Книга - In Good Company

In Good Company
Teresa Southwick


Now Playing: The story of the unsinkable Molly PrestonGone were the glasses, braces and baby fat. Molly Preston had changed heaps since the days they kept company in high school. Since Des O'Donnell had betrayed her. Now, of all the men on the charity auction block, she'd taken the upper hand and secretly bid on him.His Big Scene: Convincing her that with him she was in good companySeemed Molly had past wrongs she wanted to right. And she believed having big-man-on-campus Des O'Donnell as her reunion escort would send a statement. But Des owed her more. So he fibbed a little…and introduced her as his fiancée!









“I bought you to be my escort for the reunion,” she said in a rush.


He looked genuinely surprised. “Why?”

So many reasons. None of them she wanted to share.

“Guys are probably lined up to take you out.”

“Not really.” Damn that little glow starting in her belly.

“Molly, I’d have taken you to your reunion even if you hadn’t bid on me.”

Recently he’d told her she was a knockout. And the geeky adolescent still lurking inside her desperately wanted to believe he meant what he’d said. But she’d believed him once and paid a high price, in self-esteem and trust.

Now she’d made a deal with the devil—or rather, devil-may-care Des. She needed to guard her emotions carefully. To do that, she’d have to keep her mind on the reunion, and only on the reunion.

But just this once, as she closed the door behind her, she’d revel in the intensity burning in his blue eyes as he watched her walk away.




In Good Company

Teresa Southwick







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




TERESA SOUTHWICK


lives with her husband in Las Vegas, the city that reinvents itself every day. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Silhouette Books.




Do you need a man? The 75


semi-annual Charity City Buy-A-Guy Auction







This is your chance to find the right one for that “honey do” list!

Could you use a weekend warrior? Ex-U.S. Army Ranger Riley Dixon is the guy for you. He’s donating a survival weekend guaranteed to get your heart rate up.

What about that home repair you’ve been putting off?

Dashing Des O’Donnell, former Charity City High football hero, now owner and president of his own construction company, is offering a repair of your choice.

Personal security issues? Defend your honor?

Savvy Sam Brimstone, recently of the LAPD and a hotshot detective, is your man.

These are just a sampling of the jaw-dropping guys available to the highest bidder. Ladies, don’t miss the chance to buy a guy—no strings attached.

Cash, Check, Credit and Debit cards gratefully accepted by the Charity City Philanthropic Foundation.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue




Chapter One


Charity City, Texas

Mid September, two weeks before the bi-annual town auction

Desmond O’Donnell was back. Like the Terminator. Or a bad penny. Or both.

Molly Preston watched him walk past her classroom window, wishing he looked like a troll. But, where Des O’Donnell was concerned, her luck had never been that good. Now was no exception. All she could see was his profile and that was still to die for.

She was dabbing green paint on construction paper with one of her kids, when he entered her classroom and began looking around. She took a good look, too. The rumor mill had been working overtime since Des had returned to Charity City, and reports of his hunk quotient bordered on the stuff of urban legend. The reports were annoyingly accurate.

Ever since she learned the Charity City Foundation had awarded First Step Preschool the money for a new wing of classrooms and Des had won the contract to build it, she’d known their paths would cross. Again. But he’d picked a bad time to drop in. Not that any time would have been especially good, but it was craft time for her pre-K kids and when paint was involved, it was always uncharted territory. On top of that, a handsome stranger’s appearance was like a shot of adrenaline to her four-year-old charges.

They weren’t the only ones. Her twenty-five-year-old hormones whipped her heart into a serious palpitation. And her hands were sweating. She was no good around men—never had been, never would be—especially not around one who looked like he should be on the cover of Carpentry Quarterly.

Still, she’d been preparing herself to deal with him. But this time she wasn’t an overweight, orthodontically challenged, four-eyed high-school girl, easily dazzled by the PHAT—pretty hot and tempting—captain of the football team.

This time, she was a woman, and a professional. More classrooms meant more kids getting a head start on learning—a start that would make them kind, caring and productive members of society.

Seeing Des again was no big deal. Probably he was no longer a jerk. Probably there was a Mrs. Des at home. Besides, Molly was so over him. She was prepared to be polite and helpful because there was no longer any reason to hate his guts.

Brave self-talk, but as she walked over to the man from her past who was standing just inside the classroom door, her tongue felt suddenly three sizes too big for her mouth.

“Hello,” she managed to say.

“Hi. I’m Des O’Donnell from O’Donnell Construction.”

That sounded an awful lot like an introduction. Their previous acquaintance, such as it was, would suggest dispensing with introductions. She blinked, then stared at him, waiting for some hint of recognition on his part. She saw none.

When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “I’ll be building the new wing for the preschool and I’m here to look over the construction site.”

“I see.”

“This classroom will be affected. In the office I was told that this is Polly Preston’s room. That would probably make you Miss Preston. May I call you Polly?”

“Sure.” Her stomach knotted but her inner smart aleck picked up the slack. “But I can’t promise to answer.”

“Oh?”

“My name is Molly. Molly Preston.”

“Sorry. My mistake.”

He didn’t look sorry, Molly thought, then reminded herself she didn’t need to be snarky because she didn’t care. “No problem.”

He grinned his charming grin and that was a problem. “Nice to meet you, Molly.”

Clearly he didn’t remember her or her name. She wasn’t sure whether or not that was more humiliating than him taking a payoff to date her. After a socially dismal beginning to her freshman year, her father had paid Des to date her and ensure her high-school popularity. Des should have gone into acting. He’d pulled it off without her suspecting a thing. She’d never have known his interest in her was a sham if a disgruntled girlfriend hadn’t ratted him out.

