About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN Copyright

“I don’t want someone to marry me for my money.”

Cindy held her breath.

“That’s why I need your help,” Parker continued. would you...? I need you to make me into the kind of guy your sister could fall in love with.”

The life went out of her.

“I need you to turn me into a stud.”

He’d rendered her speechless. He was so intent, he didn’t even notice that his statement crushed all her hopes....

Val Daniels wrote her first romance in the sixth grade when her teacher told the class to transform a short story they’d read into a play. Val changed the bear attack story into a romance and should have seen the writing on the wall. She didn’t. An assortment of jobs, hobbies and businesses later, Val stumbled across a Writer’s Market in the public library and finally knew what she wanted to be when she grew up. She suspects it will take eighty or ninety years to become bored with this career.

Val lives in Kansas with her husband, two children and a Murphy dog. She welcomes correspondence—with a SASE—from readers at P.O. Box 113, Gardner KS 66030, U.S.A.

Making Mr. Right
Jamie Denton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CINDY’S brush stopped making soapy circles on the cement floor. The pair of battered running shoes that had stepped into her view gave Parker Chaney away, so she wasn’t surprised to see his devastating smile aimed at her when she looked up.

“What are you doing?” he asked as if he’d seen her only yesterday.

“Trying to get this stain out,” she said in the same nonchalant tone, though her heart was thumping in triple time. She wished he’d at least act thrilled. After six weeks with nothing but a few brief phone calls, couldn’t he at least pretend seeing her was noteworthy?

A mixture of irritation and the desire to make the occasion memorable got the best of her. She swiped the brush across the toes of his grungy shoes, careful not to spray the legs of his business suit with her sudsy water.

He jumped away. “What are you doing?” His tone was totally different this time.

“You already asked that,” she reminded him, pitching her scrub brush at the pail of cleaning water. Drying her wet hands on the legs of her jeans, she stood. “What are you doing?” Darn it. Only pride kept her from throwing her arms around him and revealing how delighted she was to see him. Finally.

Parker scratched the side of his head, leaving a sprig of dark hair standing on end. The gesture helped him think.

“I need your help,” he admitted, letting his meditative scowl deepen.

“Oh?” She crossed her arms to keep from pressing the hair standing on end back in place. What else was new? “Helping” Parker usually meant he needed a sounding board, someone to listen to one of his new ideas—not that she usually understood them.

He got right to the point, also as usual. “I think it’s time I got married.”

But usually, his point didn’t make Cindy’s heart stop. It jumped to her throat then sped to a pace that would have kept up with a freight train. What’d you say? The question ran through her head but she couldn’t have gotten her mouth around a word if her life depended on it.

“Don’t you?” he asked, continuing as if the subject of marriage was a normal conversation for him. “I’m thirty-three years old. I tend to get too wrapped up in things. I’ve been thinking that if I don’t get married soon, I’ll find myself old, no kids, no family, all my chances gone.”

Her mouth still hung open. She had to consciously force herself to close it. “Don’t worry, PC. If things get that desperate,” she finally managed, “you can always find someone who’ll marry you for your money.” No problem making the comment as dry as she wanted, either. Her mouth was imitating a desert.

“Funny.” The look he shot her said he thought she was amusing, despite the fact he didn’t like what she’d said. It was too true.

As if money was the only thing he had! He was brilliant. His name was uttered with reverence in computer circles. Financial experts raved about him and delightedly recommended buying stock in his company. But she’d said his name in the same worshipful way long before his “miraculous” rise to success. She loved him despite the money.

She’d loved him when he was dirt poor and living next door to her family in their old neighborhood. She’d still be there, if it wasn’t an industrial park now.

She considered the destruction of their neighborhood the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Blocks and blocks of it had been razed to make way for “progress.” They’d all had to move. Until that time, almost six years ago, she’d seen Parker on a daily basis. Now she had to rely on seeing him whenever he got the whim...as he seemed to have now. Pride kept her from calling him when he’d go a couple of months ignoring their friendship.

She longed to touch him, smooth the unruly, needing-a-trim haircut back into place. She wanted to push into his space, lift her lips for a kiss, make him uncomfortably aware of her nearness. Unfortunately he probably wouldn’t notice. Or be uncomfortable. She settled for a friendly hug.

