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The Hand-Picked Bride
Raye Morgan
A GOOD WIFE IS HARD TO FINDJolene Campbell was every man's fantasy. But unfortunately for Grant Fargo, she was going to become his brother's wife. If Grant could keep his hands off his sexy employee long enough to introduce them. His brother needed a good woman, and Jolene was the most desirable female Grant had ever laid eyes on.Jolene knew it was only a matter of time before she succumbed to her boss's irresistible kisses. So why was he trying so hard to convince her what a great husband his brother would be? Well, she would just have to show the stubborn bachelor that she was the perfect wife - for him!


“How Did I End Up With You In My Arms?” (#u205d2487-5645-5a9a-95b3-1b9d8a36c894)Letter to Reader (#ub6155291-96c4-51d0-bf9c-b548448020c9)Title Page (#u387fd562-a9dd-56ad-961c-0f0ad1467ea7)About the Author (#u99f48922-a5c8-5852-b01e-d30e5bc32de0)Chapter One (#u40a73790-a86c-59d5-8373-c15b88278133)Chapter Two (#ue6adf960-040b-5707-8335-83761365fd82)Chapter Three (#ue48cc9bc-3a7a-527c-931f-195b29193a7f)Chapter Four (#uf63c24df-5461-580c-afdd-86bc674818aa)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“How Did I End Up With You In My Arms?”
Grant asked her wonderingly.
Jolene stretched luxuriously beneath his hands. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “Maybe it was just meant to be.”
He stared down at her, shaking his head. “This isn’t right.”
Jolene looked at him as he rose from the bed. “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your space.”
He turned back to face her. “No, it’s not that, it’s just...” He started to reach for her again, drawn inexorably and relentlessly toward her by something he couldn’t explain—and couldn’t let happen. How could he tell her that the man she was really meant to be with was his brother?
He pulled her into his arms again. Just one more kiss, he thought irrationally. Just one.
Dear Reader,
Hello! For the past few months I’m sure you’ve noticed the new (but probably familiar) name at the bottom of this letter I was previously the senior editor of the Silhouette Romance line, and now, as senior editor of Silhouette Desire, I’m thrilled to bring you six sensuous, deeply emotional Silhouette Desire novels every month by some of the bestselling—and most beloved—authors in the genre.
January begins with The Cowboy Steals a Lady, January’s MAN OF THE MONTH title and the latest book in bestselling author Anne McAllister’s CODE OF THE WEST series. You should see the look on Shane Nichols’s handsome face when he realizes he’s stolen the wrong woman ..especially when she doesn’t mind being stolen or trapped with Mr January one bit....
Wife for a Night by Carol Grace is a sexy tale of a woman who’d been too young for her handsome groom-to-be years ago, but is all grown up now.... And in Raye Morgan’s The Hand-Picked Bride, what’s a man to do when he craves the lady he’d hand-picked to be his brother’s bride?
Plus, we have Tall, Dark and Temporary by Susan Connell, the latest in THE GIRLS MOST LIKELY TO.. miniseries; The Love Twin by ultrasensuous writer Patty Salier; and Judith McWilliams’s The Boss, the Beauty and the Bargain. All as irresistible as they sound!
I hope you enjoy January’s selections, and here’s to a very happy New Year (with promises of many more Silhouette Desire novels you won’t want to miss)!
Regards,


Melissa Senate
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S. 3010 Walden Ave., PO Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian P.O. Box 609, Fort Ene, Ont. L2A 5X3
The Hand-Picked Bride
Raye Morgan


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
RAYE MORGAN
favors settings in the West, which is where she has spent most of her life. She admits to a penchant for Western heroes, believing that whether he’s a rugged outdoorsman or a smooth city sophisticate, he tends to have a streak of wildness that the romantic heroine can’t resist taming. She’s been married to one of those Western men for twenty years and is busy raising four more in her Southern California home.
One

Hey, Jolene. What happened to your baby?” the produce man from the neighboring booth called over.
“Kevin?” Jolene Campbell whirled and stared at the empty playpen in disbelief. For half a second, the facts failed to register. It couldn’t be. She’d just put him down a minute ago. She’d been talking to a customer and she’d glanced over and he’d been there. He’d been there!
But he was gone now.
One side of the soft foam playpen was smashed down and she knew right away her adventurous eighteen-month-old had found a way to escape. He’d been working hard on the project lately, but she’d thought she would notice if he...
Her heart was beating quickly, like a bird flapping in her chest, but she still wasn’t panicked. He had to be close by. She’d seen him only a minute ago.
The customer tried to hand her his money to pay for the German Chocolate cake she’d boxed for him, but she didn’t even notice, brushing right past him, leaving her booth along the side of the street unattended without a second thought. She had to find Kevin.
The Thursday San Rey Farmers’ Market was popular and people filled the closed-off street, milling back and forth in clumps, making it very hard to see a pint-size child wandering between the legs of the adults.
“Have you seen Kevin?” Jolene called to her friend and roommate Mandy Jensen who ran the soft pretzel machine.
“Kevin?” Mandy looked up and down the banner-filled streets. Booths selling everything from freshly picked arugula to wildly painted garden elves met her gaze, but no little boy. “No, I thought you had him in the playpen.”
“I thought so, too,” Jolene called back, but she was already hurrying, rushing, and panic was beginning to lap at the edges of her sense of control. Her long, blond braid hit her back as she went, bouncing off one shoulder and then another as she turned her head to search out every cranny she came upon.
“Have you seen a little blond boy coming by here?” she asked a complete stranger, not waiting for an answer when the woman looked at her blankly. Turning, she ran to the other side of the street. “Have you seen a little boy?” she called out. “My little boy is missing. Please, please, have you seen him?”
Someone grabbed her arm and she turned to see that it was Mandy.
“I’ll take this end of the street,” her friend told her, waving back toward the center of town. “You go the way you’re going. We’ll find him, Jolene. Don’t you worry.”
“Don’t you worry, don’t you worry.” The words pounded in her head but she couldn’t quite grasp what they meant, because worried was all she was right now. Kevin, his sweet little face, his huge blue eyes, his devilish smile, his fat little legs...
“He’s wearing blue overalls and a red checkered shirt,” she called out to anyone who would listen as she began to run. “He’s got to be here somewhere. Have you seen a little boy?”
People looked up, surprised, as she passed, at first not understanding, but looking sympathetic once they realized what was going on. But no one had seen him. How could that be? She wanted to shake someone. Someone had to have seen him. He didn’t just disappear. How could he have come down this entire street and no one notice?
“Kevin!” she called out, her voice almost breaking with despair. “Kevin, where are you?” There was a frantic fear growing in the pit of her stomach, a feeling only a mother could know. My God, where was he?
If asked, Grant Fargo would have admitted he didn’t know much about little kids. The only child he’d been close to at all was his brother’s little girl, Allison, and she was eleven now. He could hardly remember when she’d been a toddler. At any rate, though he was no expert, as he watched the little blond boy approach, he had a pretty good idea that a child this size shouldn’t be wandering the streets by himself. There must be someone nearby attached to him, he reasoned. Some mother or baby-sitter would show up at any moment. So he didn’t pay too much attention as the kid climbed up on the stone bench beside him and began eyeing the cookie he was eating.
