if he bid a bundle and then couldn’t eat a single thing she’d prepared, it would’ve been embarrassing, to say the least.

A picture-postcard setting. Sunset reflected in the creek. Dark fingers of marsh delineated the shoreline, naked cypress trees were silhouetted against the sky. Kell glanced around and murmured, “Nice.”

Stealing a look at his profile, Daisy had to agree. He had a wonderful nose, just the right size, with the slightest arch to give it character. Her gaze moved on to his lips and she quickly looked away. If anyone ever held a kissing Olympics, he’d win gold, hands down.

When he took out a handkerchief and brushed leaves and dried pokeberry deposits from the bench, she told herself he was just too good to be true. Which meant he probably wasn’t.

“What about something to drink?” he asked.

“There’s a machine in the church basement. Sorry—I should have thought of it sooner.”

“No problem. Name your preference and I’ll fetch.”

“Anything diet.”

He was back in less than five minutes with two bottles of water. “Sorry, this was the best I could do.”

“It’s fine. The diet drinks always go first. You do know this was supposed to be Faylene’s and Gus’s box, don’t you?” She nodded to the white cardboard box she’d saved from the last time she’d bought a bakery cake. “It had her name on it, and Gus Mathias was supposed to bid on it.”

“Figured it must be something like that. I saw her drive off just as I was pulling in. She wasn’t looking any too happy.”

Daisy shrugged. “I guess you think we were meddling.” Well, they were, but only with the best of intentions. “It’s just that when you see someone you like and you think there’s a chance to make her happy, you want to try.”

He nodded, then lifted his shoulders in an easy shrug.

She tried unsuccessfully to interpret his mixed signals. “All right, so we have fun matchmaking. There’s not a whole lot to do for entertainment in a place like Muddy Landing unless you like hunting, fishing or bingo.”

“And you don’t, I take it. Man, are those what I think they are?” He took out a cloverleaf roll and sniffed it, closing his eyes.

“They’re just plain old yeast rolls.”

“Hey, there’s nothing plain old about these things,” he said, somehow making ordinary bread sound like hot buttered sex.

“Store-bought ones are just as good. I’m just trying to use up all the staples. I hate to throw out good yeast and flour.”

Kell pinched off a bit of roll, then searched in the box to see what else it held. “Ah, geez, is that chocolate cake wrapped up in the napkins? So this thing you planned with Faylene and what’s his name—it didn’t work out, huh? I guess his loss is my gain.”

“It’s pie. Not cake. Kell, I’m really embarrassed you had to bid so much for the same old fried chicken you’ve had before.”

He bit off a bit of corn fritter, chewed with his eyes closed, then said, “Man, oh, man. Didn’t have to. I’d planned on having a sub from that place down the road, but then I passed the church on my way through town.”

“Yes, but a hundred dollars?”

“Blalock ran it up to fifty-five. I got tired of playing his game.”

When it came to playing games Kell was obviously no slouch, but Egbert? She’d never have pegged him as the competitive type. But then, he was a man. With some men it was a survival tactic, a holdover from the Stone Age when the man with the biggest club won.

“Where’d you learn to cook like this?” He broke off a crumb of chocolate-rum pie, tasted it and closed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you learned to bake like this in nursing school.”

“I had courses in nutrition, but before that I worked my way through school by helping out in the cafeteria. The women there were wonderful cooks. How about you?”

“You mean where’d I learn to cook?” He shot her a smile that managed to be both teasing and tempting. It occurred to her that she wasn’t feeling nearly as tired as she’d been when the evening started.

“Faye said you were a baseball player. Who do you play for? Would I have heard of them?”

“Played. Past tense. I used to play for Houston. Why? Are you a fan?” He had a way of speaking volumes with the lift of a single eyebrow.

“Not really. I never went in for sports—never had time.” At age twelve she’d just been getting into track, but then things had started coming apart at her adoptive home. Next thing she knew, she was back in the system again. And while the system might try, it was under-staffed and underfunded. “So how’d you get interested?” she asked. “Aren’t you a little young to have retired? And now you own a sporting goods shop?” As long as they kept talking, she reasoned, she’d be in no danger of falling under his spell again.

They discussed sports and growing up in a small town and then moved on to choosing a profession versus having one chosen for them. By the time she handed out slices of the sinfully rich chocolate-rum pie with coconut and walnuts, Daisy felt so comfortable she nearly forgot to be disappointed about the way the evening had turned out.

She’d been telling him about one of her cases, an elderly woman who had served in the Coast Guard during the Second World War—back then the women were called SPARS—when she noticed he was staring past her toward the creek. The sun was already down, the afterglow laying long lavender shadows across the mossy old graveyard.

Twisting around on the bench seat, Daisy looked to see what had caught his attention. So far as she could tell there was nothing out there but an old two-plank landing used only by a few trappers and hunters.

Suddenly he rose, stepped over the bench and strode down toward the creek. After only a moment’s hesitation, Daisy followed. “Kell? What is it?” Oh, God, she thought, not a child! Kids loved messing around the water, but surely if a child had fallen in they’d have heard the splash. “Kell?”

“Gotcha!” He bent over and came up holding something dark and round in both hands.

“A turtle?”

“Slider, if I’m not mistaken. She’s been circling around out there ever since we’ve been here. I don’t know much about these critters, but it didn’t look like she could see where she was going. She kept running into things.”

Much later Daisy would look back on it as the moment she had fallen in love. A muddy little slider, of all things. And Kell had willingly spent the rest of the evening trying to help the poor creature. She couldn’t help but wonder if Egbert would have done as much. Or would he even have noticed the poor, blind thing?

It was nearly three hours later when they headed back to Muddy Landing, having left one yellow slider with an eye infection and a serious case of malnutrition at the home of a retired veterinarian in Elizabeth City.

“Kind of makes you feel good, doesn’t it?” Kell said quietly as they turned off on Highway 34 at Belcross.

It did, but by that time Daisy was half-asleep, the stress of the past few days having finally caught up with her. “Mmm.”

“Good thing you knew that vet. He said you used to pet-sit for some of his clients.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Dr. Van had retired years ago, but he’d taken one look and confirmed Daisy’s suspicions. Too blind to find food, the poor creature would have starved, that is if it didn’t blunder out onto the street and get run over.

“You cold?” He turned on the heater, and a current of warm air flowed over her. Once the sun went down, the air had chilled down quickly.

He drove fast, probably above the speed limit, but Daisy was too comfortable to complain, especially after he turned on a CD, lulling her with Vince Gill’s dulcet tenor. Why fight it? Feeling warm and safe and—well, comfortable hardly began to describe it, but it would do for now—she gave up and let her eyes drift shut again.