He hugged her back then sobered as his one-track mind got back to the reason for finally putting in an appearance in her life. “I don’t want someone to marry me for my money, Cindy.” His expression turned even more earnest, if that was possible.

Cindy held her breath.

“That’s why I need your help,” he continued. “Would you...I need you to make me into the kind of guy Mallory could fall in love with?”

The life went out of her.

“I need you to turn me into a stud.”

He’d rendered her speechless. He was so intent, he didn’t even notice that his statement crushed her. She looked down quickly in case he came out of his hazy little myopic world long enough to see that tears had sprung to her eyes. She couldn’t think of anything to say or do except return to scrubbing the floor.

She resumed her position on her hands and knees and dumped a splash of the warm, strong ammoniascented water on the cement floor.

Parker sprang out of the way again as the small wave surged toward his feet. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like,” she said irritably. “I’m washing the floor.”

“But why?”

“To get this oil spot out,” she said. “Out damn spot!” she mumbled at it. Quoting Shakespeare gave her an excuse to cuss, even though she almost choked over the huge lump that had taken residence in her throat.

Darn him, what did he want with Mallory? Surely in all this time, he’d gotten over her. He hadn’t seen her for almost twelve years. She’d been married twice. Why? Why? Wh—

“Since when have you worried about oil spots on the garage floor?” Parker asked. “You’ve never exactly been Miss Tidy.”

“Tidier than my sister,” she muttered and then cursed the floor under her breath.

“What?”

“I’m almost ready to put this house on the market,” she said loudly. “My car’s been leaking oil like there’s no tomorrow and an oil spot is the kind of thing that mars the image and subconsciously lessens the value for some people. If I take care of the little details,” she quoted by habit since it had almost become her motto, “I usually get my price.”

His smile broadened. “And that’s exactly why I need you. You’ll take care of all the little details. Just consider me your next fixer-upper. I know you can do it—even if you’re not going to get that spot out that way.”

“Oh?” She stood, hands on hips, her brush dripping smelly warm water down the leg of her jeans. She barely noticed. She didn’t care. “And how would you clean it, Mr. Expert,” she asked sweetly.

“You need cat litter and soda.”

“Baking soda?”

“Pop. The fizzy carbonated stuff.”

“Any particular brand?”

He scowled, thinking. “I don’t think so. I heard it on some do-it-yourself show on TV. I don’t remember them mentioning any particular brand.”

“Well, I have an idea. Why don’t you clean it if you know so much about it.” Actually she didn’t doubt he knew what he was talking about. Parker collected little tidbits of meaningless data and spouted them on demand, like one of his computers.

“Sounds like a fair trade.” He grinned his charming, boyish grin. The one that always disarmed her. “I’ll get the oil stain out of your garage floor, you change me from a frog into a prince.”

“For Mallory.” Her voice was flat. Skeptical.

The silly grin widened as he nodded.

“When is she going to behold this miraculous transformation,” she wondered aloud.

“Oh. I forgot.” He reached and checked several pockets before coming up with a piece of paper that had been stuffed in his pants pocket without the benefit of refolding.

She dropped her brush back into her pail, savoring a morbid sense of satisfaction as the ensuing splash reached him and left tiny dark dots on his gray suit pants. He was too absentminded to notice. He pushed his dark rimmed glasses up on his nose with the wrong finger and handed over the paper.

Taking it to the long workbench she’d built across the length of the garage, Cindy smoothed it out.

“A class reunion?” she said, reading the large bold print at the top of the page.

“Yeah.” Parker came to stand beside her.

She moved away, suddenly hating his nearness. “What makes you think Mallory will come?”

“Don’t you?” He stepped closer again.

She had the last time, Cindy remembered. Their ten-year reunion. Parker had been out of town and extremely disappointed when he’d discovered Mallory had been home while he was gone. He hadn’t said another thing about her sister in the intervening five years.

Geminy Christmas! How could he ask her to do this? “She did come the last time,” Cindy confirmed. “But I haven’t heard a thing from her about this. Surely if she was planning to attend, I would have heard—”

“I just got the invitation today. They were mailed from here. She may not even have hers yet.”

Raising both eyebrows, Cindy glanced at her watch, then tilted her head and stared at him. “How long have you been planning this, PC?”

He had the decency to look sheepish.

“For five years? Since the ten-year reunion?”

