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Flirting With Disaster
Sherryl Woods


Opposites attract, but they don’t last.At least that’s what improper Southern belle Maggie Forsythe thinks after being unceremoniously dumped two weeks before getting hitched to a man even her mother approves of. Maggie has never given two figs what anyone thinks, so why is she hiding away from her South Carolina Low Country home?That is until concerned—albeit scheming—friends arrive with three options: One: Sit and mope. Two: Go home to her gallery. Three: Help them build a house for a needy family and make a difference for once. But one look at Maggie, and project foreman Josh Parker knows what kind of sweet-tea-swilling debutante he’s dealingwith. Even if she does know her way around a circular saw.Sure, they have enough sparks to ignite a bonfire, but he’s corn bread to her caviar. And if there’s anything he’s learned from growing up broke, it’s better to aim low than risk everything and lose.“Sherryl Woods is a uniquely gifted writer whose deep understanding of human nature is woven into every page. ” — New York Times bestselling author Carla Neggers












PRAISE FOR


SHERRYL WOODS

“Strong supporting characters, a vivid sense of place, and a strong appreciation for the past add to the appeal of Woods’ contemporary romance.”

—Booklist on The Backup Plan

“Clever characters and snappy, realistic dialogue add zest … making this a delightful read.”

—Publishers Weekly on About that Man

A “gripping, emotionally wrenching but satisfying tale.”

—Booklist on Flamingo Diner

“Sherryl Woods gives her characters depth, intensity and the right amount of humor.”

—Romantic Times

“Energetic pacing, snappy dialogue and an appealing romantic hero.”

—Publishers Weekly on After Tex


Dear Reader,

Usually when I write connected books, I plan in great detail well in advance, but when I came to the end of The Backup Plan, I suddenly realized that Maggie needed to have her own story. Here was a bright, spirited, successful woman who’d had the world’s worst luck with men, a mother who considered her a failure at love, and a safe, predictable ex-fiancé who’d called off their wedding at the last minute. Maggie’s self-esteem was pretty much trashed.

And so she ran … straight to a beach house to try to get a grip on her life. When three people show up to save her from herself—including her ex-fiancé—Maggie’s pretty sure that her future is about as bleak as it can get.

Her best friend, though, has a plan … and a man for Maggie.

Josh Parker has issues of his own, including a mother whose maternal instincts leave a whole lot to be desired. What fun to have this strong, sexy man try to battle his feelings for Maggie and wrestle with all those old issues when his exuberant, offbeat mother zips in from Las Vegas after yet another disastrous marriage!

Once I had the right guy for Maggie, the rest of the story came together the second I saw the Reba McEntire commercial for Habitat for Humanity. Every single time I see it, I get choked up and think about all the families this wonderful organization has helped to move into their first real homes. It’s a church that’s building a home this time, but the philosophy of giving people a fresh chance is the same.

I hope you’ll enjoy Maggie and Josh’s story and that you’ll have fun catching up with Dinah and Cord and meeting Amanda and Caleb. You guessed it! Those two will have their own remarkable story in Waking Up in Charleston, coming out in May 2006.

All best,

Sherryl




Also by SHERRYL WOODS


THE BACKUP PLAN

DESTINY UNLEASHED

FLAMINGO DINER

ASK ANYONE

ABOUT THAT MAN

ANGEL MINE

AFTER TEX


Flirting

With

Disaster



Sherryl Woods






www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)




1


At six, running away from home had been a scary proposition. It should have been easier and less traumatic at thirty-two.

It wasn’t, Maggie concluded with regret after three weeks in hiding. Oh, the logistics were easier, but the emotional wear and tear were about the same.

Way back then, lugging a Barbie suitcase packed with Oreos and her favorite stuffed toys, Maggie had set out to show her parents that she didn’t need them anymore. But by the time she’d wandered a few blocks away from their Charleston home onto unfamiliar streets, and by the time darkness had closed in with its eerie shadows, she’d begun to wonder if she hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

Still, she’d been far too stubborn to consider backing down. She’d climbed onto a wicker rocking chair deep in the shadows of a deserted front porch and, tightly clutching her tattered Winnie the Pooh, gone to sleep. Her frantic parents had found her there the next morning, thanks to a call from the owner of the house, who’d been alerted to her presence by his son. Leave it to terrible Tommy Henderson to rat her out. No wonder no one in first grade liked the little tattletale.

It seemed more than a bit ironic that twenty-six years later, Maggie was running away from home again and that she was still trying to prove things to her parents. The only difference this time was that Tommy Henderson was nowhere around. Last she’d heard, he was working somewhere overseas as a CIA operative for the United States government. At least he’d put his capacity for sneakiness to good use.

Sitting in a rocker on the front porch of a tiny rented beach house on Sullivan’s Island, Maggie sipped her third glass of sweetened iced tea and watched the fireflies flicker in their endless game of tag in the evening sky. The air was still and thick with humidity, the night quiet and lonely. Even though she was all grown up, in many ways she was just as scared now as she had been at six, and just as stubbornly determined to stay away till she made sense of things.

She couldn’t recall exactly what had sent her fleeing into the night back then, but now it was all about a man, of course. What else could possibly drive a reasonably sane and mature woman to run away from her home and business and fill her with enough self-doubt to keep her on a shrink’s couch for years? She didn’t miss the irony that it was, in fact, a shrink who’d turned her world upside down.

Safe, solid, dependable Warren Blake, Ph.D., had been the kind of respectable, charming man her family had always wanted for her. Her father had approved of him. Predictably, her mother had adored him. Warren didn’t make waves. He didn’t have any pierced or tattooed body parts. He could carry on an intelligent conversation. And he was Southern. What more could they have asked, after the parade of unlikely candidates Maggie had flaunted in front of them for years?

Basking in all that parental approval for the first time in her life, Maggie had convinced herself she loved Warren and wanted to marry him. The wedding date had been set.

And then, with the invitations already in the mail, Warren had called the whole thing off, saying he had come to his senses and realized their marriage would be a mistake. He’d done it so gently, at first Maggie hadn’t even understood what he was trying to say. But when the full import had finally sunk in, she’d been furious, then devastated. Here she’d finally done the right thing, made the right choice, and what had she gotten in return? Total humiliation.

She’d packed her bags—Louis Vuitton this time—and run away from home again. In terms of distance, it really wasn’t that much farther than she’d run all those years ago, but Sullivan’s Island was light-years away from Charleston in terms of demands on her shattered psyche. She could sit on this porch, swatting lazily at mosquitoes, and never once have to make a decision that she’d come to regret the way she regretted her decision to get engaged to Warren.

She could eat tomato sandwiches on white bread slathered with Miracle Whip for breakfast and an entire pint of peach ice cream for lunch. She could play the radio at top volume and dance around the living room at any hour of the day or night, if she could summon the energy for it. She could go for a swim without waiting a whole hour after eating, and she could track sand through the house, if she felt like it.

In fact, she’d been doing all that for a while now and, she was forced to admit, it was getting on her nerves. She was a social creature. She liked people. She missed her art gallery in Charleston. She was almost ready to start seeing her friends again, at least in small doses.

But she’d made up her mind that she wasn’t going home until she’d come to grips with why the devil she’d been so determined to marry Warren in the first place. There had to be a reason she’d talked herself into being in love with a man who was the complete opposite of every other male she’d ever dated in her life. When she was willing to give Warren credit for anything, she conceded that he’d only saved them both a lot of misery. So why had the broken engagement sent her packing?

It wasn’t the humiliation. Not entirely, anyway. Maggie had never given two figs what anyone thought of her, unlike her mother, who obsessed about everyone’s opinion and had been horrified by her daughter’s broken engagement.

It certainly wasn’t a broken heart. Her ego might have been a little bruised, but her heart had been just fine. In fact, in a very short time she’d found herself breathing a sigh of relief. Not that she intended to admit that to Warren. Let the man squirm.

So, if it wasn’t her heart or her pride that had been wounded, what was it? Maybe nothing more than watching a last desperate dream crash at her feet, leaving her with no more dreams, no more options.

On that disturbing note, Maggie dragged herself out of the rocker and went inside to retrieve another pint of ice cream—chocolate-chocolate chip this time—from the freezer. At this rate she’d be the size of a blimp by the time she decided to go back to Charleston. She shrugged off the possibility and dipped her spoon into the decadent treat. If she never intended to date again, what difference did it make if she was the size of a truck? Or a blimp?

She flipped on the radio and found an oldies station. She preferred country, but wallowing in love-gone-wrong songs at this particular moment in her life struck her as overkill.

She was dancing her way back toward the porch when she spotted three people on the other side of the screen door. Unfortunately, even in the dark, she knew exactly who they were—her best friend, Dinah Davis Beaufort, Dinah’s new husband, Cordell, and the traitorous Warren.

If she’d had the energy, she would have bolted for the back door. As it was, she resigned herself to greeting them like the proper Southern belle she’d been raised to be. She could hear her mother’s words echoing in her head. Company, even unwanted company, was always to be welcomed politely.

But even as she forced a smile and opened the door, she also vowed that the next time she ran away from home, she was going to choose someplace on the other side of the world where absolutely no one could find her.

As interventions went, this one pretty much sucked. Not that Maggie knew a whole lot about interventions, never having been addicted to much of anything—with the possible exception of truly lousy choices in men. She was fairly certain, though, that having only three people sitting before her with anxious expressions—one of them the very man responsible for her current state of mind—was not the way this sort of thing ought to work.

Then, again, Warren should know. He’d probably done hundreds of them for his alcohol- or drug-addicted clients. Hell, maybe he’d even done a few for women he’d dumped, like Maggie. Maybe that was how he’d built up his practice, the louse.

“Magnolia Forsythe, are you listening to a word we’re saying?” Dinah Davis Beaufort demanded impatiently, a worried frown etched on her otherwise perfect face.

Dinah and Maggie had been friends forever. It was one reason, possibly the only reason, Maggie didn’t summon the energy to slap Dinah for using her much-hated given name. Magnolia, for goodness’ sakes! What had her parents been thinking?

Maggie regarded her best friend—her former best friend, she decided in that instant—with a scowl. “No.” She didn’t want to hear anything these three had to say. Every one of them had played a role in sending her into this depression. She doubted they had any advice that would drag her out of it.

“I told you she was going to hate this,” Cordell Beaufort said.

Of everyone there, Cord looked the most relaxed, the most normal, Maggie concluded. In fact, he had the audacity to give her a wink. Because Maggie’s futile attempt to seduce him before Dinah’s return to town last year from a foreign assignment was another reason she was in this dark state of mind, she ignored the wink and concentrated on identifying all the escape routes from this room. Not that a woman should have to flee her own damn living room to get any peace. She ought to be able to kick the well-meaning intruders out, but—her mother’s stern admonitions be damned—she’d tried that not five minutes after their arrival and not a one of them had budged. Perhaps she ought to consider telling them whatever they wanted to hear so they’d go away.

“I don’t care if she does hate it,” Dinah said, her expression grim. “We have to convince her to stop moping around in this house. Look at her. She hasn’t even combed her hair or put on makeup.” She surveyed Maggie with a practiced eye. “And what is that she’s wearing? It looks as if she chopped off her jeans with gardening shears.”

“I’m at the beach, for heaven’s sake! And stop talking about me as if I’ve left the room,” Maggie snapped.

Dinah ignored Maggie and went right on addressing Cord. “It’s not healthy. She needs to come home. She needs to get out and do something. This project of ours is perfect.”

“In your opinion,” Cord chided. “Maggie might not agree.”

Dinah frowned. “Well, if she doesn’t want to help us with that, then she at least ought to remember that she has a business to run, a life to live.”

Maggie felt the last thread holding her temper in check snap. “What life is that?” Maggie inquired. “The one I had before Warren here decided I wasn’t his type and dumped me two weeks before our wedding? Or the humiliating one I have now, facing all my friends and trying to explain how I got it so wrong? Or perhaps you’re referring to my pitiful and unsuccessful attempt to seduce Cord before you waltzed back into town from overseas and claimed him for yourself?”

Of all of them, only Warren had the grace to look chagrined. “Maggie, you know it would never have worked with us,” he explained with great patience, just as he had on the night he’d first broken the news that the wedding was off. “I’m just the one who had the courage to say it.”

“Well, you picked a damn fine time to figure it out,” she said, despite the fact that she’d long since conceded to herself that he’d done exactly the right thing. “What kind of psychologist are you that you couldn’t recognize something like our complete incompatibility a year before the wedding or even six months before the wedding?”

Warren regarded her with an unblinking gaze. “We were only engaged for a few weeks, Maggie,” he reminded her in that same annoyingly patient tone. “You were the one who was in a rush to get married. Neither one of us had much time to think.”

“I was in love with you!” she practically shouted, irritated by his determination to be logical when she was an emotional wreck. “Why would I want to waste time on a long engagement?”

Warren’s tolerant expression never wavered. It was one of the things she’d grown to hate about him. He wouldn’t fight with her. He was always so damn reasonable. It might be a terrific trait in a shrink, but in a boyfriend it had been infuriating, especially for a woman who enjoyed a good argument.

“Maggie, as much as I would love to think that you fell head over heels in love with me so quickly we both know the rush was all about keeping up with Dinah and Cord. The minute they got married, you started to panic. You hated being left behind and I was handy.”

“You’re wrong,” she protested stubbornly, not liking the picture he was painting.

“Am I?” he asked mildly. “We’d already stopped seeing each other after just a few mostly disastrous dates, but right in the middle of Cord and Dinah’s wedding reception, you decided we should give it another chance.”

“Because my family adored you, because everyone said you were perfect for me. I was being open-minded,” she countered. “Isn’t that what the sensible women you so admire do?”

Cord tried unsuccessfully to swallow a chuckle. Warren and Dinah scowled at him.