The next thing she knew Kell was lifting her from the car. Coming instantly awake, she started to protest. He said, “Shh, you’re in no condition to make it up those steps.”

“Wha’s hap’nin’? Where are we? Kell, put me down.”

“Now, why would I do that?”

Twisting around, she looked to see the familiar turreted silhouette of the old mansion that had been her home for nearly a year. “Lemme get the key out,” she mumbled, struggling to find her shoulder bag.

“Already got it.”

“How? It’s in my purse.” Her car. Good Lord, she’d left her car in the church parking lot.

“Daisy—hush up, honey, it’s not worth fighting over. I didn’t mess with any of your other stuff, just the keys.”

“But my car—you should have taken me back—”

“Shh, your car’s probably safe enough in a church parking lot. We’ll collect it tomorrow.”

Evidently somewhere between Elizabeth City and Muddy Landing she had lost her free will, her backbone and her last shred of common sense. She didn’t even argue.

“You’re bushed, aren’t you? You want to turn in now, or do you want a nightcap?”

“Turn in,” she mumbled. And then “No, maybe something…” She tried to cut off the thought, but before she could stop it, a picture of a naked couple sharing a bottle of wine and then falling into bed together appeared like a DVD, full of color, detail and animation.

She shut her eyes. It didn’t help, so she opened them again. In the dim light of the freshly dusted overhead fixture, his features looked as if they’d been carved from some exotic wood and polished to a satin sheen. “Maybe milk,” she said desperately.

“Milk it is. Warm or cold?”

She was wide-awake now. Emotionally confused, physically exhausted, but wide-awake. Shaking her head, she said, “You decide, I can’t think straight.”

“Cocoa, then. Why don’t you get ready for bed while I make it.”

She stood there like a stump wanting to say, Forget the cocoa, just come to bed with me. Instead, she said, “We don’t have any more mix.”

“I’ll improvise. You go wash, brush and put on something comfortable and I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Kell watched her stumble toward the end of the hall where her quarters were located, then headed for the kitchen. She’d been asleep in the car for the past twenty-five minutes, making soft, puffy little sounds with her lips. He’d been tempted to pull over and try a little mouth-to-mouth, but knowing how exhausted she was, he’d resisted the temptation. She’d been going flat out ever since he’d been there, trying to wind things up so she could move back to town. He’d been torn between trying to stay out of her way and wanting to spend as much time with her as possible before he had to leave. And not just because he liked being in the house where his father had grown up. And then, on top of everything else, she had taken on this box supper thing. Didn’t those two friends of hers have any idea how pushed she was?

Behind the cereal he found a tin of cocoa with maybe an inch or so left in the bottom. Without bothering to read the instructions, he poured milk into a pan, dumped in some sugar and emptied the cocoa tin, listening all the while for sounds to tell him how near ready she was. If she got through in the bathroom and fell asleep before the stuff was hot he’d just have to wake her up. One way or another, he intended to share something with her before he left tomorrow, even if it was only a mug of cocoa.

He heard the pump cut on, heard the door of the medicine cabinet open and close. He called softly, “Daisy? This stuff’s about ready.”

“Library,” she called through the closed door.

Uh-huh. She didn’t trust him to take it to her bedroom. Smart lady.

Daisy always slept in nylon not because it was sexy, but because cotton pajamas twisted around her. A restless sleeper, especially when she had a lot on her mind, she usually changed positions at least a dozen times during the night. Now shoving her arms in the sleeves of a faded pink terry-cloth robe, she looped the sash twice around her waist and knotted it, then waited until Kell left the kitchen to follow him to the library.

She smelled the cocoa even before she entered the room, the rich, slightly burnt scent intermingled with floor wax and furniture polish. Kell had set it on the desk and was looking over the rows of books, all dusted and ready for the librarian, the historical society, or whoever ended up with them.

“Looks like Uncle Harve had a lot of different interests,” Kell said.

It took her a moment to react to the words, she was so busy reacting to the man himself. Even standing there with his back to her, hip cocked and chin resting in one hand, he reminded her of a big, sleepy cat, trying to make up his mind whether or not to pounce.

There was nothing at all sleepy about his eyes when he turned to face her. They were glowing like a pair of blue flames. “Judging from all these titles, I mean.”

Titles? Oh—books. Turn on your brain, woman! “Um…yes, he did. That is, he was. It was one of the things I liked best about him—he had such an—an inquiring mind.” Stop looking at me that way!

“Astronomy, geology, history—what’s numismatics?”

“Coins. Oh—did Egbert tell you Harvey left his coin collection to Faylene? It turned out to be only a few hundred Susan B. Anthony dollars, worth face value, but still it was really sweet of him. She’d been with him for nearly fourteen years, you know, even though for the past few years, ever since he closed off most of the rooms, she only worked two or three days a week.”

And I’m chattering like a monkey, she thought hopelessly. She should have gone straight to bed and stayed there for the foreseeable future, or at least until she was sure he’d gone back to Oklahoma.

“That’s great,” he said. Collecting the two mugs of cocoa, he handed her one. “She strikes me as a good worker. Glad Uncle Harvey appreciated her. Here, drink this stuff before it gets any colder. I don’t know if it’s sweet enough or not, I didn’t use any measurements.”

“Just so you didn’t add any horseradish.”

He chuckled, drawing her attention to his mouth. If a mouth could be called tempting, his was. Full lower lip, nice bow, uptilted corners.

Shut up and drink your cocoa, stupid!

A skim had already formed on the top. Ignoring it, Daisy lifted her mug, gulped and tried not to shudder. “I just thought you should know. About the coins, that is. I mean, I don’t know how much Egbert told you, but the local historical society is the main beneficiary. They get the house, termites and all. I’m not sure about the furniture. Maybe they can sell it to pay for repairs.”

Staring at her lips, Kell took a sip, made a face and set the thing down on the tray. “Ouch. Stuff’s pretty bad, isn’t it? You don’t have to drink it.”

“No, it’s fine,” she insisted, forcing a smile to prove it.

His gaze never leaving her face, he lifted the mug from her hands, set it on the tray and then touched her lips with his thumb. Swallowing hard, Daisy found herself unable to look away. He said something about chocolate and then he leaned closer. A moment before his face went out of focus she closed her eyes.

The taste of bitter chocolate only enhanced a kiss that was sheer seduction, soft, warm and moist. With his tongue, he touched the corners of her mouth, stroked her lips and then went on to rob her of any lingering will to resist.

Kell tried to go slow. The last thing he wanted to do was to spook her into running away from him, because once she shut that bedroom door, that was it. Whatever happened between them had to be mutual or it was no go.