Des had used her as a stepping stone to success. He’d got what he wanted, then hadn’t had the decency to break it off with her face-to-face. He’d simply stood her up then left for college.

Screw the high road, she decided. His betrayal had unraveled the fabric of her self-esteem. Now he didn’t even remember her? She would never be grown up enough to not care about that, and she felt justified in her crabbiness.

“Yeah, nice,” she lied. “Look, Mr. O’Donnell—”

“Des,” he interrupted.

“Des,” she repeated, annoyed at how easily his name slipped from her lips. She hoped that only she noticed that her voice had dropped into the seductive range on the single syllable.

Time had been good to Des O’Donnell. He’d always been the stuff of girlish fantasies. Now he was a man, with the filled-out physique to prove it. His chest-and-biceps-hugging navy T-shirt brought out the extraordinary sapphire blue of his eyes. She remembered that his hair had a natural wave when he needed a haircut, which he didn’t at the moment. She missed the curl. Once light blond, his hair had changed color over time. Somehow, the darker shade suited him better.

His face had matured, lines fanning out at the corners of his eyes. His square jaw gave him a rugged appearance that was just right on him. And just wrong for her.

The years melted away, turning her back into that insecure, geeky teenager who’d learned that someone like her didn’t snag sincere attention from men. Bruce the Bottom-feeder had happened in college. Her mistake had been believing he was the polar opposite of Des. It seemed that every time she went on to a higher level of education, painful personal lessons were involved. Which made her wary of a postgraduate degree.

But she was no longer in high school or college. She was a grown-up responsible for the welfare of the children in her class. It was time to behave that way.

“Look, Des—”

“So I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other during the construction,” he said at the same time.

“It would appear that way.”

“Arrangements will have to be made when your classroom is impacted by the construction. I’ll need to go over the work schedule with you.”

Molly tucked her hands into the pockets of her slacks. “Okay. But it can’t be right now.”

“Why not?”

“The children are involved in crafts. And that requires my undivided attention.”

She glanced over her shoulder and noticed one of the boys painting on the table instead of his paper. Thank goodness for butcher paper and her advance preparation for this very thing. “See what I mean? Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“I won’t take much of your time.”

“Children are schedule-sensitive. The slightest disruption can throw their world into chaos.”

“Then why did the office send me over?”

“We have a new receptionist. I’ll talk to her.”

“It wasn’t the receptionist who gave me the green light.” He folded his arms over his impressive chest. “I spoke to Mrs. Farris, the director. She said to tell you if you need backup while we discuss business to let her know.”

The little table-painter had wandered over beside her. When he slipped his hand into hers, Molly felt the sticky wetness and guessed she now had a green palm.

The boy looked up at the tall visitor. “Hi.”

“Hey, buddy,” Des replied.

Molly knew if this wasn’t nipped in the bud, the rest of her Picassos-in-training would be joining them, resulting in anarchy. Something any preschool teacher worth her salt would avoid at all cost.

“Trey,” she said to the child, “it’s craft time. Are you finished with your trees?”

“Yup.”

She glanced over to where he’d been sitting and saw his pristine paper with green paint all around it. “Are you sure?” she asked.

Des followed her gaze. “Looks like Trey thinks outside the box.”

The four remaining children at the table were getting restless. “Look, Des, this isn’t a good time. I have to clean up this group. The rest of my class is outside on the playground with an aide and they’re due in any minute for their turn at craft time. I try to stagger it for all my kids so it’s a relaxing and creative experience. So, Trey, I want you to go wash your hands.”

“But I wanna see what he’s gonna do,” the boy explained, pointing a green finger at Des. “Do you know Bob the Builder?”

Des squatted, bracing one denim-clad knee on the indoor/outdoor carpet as he rested his tanned forearm on the other. She noticed the way the material pulled snugly at his muscular thigh, then averted her gaze when her pulse jumped.

“Trey, I’m not going to do anything fun,” he said, his voice deep, calm and patient. “I’m just going to measure and write stuff down.”

The child looked disappointed. “You’re not gonna hammer?”

“Not today.”

“How come?”

“Because I don’t have anything to hammer. I have to order wood and nails and I don’t know how much I’ll need yet. I’m here to figure that out.”

“Oww.”

Molly turned at the cry of distress to see a curly-haired brunette rubbing her head.

“What’s wrong, Amy?”

“Kyle pulled my hair, Miss Molly,” she said, her bottom lip trembling.

“Kyle, remember what I told you about keeping your hands to yourself?”

The towheaded boy nodded. “She started it. She put paint on my new shoe, Miss Molly. My mom said I couldn’t even get these new shoes dirty or wet.”

“Don’t worry. The paint will come off. Did you tell Amy your shoes were new?”

He nodded. “But she painted ’em anyway. She’s stupid and I hate—”

Molly held up her finger. The guilty look on Kyle’s face told her he’d remembered too late her pet peeve—calling someone names. She’d been on the receiving end of enough hurtful taunts and wouldn’t permit name-calling in her classroom. Children weren’t too young to learn good manners and it was her goal to plant the seeds of kindness in as many of them as she could. But she tried to be fair when dispensing consequences.

She walked over to the pint-size squabblers. “Amy,” she said, squatting at the low table between the two children. She glanced at the black streak on the boy’s formerly snow-white sneaker. “Did you put paint on Kyle’s shoe?”