“I have to say, I think Warren is right,” Dinah chimed in. “I think you latched on to Warren as if he were the last life raft in the ocean.”

“Oh, what do you know?” Maggie retorted. “You and Cord are so into each other you barely know anyone else is around.”

“We’re here, aren’t we?” Dinah asked, completely unfazed by Maggie’s nasty tone. “We can’t be that self-absorbed.”

“How did you find me, by the way? I thought I’d covered my tracks pretty well.” The truth was, she hadn’t tried all that hard. In fact, in her state of self-pity, she hadn’t been able to imagine anyone caring enough to come after her.

“I’m a journalist,” Dinah reminded her. “I know how to make phone calls. Besides, I know you. I knew you’d never go too far from home. Charleston is in your blood.”

“More’s the pity,” Maggie grumbled. She really did need to broaden her horizons. Maybe that was what was wrong with her life. She’d never had any desire to be anyplace except South Carolina’s Low Country. Maybe if she’d traveled the world the way Dinah had during her career as a foreign correspondent for a TV network, Maggie would have discovered some other place where she could be perfectly happy. At least it would have gotten her out from under her mother’s judgmental gaze.

“Do you really want to talk about the pros and cons of living in Charleston?” Dinah inquired tartly.

“Not particularly,” Maggie said.

“Then let’s focus on getting your life back on track. Moping around out here all by yourself is not you, Maggie.”

“I’m not moping,” Maggie retorted. “I’m on vacation.”

“Oh, please. You were halfway through that pint of ice cream when we walked in,” Dinah responded. “That’s moping. Believe me, I know all the signs. It’s obvious you’re in trouble and we want to help.”

“I really don’t need the three of you sitting here with these gloomy expressions on your faces trying to plan out my life. Hell, Dinah, you’re the one who talked Warren into going out with me in the first place. Considering how things turned out, I should hate you for that.”

In fact, she was pretty darn irritated about it. If it hadn’t been for Dinah’s meddling, Maggie would never in a million years have fallen, however halfheartedly, for a man like Warren Blake. Rock-steady and dependable might suit a lot of women, but such traits had always bored Maggie to tears. She preferred dark, dangerous and sexy. Men like Cord Beaufort, as a matter of fact.

If she were being totally honest, she’d have to admit she’d known all along that with Warren, she was settling for someone safe. He might not rock her world, but he’d never hurt her, either. As it turned out, she’d been wrong. He had hurt her, though mostly it was her ego that was bruised. If a man like Warren couldn’t truly love her, who would?

That was what she’d been pondering in her Sullivan’s Island hideaway for a few weeks now. If she wasn’t interesting enough, sexy enough or lovable enough for Warren, then she might as well resign herself to spinsterhood. He was her last chance. Her sure thing. Sort of the way Bobby Beaufort, Cord’s sweet, but dull-as dishwater brother, had been Dinah’s backup plan till her hormones and good sense had interceded.

Even as Maggie was struck by that notion, she realized she should have seen the handwriting on the wall. Wasn’t she the one who’d told Dinah that safe was never going to be enough? If it wasn’t good enough for Dinah, why had she, Maggie, ever thought it would work for her? They’d always been like two peas in a pod when it came to choosing between conventional and unconventional.

“Mind if I say something?” Cord asked, his gaze filled with surprising compassion. He spoke in that slow, lazy drawl that had once sent shivers down Maggie’s spine till she’d realized he’d never want anyone but Dinah. She’d learned to ignore the attraction and look in other directions. Warren, unfortunately, had been in the vicinity.

Maggie shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Here’s the way I see it,” he began. “Nothing’s stopping you from sitting in this cozy little beach house all the live-long day, if that’s what you want to do. I’m sure your art and antiques gallery can pretty much run itself, thanks to those competent employees you’ve hired. And if it doesn’t, so what? You’ve got a nice little trust fund from your daddy. You don’t need to do a thing.”

Maggie bristled. She’d never liked thinking of herself as a spoiled little rich girl who didn’t need to work for a living. She’d poured heart and soul into Images, a high-end shop that catered to Charleston’s wealthier citizens and the tourists who visited the city’s historic district. She’d never treated it like a hobby, and had taken pride in its success. She also felt a certain amount of perverse satisfaction just knowing that it drove her mother crazy to think of her daughter being in “trade,” as she put it. Juliette Forsythe should have lived in some earlier century.

As for her employees, Maggie didn’t know where Cord had gotten the idea they were competent. She’d be lucky if they didn’t run the place into bankruptcy. Although, until right this second with Cord taunting her, she hadn’t much cared.

But if Cord was aware of her growing indignation, he gave no indication. “Maggie’s a smart woman,” he continued mildly, aiming his words at Dinah and Warren and leaving Maggie to draw her own conclusions. “This has obviously been a trying time for her. I think we should let her decide for herself how she wants to spend her days. She can go back to work running her business, if that’s what matters to her. She can come on out and help us with our project and make a real difference in someone’s life. Or she can sit right here and feel sorry for herself. It’s her choice. I think once we clear out and give her some breathing room, she’ll make the right decision.”

Maggie saw the trap at once. If she did what she wanted to do and hung around here wallowing in self-pity and Häagen-Daz ice cream, they’d worry, but they’d let her do it and they wouldn’t think any the less of her, because they loved her. But in her heart, she’d see herself for the ridiculously self-indulgent idiot she was being.

She’d lost a man. So what? Warren wasn’t the first and undoubtedly he wouldn’t be the last, despite her current vow to avoid all males from here to eternity. Leave it to a man as sneaky and surprisingly insightful as Cordell to appeal to her floundering self-respect.

“Okay, okay, I get it. Tell me again about this stupid project,” she said grudgingly.

Cord, bless his devious little heart, bit back a grin. “We’re going to be building a house for someone who needs one. The church’s congregation got the idea, a benefactor donated the land, and the preacher asked me to put together a volunteer construction crew. We’ll be working mostly on weekends, since that’s when people are available. Dinah and her mama are in charge of raising money for whatever building supplies we can’t get donated.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Maggie asked suspiciously.

“What you’re told,” Dinah said with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Same as me. It’ll be a refreshing change for us. At least that’s what Cord says. We’ll be hammering and painting right alongside everyone else.”

Maggie turned her gaze on Warren. “And you?” she asked.

“That’s up to you,” he replied. “I said I’d help, but I’ll stay away if you want me to, Maggie. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Maggie wasn’t sure Warren had any essential skills for building a house, so sending him away might not be much of a loss, but why bother? Maybe it was time to show all of Charleston that she was holding up just fine after her broken engagement. It was past time she held her head up high and behaved like the strong, independent woman she’d always considered herself to be.

“Do whatever you want to do,” she told Warren with as much indifference as she could muster.

“Then you’ll help?” Dinah asked.

“I’ll help,” Maggie agreed. “If I don’t, who knows what sort of place you’ll build? Everyone knows I’m the one with taste in this crowd.”

“We’re building a three-bedroom bungalow with the basic necessities for a single mom with three kids,” Cord warned. “Not a mansion. Let’s not lose sight of that.”

“You’re building a house,” Maggie retorted emphatically. “I’ll turn it into a home.”

But just as she uttered the words, Maggie spotted the satisfied glint in Dinah’s eyes and wondered if she wasn’t making the second mistake she’d made that day. The first had been opening the door to these three.




2


The blessed ceiling fan was making so much noise Josh couldn’t even hear himself think. Normally that would be downright terrific, but he was sitting on the edge of his motel-room bed, facing down his boss and his boss’s drop-dead-gorgeous wife, who was trying valiantly to pretend that this sleazy dump was a palace. They all knew better.

Josh raked a hand through his hair and tried not to stare at Dinah Davis’s elegant, long legs. Dinah Davis Beaufort, he reminded himself sternly. He had a hunch if his gaze lingered one second too long, Cord would punch him out and forget all about whatever scheme had brought the two of them over here at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning.

Which might not be a bad thing, Josh realized. He didn’t like that matching gleam in their eyes one damn bit.

“Why exactly are you here?” he asked, wishing like hell he hadn’t had that fourth beer the night before. It had knocked him out so he could sleep, but it was muddying his thought processes now and something told him he was going to need all his wits about him before this conversation was over.

“I need you to do me a favor,” Cord said.

“A huge favor,” Dinah amended.

Josh regarded both of them suspiciously. He turned his gaze on Dinah, since he had this gut-sick feeling she was the one who’d come up with this huge favor. Cord was a businesslike sort who laid things on the line, said what he needed and then left his crew to get the work done. Dinah was sneaky … or clever, depending on your point of view. Her mere presence here was enough to fill Josh with dread.

“I am not going out with one of your friends,” Josh announced, since that was always what women seemed to want from him. They assumed that if he was single, he was lonely. He wasn’t, at least not in the way that made him accept blind dates intended to lead to something serious and permanent. In fact, he’d had enough experience with the female population to last him a lifetime. He was currently dedicating himself to a life of celibacy. Of course, he’d only been at it a week and it was already getting on his nerves, so the odds weren’t great he’d stick with it. Still, permanency was absolutely, positively out of the question, and that was the only thing any friend of Dinah’s was likely to be interested in.

“Of course not,” Dinah said sweetly. “I would never dream of imposing on you like that, Josh. I don’t know you well enough to presume to know your taste in women.”

Even though he’d only encountered Dinah a few times in his life, Josh knew for a fact she only laid on that thick, syrupy accent when she was lying through her teeth. Her mama was the same way. He’d run into Dorothy Davis a few times when he’d helped out with the renovations Beaufort Construction was doing at Covington Plantation, her pet historic preservation project. She’d always poured on enough syrup to send a man into a diabetic coma just before she moved in for the kill. Watching her work on Cord had given Josh all the lessons he needed to know to watch his backside around the Davis women.

“What, then?” he inquired cautiously.

“Actually it’s going to be a real challenge, something downright rewarding,” Cord said in what sounded like an overly optimistic bit of spin. “We’re going to be building a house for a particular family and I need you to oversee the project. I’ll keep you on the company payroll, but everyone else will be volunteer labor.”

“You don’t build houses,” Josh said, trying to get a grasp on what Cord was saying. “You do historic renovation. So do I.”

Cord’s lips twitched. “I’d say we both have enough skill to build a house from the ground up if we put our minds to it. Besides, this is a one-shot deal. I’m not asking you to take on an entire development in the suburbs.”

Josh still couldn’t hide his bemusement. “I don’t get it. Why me? For that matter, how did you get sucked into this?”

Cord cast a glance at his wife, which answered one question, then he leveled a look straight into Josh’s eyes. “I want you on this because the Atlanta renovations are finished and there’s nothing going on over there till we get that new deal finalized. The Covington renovations are almost done. I need to finish up out there if we’re going to keep my mother-in-law happy. She’s got some big gala scheduled in a month to show it off, and if every little detail isn’t just right, she’ll have my hide. You’ve got the time for this right now. I don’t.”

“I do historic renovations,” Josh reminded him again. “I don’t build cute little houses with amateurs.”

“You do if that’s what I need you to do,” Cord reminded him mildly, pulling rank.

“It’s a bad idea,” Josh argued. In fact, it was a lousy idea in ways too numerous to mention. He settled on one. “It’s a waste of my skills. I should be helping you out at Covington. Then you’ll be done that much sooner.”

“Hey, come on, pal,” Cord cajoled. “It’s a few months out of your life for a good cause. What’s the big deal?”

Josh shuddered. He knew more than most about good causes. For most of his life he’d been on the receiving end of other people’s charity. He hadn’t much liked it. It had reminded him that there was nothing normal about his family, that his dad had disappeared before Josh had needed his first diaper change and that his mom had tried to fill that void with one creep after another. They’d run from cheap motel to cheap motel in more cities than he could count, trying to get away from the worst of the creeps. It was the reason he picked rooms like this one. It reminded him of his so-called homes. That kind of history didn’t exactly qualify him to build anybody’s dream house.

“This is like one of those Habitat for Humanity things?” he asked.

“Exactly like that,” Cord said. “But this is just a one-shot deal being put together by a church in Charleston. One of the parishioners has had a run of real bad luck and the church wants to help her out. They’ve got the land. They’ve got people beating the bushes to get building materials donated. I’m putting together the construction crew and I want you in charge.”

“You say it’s for someone who’s had a run of bad luck. What kind of bad luck?” Josh inquired, despite his intention to nip this whole scheme in the bud.

“A woman with three kids,” Cord said. “Her husband was killed in a car accident and left them with nothing but a mountain of debt. They had to sell their house and move into a cramped apartment. They were about to be evicted from that till the church stepped in and took care of the rent, but they need a bigger place, a home that really belongs to them. Building this will give them a new start in life.” He gave Josh a pointed look. “I’m sure you can relate to that.”

Josh cursed the day he’d spilled his guts to Cord about his lousy childhood. He should have known it would come back to bite him in the butt.

Before Josh could stop her, Dinah whipped out a picture of a pretty, but exhausted-looking woman with three solemn-looking kids. Every one of them appeared beaten down. Unfortunately, just as Cord had guessed, Josh could relate to that. His mother, Nadine, had looked exactly like that way too often. He felt his heart twist. How the hell was he supposed to say no now that he’d looked into those sad, vulnerable eyes that reminded him of her? His mother always bounced back quickly, but something told him this family might not have her resiliency.

“I suppose they’re all going to be underfoot?” he asked, resigned. If there was one thing he was more skittish about than women, it was kids. He didn’t know what to make of them. He sometimes wondered if that was what had sent his father fleeing, the jittery sense that he was in way over his head when he found out Josh was on the way.

“That’s part of the deal,” Cord said. “They have to help, right down to the littlest one.”

“I’m not babysitting a bunch of kids,” Josh declared fiercely. “It’s way too dangerous for them to be anywhere near a construction site.”

“You won’t have to worry about them,” Dinah assured him. “I’ll make sure they’re kept busy and out of your way.”