He wanted her so much his hands were shaking, but for all his experience with the opposite sex, he’d never met anyone like Daisy Hunter. For one thing, she had never even tried to attract him. No sexy outfits, no sexy makeup—hell, she didn’t even wear perfume, just that lotion stuff she rubbed on her hands and arms. She was…the word real came to mind. Not only that, but her entire life was devoted to taking care of other people.

When was the last time anyone had taken care of her? Did she even have someone who cared enough to make her hot cocoa when she was tired and needy? To see that she got enough rest? Someone to doctor her hurts and to lift heavy things for her—to put her to bed and then crawl in beside her and hold her while she slept?

The fact that he wanted to do all those things, especially the last, was downright scary. Over the past twenty-odd years he’d known a lot of women, but he had never entered any relationship feeling the way he felt now. He always took care to spell out the ground rules going into an affair—a no-fault affair where both parties were free to walk at any time.

With Daisy there weren’t any rules. He found himself wanting to know everything there was to know about her, starting with what she’d been like as a little girl and ending with what she’d be like when those laugh lines deepened and multiplied, and her hair was more gray than blond.

And if that weren’t scary enough, he found himself wondering how she felt about kids.

How she felt about him.

But all that would have to wait. Because right now he had an even more desperate need, one he could only hope was mutual.

Eleven

The sofa was too narrow for what he had in mind, but there was a perfectly good bed going to waste just down the hall. She had moved downstairs once they’d finished cleaning the second floor.

“Your place okay?” he rasped, figuring a trek down the hall might allow him to cool off just enough to do the job properly. He’d never had trouble with a short fuse before, but then, he’d never made love to a woman like Daisy.

“Mmm,” she murmured, reluctantly pulling away.

“Race you,” he teased. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he could crawl, much less run. In the doorway, they paused for another lingering kiss that only served to deepen the hunger, not to abate it.

When she opened the door, his attention zeroed in on the bed. Neatly made, it was obviously too short and too narrow for a good night’s sleep. But then, sleep was the last thing on his mind.

She was wearing a fuzzy bathrobe over a scrap of white nylon. The sash had been wrapped around her waist and tied in a hard knot. If she thought that would protect her, she was sadly mistaken.

Obviously she had no such thought, as she plucked at the knot until it came loose and then let the robe slide off her shoulders onto the floor. “I can’t believe I’m so nervous,” she whispered with a brittle little laugh.

“Just say the word any time and we’ll stop.” If it killed him—and it probably would.

With unsteady hands he lifted her gown and eased it over her head, leaving her in only a pair of plain white cotton underpants. Not high-cut, not low-cut, and definitely not thongs.

Trying hard to regulate his breathing, he ripped his shirt over his head and unbuckled his belt. “I can’t believe—that is, I never knew—” He broke off, shaking his head.

Averting her face, she sat on her hands on the side of the bed. “You can’t believe what? You never knew what?”

He tried to take off his pants before he remembered to remove his boots and ended up hopping on one foot. “I forgot what I was talking about.” Kell Magee, MVP two years in a row, a man who’d been mobbed for his autograph by countless female groupies, was nervous as a cat in a pound full of dogs.

He said, “I like your underwear,” and smacked himself on the forehead. “Ah, jeez, I can’t believe I said that!”

Daisy laughed, and then she stood up and shed her plain white cotton underpants. No posturing, no sneaking a look to see if he was enjoying the show, she simply pulled down the elastic, stepped out of the things and tossed them onto a wicker hamper.

Her hips were nicely flared, her waist narrow and flat. She had freckles on her upper chest, small breasts and tan lines all over the place, probably from working in the yard.

And not once, not even in the raunchy bars where lap dancing was the favored sport, could Kell recall seeing anything so seductive. Her breasts fit perfectly in the palms of his hands, that much he already knew. Before this week, if he had drawn up specifications for his ideal woman, Daisy wouldn’t have come anywhere close to fitting them. Yet everything about her was right. It was as if he’d found a vital part of himself that he’d never even known was missing.

Instead of lying back on the pillows and striking a seductive pose, she just sat there, looking him over. Making him feel proud and embarrassed at the same time. “Uh…you’re not going to change your mind, are you?” he asked anxiously. Smooth, Magee—really smooth.

Without taking her eyes from the strip of hair that arrowed down from his chest to the southern hemisphere, she shook her head. “Um—they’re in the bedside-table drawer.”

His were in his wallet on the floor. Curious to see if she liked plain, ribbed, colored or flavored, he nodded. She stretched out on the bed, still watching him almost warily. He said, “Daisy, are you sure about this? I mean, we don’t have to. There’s no truth in that old blue-ball rumor. It’s just—”

“I know. Kell, I know all there is to know about sex technically, but I haven’t done this in a long time. Please don’t expect too much. I never was very good at it.”

He swore then, long and quietly. How could any woman this desirable even think such a thing, much less express it? Unless some impotent jackass had deliberately tried to blame her for his own shortcomings.

Easing his arms under her knees and shoulders, he shifted her over to make room so he could lie down beside her. Then, covering both her legs with one of his, he leaned over and brushed her hair away from her face. Easy, easy—don’t rush her, Magee.

But no matter how much he wanted to take it slow and easy, Kell had a feeling fast and furious was inevitable. At least the first few times.

Using all the skill at his command, plus a tenderness he had never even come close to feeling before, he began searching out each sensitive place on her body, starting with her small pink ears and kissing his way down to the hollow of her throat. The warm hollow under her arm, so personal, so private—the insides of her elbow where the blue veins led from her heart to her hands. Nipping, tasting his way, he returned to her shoulders and then to her breasts. Her small, perfect, rose-scented breasts where her small, proud nipples begged for his attention.

She was exquisitely sensitive there and in the soft place surrounding her navel…and in the shadowy crease of her groin.

When he tasted her there she caught a shuddering breath and gasped, “My turn.”

Oh, no, not now, he thought, desperately close to the edge. But obediently, he lay still under her ministrations, the scent of her arousal teasing his nostrils as she fingered her way down his body. First, his nipples, then the arrow of dark hair that led south, lingering at the equator, her fingers playing there while her tongue flicked his nipple until he thought he’d explode. The closer she came to the South Pole, the more rigid he became, his breath coming in tight gasps until he could stand it no longer.

Tense as a bowstring, he lifted her, eased her over onto her back and stared down at her. Her heart was pounding visibly, the aphrodisiac scent of her heat alone enough to shove him over the edge. Trembling, he palmed her mound, forcing himself not to move too quickly. This had to be perfect for her, even if it meant putting his own release on hold indefinitely.