“Yes, but—”

Molly held up her hand. “No excuses. Please put down your paintbrush.” The little girl did as she was told. “Now, tell Kyle you’re sorry for what you did.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

Molly looked at the boy. “Kyle, you need to say you’re sorry for pulling Amy’s hair and calling her names.”

His stubborn expression clearly said he’d been wronged and shouldn’t have to apologize. But Molly sternly met his gaze without flinching. Every transgression required an apology even if hostilities hadn’t been initiated by the apologizer. Good thing she hadn’t held her breath waiting for Des to apologize for making a fool of her.

Finally Kyle rubbed a finger beneath his nose and said, “Sorry, Amy.”

“Good,” Molly said, nodding with satisfaction. “Now I want everyone to come with me to the sink and we’ll wash our hands.”

“But Trey is talkin’ to the man,” Kyle said, pointing. “Why can’t we?”

“Because after painting we have to make sure our hands are clean before we do anything else. And Trey is going to wash up, too.”

Molly walked her charges to the tot-size sinks and got them started. When they were finished, she lined them up by the door to the playground. “I’ll be right back.”

She walked to where man and boy were still talking.

“The boards are cut to the right length, then I’m going to put them together with nails,” Des was saying.

“Can I watch?” Trey asked.

“Sure.”

“He said I could watch,” Trey told her excitedly.

“I heard.” Molly reined in her irritation. She needed a word—or twenty—with this man. Preferably when no children were present and she could freely speak her mind.

“Can I help?” the boy eagerly asked.

“I don’t see why not.” Des smiled at the child.

“Trey, it’s time to wash your hands. Then line up with the others.” Molly touched his shoulder and turned him, gently nudging him in the direction of the sinks. He reluctantly went, glancing over his shoulder several times. When the boy was on task, she looked at Des. “May I speak to you in the time-out room?”

He straightened to his full six-foot-plus height. His eyebrows, a shade darker than his hair, rose along with the corners of his mouth. Something amused him. No doubt her. It seemed she was destined to be his comic relief.

“This sounds serious. Am I in trouble?”

Only if breaking hearts was a hanging offense. Hers had been a casualty. But she wouldn’t stand by and see him play fast and loose with a child’s emotions.

“Let’s not disrupt the children further. We can discuss it in there.” She indicated the small storage area off her classroom with windows that gave her a view of her charges. When they entered the room, she turned quickly, colliding with the man who followed her. He was all lean muscle, wiry strength and warm male flesh. It was like walking into a brick wall, and just as hard on her system.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, quickly stepping back.

“Why? You didn’t call me stupid.” So he’d heard her with the children. Apparently the man could multi-task. He pointed at the glass and said, “Is this like the two-way mirrors the police use? We can see them, but they can’t see us?”

“No, actually. They can see us.”

He rested his hands on narrow hips. What was it about a man in jeans that spelled danger for female hearts? Before going any further with that thought, she stopped herself. She was angry with him, which should leave no room for thoughts like that.

“Wait here. The other kids are coming inside and I need to have my aide hold down the fort for a few minutes.”

Des watched through the glass as Molly Preston walked across her classroom to talk to a tall, jean-clad woman with a whistle around her neck. He frowned, wondering what Miss Molly’s problem was. He hoped she wasn’t the type who got her panties in a twist over the small stuff.

And speaking of panties, he had a feeling Miss Molly filled hers out in the nicest possible way. She was quite a package. It was the first thing he’d noticed when he walked into her classroom. She was petite, pretty and pleasingly proportioned in all the right places. Then there were the thick auburn curls teasing her shoulders. He had the most absurd urge to run his fingers through her hair to see if it was as silky and soft as it looked. And familiar. Why was that?

Actually, their paths had probably crossed. He’d grown up in this town but couldn’t wait to leave. His father’s death had brought him back to salvage the company his grandfather had started. Des had pumped a lot of his own money into the failing construction business, so he had a lot riding on the success of the preschool project. The profit margin was real narrow, but profit wasn’t his goal. This was simply a stepping stone to the real prize—a contract with Richmond Homes for the new development south of Charity City.

He was in negotiations right now with Carter Richmond who’d said in no uncertain terms he’d be watching Des’s work. In a town the size of Charity City, one black mark on a man’s reputation could be his loss and a competitor’s gain. Des knew that if he was to keep his business afloat, losing contracts wasn’t an option. He needed to build the wing of classrooms on time, within budget, and it had to be the best work he’d ever done. Besides that, a good businessman never underestimated the value of word of mouth in a town the size of Charity City. For all of the above, he needed Miss Molly’s cooperation.

When she walked back into the interrogation room, he said, “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“So many things, so little time.” Her gaze narrowed.

This was not exactly the most convenient moment to notice what interesting things irritation did to her green eyes.

“What’s on your mind?” he prompted. If this was going to go smoothly, they needed to get all their cards on the table.

“For starters, I have a problem with you promising Trey that he could help you.”

Des shrugged. “He seemed interested. A boy can’t start too young. My grandfather started teaching me to work with wood when I was about Trey’s age.”

“Let’s forget the liability issue for now. Let’s go straight to the part where Trey comes from a single-parent home—his mother being the only parent there. His dad is out of the picture.”

Des wondered how that was a bad thing. If he had a nickel for every time he’d wished he didn’t have a father, money would never have been an issue. “Lack of male influence is all the more reason to let him help me.”

Molly’s frown deepened. “So you pay attention to a lonely little boy. What happens to him when you walk out of his life? And you will.”

Where did she get off judging him? They’d just met. He stared down at her. “Even if that’s true, and you can’t know it is, isn’t some positive male influence even for a short time better than none at all?”