“And the mother?”

“She’ll do whatever you need her to do, the same as the rest of us,” Dinah promised. “And we’ve already rounded up a lot more volunteers. You’ll have plenty of help.”

“I don’t suppose any of these volunteers will actually know what they’re doing,” Josh said, resigned to his fate.

“We’ll bring in professionals for the plumbing and electrical,” Cord promised him.

Josh sighed. “Great. The house might fall down, but at least the toilets and lights will work.”

“It’s up to you to see that the house doesn’t fall down,” Cord chided. “So, is it a deal?”

“Do I have a choice?” Josh retorted wryly.

“You can always go off and look for another renovation project to fill the time till our deal comes through in Atlanta,” Cord said.

Unfortunately, Josh knew that high-end historic renovation projects were few and far between. He also knew that Cord was better at them than anyone else he’d ever met. He didn’t want to work on some half-baked job for an idiot who barely knew one end of a hammer from the other. He owed Cord for making him foreman of the Atlanta project when a lot of contractors would have turned their backs on a man who’d wandered from place to place as much as he had. Cord had trusted him to stick around and see the job through.

Josh had done that, and now would be the perfect opportunity for him to move on, the way he usually did. But he was damn tired of staking out new turf for a few months, then leaving it behind just when he started to feel comfortable. He’d worked in Atlanta and Charleston for Cord, so he knew his way around in both places. It wasn’t as if he was going to be putting down any roots if he stuck around awhile longer. Nobody in his right mind would put down roots if this dump of a motel room was what he came home to at night.

As long as neither Dinah or Cord had any ulterior motives, Josh couldn’t see much of a downside to staying. Maybe one good deed would make up for some of the miserable stunts he’d pulled in his life. Maybe he’d start to feel better about who he was if he gave something back, instead of living in the lonely isolation that had become a habit as far back as he could remember. People who were always on the run had few genuine friends. Maybe that was what had made Nadine latch on so desperately to anyone who showed her the least bit of kindness.

He gave Dinah a hard look, because she was the one he suspected of not being entirely truthful about her motivations. “This is just about the house, right?”

She beamed at him. “Of course. What else could it possibly be about?”

In Josh’s humble opinion, she sounded just a bit too cheerful. “You tell me,” he pushed. “You don’t have any ideas about me and this single mom, do you?”

“Absolutely not,” she said. “I haven’t even met Amanda yet. That’s her name. Amanda O’Leary. We wanted to get everything in place before we told her what was going on. We didn’t want to get her excited and then have to let her down if we couldn’t make it happen. I’m sure she’s still grieving the loss of her husband, so I seriously doubt she’s looking for a new relationship.”

Josh stared Dinah down, but she never so much as blinked. He turned his gaze on Cord. “Is she telling the truth?”

“Dinah’s a journalist,” Cord said. “She always tells the truth.”

“We’ll see about that,” Josh said, still skeptical.

“You’re saying yes?” Dinah asked eagerly.

“Sure,” Josh said without enthusiasm. “Like Cord said, I’ve got time on my hands. I might as well do something productive with it.”

“You’re an angel,” Dinah declared.

Josh chuckled. “Not even close, darlin’. Not even close.”

Now that she was back in Charleston, Maggie knew she had no choice but to drop in to see her mother. If Juliette Forsythe heard from someone else that her daughter had returned, Maggie would never hear the end of it. It would be added to her already lengthy list of sins.

The Forsythe mansion faced Charleston Harbor, its stately elegance protected by a high wrought-iron fence. The front lawn was perfectly manicured, and in spring azaleas spilled a profusion of pink, white and gaudy magenta blossoms over the landscape. But in July, as it was now, everything was unrelentingly green. Juliette didn’t believe in “tawdry” annuals along the walkways or hanging in pots from the porch ceiling. One brave gardener had edged the walkway with cheerful red geraniums and been fired on the spot for his audacity.

Maggie had timed her visit carefully. Juliette had a standing hair and manicure appointment at 10:30 a.m. Thursdays, so that she would be looking her absolute best when she met her friends for lunch and shopping in the historic district. By arriving at nine forty-five, Maggie knew she would only have to endure a twenty-minute grilling before being dismissed. No one kept Madame Monique waiting, not even Juliette. In fact, the hairdresser was the only person in all of Charleston that Maggie had ever seen intimidate her imperious mother.

“It’s about time you came to see me,” Juliette declared when Maggie walked into her upstairs sitting room, where she was drinking her morning coffee and finishing her raspberry croissant. She was already dressed in a stylish knit suit. A pair of one-carat diamond studs winked at her ears. Her makeup was flawless. Every highlighted blond hair on her head was in place, which seemed to mock the need for the impending salon appointment.

Juliette was fifty-seven, but looked ten years younger, the result of obsessive control of her diet and enough skin-care products to stock a spa gift shop. Her self-absorption might annoy Maggie, but it was simply the way Juliette had been raised. Her duty was to be an asset to her wealthy husband and a doting mother to her children. Unfortunately, there had been only Maggie upon whom to lavish all that attention. Maybe if there had been sons or another daughter to distract Juliette, Maggie wouldn’t have been the focus of so many maternal rules and regulations and would never have felt the need to rebel.

Now Juliette did a disapproving survey of Maggie’s simple red dress and sandals, then sighed before adding, “I thought you’d vanished.”

“Obviously you weren’t too concerned or you’d have hired a search party,” Maggie replied, bending down to give her mother a dutiful peck on the cheek. “How are you? You’re looking well.”

“I’m humiliated, that’s how I am,” Juliette declared. “I can barely hold my head up as a result of that debacle with your wedding.”

“You should be in my shoes,” Maggie retorted, though it was clear the sarcasm went right over her mother’s head. Everything was always about Juliette, how events affected her. By the time Maggie had hit her teens, she’d given up expecting a sympathetic ear.

“You still haven’t said why you haven’t been by,” Juliette complained.

“I’ve been away,” Maggie said, regretting that she’d bothered to rush right over, since it was evident her mother hadn’t been especially worried about her absence.

Juliette looked momentarily startled. “Away? Where? You never said anything about going away.”

“I rented a house on Sullivan’s Island. I’ve been out there for nearly a month now.”

“My heavens, why would you do a thing like that? What if your father and I had needed you in an emergency? Do you ever think of anyone other than yourself, Magnolia?”

“If you’d needed me, I would have known about it,” she said. “I checked my phone messages every day. Since there weren’t any from you, obviously there were no emergencies, so don’t make a big to-do about it now, Mother.”

Juliette regarded her with a familiar expression of dismay. “Sometimes I just don’t know what to make of you.”

Maggie bit back a grin. “Now there’s a news flash,” she muttered under her breath.

Her mother frowned. “What did you say?”

“Nothing important,” Maggie said. “I should run along now. I know you need to get to your appointment and I have to go to the gallery and check on things there. I just wanted you to know I was back.”

Her mother glanced at her watch, obviously torn. “I do need to go, but we really must talk soon, Magnolia.”

“About?”

“This fiasco with Warren.”

“The fiasco with Warren is over. It’s not open for discussion.”

“But I’m sure you could mend fences if you put your mind to it,” Juliette persisted. “He’s a reasonable man. I’m sure he’ll forgive you for whatever you did to upset him.”

“He’ll forgive me?” Maggie said incredulously. “Are you kidding, Mother? I didn’t do anything. He’s the one who called off the wedding. If there’s any groveling to be done, let Warren do it.”

“There it is again,” her mother said accusingly. “That stubborn streak of yours. It’s always been your downfall, Magnolia. If you don’t reconcile with Warren, what will you do?”

“I’ll survive, Mother. In fact, I’ve already gotten involved in an exciting new project that will take up a lot of my time for the rest of the summer. I’ll tell you about it next time I see you. Now, we both really need to get moving.” She leaned down for another quick kiss. “Love you.”

Duty done, Maggie was out the door and down the stairs at a clip an Olympic runner would envy. With her visit to Juliette behind her, life already looked brighter.

Maggie’s improved mood lasted only until she walked into Images and took a good look around at the displays that had been created in her absence. They were chaotic. Of course, she had no one to blame but herself. She was the one who’d gone off and left the decision making to her employees. She could hardly expect a twenty-one-year-old who dressed all in black and had pink streaks in her hair, or an art-school dropout whose mind tended to wander when she wasn’t in front of a canvas, to arrange the gallery with the same expertise and attention to detail that Maggie would. She was probably fortunate that they’d even bothered to uncrate the new shipments and price them.

“You’re back!” Victoria exclaimed when she stirred from reading her book. Judging from the cover, it was something dark and depressing, suitable for a woman in black.

“Indeed, I am,” Maggie said. “I see the new shipments came in.”

“Last week,” Victoria acknowledged. “I didn’t want to touch them, but Ellie said we probably should. The gallery was starting to look kinda empty, like we were going out of business or something.”

“Ellie was exactly right,” Maggie said. “Is there coffee made?”

Victoria stared at her blankly. “Coffee?”

“Yes, coffee. We make it every day in case a customer would like a cup.”

“Oh, I thought it was just for you, and since I didn’t know you were coming back today, I didn’t make any.”

“Never mind. I’ll make it, and as soon as I have a cup you can tell me what business has been like while I’ve been gone.”

“Actually, you’ll need to ask Ellie. I have an appointment at eleven, so she’s coming in early. Since you’re here, I’ll go now so I won’t be late.”

Maggie had always given her employees a lot of flexibility in scheduling, but usually she expected them to work longer than an hour before taking off. “When will you be back?”

Victoria shrugged as if the concept of time was of little importance. “How should I know? It depends on how long Drake can get away.”

“Drake?”

“My boyfriend,” Victoria explained impatiently as if Maggie should know that.

Maggie searched her memory. “I thought your boyfriend was named Lyle.”

“He split, like, three weeks ago, so now I’m seeing Drake.”

“In the middle of a workday?” Maggie said, subtly trying to suggest that there was something inappropriate about that. The notion apparently was utterly foreign to Victoria.

“It’s when he’s free,” she said reasonably. “After work, he has to go home to his wife.”

Maggie stared after Victoria as she fled to keep her “appointment” with her new, married boyfriend. And Juliette thought Maggie made bad choices. Her mother should spend an hour or two with Victoria. Maggie would begin to seem downright traditional after that.

A few minutes later, as Maggie was sipping gratefully on her first cup of very strong coffee, Ellie came in. In comparison to Victoria, she looked thoroughly professional in her tan slacks and white blouse. Her hair might be short and carelessly styled, but it was a perfectly normal shade of golden blond.

“Where’s Victoria?” Ellie asked, obviously startled to find Maggie behind her desk. “You didn’t fire her, did you?”

“No, though the thought has crossed my mind. She went to see Drake.”

Ellie grimaced. “Can you believe it? She’s dating a married man. And he must be having some kind of midlife crisis or something. Why else would he pick somebody as flighty as Victoria? He’s old. He must be thirty-five, at least.”

Maggie herself had issues with men that age. Warren was thirty-five. “Maybe you could sit here and tell me what’s been going on. Has business been good?”

Ellie looked vaguely disconcerted by the question. “I guess,” she said eventually. “The deposit slips are all in your desk.”

Maggie sighed. She should have known better than to expect any kind of overview of the gallery’s business the past month from either Victoria or Ellie. She was lucky they’d managed to keep the place from burning to the ground in her absence.

Ironically, the customers loved them. The two young women, with their off-beat quirkiness, seemed to fit the artistic stereotype people anticipated when shopping in a gallery. Her own contribution, she supposed, was class, necessary to assure the customers that the works and antiques on display were genuine and worth every penny of their exorbitant price tags.

“Thanks for looking after things,” Maggie said, meaning it. “I really appreciate the way you pitched in.”

“Sure. No problem. You know me. I can always use the extra cash.” Ellie’s expression brightened. “But I did sell two of my paintings while you were gone.”

Maggie beamed at her. What Ellie lacked in business skills, she more than made up for as an artist. “Congratulations! I told you it was only a matter of time. I think we should talk about having a real show one of these days. You’re ready for it, don’t you think?”

Ellie’s joy faltered. “Maybe you should come by the studio and take a look before you decide,” she suggested worriedly. “Maybe there aren’t enough good paintings yet. I don’t want you to be embarrassed.”

“You could never embarrass me. You’re the most talented artist I’ve discovered yet,” Maggie assured her with total sincerity. “I can’t wait to really give your work a big splashy show. Why don’t I come by one evening after we close and take a look. Then we can decide. I’d love to schedule something for this fall.”

“Really?” Ellie said, her eyes shining.

“Sweetie, you’re going to be showing in the Museum of Modern Art in New York before you know it, and I’m going to be bragging that I knew you when.”

“Don’t even tease about that,” Ellie said, bright spots of color in her cheeks.

“Who’s teasing? Don’t you know how good you are?” She could see by Ellie’s doubtful expression that she did not. “Don’t worry. You’ll see. I promise you.”

In fact, seeing Ellie’s career take off the way a few of Maggie’s other discoveries had before her was exactly the kind of achievement that kept Maggie in business. It was reassuring to know that in one area of her life, her judgment was impeccable.




3


There were at least forty people milling around in the church parish hall when Josh arrived there on Saturday morning. A long folding table was loaded down with a coffee urn, pottery mugs and trays of doughnuts and pastries. He wasn’t convinced there was enough caffeine or sugar in the world to get him through the weeks to come, but he filled a cup to the brim and grabbed a couple of glazed doughnuts before going in search of Cord.

He found him in an alcove, deep into what sounded like a very serious conversation with an unfamiliar man. Josh was about to back away when Cord spotted him.

“Hey, there you are,” Cord called. “Josh, get over here and let me introduce you to Caleb Webb. He’s the minister here and the driving force behind this project.”