“Hi,” he said to him at last, brushing a few dry crumbs from the fine Italian fabric of his suit pants leg. “What’s your name?”
No response. But there was a glint in the blue eyes.
“You want one of these cookies, don’t you?” Grant said conversationally. He patted the waxed paper bag beside him, tempted to offer a snack to the child, but then thought twice and hesitated. “Listen, I’d give you one, but I don’t think your mom would like it.” He held up the cookie he’d had a bite of and studied it. “You see, moms have this thing about their kids taking food from strangers....”
Too late he learned a lesson about eighteen-month-old baby boys. They have no manners and they seldom wait to be invited to take a snack that appeals to them. One chubby little arm shot out and four fingers and a thumb plunged into the bag, grabbed hold of a cookie and shot out again. The boy gave Grant a triumphant grin and clamped down on the cookie with all four teeth.
“Hey.” Grant glared at him, his straight, dark brows adding a stern look to his classically handsome face. He didn’t remember Allison ever acting like this. “You’d better not eat that. Before you know it, we’ll have your mother coming after me with a lawsuit for poisoning her son.” He reached out and tried to pry the cookie from the child. “Come on,” he ordered in a tone that indicated he was used to having orders obeyed. “Give it back.”
It was surprising that a kid could let out such a loud shriek when his mouth was clamped down tightly around a cookie. But that was exactly what happened. A siren from a passing fire engine couldn’t have caused more commotion. People stopped dead and turned to look.
“Why, look at that man,” declared a short, redheaded woman, frowning. “He’s taking a cookie away from that poor child.”
Hearing her, Grant looked up and attempted a smile, though he was still tugging on the cookie. He tried to explain.
“No, listen, it’s my cookie. I mean, it’s not his. I mean...”
The redheaded woman would have none of it. She stood before the two of them with her hands on her hips. “Why, the selfishness. I never heard of such a thing before.”
The cookie crumbled, as cookies are wont to do, and Grant drew back a handful of crumbs. More crumbs covered the bright red little face of the still shrieking child and Grant hesitated, wanting to stop the noise but wanting to explain himself to the redheaded woman and her silver-haired companion who had just arrived on the scene at the same time.
“Look, I don’t know this child,” he began, waving his hand to try to get rid of the crumbs. “I never saw him before in my life and...”
“Then why were you forcing him to eat that cookie?” the silver-haired woman demanded. Having come upon the scene late and noting the crumbs on the boy’s face, she’d made a quick assumption. She turned, surveying the still-gathering crowd. “Force-feeding a child. Outrageous.” Her glare was ferocious. “I think it’s time to go to the police,” she informed her friend.
Grant blinked and shook his head as though he could clear it of this nightmare if he only shook hard enough. “No, wait. I’m trying to explain...”
But before he could, Jolene Campbell emerged from a knot of people, saw her son and cried out, rushing to him.
“Oh, Kevin!” she cried, grabbing him up into her arms and holding him tightly. “Kevin, Kevin, Kevin,” she muttered, tears welling in her eyes and relief making her dizzy. “Baby, baby.”
“See, here’s his mom,” Grant said, gesturing for the benefit of the two women who still seemed to hold him in contempt of some detail of social etiquette he hadn’t quite figured out yet. “Now everything will be okay.”
But the silver-haired woman seemed to think her duty as monitor of what went on in the streets of her town was not yet fulfilled. Stepping forward, she tapped Jolene on the shoulder.
“My dear, is this your child?” she said still glaring at Grant. “I just think you should know. That man was forcing him to eat cookies just now. I don’t know what he thought he was doing, but the boy was struggling like anything. Honest.”
Grant rose, clutching his bag of cookies, hoping to make a quick getaway, but Jolene whirled and stared at him, her silver eyes huge in wonder. “Why would you do that?” she asked him.
Grant met her gaze and paused, startled by her beautiful eyes. At first glance, they seemed too silver to be real, filled with shooting stars that were only emphasized by the thick golden lashes that framed them. “What is she, a witch?” his mind whispered to him, but that was hardly relevant to the situation and he shook the thought away. Instead he eyed his escape route and tried to answer at the same time.
“No, I wasn’t trying to make him eat it. You don’t understand. I was trying to get the cookie away from him.”
“You see?” crowed the redhead, rolling her eyes. “Talk about taking candy from the mouths of babes. And look. He’s got a whole bag of them. You’d think he could have spared just one for the kid. Really, some people.”
Grant groaned and Jolene frowned, looking from the woman to Grant and back again, not sure what to make of these claims. Her child was hugging her neck with both arms, but his head was turned and he was watching Grant as well. Grant caught the look. There was something about the glint in his round baby eyes....
“Here,” Grant muttered, thrusting the bag of cookies into Jolene’s hand. This was a no-win situation and he’d had enough of it. “Take them. Throw them away or eat them, I don’t care.” He began to back away, holding his hands up as though someone had a gun up against his spine. “I didn’t try to force him to eat a cookie. I was trying to take it away because I thought you wouldn’t want him taking food from a stranger. That was it, lady. Honest.”
“Wait,” she said, taking a step toward him. “I wasn’t accusing you...”
But he didn’t wait. Instead he turned on his heel and melted into the crowd.
Jolene stared after him, more confused than ever. But she had her baby in her arms, and that was all she really cared about. “Come on, Kev,” she said, kissing his fat baby cheek, even though crumbs of cookie still remained. “Let’s go back to the booth.”
People made way for her and she smiled her gratitude, full of relief that everything was turning out fine after all. It wasn’t until she was back at her pastry booth, dropping her son into his playpen once again and looking for a way to fortify its security, that she realized she still had the bag of cookies clutched in her hand. That made her think of the handsome man who’d given them to her, but she pushed the thought away. Whatever the man had been up to, she would never see him again, so it hardly mattered. She had Kevin back, safe and sound, and that was all she cared about.
Two
The Farmers’ Market was held every Thursday and Jolene never missed one. Selling her baked goods here was her main means of support. Driving in from the apartment she shared with Mandy, a week after the runaway incident, this time she came prepared with a borrowed old-fashioned wooden playpen that was sure to keep Kevin in one spot.
“Okay my little caged bird,” she muttered as she gave him a last hug before getting to work, stroking the downy blond pelt that covered his round little head. “You’ve got twenty-five toys in here with you. Plenty to do. No running away. You hear?”
He cooed happily, but as she drew back, she noticed that his gaze was on something over her shoulder and his mouth had fallen open in a perfect O.
“Cookie!” he cried, thrusting out his fat little fist.
Rising, she turned to find the man from the week before standing at the counter watching her exchange with her son.
“You again,” she said, gazing at him curiously.
“Yes, it’s me.” He smiled at her a bit ruefully, then waved at Kevin. “Hi, kid,” he said softly. “How are you doing?”
Kevin made a sound that bore a strong resemblance to a Bronx cheer, but Jolene didn’t notice. Her bright eyes narrowed as she looked Grant over, taking his measure. He was a handsome man with a sense of humor shining in his eyes. The smile he gave her was infectious, a fact that immediately made her wary. She didn’t trust men who smiled too easily.
Behind the smile, beware the guile. That had been one of her grandmother’s favorite sayings, and Jolene had once ignored it and paid the price.