“What makes you think that?”

“You couldn’t have gotten your mail before eight o’clock this morning. You’ve known about this less than two hours. You didn’t decide to turn into Mr. Wonderful and marry my sister in two hours. Your mind doesn’t work that way,” she added.

He lifted one broad shoulder and tilted her one of his sensual half smiles. “See. You know me well. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

“You are a nerd,” she said with the casual affection of their long-term friendship. “No one but a nerd would quietly obsess about his next high school reunion for five years. You are exactly the nerd everyone thought you were back then.”

“A successful, rich nerd,” he pointed out. “You said so yourself. Surely with my money and your flair for remodeling things, we can polish me up into something Mallory will find attractive.”

“You don’t have to do a thing,” she said dryly. “Mallory did notice you made the cover of Time magazine.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“I haven’t seen you.”

“True.” His mouth puckered thoughtfully. “She noticed? She said something?”

“The last time I talked to her.” Cindy compressed her lips and felt the ache build inside. She’d noticed. She’d called to congratulate him. He’d said an absentminded thanks and had to get off the phone. He didn’t even remember.

She suppressed the urge to tell him how many times Mallory had quoted and questioned his net worth. Her sister had definitely wanted Cindy to confirm that the figures in the article were accurate. Cindy was a little surprised Mallory hadn’t called him, too.

“I don’t want her to want me for the money,” he said, reading her mind. “I want her to fall in love with me.”

The vise around Cindy’s heart tightened painfully. Life was so unfair.

“So will you help me, Cindy? You know more than anyone what makes Mallory tick. You know exactly the kind of men she’s attracted to. And you know me,” he added. “Will you teach me?”

She inwardly groaned. In the twenty-eight years of her life—every one of those years she’d known and idolized and loved him—she’d never been able to tell him no. It would probably take her another billion years to find the strength to say it. She couldn’t now. Not even for this. Not even if it broke her heart and shredded every ounce of her pride and all of her dreams. “It ain’t going to be easy,” she said, struggling against the rasp in her throat to sound normal.

“Nothing worth doing is ever easy.” He tagged an optimistic sigh at the end of what had almost become his motto. Then he smiled, took off his jacket and started rolling up his sleeves. “Guess I’d better go buy some cat litter. Do you have the soda?”

“Hey, you aren’t getting off that easy.”

He gave her that frowning, out-of-it, what-are-you-talking-about look.

“You think getting an oil stain off the floor of this garage is even close to a fair exchange for transforming you into a...hunk?”

He laughed in that sheepish little boy way of his.

“Not remotely,” she said before he could protest. “You also have to help me...”

“What?”

She compressed her lips, her mind a total blank. “I’ll think of plenty. We have four months before the reunion. Four months worth of various to-be-named favors might be a fair exchange. Believe me, it’s going to take every second of that four months for my part of the task.”

“I’m not that bad, am I?”

She crossed her arms and studied him head to toe. His square jaw clenched uneasily and he shifted self-consciously. His thick brown hair usually needed a trim and now was no exception. The sprig he’d left standing on end a moment ago still jutted from beneath a smooth strand of straight brown and another sprig fanned out from behind one ear. His impressive blue eyes looked myopic behind the heavy dark framed glasses. With his jacket gone, his white shirt sort of swallowed him, camouflaging his wonderful broad shoulders. His slacks were also a smidge too long and the hem fell in a fold over the tops of his battered running shoes. From time to time, she itched to do exactly what he wanted her to do now. But why now? Why for Mallory?

“You’re not so bad that a wad of money and a lot of hard work won’t fix you,” she finally declared with only a tiny spark of malicious intent.

It missed its mark. “I’m not hopeless then,” he deduced cheerfully.

No, he wasn’t hopeless. She was. She was hopelessly in love with him. And it was time to get over him and get a life. She had four months to do it... if her slowly cracking heart didn’t kill her before then.

“Come for lunch Saturday,” he’d said when he’d finally left on Thursday after getting the oil stain off her garage floor. “We’ll plan strategy.”

Cindy looked down at the directions he’d written out for her and back up at the heavy black wroughtiron gates. The numbers matched. This had to be it. But this couldn’t be the house he’d called to say he was moving to a few weeks ago. This wasn’t a house, it was a...a...mansion?