Her face was flushed, her eyes dark and bright as he began his most intimate exploration. She was moist, hot and ready, but still he waited. Slowly lowering his face to her soap-scented belly, he entered her with his finger, moving gently, preparing the way.

Now, now! his body shouted.

“Please,” she whimpered.

Delaying the inevitable as long as possible, he used his experience unselfishly for once as he set about driving her out of her mind with pleasure before moving up her body. She was whimpering, gasping for breath by the time he eased inside her. Not until she lifted her hips, her fingernails biting into his shoulders, did his self-imposed restraint break.

Once he began to thrust it ended far too quickly in a cataclysmic release that left them both trembling and gasping for air. Waves of indescribable pleasure washed over them.

Aeons later when her brain cells began to function again, it occurred to Daisy to marvel at how rarely it happened that way. From all she’d learned as a nurse, plus articles she’d read in women’s magazines, not to mention the frank talk among friends, she knew that men sought their own pleasure. Only then, if one happened to be skilled enough and generous enough—or even still awake—would he take care of his mate.

Daisy let herself drift through soft clouds of sex-scented darkness until gradually it occurred to her that fate must have had a hand in what had just happened. She’d never been superstitious—she certainly wasn’t into any of that New Age stuff. All the same, when she thought about it…

Cause and effect? First she’d taken on Harvey as a patient when she’d had three to choose from. Then her apartment building had been damaged in the hurricane. That led her to moving in with him—fate had nothing to do with it.

But then there was Kell.

Oh, my, yes, she thought, a dreamy smile softening her face as she gazed at the man lying beside her, his angular face slack in repose. Even in the dim light from the hall he looked familiar, as if she’d known him all her life, only she hadn’t known where to find him.

Instead, he’d found her.

“Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?” he murmured without opening his eyes.

Trying for blasé and missing it by a mile, she said, “Don’t push it, Magee. Halfway decent I might accept, but no more.”

He smiled, still without opening his eyes. “Okay then, but you’re about the most halfway decent woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and that includes centerfolds.”

Even as strung out as a fiddle tuned an octave too high, there was no way Daisy could take it as anything other than gentle, good-natured teasing intended to put her at ease. It was almost as if he’d known about the subtly barbed remarks that used to accompany Jerry’s rough, hurried attempts at making love. There’d been no love involved, only she hadn’t realized it at the time.

Now, after watching a man go to such lengths to rescue a mud turtle, it took only the amazing fact that he could tease her at a time like this to tell her what she’d already suspected.

She was so in love. So head-over-heart-over-heels in love with a here-today, gone-tomorrow man who could set her on fire with just the sound of his voice. So much for all her fine plans for the future.

“’Course, if you’d had the body of a cow and a face like the grill of a Mack truck, I might’ve had a few second thoughts. Lucky for me, though, you turned out pretty decent.”

A gurgle of laughter escaped her just before he turned over on his side and buried his face in her throat. Wedging her head back on the pillow, she moaned softly as he lifted her hips and entered her again.

Kell opened his eyes to darkness, wondering why his backside was freezing. He had a vague recollection of opening a window earlier. Weather must have turned in the night, he thought drowsily. Daisy had rolled up in the covers and he’d been too far gone to claim his share. Now his butt was freezing, his feet were hanging off the bed and his right arm had gone to sleep.

Overriding all that, there was a warm, sweet woman snuggled up to his groin, smelling of sex and roses, and he was tempted—

Damn, but he was tempted!

But four times in as many hours was stretching it, even for him. It didn’t necessarily mean he was getting old, only that he needed a few hours of sleep before tackling anything more strenuous than lying in bed and trying to think of some excuse to get out of a few commitments.

He had his flaws, more than he liked to admit, but going back on his word wasn’t one of them.

According to his watch it was already Thursday, and he still had an idea he needed to run past Blalock. His original plan had been to head back in plenty of time to speak with Chief Taylor before Clarice’s grand opening and make sure Moxie was in on the festivities. He figured if the kid could be a part of the action from the beginning, even busing tables in a five-table ice-cream shop, it might motivate him to prove something to himself, as well as to the people who’d gone to bat for him.

As it was already too late to head back via I-40, he’d called late yesterday and made reservations on an 11:10 a.m. flight out of Norfolk. Now all he had to do was see Blalock about donating a block of stock to the historical society to be used toward putting the house back in shape and then get to the airport in time to make it through Security.

After dealing with whatever mess Moxie had gotten himself involved in this time and seeing Clarice through her grand opening, he needed to check on the progress out at the ranch. Two days, he figured—three at the most. With any luck he should be back here before Daisy had time to buckle on her armor again.

Last night he had finally found a clue as to why she was so defensive. At first she’d thought he was trying to horn in on Harvey’s estate—at least he’d dispelled that notion. But if it turned out he was right and some jerk had done a bad number on her, she was going to need special handling until he could reassure her of his intentions.

Intentions. Now, there was a scary word in any man’s vocabulary. Kell wasn’t quite sure how to play it. In the first place, Daisy was nothing at all like the women who usually wound up in his bed. No gloss or glamour, no fancy designer labels, no teasing demands for tangible proof of his affections. Her only jewelry so far as he could tell was a businesslike wristwatch.

Above all, no games. With Daisy Hunter, what you saw was what you got. In the beginning it might have been the challenge that had attracted him—he’d never been able to resist one of those. But somewhere along the way things had changed. The tricky part now was keeping her from bolting while he took care of some unfinished business back home.

Talk about playing by the rules—this was a game he’d never played before. Best he could do was take things one step at a time.

Leaning over, he kissed her on the temple, inhaling the essence of soap, shampoo and warm, sexy woman. Then, smiling in the darkness, he eased out of bed. They both needed sleep. He’d never been able to relax enough on a plane to fall asleep, and he needed at least a couple of hours to get him through the next twenty-four or so. Her narrow bed, as inviting as the company was, didn’t make the cut. One roll in either direction and he’d end up either on the floor or on top of her. In the latter case, sleep wasn’t even a faint possibility. As tempted as he was, he wasn’t up for an all-nighter, not with everything he had to do in the next few days.

A brief cooling-off period was probably best for all concerned. If this thing they had going here turned out to be real, it should last until he got back. If not…

Oh, hell, he just didn’t know. Some of his friends changed women almost as often as they changed shirts. Others married young, stuck it out and actually seemed to enjoy it. Kell was closing in on forty—too late to marry young. On the other hand, maybe this old dog could still learn a few new tricks.

Cold air fell through the window he’d cracked open after they’d steamed up the place for the second or maybe the third time. He lingered, listening to her slow breathing, reluctant to move away.

