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Manhunting in Mississippi
Stephanie Bond
Piper Shepherd was desperate. As the only single member of her sorority (even chubby hypochondriac Tillie had managed to snag a suitor!) she had to find a husband soon. That wasn't easy in Mudville, Mississippi, population twenty! But Piper had a plan. First she dug up her grandmother's manhunting manual. Then gorgeous Ian Bentley came to town….Ian Bentley had no intention of saying "I do"–ever! As it was, he'd just narrowly escaped a brush with matrimony. So the last thing he expected was to fall victim to sexy Piper Shepherd's manhunting scheme. The sassy little brunette was tempting, he'd give her that. But she wasn't going to get this man to the altar….



“I’ve wanted you since I saw you lying in a puddle of water in the parking lot,” Ian murmured.
Piper laughed softly, then pushed gently at his chest. “Speaking of puddles…my cake!” She stepped away from him and walked toward the refrigerator. “Do you want whipped cream?” At his nod, she added, “Cherries, too?”
“Sure,” he said, swallowing. The woman was killing him. “Why not?”
She carried the cake to the table. “Well, dig in.”
Although he’d been craving something sweeter, Ian took a mouthful, then nodded appreciatively. “It’s great. Have a bite.” He held a spoonful to her lips, managing to drizzle sauce on her chin. She moved to wipe it away, but he stopped her hand. “Let me.” He leaned forward and licked the sauce from her chin, nipping along her jaw. Reaching past her, he dipped his finger in the chocolate, then stroked it down the side of her neck. “Oh, look,” he murmured, proceeding to lick it off, inch by delectable inch.
The dessert abandoned, he stood and pulled her closer to him, burying his face in her cleavage. She moaned, swaying into him, and his body leaped in response. “Piper,” he whispered against her skin, “I need to make love to you.”

Praise for these bestselling authors
“Stephanie Bond delivers laugh-out-loud humor with this oftentimes bawdy comedy.”
—Romantic Times
“[A]n erotic fantasy…In a word…yum.”
—All About Romance on Too Hot To Sleep
“Two Sexy! was an exciting book. I couldn’t put the book down.”
—The Romance Reader’s Connection
“[Julie] Kenner has a way with dialogue; her one-liners are funny and fresh.”
—All About Romance

Manhunting in Mississippi
Stephanie Bond


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

CONTENTS
MANHUNTING IN MISSISSIPPI
Stephanie Bond
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mississippi Malted Mud Puddles Recipe
WRAPPED AND READY
Julie Kenner
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT

MANHUNTING IN MISSISSIPPI
Stephanie Bond


This book is dedicated to Brenda Chin,
my adventurous editor,
who trusts me to run with my stories.

CHAPTER ONE
ALWAYS A BRIDESMAID…and always broke. Fighting the phone cord, Piper Shepherd glanced in the mirror at the yellow satin dress she held draped over her torso. With her cropped, dark hair, the ruffled netting around the shoulders made her look like a molting bird in a nest, but it would do. “Personally, Justine, I think lemon yellow would be stunning for an August wedding.”
Her friend sighed at the other end of the phone, obviously unconvinced. “Mother says yellow won’t stand out in the outdoor photos. Besides, didn’t Barb have yellow for her bridesmaids’ dresses?”
Piper winced. “Did she?” She tossed the dress on her bed, then withdrew a long, off-the-shoulder lavender gown from the closet and held it under her chin. A sloshed usher had ripped off a ribbon rosette during someone’s reception, but the dress was serviceable. “How about lilac?”
“Hmm,” Justine mused, tapping her fingernail against the phone. “Nah, I don’t think it would complement Stewart’s carrottop. Besides, didn’t Sarah use lilac?”
Piper frowned. “Did she?” She tossed the dress on top of the other one and withdrew an emerald organza mini with a sequined cape. “Green would look great next to Stew’s red hair—maybe something short and snazzy to catch the sunlight?”
“I don’t think so,” Justine said slowly. “Green makes me look sallow. Besides, didn’t Joann use green?”
A low throbbing started in Piper’s temple. “Did she?” She discarded the dress, then pivoted back to her closet and flipped through the hangers. “Mauve?”
“Carol.”
“Fuchsia?”
“Cindy.”
“Sapphire?”
“Hmm, wasn’t that your mom’s color?”
Piper grunted. “For which wedding?”
“To Roger, I think.”
Biting back a disrespectful remark, Piper forced her fingers to travel on. “Ruby? Teal? Metallic gold?”
“Jan, Tina and Jennifer.”
Piper jammed her hand through her short hair. “My God, Justine, how on earth do you remember who used which color in what wedding?”
“I just do,” Justine said, and Piper could picture her friend’s thin shoulders shrugging. “But then I’ve always loved weddings—unlike you, Piper. If you’d spent less time moaning about the high heels and more time checking out the groomsmen, you’d be getting married, too. Out of twenty-three of us, you’re the last one, you know.”
Piper frowned. “Not true—Tillie is still single.” Not that being in the same company as their chubby, hypochondriac sorority sister was anything to boast about.
“Uh-uh, she got engaged three weeks ago—haven’t you heard?”
Piper yanked down the phone cord, unaware she had managed to wind it around her neck. “Who to?” she croaked, then unwound herself with an impatient twist.
“She spent so much time at the clinic, she managed to snare a doctor—her diamond is a freaking boulder.”
For an instant, Piper experienced a pang of panic. Even allergic, insomniac, headachy, PMS-ing Tillie had snagged a man—and a rich one, to boot. She sighed and glanced at her watch. She’d promised her grandmother she’d be over to help box up some things for her upcoming move.
“Piper, are you there, or is your life passing before your eyes?”
“I’m here,” she snapped. “And thirty-one doesn’t exactly make me eligible for a discount at the bingo parlor.”
Justine sighed dramatically. “People are beginning to talk, Piper. You would tell me, wouldn’t you, if you were, um…you know.”
“I don’t know what the heck you’re talking about.”
“You know—gay.”
Piper dropped the phone, then chased it across the floor as the spiral cord contracted to pull it home. “No, I’m not gay!” she yelled as she dived on the handset, juggled it and finally wrestled it to her ear. “How could you even think such a thing?” she barked into the phone.
Her friend tapped her fingers against the receiver again. “Piper, I can’t remember you ever having a lasting relationship with a man. A few dates, yeah, but were you ever serious about anyone?”
Piper pursed her lips and fidgeted with the cord. “I guess I’m picky.”
“I’m telling you, Piper, you’d better start hunting for a man before all the good ones are gone.”
“Justine, you’re two hundred miles away in Tupelo where the men are plentiful and passable. I’m in Mudville—when you visited, did you happen to see anyone who would put me in the manhunting mood?”
“You’ve got a point.” Her friend hummed in sympathy. “You really should move to the city—any city.”
“Except Blythe Industries can’t find cheap labor to run their plant in the city.”
Justine scoffed. “Oh, and no other company in all of Mississippi could use a food scientist?”
Piper pursed her lips. “Maybe—but then I’d be farther away from Gran, and you’ve got to admit, I have a terrific job.”
“True—most women wouldn’t have to be paid to design desserts.”
“Well, it’s not all fudge sauce and whipped cream, Justine. It’s harder than it sounds.”
“Yeah, yeah…bottom line, Piper, you can’t let your career or your family get in the way of finding your soulmate, your dream man—your hero.”
“The only hero I’ve seen in Mudville, Mississippi, is the sandwich special at Limbo’s Deli.”
“Oh, come on. There has to be at least one eligible man in that podunk town. You’re going to have to extend yourself a little, you know. See and be seen.”
“I’m not so sure I want to see and be seen at a tractor pull.”
“You’re going to have to work for this one, Piper. You need a man plan.”
Piper laughed. “Which comes first—the man or the plan?”
“Do you have a good-looking co-worker? Boss?”
Her assistant, Rich, was good-looking. But it was a well-guarded secret that he was gay, too. And her boss, Edmund, was a married man, besides being old enough to be her father. “No one remotely eligible.”
“Neighbor?”
“Nada.”
“UPS man?”
“He’s a woman.”
“Well, you’ve got three whole months to come up with a dance partner for the wedding—all the men in the wedding party are taken.”
Piper flopped down on top of the dress pile, sending the hangers clanging. “Oh, well, that should be a cinch. After all, ballroom dancing is such a popular pastime in Mudville.”
“You’ll think of something. Cheer up—I’ll bet every happily married woman had a strategy to snag their man. Take Stew, for example. He dragged his feet for three years. Then, when I told him I had a job offer in Tennessee, he fell to his knees.”
Piper frowned. Her bedroom ceiling needed to be painted. “I didn’t know you had a job offer in Tennessee.”
“I didn’t.”
“Oh.”
“Piper, it’s our job to convince men they can’t live without us. Keep your eyes open for someone older—maybe a divorced man.”
“I’m not so sure I want a retread.”
Justine clucked. “Sophie says men are better husbands the second time around—you don’t have nearly as much training to do.”
“This is starting to sound like a lot of work.”
Justine sighed noisily. “Piper, do you want to grow old alone?”
Shutting her eyes against the welling misery, Piper relented, puffing her heated cheeks. “No.”
“Then you’d better start doing something about it.”
“Okay, okay, I get the message. Can we please change the subject?”
“Aha!” Justine whooped. “I just thought of the perfect color for my bridesmaids’ dresses—salmon!”
Piper bit back a groan, bounced up from the bed and walked her fingers over the collection of gowns still hanging in the cramped wardrobe. Burgundy, tangerine, moss green, silver, baby blue, pink, coral, eggplant, peach and plum.
But no salmon.