She couldn’t actually see the house so she didn’t know if it was a mansion or not. But if the gates, the beautiful fountain just outside them and the grounds she glimpsed on the other side were any indication, it had to be something pretty spectacular.

But how did she get in?

By thinking about it, obviously. The gates slowly started to swing open. When she got even with the native stone columns holding the heavy gates, she saw a speaker phone imbedded there. Complete with camera, she noted as Parker’s voice came through as clearly as if he was sitting beside her.

“Just follow the drive, Cindy,” he said. “I’ll be waiting for you out front.”

A minute and a half later, Cindy saw him. Even the amazing glass and stone “castle” behind him couldn’t hold her attention. Today he had on snug jeans and a bedraggled T-shirt. The jeans fit him nicely except they looked like he was expecting a flood. The shirt looked like a Salvation Army reject.

That’s right, she told herself. Find every tiny thing wrong with him. Pick him apart, piece by piece. That was the only way to fix him. And each piece she picked, she was determined to turn over and examine for the slightest imperfection underneath. Aversion therapy. By the time she put him back together again for Mallory, she would see—really see—scads of stuff that would make him unappealing to her. They’d gloss over the top for Mallory, but Cindy would know it was just gloss. And she’d be over him.

“We have to take you shopping, PC,” she said as soon as she stepped from the car. “You wear really pathetic clothes.”

“That’s the best you can do for a greeting?” His smile tilted.

“You asked for my expertise, not polite platitudes.”

The slight lift of his shoulders said “Okay, you made your point.” “What do you think?” He cast a glance at the house rising naturally from the landscape behind him. “Pretty impressive, isn’t it?”

“Pretty impressive.” He’d probably bought it to impress Mallory. It was the biggest house she’d ever seen in real life. Castle size and even castlelike in appearance with its native stone exterior. But masses of windows and glass modernized it. The rough golden beige slabs of stone curved around arches at the massive windows and pillared at the entryways. “Did you buy this with the reunion in mind?” The words stuck on the sore spot that had hovered in her chest since he’d walked into her garage and announced his intention to marry Mallory.

“No.” It was small comfort that he looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

She’d joined him on the stone walkway and he turned with her to admire the house.

“My accountant said it was a good investment and I needed one. I got it for less than it’s worth since the sellers were anxious to get rid of it.” He looked pleased with himself.

She pounced on the chink in his armor. Two chinks in his armor, she amended. He considered his house an investment, not a home and the Parker she’d always loved wouldn’t be proud of taking advantage of someone else’s misfortune. If she could focus on things like that—

“They built it ten years ago for a third of what it was appraised for,” he added. “So we both ended up with a good deal.”

Okay. Down to one chink. But it was a big one. Who would want a man who looked at his home only as an investment? Her sister, of course. She’d consider him very wise and savvy. “It can’t hurt your chances with Mallory,” she muttered.

His grin slipped. “That’s not what I want, Cindy,” he warned. His shoulders slumped as he led her through double doors of elegant etched glass and into a dramatic, vaulted foyer. Beyond them soaring columns divided the entry from a step down into a gigantic living room. Her own living room would have fit into the stone fireplace that lined one wall of the open room. The other side of the room was glass, taking full advantage of the view of wooded acreage beyond. There was absolutely nothing to block the view between where they were standing by the front door and the windows that seemed miles away. Absolutely nothing. No furniture. No pictures—well, except for a hand-painted mural on the wall behind them and a beautiful stairway that gracefully curved upward.

He led her through several empty rooms that echoed hollowly then through an opened door into a cozier room. “This is the master suite,” he said. “Suite” was an understatement. It was a full apartment and the room they entered was the normal-size living room. Pointing out the bedroom, the bedroomsize closet, his smile tilted as he opened the door to a garage-size bathroom several cars would fit in. “Can you believe this?” His expression reminded her of the one he used to wear when he’d find a new gadget or gimmick or game for his “‘puter” when he was first getting into them.

Mallory would love it. Dual everything. Mirrors and very expensive marble everywhere. It had a sauna and a steam room and a hot-tub-size whirlpool bath beside a wall of windows that overlooked the wooded property again.

“You could live in your bathroom—or the closet,” Cindy commented as Parker led her back to the sitting room.

“I know.” He grinned.

“This ‘suite’ is bigger than the house I’m working on.”