But she had to admit, this man didn’t look threatening. He was probably in his thirties, but his face had a boyish look that was immediately endearing. His nicely tailored suit was just saved from looking too formal for this scene by the casual air of assurance he wore with it, and she was suddenly aware of the contrast she made in her crisp jeans and plaid shirt, the tails tied into a knot just above the waist. The Daisy Mae braids didn’t do much to help her look sophisticated, either.
Dogpatch meets Madison Avenue, she thought, laughing at herself.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, hanging back a bit. She had no reason to think badly of him, but what had happened last week had been a little strange. He smiled at her, his white teeth gleaming in the morning sunlight, making her blink.
Women usually melt when he smiles like that, she thought to herself. That’s what he does it for. But she wouldn’t. No way. She’d been through the fires and come out stronger than most.
“I came by to make sure the child was all right,” he told her. It sounded nice, sounded caring, but it was a complete lie.
He often came by the Farmers’ Market on Thursdays to search out something unusual the gourmet farmers might have brought to town. As owner and manager of a restaurant that prided itself on being ahead of the trends, he liked to be on the lookout for what was developing, poised to be the first to notice, and this was a good place to explore for possibilities. He’d been walking down the street, checking out the marketplace as he usually did on Thursdays, and suddenly there she’d been. It hadn’t occurred to him before that she might be a vendor here. He couldn’t imagine how he could have avoided noticing her on previous visits.
But in the moment he’d seen her, his first impulse had been to turn and go another way. If it hadn’t been for those strange and beautiful eyes, he probably would have done exactly that. Anything to avoid another encounter with the child from...well, maybe hell was a bit strong. The child from mischief-land, at least.
But he smiled and went on with the masquerade. “I felt badly about what happened last week and I wanted to make sure you understood I didn’t do anything to the boy.”
She nodded slowly. “He’s fine. There’s no need for you to worry.”
“Uh, good. I’m glad to hear that.” Grant hesitated, then held out his hand. “My name’s Grant Fargo,” he told her. “And yours is...?”
She really didn’t want to tell him, but there didn’t seem to be any way to avoid it. “Jolene Campbell,” she said.
“Nice to meet you, Jolene.”
She nodded solemnly, not conceding anything.
His attention was centered on her eyes and she looked away with a gesture of impatience, denying them to him, turning to the side. It always started this way. She was going to have to start wearing sunglasses so that she could get on with her life without all these interruptions. There were things to do and she meant to get them done.
Ignoring his presence, she began to pry open the large cardboard boxes she’d used to cart her wares in from the parking lot to her booth. The boxes were filled with pastries she’d been up most of the night baking. She began to take them out one by one, filling the display case with the ones that didn’t need refrigeration. But all the time, she could see him out of the corner of her gaze and she knew he wasn’t going anywhere.
“You know, your eyes—they’re really strange.”
He said it as though he’d just discovered something he was sure no one else had ever noticed before. As though it would be news to her. She paused and drummed her fingers on the counter. Talk about her eyes was old hat. She’d heard it all before. Too many times.
But he wasn’t going to let it go. “Your eyes. They’re just so...so...”
She raised her gaze to meet his, giving him the full treatment and watching him react with a wonder mixed with impatience. It was odd what her eyes sometimes did to people. They felt like normal eyes to her, but most passersby did a double take when they noticed them. She’d gone through periods where she’d cursed having such attention getters, and gone through periods where she’d been downright proud she was different in some way. Lately she’d just been bored with the whole thing. She had a life to live and attention to her unique eyes got in the way.
She watched as he struggled for words to describe them. “All-seeing?” she suggested, only slightly sarcastic. “All-knowing?”
He frowned, his face quite serious as he studied her. “No, that’s not it.”
Her wide mouth quirked at the corners. At least he wasn’t merely pandering. “Eerie? Outlandish? Creepy?” This was actually starting to be fun as his expressive face reacted to each word she threw out. “Otherworldly?”
“No. Not exactly.” He was shaking his head, his straight, dark brows drawn together in concentration.
She widened her eyes dramatically and batted the lashes. “Spooky?” she guessed.
He shook his head. “No, not at all. They’re quite beautiful. They...they give me shivers.”
He wasn’t kidding. There was something in his tone, something in the light in his eyes, that caught her up short. He had the look of someone who’d just seen something that had touched him, found a chord in his soul and elicited a response, like someone who’d heard a beautiful piece of classical music that had surprised him by sending emotion slicing through him.
Their gazes seemed to lock, and things on the street behind them seemed to fade and run like watercolors. She felt funny, light-headed, and she shook herself, as though to bring back reality.
“What?” he said, looking at her strangely.
“I didn’t say anything,” she told him, trying very hard to frown. She stared at him for a beat too long, then recovered her senses and made an impatient gesture meant to encourage him to move on.
“Look, I’m really going to be busy here in a few minutes, and I need to get things ready. So if you don’t mind...”
“No, I don’t mind,” he murmured, but his words didn’t really make any sense.
She hesitated, then turned from him and set up her cash box, determined to ignore him if he wouldn’t go away. And for the first time, he seemed to rouse himself from his trance, to take in the booth and the baked items she’d been arranging on her counter.
“What’s all this?” he asked, blinking as though he’d just woken up.
She put her hands on her hips and swept the counter with an evaluating glance and began a catalog. “Bear claws. German Chocolate cake. Almond cookies...”
“I know, I know.” He gave the items another look, then met her gaze. “What I mean is, where did you get these pastries? They look great.”
She shrugged and said simply, “I made them.”
He frowned. “You?”
That certainly set her teeth on edge. This was what she hated about men. It happened every time. Just because she had what many considered a pretty face and a pleasing figure and those startling eyes—just because she was a blonde—it always seemed to come as a total surprise to men that she might have a talent or two up her sleeve. Sometimes she thought they actually resented it—as though she were supposed to concentrate on being attractive and leave the hard work to the homely chicks. Her jaw set. For a moment she’d thought he might be different. Wrong again.
“Yes, me,” she said, barely holding back the impulse to snap. “All by myself in my own little apartment kitchen.”
“You’re kidding.” He gazed at the wares before him and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “If you can do this in a little kitchen,” he murmured almost to himself. “Imagine what you could do with commercial ovens at your disposal.”
She blinked. Just when she’d been ready to pigeonhole him, he’d surprised her again. She hesitated and shrugged. If he was interested in bakery items, far be it from her to discourage him. Customers were what she lived for.
“Would you like to try one?” she asked.
“Yes, I would,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “Let’s see...how about a slice of cheesecake. And a Napoleon. And one of those cherry tarts.”
She blinked and started to laugh. “All three?”
He grinned and nodded as though he were glad she was showing signs that she might warm up eventually. “All three.”
She shrugged, amused but at a loss. “Do you want me to box them?”
He shook his head. “No, I’ll try them here. Put them on separate plates, please.”
Now she was completely confused. It seemed a little early in the morning for gluttony, and he really didn’t seem the type. Then a possible answer occurred to her.
“Oh, do you have friends with you?” she asked, craning to look behind him. There were others on the street. The place was beginning to come to life. But there was no one who looked as though he or she belonged to this strange man.
“No,” he said, confirming her original judgment. “There’s only me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh.”