Her full mouth tightened for a moment. “From personal experience, I’d have to say no.”

“Oo-kay.” He blew out a long breath.

Now what? The school director had made it clear that because her classroom was involved in the renovation, he had to coordinate schedules with this teacher. First, he had to find out what was bugging her, then figure out how to fix it.

“Look, Molly, like you said, I’ve come at a bad time. Maybe it would be best to discuss this when you’re not so busy with kids.”

“You’re right. This isn’t a good time.”

Stubborn as a mule. But it looked good on her, in spite of her attitude from hell. It made him want to lean over and touch his mouth to hers—to shock the stubborn right out of her.

“Okay. Not a good time. We finally agree on something.” He rubbed his hands together. “How about this? I’ll take you out for dinner and we can—”

She held up her hand. “No way.”

He wanted to ask why not, but decided not to go there. Compromise and negotiation. “Then how about a drink after work?”

“I don’t think so. Any discussion would be best conducted here on school grounds.”

He recognized a shutdown when he saw it, and he would admit to some ego. Women had always paid attention to him, which had made for a bitter lesson when he’d learned that attention and respect for who he really was were two very different things. It was a mistake he wouldn’t repeat. But that was personal. This was business; he was good at business. He knew when someone was giving him the business. The question was…why? Molly Preston was a puzzle he couldn’t wrap his mind around. But she was about to learn he’d invented the word stubborn.

He nodded. “When would be a good time to talk?”

Her look said when the devil ice-skated in hell, but she answered, “The children are all supposed to be picked up by six o’clock.”

“Then I’ll see you at six sharp.”

She opened her mouth to say something but he moved toward the door, refusing to give her a chance to stonewall him. Right now he needed to have a word with the preschool director. Maybe Mrs. Farris could shed some light on the mystifying Molly Preston.

After leaving her classroom, he crossed the courtyard and entered the administration building where Molly’s boss happened to be standing by the desk in the reception area. She was blond, attractive, probably in her early to mid-fifties, and trim.

He stopped in front of her. “Hi.”

She smiled. “You’re already finished? Obviously you and Molly work well together.”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

The woman frowned. “Uh-oh. No one wants to talk if everything’s okay.”

“Yeah. You got that right.”

“There was a problem with Molly?”

He nodded. “Apparently I rub her the wrong way.”

“I’m stunned. She’s not your typical stubborn redhead. I’ve never known her to be anything but easygoing and mellow. Molly gets along with everyone.”

“Then apparently I’m her first,” he said ruefully. “I tried to talk to her about the building schedule, I think I got on her bad side. Somehow.”

Mrs. Farris looked surprised. “I don’t get it. If anyone would understand the importance of building schedules, it’s Molly.”

“Why’s that?”

“Molly’s father is a home builder. You may have heard of him. Carter Richmond, of Richmond Homes.”

“But I thought her last name was Preston?”

“That’s her married name.”

Des felt as if he’d just been hit by a big steel wrecking ball. Her maiden name gave him the missing piece of the puzzle and the picture wasn’t pretty.

He was the guy who’d done her wrong.




Chapter Two


Standing across the courtyard, Des watched Molly safely hand off the last of her kids to an authorized adult. He’d been waiting there for half an hour. Heaven forbid he was thirty seconds late; she’d be so out of there to avoid him. Which wasn’t a disaster, really. It would simply delay the inevitable. Because he would talk to her. When he did, he would up the wattage on his charm. It had only failed him once, a personal failure he didn’t intend to repeat. Dealing with Molly was business, and from now on he was all business, all the time.

Unfortunately, he had his work cut out for him with Molly. He wasn’t proud of how he’d broken things off with her in high school, but that wasn’t the worst. Had she told her father she’d seen him with another girl, prompting the man to tell her everything? It was supposed to be their secret, part of the agreement he’d made with Carter Richmond. But Des had no idea how low the man could stoop.

Clearly Molly hadn’t forgiven him for what she did know. If, by some miracle, she was in the dark about the rest, he’d be an idiot to bring it up. Right now he was looking at major damage control, which would no doubt include a long-overdue apology. He needed Molly on his side.

When she started back into her classroom, he walked quickly across the courtyard. “Wait, Molly.”

Her spine went as straight as a two-by-four just before she turned to face him. “You’re back.”

“I said I’d be here at six sharp,” he answered, noting the way the pulse in her neck fluttered like crazy.

“So you did.” Her tone was as starchy as her body.

It didn’t take a mental giant to read between the lines and figure out she hadn’t expected him to keep his word. Why should she after what he’d done? Or maybe she’d simply been hoping he’d give up and go away. If so, she was about to find out how wrong she was. She might seem stiff and uncooperative on the outside, but her pounding pulse told him that Miss Molly Preston was as nervous as a roofer with vertigo.

Charm don’t fail me now, he thought. “Look, Molly, I need to apologize to you.”

“Oh?” One auburn eyebrow rose.

“I was a jerk—”

“Yes, you were,” she interrupted. “You need to think before promising something to a child.”

He shook his head. “I meant when we were in high school.”

“So you finally figured out who I am,” she said, hostility lacing her words.

“I remembered you.” He recognized her Yeah-right expression and added, “After Mrs. Farris told me Preston is your married name.”

“Hmm.”

“I treated you badly—”

“It’s water over the bridge. Or under the dam. Or whatever. It was a long time ago,” she said stiffly.

“It was,” he agreed. “I was hoping we could put it behind us and start again.” Des studied her, the slight pucker in the otherwise smooth skin of her forehead.