He nodded and pointed to the kitchenette to one side of the room. It was separated from the sitting area by a countertop breakfast bar. “The kitchen’s small.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re suddenly going to take up cooking.” Cindy could picture herself there, moving around in her robe, making coffee; maybe popcorn in the evening so they could cuddle in front of the wallsize TV and watch a movie. She didn’t even have to close her eyes. She did now to block the vision. Fantasyland. If she was going to picture someone in his cute little black-and-white gleaming kitchen, it had to be Mallory.

He was explaining the set of stairs on the other side of his sitting room. They led down to an exercise room, he explained, and gave him private access to the basement beyond.

The master suite was furnished. The worn but comfortable furniture he’d had in his apartment looked out of place in the perfect room.

He’d put a pot of coffee on. Since he rarely drank it himself, he must have noticed at some point over the years that she was an addict. Her spirits lifted momentarily until she forced them to settle again. So he’d noticed one thing about her in their twenty-oddyear history. He should know her front to back, inside, outside and upside down. He finally remembered she drank coffee. So what? She kept a six-pack of cola on hand at all times—just in case he came around.

He grabbed a cola from the refrigerator after he’d placed a cup of coffee in front of her and settled beside her at the table set neatly in one end of the room.

They’d barely sat down when someone else breezed into the room. Cindy blinked twice, then rose from her chair. “Flo.”

The familiar, round, little woman explained the coffee, Cindy thought with a flash of disappointment that evaporated quickly in her delight at seeing her very favorite neighbor again.

Flo set a plate of homemade cinnamon rolls in the middle of the small table and then took Cindy in her arms. “You’re looking fine. child,” she said as she folded Cindy against her plush frame.

“Oh, you, too, Flo. You, too. Where have you been? I thought you were still living with your daughter in Cleveland.”

“I could have told you,” Parker said from behind them.

“I was,” Flo Kincaid answered Cindy’s question, “until PC called me and talked me into coming to work for him.” Flo held Cindy an arm’s length away.

“I keep track of everyone from the old neighborhood,” Parker said.

“You do?” Cindy asked blankly.

“That was the incentive for the new address book features in my most popular program.” Parker launched into an explanation of the convenient way it worked in computerese.

Flo rolled her eyes and Cindy finally stopped him with an amused, “We don’t have to understand your programs to make them work. That’s why they’re so popular, PC.”

Flo laughed and for a few moments updates on her kids and various old neighbors dominated the conversation. “I’d better git so you two can plan your makeover strategy,” Flo said finally.

The woman obviously knew what they were up to. “You think this is possible?” Cindy asked.

“If anyone believes he’s Bachelor Of The Month material, it’s you.” Flo’s look in Cindy’s direction said Parker was probably the only person alive who didn’t know how she felt about him. “I personally think you’re fine the way you are,” she added, placing her hands on her hips as she glared at him. “And I don’t know why you’d want to bother about anyone who thinks you aren’t.” She blatantly didn’t approve of Parker’s plan. Or of Mallory, Cindy realized. But then Mallory had never been especially close to anyone in the old neighborhood. She hadn’t been unfriendly; she’d just never taken the time to pay much attention to them.

“You still doing all that remodeling?” Flo changed the subject

Cindy nodded proudly. “I’m totally on my own now, but yeah, I’m still remodeling.”

“What do you mean, on your own?”

“I buy a house, remodel it start to finish, like I want. Then I sell it and buy another one and start the whole process over again. I rarely do odd jobs for other people now.”

“You can do a house start to finish all by yourself?”

“There are a few things I have to hire help with,” Cindy admitted. “I have a part-time helper—a kid in high school recommended by the same shop teacher who got me started.”

“Mr. Havens?”

Cindy nodded. “I wait to do the heavier stuff until he’s around, afternoons and Saturdays. It works really well.”

“You’re doing okay, then?”

“I’m doing okay,” Cindy said semiproudly.

“I knew you would.” Flo had been one of the few who hadn’t thought Cindy was crazy when she started taking on small repair jobs for people around the old neighborhood. She’d taken woodworking her sophomore year in high school. Even though she and Parker had both been in the gifted program, “shop” had quickly become her most loved and best subject. She’d taken it every year after that. Gradually she’d acquired the reputation for being able to fix someone’s door if it didn’t close right or repair trim around a window. Small projects had evolved into bigger ones, like replacing a bathroom floor because someone had let the water leak under the sink go on too long.