He had a chance to build something solid—something that would last the rest of his life, if he played it right. Other people did it. Hell, his own parents had done it. They’d had their squabbles—his dad had had a redhead’s temper and his mom had stood up to him whenever she’d thought he was in the wrong. As a kid, he’d hated their fights. He’d been embarrassed because you could hear them all over the trailer park. But thinking about it now, he remembered the way they used to look at each other after they’d both run out of steam. They’d both burst out laughing and he’d be invited to go outside and play. Before he was even out the door, they’d disappear into the bedroom.

He had laughed with Daisy, too. They’d laughed together, which only seemed to make the sex better—richer. It was a hell of a time to have to leave, but they both needed a little space.

Things had happened too fast—maybe he needed to back off and see how he felt in a day or so—in a week or so. Because he’d learned a long time ago that false promises were worse than no promises at all.

Quietly, he collected his clothes and boots from the floor and left, pulling the bedroom door almost but not quite shut. He didn’t know if she usually closed it or not. There was so much he still didn’t know about her. That was part of the problem. But one thing he did know—they weren’t finished yet. Three days from now—four at most, he’d be back and then they could get to the bottom of whatever this thing was between them. All he knew at this point was that it was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

For the third time, Daisy scanned the note she’d found on the table anchored by the salt shaker. Damn him. Damn him! “Daisy, I’ve got to handle a few things back home. See you in a few days. K. M.”

Like hell he would, she fumed, not believing for one moment he would be back. If he’d planned to come back, he would have woken her and told her he was leaving instead of sneaking out like a thief in the night. He was just like Jerry. Try out the merchandise, and if it doesn’t suit, return it, no questions asked.

She read it again. Not even so much as a Dear Daisy, just “Daisy, see you in a few days.”

“I don’t think so,” she muttered under her breath as she rumpled the note and crammed it into her pocket.

“So he’s cleared out, has he?” Hands on her hips, Faylene was openly gloating. It was Thursday, the day after the box supper fiasco. “Serves you right for what y’all tried to do to me.”

“For what we…? Oh, you mean the box supper.” She blinked rapidly, willing herself not to cry.

“You’re doggone right I do. If I wanted to eat my supper with a man who don’t even bother to trim the hair in his nose, I coulda done it without no help from you three.” She pulled a forgotten cast-iron skillet from the oven and slammed it down on the counter, endangering the forty-year-old Formica. “I thought y’all was settin’ me up with that new coach there at the high school.”

“Faylene, I’m sorry. You know how it is with us—we didn’t mean any harm. We just thought it might be nice if—”

“Huh! You don’t never mean no harm, but that don’t mean harm don’t get done. I got feelings, you know. I might not be as smart as you and Miss Marty or as pretty as Miss Sasha, but that don’t mean I can’t get me no boyfriend. I got one, so there, too!” she said triumphantly. “Only reason I won’t let him move in with me is I don’t have room for all them decoys and them guns o’ his.” Using one finger, she scratched her head, cracking a part in her heavily lacquered hair. “When’s the power gonna be shut off, today or tomorrow?”

Daisy momentarily forgot her own problems. “Guns?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Bob Ed ain’t no bank robber or nothing like that. He just happens to be the best guide ’tween here and the Currituck Banks. What’s more, he can cook, too, so he don’t need me to keep his belly happy.” She opened her mouth to say something else and then shook her head. “I notice you three ladies don’t have no men hangin’ round your doorsteps. I passed that ballplayer, driving like a bat outta hell. He didn’t even toot at me.”

He didn’t toot at me, either, Daisy thought morosely a few hours later as she sealed up the final box for delivery to the thrift shop. Sasha and Marty had brought her car back, but left soon after that since Daisy informed them she was far too busy with last-minute duties to chat.

“Oh, but, hon, just wait till you hear who we’ve got picked out for Gus. Did you know he plays fiddle?”

“Not now—please,” Daisy had pleaded.

“Okay, then I’ll see you tonight,” Marty told her. “Key’s under the bird feeder if I’m not there.” Marty had offered her a room until she found another place.

“I keep telling you, you’re going to lose that key one of these days,” Sasha warned as they headed out the front door. “You know that squirrel-proof feeder in my backyard? Well, believe me, even wing nuts are no problem for a determined squirrel.”

“You’re both nuts and you’re both squirrely,” Daisy called after them, laughing in spite of her growing depression.

By noon the kitchen was as clean was it was ever going to get. Faylene had wiped out the refrigerator and taken what she wanted from the pantry. The phone had already been disconnected. Now Daisy waited only for the power company to cut off service. With the wiring as old and probably as neglected as everything else, she didn’t dare take chances when there was no one around to hear the smoke detector.

“You sure you don’t want none o’ this stuff? A can of soup or something in case you don’t get away before dinner?” The housekeeper had apparently forgiven her for her part in the botched matchmaking attempt.

“I’ll be leaving as soon as they disconnect us,” Daisy told her. “I’m staying with Marty for the time being, so I’ll see you there.”

“I guess you heard they was planning to bulldoze your apartment, probably put up another batch o’ them ugly places that all looks alike. You can come stay with me till you find you another apartment if you need to. I’ll even help you pack up and move out. My place ain’t fancy, but it’s clean.”

“Oh, Faye…after yesterday I can’t believe you’d still have me.”

“I wouldn’t, not permanent, but a few days won’t do no harm. Thanksgiving’s coming on. If you like stewed goose with rutabagas and dumplin’s and all, Bob Ed’s plannin’ on cooking up a mess at my place.”

Unexpected tears dimmed her eyes, but Daisy shook her head. “I love stewed goose—” She’d never even tasted stewed goose, but she recognized a generous act of forgiveness. “Marty and Sasha and I have already made plans to drive to Virginia Beach and eat Thanksgiving dinner at that restaurant Sasha just finished decorating. They told her she could bring as many guests as she wanted, on the house. But I’ll see you Monday. Monday’s Marty’s day, right?”

“If I ain’t still mad at her, I reckon. I know it weren’t your idea—leastwise, you didn’t start it, them other two did.” The housekeeper shook her head and smiled as Daisy held the door for her and her box of canned goods, cold drinks, dried flowers and assorted condiments. “Don’t you stay here no longer’n it takes to lock up after they cut you off, y’hear?”

“I promise. See you soon.”

Lingering at the front door, Daisy felt the emptiness close in on her. “Goodbye, Harvey,” she whispered. “Don’t worry, they’ll take good care of it.”

And they would, she assured herself. The members of the historical society might not agree on much, but they all knew the value of a house that had been a landmark in Currituck County for more than a century.

With the temperature dropping some twenty degrees overnight, the house was already growing cold. She had let the furnace run until the man from the gas company had come to disconnect it and take the tanks.