The man wanted three pastries and that was what he should have. She glanced back to make sure Kevin was busily playing with his blocks, then pulled out three paper plates and went to work, picking out nice specimens and setting all three plates on a tray. He put a few bills down on the counter and took the tray from her, murmuring his thanks. Taking the plastic fork she’d provided, he took a bite of the cheesecake and rolled it around on his tongue. She leaned back against a stack of boxes with her arms folded, watching curiously, as his eyes seemed to get a very distant look. Either the man loved cheesecake or he was a very discerning connoisseur.
When the bite was finished, he prodded the confection with the fork, examining the crust, mashing the creamy center through the tines in a way that made her wince. Then he turned to the Napoleon and did the same to it before popping a large bite into his mouth.
She frowned, toying with the idea of saying something to him about his unusual way of eating, but before she had a chance, Kevin threw a block out of the playpen and she bent to retrieve it. When she rose again, she turned and found the man breaking apart the cherry tart as though he might find something sinister hidden in its depths. She handed the block to her son absently, frowning as she watched the man put a taste of the tart in his mouth and narrow his eyes. He looked as though he were listening to something she couldn’t quite hear, and as she watched, she had to hold back a flash of annoyance.
What the heck was he doing, anyway? Didn’t he have any respect for decent food? She bit her tongue. After all, he’d bought the pastries. She had no right to complain about the way he ate them. But she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.
Oblivious to her emotions, he looked at her again, nodded with a trace of a smile and put the plate down, reaching for a napkin. “Thanks,” he said as he wiped away a few crumbs. “Great stuff.”
She stepped forward and looked at the tray in dismay. He’d had one bite of each and done a lot of damage along the way. “That’s it? You’re not going to finish them?”
He let out a short laugh. “Are you kidding? I’d turn into a bowling ball if I ate whole portions.” He tossed his napkin into her trash can.
“Listen, I work with food. I have to test it all the time. And I’ve got to say, these are some dam good pastries.”
She looked from him to the demolished plates again, still at sea. “I...I’m glad you like them.”
He nodded, thinking. “I do.” He looked her up and down, assessing more than her baking abilities. A smile lit his eyes and he nodded as though agreeing with something he’d just thought of. “Listen, how would you like to come work for me?”
“For you?” She drew back suspiciously. She hadn’t expected anything like this. “Doing what?”
“Believe it or not, I need a pastry chef.” He pulled out his wallet again and found a business card to show her. “I’ve got a restaurant, the Max Grill in Pasadena. Our pastry chef quit last month and we’ve been making do with a local bakery.” He gestured toward her wares. “I like what you’ve got here. How about giving it a try?”
She studied the card to keep from meeting his gaze. The Max Grill. She’d heard of it, though she’d never eaten there. Her budget ran more to fast-food hamburger stands.
“I don’t think so,” she told him, holding the card out to him. “Thanks anyway.”
He smiled at her, bemused. She didn’t trust him. He could see it in her spectacular eyes, sense it in her body language. He’d never seen anyone like her before and he had an instinctive feeling that he shouldn’t let her slip out of his life without at least thinking it over.
“Listen, just come by one day this week and take a look at our setup,” he suggested, avoiding taking back the card. “I think you’ll like what you see.”
She was shaking her head, but he didn’t let her get a word in. “I’ve got two big commercial baking ovens. They can be yours every morning. Just think of the things you could try there that you’ve never been able to do before.” His smile was contagious. “Come on by and give us a chance. And after you fall in love with the place, we’ll talk. We’ll negotiate your salary. I pay pretty decently.” He jerked his head toward the playpen. “You might even be able to afford to get a baby-sitter for the kid.”
Her head snapped around and she gazed at him levelly. Baby-sitting for her kid, indeed! As if she would let anyone else raise her child for her. Wasn’t that just like a man? Suddenly it all seemed much too familiar. Sure, get the kid out of the way so they could get to know each other better. Where had she ever heard that before?
“I’m afraid I can’t help you out,” she said stiffly, dropping the card into her trash, since he wouldn’t take it back.
He watched her defiant gesture with a slight frown. “You won’t even come take a look at the place?”
She held her head high and gazed at him across the bridge of her nose. “No.”
His frown deepened. “Do you have some other job? Besides this, I mean.”
He was awfully persistent and she looked toward where Mandy was selling pretzels to a young boy. She might have to call for reinforcements if he kept this up. “Let’s just say my family obligations rule it out.”
His face cleared. “Ah, I see. Your husband wouldn’t approve?”
She merely smiled, and just as she’d suspected, his eyes clouded over and he seemed to lose interest fast. She’d seen him look at her empty ring finger before and he did so again now. But he shrugged and began to back away.
“Well, in that case,” he said smoothly. “I won’t bother you any further.”
She opened her mouth to say something else, but he was already turning from her and she couldn’t remember what it was going to be anyway. She watched him stop by Mandy’s pretzel stand and buy one of the twisted pieces of bread. She was tempted to take offense when she noticed him munching on it. After all, he hadn’t finished her pastries, had he?
Hey, stop it, she scolded herself immediately. If you’re going to be jealous of something like that, you might as well give it up.
He turned and caught her watching, waved the pretzel at her and started off, while she flushed, wishing she’d turned away sooner. Clenching her jaw with new determination. she went back to setting up her counter, carefully avoiding a look in his direction again and a moment later, Mandy hurried over.
“What happened?” she asked, her eyes bright. “That man I just sold a pretzel to—he was over here talking to you forever. What did he want?”
Jolene looked up at her friend and roommate and sighed. “What do you think? He actually thought I would fall for the old offer of a job trick. He said he ran a restaurant and needed a pastry chef. Can you believe it?”
Mandy frowned, considering carefully. “You turned him down?”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
Jolene put a stack of napkins into the holder before answering. “Because he’s a guy.” She glanced at her friend, then toward her child. “And I know all about guys. I’ve been down that road before.”
“I know, but...” Mandy frowned, biting her lip.
She tried another vein, hoping to make it clear. “You should have seen how quickly he backed off once he thought I was married.”
Mandy’s frown only deepened. “But you’re not married.”
Jolene pushed her hair back impatiently, turning away. No, she wasn’t married. But she might as well be. “I know that,” she said quickly. “But he doesn’t. And once he heard that, he was out of here like a shot.”
Mandy raised one dark eyebrow, surveying her friend with a glint of amusement. “Maybe he’s a gentleman.”
“What?” Jolene gave her an outlandish look. Gentlemen didn’t hang around offering jobs that didn’t exist.
But Mandy smiled, liking her idea. “Sure. Once he found out you were already spoken for, he decided to back off.” She gave her friend a teasing grin. “He just couldn’t bear to tempt himself any further.”
Jolene threw up her hands. “Oh, puhlease, Mandy,” she said, though she had to admit, in her secret heart, such a scenario pleased her, too.
Mandy shook her head and flopped down on the camp stool Jolene kept behind the counter. “Well, there’s only one problem with your theory. In point of fact, he asked me if you were married. And since I didn’t know you were giving him that impression on purpose, I told him the truth.”
The two friends stared at each other, then both started to laugh.
“Oh, brother, now I feel like an idiot,” Jolene admitted, shaking her head. Her attempt at a tough shell had melted away in an instant. It hadn’t been a very comfortable fit anyway.
“So I guess maybe his job offer was on the level,” Mandy suggested.
Jolene shrugged. “Maybe.” But she turned away and began another chore, as though it hardly mattered in the end.