IAN BENTLEY BLINKED at the thick gold band, topped with two rows of sparkling diamonds, then glanced across the table to Meredith. “M-marry you?”
“Sure.” She shrugged her lovely shoulders, a dry smile curving her glazed red lips. “I won a trip to Europe for top sales, but I’m only allowed to have a spouse go with me—no ‘significant others.’”
Ian pursed his lips and studied her classically beautiful face and mane of blond hair, which no doubt contributed to her sales success. Meredith was a walking billboard for the line of cosmetics she sold to department stores, more striking than most of the supermodels who endorsed the products. But was hers a face he could wake up to for the rest of his life? “Meredith, forgive me, but a trip doesn’t seem like a great reason to get married.”
She laughed and waved off his concern. “Silly, I know that, but the trip started me thinking. Why the hell not get married? We spend most nights together anyway—when we’re both in town,” she added. “Getting married is the next logical step.” She leaned forward and touched his hand. “Come on, Ian, neither one of us is getting any younger.”
The uneasiness that gurgled in Ian’s empty stomach ballooned into dread, then full-fledged terror. In the space of a few seconds, the innocent, quick lunch had morphed into a life-altering experience. Meredith was an elegant woman, an immaculate dresser and a skilled lover. He enjoyed her company very much. But did he love her?
Ian skewered the elusive concept and turned it over in his mind like a rotisserie. Would he even recognize the emotion if it sneaked up on him? He always thought he’d be married, perhaps even have a child or two, before the age of forty. But forty was approaching more quickly than he’d expected, and he was still waiting for someone to capture his heart the way his mother had captured his father’s nearly five decades ago.
Meredith’s flawless face lost some of its sparkle. “Gee, Ian, you look like you siphoned gas and swallowed a mouthful.”
Straightening in his suddenly uncomfortable chair, he squeezed the gray ring box and grappled for the right words. “You caught me a little off guard, Meredith.”
She angled her blond head at him. “That would be the idea behind a surprise, wouldn’t it?”
A weak laugh erupted from his tight throat as moisture broke out along his hairline.
“Try it on,” she urged, lifting her wineglass for a sip, then added, “your left hand.”
His gaze dropped back to the ring. Ian extracted it carefully, marveling how an expensive bauble could come attached with so much emotional baggage. “It’s very nice,” he murmured, estimating that two carats’ worth of diamonds studded the gold band. Meredith’s taste ran a bit on the flashy side. With his heart pounding, he slid the ring onto his third finger, then gave her a tight smile. “Perfect fit.” Dammit.
“You don’t have to answer right away,” she offered, withdrawing a black-cased lipstick and mirror for a quick touch-up. “Wear the ring for a few days, see how you like the idea of being a married man. If you say yes, we’ll simply buy me a band to match.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow on business,” he blurted, changing the subject awkwardly, but suddenly anticipating the trip he’d been dreading only moments ago.
Meredith’s eyes lit up. “Anywhere interesting?”
Although she occasionally accompanied him from Chicago to Los Angeles or New York, Ian felt nearly giddy with relief that she wouldn’t be so eager to join him on this trip. He forced disappointment into his voice. “Afraid not—Mudville, Mississippi, population twelve hundred.”
Her slender nose wrinkled. “What’s in Mudville, Mississippi?”
“The plant that packages desserts for my Italian diners.”
“Oooh, the butterscotch cheesecake?”
He smiled and nodded. “Among others.”
Wincing, she patted her flat tummy with a manicured hand. “That settles it—with bathing-suit season around the corner, I definitely can’t go.”
Ian made a clicking sound with his cheek and tried to look disappointed. “Maybe next time.”
“Why are you going?”
“I’m planning to franchise the coffeehouses next year, and I think a designer dessert would improve their marketability—you know, something catchy.”
She narrowed her almond-shaped eyes. “I meant, why are you going? Don’t you have someone to take care of that kind of thing?”
“Well…yes,” he admitted, not without a certain amount of guilt. His vice president of marketing had made the same point just last week when Ian had returned from a plant in Illinois. And his doctor had warned him only yesterday to delegate more work at the office. Frustration pushed at his chest, causing him to respond more vehemently than the situation warranted. “But I think the importance of this project justifies a firsthand consultation with the company’s food scientists.”
Meredith’s eyes widened slightly, then she inclined her head. “When it comes to food, you seem to know what the public wants.” One eyebrow arched and she smirked. “How are the kiddie parlors selling?”
Glad for the change in subject, he smiled wide. “Great so far. Pizza and trampolines seem to be a profitable mix.”
“Go figure,” she said, her dry tone a clear indication of how she felt about having kids, hearing kids or just plain seeing kids—a fact which needled him slightly. She blotted her lipstick with her folded napkin. “How long will you be in…Mudville, is it?”
“Oh, I don’t know…as long as it takes to get a good prototype. Maybe a week, maybe more. Sometimes these small-town plants are not as prepared as they should be for presentations.”
Her frown quickly turned into a sweet smile as she reached forward to pat his left hand. “Well, at least I won’t have to worry about you finding someone else in a place called Mudville. If it’s as desolate and godforsaken as it sounds, you’ll have lots of peace and quiet to consider my proposal.”
Ian conjured up a smile and hoped it wasn’t as shaky as his knees. At this moment, Mudville seemed like a haven, a slow little one-horse town where he could forget about the proposal for a few days. Fresh air, good-tasting water, maybe even a fishing trip or two…and no women bent on dragging him to the altar.