“What else?” she mused, missing the presence of someone else in the big, empty house.

Missing Kell. The scoundrel.

Packing the last few items—her soap and shower cap from the bathroom, her rose-scented hand lotion from above the kitchen sink—she made a mental note to stop by the post office on her way to town and tell them to hold her mail until she had a new address.

She made a deliberate effort to think of any loose ends. Windows all locked, inside doors and transoms opened to keep the air from growing too stale. Once she left, she had no intention of ever coming back. Besides, she’d be far too busy to dwell on what had happened last night. So the sex had been unbelievably good. So having a generous lover had made all the difference in the world. So she had learned things about her own body that Gray’s Anatomy had never even hinted at, much less tried to describe.

“You can think about all that tomorrow, Scarlett.”

Since she had to stop by the bank on the way to Marty’s, she might as well drop off the keys.

Twelve

Swearing under his breath, Kell punched off his cell phone and tossed it onto the seat beside him. What the hell had happened back there, another hurricane? The number had sure as hell been in service when he’d called the airport to make reservations.

He was tempted to turn around and go back, just to see what kind of game she was playing now. More than once he’d heard her fielding calls, sounding like one of those computer-generated voices as she referred callers to Mr. Blalock at the bank unless the caller happened to be one of her friends.

Had he told her he’d be back by the first of the week? Or had he just said he’d see her soon? Added up to the same thing, but he had a feeling he might have screwed up. He’d never been much of a letter writer. He must have used up half the tablet she used for grocery lists, trying to strike just the right tone. Nothing mushy, because that wasn’t him, but nothing too cool, either. Because cool was the last thing he was feeling. In the end, he’d settled for stating the facts, knowing he could say more once he’d had time to put things in perspective.

Still, it wouldn’t have hurt to use the word love. People used it all the time—no big deal. Like I love baseball, or I love country music? Stuff like that? People signed letters “love, so-and-so,” even to casual friends.

But “love, Kell”—that would have been a big deal. So big it scared him just to think it, much less to write it.

Much less to say it.

Marty showed her where to put her things, then lounged in the doorway while she unpacked. “You mean he just up and left? No warning or anything? Are you sure he’s not just out somewhere checking on another sprout on his family tree?”

Faylene knew the truth. She’d been there when Daisy had found the note. But Daisy hadn’t told either of her friends that Kell was gone for good. “No more sprouts, nothing left to do. He found out what he came to find, so there’s no reason to hang around.”

“But yesterday—I mean, what the devil happened between you two? Last I saw, you were headed off across the church grounds looking as cozy as grits and gravy.”

“Yoo-hoo, anybody home?” Sasha let herself in the front door, bringing in cold air and a whiff of Odalisque.

“We’re in the guest room,” Marty called. “Come on back.”

“I tried to call out at the house, but the service has already been discontinued. Daisy, I thought you weren’t going to leave until tomorrow.”

“I hadn’t counted on all the utilities being cut off so fast. Usually when you call the office you have to wait until they have someone in the neighborhood.”

“Oh. I thought they did all that from the office.” Sasha plopped herself down on the guest bed, tipping over the stack of freshly laundered scrubs Daisy had just unpacked. “Hey, if the hysterical society wants to get rid of anything, I want first crack. Client of mine just bought a McMansion on the beach and now he wants me to make it to look like it’s been in his family for generations. Where’s Kell, by the way?”

Marty shook her head, a warning expression on her face, but Daisy saw no point in trying to evade the issue. “He left this morning before I was even up.”

Sasha’s eyes widened. “But he’s coming back, right?”

Daisy shrugged. “Who knows? He’s not in line to inherit anything. Harvey’s will was pretty specific about who gets what.”

“Yes, but—” Sasha looked at Marty, arched her eyebrows and then asked the question both women had been skirting around. “I thought you and Kell were…well, you know.”

Fighting tears, Daisy said, “I’ve got to go start moving out of my apartment. Anybody want to help?”

Kell watched the board as flight after flight was canceled due to a squall line moving through Central Oklahoma. He checked his watch again, felt a familiar burning sensation in his belly and wondered if he was getting an ulcer. He’d been in too big a hurry to get to the airport to bother with breakfast. Probably all he needed was food. On the other hand, with everything that had happened over the past three days, he’d damned well earned himself an ulcer.

After a few last-minute emergencies, the opening had gone off without a hitch. Clarice was in hog heaven, as she’d announced at least a dozen times. He’d managed to get Moxie another chance and hoped to hell he’d impressed on the kid that this was it—one more screwup and he was down for the count.

He’d tried at least a hundred times to call Daisy. He’d even called the phone company, only to be told—again—that the number was no longer in service.

She had a cell phone, but dammit, like the dumb ox he was he hadn’t bothered to get the number. There’d been no need while he was there, and once he’d left, it was too late.

He’d tried to remember the last names of her two friends. One was an Owens, he couldn’t remember the redhead’s last name if he’d ever heard it. There were dozens of Owenses in the directory, not one of them a Sasha or Marty. Women used initials, he remembered hearing that somewhere. To keep jerks like him from finding out they lived alone.

He left the concourse and went in search of a pharmacy—any place where he could get a dose of antacid. If he didn’t already have a hole in his gut, he probably would by the time he reached Norfolk. He had never handled frustration well, especially frustration brought on by his own stubbornness. It was one of the reasons his career had ended prematurely. Hurting like hell, he’d kept on insisting that he was good for another few innings and then argued each time he was taken out of a game. He’d been on the DL—the disabled list—for almost an entire season after surgery, first on his shoulder, then on the elbow of his pitching arm.

Ten years later he still didn’t handle frustration as well as he should, but he was learning. Working with at-risk kids had taught him a lot. This thing with Daisy was teaching him even more.

At least this time he’d managed to get a direct flight. Now all he needed was for the weather to cooperate. Come on, Mom, put in a word for me. Do a sun dance up there or something.

The first place he found that sold antacids happened to be a café that specialized in chili. Cause and effect? At any rate, he bought a bowl of the stuff, ate it standing up, along with the bag of chips that went with it, then downed three antacids and chased it all with a mug of scalding black coffee.

Thunder rumbled like a thousand-car freight train, but the sky to the west was finally showing a few patches of blue. A few flights were already starting to move as he found a seat as close to the boarding gate as possible.

Where the hell are you, Daisy? What’s with the phones?

If she’d already closed up the house and moved to town, where would she stay? Last he’d heard, her apartment was still shut down. The only motel was probably out of business for good if the sign on the door was anything to go by. He hoped to hell she hadn’t left Muddy Landing, because one way or another he was going to find her even if he had to go door to door.