Mandy was silent for a while, but finally blurted out, “You’re nuts. You know very well we’re not making it. The rent is eating up all the money we make here. We need something else.”
Jolene winced, knowing her words were true enough, but hating to face facts just yet. “All we need is a couple of good days...”
“A couple won’t do it,” Mandy told her bluntly. “A month of good days might get us by. You’ve got Kevin. We’ve both got the rent to pay and food to buy. We’ve got to do something to get more cash coming in. I’m thinking about going back to the factory....”
Jolene spun to face her friend. “Oh, Mandy, no. You hated that place.”
Mandy shrugged, and Jolene knew her friend was fighting back tears. She had hated the factory, though she’d been a supervisor. The place had been a garment shop, full of immigrants who couldn’t get anything better, and the boss had pushed her to push them to the limit. Jolene knew Mandy would rather do almost anything else than go back there. Still, it was pretty clear they weren’t making it the way things were going now.
“I don’t know what else to do,” Mandy said softly.
The two of them had met a year before when Mandy had moved her pretzel machine next to Jolene’s booth. They’d quickly become good friends and they’d moved in together to save rent money from overwhelming them. Mandy was wonderful with Kevin and the three of them formed a nice little family. The only fly in the ointment so far had been Mandy’s boyfriend, Stan. Try as she would, Jolene just couldn’t hit it off with him and she really resented the way he treated Mandy. But his photography business had really picked up in the past few months, leaving him less time to hang around their apartment, so the waters were a bit calmer.
However, she had to admit it was time to face facts. They weren’t making enough money to make it from month to month. Something would have to be done. Jolene looked at Mandy’s miserable face and she threw her arms around her. “We’ll think of something,” she said, the urge to comfort sounding just a little desperate. “Just give it a few more days. Something will come up. It has to.”
Mandy shook her head. “It hasn’t so far. We’ve got to do something. And we’ve got to do it now.”
Jolene closed her eyes and hugged her friend more tightly. The image of Grant Fargo swam into her mind and she sighed. It was too bad he was so attractive. And it was very lucky such things didn’t get to her these days. She’d learned her lessons early and she knew what it was like to steel herself against temptation.
“Okay,” she said, her shoulders sagging. “I’ll think about it. But I’m not promising anything.”
Kevin, ignored too long, let out a shriek and both women turned toward him.
“They certainly start at a young age, don’t they?” Mandy muttered. And both women laughed.
Three
Grant took in the banquet room at a glance. Decorated for a baby shower, pink and blue teddy bears floated down from the ceiling and fluffy white swans cruised down the center of the long table. He nodded approvingly.
“You did a great job putting this together,” he told the tall, elegant woman standing beside him.
“Thank you, boss,” Michelle answered gravely, her green eyes and carefully coiffed auburn hair advertising her Irish heritage. “We aim to please.”
He laughed. “You aim to take over the world, and we all know it,” he teased her. “I keep thinking I’ll walk in here some morning and find out you now hold the papers on the place.”
Her smile was pleased, but she demurred. “You know I wouldn’t do that without consulting you first,” she teased back.
His answering grin faded as his thoughts took in their past together. “You’re a good friend, Michelle. You know I never would have made a success of this place without you,” he told her solemnly. “Without you and Tony giving me moral support when our dad died, I never would have taken this on. I wouldn’t have had the guts.”
She smiled and patted his arm. “Don’t exaggerate, darling,” she told him in a motherly tone. “You always had more guts than all the rest of us put together.” She shook her head when he looked about to speak and turned to another topic. “By the way,” she mentioned casually. “How is your brother these days?”
“Tony?” Grant gave a quick thought to his once irascible older sibling. “Tony, as usual, could use a life.”
Michelle flashed a smile in his direction, but she didn’t pause as she counted out the change for the cash register. “Couldn’t we all?” she murmured.
He leaned against the counter, watching her with a thoughtful frown. “No, I really mean it about Tony. You and me, Michelle, we’re not the marrying kind. We’ve been there and done that and learned to avoid it. We know how to have our fun without entanglements and commitments. But Tony...” He grimaced. “Well, he’s got the kid and all and it’s making him nutty. He’s like a mother hen these days.” His frown deepened as he remembered his brother coming to the door in an apron with huge red apples painted all over it the last time he’d appeared unannounced at his door. “Damn it all, he needs a wife.”
Michelle nodded as she filled a bin with nickels, putting them in neat stacks. “Is there anyone on the horizon right now?” she asked him.
Grant shook his head. “Naw. He doesn’t even date. His whole life is wrapped up in his daughter, Allison. Ever since Mary died...” He glanced at Michelle, aware that he was treading on dangerous ground when criticizing his brother’s response to his wife’s death two years before. “Well, for the first year or so, you could understand it. I mean, Mary was wonderful and I think, if he hadn’t had Allison to take care of, he might have died, too. You know? His life just seemed to come to a stop.”
Michelle’s green eyes clouded. “Yes,” she said softly. “I remember.”
Grant nodded. “But now it’s time to move on. He needs a new woman in his life. That would turn things around, get him back in gear. If only I could find him someone...” His eyes brightened. “You know, I saw this girl the other day...” His voice trailed off as he thought of her.
Michelle looked up curiously. “What girl?”
“Hmm?” He met her gaze and realized he’d left her hanging. “Oh, this girl at the Farmers’ Market. I tried to hire her as a pastry chef but she turned me down.” He nodded slowly, thinking hard and coming to a decision. “You know, now that I think about it, she’d be perfect for Tony.”
“Who? This girl at the Farmers’ Market?”
“Why didn’t I realize this before?” He grew more excited about the idea as more details came to him. “She’s cuter than heck and she can cook and she’s got a kid, too.”
“Grant...”
He threw out his arms, amazed at how obligingly accommodating life could be. “I mean, how perfect can you get? They could have one of those...what do you call them? Blended families.”
Michelle laughed, looking as though she was tempted to give his dark hair an affectionate ruffle. Luckily she held back the impulse, but her tone was teasing. “Whoa there, pardner. Don’t you think you’re getting the cart before the horse? They haven’t even met yet and you’ve got them knitting booties together.”
He gazed at her earnestly. “What do you think, Michelle? What would happen if I tried a little matchmaking? Come on, you know Tony almost as well as I do. What do you think?”
Michelle hesitated, shaking her head as she studied his face. “I knew Tony once,” she admitted softly. “But ever since he came back from college with Mary on his arm...”
“Oh, come on. That was years ago.”
She raised a wise eyebrow. “Exactly my point.”
She began refilling saltcellars on the tables and he followed her, reaching out to open one for her. “So he got married and broke up that old gang of ours,” he murmured, handing her the empty container. “That doesn’t erase all those years growing up in the canyon and chasing each other around Lincoln Elementary.”
She turned to go to the next table, but a smile was beginning to tease the corners of her mouth.
He noted it and grinned, adding another recollection he knew she would share. “Or going to Mary Engle’s birthday party and ending up in her fishpond.”
She managed to force back her giggle but she couldn’t resist adding her own memory. “Or taking the bus down Lake Avenue from Eliot Junior High to go to the Rose Bowl Café for orange freezes,” she remembered reluctantly as she poured out another stream of white crystals.