“HI, GRAN.” Piper dropped a kiss on her grandmother’s silky cheek. “Sorry I’m late. Justine is obsessing over her wedding plans.”
Dressed in gray sweats, Ellen Falkner radiated youth—seventy-five going on forty-five, she was much too young-looking for the title of “granny,” a name she insisted on nonetheless.
Granny Falkner smiled wide, tucked a strand of convincing light brown hair beneath her blue bandanna, then planted her hands on her hips. “Don’t fret, Piper. There’s still plenty to do.” She frowned and glanced around the living room, shaking her head. “How does one accumulate so much junk?”
At least two dozen brown boxes lined the perimeter of the weathered room, stacked atop jumbled furniture. The cabbage-rose wallpaper Piper had always loved suddenly appeared yellowed and dated next to the bright squares where pictures had once hung. Stripped of its window dressings, the tall-ceilinged parlor looked half-naked and lonely, as if already pining for its mistress.
“Gran,” Piper said softly, “after forty years, you’re allowed to have accumulated a few knickknacks.”
“I know,” her grandmother said, caressing the wooden mantel. “And I’m really going to miss this old house.” Then she turned a bright smile toward Piper. “But six years alone is plenty long enough. I hate to leave the house empty, but Nate would want me to move on, and Greenbay Ridge looks like my kind of place.” She winked. “I can learn to line dance and still be close to you.”
“You’ll be the social butterfly of the entire retirement community, Gran. And the real-estate agent will find a buyer soon.”
Her grandmother’s forehead wrinkled. “I wish you would take the house, Piper.”
Piper shrugged, guilt riding through her. “I told you I’d be glad to move in with you. It would add only five minutes to my commute.”
“Which would be wonderful for me, but not for you, dear. No, we both need to get on with our lives, but I was hoping you’d be looking for a home when I was ready to move.”
Yearning bubbled within Piper, but she struggled to maintain a calm expression. Despite its dubious location in the outskirts of Mudville, she did want the big old house she so dearly loved, and for years she’d been putting aside every spare dime hoping she’d be able to buy it someday. Her finances still fell short of the mark, but if she received the bonus she was hoping for, she’d be within striking distance. But in case things didn’t work out, she had sworn the real-estate agent to secrecy. Piper chose her words carefully. “Gran, I can’t afford to buy this place, and I’m certainly not going to let you give it to me.”
Her grandmother shook her head and frowned. “I know Mudville isn’t the most exciting place to spend the rest of your life, but I did so want you and your children to have this home.”
“Gran,” Piper chided, “be practical. You have to have money to live on.” Then she grinned. “And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not pregnant.”
She was rewarded with a wry, wrinkled smile. “Not unless it was an immaculate conception, I’d wager.”
“Gran!”
Granny Falkner angled her head. “Really, dear, you conduct yourself like a nun.”
Shock thickened her tongue. “I…I don’t want to talk about my, um—”
“Chastity?”
“Well, I’m not exactly a vir—” Piper stopped and swallowed. “A Virgo.” She laughed weakly and jammed her hands on her hips in a desperate attempt to look innocent. “I mean, I’m not exactly a Virgo,” she repeated in a squeaky voice. “B-because I’m a Pisces…as you know, Gran.” She cleared her throat noisily and scrutinized the toes of her leather clogs.
Granny Falkner laughed. “You young people think you invented sex. Well, I’m here to tell you, your grandfather and I could have filed for a patent or two of our own.”
Piper blinked and held up her hands. “Gran, I really don’t want to hear this.”
“Relax, Piper, I’m not going to embarrass you. I’m simply trying to get you to open up.” She reached out and ran her thumb over Piper’s cheek. “You still don’t realize how lovely you are—with that face, you could have any man you wanted.”
“Spoken like a true grandmother.”
Sharp blue eyes, which she’d inherited, stared back at her. “Did someone break your heart, dear? Some young man in college?”
The concern in her gran’s face sent a swell of love through Piper’s chest. The older woman knew all too well the grief Piper had suffered all her life. Her mother didn’t even know the name of the man who had fathered her. How could she tell her grandmother that she’d lived in fear of repeating her mother’s mistakes? That she’d been embarrassed to even introduce her outrageously flirtatious mother to the young men she dated? That she’d purposely ignored boys to whom she was attracted so she wouldn’t have to deal with the overpowering sexual rush that made people do crazy things with their lives?
Her few intimate encounters had been with timid, fumbling boys who’d been even more inept than she’d imagined herself to be. She managed a comforting smile. “I met and dated some nice guys in college, but my heart is perfectly intact.”
“And is there a current beau I don’t know about?”
Piper pursed her lips, then replied in a singsongy voice. “Noooooo.”
Her grandmother sighed and crossed her arms. “I know you’re independent, dear, but sharing your life with the right person can be an extraordinary experience.”
A pang of longing pierced Piper, but she decided to make light of the comment. Her grandmother worried enough without Piper fueling the maternal fire. “Gran, I have other priorities right now, like establishing my professional reputation, paying off school loans, maybe even building a nest egg for myself.”
“Is your job still going well?” She handed Piper a red bandanna for her hair.
Piper immediately recognized the worn cloth as the handkerchief her grandfather had carried in the back pocket of his pants. She covered her hair and stretched her arms to tie the ends at the nape of her neck. “My job’s fine. I’m starting a new project this week to persuade our biggest client to extend their contract. Wish me luck!” If her grandmother only knew how much was riding on the creation of one little dessert.
“Good luck, dear. But all work and no play…” Innuendo colored the older woman’s voice as it trailed off.
A sly grin broke out on Piper’s face. “Gran, I’m letting my sorority sisters weed out the eager, needy men.”
Her grandmother laughed, then wagged a finger. “Just don’t wait too long.”
Piper narrowed her eyes. “Have you been talking to Justine, because this is starting to sound like a conspiracy.”
Gran’s laugh echoed in the empty room and she raised her arms in defeat. “Okay, I’ll stop so we can get some work done.”
Piper looked around the room, struck once again by the unfamiliar emptiness. She’d spent endless summers in this house, and as many weekends and holidays as possible, since her mother hadn’t exactly been a nurturing caregiver. Panic stirred in her stomach at the sight of the furniture she’d played on as a child pushed against the walls, queued up haphazardly as if awaiting deportation. Beneath the window stood the wooden coffee table. Her initials, which she’d carved with her grandfather’s Swiss army knife when she was seven, were still on the leg. And next to it, the armless padded rocking chair Gran had sat in when she sewed while Piper sprawled on the floor, stringing buttons with a dulled needle. She swallowed. “Where do I start, Gran?”
“I’m taking the couch, love seat, end tables and lamps, plus the bedroom suite and the kitchen table and chairs.” Her grandmother shrugged and grinned. “Everything else is yours.”
Mouth open, Piper turned. “Mine? But Gran, I don’t have space for all this.” Unless I buy this house.
Undaunted, Granny Falkner continued, “You can leave it here until the house sells, then put the whole kit and caboodle in storage.”
Piper took a deep breath and nodded obediently. “Okay, I’ll think of something.”
“Those boxes are personal things I gathered for you—let’s load them into your van so we’ll have more room to move around in here.”
Staggering under the weight of the first box, Piper laughed. “What is all this stuff?”
Granny Falkner waved her hand in the air, then picked up another carton that appeared just as heavy. “Just books and such, a lot of old nonsense I saved for far too long. Go through it and keep what strikes your fancy and throw away the rest.”
Piper walked back through the kitchen and held open the screen door with her elbow. “Mom called last night. She said to say hello.”
“Why didn’t she call and tell me herself?” her grandmother asked airily.
Sighing, Piper said, “I suggested the same thing.”
“She’s mad because I said something about that lazy bum she’s shacking up with.”
“She says they’re going to get married.”
Granny Falkner’s laugh crackled dryly. “After four trips to the altar, you’d think her judgment would improve.”
Nodding in mute agreement, Piper tingled with shame. Despite her grandmother’s wish to see her settled down, she wondered what Gran would think of the manhunt on which she had decided to embark. Probably not much, she decided with a sideways glance at the woman whose wisdom and advice she treasured.
Her grandmother lowered her box onto the floor of the van. “In fifty-five years, the only thing Maggie managed to do right is have you. And how you turned out so well, I’ll never know.” She put her arm around Piper’s shoulders as they walked back to the house. “I live in eternal hope that your mother will be just like you when she grows up.”
Her grandmother’s words reverberated in Piper’s head during the next few hours of packing and dusting and cleaning. Her mother’s track record was frightening—would her own burgeoning desire for male companionship color her judgment, too? Wouldn’t she be better off without a man than launching into a series of roller-coaster relationships? She didn’t know the first thing about finding a husband—her mother certainly wasn’t much of an example, and at the time, she hadn’t cared enough to study her sorority sisters in action. Worse, by deciding to buy her grandmother’s house and stay in Mudville, she’d narrowed the field of eligible men tremendously. Piper sighed. In the unlikely event that she did find a suitable dating prospect in town, she’d just have to wing it.
But on the late drive back to her town house, peering out the window at the forlorn little town she had made home a year ago, Piper had serious doubts about finding her dream man in the immediate vicinity. A decidedly garish neon sign read Welcome to Mudville. To make matters worse, the four center letters had expired, reducing the town greeting to Welcome to Mule.
The trip down Main Street took her past three used car lots festooned in multicolored plastic flags, nine beauty shops, six video-rental stores, two tanning parlors, “And a partridge in a pear tree,” she murmured as she pulled to a stop at one of the town’s two stoplights. Mudville consisted of two square blocks of dilapidated buildings and a few side streets, plus one fast-food restaurant where the town’s teenagers and desperate adults hung out. Then she chastised herself. People in glass houses…
The blare of a horn caused her to jerk her head toward the vehicle on her right. Too late, she recognized the smoke-belching, rattletrap sports car of Lenny Kern, her neighbor’s son, who seemed determined to live at home until he could pool his social security check with his mother’s. With a thick paw, he motioned for her to roll down her window, and after a reluctant sigh, she obliged.
“Hey, Piper, what’s shakin’?” he bawled above the glass-shattering decibels of Hank Williams, Sr.
“Hey, Lenny,” she said with a tight smile.
“Wanna go for a ride?” he asked, grinning wide.
“No, thanks.”
“Aw, come on, Piper, Top Gun is playing at the dollar theater.”
She grimaced. “I rented it several years ago.”
“Oh, really?” He frowned, and bit his lower lip.
Thankfully, the light turned green. “So long, Lenny,” she said, pulling away from the intersection. Her neighbor had been trying to wear her down into going out with him since she moved in. And she wasn’t that lonely…yet.
When she arrived at her town house, Piper parked, took out one of the boxes her grandmother had given her and went inside. She sprawled on the living-room floor in front of the television. With the remote, she tuned into a rerun of a comedy that hadn’t been funny the first time, then pulled the box toward her and placed it between her spread legs, curiosity coursing through her.
The smell of mothballs, dried paper and stale flowers filled her nostrils as she lifted the lid. The box held a hodgepodge of memorabilia: dusty photo albums, yellowed songbooks, thick seventy-eight-size phonograph records and curling postcards. She thumbed through old issues of Look magazine, and smiled at hokey rhymes on ancient greeting cards. There were several paper-thin embroidered handkerchiefs, an invitation to her grandmother’s high-school graduation and a brittle newspaper article picturing a teenage Granny Falkner and her two sisters in gowns and upswept hairdos, grinning. The headline read Dance Marathons a Family Event for Sexton Sisters. Piper smiled in delight as she read about her dancing grandmother and two great-aunts, both of whom now lived in Florida. Only a year separated the three sisters and they were all still full of vinegar. Piper shook her head and bit her lower lip. The Sexton sisters had probably been the most sought-after women in the then-thriving town of Mudville, Mississippi. They had all married well and enjoyed enduring marriages.
Near the bottom of the box, beneath pressed corsages, a string of buttons and a small ring box of costume jewelry, Piper’s fingers curled around a hardback book the size of a videotape. She withdrew it slowly, thinking the faded pink journal was possibly a diary or even a recipe book. But hand-written on the front in neat slanted script were the words The Sexton Sisters’ Secret Guide to Marrying a Good Man.
Piper’s eyebrows lifted in amazement, and she laughed softly. Gran and her sisters had conducted their own manhunt? An ancestral account to guide her on her mission…. Maybe there was hope after all.