“How long does it take you to read one page, if you don’t mind my asking?” Marty glanced up from the financial page of the Virginian-Pilot and waited for her friend to show some sign of life. Daisy had been staring at the same page of a paperback book for the past five minutes.

“Sorry. Did you say something?”

“Honey, he’ll be back. I’ll bet you anything you can name he’s been trying to reach you.”

Daisy gave up and laid the book aside. “I’ve been right here all day. My phone hasn’t rung. You didn’t bring me a letter. Shall I go into a trance and see if anything comes through on the ESP channel?”

“Did you call the registry about another assignment?”

Daisy nodded, her gaze still unfocused.

“Well?”

“Anytime I’m ready. Multiple sclerosis in E. City, problem pregnancy in Whitehall Estates, recovering suicide attempt near Point Harbor.”

“Take the pregnancy,” Marty advised.

“I said I’d check back in a couple of days.” Daisy yawned, stood and stretched. It was barely eight o’clock, but she felt as if she’d been drugged. She’d slept until almost nine this morning and hadn’t done anything worth mentioning all day.

“You wanna hear my big news, or are you going to flake out on me again?”

But before either of them could speak, the phone rang. Marty reached for it, never taking her eyes off her friend. “Owens’s residence,” she said briskly.

And then a smile started in her eyes and spread to her generous mouth. “Well, hi there, cowboy. Where you calling from?”

Daisy refused to pack up and move out entirely, but at least she threw a few things into her overnight bag. Kell took that as a good sign. He’d called from the airport, having run through every Owens in the phone book with M as either a first or second initial. By the time he reclaimed his car from long-term parking and drove all the way to Muddy Landing, following Marty’s directions, nearly two hours had passed.

Grinning like a jack-o’-lantern, Marty had invited him in and offered him her sofa, a pillow and blanket. “It’s nearly eleven, you don’t need to drive any farther tonight.”

Kell had thanked her, knowing damn well she didn’t expect him to take her up on it. “Thanks, but I rented a cottage at Southern Shores.”

“A whole cottage?”

“Yeah, well…I didn’t have much choice. Sounds like things are in a pretty big mess down there.”

Even after agreeing to hear him out, Daisy wasn’t saying a word, just standing there, arms crossed over her chest as she looked from one to the other. Kell didn’t want to think he was responsible for those shadows under her eyes. At least she’d agreed to hear what he had to say.

Finally he managed to escape. Taking her bag, he steered her out to the car, stashed her bag and settled her in the passenger seat, all without a word being spoken between them. Truth was, he didn’t know where to start. He only knew that the reason he was back had nothing to do with any relatives, dead or alive. He had a feeling she knew it, too.

“So…you closed up the place,” he ventured as they headed south on Highway 168.

“I understand the historical society sent somebody out there yesterday—or maybe the day before. And guess what? An anonymous benefactor just donated enough to do almost everything that needs doing. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“To do what? Clean up the yard? Fix that section of gutter?”

“Oh, much more than that. Egbert said they’re already looking for someone who does slate roofs.” As long as they talked about the house, Daisy told herself, she could handle it. She didn’t want to be here, she really didn’t, but her head and her heart had been fighting it out ever since he’d left. Her heart had evidently won.

If he wanted to sleep with her again, she probably would because she had nothing more to lose.

Nothing she hadn’t already lost.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said as he tooled along the dark highway at five miles over the speed limit. “The place is going to need a lot more fixing up. How well funded is this outfit?”

“The historical society? Not very, according to Egbert. I think there’s a lot of squabbling among the members over which places to take on. There’s a school and a couple of churches that are even older than Harvey’s house, but they’re probably too far gone to restore. Besides, this mysterious donor specified the funds have to be spent on Harvey’s house.” She shot him a significant look.

Ignoring it, he slowed up for a stoplight near Barco. “You hungry?”

“Mmm-mmm.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

She sighed audibly and said, “Actually, it’s a yes. I didn’t eat supper tonight.”

“Me, neither. I had a bowl of chili before I left home. Remind me not to eat chili for a while.”

“Why’d you rent a whole cottage. Are you expecting company?”

Lights from the dashboard glinted on his teeth as he grinned at her. “Frankly, I had to pull in a favor to get the place at short notice. As for company, I consider her more like…family.”

Daisy sucked in her breath. Charlene or whatever her name was? Surely he hadn’t—he wouldn’t—

Suddenly he swerved into a convenience store. “What’s it going to be? This place has pretty good subs and some other stuff.”

Kell ordered a triple-dip cone for himself and a six-inch Italian sub for Daisy. She said, “Is that all you’re having? I thought you said you’d skipped supper?”

“Yeah, well…I told you about the chili. I thought this might put out the fire.”

“Oh, Kell…” She shook her head, her look all but saying, “You need a keeper.”

By the time they reached the monster beach house, Daisy knew she was fighting a losing battle. Of all things, she found herself wanting to manage his diet—not to mention everything else in his life. She tried to tell herself it was the nurse in her, not the woman, but she knew better.

The cottage had five bedrooms, five baths and a hot tub. Kell tried hard not to show it as he led her from bedroom to bedroom, offering her a choice, but he was suffering.

“Oh, anyplace, it doesn’t matter,” she said. “Now, let’s take care of what ails you.” He cocked an eyebrow and attempted a careless grin. It didn’t quite come off as convincing. “How long have you had an ulcer?”

“Hey, it’s not a full-fledged ulcer. The doc just said it might help to cut down on stress and run a few miles every day.”

“He didn’t say anything about your diet?” Daisy opened her overnight bag and took out her toiletry case.

“He said whatever I liked was bad for what ailed me.”

“I’ll bet, seeing how you season your food. It’s probably stress, though. Any idea where it comes from? Your sporting goods store? Your social life? Your—”

“Try my love life.”

Her hands froze in the act of opening a bottle of antacid. “No thanks.”

“Daisy, let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Dancing around an issue is stressful, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Are we dancing?”

“You wanna dance?”

She looked at the blue bottle she was holding, wondering if her own nerves could get any tighter. “Do you?” she whispered.

“With you? I’ll dance as long as it takes, but right now I can think of something else I’d much rather do.”

He stood there, looking much the way he had the first time she’d ever seen him. Feet planted apart, thumbs hooked under his low waistband so that his fingers were angled toward his fly. He looked tired, even pale, but the tiredness in no way affected the intensity of his eyes.

I came, I saw, so what the hell—I conquered.

He opened his arms and Daisy walked into them. In a cold, empty beach castle, with no music other than the muted roar of the nearby surf, he began to sway. Daisy swayed with him, inhaling the aphrodisiac of leather, healthy male skin and whatever soap he’d last bathed with—something green and piney. Her breathing was rapidly becoming erratic, but then, so was his.