He nodded his approval as he dropped into a chair right under where she was working. He had her now. He was going to need some expert female advice if he were going to match his brother up with a wife, and Michelle was the best manipulator he knew. “Or ditching high school,” he went on, adding another memory to lure her in, “piling into Tony’s old Chevy and heading down to Chavez Ravine to watch the Dodgers play in the World Series.”
“Gosh, we really did have fun in those days,” Michelle agreed, smiling broadly at last. Looking down at him, she shook her head. “Remember the beach parties at Lacuna?”
He nodded and rose, snagging a thorn-shaved white rose from the vase on the table and tucking it behind her ear. “Cruising Hollywood Boulevard with a car full of kids on a Saturday night?”
She grinned, touching the rose but leaving it where he’d put it. “Staying up all night on the sidewalk on New Year’s Eve to watch the Rose Parade?”
“And falling asleep before it came?”
They both laughed.
“The all-night gab sessions in your backyard?” he added.
“The proms at the Huntington Sheraton?” she chimed in, eyes narrowing as she remembered her slinky black velvet prom dress.
“It’s a Ritz-Carleton now.”
She frowned and waved as though to push reality away. “Don’t tell me that. I’m floating in the past.”
He sank into a chair at the table where they’d had lunch together and motioned for her to join him. “Well, float yourself over here and tell me what you think about my idea.”
She came, sliding in beside him, but her eyes didn’t smile. “To find Tony a mate?”
“Yeah.”
She looked him over with quiet affection. “If this person is so perfect, why don’t you snap her up yourself?” she asked him. “It’s about time you started getting serious again, don’t you think?”
Grant grimaced and looked away. Michelle was being very delicate and discreet. She hadn’t even mentioned Stephanie’s name. In fact, he didn’t think anyone in his family or circle of friends had mentioned her name since the divorce. Everyone assumed that the way she’d left had hurt him so badly, he couldn’t stand to be reminded. And for once, everyone was pretty much right.
Turning back, he flashed his friend a brilliant smile. “How can you say something like that? I thought you knew me better. I’m never serious.”
She covered his hand with her own and gave it a squeeze. “Maybe you should be,” she suggested softly.
He shook his head. “Not now. One Fargo brother at a time. And right now, I’m working on Tony. We’ve got to get him hitched.”
Michelle sat back and rolled her eyes. “I think you’d better forget it,” she advised. “If he figures out what you’re doing, he’ll kill you.”
He waved a forefinger at her. “Ah, but that’s the heart of the matter, isn’t it? I’ll be subtle. I’ll be tactful. I’ll masterfully manipulate events. He’ll never know what I’m doing until it’s too late.”
Michelle laughed, her white teeth glistening behind the slick Persian melon lipstick that was her trademark. The thought of this open-faced man pulling the wool over his brother’s eyes boggled the mind.
But before she could explain to him just how crazy this was, she saw his eyes change and saw him start to his feet, muttering, “My God, I can’t believe it,” and she turned to see a pretty young woman picking her way through the darkened restaurant, looking nervously from one side to the other.
Grant started toward her but Michelle followed more slowly. The woman was young, probably in her late twenties, and yet she had a youthful air that made her seem years younger. She was dressed in designer jeans and a pink sweater and her hair was in braids. This had to be the pretty pastry chef, and though she hid it behind a pleasant smile, unease hovered at the back of Michelle’s eyes. Here she was, the girl Grant had earmarked for Tony. Things were moving more quickly than she could have anticipated.
Jolene wasn’t sure what she was doing here. She’d turned a deaf ear to Mandy’s persuasion for two days, but this morning, when Kevin had banged his cup for orange juice and she’d heard herself explaining to him that there wouldn’t be enough money to buy things like that until after next Thursday, she’d realized she was just being stubborn. If the man needed a pastry chef, why not take the job? If it turned out her first instincts were right and he only wanted a date for the evening—well, if she could walk in, she could walk out. She was a grown woman. She ought to be able to handle it.
So here she was in this restaurant located at the edge of Old Town. It seemed nice enough. A decorator had worked hard to achieve just the right Southwestern flair. A large saguaro cactus stood brooding in the entryway and red tiles stretched as far as the eye could see. Desert palms appeared in clumps here and there, hiding tables and supply cabinets, and Mexican ceramics sat propped against faux-Navajo rugs.
There was someone working behind the bar and she started toward it, but before she got there, Grant appeared out of nowhere, heading her off at the pass.
“Hi,” he said, smiling at her, his gorgeous dark eyes shining. “I’m glad you decided to come take a look at us.”
She came to a stop, feeling just a bit awkward. A tall, elegant woman was walking up behind him and she glanced at her with a quick smile, then looked back at Grant.
“Is the job still open?” Jolene asked him abruptly.
He nodded, trying to stay serious but having a hard time hiding his reaction to her surprise arrival. “I’ve been holding it for you,” he fibbed, because after all, there hadn’t been any other applicants.
“I didn’t say I’d take it,” she said hastily. “I just wanted to check it out and see...”
He shrugged his casual acceptance. “No problem. You’ll like it here.” Turning, he deftly included Michelle. “This is my assistant manager, Michelle Gleason. And your name is again...?”
It gave her a start to realize he didn’t remember her name. “Jolene Campbell,” she said, holding out her hand to the woman for a quick acknowledgment.
“Jolene makes some nice pastries,” Grant went on, looking her over as though he were very pleased she’d come, but talking to Michelle. “If she approves of the terms, I’m thinking of offering her a six month contract to start with.”
“A real contract?” Jolene asked, though that was just a ploy to give her time to think and she didn’t wait for an answer. “I don’t know about that. I thought maybe I could just bring over some of the things I baked each day and you could choose what might fit your needs....”
He was shaking his head and her voice trailed off. Obviously that was not what he’d had in mind.
“I’ve got to have a full-time pastry chef,” he told her. “I’d want you to do your baking here.”
She grimaced, looking around at the tables standing in wait for a flood of customers later on in the afternoon.
“You see, that’s going to be a problem,” she said, her tone confident. The only evidence of the nervousness she felt was her hand playing with the tassles on her purse. “Tell you the truth, I sort of bake what I feel like baking when I feel like it. If I was under contract...”
“We’re not all that rigid here. You’ll be free to do a lot of experimenting.” He smiled at her, and she had a quick impression of being coaxed, beguiled. He really wanted her to take this job. She frowned, wondering why.
But he didn’t notice. “Come on back to the kitchen,” he said, turning. “I’ll show you around.”
She glanced at Michelle, then back at Grant. “Okay,” she said. “I’d like to see it.”
He was proud of his place and it showed. And she had to hand it to him, he had something to be proud of. The kitchen gleamed with stainless-steel efficiency. She hadn’t seen such impressive equipment since culinary school. Her heart beat a little faster as she took it all in. It would be very different to do her baking in a place like this.
“What sort of food do you serve?” she asked, though she thought she probably knew.
“California modern.”
She glanced at him as she let her hand trail along the cool surface of a stainless-steel counter. “Trendy stuff?”
He shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “I guess you could call it that.”
She wrinkled her nose, looking at him candidly. “I’m not much for trendy stuff. I don’t follow trends myself.”
He grinned at her. “Just a sweet old-fashioned girl?”
Her chin rose. “Do you have something against traditions?”
“No, not at all.”