CHAPTER TWO
Always wear clean gloves, since a marriageable man might reveal himself in the most unlikely of places.

“’MORNIN’, Piper. What’s shakin’?” Lenny Kern bellowed from the porch of his mother’s town house. He stood leaning against a post, picking his teeth, half-dressed and shiny, as if he’d been loitering long enough for the dew to have settled on him.
Piper, hoping to slink to her car unnoticed, acknowledged her neighbor without slowing. “Hey, Lenny.”
“Whew-we! You look gooooooooood.”
His gaze swept her figure, pausing at her yellow silk blouse, and again at her knees extending from the snug, short black skirt. He grunted in appreciation and Piper briefly considered removing a too-tight high-heeled pump and bouncing it off his leering head.
“Did somebody die?” he asked, utterly serious.
“No,” she said slowly, as if speaking to a child, “I’m going to work.”
He shifted and scratched his hairy stomach, which protruded slightly over the waistband of his slept-in cutoff jean shorts. “You gotta work again today?”
She quirked an eyebrow and unlocked the door of her aged white minivan. “Yeah, Len, it’s called gainful employment.”
“But you must put in—” he looked heavenward and counted on his fingers for what seemed like an eternity, then turned wide eyes her way “—close to forty hours a week!”
“At least,” she agreed wryly, opening the creaky door.
Lenny looked mournful. “I’m sorry for you, Piper. A woman like you shouldn’t have to do nothin’ but stay home and take care of her man.”
As she swung into her seat, with one hand tugging on her hem, she swore under her breath. “Some girls have all the luck, I guess.”
“Say, Piper, if you have an extra cake just layin’ around the food lab for the flies to eat, bring it home this evening, would ya? It’s Mom’s birthday.”
Striving to remain civil, Piper gripped the inside door handle and said, “You probably shouldn’t count on it, Len. Why don’t you order her something special?”
He snapped his fingers. “Good idea. I’ll call the day-old bakery and see if they’ve got something that ain’t too hard.”
She smiled tightly, feeling a pang of sympathy for sweet old Mrs. Kern. “Good luck, Len.” She closed the door and rammed the key into the ignition, her motions further hurried by the sight of Lenny loping off the porch and toward the van. He stopped and banged on the window, leaving large greasy fingerprints.
Reluctantly, Piper rolled down the window two inches. “I’m running late, Len.”
He smoothed a hand over his uncombed raggedy mane of dark hair and grinned. He really wasn’t a bad-looking man, he was just so…base. “Since I’m havin’ Mom a party, why don’t you come over for a piece of cake, say, oh, about seven? We’ll watch ‘Wheel of Fortune’ together.”
“I’ll try to stop by and wish Margaret a happy birthday,” she said pleasantly, nodding and rolling up the window at the same time she eased down the driveway.
“I’ll get out my baby pictures!” Len yelled, trotting alongside the van until she cut the wheels, prompting him to jump back into the wet grass to prevent a crushed bare foot.
Piper heaved a sigh of relief as she pulled away, but guilt struck her when she saw Lenny’s shoulders sag in her rearview mirror. After staying up late to read The Sexton Sisters’ Secret Guide to Marrying a Good Man, she’d gone to sleep with a smile on her lips and determination in her heart to keep an open mind where Mudville men were concerned. But at the first sight of her persistent neighbor this morning, her mind had banged shut like a newly oiled door. And although she was a little more than positive that Lenny Kern did not hold the key to her destiny, she renewed her pledge to give every eligible man that crossed her path a fair assessment.
Low-hanging black clouds crowded the sky as she pulled into the nearly deserted parking lot of a video rental store to return three movies. It looked like rain for sure. Rain wasn’t all that unusual for a summer day in Mississippi, but this one day, Piper had forgotten her umbrella. Still, perhaps a shower would alleviate some of the ever-present humidity, she thought hopefully.
Piper reached around to loosen her blouse from her sticky back and glanced at the movies in her hand with a faint pang of embarrassment. Was there a flick she hadn’t seen? Black-and-white, Technicolor or colorized, romance, action or science fiction—she loved them all. For ninety minutes she could escape, finding a new life infinitely more interesting and fulfilling than hers.
It wasn’t as though she didn’t love her job as a food scientist—she did. And despite her good-natured complaints about living in a small town, she enjoyed the sense of community in Mudville. But she realized last night while reading the manhunting guide that although she’d spent years convincing herself she didn’t want a man, she’d been fooling herself. She wanted her own happy ending, and as much as she hated to admit it, she wanted a loving companion by her side when the credits on her life rolled by.
She had just slid the tapes into a night drop box when a sound from the front of the store drew her attention. Henry Walden, owner of Videoville and town playboy, stuck his head out the door. “Piper Shepherd, is that you?”
Piper stared at the man who’d barely looked her way the five hundred or so times she’d been in his store. He had pale hair and tanned skin and seemingly row upon row of brilliantly white teeth. Henry wore his usual uniform of tight jeans, black pointed-toe boots and sleeveless shirt that showed off the tiger’s-head tattoo on his left biceps. Although he looked to be in his mid-to late-thirties, he typically kept company with girls half his age. And twice her bra size.
Still, Henry was eligible, and handsome in a flashy kind of way. She remembered her pledge and smiled up at him. “Who does it look like, Henry?”
He seemed mesmerized by her legs. “I’m not sure—you look so…so…I’ve never seen you wear a dress.”
Satisfaction and surprise warmed her. Were men so superficial that a simple change of clothes could elicit such a response? She was the same person she’d been yesterday, wearing drawstring khakis and an oversize T-shirt. Her scuffed clogs were substantially more comfortable than these toe-pinching pumps, so she was relatively sure she looked happier in her old clothes.
“Funeral?” he asked, utterly serious.
“No,” she retorted. “Can’t a girl dress up once in a while?”
He crossed his muscular arms and pursed his lips, surveying her as if he’d just made a discovery. “Absolutely,” he said. “Listen, Piper, I’ve been meaning to call you and see if you’d like to go out sometime. What do you say?”
Not quite sure if he was asking her out or asking her if he could ask her out, Piper nodded. “That would be nice…I think.”
He nodded confidently, as if he expected no less than her acquiescence, and chewed on the inside of his cheek. A smile curved his fetching mouth as he studied her legs. The silence stretched between them until Piper felt as if she stood on two juicy drumsticks.
She gestured toward her van, which was still running. “Well, I guess I’d better be going.”
Henry, nodding and chewing, watched her while she climbed inside awkwardly, aware of the expanse of thigh she revealed in the process. Embarrassment mixed with doubt and anticipation made her queasy as she drove away, and she suddenly remembered why she’d stopped dating in the first place—it hadn’t been worth the strain. She’d barely begun her day, and she was already exhausted. Still, she was making progress. She had the threat of a date anyway.
More out of habit than necessity, Piper slowed at the caution light before proceeding onto Patty Richards Kegley Boulevard, the main thoroughfare of town. Twenty-two years ago Patty Richards Kegley had made the mistake of stepping out onto what had then been called Main Street in front of the single Mudville fire truck as it rushed to a grease fire at the drive-in on the far end of town. For her misfortune, she’d been immortalized in street signs, and the drive-in had created a sandwich in her name. Piper hoped if she herself incurred a mortal wound within city limits, she would at least warrant an entrée.
The Mudville morning rush hour typically dragged on for a full fifteen minutes when nearly one hundred workers leaving the midnight to 7:00 a.m. shift at Blythe Industries food plant clogged Kegley Boulevard in a semimad dash for a window seat at either Tucker’s Good Food Place or Alma’s Eats. Piper avoided the tangle by timing her commute for seven-thirty, which gave her ample time for the ten-minute drive and a cup of coffee before she donned her lab apron at eight.
The rain started falling in sheets just as the company’s familiar blue and gray concrete sign came into view. Blythe Industries lay long and wide in a carved-out section of woods about a mile outside of town, past Trim’s Food Market, the new high school and the old car wash. Pure coincidence had landed her the job of chief food scientist when the plant opened a year ago. She’d been visiting her grandmother and they’d run into Mr. and Mrs. Edmund Blythe over apple oatmeal at Alma’s. The businessman had been ecstatic to learn of Piper’s educational and professional background and offered her a job on the spot. Not entirely thrilled with her position as a label-ingredient tester at a Biloxi packager, and eager to be near her aging grandmother, Piper had accepted. The money was better than average and she’d made quite a dent in her college loans, but she found it amusing that she, who was allergic to chocolate and averse to sweets in general, was in charge of creating many of the desserts ordered at fast-food restaurants all over the country.
She was glad to be starting a new project today, she decided as she circled the full parking lot searching for a vacant space, despite the fact that someone from the Bentley Group was arriving this afternoon to offer tips on the kind of dessert they were looking for. Working with a suit looking over her shoulder didn’t rank high on her list, but if Bentley signed for a new dessert, Edmund Blythe had promised her a very handsome bonus, so she aimed to please. Plus, a new face would take her mind off her after-hours manhunting mission. Her nerve was dwindling rapidly.
Through thrashing windshield wipers, she spotted one wide parking space on the end of a row and headed toward it. Cursing the van’s absence of power steering, Piper started turning well before the spot to leverage a good angle. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small black sports car dart around the corner and wheel deftly into the spot. Piper slammed on the brake, bouncing her forehead against the unforgiving steering wheel and biting her tongue. Pain exploded in her sinuses while stars floated behind her eyes. And she had the vaguest thought that the cut in her mouth would affect her tasting abilities for the day. Damn pushy salesmen! They bombarded the plant daily, trying to coax Edmund Blythe into using their branded ingredients in the desserts produced on the line.
She pressed her hands against her forehead, blinking back involuntary tears. A low thumping noise invaded her senses and she realized someone was knocking on her window. Loath to move her pounding head, Piper glanced up slowly to see a man standing outside beneath an umbrella, peering in at her. He wiped away the rain on the glass, then yelled, “Are you all right?”