Surprised, Josh took another look at the man dressed in worn jeans and a polo shirt. He didn’t look like any preacher Josh had ever known. For one thing, he was built as if he’d been working construction all his life. For another, he was young. Certainly no older than Josh’s age, thirty-four.

The few preachers Josh had encountered in his brief brushes with religion had all been old and mostly crotchety. They’d spent a lot of time talking about fire and brimstone, which had been pretty scary stuff to a kid. Caleb looked like someone you could enjoy a beer with at the end of the day. He also didn’t seem like the kind of man who’d try to frighten a youngster into behaving.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Josh told them. “I just wanted to let Cord know I was here.”

“Not a problem,” Cord assured him. “Caleb was just filling me in on a couple of problems that have cropped up.”

Josh should have guessed this project wouldn’t be the picnic Cord had promised him. “What kind of problems?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Caleb assured him. “I just have a little rebellion in the ranks among my parishioners. Some of them don’t approve of what we’re doing. It’s gotten a little ugly, but I’ll get it straightened out.”

“Ugly in what way?” Josh asked, trying to imagine why anyone would disapprove of building a home for someone in need.

Caleb gave him a wry grin. “There’s a camp that thinks I ought to be run off for doing this for Amanda O’Leary. They’re very vocal.”

Josh didn’t get it. He looked blankly from Caleb to Cord. “Okay, what am I missing here?”

It was Caleb who responded. “I assume Cord filled you in on Amanda’s situation.”

Cord nodded. “I know her husband was killed a while back.”

“It was more than that,” Caleb said. “He’d gotten himself into serious debt and she was forced to declare bankruptcy. She’s been working two, sometimes three, jobs to try to pay off all the bills. She was about to be evicted from her apartment when we stepped in. At first we were just going to help out with the rent, which we did, but then someone had the idea to build her a house. Most of the congregation jumped on board, but a few people think we’ve picked the wrong person to help.”

“Why?” Josh asked.

“Because Amanda’s daddy is William Maxwell,” Cord explained. When Josh shook his head, Cord added, “Big Max is one of the wealthiest men in Charleston. Some folks think Big Max is the one who ought to be helping Amanda, not the church.”

There was obviously still some critical piece of information that Josh was missing. If getting this woman a place to live were that simple, it would have been done long ago.

“Why isn’t he?” Josh asked. “I assume there’s a reason.”

“There’s a lot of bad blood between the two of them,” Cord said succinctly.

“That’s an understatement and it’s not without reason, at least on Amanda’s part,” Caleb said. “Since you’re involved in this now, you should know what’s going on. Here’s the short version. Big Max disowned Amanda when she got married. He didn’t approve of Bobby O’Leary. He dug in his heels. Amanda refused to cave in to his pressure, so he hasn’t had a thing to do with her for almost ten years now. He’s never even set eyes on his grandkids. I think he regrets all that now, but he’s too stubborn to fix it, and Amanda’s too hurt and has too much pride to turn to him now that she’s in trouble because of Bobby’s mistakes.”

Josh got the picture. “But some folks think she should swallow her pride and go running to daddy now, instead of taking this opportunity away from some other family, one with no other resources.”

“Exactly,” Caleb said.

“I suppose I can see their point, but obviously she doesn’t think she can turn to her father or doesn’t want to after the way he treated her,” Josh said. “I can’t say I blame her.” He could empathize. Even if he discovered tomorrow that his father was rolling in dough, it would be a cold day in hell before he ever turned to the man for help, no matter how dire his own circumstances.

“As far as Amanda’s concerned, her father burned that bridge,” Caleb said. “She won’t ask him for a dime. So as far as I’m concerned, she’s a struggling single mom who’s as deserving as anyone else. And she’s doing everything she can to get back on her feet. It’s not like she came looking for a handout. People just saw a need and wanted to help. She’s one of our own. We have an opportunity to help her and we’ll all get something out of doing it.”

“So you want to go ahead, even though it’ll anger some members of your congregation?” Josh asked.

“Absolutely,” Caleb responded without hesitation. “And it’s really only one member who’s dedicated himself to stirring the pot. He just happens to be wealthy and powerful in his own right. He could complicate things if he switches from talk to action.”

“What sort of action?” Josh asked.

“Let’s just say he’s politically well connected and could hold things up,” Caleb replied. “Especially if he thinks he’s doing Big Max a favor in the process.”

“Has he threatened to throw up real roadblocks?” Josh asked.

Caleb shook his head. “Not yet. Mainly he’s been working to get the congregation on his side. He’s succeeded with some. We expected a larger turnout than this initially.”

“And as of this morning, Amanda’s balking,” Cord explained.

“Last night she got wind of the battle that was brewing, and she doesn’t want the congregation divided over this,” Caleb said. “I’ve tried every way I can think of, but I can’t get through to her that it’s only George Winslow flexing his muscles.”

Silence fell as they all pondered how to break the impasse. It was several minutes before Josh realized that Cord was studying him speculatively.

“You know, Josh, you might have better luck than Caleb did,” Cord suggested mildly.

“Hold it,” Josh protested. “When did this become my problem? I’m here to build a house, not to provide counseling services. Besides, I don’t even know this woman. Why would she listen to me?”

Cord didn’t answer.

“There won’t be any reason to build a house unless we get Amanda back on board,” Caleb pointed out.

“Hey, that suits me,” Josh said.

Cord regarded him with disappointment. “Josh, take a look out there,” he said, gesturing toward the main room. “See those kids. Who do they remind you of?”

Reluctantly Josh turned to look at Amanda O’Leary’s three children. They were sitting on metal chairs, their expressions glum. Two little boys, who should be out running and playing ball on a Saturday morning, and a pint-size girl with huge blue eyes who looked as if she might cry any minute. She was clutching a worn stuffed bear by one arm. Josh saw himself in each of those solemn faces. Once again he cursed the day he’d ever confided in Cord about his past.

“Well?” Cord prodded.

Josh wondered how different his life might have been if someone had ever sat his mother down and had a heart-to-heart with her about giving him a real home, instead of dragging him from city to city, from motel to motel. He heaved a resigned sigh.

“Okay, where is she?” he asked.

“Over in the corner trying to stay out of Dinah’s path. Dinah’s already tried and failed to persuade her,” Cord said. “Knowing Dinah, she’s just taking a breather, but maybe you can head her off.”

“I think you’re giving me way too much credit on all fronts,” Josh said. “But I’ll give it a shot for the sake of those kids.”

Rueing the day he’d ever met Cord, much less agreed to take on the building of this house, Josh crossed the parish hall to where Amanda O’Leary was sitting all alone, her jaw set stubbornly and her chin lifted high.

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked, already sliding onto the chair next to her.

“There’s nothing you can say to change my mind,” she said before he could say another word.

He grinned at her defiance. She might be down, but she was definitely not out. He had to admire her for that. “What makes you think I’m here to change your mind?”

“Oh, please,” she said disdainfully. “I saw you with Caleb and Cord. I’m sure they’ve given you an earful about how stubborn I’m being.”

Josh grinned. “They did say something along those lines. To tell you the truth, I get where you’re coming from. I grew up with folks thinking I was the perfect target for their good deeds. It wasn’t much fun.”

Amanda regarded him skeptically. “Then why are you over here pressuring me?”

“Pressure?” Josh scoffed. “Sweetheart, this isn’t pressure. This is just two people having a get-acquainted chat. Obviously I know who you are, but since we haven’t been introduced, I’m Josh Parker.”

Her gaze narrowed. “The builder Cord hired?”

“That’s me.”

“So you’re out of work if I don’t go along with this thing,” she said with a biting edge of sarcasm. “Not my problem.”

“It’s not about me. I don’t need the work.” He studied her intently, then glanced toward her kids. “But those children over there look to me like they could use a nice home.”

“And I’d love for them to have it, but not if it’s going to split this congregation apart,” Amanda said spiritedly. “That’s too high a price. Things might be a little cramped where we’re living, but we’ve been managing for the last year.”

“With a little help, I understand … Anyway, Caleb seems willing to pay the price, however steep it is.” He leaned toward her and confided, “Personally, I think he has visions of teaching some lessons about humanity and generosity.”

Her lips twitched. “I imagine he does, but it’s not up to him. I will not be responsible for him getting fired or friends taking sides against each other.”

“Friends might disagree, but they’ll patch things up. As for Caleb, who said anything about firing him?”

“Some anonymous caller left a message for me yesterday, and I heard a few people talking about it this morning. Word’s getting around that George Winslow wants Caleb gone. He’s not going to let this drop, not as long as he has my father whispering in his ear. He’s determined to stir up trouble if we go forward. Caleb doesn’t deserve the aggravation.”

“People talk about a lot of things. It doesn’t mean they’ll act on it. I’m sure whoever left the message figured you’d cave in, because they knew instinctively that you’d back away from a fight.”

Her eyes flashed. “I’ve never backed away from a fight in my life,” she said indignantly. “But George is as rich as my daddy and just as powerful. He and Big Max are allies. When it comes to me and my father, there’s little question about whose side he’d take. He’ll happily bring down anyone who tries to help me, and he’ll consider it a favor to my daddy.”

“He doesn’t seem to scare Caleb. Isn’t that what counts?” Josh asked.

“I’m not willing to take that chance.” Her gaze narrowed. “Besides, didn’t you just say it wasn’t much fun being the object of pity? Maybe I’ve thought it over and decided I don’t want to be in that position, either. I’ll be indebted to these people forever if I let them build the house.”

“I could certainly understand it if you were to come to that conclusion,” Josh agreed.

“Then we’re agreed. I’m doing the right thing.”

“No, we’re not agreed,” Josh said. “Because I don’t think that’s what happened. I think you got scared off, just the way this Winslow person—or your daddy—wanted you to.”

Despite her earlier indignation, she didn’t seem to have enough fight left to argue. “Does it really matter?”

“I think it does. There’s a big difference between being proud and being scared,” Josh told her. “And even if you think this is all about pride, I’m not sure you’re in a position to let pride get in the way of doing what you need to do for those kids of yours.”

She studied him intently. “Something tells me you would have thrown this offer right back in their faces, too, especially once it got complicated.”

“Possibly,” Josh agreed. “But I like to think that I’d have taken another look at it if someone had offered my mom the one thing that might have made a real difference to us.”

“What was that?”

“A home,” he said simply. “I’m not just talking about four walls and a roof over our heads, Amanda, but a real home with a community of people who cared enough to build it for us. That’s what you’ve got happening here. I’m not sure you should be so quick to turn your back on it, especially not just to protect Caleb, a man who doesn’t seem to think he needs your protection.”

“But there are a lot of people, not just George Winslow, who think building this house for me is the wrong thing to do. Maybe they’re right.”

“Thumb your nose at them,” he advised. “After all, what do they know? You have your reasons for not asking your daddy for help, and those reasons are none of their concern. If they knew, they might just admire your gumption. I do.”

“I suppose,” she said, though she still sounded doubtful.

“Sweetheart, there are always going to be people who find fault with everything. Are their opinions more important than your kids?”

“Of course not,” she said.

“Well, then?”

“I can’t stop thinking about the fallout for Caleb. He’s been such a good friend. I don’t want to repay him by causing him trouble.”

“He strikes me as a man who stands on his principles. He wants to do this for you and your family. I think you should respect his wishes.”

She sat silently, her expression thoughtful. Josh waited, knowing that he’d pushed as hard as he dared. The decision was hers to make. He suspected when it came right down to it, she would make the only choice a good and decent mother could make.

Finally she met his gaze. “Are you married, Josh?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“You should be.”

He shuddered at the certainty in her voice. “I don’t think so.” Curiosity got the better of him, so he asked, “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s a shame to let all that compassion and sensitivity go to waste,” she said.

She grinned and Josh saw a glimpse of the beautiful woman she must have been before tragedy had weighed her down.

She studied him thoughtfully. “I think I’d better let you build this house for us.”

He regarded her with suspicion, not feeling nearly as triumphant as he might have before she’d made that comment about him needing to be married. “Oh?”

“It’ll give me more time to find just the right woman for you.” She winked at him, then added, “I’ll go tell Caleb and the kids what I’ve decided.”

Josh sat there feeling doomed. He’d seen firsthand just how stubborn and determined and principled Amanda O’Leary could be. Fortunately he’d had quite a few years to perfect his own stubbornness and determination. Amanda O’Leary wouldn’t get to first base with her matchmaking scheme.

Besides, from what he could see in a glance around the parish hall, the few females there were already paired off and unavailable. He didn’t have a reason in the world to worry.

So why the hell were his palms sweating as if he’d just made a pact with the devil?

Maggie slipped into a seat beside Dinah an hour after the organizational meeting had begun. “What did I miss?” she asked.

“The nail-biting when Amanda announced she didn’t want the house, after all,” Dinah said.

Maggie was shocked. “Why? What’s wrong with her?”

“Don’t blame her. She was trying to protect Caleb.”

“And Caleb is?”

“The minister.”

Maggie was confused. “Was he in some sort of danger?”

“A few people think he ought to be fired over this project. It’s a long story. Bottom line, the deal is back on.”

“And I thought this was going to be boring,” Maggie said to herself, settling back in her chair as Cord began to speak. Of course, Dinah didn’t hear her wry comment. All of Dinah’s attention was focused on her husband. It was disgusting, actually. All that rapt attention from a woman who’d once been in the thick of some of the world’s most important—and dangerous—stories. Now the most important thing in her life was a man. Of course, Dinah was barely back from her honeymoon, so Maggie supposed she ought to cut her some slack.

Cord didn’t waste time getting to the point, which seemed to be introducing the man who would be in charge of building the house. “As long as you follow his directions, he’s going to make you all look like master carpenters,” Cord promised. “Josh Parker.”

The man who walked to the podium looked embarrassed by the introduction. It must have been the combination of that hint of humility with the most gorgeous biceps and chest Maggie had ever seen that made her snap to attention. This was a man made for blue jeans and tight T-shirts.