She met his gaze directly and her green eyes darkened. “I don’t think so.”

It had been too much to hope that she didn’t know he’d made a deal with her father to pay attention to her. It would take several Dr. Phils to sort out the psychological fallout from that. All things considered, Des didn’t blame her for not making this easy, but the Molly he’d known years ago probably would have. When he’d started paying attention to her, he’d been playing a part, but her sweetness and sassy sense of humor had won him over. He’d liked her a lot. Oddly, he liked this tougher Molly, too.

“It was a long time ago but obviously you’re still upset.”

“About the past?” She folded her arms over her chest as she leaned against the doorjamb.

“Yeah. The part where I was young and stupid.” He braced himself for her to blast him about pretending feelings for her.

“How innocuous that sounds. Why should it still bother me that you stood me up? Or maybe you’re referring to the fact that I saw you kissing Kelli Arnold at the movie you were supposed to take me to.”

“I handled it badly. I was going away to college and figured a quick break was better. Like pulling off a bandage. It hurts for a second, then it’s over.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

“Young and stupid is no excuse for your behavior,” she said.

“I agree. But with age comes wisdom and…” He flashed his trademark grin, the one women seemed to respond to. “And, hopefully, redemption.”

Her gaze narrowed on him. “You really think I’m upset about what happened in high school?”

Correction: most women. He didn’t see any let up in the mad Molly had going on. The good news was, she didn’t seem to know her father had bribed him to date her. If she did, nothing would have stopped her from listing it in her grievances against him. Now that he thought about it, why would Carter Richmond admit to something so slimy and underhanded? That secret was safe.

“You have every right to be upset.”

She shook her head as if he were the dumbest person on the planet. “Oh, please.”

Okay. Now he was confused. If she wasn’t in a snit about his high school transgressions, what was her problem? Maybe it was time to admit defeat and throw himself on her mercy. “Okay, then I give up. What’s bugging you?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask.” She rolled her eyes. “May I call you Polly?”

Suddenly the “aha” light went on. This was easy. Time to turn up the amps on his charm. But as he looked into her big green eyes and that flawless face, he found he didn’t need charm. All he needed was the truth.

“You’re ticked off because I didn’t recognize you.”

“Bingo.”

“It was an honest mistake. And there’s a really good reason. You’ve changed, Molly.”

“Not that much.”

“Yeah, that much. And more. You’ve lost your baby fat.”

“How diplomatic of you to phrase it that way. No more mega-Molly?”

“I never called you that.”

“To my face,” she challenged.

“Or behind your back. And there’s something else. Your glasses are gone. No offense, Molly, you’re a knockout now. But you have to admit, in high school you wouldn’t have won any beauty contests.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Then why did you hang out with me?”

Uh-oh. Now he was on thin ice. He couldn’t tell her the truth. What she had on him was bad enough and he hoped she’d never find out the rest—for her sake, and because he wasn’t the same person he’d been back then, someone desperate for a way out of Charity City.

And that was when it hit him. The woman he’d fallen in love with, the one he’d thought loved him back, was just as shallow as the person he used to be. Wasn’t that just a healthy dose of poetic justice! But he couldn’t tell Molly any of that.

Once again, honesty was the best policy. “I hung out with you because you were smart and funny. And sweet.” It hadn’t started out that way, but eventually it had become the truth.

“Ah, the old you-have-a-great-personality defense.”

“It’s true. At least, it was then. I’m not so sure now.”

She pushed off the doorjamb and looked at him skeptically. “You’re telling me that Des O’Donnell, big man on campus who could have had any girl he wanted, hung out with me because he liked me?”

“In a nutshell? Yeah,” he said.

“I find that hard to believe. Teenage boys are notoriously shallow. You’re no longer a teenage boy,” she said, swallowing as her gaze dropped to the center of his chest. “But I suspect you haven’t changed much.”

“We haven’t seen each other in years. You know nothing about the person I am now. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?” he asked, resting his hands on his hips.

“Leopards don’t change their spots.”

“That’s not true.” He thought about his words and said, “Technically it’s true. But your implication that I couldn’t have changed is wrong.”

“Depends on whose truth you’re talking about. Mine is that you’re the same self-centered, egotistical person you were in high school.”

“And you’re not willing to give me the benefit of the doubt?”

“I don’t think so. You’ve already revealed your character to me. Going back for seconds isn’t especially bright. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

“Speaking of character, I’m not in the habit of inviting married women to dinner. I said that before I found out you’re not single.”

“I’m divorced,” she clarified.

Now why in the world should that information make him happy? Clearly she was hostile toward him and at the very least reluctant to cut him any slack. But the fact was, he was glad she wasn’t married. “Okay. Then will you reconsider having dinner with me tonight?”

“No. Now if you’ll excuse me, Des, I’ve got things to do.” She started to close the door.

He put his palm against it, refusing to let her dismiss him. He knew she wasn’t inclined to let bygones be bygones. He couldn’t blame her. Didn’t he feel the same about not repeating his own mistake? But he had a job to do and he intended to get it done. For that, he needed her cooperation. And he fully intended to get it.

“Look, Molly, I’m going to put all my cards on the table.”

“That would be a first,” she muttered.

“Obviously you don’t think very much of me. And believe it or not, I can’t say I blame you. But here’s the thing. I’m going to be doing the new preschool wing. Whether you approve or not.”

“It’s a pity no one asked for my opinion.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe I said that. Isn’t bringing out the worst in me enough reason for you to give up?”