Her first instinct was to fling open the door and send the stranger sprawling, but her head hurt so much, she could only nod. He knocked again and motioned for her to lower the window. She cranked down the glass gingerly, giving him the same two inches she’d allowed Lenny this morning.
However, if she hadn’t been so angry, she would have appreciated the fact that the stranger was a measurable improvement over Lenny. His dark hair was cleanly shorn and he was wearing a shirt—a dress shirt, no less—and a tie, which was reason enough for pause in these parts. His clear eyes were the color of the rain dripping from his umbrella and topped with dark eyebrows, which were drawn into a vee. “Are you all right?” he demanded again.
Furious at her physical response to the nitwit, she swallowed a mouthful of blood and narrowed her eyes at him. “You,” she said thickly, “are a menace.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up and he pulled back a few inches. “Me?” he sputtered. “What about you? Don’t you know you’re supposed to have your lights on when it’s raining?”
Piper licked her lips, testing her tongue. “I didn’t expect,” she said, her voice escalating with each word, “anyone to be driving like a maniac in the parking lot!” She winced at the pain and exhaled.
“It’s a good thing you had your seat belt on,” he snapped.
“It’s a good thing I’m not carrying a gun,” Piper returned.
He scowled, gesturing. “Are you all right or aren’t you?”
“I’ll live,” she muttered, fingering the goose egg fast forming on her forehead.
“Look, give me a minute to move my car,” he said. “You can have the parking space.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” she said dryly.
“I didn’t see you,” he said tersely, “or I would have gladly let you have the spot.” He strode toward his car, shielded by the umbrella. His movements were jerky as he unlocked the door and lowered himself inside. Within a few seconds, he had backed out of the spot and disappeared around the corner.
Piper eased into the space, her heart still racing from the encounter. After she turned off the engine, she leaned forward and rolled her eyes up at the sky, hoping for a few minutes’ reprieve to make the dash into the building. When none seemed forthcoming, she fished a plastic grocery bag out of the glove box. After tying the handles under her chin, she took a deep breath, then shot out of the door into the unrelenting cloudburst.
She didn’t make it far. Her pumps didn’t have the same grip as her trusty clogs. One second she was jumping puddles, the next she was flat on her back on the pavement, completely winded and half-submerged, her head held out of the water, she suspected, by the knot rising swiftly on her crown. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. Mercifully the rain suddenly stopped.
“You’re accident prone,” a male voice said above her.
Piper opened her eyes slowly to see the salesman kneeling over her, his umbrella providing the imagined lapse in the downpour. She considered the depth of the puddle—surely drowning would be less painful than dying of humiliation.
“Are you all right?” He grasped her arm and pulled her to her soggy feet, but she felt off balance and leaned heavily on his arm.
“I should have let you keep the parking spot,” she murmured, still a little fuzzy, and very, very wet. Water streamed off her clothes, which were seemingly vacuum-packed to her backside.
“Do you feel well enough to walk?” he asked, his breath fanning her face as they huddled under the umbrella.
Piper conjured up a smirk. “What are my options?”
“I could carry you,” he said simply, one side of his mouth drawing up into a lopsided smile.
Her heart lodged near her throat at the prospect and time stood still for an instant. His gaze locked with hers and Piper swallowed painfully. They might have been captured in their own little snow globe, separated from the rest of the world by some transparent barrier. Rain drummed on the umbrella and water ran around their feet. Piper’s tongue felt thick, but she wasn’t sure if it was swollen from biting herself or if she’d suffered brain damage from the combined knocks to her head.
“N-no,” she stammered. She would already be the laughingstock when she walked into her office—she’d never live it down if she arrived high in the arms of a stranger. “I’ll walk.”
“That might be difficult.” He shifted and fighting a smile, he held up the heel to one of her pumps.
Her heart sank. “I’ll crawl,” she amended.
“Come on,” he urged, turning her toward the building. “I owe you one.”
“You certainly do,” Piper said briskly, but his throaty chuckle relaxed her slightly. He bore more of her weight than she did as they made their way across the short walkway and up a sweeping set of limestone steps. Piper’s vital signs went haywire and she fluctuated between wanting the encounter to end and wishing for another lap around the grounds on the arm of this man.
His driving skills aside, this was a man worth hunting. Tall, solidly built from what she could see, nice dresser. Piper frowned. He obviously was not from Mudville—hmm, that could be a problem. Still, she was thrilled that she’d managed to stumble over such a prize specimen so early in her hunt. Phrases from her grandmother’s guide popped into her head and she searched for something brilliant to say that would erase the impression she’d given him.
But her romantic musings came to a screeching halt when she glanced down at his left hand. Winking back at her, mocking her from his third finger was a very gold, very sparkly, very substantial-looking wedding band.
Her quarry had been bagged by someone else.
Piper suddenly felt cold, wet and miserable. Even if she did need the practice, she wasn’t inclined to waste her fledgling feminine wiles on a married man. She set down her foot wearing the good shoe on the top step, then felt the rain-soaked heel snap off. The pain in her ankle surpassed any of the injuries she’d received in the last fifteen minutes. She howled, her dignity long gone.
Ian felt his clumsy companion lurch sideways, and bent his knees to accommodate her weight, such as it was. His flash of irritation was replaced by concern at her high-pitched yelp. At least they had progressed to an overhang, so he abandoned the umbrella to clasp her other arm.
“My ankle, my ankle, ow, ow, ow,” she whimpered, holding her right foot off the ground. With the white plastic bag tied around her head, her shimmering eyes and her drenched, dripping clothes, she looked pitiful.
“Hold still,” he said, bending to lift her into his arms.
“No,” she protested, pushing at his chest with laughably tiny hands.
“Hold still,” he insisted, swinging her up, “before you break your little neck.” She gasped with indignation. Ian pressed his lips together and stared straight ahead. He concentrated on the few remaining steps into the building to keep his mind off the fact that his hands were full of very attractive woman. The “little” had just popped out. Petite and elflike, she could be anywhere between her early twenties and mid-thirties. But she had a mouth like a teenager, and seemed just as flighty.
If Blythe Industries was riddled with ditzy employees, maybe he should rethink their business liaison. Perhaps this project would be better off in the hands of the midsize food plant he worked with in Peoria.
“I can walk, thank you.” She moved against him, struggling like a soaked kitten.
Glancing at her was a mistake—he nearly stumbled when he looked into her eyes. Pale blue, virtually black around the edges, and brimming with anger. Childlike long lashes. Chiseled, small features, with dark, spiky hair sticking out from under her makeshift rain bonnet. And her wet wriggling was doing things to his body. “We’re almost there—you’re making things worse,” he said tightly. Much worse. He’d come to Mudville hoping to forget about women for a while, and within hours of arriving, he already had his hands full…literally.
He dragged away his gaze to look around for someone to open the double doors heralding the entrance to Blythe Industries, but no one else was in sight. Thankfully, the doors slid open automatically.
About two dozen people loitered in the two-story lobby, talking, waiting for the elevator, stamping the rain from their feet onto pale marble tile. A few people drifted in through another entrance, directly opposite the one he and Miss Mishap had chosen. A tall desk sat unattended in the reception area. He looked around for a place to set down his load, and moved toward a small cluster of couches and chairs.
Meanwhile, his load was caterwauling, “Put…me…down!”
A few heads turned at the obvious distress in her voice, and his irritation flared. How like a woman to bite the hand trying to feed her.
“Be quiet,” he snapped, “before I drop you on your wet backside.” Indeed, the going was precarious with all the water dripping from her onto the slick floor.
She refused to behave. Still pressing against his chest, she shouted, “Put me down!”
He did. Ian dropped her unceremoniously onto the most absorbent-looking couch in the lobby. She bounced twice on her behind, arms flailing, eyes angry.
“There,” he pronounced, removing a handkerchief to wipe his own hands. His wet suit sleeves and the front of his shirt, however, were beyond patting dry.
“Thank you,” she said with a clenched jaw, trying to sit up. She reached forward to massage her ankle, which had already begun to swell. Despite her ungrateful attitude, Ian winced in sympathy. She needed medical attention.
A stout, middle-aged man broke from the staring crowd at the elevators, his stride purposeful. Ian recognized Edmund Blythe from the meetings in Chicago, where they had signed a sizable contract. “Piper, is that you? Good Lord, what happened?”
In wet stocking feet, the woman he called Piper looked up from the couch. She tore off the plastic bag, revealing choppy short, dark hair. Only someone with her incredible bone structure could have carried off the minimal hairstyle. “Good morning, Edmund.” She rolled her eyes toward Ian. “I was told that I’m accident prone.”
The man turned to Ian, then his face lit up in surprise. “Well, Mr. Bentley! I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon, but it’s good to see you.”
Ian took the beefy hand Edmund proffered. “Hello again, Mr. Blythe. I suppose I was anxious to see your operation firsthand.”
“And oversee the creation of your new dessert,” Mr. Blythe added with a knowing smile.
Relenting with a nod, Ian said, “This is an important project.”
Blythe grinned. “That’s why we have our chief food scientist ready to begin work on your assignment today—under your supervision, of course.”
“I’m impressed with the quality of my Italian restaurants’ desserts. I’m anxious to meet him.”
Ian hadn’t meant to ignore the wet bundle he’d carried into the building, but he was eager to get on with business. At the sound of her clearing her throat rather loudly, though, he glanced down to find her staring at him, wide-eyed.
“Her,” she said, smirking.
“I beg your pardon?” Ian asked.
“The chief food scientist,” she said, still smiling. “It’s a her.” She slung moisture off her small hand and shoved it toward him. “Piper Shepherd, accident-prone chief food scientist, at your service.”