Flo had been the first paying customer because she’d insisted and Cindy had been “on the job” ever since. She’d been the most affordable Ms. Fix It around. She’d purchased and learned to use various tools for each project as she went along.

“I’d probably still be doing the same old small odd jobs for everyone if the old neighborhood was still there,” she admitted.

“You were never fond of change, were you,” Flo sympathized.

“I guess not.”

“You must be making a good living now,” Parker commented from his vast store of knowledge on the subject. He forked the last bite of the cinnamon roll Flo had put on his plate into his mouth.

“I wish.” She punctuated the comment with a sigh. “This last house is going to be a tough sell, I’m afraid. I may be back to doing odd jobs.”

“It looked great.” Parker frowned. He’d seen the “before” when she bought it six months ago; she’d shown him the “after” the other day when he’d gotten the oil spot out of the garage floor. “Why do you think I’m so confident you can transform me,” he added.

“Fortunately,” Cindy said wryly, “no one is going to put a halfway house right down the street from you.”

Flo and Parker both frowned.

“You know, one of those places where they put kids after they’ve been in juvenile hall but before they let them go back to whatever home they originally had? It kind of annihilates property values for a little while until people see how it’s going to affect the area.”

“It’ll be okay.” Flo patted her hand.

“I know it will eventually.” In the meantime, Cindy would have to wait for a buyer as confident in the area’s potential as she was.

“You think people will expect crime in the area to rise?” Parker asked.

She told him what her usual real estate saleswoman had told her. “People will just be nervous of moving to or investing in the neighborhood for a while. Till they see what happens.”

“So selling may take a while,” Flo said, understanding.

“Or I’ll have to cut my profit to nothing and settle for a price to cover what I have invested,” Cindy agreed. “But enough of my problems. That’s not—”

“I don’t understand,” Flo broke in.

“She uses her profits from one house to buy another and fix it up.”

“And I live in the house while I’m working on it. That’s the only way I’ve kept my head above water so far. It keeps my living expenses to a minimum,” Cindy explained patiently.

“So you won’t have anywhere to live when you sell this one.” Flo asked, frowning.

“I won’t have any profits. No profits, no house to buy to work on or to live in,” Cindy told her. “It’s like when Parker was first starting—well, kinda. He made money hand over fist from the very beginning, but don’t you remember when he was sweating his monthly expenses and putting every cent of profit back into the business?”

Flo’s blank look suddenly cleared. “Oh. I see.”

Cindy exchanged a glance with Parker. “This was the house I hoped would get me ahead. I had a profit margin figured in that would allow me to start paying myself a monthly salary,” she admitted, adding with exasperation. “And I planned to buy my next house in the same neighborhood. It is...was,” she corrected, “becoming really nice. Stable. The people there have made great strides, cleaning it up, running out some of the bad elements. And with all the nice big old houses and it sort of overlooks downtown...” She let the rest of the comment remain unsaid.

“The potential is good,” Parker offered.

Cindy nodded. “Was,” she felt obligated to tack on.

“So the halfway house complicates things for you,” Flo analyzed.

“Temporarily. It’s just going to slow me down.”

“Maybe you should put your name in to remodel the halfway house.”

Cindy had always loved Flo. They thought the same way. “I did.” She grimaced. “They’d already hired a big name contractor.”

“You can come to work for me,” Parker offered for the hundredth time. He’d been trying to get her to work for him at PC, Inc., since he’d started it. Said she’d be the best personal assistant he could find.

“You know I would hate working in an office,” she gave him her standard reply, though her reasons for turning him down had just gotten stronger. I couldn’t stand seeing you every day and knowing there was never a hope of you loving me, she added to herself. And I’d never get over you.

“You know the offer’s good if you need something temporary to get you through.”

“He just wants you at his beck and call while you’re trying to perform this miracle,” Flo warned, laughing. “He tried the same thing with me. Tried to get me to move into the staff apartment.”

It was Cindy’s turn to look blank.

“Oh. You haven’t seen the whole house?”

Cindy shook her head.

“Just wait,” Flo cautioned. “You ought to see me trying to figure out when and where to serve his meals.”