“No. You don’t have to agree with the decision, but, like it or not, we’re going to have to work together. It would be more pleasant and certainly far more efficient if we could do that as friends.”

“Friends is asking too much.” She sighed. “But I’m committed to this school. And the expansion is important. So, for the sake of that, I agree that an armed truce is necessary in achieving the goal that we both want.”

Des nodded. “I’m glad there’s something we agree on.” Instinct told him to press his advantage. “To that end, we need to discuss the project and how it will affect your classroom.”

“All right.” She caught her top lip between her teeth as she thought for a moment. “Come by tomorrow and we can talk about it.”

“Third time’s the charm. What about dinner? It would give us an opportunity to go over things without interruption. That’s hard to do with the kids around.”

“Apparently I haven’t made myself clear.” She settled her hand on her hip and met his gaze. “I love my job. And I’m devoted to the children in my care.”

“I can see that.”

“I would do anything to improve this facility and give even more children an opportunity for a positive beginning to their education.”

“Great. I know this restaurant in town—”

She held up her hand. “Dinner is not part of the armed truce. Whatever we need to talk about can be discussed on school grounds.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Des found he truly meant that. The prospect of getting to know the grown-up Molly was intriguing because she was more than just a pretty face. She was intelligent, witty and a complicated woman. He had a fleeting regret that he’d probably destroyed any chance with her.

She started to close the door again. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do to get ready for tomorrow.”

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

He backed up and she shut the door in his face. Out in the cold. And dark. And Des didn’t much like it. Since when had he become the kind of guy who rolled over and played dead when things didn’t go his way? He wasn’t his father. Failure wasn’t an option. He would find a way to get on Miss Molly’s good side.



On her way home Molly stopped at the supermarket next door to her apartment complex. When the automatic doors whispered open, she grabbed a basket and headed for the pasta aisle to pick up a whole-wheat rigatoni and a jar of marinara sauce.

The fact that she had nothing at home for dinner hadn’t even tempted her to accept Des’s invitation. What had tempted her was his devil-may-care grin and in-your-face sex appeal. She’d taken cover behind her anger and effectively quelled any possible leftover weakness from her own young-and-stupid days. So why didn’t she feel more empowered about turning him down? Probably she needed her head examined.

As she walked toward the produce aisle, an image of Des popped into her head. He’d seemed surprised by her refusal to have dinner with him, which convinced her he didn’t know she knew about the bribe from her father. If she’d told him she knew everything, that would have certainly cleared up his confusion. But bringing up the past would only resurrect her humiliation. Who wanted to remember being such a disappointment to Daddy that he’d felt he had to buy her popularity? Where was the win in reminding Des about that?

No, the past was the past. But avoiding Des in the present was impossible because of the preschool expansion. She simply had to suck it up and tough it out. Then go on with her life as if Des had never come back into it.

She rounded the corner and stopped short. Speak of the devil. Of all the grocery stores in all the world, Des had to show up in hers. Maybe she could back away before he saw her. But he picked that moment to look up from the artfully arranged rows of greens and do a double take, followed by his take-no-prisoners grin. Busted. That made escape with dignity impossible.

When he started toward her, she knew it was too much to hope that he would simply let her nod politely and continue on her merry way.

He stopped in front of her. “Hello again.”

“Hi.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “What are you doing here?”

Besides raising her temperature, she thought. It was hot. Normally she froze in the market. But tonight she was warm all over and wondered why the iceberg lettuce wasn’t wilting.

“I’m here to buy groceries.”

Well, of course he was. Stupid question. Then another thought popped into her mind.

“Why this store?” she asked suspiciously.

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “You mean, am I following you?”

If only, she thought, followed quickly by God forbid. She didn’t want him following her; she wanted nothing to do with him.

“Of course not. I just wondered… This is my regular store. I simply meant—” She sighed and let the unfinished thought hang there.

“As a matter of fact, this is the store closest to my apartment,” he said.

“You don’t mean the ones on Cooper Street?”

“The very ones,” he confirmed.

Her heart sank, hit bottom, then bounced into her throat. That was where her apartment was. Why hadn’t she known he was living there? Surely her overactive heat sensors would have picked up his presence. On the other hand, it was a very large complex.

“Your regular store,” he repeated. “Do you live nearby, too?”

“Actually in the same complex on Cooper. That would make us neighbors,” she finished lamely. “So you’re here for groceries.”

A smile teased the corners of his mouth. “Remind me to watch out for you. Mind like a steel trap.”

“Oh, knock it off,” she said, annoyed with herself for stating the obvious. Again. At the same time she wanted to laugh.

“Okay. Yes, I was forced to stop for food because someone refused my dinner invitation.”

“No,” she answered in mock astonishment. “Who could possibly resist the legendary O’Donnell charm?”

“You’d be surprised.” Something like anger flashed in his eyes, then almost as quickly disappeared. He grinned, but the effort showed. “Actually, there’s this redhead in town who finds me completely resistible.”

“Oh?” Her cheeks warmed.

“Yes.” He made a great show of studying the items in her basket. “Looks like Italian night at your house.”

She shrugged. “It’s easy.”

“Not as easy as a restaurant,” he pointed out.

“True. But much less complicated.”

“I’m not complicated. I’m the essence of simplicity. In fact, since we’re neighbors, it would be simple for me to drop by and see if you cook as well as you mold the minds of Charity City youth.”

Simple for him, maybe. Not for her. Sitting across from him at a restaurant would have been high enough on the intimacy scale. But sitting across from him in her apartment would send intimacy into the danger zone. She’d already spent time in that zone. It hadn’t worked for her then, and she had no reason to think anything had changed. And, for crying out loud, hadn’t they already gone through this?