CHAPTER THREE
Don’t waste precious time dallying with ne’er-do-wells, drunks, married men and other undesirables.

IAN BLINKED. The clumsy little pixie who couldn’t maneuver her way from the parking lot into the building was in charge of the most important project on his drawing board? He took the damp slender hand she extended and gave it a light shake, lest he injure another part of her body—a part she would need for cooking. “My apologies,” he offered, feeling a flush climb his neck. “I’m Ian Bentley.”
“So I gathered,” she said, smiling tightly. “Looks as though we’ll be working together, Mr. Bentley.”
From the expression on her face, Ian made a mental note to keep tabs on the butcher knives in her food lab. Flustered, he wasn’t sure what to do or say next. Thankfully, Edmund stepped in.
“Piper, let’s get you to the infirmary so the nurse can take a look at your ankle.” His face creased in concern. “And that bump on your head.” He clasped her arm and eased her to her feet. She glared at Ian, as if daring him to offer to help so she could take off his head. Instead, feeling absurdly responsible, he collected her dismembered shoes and followed them. Edmund bent at the waist to aid his petite patient, and Piper hopped on one foot, leaving a trail of water that dripped from her shrunken hem.
People stared at him with accusing eyes as they traipsed through the lobby, as if he’d run her down in the wet parking lot. He averted his gaze from her round behind, but the glimpse of thin bra straps through the back of her transparent blouse seemed even more provocative, so he settled for staring at his own black tassel wingtips as they walked to the elevator.
“Mr. Blythe, perhaps Mr. Bentley would be more comfortable waiting in your office,” Piper suggested, turning those incredible eyes his way.
Her tone sounded deceptively generous, but Ian suspected she actually wanted to be spared his company. The knowledge roused the perverse desire in him to remain close by. “I may be a menace, Ms. Shepherd,” he said with a slight smile, “but I’m a concerned menace. I’ll tag along, if you don’t mind.”
Her mouth tightened, but she nodded curtly.
Edmund Blythe looked at him, then her. “What exactly happened, Piper?”
Ian opened his mouth to take full blame, but she cut him off. “Mr. Bentley saw me fall in the parking lot and he…came to my rescue.”
Surprised, Ian lifted an eyebrow. Of course, she was supposed to be winning him over.
“Mighty nice of you, Bentley,” Edmund declared, holding open the elevator door when it arrived. She limped in ahead of him, on her boss’s arm. If Ms. Shepherd’s skirt dried molded to her backside, Ian knew his attention span would be seriously compromised for the remainder of the day.
Just as the doors started to close, an intercom crackled. “Mr. Blythe, please come to your office. Mr. Blythe, please come to your office.”
Edmund frowned and blocked the door from closing with one stout arm while supporting Ms. Shepherd with the other. “Sounds like I’m needed upstairs. Can you manage, Bentley?”
Startled, Ian nodded and moved hesitantly toward a wide-eyed Ms. Shepherd, whom Edmund passed over to him as if she were a slim runner’s baton. Then her boss strode out of the elevator, and the doors slid closed, shutting out curious onlookers as they craned for a better look.
They stood in silence for several seconds, he holding on to her arm awkwardly and she alternately leaning into and away from him, as if she couldn’t make up her mind. She was a small woman, of average height, but as delicate-looking as a doe. She’d probably broken her ankle falling off those ridiculous shoes. A bit irritated, Ian marveled at how different the day was turning out to be than he’d imagined. At this rate, they’d never get any work done.
Which would delay his return to Chicago, he suddenly realized, and smiled.
“You can let me in on the joke later,” she said, wobbling, “but for now I’d settle for you pushing the basement button.”
He sobered and, since his fingers were full of her shoes, pressed the button carefully with a knuckle on his right hand, setting them into motion. Tension crackled in the few cubic feet of air. Ian felt at a loss to explain how rapidly they’d gotten off on the wrong foot, but if he’d learned anything in his bachelorhood, regardless of fault, it was the man who was expected to make amends. He cleared his throat, then said, “I have to admit I underestimated Mudville—is every morning around here this exciting?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said as the bell dinged and the doors opened. “You should have seen the commotion on Main Street when Alma ran out of biscuits last Tuesday at her restaurant.”
He laughed and helped her out onto the smooth tiled floor of the basement, but she promptly slipped. Ian caught her in what resembled a low waltz dip, slamming their bodies together and bringing their faces within inches of each other. She gasped and he could feel her heart pounding. Desire surged through his body, surprising him. Her eyes grew large and startled. Her skin shone translucent, dewy from the downpour, her cheekbones high and her mouth rounded in an O. A schoolboy urge to kiss her flooded him, but overwhelming the various signals his body transmitted was the screaming pain in the third finger on his left hand. Meredith’s ring felt like a sharp, metal tourniquet.
“Ms. Shepherd,” he said in a low voice as he pulled them upright in slow motion and tried to shake off the attraction he felt for her. “It seems that you’re determined to fall again. Our progress would be quicker if you would allow me to carry you the rest of the way.”
She straightened her slender shoulders and adopted a haughty look. “Oh, you’re asking this time?”
He pursed his lips, considering the wisdom of arguing with her. The woman was a confounding mix of spunk and vulnerability. Her arrogance annoyed him—he was only trying to help, and she continued to be difficult. Still, he recognized the dangerous signs of physical attraction, and the last thing he needed was yet another woman to complicate his life. Delivering Ms. Shepherd to the infirmary and putting distance between them struck him as the best solution. “I’m asking,” he said with as much control as he could muster.
A look of defeat passed through her eyes and pink tinged her cheeks. “Well, um, since we only have a little farther to go…” Her voice trailed off and she nodded down a tunnel-like hallway.
Anxious to get her to the infirmary and take his leave, Ian bent and once again swept her into his arms. This time she didn’t squirm or wiggle, but held herself stiff and unmoving instead. As if by mutual consent, they both stared in the direction of their destination. Ian quickened his pace and lengthened his stride until he reached a doorway over which a hanging sign announced Infirmary.
The infirmary was little more than a large closet containing a cot and tall metal cabinets with glass doors, behind which were arranged an impressive array of bandages and over-the-counter medications. As Ian lowered Piper onto the cot, an inner door that read Janet Browning, R.N. opened, and a woman sporting a pink smock, braces and big red hair emerged. “Good grief, Piper, what happened to you?”
“I fell and twisted my ankle.”
The nurse leaned over and smoothed back her patient’s hair. “Did you hit your head on the way down?”
“Sort of.”
“What are you doing so dressed up anyway?” the nurse asked, impatience clear in her voice.
Ian bit back a smile and placed Piper’s shoes on the cot next to her. Had Ms. Shepherd wanted to impress him? He glanced at her flushed face, then remembering his getaway plan, he stepped back toward the door. His neck felt sticky—damn, but it was humid in Mississippi!
He fingered his collar impatiently, and Meredith’s ring pinched the inside of his knuckle. Biting back a salty curse, he twisted the band into a more comfortable position. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear the thing was tighter than yesterday. This was definitely one of those times when being left-handed was problematic—and he’d never liked wearing jewelry, so the ring felt doubly cumbersome.
The nurse had lifted Ms. Shepherd’s leg to inspect her ankle, giving him an inadvertent peek directly up her damp skirt. Under her nude hose, she wore red panties. Ian swallowed painfully and fought the urge to bolt without a word. “I’ll…I’ll be in Mr. Blythe’s office if you need—”
“Thank you, Mr. Bentley,” she cut in, smiling up at him from the cot. “I’m fine.”
He glanced over her one last time, from her droopy, wet hair to her plastered clothing to her plump ankle. Ms. Shepherd was as opposite to Meredith as a woman could be. She was a total mess, but she couldn’t have been more correct—she was very, very fine. Ian felt his body harden involuntarily. He nodded curtly, wheeled and fled for his wife, er, life.