“Maybe moving in would be easier,” Cindy suggested.

“I’m close enough,” Flo laughed. “I have the caretaker’s cottage out back,” Flo bragged. “I can see when his lights come on in here. I come up and serve his dinner—usually in here—then go back to my own little place, though cottage doesn’t do it justice. It’s the nicest house I’ve ever had,” she said, her eyes alight with pride. “Big enough to enjoy my kids and grandkids without sending out search parties to look for them.”

“That’s a shot at this house,” Parker explained to Cindy in case she hadn’t caught it.

“I noticed.” Cindy was enjoying the old I-cangive-as-good-as-I-get atmosphere of the old neighborhood.

“This is a warehouse,” Flo said. “Don’t let him kid you. You just don’t notice because you don’t leave this little suite of rooms.” She aimed the statement at him. She indicated his rooms with an expansive gesture. “Or he doesn’t leave the office,” she added to Cindy. “He’s becoming a workaholic.”

Workaholic, Cindy noted at the top of her pad. She was enjoying the warmth and companionship of this free-for-all way too much. It was time to get it back on track. “I’m making a list of things we need to tackle if we’re going to do this magical transformation,” she explained when Parker asked what she was doing. “Mallory’s the type who needs intensive care and attention,” she added dryly. “You can’t stay a workaholic if you expect to hold her interest. What do you think did in her first marriage?”

Parker straightened in his chair. “That’s exactly the kind of stuff I need to learn, isn’t it?”

“You’re going to have to turn yourself into Mallory’s lapdog,” Flo muttered under her breath. “Cindy’s only agreed to turn you into Prince Charming.”

Cindy laughed at Flo’s succinct summary of the whole situation and instantly felt traitorous. “Prince Charming’s enough of a challenge, don’t you think,” she managed to say brightly.

“More than enough.” Flo returned, rising to her feet and excusing herself to get back to work.

“That’s enough,” Parker echoed with a contented sigh. “Prince Charming—” he preened “—I think I can handle that.”

CHAPTER TWO

CINDY’S first step on any project was making a list. This one she titled: Parker Project.

With little input from him, Cindy’s list grew. Every item she added, she expected him to defend himself, as she would if someone decided to take her apart, piece by piece. He sat instead, looking fascinated while she squirmed. At last, the column of items she’d written seemed complete.

“Can you think of anything else?” she asked him, turning the pad so he could look her list over.

It wasn’t as long as Cindy had anticipated and some of the items would be simple.

“If I knew what I needed to change, I wouldn’t need help from you, would I,” he teased, then scowled as he looked at it.

“What?”

He pointed to the first item on the list.

Workaholic? He hadn’t gotten past the first item?

“What can I do about that?” he asked as if the problem was something he couldn’t possibly help or change.

“Quit working around the clock,” she said. “Don’t worry,” she added at his blank look. “I’ll remind you several times between now and the reunion.”

“And who, do you suggest, will do my work?”

“You. It would help, PC, if when you aren’t working, you could actually pay attention to other things. Like the person you’re with,” she added as an example. “You could occasionally think of your friends. You just can’t ignore people for months on end.” She grinned to salvage her pride for bringing it up.

His scowl deepened.

“Like me,” she tried again. “We’re supposed to be friends, but I often don’t hear from you for months. I didn’t even know your new address.” She gestured at their surroundings.

“My phone number didn’t change. You can call me any time.”

She ignored him. “Friends—and especially someone you might want to marry,” she clarified so he wouldn’t realize it was personal, “tend to want to know they’re important to you, that you think of them from time to time. They want to know what’s going on in your life.”

“You never seem to mind,” he pointed out.

Cindy bit back the words she wanted to say. Instead she took a deep breath. “I know you’ve been busy. But I don’t count in this discussion,” she said calmly. “You didn’t say you wanted to marry me. Someone you expect to marry will want your attention.” Her lips twisted on the words as if she was eating a sour pickle.

But he was still on the last subject. “I consider you my closest friend,” he said.

“But I never know on a regular basis what’s going on with you.” She let him draw her in. “Why didn’t you tell me Flo was working for you?” she asked. “Or invite me over to see your house after you moved?”

“She just started since I last saw...” He let the words trail off.

“And that’s been?”

“Maybe two months,” he said sheepishly after mulling it over.

“Six weeks,” she told him.