“My, my,” she whispered to Dinah. “Where has Cord been hiding him?”

Dinah chuckled. “In Atlanta mostly. I met him when I went looking for Bobby when you and Cord refused to tell me where he was.”

“Ah, yes, your failed quest for your backup guy. Yet even after seeing Josh you still came back here and married Cord,” Maggie said with exaggerated amazement.

“Fortunately for you I was interested in more than a great body. I love Cord for his mind,” Dinah said piously.

“Yeah, right,” Maggie retorted. “As I recall, Bobby Beaufort had a great mind. It wasn’t enough.”

“If you’re interested in Josh, I could introduce you.” Dinah offered, her tone casual.

“I’m a big girl. I can introduce myself,” Maggie said. “If I decide I want to.”

“If? You’re practically salivating now,” Dinah said.

“All the more reason to wait,” Maggie said. “I don’t want to appear too anxious. Besides, I’ve sworn off men, remember?”

“Maybe so, but can I assume that in the last five minutes you’ve experienced a miraculous recovery from your heartbreak over Warren?” Dinah inquired wryly. “It would be fitting if it took place here in a church.”

Maggie frowned at her. “Warren didn’t break my heart. He just put a dent in my ego and threw a monkey wrench into my self-confidence. None of that means I can’t appreciate a fine male specimen when I see one.”

“So you’re simply admiring the view?”

“Exactly.”

And to prove her point, Maggie waited to be the very last person in line to get her assignment for the start of construction next weekend. After all, nobody on earth recognized trouble as readily as she did. Why would she rush right into it?

And if waiting in line gave her a few more minutes to study Josh’s fine body, so much the better.

Josh had done his share of hiring and firing on the various jobs he’d held through the years. He’d been on the receiving end of more interview questions than most people here today combined. He approached the task of assembling this roomful of volunteers into a construction crew with guarded optimism.

So far he had twenty-seven people who’d never done a home repair more taxing that plunging a stopped-up drain, five who’d painted the interior of their homes, three who owned decent tools and one who’d actually worked construction—thirty years ago as a summer job. It was discouraging.

“Next,” he called out, already sliding a form across the table.

The well-manicured hand that reached for it immediately caught his attention. Long, slender fingers, silky-looking skin and nails painted fire-engine red. He sighed at the sight and snatched the form back almost before she’d put her fancy Mont Blanc pen to paper.

“You don’t need to fill this out,” he said, his dismay complete when he realized the owner of those hands was his last chance to complete a decent crew.

Dark eyes clashed with his. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Because …” He glanced at the form she’d begun to fill in. “Ms. Forsythe, I’m assigning you to the lunch team.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice shook with indignation. “Did I hear you correctly? You want me to fix lunches?”

“And coffee,” he said, meeting her gaze for the first time. The fire in those eyes could have seared the paint off old lumber. It certainly sent a jolt through his system.

“What sort of macho head trip are you on?” she demanded. “I’m female, therefore I cook?”

“Works for me,” he said, gathering up the forms that had been filled out and trying not to meet that disconcerting gaze.

“Well, it doesn’t work for me, Mr. Parker. Dinah and Cord talked me into volunteering because they thought I could make a real contribution on this project, and I intend to do just that. I’ll be here on Saturday with my tools. I plan to use them.”

“You want to hammer a few nails after lunch, we’ll talk about it,” he countered. “Make sure there are plenty of sandwiches. Construction is hard work.”

Ms. Maggie Forsythe whirled around and stalked away. Josh had a hunch it was the last he’d see of her. That suited him just fine. The woman spelled trouble. The last thing he needed on this job was some hoity-toity society woman going crazy because she’d broken a fingernail.

Then, again, if she ever wanted to rake those nails down his back, something told him he wouldn’t say no.

“Do you realize that not one single person in that room has ever built anything bigger than a birdhouse?” Josh grumbled when he, Cord and Caleb went out for a beer after the meeting at the church. “How am I supposed to get this house built? I’ll be spending all my time fixing what they screw up.”

“Think of this as your chance to teach others the skills that have made you a great carpenter,” Cord said. “You’ll be sharing your knowledge. It’s a noble endeavor.”

Josh lifted his beer in a mocking toast. “Nice spin. You should go into PR.”

“Thanks, but I’ll stick to working with my hands,” Cord responded. “My brother’s the spin master.”

“All in all, I think it went really well,” Caleb said, appearing more relaxed now that the organizational session was over. “I think it will be exciting to build something substantial and enduring. In the end, despite whatever Winslow has up his sleeve, I think this project will be a unifying thing for the church. How long do you think the house will take to build?”

“With any luck, good weather and at least a few people on-site who are quick learners, Amanda and her kids should be in there by Thanksgiving,” Josh said. “The plans aren’t that elaborate or complicated.”

Cord chuckled.

Josh regarded him with a narrowed gaze. “Okay, what was that for?”

“You’re assuming that everything’s going to go according to the blueprints.”

“Of course I am,” Josh said. “That’s why we have them. What’s your point?”

“Let me ask you this. Did you meet Maggie Forsythe?”

Josh didn’t have to give the question that much thought. “Yeah, we met.”

“I don’t suppose you noticed that she’s … opinionated,” Cord said.

It had been a brief but definitely memorable encounter. “I noticed.”

“She’s bossy,” Cord added meaningfully.

“Doesn’t surprise me a bit,” Josh replied.

“She thinks it’s her duty to turn this from a bare-bones house into a home,” Cord concluded.

Josh ground his teeth. “If it’s not on the blueprint, it’s not happening.”

Cord and Caleb exchanged a look, then burst out laughing.

“Good luck with that,” Caleb said. “I don’t know her but I do know her reputation for getting her way.”

Josh didn’t like the implication that he didn’t stand a chance against Maggie Forsythe and her whims.

“You hired me to get this house built, right?” he said, his gaze locked with Cord’s.

“Absolutely.”

“And I’m the expert.”

“No question about it,” Cord said.

“I’m in charge,” Josh added for good measure.

“Certainly,” Cord said cheerfully.

“Then my decisions are the ones that count,” Josh said with finality.

“It ought to work that way,” Cord agreed, his smirk still in place.

“That’s the way it will work,” Josh said.

“Unless Maggie has other ideas,” Cord said mildly.

Josh was more relieved than ever that he’d assigned her to the lunch detail. Maybe that would keep her out of his path, maybe even off the site entirely if she considered the insult grave enough.

“I don’t think it’s going to be an issue. I assigned her to make lunch,” he informed Cord.

Cord’s mouth gaped, as Caleb murmured, “Oh, brother!”

“How did she take that?” Cord asked.

“Not well, if you must know, but I didn’t back down.”

“Really?” Cord said, his amusement growing. “And you think you won?”

“I know I won. She’ll be fixing sandwiches, period.”

“Let me give you a friendly little warning, Josh. I’ve known the woman most of my life,” Cord said. “Trust me, her powers of persuasion were honed from birth. If Maggie wants things her way, you don’t stand a chance. If she went along with this assignment you gave her, it’s because she’s lulling you into a false sense of complacency. You’ll pay eventually.”

Suddenly Josh recalled the first discussion with Cord and Dinah about this house-building thing. He realized now that he’d asked all the right questions that morning in his motel room, but they’d been about the wrong woman. It had never been about him and Amanda O’Leary. It had always been about him and this Maggie person.

“She’s the reason you were so hell-bent on getting me to agree to build this house, isn’t she?” he demanded, glaring at Cord. “You and Dinah figured you’d toss us together and watch the sparks fly, am I right?”

Cord looked only moderately guilty. “You’d have to ask Dinah about her motivation,” he insisted. “Me, I just wanted to get the right man in charge of the job. I won’t even be around to watch the fireworks, assuming there are any.”

“There won’t be,” Josh said grimly. “I quit.”

“You can’t quit,” Caleb protested, looking horrified.

“I just did.”

“You’d run this whole project off into a ditch just because you’re scared of a woman you’ve barely even met?” Cord asked.

“No, I’m walking off the job because you and Dinah lied to me. You told me it wasn’t about hooking me up with some woman.”

“It’s not,” Cord protested. “It’s about getting a house built. Besides, you’re a grown man. You don’t have to hook up with any woman you’re not interested in.”

Josh regarded him with suspicion. “Then you and Dinah aren’t going to be standing around cheering from the sidelines, matchmaking every chance you get?”

“Of course not.”

“You swear it?”

“Cross my heart,” Cord said, sketching a very large X across his chest.

He looked sincere. He even sounded sincere. “I don’t believe you,” Josh said.

Cord looked wounded. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“Not about anything work related,” Josh admitted.

“About anything?” Cord persisted.

“I suppose not,” Josh conceded reluctantly.

“Okay, then, you have no reason to distrust me now.”

“You don’t worry me half as much as your wife does.”

“Understandable,” Cord said. “But Dinah won’t be around that much, either. She’s usually working at the TV station on weekends.”

Josh was only moderately placated by Cord’s reassurances. “In that case, I won’t quit.” He shot a meaningful look at both men. “Yet.”

“You’re not going to regret this,” Caleb said cheerfully. “It’s going to be a rewarding experience for all of us.”

Josh had his doubts. From the moment he’d met Maggie Forsythe, he’d known in his gut it was going to be a disaster.




4


There was something about a man in low-riding jeans and a tool belt, especially if he had rock-hard abs instead of a beer belly. Maggie sat on a stack of lumber in the shade of an old oak tree and admired the view as Josh stretched to hold a beam in place. Thanks to the typically humid weather, most of the men had stripped off their shirts hours ago. She hadn’t seen so much pale flesh and so many flabby bellies in years. Josh’s tanned, well-honed physique provided an absolutely fascinating contrast.

Then, of course, there was the remarkable fit of his well-worn jeans. Even her most recent bad experience with the male gender hadn’t robbed her of her ability to appreciate the sex appeal of a very fine derriere, even if this one did happen to belong to the annoyingly arrogant Josh Parker.

She was still irritated by his assumption that she was incapable of making a contribution more demanding than brewing coffee and fixing sandwiches. When she’d arrived today, dressed to work, he hadn’t budged from his original position.

“You’re assigned to lunches,” he said, his gaze unrelenting. Then, as if to deliberately taunt her, he added, “I like my coffee strong.”

She’d almost asked if he also liked it dumped over his thick skull.

But because she was here to help, not stir up trouble, she’d made coffee by the gallon and enough sandwiches to feed a starving army. She’d also vowed to set Josh straight about her capabilities before the day was out.

She’d done all of the renovations on the gallery when she’d first bought it. It had given her a deep sense of satisfaction to look around those cozy rooms and know that she’d turned the space from a shabby, deserted storefront filled with cobwebs into an upscale gallery. She’d painted every nook and cranny and hung every track light herself. She’d even replaced the crown molding. In fact, she’d become something of a whiz with her saw and miter box. Wouldn’t the superior Mr. Parker be stunned to know that?

She was debating just how to knock him off his high horse, when Dinah slipped into place beside her. Maggie frowned at her.

“I thought you were working at the TV station today,” she said.

“I took a break to check on things here,” Dinah said, then grinned. “Aren’t you glad you said yes?” she inquired, following the direction of Maggie’s gaze. “Working here sure beats moping around out on Sullivan’s Island, don’t you think?”

“There were plenty of gorgeous, bare-chested men out there,” Maggie retorted. “It was a beach, for goodness’ sakes.”

“Then why are you staring at Josh with such fascination?”

Maggie turned her gaze toward Dinah, sacrificing the fantasies in which she’d been indulging. “Is that what you think I was doing?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Maybe I was just plotting how to destroy the man’s enormous ego.”

Dinah grinned. “Because of the lunch thing? I heard about that. I don’t suppose you added anything extra to his coffee, did you?”

“Not this time. I’m trying to decide if I want to kill him or make him suffer for a few hours. I’m leaning toward the latter.”

Dinah studied her worriedly. “You’re not really that furious with him, are you? He was just being a guy. You have this ultrafeminine look about you that makes men misjudge you. Show him what you’re capable of doing and he’ll put you to work. He needs all the qualified help he can get.”

“I don’t think he’s all that interested in my construction skills,” Maggie said.

“Few men think of drill bits and hammers when they first see you, Magnolia. Give the guy a break.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because he’s sexy and available, for starters.”

A warning bell sounded in Maggie’s head. She knew all the signs of Dinah on a mission. “Don’t get any ideas,” she warned, once again dragging her gaze away from that delectable backside. “I’m here to work. Nothing more.”

“Then you’re insane,” a lilting, unfamiliar voice chimed in. “I loved my husband and I’m not looking for a replacement, but that one could change my mind, at least for a night.”

Maggie turned and saw that they’d been joined by a woman with dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes. She was so fragile-looking, Maggie was sure a strong wind could pick her up and carry her off. Yet there was something about her, an indefinable spark of amazing strength, as well as a glint of humor in her eyes. Maggie had no doubt that this was the woman for whom the house was intended. Dinah confirmed it.

“I’m with you,” Dinah said, grinning at the newcomer. “Amanda O’Leary, this cynical woman is Maggie Forsythe. She owns Images.”

Amanda’s eyes lit up with unmistakable approval. “Oh, what a lovely shop. I was in there not long after you opened. Even before …” Her eyes welled with tears, and she brushed them away impatiently. “It was always out of my league, but I certainly admire your taste.”

Maggie was pleased with the compliment. How could she help but like anyone who admired her taste? “You’ll have to come by again and I’ll help you choose something for your new home. It will be my housewarming gift to you.”

“That’s very sweet of you, but I couldn’t possibly accept,” Amanda protested. “You being here to help is more than enough. I knew people from church were going to be here, but I’m overwhelmed that so many other people are willing to pitch in and do something like this for a stranger. Having a home of our own again, well, it’s practically a miracle to me and the kids. After my husband died, I thought we’d never get back on our feet, not with all those creditors hounding us.”