PIPER SAGGED with dismay. Mortification washed over her as she gazed at her shredded panty hose and fat ankle. The man must have thought she was a complete nincompoop. Her immediate financial success—and her chances of being able to afford her grandmother’s house—depended on impressing Ian Bentley. So far the only impression she’d made was the one she’d left in the parking-lot pavement.
“Boyfriend?” Janet Browning asked with one red eyebrow in the air.
Piper gave her a dry smile. “Hardly. He’s Ian Bentley, our largest customer.”
“He’s a looker, girlfriend.”
“He’s okay,” Piper relented. “But he’s also my boss for a few days.”
“Planning to put in a little overtime?”
Remembering the thrill of being carried in his arms, Piper masked her disappointment with indignation. “You’re a nut. Didn’t you see his wedding ring?”
Her friend scoffed. “Ring, schming. You take what you can get in this barren little town. Let’s take a closer look at your ankle.” Janet leaned over and pulled a small stool forward on which she propped Piper’s swollen foot. She knelt and touched the flesh gingerly while Piper grimaced and sucked air through clenched teeth.
“I don’t think anything’s broken, but you’ve got a bad sprain. I can give you an anti-inflammatory. You should be back to work in a few days if you take it easy.”
Alarm bolted through Piper and she sat up straight. “But I’m starting a new project today.”
“With Mr. Bentley?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t Rich take care of it?”
Piper fought to keep from wrinkling her nose. She was going to get that bonus, not her assistant. “It’s not what you think—I have other reasons for heading up this project.”
Janet smiled knowingly. “Admit it, Piper, working with Mr. Bentley is the reason you’re dressed like a mannequin.”
“Wrong,” Piper replied calmly, loath to confess the embarrassing details of the manhunt that had unwittingly gotten her into this humiliating situation. “I knew someone was coming from the Bentley Group, but I had no idea it was a man or what he looked like.”
“Oh, right,” Janet said, her hands on generous hips. “So I guess you expect me to believe you’ve turned over a new leaf and are now dressing like you give a damn about men in general?”
Piper stuck her chin in the air. “Well, what if I am?”
“Then you’re failing miserably.”
As if she needed to be reminded. “Thank you, Dr. Ruth. Just wrap my ankle, will you?”
Janet walked to the cabinet and removed a roll of bandage, scissors and tape. “Lose the panty hose.” She grinned, flashing her braces. “Bet you haven’t heard that for a while.”
“I’ll ignore that remark.”
“Hey, has your grandmother sold her house yet?”
“No, but she’s moving this weekend.”
“What a gorgeous place—those columns! I’d love to have it.”
Silently, Piper agreed with her. Her grandmother’s house resembled a miniature plantation, two high-ceilinged stories of limestone, with grand round columns studding the deep, wraparound porch. But the beauty on the outside couldn’t begin to compare with the beautiful memories inside. The house represented all the good things about family that Piper had never been exposed to in her own home, and she wanted to own it more than anything. Which was why she needed to come up with something fabulous for Ian Bentley’s coffeehouses.
A few minutes later, her wrapped ankle feeling much stronger, Piper made her way back to the elevator and up to her office where experience in the food lab had taught her to keep an extra change of clothes.
“What happened to you?” her assistant, Rich Enderling, asked when she walked into her office.
“Don’t ask.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, scrutinizing her bare feet and wrapped ankle. He shrugged his wide shoulders and held up his hands in submission. Ironically, auburn-headed Rich was one of the better-looking men in town. Rich had admitted to her his homosexuality a few weeks after joining Blythe, but revealed he hadn’t yet decided to live an openly gay lifestyle. The fact that he’d come to Mudville to buffer his attraction to men spoke volumes for the selection. “Piper, don’t forget, someone is coming this afternoon from the Bentley Group to talk about the new dessert.”
She gave him a wry smile as she passed him on her way to her storage cabinet. “Thanks for the reminder.” After opening the cabinet, she removed clean jeans, a white T-shirt and a navy blazer, plus red canvas tennis shoes.
“Uh, Piper?”
She turned. “Yeah, Rich?”
He gestured to her clothing. “Did somebody die?”
Smiling sweetly, she slammed the cabinet door. “Yes—the next person who asks me that question.”
Piper marched into the ladies’ room, and came to a toe-stubbing stop in front of the full-length mirror. Her mouth dropped open in horror. Her hair alternately stood on end and lay flattened to her head, her clothing hung wrinkled, spattered and damp. Mascara flecked her cheeks. And her ankle looked huge.
It was a good thing Ian Bentley was married—she’d never stop kicking herself if she thought she’d met an eligible man in her current state. She changed clothes and repaired her hair and makeup as best she could, glad when she could feel the painkiller Janet had given her kick in. She considered flushing the broken pumps down the toilet, but settled for slamming them into a metal trash can. Darn shoes! She’d paid a fortune for them years ago for somebody’s wedding and hadn’t worn them a half-dozen times since. Damn the man who invented these things! It was probably the same guy who invented panty hose.
She half limped, half stomped back to her desk and stuffed the ruined clothes into a plastic bag, snatched a clean lab coat from the cabinet and hobbled down the hall to the food lab. She’d planned to spend the morning whipping up two or three experimental desserts for the Bentley Group representative. Now she’d probably have to do it all with him looking over her shoulder—if her appearance and behavior hadn’t spooked him into leaving altogether.
“Here she is now,” Edmund said, his arms out to her and his face wreathed in smiles. A large room lined with counters, sinks and huge industrial-size stainless-steel appliances, the lab suddenly looked crowded with her boss, her assistant and her nemesis lined up against a counter, enjoying coffee and a sampler of Danishes and sweet breads from the production line.
“Hi, Edmund, Mr. Bentley.”
She made brief eye contact with Ian. He acknowledged her with a nod, but his gaze swept over her, head to toe. Piper tingled, but vowed to maintain the most professional demeanor possible. He had removed his jacket and loosened his tie and top shirt button. Gorgeous, the man was simply gorgeous, she bemoaned inwardly, but recalled the no-nonsense advice from her grandmother’s book. The man was off-limits, out-of-bounds, inaccessible and just plain taken.
Holding a mug in one hand and a slice of strawberry-cream-cheese-pecan-nut-bread in the other, he looked like most men when they ate—content. She wondered briefly if his wife was a good cook, then chastised herself. What did she care?
“How is your ankle?” he asked politely.
“Much better, thanks.” She limped over to the coatrack, removed her blazer and donned the comfortable lab coat.
“I gave Mr. Bentley a tour of our facilities,” Edmund announced.
“I see you raided the production line,” she teased. “Enjoy your breakfast, gentlemen. I’ll gather my supplies for the day.”
“Piper, these caramel doughnuts are the most wonderful things I’ve ever tasted,” Edmund declared, wiping a corner of his mouth. “If Harriet knew I was eating these, she’d have my hide.” He shook his head and grunted.
She smiled at her boss, knowing he was laying it on thick for the sake of their guest. “Your secret is safe with me, Edmund.” She noticed Rich studying Mr. Bentley unobtrusively and started in surprise.
Her assistant glanced her way, flushed, then straightened. “Speaking of having someone’s hide, Prickett will have mine if I don’t help with the morning inspection.” He headed for the door, adding over his shoulder, “I’ll check in with you later, Piper.”
“Well, Mr. Bentley,” Edmund said, wiping the sugar from his hands, “I’ll leave you in the very capable hands of Ms. Shepherd.”
Stepping into the deep supply closet kept her from hearing Mr. Bentley’s response, only the muffled sound of his deep voice. The voice of a confident, rich, successful, powerful man. Despite her vow, she couldn’t argue with the fact that her hands shook and her heart raced at the thought of spending the next few days with Ian Bentley, ring or no ring. Which simply demonstrated how desperate she was, she realized with disgust, trying valiantly to concentrate on the task at hand.
Tall shelves crammed with nonperishable ingredients towered over her—white sugar, brown sugar, powdered sugar, white flour, bread flour, wheat flour, baking soda, salt, dark cocoa, white cocoa butter, peanut butter, assorted nuts, marshmallow creme, fudge sauce, caramel sauce, strawberry sauce, raspberry sauce and an exhaustive list of other goodies. The fragrance alone tickled every taste bud in her mouth, and simply inhaling was worth a good fifty calories or so.
She gathered a handful of spices and flavorings and tossed them into a sturdy metal cart, which doubled as a step stool, along with five pounds of flour and five pounds each of white and brown sugar. She had several ideas, but she knew her banana-cream pudding would knock Mr. Bentley’s socks off.
Her train of thought led her to imagine other articles of his clothing being knocked off, but she immediately put on the brakes and reviewed necessary ingredients in her head. So absorbed was she with her mental shopping list that when she heard his voice behind her, she froze.
“My, my, there are all kinds of tempting things in here.”
Piper squashed down erotic thoughts, steeled herself and turned. Her pulse jumped at the sight of him leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his broad chest. She managed a shaky smile. “Pick something you like and I’ll add it to the cart.”
His smile was slow and pulse-pounding. “Well, Ms. Shepherd, I wouldn’t stop you from climbing on.”