“Good.” She sighed softly. She was going to take the job. There really were no more excuses not to. Just one little item had to be cleared up first. “I’d need to bring my little boy to work with me,” she told him, turning her head so that she could judge his reaction. “Could you handle that?”
His face said it all, but that was hardly necessary to interpret, because his words did the job on their own. “No way. This is a place of business. We can’t have kids running around.”
She smiled, almost relieved. “Then you won’t have me running around, either,” she said firmly, turning to go.
“Wait.” He stood in her way. “Now don’t be so hasty. Maybe we can work something out.”
She glanced into his eyes. There it was again, the sense that he was just a little too anxious to have her here. “There’s nothing to work out,” she said firmly. “Either Kevin comes with me or I don’t come. I won’t leave him with a baby-sitter. The most important thing I have to do with my life is to raise him. I won’t leave it to someone else.”
He looked pained, torn. “I don’t know how we can manage that. Insurance...safety considerations...”
Suddenly Michelle interposed herself with quiet dignity, one hand on Grant’s arm. “We’ll manage,” she said firmly, smiling at Jolene.
Grant looked at her and blinked. “We’ll manage?” he echoed.
She nodded. “Leave it to me,” she said.
He hesitated a moment, but something in Michelle’s eyes told him to agree or face the consequences. Smiling, he gave in. “We’ll manage,” he told Jolene with a disarming shrug. “Somehow.”
Jolene didn’t have time to marvel on the interplay between the two of them, and the influence the woman seemed to have over Grant. He grabbed her hand and started toward his office at the corner of the wide room.
“Come on, I want to sign you up before you have a chance to think of any other roadblocks.”
She had a quick glimpse of Michelle’s face and the distinct impression that the woman would have liked to have come along with them, but Grant moved quickly and made it pretty clear he wanted to be alone with Jolene for the moment. She hesitated at the door wondering what this woman knew that she didn’t—and should. But Grant still had hold of her hand and he tugged, pulling her into the office and shutting the door behind her.
“Sit down,” he told her, pointing to a chair across the desk from where he settled. “We should get to know each other.”
She sat gingerly on the edge of the chair. “I don’t know why,” she countered. “I’m not applying to be your friend. Just your pastry chef.”
He looked surprised, then laughed. “You got me there,” he conceded. “Okay, we’ll skip the chitchat and get right to business.” Glancing down at his desk, he began shuffling through paper.
Jolene looked him over as he worked. Today he had a challenging tilt to his chin and a rakish twinkle in his eyes, a tiny spark of impudent arrogance that was intriguing rather than annoying. He had all the confidence in the world around the female gender. It was obvious that most women found him utterly irresistible. But a sense of resolve made her raise an eyebrow. It was a good thing she wasn’t like most women.
Once he’d found the paper he was searching for, he sat back and looked at her, enjoying what he saw. Yes, she would be the perfect girl for Tony.
“I won’t keep you long,” he told her, tapping his pencil on the paper. “I just have a few questions.”
She crossed her legs and nodded. “Did you want me to fill out tax forms or...?”
He waved that away. “No, we won’t bother with that stuff yet. I just want to go over some questions with you.”
She nodded, perfectly willing. “All right.”
“Personal information,” he added, glancing at her and then down at the paper he had before him on the desk.
Something in his voice put her on notice. “What?”
Ignoring her question, he stared hard at the paper and began. “Uh, let’s see. Are you married?”
She frowned, uneasy and not sure why. “I think you know the answer to that one. My friend Mandy said you’d asked her.”
He looked up. “Mandy runs the pretzel machine?”
She nodded, her silvery eyes watching him steadily.
He smiled quickly and picked up his pen, jotting down a mark. “Okay. We’ll move on, then. Is the little boy—Kevin is his name, isn’t it? Is he your only child?”
She nodded again, and he made another mark on the paper.
“Are you seeing anyone special right now?”
Her frowned deepened and her suspicions grew. “What does that have to do with how well I can handle marzipan?” she asked him.
His smile was suave and reassuring. “Nothing. Nothing at all. These are just questions on a psychological profile. They mean nothing.”
She smelled a rat, but she had to admit, his smile was persuasive and she found herself on the verge of smiling back. “Then why bother with them?” she murmured.
He shrugged disarmingly. “Like I say, it’s a profile. We like to know what kind of people our employees are.” He tapped the desk with the pencil. “You didn’t answer the question. Are you seeing anyone special?” And his gaze held hers as though he would read more in her silver eyes than she would tell him with her lips.
Slowly, reluctantly, she shook her head.
He noted her reply on the paper and moved on, but his eyes were alight with satisfaction. “Okay. Now—would you say you’re the kind of woman who, uh, works best with a lot of people around, with light support and supervision, or on her own?”
She hesitated. This actually sounded like it might be a legitimate question for a profile. “I’d say probably somewhere between the last two,” she said, and he nodded.
“Would you say you’re the kind of woman who likes walks on a moonlight beach, a good game of tennis, or dancing the night away at nightclubs.”
They were swerving into suspicious territory again, but there was something about the sneaky way he was doing it that made her want to laugh.
“I’m the kind of woman who likes to stay home and play with my son,” she told him candidly. “And that’s about it.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “Then how about this. Do you go for men of action, or the strong, silent type?”
Now she knew it was a hoax. How did he even have the nerve? “What?” she said, on the verge of laughter.
He spoke quickly as though he wanted to get his question in before she got up and walked out on him. “Okay, make it multiple choice. Would you prefer a man of action, the strong silent type, a sensitive poet, or the caring, compassionate and deeply loving, father of an eleven-year-old girl?”
She was shaking her head, holding back her laugh.
“Who happens to be very handsome and even funny, when you get him in the right mood,” he added, humor gleaming in his dark eyes.
The jig was up. She knew he wasn’t serious. He was going to ask her out, wasn’t he? And yet, she couldn’t help but be a little flattered by it. After all, he was a very attractive man. Still, she was going to have to set him straight.
“Now you sound like something on the dating game,” she told him, trying to be stern. “Bachelor number one or bachelor number two?” She threw up her hands. “Who cares? I’ll pick none of the above, thank you.” Her gaze met his calmly. “The truth is, I don’t date.”
Somehow he didn’t look convinced. “Never?”
She shook her head. “No, never.”
He leaned forward on the desk and gazed at her earnestly. “But what if you met that great guy with the daughter and you hit it off right away and—”
She frowned and broke into his question. “Listen, am I here for a job or is this all a ploy just to get a date?”
“A date?” He had the gall to look puzzled by her reaction. “Oh, wait. You think I...”
Yes, she did, and she’d decided it was time to put an end to this. Rising, she reached for her bag. “I’m sorry, but I won’t go out with you. And I would advise you to find a new pickup line. This one really stinks.”
He was laughing at her. She could see it in his eyes, but she couldn’t for the life of her see why he would find this amusing.
“I think there must have been a misunderstanding...” he began.
She sighed. It looked as if she was going to have to be explicit. “That’s just the point,” she told him sweetly. “You see, I never planned to go out with you. That’s not why I came.”
He blinked. “Well, that’s good,” he said, his voice almost too hearty. “Because I never planned to ask you.”
“Oh, come on,” she began, but a small hint of unease began to tickle deep inside. After all, nothing up to this point had made much sense, had it?
“Seriously, I didn’t bring you in here to ask you out on a date.”