“Tonight’s not good,” she hedged.

“Are you cooking for someone else?”

“No,” she said quickly, then kicked herself. That would have been a good out, but she’d missed it. What was wrong with her? He’d told her she was a knockout. Although her geeky, self-conscious, socially challenged inner child didn’t believe him. What was it about this man that scrambled her thought processes?

“So you’re doing spaghetti solo because it’s not a good night?” He stuck a hand in the pocket of his battered brown leather jacket.

“Look, I already told you that—”

“We talk only on school grounds,” he finished. “Don’t look now, but we’re in the grocery store. And we’re talking.”

How was she going to get through to him? Scrambled thought processes would be a step up from what her mind was doing. Meltdown would be more accurate. Especially when one took into account the radioactive heat generated by close proximity to Des’s special brand of animal magnetism. But now she had to come up with an excuse to brush him off. And being abrasive didn’t come naturally to her. The tough facade she was putting on wouldn’t hold up much longer because she felt certain even a man like Des had feelings to hurt. So she was reluctant to be so direct again. That was why she said the first thing that came to mind.

“Dinner isn’t a good idea in a small town like this.”

“You mean folks in small towns don’t eat an evening meal?” he asked, feigning a completely serious expression.

The corners of her mouth twitched, but she refused to be amused. From letting him amuse her it was a hop, skip and jump to rekindling her crush. And that wasn’t funny.

“It’s like this, Des. I’m a teacher—”

“Teachers don’t eat?”

“Yes, of course we do. But I’m not comfortable sharing dinner in my apartment with a man. It’s a small town.”

“So you said.”

“I’m a teacher,” she said again.

“And a fine one, too. I could tell.”

“It’s a recipe for scandal. Everyone talks. The good, bad and ugly spreads like wildfire. I just don’t think I want to go there.”

“Hmm. Oddly enough, that sounds pretty good to me after the big city where everyone is a stranger and no one gives a damn what anyone else does.”

The anger flared in his eyes again and Molly wondered about it. What had happened to Des since he’d left town all those years ago? She knew he’d gone to college, but that was all. Abruptly, she put the lid on those thoughts. This was bad. Curiosity about his life was worse than bad. It was downright dangerous.

“I’ve got to go,” she said.

Before he could respond, she turned and headed for the cash register to pay for her pathetic dinner. So what if she hadn’t picked up salad fixings? Lack of roughage wasn’t the end of the world, but continued closeness to Des could be. So what if he thought her social skills as backward as they’d been all those years ago? She couldn’t afford to care what he thought.

Curiosity about him meant that her interest was escalating. She had to nip that in the bud, then ideally work to become indifferent. Soon, she vowed, she would feel nothing for Desmond O’Donnell. No shortness of breath. No heart palpitations. Come to think of it, her symptoms resembled a heart attack—which was exactly what she was trying to avoid. At all costs, she needed to protect her heart.

When she felt nothing for him, she would be home free. And speaking of home, this town was hers. He’d left, but she’d made her life here.

She wouldn’t let him waltz in and mess that up. Again.




Chapter Three


“It shouldn’t be this hard to get a man.”

“Maybe not for you. But the rest of us aren’t so lucky.” Molly looked at her beautiful blond friend and sighed.

Charity had a look that shifted effortlessly from girl-next-door cute to lingerie-model sexy. She was a Wentworth, a descendant of the town’s founding family. She was a Paris-trained chef, although if she never worked a day in her life, her rich-and-famous lifestyle wouldn’t suffer. Unlike Molly, who wouldn’t take a dime from her dad, Charity had a good relationship with her father.

Charity was five years older so they hadn’t known each other in high school and when Molly joined the Charity City Foundation auction committee, she’d expected a snooty and condescending Charity Wentworth. Nothing could be further from the truth. In short, Charity was practically perfect. Except for the part where as chairwoman of the committee she had put Molly in charge of finding men willing to donate their time for auction.

With just under two weeks until the auction, Charity had called this strategic planning session at Molly’s antique oak dining-room table. Charity was meeting with volunteers in charge of different subcommittees to make sure the event came off without a hitch. She also chaired the foundation that distributed grants.

“We need more men,” Charity reminded her. “This is the seventy-fifth anniversary of the very first auction, which started during the Depression.”

“Thanks for the history lesson.”

“I’ll be history if we bomb. The folks are putting the pressure on Jack and me to raise more money than ever before. We need volunteers, and lots of them. If they fetch a pretty penny, so much the better.”

“Well, Houston, you’ve got a serious problem,” Molly said. “I’m no good with men. Never was, never will be.”

“You don’t have to be good with them. You just have to get them to give up some time. Convince them that volunteering for Buy-a-Guy is character-building and good for the soul.”

“Volunteering,” Molly said, shaking her head. “That’s how it starts. All I wanted to do was give a little back to the town. Maybe start a recycling program. Plant a tree. Clean up graffiti. But this is what happens when you miss a planning meeting. Someone puts you in charge of what no one else wants to do.”

Charity grinned. “There are worse things than being in charge of men.”

Yeah, Molly thought. Not being in charge. Of one man. The one she couldn’t seem to get off her mind. One Desmond O’Donnell.

“I’m just not the sort of woman who inspires men to get in touch with their inner nobility. No man has ever thrown his cloak over a puddle so I didn’t soil my dainty feet. Mostly they just dump on me. Getting a man to line up and wait for orders is your sphere of expertise, Charity. Not mine.”