“I thought declaring bankruptcy protects you from them,” Maggie said.

“It does … it did,” Amanda said. “But it took me a long time to admit that I needed to take that step. I was determined to pay back every dime Bobby owed until I finally saw that I would never catch up and that I was hurting the kids with my stubborn pride.”

“Speaking of the kids, where are they?” Dinah asked.

Maggie saw the question for what it was, a deliberate attempt to change the touchy subject. She understood Dinah’s motive. Despite her brave front and evident resiliency, Amanda O’Leary was the kind of woman people instinctively wanted to protect. Men had probably been leaping to her defense ever since the tragedy that had taken her husband’s life. Even as that thought crossed Maggie’s mind, she realized how petty it sounded.

“Oh, good grief, the kids were right here a second ago,” Amanda said, her expression alarmed. “I told them to stay put and not get in anyone’s way. Unfortunately, Larry and Jimmy love anything to do with tools, and Susie tags along right after them. She’s going to be quite the tomboy.”

Maggie spotted them before Dinah or Amanda did. All three kids were lined up watching Josh Parker, their expressions unsmiling. He was staring back at them as if they were aliens. Given the way he’d treated her, Maggie caught her breath, anticipating some harsh remark that would send them fleeing in tears.

Instead, Josh hunkered down until he was at eye level with them. She couldn’t hear what he said, but it was enough to earn him a shy grin from Susie, who looked to be about four. The boys were still stoic, as if they’d become used to being shunted aside by grown-ups and anticipated it happening yet again despite Josh’s attention at the moment.

“I’d better go rescue Josh,” Amanda said, worry knitting her brow as she hurried away.

An odd sensation settled in Maggie’s chest when she saw a warm smile spread across Josh’s face at Amanda’s approach. When the woman placed a protective hand on each of her sons’ shoulders, he said something that made her laugh, and Maggie’s heart flipped right over. The jealousy-tinged reaction was disconcerting.

“Looks as if they’re getting along just fine,” she said to Dinah, unable to keep a certain edge out of her voice. “Did I get it wrong, after all? Was that what you had in mind? Not matchmaking for me, but giving Amanda a house and a man to go with it?”

Dinah gave her a knowing look that came from years of being able to read Maggie’s innermost thoughts. “What exactly are you seeing when you look at those two, Maggie?”

“Two people who are flirting with each other,” Maggie said, then couldn’t resist adding, “it’s a little unseemly, don’t you think? Didn’t Amanda just lose her husband?”

Dinah merely grinned. “The accident was almost a year ago and last I heard, flirting’s not a crime. Maybe you should give it a try, Maggie. You used to excel at it. A flirtation might loosen you up.”

“And who would you suggest I flirt with? I’m sure you have someone in mind. If not Josh, it must be someone around here. Caleb, maybe? Didn’t you learn anything after hooking me up with Warren? Caleb seems sweet, but I’m not cut out for the steady, reliable type.”

“I didn’t have anyone in particular in mind, to be honest,” Dinah said with just the right touch of sincerity. “And it doesn’t matter who you flirt with. Just do it. You need to get your blood pumping again.”

“My blood is pumping just fine,” Maggie retorted irritably.

Dinah’s grin spread as she glanced pointedly from Maggie to Josh and Amanda, then back again. “Why, yes, I believe it is. Jealousy sometimes has the same effect.”

With that insightful barb, Dinah sashayed off, leaving Maggie wondering how fast her blood would race if she decided to strangle her best friend.

Josh spotted the purposeful glint in Maggie’s eye from halfway across the yard. He’d actually been surprised when she’d shown up at the building site this morning. He’d been doubly surprised when she’d taken on the lunch assignment without a complaint and done a fine job of it. The coffee had been hot, strong and plentiful. The thick sandwiches had been served on paper plates decorated with little slices of fruit. There had even been homemade brownies for dessert, which suggested she’d been out to prove that she could handle any assignment, no matter how disagreeable, with grace and aplomb.

Now, however, with most people leaving for the day, she looked as if all those words she’d no doubt been biting back since their first meeting were right on the tip of her tongue. He braced himself to tune out the expected harangue.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” he said when she planted herself in front of him. “I thought you’d take off the minute your assignment was done.”

“We need to talk.”

He wiped the sweat from his brow with a bandanna and resigned himself to letting her have her say. “What about?”

“My capabilities versus your insulting view of women.”

Josh grinned despite himself. “In that case, I think I could use something cold to drink.” Without waiting for her response, he headed for a cooler and pulled out an icy can of soda. “Want one?”

“No, thank you,” she said primly.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He tilted the can and took a long, slow swallow. Drops of ice-cold water dripped from the can and fell on his overheated flesh, which had warmed a few more degrees since Miss Maggie had stepped into his line of vision. The effect she had on him was downright dangerous.

She was a picture of pure femininity, he thought, but he doubted she’d planned it that way. In fact, it was clear she’d set out to prove just the opposite in her blue chambray work shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the tails knotted at her tiny waist. Her jeans were well worn and her shoes were dotted with paint spatters. She’d pulled her long hair up into some sort of knot and secured it to the top of her head.

But none of that took away from her flushed cheeks, shiny lips or the very feminine curls that had escaped to brush the delicate nape of her neck. Some women were simply born sexy, and Maggie was one of them. She could have worn a burlap sack and she’d still have set his pulse racing.

Didn’t matter, he told himself sternly. After what Cord and Caleb had told him about her determination, he knew he couldn’t afford to lose focus around her, not for a second.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” he said, aware that her gaze seemed to be locked on his chest. On another occasion he might have considered her expression flattering or interpreted it as an invitation to something more interesting than conversation.

Her head snapped up and the flush in her cheeks deepened.

“I don’t like you, Mr. Parker.”

Josh bit back a grin. “You’re breaking my heart.”

Undaunted, she went on. “But that’s beside the point. I came here to help and you’re wasting my skills.”

“Really? I thought lunch was fairly good.”

She immediately rose to the bait. “Fairly good? Have you ever had anything better on a construction site?”

He shrugged. “Maybe not. Those little fruit things were a nice touch. What do you call that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Garnish. Do you really care about that?”

“Not especially, but you seem to be fishing for compliments on your cooking.”

“I was not fishing for compliments,” she snapped. “Anybody can make sandwiches and slice up some fruit. I was trying to have a serious discussion about how you should be using me.”

“Well, now that you mention it,” he began, giving her a slow once-over, “a few ideas have crossed my mind on that score. But just so we don’t get our wires crossed, what exactly are you offering, Miss Maggie?”

The fire in her eyes flared into a full-fledged inferno. “I’m offering to help you frame this house, you idiot, but you are sorely testing my patience.”

Josh looked into all that heat in her eyes and absorbed the scathing note in her voice and concluded he might have made the tiniest miscalculation about Maggie. “You’re serious? You actually want to get your hands dirty?”

“Yes, I’m serious.”

“You’ve worked construction?”

“Not the way you mean,” she admitted. “I’ve never built a house before, but I have renovated an entire building.”

His gaze narrowed. “Meaning slapping a few coats of paint on the walls?”

She gave him a scathing look. “Meaning tearing out plaster and replacing it with drywall, reinstalling crown molding and matching up baseboards, installing track lighting, switching out electrical boxes and, yes, painting the whole damn thing when I was done.”

He didn’t even try to hide his skepticism. Maybe she’d supervised a professional crew but done the work herself? Not a chance. “Really?”

“Have you ever been in Images?”

Josh stared at her blankly.

“Of course not. It’s an art and antiques gallery. What was I thinking?” she said sarcastically. “At any rate, it’s mine. The building was a disaster when I bought it. I did all the renovations. Did a damn good job of them, too. Ask Cord, if you don’t believe me.”

He regarded her with disbelief. “You did the work yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you hire somebody?” Josh asked.

“Because that’s what everybody expected me to do. I don’t like doing what people expect. I never have. I wanted to prove I could build my business from the ground up, almost literally.”

“How bad was this building?”

“Let’s just say that a lot of people laughed themselves silly when I said I’d bought it. My father almost had a stroke when he saw it, and he’s not prone to overreacting.”

“How old was it?” he asked.

“It had been around since the mid-1800s. The outside was in good shape, but the inside had deteriorated.”

A building that old would definitely have been a challenge, Josh thought. A lot of people would have leveled it and started over. He was impressed that Maggie hadn’t done that. “Did you have Cord take a look at it?” Josh asked curiously.

“He was the first one I called before I signed the papers. He said the building had good bones.”

Josh still wasn’t entirely convinced that she hadn’t exaggerated the transformation. “Mind if I come by to take a look?”

“Did you ask everyone else who volunteered to work on this house to prove their credentials?” she demanded.

Josh waved off the question. “It’s not about that. I’m curious. I’d really like to see it. My expertise is in historic renovation, just like Cord. What can I say? I love old buildings.” If he’d had to explain it, he’d have to say it had some deep-rooted connection to the lack of permanency in his own life, but he didn’t know Maggie well enough to get into all that with her.

She studied him for a long time before nodding. “We can go by there now.”

Josh glanced down at himself. “Like this? I’m a mess. So are you, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“It’s hot as blazes out here. Anyone who’s been outside today is a mess. Besides, the gallery closes at six. We’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Once again, she’d caught him off guard. He’d figured her for a woman who’d want people to take off their dusty shoes on the front steps. Then, again, she could hardly ask such a thing of customers. Maybe running a retail business had forced her to lower her high standards.

“Then let’s go have ourselves a tour,” he suggested, eager to get a look at the place. “You tell me where and I’ll meet you there.”

Maggie gave him the address, which turned out to be not that far from his motel, though he suspected it was light-years away in terms of class.

“Does a half hour work for you or do you have things to finish up here?” she asked.

“A half-hour suits me fine if you’re sure you don’t mind me coming like this. Otherwise I can swing by my place and shower and be there in forty-five minutes.”

She grinned at him. “As long as you don’t sit on the antique furniture and keep your hands off the paintings, you’ll be fine. And before you get all offended, I say the same thing to anyone who comes into the gallery. The ice-cream cones from the shop next door stay outside.”

“I know how to mind my manners in a fancy place, Miss Maggie.”

Maggie didn’t look as if she believed him, but she merely nodded and headed for her car. Josh’s gaze followed her as she settled behind the wheel of a snazzy little Saab convertible—which cost just about half of his annual salary. It suited her, though.

Maggie Forsythe might want him to believe she was as down-to-earth as anyone else, but he recognized privilege in every delectable, pampered inch of her. That meant they were about as suited as corn bread and champagne.

That didn’t seem to stop him from wanting her, though. He wondered just how long it would be before he made the mother of all mistakes and did something about it.

Maggie liked showing off Images, but she hadn’t been this jittery since the gallery’s opening night, when the invitation-only crowd had dressed in black tie and included all her parents’ high-society friends.

She’d driven crosstown as fast as she’d dared—she’d already received warnings from several easily charmed Charleston policemen. The extra speed had given her just enough time to wash her face, brush out her hair and add a touch of lipstick and gloss before she heard Josh coming in the front door.

He’d pulled on a navy blue T-shirt and tucked it into his jeans, but the additional clothing hadn’t done a thing to take the edge off his sex appeal. Too bad. She’d been hoping her reaction, which had centered on his bare chest, would vanish once that chest was suitably attired.

She studied his face as he stood in the middle of the main room and surveyed it from top to bottom. She couldn’t tell for sure if he was looking at the art and sculptures, the antiques or the renovations, but she was on edge as she tried to gauge his reaction to any of it. Why she wanted this man’s approval was beyond her. She doubted he knew anything at all about art, possibly even less about antiques. He did, however, know renovations, so maybe that was why she was so edgy. Then again Cord had said she’d done an excellent job.

“Well?” she prodded when she couldn’t stand it a moment longer.

“Do you have any before pictures?”

“A whole scrapbook full,” she said, leading him over to the leather-bound volume she kept on a desk near the front door. Josh flipped the pages, glanced up several times as if to make comparisons, then slowly whistled.

“Is that approval?” she asked tentatively.

“Well, the place is definitely not what I expected,” he said at last.

Maggie couldn’t interpret the comment or his expression. “Meaning?”

“I’m not exactly an expert on galleries,” he said, turning slowly to take in the rest of the room, “but the ones I’ve been in were a little cold, a little too, I don’t know, impressed with themselves.”

“Yes,” Maggie said cautiously. That was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid.

“I feel at home here,” Josh said. “I felt it the minute I came in the door. This place makes me want to buy something so my home will feel the same way. Those other places just make you want to possess something because someone else has judged it to be great art.”

Maggie was so overwhelmed by his insight that she only barely resisted the urge to throw her arms around him. “That’s exactly what I wanted people to feel when they walked in here,” she said. Maybe she’d have to take back all the thickheaded, macho labels she’d been pinning on him.

He nodded distractedly and hunkered down on one knee beside the baseboards. “These are original?”

“Most of them. I had to replace some.”

“Do you know which ones?”

She grinned. “Do you?”

“Looks like a perfect match to me,” he admitted.

“Cord was able to find me some from the same time period at another site.”

“Atlanta,” Josh said at once, his expression oddly triumphant. “Damn, I knew this looked familiar. We had some old baseboards left over and they disappeared one day. No one would own up to taking them. I never thought to ask Cord.”

Maggie winced. “Sorry. I hope you didn’t need them.”

“Cord wouldn’t have taken them if we had, but it was a mystery that kept nagging at me.” He stood up and met her gaze. “So, did you and Cord have a thing before he got together with Dinah? He said he’s known you practically forever.”

Maggie was thrown by the out-of-the-blue question. She debated how to answer it, then settled for the truth. “I was attracted to Cord for a while, but he never even gave me a second glance. Dinah’s the only woman he ever had eyes for.”

“You don’t seem weighed down with regret,” Josh noted.