“And he’d better not,” said a chirpy voice from behind her. “Because that would mean that he would have to stand me up. And I get ugly when I get stood up.”
Jolene hadn’t noticed the door opening, but she whirled to behold a pretty young woman with long black hair and bangs that barely cleared her huge blue eyes leaning in the doorway. Grant rose, coughing delicately into his hand in a way that Jolene later realized could only have been to hide his grin.
“Uh, Jolene Campbell, this is Kim Mancini—my date for this evening.”
“Your...”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, Kim and I have been dating for about three months now. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
“Uh-huh.” Kim nodded her head perkily. “We met at my cousin’s wedding. I fell in the swimming pool and Grant pulled me out by my hair.” She giggled. “Isn’t that romantic?”
“Very,” Jolene agreed with a weak smile.
Grant rose from behind his desk and came around quickly, as though to get between the two women before things got messy. “Well, I guess we’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning,” he said, shaking Jolene’s hand and smiling in a way that said clearly the interview was over. “How would eight do? I’m glad you’ve decided to join us.”
Jolene managed to salvage a smile before she turned to go. When she glanced back as she closed the door, she saw Kim melting into Grant’s arms, and the blush that had begun creeping up her neck a few minutes earlier made a major surge up and over her cheeks. She took a very deep breath and made her escape to the parking lot.
Humiliation? That was too wimpy a word for what she was feeling. She fell into the driver’s seat of her car and let out a silent scream before starting the engine. If only there was a way to rewind life and do it over.
Four
“You can imagine what a fool I felt like,” Jolene sighed as she talked to Mandy later that evening, as the two of them shared hot cocoa on the couch. Kevin was in his bed, sound asleep, the two women were both in pajamas, talking softly in the dim lamplight.
“In fact, the only time in my life when I’ve felt more of a fool,” Jolene went on, “was one time in church when I gave a blistering lecture to some young guy who winked at me. I’d just been named May Queen at school and I was feeling pretty full of myself, I guess. Anyway, this poor sap sat there while I lectured, turning red, and finally managed to mumble to me that he was actually winking at his fiancée who was sitting in the pew behind me.”
Mandy laughed, propping her feet in their panda slippers up on the coffee table. “Not good.”
“No.” Jolene shook her head, remembering. “Half the congregation heard the whole thing and there was definitely some snickering in the ranks.” She sighed sadly, her silver eyes full of tragedy. “But in many ways, this was worse. I can’t tell you exactly why. It just was.” She groaned and threw back her head. “Do I have to go back there tomorrow? Isn’t there some way I could win the lottery or find out some rich uncle left me all his fortune so I don’t have to go?”
Mandy popped a marshmallow into her mouth and shook her head. “The lottery isn’t until Saturday and you told me you didn’t have any living relatives.”
“That’s just the point, silly,” Jolene muttered, grabbing her cocoa mug and holding it to her as if it were a life preserver. “He wouldn’t have to be living, would he? Hah. Got you there.”
Mandy laughed, but quickly sobered, looking at her friend guiltily. “Well, if you really can’t stand the thought of going back there, I could always...”
Jolene picked up a pillow and threatened her with it. “If you say one more word about going back to that horrible factory job, I’ll bean you with this. I’m a big girl, Mandy.” Dropping the pillow, she lifted her chin in mock heroic fashion. “I can handle humiliation and ridicule. I can handle having Grant think I’m an addle-pated ego maniac. I’m tough and I’m desperate—always a strong combination.”
Mandy stared at her friend for a long moment, then gave a slight shrug. “Jolene, what about contacting Jeff? You know where he is now, and he is Kevin’s father. He ought to provide some support...”
“No.” Jolene said it abruptly, with a tone of finality that should have put an end to the discussion. But seeing the look on Mandy’s face, she relented and tried to explain.
“As far as I’m concerned, Jeff was no more a father to Kevin than...than the milkman could have been. Just handing over some genes doesn’t make a father out of a man. Loving and caring and attention are what do it. And that Kevin never got from Jeff.”
Mandy raised a knowing eyebrow. “Legally he owes you.”
Jolene nodded. “But practically, we’re better off without him.”
There it was, short and sweet. She could see that Mandy didn’t agree, but Mandy didn’t have a child and an ex-husband who had run out on her. Rising, she carried both their mugs out to the kitchen to rinse them, as though the activity would take up her mind and keep out the memories. But it didn’t work. They came anyway.
Short and sweet. That was her entire life. Well, maybe short and not so sweet was more like it. She’d met Jeff in junior college. She was majoring in culinary arts and nutrition and he was majoring in partying 101. Actually he was a drama major, bound for the silver screen someday, or so he said. She should have known better. She did know better. She’d grown up in a working-class family and she knew you had to struggle for the good things in life, that luxuries didn’t fall into your lap just because you wanted them to, that being an actor was pretty pie in the sky, that guys who could act had probably done a lot of practicing at lying. But his dazzling smile, his gorgeous tan, his china blue eyes, all had blinded her and she’d married him.
To this day she couldn’t believe she’d done it. It had all happened so fast. He’d wanted to get intimate and she’d said not without a wedding ring and he’d said, okay, as easy as that and they’d raced off to Las Vegas before she could catch her breath.
“There you go,” she thought to herself now. Marry in haste, repent at leisure, her grandma had always said. Grandma was great for advice. She’d also warned Jolene never to marry a man who wore a thick gold chain around his neck. “You can see right away that he’s vain as a peacock,” she’d said.
“And Grandma was never wrong,” Jolene murmured. Vain as a peacock. That pretty well described Jeff. One good thing was she’d learned her lesson. She would never fall for a pretty boy again.
Jeff was long gone now. All it had taken was the news that Kevin was on the way and he’d already had his bag half packed.
“Don’t you see, Jolene,” he told her earnestly, as though he just couldn’t understand why she didn’t want the best for him just like he did. “If I’m ever going to make it in Hollywood I have to be free to focus all my psychic energy on the goal. If I get distracted by other things, I might lose the race. I can’t afford to let that happen.”
Inevitably, they’d divorced. She’d heard he was up in Alaska doing theater-in-the-round in dinner houses. What that was doing to his psychic energy she could only guess. But she hadn’t seen him since the day he’d left and after all this time, she’d given up hoping he would ever want to have any sort of relationship with Kevin. It was not to be, and by now, she was glad. She had Kevin all to herself and that was the way they liked it.
But Mandy was right about one thing—they did need more money. Much as it embarrassed her to go back and face Grant, that was exactly what she was going to do. Hopefully some good would come of it. Taking in a deep breath, she crossed her fingers for luck.
Jolene walked into the restaurant hiding her unease with a quick, confident step, a bright smile, and Kevin settled jauntily in her arms. She glanced around for Grant, but he was nowhere to be seen. Maybe it was too early for him, she reasoned, feeling a sense of relief that she could put off seeing him.
Michelle was there, looking crisp and efficient and beautifully dressed in a pale teal cashmere suit. She greeted Jolene warmly, introducing her to two maintenance workers, then helping her set up the playpen in the break room. Kevin would be staying in a room right off the kitchen and accessible through an open door.
“I hope this is going to work out,” Jolene said as she realized how thoroughly her attention was going to be divided between her son and her baking. Looking at the top of his downy head, she felt her heart lurch. Was she going to be able to do this?

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