CHAPTER FOUR
Once you find a marriageable man, don’t wink, tease, flirt or otherwise let him know you’re interested.

PIPER SQUEEZED a plastic bottle of banana syrup so hard, the top blew off and ricocheted between the metal shelving twice before rolling to a stop by the toe of her shoe. She replayed Ian Bentley’s words in her mind. “Excuse me?” she asked, buying time. After all, she didn’t want to make a fool of herself—either way—if she hadn’t heard him correctly.
Mr. Bentley straightened, cleared his throat and pointed to her injured foot. “If you need to take the weight off your ankle, feel free to take a seat on your cart. I’m in no hurry.”
His gray eyes were innocent, and Piper felt weak with relief. The mild painkiller was playing tricks on her. “Oh.” She bent to retrieve the wayward lid. “No, I’m fine,” she lied. Fingers of pain probed her ankle even as she loitered in the closet, lusting after an unavailable man. Determined to focus on her bonus, Piper stood erect and replaced the lid on the bottle. The provocative shape of the hand-friendly, tapered container made her nervous, so she deposited it abruptly into the cart. “I—I hope you like the recipe I have in mind for your new dessert, Mr. Bentley.”
He shrugged and glanced around the room. “You’re the expert. And I’ll eat just about anything sweet…unless it contains bananas.”
Piper stopped and stared. “Bananas?”
He nodded. “I like them, but unfortunately, I’m allergic.”
“Allergic,” she parroted. “Imagine that.”
His wide shoulders rose in a shrug. “And I have to admit—anything chocolate is bound to get my attention.”
“Chocolate,” she repeated, already picturing the hives, the swollen eyes and the thick tongue she’d develop from all the tasting. “That’s…great. Nobody does chocolate like I do chocolate.” Reluctantly.
He grinned, looking boyish and outrageously appealing. “Terrific. Of course, if you feel compelled to make something with bananas, go ahead.”
“But you just said—”
“I don’t believe in depriving the buying public simply because I can’t indulge. I try my best to ignore cravings for things I shouldn’t have.”
Piper gazed into his eyes and swallowed. Was he referring to this, this…attraction between them and his status as a married man? Or was she reading too much into his words because of her own sudden awareness? “I wouldn’t want you to, um, suffer.”
His eyes darkened and he leaned toward her almost imperceptibly. “Some things are worth the consequences, no matter how dire.”
Just as her knees weakened, the fluorescent light caught the glint of his wedding ring, sobering Piper. Even if the man wasn’t taken, he emanated too much sexual energy for her comfort level. But under no circumstances would she become involved with a married man. A flush of embarrassment climbed her neck—she was so naive when it came to men that she couldn’t even be sure if he was baiting her for an affair or simply informing her he’d break out in a rash if he ate bananas.
Thankfully, Mr. Bentley saved her from responding. He glanced away and drew himself up, breaking the moment—if indeed there’d been one. “I’m more interested in the aesthetic appeal of your recipes, the marketability and—” he smiled tightly “—the cost, of course.”
Feeling like a ninny, Piper grabbed a canister of white and dark cocoa and added them to the pile. Then she gripped the cart handle with sweaty hands and headed toward the door. Her best hope to diffuse the sexual tension was to minimize their time together—she’d get rid of him as soon as possible and work overtime until the project’s completion. He’d be on his way back to Chicago in no time, after he’d signed a contract for the most decadent chocolate dessert she could concoct, of course. “We can discuss the recipe in the lab,” she suggested, frantic to get some distance from the man.
“Let me take that,” he offered, reaching for the handle of the cart.
She glanced down to maneuver around Bentley’s expensive-looking shoes. “That’s all right—”
His fingers brushed hers, nudging her hand aside. For some reason, the touch seemed more intimate than either time he’d lifted her into his arms. She pulled away so quickly, she nearly threw herself off balance. Then she sidled past him as gracefully as she could with her clubby ankle, and indicated her favorite work counter, where he parked the cart.
Keenly aware of him following her, Piper crossed the checkerboard black-and-white tile floor to the coffeemaker. She poured herself a cup of black decaf coffee and refreshed his cup as well. Striving for nonchalance, she conjured up a smile. “Do you know how intimidating it is to serve coffee to a man who owns some of the most successful coffeehouses in the country?”
“I’m a simple man—I like my coffee black and strong.” Bentley lifted his cup and took a deep swallow. “This is actually quite good.”
Calmer now, Piper pointed toward the corner of the lab where a white rectangular table sat surrounded by six sterile-looking chairs. Her foot was beginning to throb and she needed to rest before pulling out the mixing bowls. “Let’s sit and discuss the finished product.”
Piper approached a set of tall file cabinets, opened a drawer, walked her fingers across tabs, then withdrew the thick folder she’d compiled on the Bentley Group. Slowly she made her way over to the table and stood awkwardly, shifting good foot to injured foot and back, waiting for Mr. Bentley to sit so she could situate herself as far away from him as politely possible. But he pulled out a chair for her on one side and she felt obliged to take it. Alarm struck her when he tugged on the chair directly next to her, but he simply smiled and indicated the seat with a nod.

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