“Not over Cord,” she agreed.

He studied her intently. “Over someone else?”

Her pulse scrambled under that steady, speculative gaze. “Does it matter?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

She liked his honesty. “Let me know when you decide.”

“Until then, you don’t want to share any deep dark secrets?”

Maggie chuckled. “There’s nothing especially dark or secret about it. Half of Charleston knows the story of my pitiful love life.”

“Then why keep it from me?”

“It would only bore you to tears, unless you decide you’re fascinated by me.” She recalled what Dinah had said to her about putting her flirting skills to better use. She tilted her head and looked deep into Josh’s eyes. “Are you fascinated, Josh?”

To her chagrin, he laughed. “Miss Maggie, you could fascinate the pants off a saint, and I am only a humble, mortal man. I am most definitely intrigued.”

She rested her hand lightly on his chest and kept her gaze locked with his. “In that case …”

A tiny little muscle in his jaw worked. “Yes?”

“Could I persuade you to let me help on the construction team next week? Don’t you think I’ve proved myself?”

A startled grin spread across his face. “Sugar, just the thought of you with a hammer in your hands makes my heart palpitate.”

She studied him warily. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“As much as I’m going to miss those little fruit garnishes, it’s a yes. But I balk at letting you anywhere near a circular saw.”

Maggie was about to tell him that she was quite an expert with a circular saw, but decided to leave that battle for another day. She might as well savor one victory at a time. She had a feeling they were all going to be hard won.




5


After she closed Images on Sunday afternoon, Maggie decided she had time to pay that impromptu visit to Ellie to try once again to persuade the talented young artist to schedule a showing at the gallery. Until now Ellie had been reluctant to do anything more than bring in an occasional painting. Maggie attributed her hesitance to insecurity. She was determined to put that to rest and build her employee’s confidence once and for all.

She knew that Ellie lived in a loft apartment that had been created in an old warehouse along the waterfront. Since it wasn’t that far from the shop and the humidity wasn’t too oppressive, Maggie walked over, pausing along the way to chat with neighbors and customers who were taking advantage of the break in the weather to get some work done in their gardens.

It was nearly seven when she reached Ellie’s, but there was plenty of summer daylight left.

As the creaky old elevator neared the top floor, Maggie could hear an unmistakably angry argument. It was loud enough and heated enough that she decided to go right back down and come another day when her visit wouldn’t wind up embarrassing Ellie.

Before she could begin her descent, she heard a crash and the shattering of glass. That was enough to change her mind. Ellie’s embarrassment was a small price to pay to be sure that the young woman was safe.

Locking the elevator so it would be available for a quick departure, Maggie stepped off, ran to Ellie’s door and pounded on it. “Ellie, it’s Maggie. Are you in there? Is everything okay?” When there was no reply, she pounded some more. “Ellie, open this door, dammit, or I’ll call the police!”

The door swung open and a towering man stood there, his rugged face contorted with rage. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Though she was trembling inside, Maggie defiantly stood her ground and tried not to let him see even a flicker of emotion on her face. She took a slow survey of his features—the dark eyes, thick golden brown hair, thin slash of lips. She wanted to remember every detail in case she ever had to describe him to the police. He wore jeans and a grubby formfitting T-shirt.

“I stopped by to see Ellie,” she said more calmly. “Is she home?”

“Now’s not a good time,” he said, and started to close the door.

Maggie stepped over the threshold before he could stop her. “I’m not leaving till I’ve spoken to her,” she said, meeting the man’s angry gaze with an unblinking stare, even though she felt sick.

He seemed thrown by her determination. “Look, lady, you can’t just come barging into someone’s home. It’s called trespassing.”

“You could always call the police,” she suggested mildly. “In fact, I think that’s a very good idea. Why don’t we do that?” She extracted her cell phone from her purse and flipped it open.

For a minute she thought he might snatch the phone right out of her hand, but he didn’t. Instead, he stormed past her and headed for the elevator.

Maggie waited until the elevator doors closed and it began its creaking descent before she breathed a sigh of relief. “Ellie?” she called softly. “It’s okay. He’s gone. Where are you?”

“Go away,” Ellie pleaded from behind a closed door. “I know you were trying to help, but you’ve only made things worse.”

Maggie’s stomach churned at the quiet desperation she heard in her employee’s voice. “Ellie, please, come out here. Let’s talk about this. I want to help.”

Slowly the door to what was apparently a bathroom opened.

Maggie wasn’t sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t Ellie looking shaken but otherwise unharmed.

“Are you okay?” she asked, surveying Ellie closely for signs of bruises.

“Brian would never hurt me,” Ellie said. “Not physically, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“From the elevator it sounded like a pretty violent argument,” Maggie said. “I was worried about you. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you by insisting on coming in.”

Ellie sighed and sank down on a leather sofa. “It doesn’t really matter. He’ll calm down eventually. He always does.”

“Then this has happened before?”

“A couple of times, but not like tonight. This was the worst he’s ever been. I upset him when I told him you might do a showing of my art.”

“I heard something break. Did he throw something at you?”

Ellie shook her head. “Not at me. At one of my paintings.”

Maggie heard a defeated note in the girl’s voice that spoke volumes. She finally understood that this was why Ellie was so reluctant to agree to a showing—she could never be certain if she would have anything to show. “He does that a lot, doesn’t he? Destroys your work,” she guessed.

Ellie nodded miserably. “He says I have no talent, that he doesn’t want me to be humiliated.”

Maggie felt her indignation rise, but she kept her voice under careful control. “Who is he? Your boyfriend?”

“He was,” Ellie admitted, shamefaced. “He wasn’t always like this. He’s changed lately. I’ve been trying to break things off with him. I know Brian’s no good for me, but he was my mentor, you see, so it’s hard. There was a time when he encouraged me, when he taught me technique and composition, when he helped me settle on the right medium for my work.”

“Then he’s an artist, too? How did you meet?”

Ellie nodded. “He was my instructor. Everyone said Professor Brian Garrison was the most talented artist on staff. I was flattered when he took an interest in me.”

“But eventually he realized that your talent was greater than his own,” Maggie guessed.

Ellie seemed startled by her assessment. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Oh, Ellie, I’m so sorry,” Maggie said, reaching for her hand. “Don’t let Brian or anyone else ruin this gift of yours for you. Let’s take a look at what you have here. You trust my judgment, don’t you? You know I’d never lie to you about anything this important?”

“Of course I trust you, but I don’t think I can look right now. You go ahead,” Ellie said. “I don’t know how much damage he did this time.”

Maggie moved into the huge open space that comprised the studio portion of the apartment, then winced at the destruction. Brian had obviously been at it long before she arrived and heard that crash. What she’d heard had apparently been a jar of turpentine that had been thrown at a huge still life of sunflowers. The style was reminiscent of Van Gogh, but Ellie had a unique vision that brought a touch of lightness and whimsy to the work. Of course, now the paint ran in distorted streaks, so it was impossible to get the full effect.

Another canvas had been slashed, another splattered with paint. One had a giant X painted cross it in vivid red. Apparently he’d been indiscriminate in his rampage, choosing whichever works were most convenient, not those of any particular theme. Still lifes had been damaged, as well as street scenes.

Maggie’s fury rose. Seeing such incredible paintings destroyed in a jealous rage made her almost physically ill. What a terrible waste!

“How bad is it?” Ellie called out in a voice that trembled.

“Half a dozen are destroyed,” Maggie told her, struggling to keep the outrage out of her voice. “But there are quite a few he left untouched, more than enough for a show.”

She went back to sit next to Ellie. “I think we need to get these paintings over to the gallery where they’ll be safe,” she told her. “And then you need to get your locks changed here. I’d do it myself, but I don’t want to leave you alone while I pick up my tools and try to find a lock at this hour. Besides which, we need someone with a truck to take the paintings. I’ll call some friends. We can take care of both of those things tonight. In the morning, if you’d like, we can go to the police and get a restraining order against him.”

Ellie shook her head. “That will only infuriate him more. Besides, I told you he’d never hurt me.”

Maggie squeezed her hand. “But he has hurt you,” Maggie said gently. “This is meant to hurt your soul, Ellie. It’s meant to destroy your self-confidence and rob you of something that’s very important to you.”

Ellie shook her head stubbornly. “I can’t ask for a restraining order. Changing the locks will be enough. He’ll get the message.”

Maggie had seen the rage in the man’s eyes. She doubted his mood would mellow significantly anytime soon. Nor did she think Ellie should ever risk trusting him not to explode when she least expected it, but she bit her tongue for now. She didn’t want to add to Ellie’s distress. “If you change your mind, I’ll go with you, okay?”

“Thank you.”

“Now, let me make that call and we’ll secure your apartment and move the paintings.”

She pulled her cell phone from her bag and punched in Dinah and Cord’s number. Unfortunately no one answered. She debated the wisdom of calling Warren, who might also be able to counsel Ellie on dealing with Brian, but she doubted he had the tools to deal with changing a lock, and that was a top priority. Nor did he have a truck to help with moving the paintings.

But Josh could help on both fronts, she realized. And if he’d been convinced to assist with the building of Amanda’s house, then he must have something of a knight-in-shining-armor complex. Fortunately he’d given all the volunteers a card with contact information on it, including his cell-phone number. Maggie found the card in her purse and dialed his number.

“Yes,” he answered so irritably that Maggie almost hung up.

“Josh, it’s Maggie.”

“Well now, this is a surprise,” he said, his tone immediately changing. There was a sexy vibe that hadn’t been there ten seconds ago.

“I need some help,” she said. “Are you busy?”

“Maybe you ought to tell me what sort of help you need before I say just how busy I am,” he said, a sudden note of caution in his tone.

Walking away from Ellie, Maggie spoke in a low voice and gave him a condensed version of what she’d walked in on a half hour earlier.

“I’ll pick up a new dead bolt and be there in twenty minutes,” he said without hesitation. “You two going to be okay until then?”

“We’ll be fine. Brain’s gone. He took off when he realized I wasn’t budging.”

“If he turns up, though, call nine-one-one and then scream your head off till all the neighbors come running,” Josh said. “Don’t hesitate, okay?”

The genuine concern in his voice was comforting. It confirmed her gut instinct that he was the right man to call.

“You want me to stay on the line till I get there?” Josh added.

“I’d rather you concentrate on getting that lock and driving over here like a bat out of hell,” she said honestly.

“I’m on my way,” he said.

“Thanks.”

She turned to smile at Ellie. “Help is on the way. Why don’t I make us some coffee.”

Ellie grinned. “I thought all Southerners lived on sweet tea this time of year. Lord knows, we did at my house. What is it with you and coffee?”

“A minor part of my rebellion,” Maggie told her. “I’ve always hated going with the crowd on anything. That doesn’t mean that drinking sweet tea isn’t one of my guilty little secrets. I’ll go pour us a couple of glasses, okay?”

“Sure.”

En route to the kitchen, Maggie paused to give Ellie’s shoulder a pat. “It’s going to be okay, you know.”

“I hope so.”

“Come on. You know so. I keep telling you how talented you are. I’m an expert, remember? You need to start listening to me, rather than a man who’s pea green with envy.”

“It’s not that,” Ellie said. “I’m just worried if you store those paintings at the gallery, it’ll make you a target. What if Brian comes after them there? I don’t want to be responsible for him ruining your wonderful gallery.”

“He won’t,” Maggie replied with a confidence she wasn’t entirely sure was justified. “He knows he can intimidate you, but he won’t try it with me. He’s already seen that I don’t back down. He knows I won’t hesitate to put his sorry butt in jail.”

But despite the forceful words, Maggie resolved to have the security system at the gallery checked and the locks there beefed up, as well.

It took Josh longer than he’d anticipated to find a halfway decent lock and then locate the warehouse. Every second of the delay was torture. Despite her brave front, he’d heard something in Maggie’s voice he’d never expected to hear—fear. Despite her declaration that she and this other woman were fine, he’d been tempted to send the cops over there to keep an eye on things. Only her promise to call the police herself if this nutcase showed up again kept him from doing so.

When he finally found the darkened warehouse, he was appalled that anyone was living in such an area, especially a woman alone. It was clearly a place that someone had hoped to turn into a trendy section of funky studios and shops, but the transformation was far from complete. It was mostly dingy and run-down, with way too few streetlights for his comfort.

By the time he finally got to the right address and rode the groaning elevator to the top floor, he was cursing a blue streak. Not that anyone could have heard him over the music blaring from the apartment beneath. It sounded as if a garage band on speed was rehearsing inside. No one would ever hear screams over that racket.

He pounded on the apartment door for what seemed like an eternity before Maggie finally opened it.

“Why didn’t you ask who it was?” he demanded.

“I did. Apparently you didn’t hear me,” she said, even now shouting to be heard over the din.

“How the hell does your friend stand that?”

“It just started,” she told him. “Ellie says they only rehearse on Sunday nights.”

“Lucky for her or she’d be deaf by now.” He knelt down and studied the door and the current lock. The door was solid enough. In fact, it felt like steel. Nobody would get through that, he concluded. Add the new lock, and she should be safe.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Maggie asked.

Josh finally met her gaze, which he’d been avoiding up till now. Hearing her voice earlier had cut into one very hot fantasy he’d been having about her. He’d been afraid seeing her in person would kick those hormones right back into gear. It did.

“Nothing,” he said gruffly. “Let me get to this.”

“Sure. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you coming over here like this.”

“Not a problem. I wasn’t doing anything.” Except thinking about her sexy body, but that definitely didn’t bear mentioning.

She gave him an odd look, as if she was trying to figure out what to make of his suddenly irritable mood, then went back into the apartment, leaving a trail of some seductive perfume to torment him.

Installing the lock took less time than he’d hoped. He could have used an hour or two to get his equilibrium back. Instead, he was forced to go into the apartment.

“Okay, ladies, you’re all set. The lock’s in, and combined with that door, you should be safe enough,” he said to the woman seated beside Maggie.