Long blond hair swung from side to side as the other woman shook her head. “If only that were true. But I’ve had my share of unfortunate experiences. Very, very public experiences. I have orders from my father to keep a low profile.”

“Good luck. The only way to accomplish that is to go out in public with a bag over your head.”

Charity laughed, then turned serious. “I know male recruitment’s a lousy job, Mol. But someone has to do it.”

“If I’d known this was going to happen,” Molly grumbled, “I’d have found another outlet for my philanthropic pursuits.”

“Look, you can continue to whine. Or we can work together to get the job done. My brother doesn’t think I’m up to the challenge and I’m determined to make Black Jack Wentworth eat his words.”

“Black Jack?” Molly’s eyes widened. “Your brother sounds intriguing.”

“He has a past.”

“Don’t we all.” Reluctant to talk about her own, Molly didn’t press her friend about Jack.

Charity met her gaze. “Seriously, Mol, this is a big one. Think about it. For seventy-five years, Charity City folks have put their money where their mouths are. The funding is used for the women’s shelter, scholarships and start-up capital for new businesses. Where’s your civic pride? We need to pool our resources and make this the best event ever.”

“Okay. You’re right.” Molly sighed dramatically. “Besides, whining isn’t working. I might as well just suck it up and get on board.”

“That’s the spirit. And what we need is strategy. It’s always harder to get the guys to step up. And that has nothing to do with you or your way with men. I think it’s more about testosterone or something.” Charity tapped her lip. “Speaking of which, I did have an idea.”

“You’re going to sprinkle testosterone in the iced tea of every unsuspecting man in town?”

“No way. But there’s a lovely little thing called community service. I’ll talk to Judge Gibson and see what he can do to help us.”

“You’re going to recruit convicted felons? How much do you suppose ex-cons would fetch at auction?” Molly asked wryly.

“First of all, they wouldn’t be ex-cons because they haven’t been sent up the river. I’m thinking more the slap-on-the-wrist-because-they-had-a-little-too-much-fun sort. Second, it could be profitable. Escaped prisoner and the warden’s wife can be a very powerful fantasy.”

Molly shook her head. “You know as well as I do that the auction rules prohibit that sort of hanky-panky.”

“Yeah.” Charity sighed. “More’s the pity. But speaking of rules—” she snapped her fingers “—what about Des O’Donnell? He got the preschool expansion project. The auction rules state that anyone who profits from foundation funds has to give back by donating their time.”

“Yeah. Des.” Molly couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of that herself. He was duty-bound to participate. “He’s already started working on the new wing.”

“Then you won’t have to go far to talk to him.”

Talking to him was the problem. She was moving heaven and earth to avoid him. Ever since running into him at the grocery store, she’d been peeking around corners and sneaking to her car so she wouldn’t encounter him on apartment turf. Her lease was up in a couple months, and she planned to look for another place to live. But that didn’t solve her current problem. She needed to figure out a way to convince Charity to approach Des herself. Before she could, there was a knock on her door.

“Are you expecting anyone?”

Molly shook her head. “Probably someone selling magazines.”

But when she opened the door, Des was standing there. So much for moving heaven and earth. Whatever he was selling, she had no intention of buying. Besides, she’d been just this side of rude the last time she spoke to him in the grocery store. Why in the world would he show up for more?

“Hi,” he said, smiling as if nothing had happened. As if women abruptly turned their backs on him every day. And there was no way that happened. Not to Des.

“Hi. What do you want?”

His gaze slid past her to the dining-room table. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were busy.”

“Well, I am.” He was on the doorstep, not inside. She embraced the technicality as a reason not to introduce him to Charity. Then she noticed the empty container in his hand. “Did you need something?”

“Coffee. I forgot to buy it at the store the other night. And it’s your fault.”

“Mine?” she said, pressing a hand to her chest. Darn her heart was beating fast.

“You distracted me. The least you could do is loan me some.”

“Molly,” Charity said from behind her, “why don’t you invite the poor man in?”

Now she was stuck. If she sent him packing, she’d feel like the wicked witch of the Midwest. She stepped aside. “Come in.”

He entered, then glanced around. “This is nice. It’s different from mine. One bedroom or two?”

“Two. Down there,” she said, still avoiding introductions as she pointed past the kitchen island to the long hall. It led to a master bedroom with a walk-in closet and a bath. The room beyond that she used as an office.

Still looking around, he said, “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Thanks.”

Molly liked it, too. An overstuffed sofa in moss-colored chenille sat across from her entertainment center. Beside the sofa, a door led outside to a small balcony where she’d put a cute white wrought-iron table and two chairs. The interior was ultra-homey, with its knickknacks and artwork on the walls. Golly, she was going to hate to move.

With his index finger, Des nudged aside the lace curtain covering her big picture window and glanced outside. “Nice view. I have a completely unobstructed view of the parking lot.”

“Hello? Molly? I’m here.” Charity stood and walked over to them. “Hi, Des. Charity Wentworth. Remember me?”

Why hadn’t Molly thought of that? Charity had graduated a year before Des and was out of high school before Molly started. But Charity and Des would probably have known each other.

“Sure I remember you. How’ve you been?” he asked, giving Charity a quick, friendly hug.

“Fine.”

Molly watched the two of them, bracing herself for Des to go gaga over her gorgeous friend. Men did that to Charity all the time. And Molly had to admit it would bother her to see Des dote on Charity. Was she so pathetic? She didn’t want him, but she didn’t want anyone else to have him? Oddly enough, his pleasant look never even inched into gaga territory.





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