“The bed’s not made,” he said, his voice registering on her sensitized body the way it had from the first.

“Is there a blanket?”

“Will we need one?”

“Probably not,” she murmured, making no move to resist as he led her toward a king-size bed with a view of the ocean that neither of them was in any condition to appreciate.

Naked in seconds, she dived under the quilted spread and watched as he unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his black flannel shirt and unfastened his fly. “Don’t forget your boots,” she reminded him.

She snickered. He looked chagrined for a moment, then he laughed. “Be a hell of a time to trip and break a leg.”

“Don’t you dare,” she whispered as he stripped off the last of his clothes and came down beside her.

“Later let’s try out the hot tub,” he said as he lifted and swung her over his thighs. “It’s been a long day. You care to do the honors?”

“Oh, my…”

Daisy did the honors—at least, it started out that way. In the rough-and-tumble tangle of bare limbs that followed, with panting laughter interspersed with mind-blowing pleasure, neither of them could find the energy to try the hot tub.

Kell had a few scars—old injuries and surgeries from his playing days. One on his back that occasionally gave him trouble even now. Daisy explored them all, first with her fingertips, then with her lips. She didn’t ask questions about them, which was a good thing, because he wasn’t sure he could have spoken if his life had depended on it.

He sucked in his breath as she grew bolder. For a woman who was supposed to know all about anatomy, she was surprisingly awkward. Touchingly, endearingly awkward. When she leaned over to kiss her way down his throbbing body, he nearly lost it.

Back, don’t give out on me now.

And then it was his turn. Leaning over her, he took it slow and easy, touching, exploring—finding and exploiting all the secret places on her body that set her off, made her close her eyes and moan. She was hot and wet and tight, and that alone nearly catapulted him over the edge. Carefully he positioned himself and eased inside her. Eyes closed, fists knotted, he braced himself to hold out as long as it took to bring her along with him.

It was going to be a close race. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew. She clutched his shoulders and whimpered sounds of protest.

He thrust again, shaken to his very depths by the avalanche that threatened to consume him. Trembling, he lowered his mouth to taste her lips again. Sweet, sweet addictive…

He willed himself to hold back—not rush her. But when he felt her tighten around him, any chance of holding back fled. They were in the race together from start to finish. And in this particular race, there were no losers.

A few hours later hunger drove them on a pilgrimage to locate the kitchen. “My friend had the heat turned on and the refrigerator stocked. I guess he didn’t tell the rental agency to have the bed made up, not knowing how many people would be staying here with me.”

“You have a friend here at the beach?”

“Actually, he lives in D.C. now, but he owns a few cottages between here and there.”

“Nice friends.”

“Yep.”

They had made the bed together sometime between the second and the third time they’d made love. Afterward they had showered together, which had taken another half hour. Kell had insisted on covering every inch of her body with suds, then massaging them into her skin.

“Can’t afford to miss a place,” he’d rumbled, on his knees in the eight-foot-square shower stall as he traced a path from her toes to her inner thigh. “Always pays to work the kinks out after a game. Trainer told me that my first year in the minors.”

“Not like this, I hope.” Leaning against the tile wall, she’d had trouble breathing, much less speaking. “Ke-ell?” Her voice ended in a squeak as his hands toyed with her damp curls, then slipped inside her.

This time he braced himself in the corner and lifted her until she was clutching his shoulders, then he lowered her slowly until he was inside her. She bit his shoulder, trying not to cry out. They were both trembling with the effort to make it last, but there was no holding back.

It was a wonder they hadn’t slipped and broken something. Moments later, Kell slowly settled with her still on his lap.

The scent of ginger lilies and sex permeated the air as the water began to grow cooler. Evidently, not even a million-dollar cottage had an endless supply of hot water.

“Did we ever get around to talking?” Daisy murmured now as she filled the coffeemaker.

“We never got around to a lot of things, but we will. I’ve got this place for two weeks. If it takes any longer than that, we might have to move somewhere else, but I’m not leaving until you promise…”

“Until I promise what?” Her heart lodged in her throat.

Don’t be a fool—don’t get your hopes up. Just because he came back for his car…

“That you’ll marry me. That you could learn to love me enough to pack up and leave your friends and your home and whatever else you’ve got around here. That you—”

Daisy placed a finger over his lips, but there was no escaping his eyes. They were openly pleading. “Oh, Kell—oh, yes!”

“Yes what?” he whispered when she moved her hand so that she was cupping his face. Her thumb traced the shallow crease in his chin. He needed a shave, either that or he needed to let his beard grow out.

“With or without, I’ll love you,” she said, feeling giddy with relief and sore in places that had never been sore before.

“With or without what?” he asked cautiously.

“Your beard. Whatever. Kell, don’t you know how much I love you? Couldn’t you tell?”

“I hoped. I wasn’t sure. Love’s not something I’ve had any experience with. If you want to know the truth, I was afraid I’d screw up.”

“You did. Next time you walk out on me, at least wake me up and tell me you’re going so I can ask questions if I want to.”

So then he told her about Clarice and Moxie, and about a few other kids and the sporting goods shop in town where he trained them, and the baseball camp he was building on a ranch out in the panhandle where he hoped to retire in a few years and concentrate on the ball camp.

By the time he finished, they were lying in bed sharing turkey, cheese, bacon and apple sandwiches and a quart of full-fat milk.

“If all those boys are going to be living out there—at the ranch, I mean—then it seems to me you need a nurse in residence.”

“Can you do that? Practice in another state, I mean?”

She set her plate on the bedside table, took his and stacked it on top, then curled into his arms again. “I expect it can be arranged,” she murmured. “As long as I have to keep you from ruining your digestive system, I think I can manage to look after a few children, mop up their bloody noses and doctor their cuts and bruises.”

He could have told her it might be more than that, but he figured she would learn soon enough.

Sighing, she stroked his naked chest. Neither of them was wearing any clothes. And while it wasn’t exactly a new experience for Kell, he had a feeling making sandwiches, checking out the wine supply and the view, all without a stitch on, had been a first for Daisy.

Just as his eyes began to close, she twisted a curl of chest hair around her finger and whispered, “You sleepy?”

His body’s response was answer enough.

They looked at each other and both started laughing.

Hey, Mom—Dad—I think I know why you two were laughing….

ISBN: 978-1-4268-7682-0

HER PASSIONATE PLAN B

Copyright © 2005 by Dixie Browning.

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[*]Outer Banks

†Tall, Dark and Handsome

‡The Lawless Heirs

§The Passionate Powers

**Beckett’s Fortune

††Divas Who Dish