“Thank you,” she replied softly. “It was really nice of you to come over and do that for me.”

“Ellie, this is Josh Parker. He’s in charge of building that house I told you about.”

“Of course,” Ellie said. “What a sweet thing to do!”

Josh shrugged. “I don’t know about sweet. It’s a job.”

Maggie grinned at him. “Don’t be modest. You know you did it to rack up points.”

“Really? And just who do you think I was angling to rack up points with?”

“Cord,” she suggested. “Maybe Amanda.”

Josh laughed. “Miss Maggie, you have me all wrong. I don’t need points with Cord and I’m not interested in Amanda.”

She studied him curiously. “Then why did you agree to do it?”

“Just in case I’m a little short on recommendations when I arrive at the pearly gates,” he claimed. He wondered if she’d buy that his admission wasn’t all that far from the truth.

“I suppose your fate there all depends on who’s checking in the newcomers,” she retorted. “If it’s a female, you won’t have any problem at all sweet-talking your way inside.”

“Well, just in case, I’m trying to accumulate a few good deeds. Speaking of which, where are these paintings you want me to move?”

“I’ll show you,” Ellie offered.

Maggie gave her a concerned look that Josh couldn’t quite interpret.

“Are you sure?” she asked Ellie worriedly. “Want me to move the others out of the way first?”

“Which others?” Josh asked.

“The ones Brian destroyed,” Maggie explained.

Josh got the message. What Ellie was facing was that first gut-wrenching sight of the destruction of something that was important to her. He’d known that feeling once when vandals had gotten into a historic house he was renovating and had themselves a field day with paint. The devastation had clawed at his gut for days.

“How about you just point me in the right direction and I’ll take care of it?” he suggested.

Ellie shook her head. “I’ll have to see them sooner or later. I’m ready now.”

As soon as he followed her into the studio area and she switched on the bright overhead lights, Josh saw why Maggie had been so concerned. Ellie took a look around and swayed. He caught her and led her to a stool in front of an empty easel. He gently turned it away from the worst of the destruction.

“Why don’t I bring over the rest of the paintings and you tell me which ones go and which ones stay?” he suggested.

She nodded, color finally coming back to her face. “Thanks.”

Maggie came over and stood beside her, a hand resting on her shoulder.

Josh didn’t know enough about art to make an educated judgment, nor did he want to waste much time examining each of the works, but something in his gut told him to treat the paintings with extra care. He supposed people tossed around the word genius a little too casually, but he had a hunch he’d just stumbled onto one.

In the end, there were a dozen paintings Maggie wanted to take to the gallery. She and Ellie stood guard at the truck, while he brought them downstairs one by one and loaded them carefully into the back of his pickup.

Then all three of them rode to the gallery, where Maggie supervised their storage in a secured vault in the back. Josh checked all the locks and nodded with approval.

“They’ll be safe enough here. How’s your security system?” he asked.

“Top-of-the-line,” Maggie assured him. “But I’m going to have the security guys go over it just the same.”

“Then let’s lock this place up and I’ll take you two out for something to eat. I’ll bet neither one of you has had dinner.”

Maggie regarded him with surprise. “To be honest, I’d forgotten all about food, and you’re right. I’m starved. Ellie, what about you?”

“I think I’d rather go back home,” she said. “I can walk.”

“Not a chance,” Josh said. “If you insist on going home, we’ll take you. I want another look around before I leave you there alone.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Ellie protested.

“Yes, I do,” he said flatly.

“Let the man get his full quota of brownie points for this,” Maggie advised. “He probably has to overcome a lot if he wants to get into heaven someday.”

He winked at her. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I do,” Maggie retorted.

But Josh thought he detected a glint in her eyes that suggested she found this reply intriguing. It seemed Miss Maggie might just have a thing for dangerous men.

Only after she and Josh were seated at an all-night diner in a part of town she rarely visited, did Maggie start to tremble. It could have been hunger, but she had a hunch it was a delayed reaction to her encounter with the out-of-control Brian Garrison.

Josh’s hand immediately covered hers. “You okay? The worst is over. Don’t fall apart now.”

“It’s probably low blood sugar. I’ll be fine as soon as I’ve eaten something.”

Magically, a waitress appeared at that instant, her artificially red hair sprayed into a dated beehive style and adorned with a frilly white cap held in place with bobby pins. A pin on her pocket said her name was Linda Sue.

“Hey, sugar, you’re out late,” she said to Josh. “You want your usual?”

Maggie regarded Josh curiously. “Come here often?”

“Most nights like clockwork, right at seven. I could set the clock by him,” Linda Sue claimed. “Hasn’t changed his order once in all these weeks, either.”

Josh looked vaguely unsettled by the revelation. “Maybe I’ll do something totally unpredictable tonight.”

“Such as?” the woman asked skeptically.

“Yes, Josh,” Maggie encouraged, eager to see what he would consider a daring break with tradition. “Do something wild.”

“Okay, you two,” he chided. “Stop trying to turn this into some sort of dare. I happen to like burgers and fries.”

“But not tonight?” Linda Sue asked. “Is there something different about tonight, besides the fact that you finally have a good-looking woman with you?”

Maggie watched as Josh struggled to find a suitable comeback for the question. She grinned at his obvious dismay, then decided to give him a break.

“Well, while you’re making this life-altering decision, Josh, I’m ordering the burger and fries. If you have it every night, it must be good.”

“Best in town,” the waitress assured her. She turned to Josh. “Made up your mind?”

He shrugged finally. “What can I say? I like the burger. But I will be daring. I’ll have onion rings tonight.”

Maggie chuckled. “That is daring. I’m impressed. And just so you know, if you try to sneak even one of my fries, I will hurt you.”

Josh sighed dramatically. “Then you’d better bring me a side order of fries, too.”

“Coming right up,” Linda Sue promised.

The whole exchange had succeeded in calming Maggie’s nerves, but as she met Josh’s gaze, her pulse set off at a gallop all over again. However, he was the first to blink and look away.

“Why don’t you tell me more about what happened earlier tonight?” he suggested. “What set the guy off?”

Maggie finally blinked and looked away. “I gather Brian was Ellie’s mentor. When he heard I’d offered her a showing at the gallery, he freaked.”

Josh frowned. “You think she’ll stay the hell away from him after this?”

“She says she will. Problem is, he doesn’t seem to want to stay away from her.”

“Do you think he’s dangerous? Does she need protection?”

“I wanted her to get a restraining order, but she refused. She says he would never hurt her.” A look flashed across Josh’s face that startled Maggie. “You think she’s wrong, don’t you?”

“Women make that sort of mistake a lot,” he said tightly.

“And you know this because …?”

He shook his head. “It’s not important.”

“I think it is,” Maggie contradicted, seeing the evidence in his stormy gaze.

But before she could press the point, Linda Sue came back with their food. The heavenly aroma and the gnawing sensation in her stomach forced her to push her questions aside for the moment. When she picked up her burger instead of prying into his life any further, there was no mistaking his relief.

Maggie met his gaze. “I won’t forget what we were talking about,” she told him, determined to put him on notice.

“Have a French fry, sugar. They’re just about good enough to make you forget everything.”

“Nothing’s that good,” Maggie countered, but she popped one into her mouth. It was excellent. Crisp on the outside, tender inside and sprinkled with just the right amount of salt.

“Well?”

“Not bad,” she said, deliberately playing down the tastiness.

His eyes locked with hers. “Oh, really? That’s the best you can come up with?” He picked up another fry, dipped it in ketchup and held it to her lips.

Maggie swallowed hard, then accepted the unspoken dare. She licked the ketchup off the fry, then slowly took it into her mouth. When she did, Josh’s fingers brushed her lips.

And that had the effect he’d desired. She promptly forgot everything except the sensation of his work-roughened finger skimming across her lower lip. The jolt shot right through her. Something told her she’d be remembering that long after she was home—alone—in bed.




6


Maggie hated nothing more than having her curiosity aroused and then not satisfied. Once the impact of Josh’s touch finally wore off sometime in the middle of the night, she recalled why he’d deliberately set out to distract her. He’d wanted her to forget all about his inadvertent mention of his past.

Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do this morning to track down any answers. She was scheduled to open the gallery at ten and was hoping to hear from Ellie that everything was quiet at her studio. With any luck at all, Brian had gotten the message that he wasn’t to return.

When she arrived at the gallery, she found Dinah already waiting on the doorstep. Maggie regarded her suspiciously.

“What brings you by this early?” she inquired as she unlocked the door and turned off the security system.

“You called last night. I just came by to see what you’d wanted.”

“How did you know I called? I didn’t leave a message,” Maggie said.

“That’s the wonder of modern technology. Answering machines reveal all sorts of things. Cord insisted we have a top-of-the-line machine so we could screen calls.”

“Were you home when I called?” Maggie demanded, suddenly irritated. What good were best friends if they didn’t pick up the phone when you needed them most?

Dinah blushed. “We were, but we were otherwise engaged.”

Maggie knew she should have seen that one coming. “Is this honeymoon of yours ever going to end?”

“Goodness, I surely do hope not,” Dinah replied, a grin spreading across her face. “So, what did you want? I figured it couldn’t be that important since you didn’t leave a message.”

“It was an emergency, as a matter of fact,” Maggie retorted. “So I had to call someone who actually answers the phone when it rings.”

“Warren?”

“No.” Maggie hesitated, then reminded herself that she was dealing with Dinah, the intrepid reporter who’d made world leaders squirm. There would be no peace until Maggie revealed who she’d turned to. “Josh.”

Dinah’s eyes widened. “Really? How absolutely fascinating!”

“Is that all you can say?” Maggie asked in disgust. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about the emergency?”

“Did Josh handle it?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s all that matters. I’m more interested in why you chose him.”

“He had technical expertise I required, along with a truck.”

Suddenly Dinah looked worried. “You weren’t disposing of a body, were you?”

“Good Lord, no. You really do need to rein in that imagination of yours.” She frowned at Dinah. “And what on earth makes you think Josh would have the technical expertise needed for that? What kind of background does he have, anyway?”

Dinah shrugged. “He’s an edgy kind of man. Something tells me he has all sorts of dark secrets.”

“And yet you’re encouraging Amanda O’Leary to get all cozy with him,” Maggie said wryly.

“I am not encouraging anything between him and Amanda,” Dinah said impatiently. “That’s your imagination working overtime. The woman made an offhand comment about how hot Josh is, and you’ve pictured some sort of relationship blossoming ever since. Since you claim you’re not interested, I have to wonder why it even matters to you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Maggie insisted irritably. “At least, not the way you mean.”

“Is there some other way it could matter?” Dinah asked, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Would you just drop it?”

Dinah chuckled. “Happy to, now that I’ve got the answer I was looking for.”

“You don’t know squat.”

“That’s what you think,” Dinah replied mildly. “So what happened that had you calling for reinforcements?” she asked, pushing to get the topic back on her track.

Maggie described the scene she’d come upon when she’d gone to visit Ellie. “I wanted to get a new lock installed and those paintings of hers away from there before that Neanderthal came back and tried to destroy any more of them.”

“They’re here now?”

Maggie nodded. “Secured in the vault in back. I’m not taking any chances that he’ll figure out they’re here and decide to come by to ruin a few more.” She shuddered at the memory of the fury in his eyes just before he’d stormed out of Ellie’s studio. “The man’s scary.”

Dinah studied her with increased concern. “For you to say that, Maggie, he had to have been awful. Notify the police.”

“I can’t. I promised Ellie I wouldn’t do that, at least for now.”

“I think you’re being foolish. At least tell them to keep a closer watch on the gallery,” Dinah pleaded.

“The vault’s secure enough,” Maggie insisted.

“And the rest of this place? If he can’t get to Ellie’s work, he might take it out on the gallery.”

“I don’t think he’s that stupid or that crazy,” Maggie said, though her certainty was shaken by Dinah’s concern. “This is personal between him and Ellie. He’s jealous of her talent.”

“Really? Her paintings are that good?”

Maggie’s enthusiasm for the paintings overcame the last of her irritation at Dinah for shutting her out the night before. “They’re fabulous,” she confirmed.

Dinah’s eyes gleamed the way they did when she was on the scent of a great story. “May I peek?”

Maggie grinned. “Are you asking as a reporter or as a friend who’s capable of keeping a secret?”

“As long as you promise me an exclusive when the time comes, I’ll keep your secret,” Dinah bargained.

“Okay, then,” Maggie said, knowing that she could trust Dinah’s promises. They’d both kept silent about an awful lot of youthful misadventures. “Come with me.”

She opened the vault and switched on the overhead light, then gestured at the individual storage bins. “The paintings are in those.” Then she waited, holding her breath for Dinah’s reaction.

The hundred-watt bulb in the humidity-controlled vault was nothing compared to what the gallery lighting would be when it came time for the show, but Dinah gasped at the first painting she pulled out to view.

“Oh my, she really is talented, isn’t she?” Dinah said in a hushed voice, stepping closer to the still life. “Not that I’m half the expert you are, but this is amazing.”

Maggie beamed as relief flooded through her. “Don’t sell yourself short, Dinah. The art collection your folks have is nothing to sneer at. You grew up being able to tell a masterpiece from junk the same way I did.”

Dinah gently retrieved each painting from its protective bin. At last she turned back to Maggie. “When’s the show?”

“I want to take my time planning it, so I’m thinking September at the earliest, maybe October,” Maggie replied. “That will give me time to create a certain amount of buzz and maybe lure a few art critics down here from New York.”

Dinah regarded Maggie with evident curiosity. “What did Josh think? I assume you paid close attention to his reaction.”

“He seemed impressed,” Maggie said carefully. “But he was more interested in getting these things out of Ellie’s place and tucked away here than he was in examining them.”

“So he’s not an art lover.” Dinah studied her. “Is that a problem?”




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