“You can call me anytime,” he told her again.

“I know,” she agreed. “But until you decide to call me, your head is so far in the clouds it’s a waste of time trying to find out what’s going on with you. You’re working whether you’re at work or not.”

“I’ve been there when you needed me,” he said half defensively.

“Yes,” she admitted. Since junior high, he’d listened to every problem, helped her study for tests, been there in hundreds of ways. The only thing she hadn’t been able to talk to him about was boys, probably because he’d always been the only one on her mind. Three years ago, when she’d been trying to get up the nerve to buy her first house, he’d listened for hours on end. He’d made a mathematical chart only a genius could figure out to prove she could afford to do what she wanted. He’d given advice when needed and when asked. But day to day, if she didn’t have a problem or he didn’t have something specific he wanted to talk to her about, he was zoned out. “You’ve always been there when I needed you, PC.”

“That’s another thing,” he said, raising one finger. “Do you think I should insist my old classmates call me Parker? Doesn’t that sound more...more...”

“Like someone Mallory would marry,” she finished for him.

“More adult.” He frowned at her as if he wanted to argue with the way she’d said it. “Does PC sound too much like a childish nickname?”

Too much like who you were? Not like who you want to be. “It’s you, PC.” She smiled. “Parker Chaney. Politically Correct. Personal Computer expert. It’s even your company name,” she added.

“It seemed right at the time.” He shrugged.

“You could encourage everyone at the reunion to call you Chaney, like they did throughout the Times article.”

“They called me PC,” he reminded her.

“Just in the first paragraph,” she said, quoting, “‘Even the name Parker Chaney’s friends and close associates call him is synonymous with the industry his company dominates. Personal Computers. No one who owns or touches one has been untouched by PC, Inc. The company’s faster, smarter and better innovations barrage the technological market on an almost daily basis.’”

“You memorized it?” His sky-blue eyes lit.

“I read it enough times to remember it,” she said, lifting one shoulder.

His crooked grin matched the way hers felt. “I’m not an especially thoughtful friend, am I?” He reached across the table to cover her hand with his. Bracing herself for the normal electrical charge she got at his touch, she was pleasantly surprised when it didn’t happen. She’d managed to numb herself, she thought triumphantly. Or maybe the message that there was no longer any hope had gotten through to her brain and her body was shutting down her reactions to him in acceptance.

He looked dazed, as startled as she’d ever seen him. She squirmed self-consciously. Maybe her body hadn’t reacted, but had her expression given something away?

He lifted his hand, gingerly rubbing his palm, then laced his fingers together and rested his hands carefully on his side of the table.

“Whatever is happening with you, whatever you’re doing, you’ve always been a three-in-the-morning friend,” she told him. “That means a lot to me.”

He was scowling again. “And what, exactly, is a three-in-the-morning friend?”

“Don’t you remember my dad talking about that when we were young?” Since his own father had taken off when Parker was small, he’d hung around with her and her dad a lot.

Parker shook his head.

“It isn’t necessarily the people you see every day, or the person you think you’d call,” she explained. “It’s someone you wouldn’t hesitate to contact anytime—day or night—if you needed help. Even at three in the morning. For any kind of help. You’ve always been that kind of friend for me, PC. I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”

“You make it sound...past tense.” He looked downright uneasy with the thought. “That isn’t going to—”

“I was thinking about it the other day...after you asked me to help you,” she interrupted. “With Mallory?”

His eyes were the color of a cloudy day now.

“If... when,” she corrected, “you marry Mallory, it will change.” She stopped him with a raised hand as he opened his mouth to protest. “We’ll still be friends. I know I’ll be able to come to you with almost anything.”

“We’d be family then.” His voice emphasized the words determinedly.

“You’ll be my brother-in-law. Wouldn’t it seem strange to call you for help instead of my sister?”

“You’d be calling both of us.”

“I love Mallory but I could never call her with my problems at three o’clock in the morning,” she said quietly.

“But you guys are close.” He looked guilty.

That wasn’t Cindy’s intent. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I love Mallory dearly, but she’s not a callme-with-your-problems-at-three-in-the-morning type person. But it will be fun having someone I feel so close to as a brother-in-law. What a change of pace!” She managed a short laugh. “A brother-in-law I will actually know.”

“Nothing will change,” he assured her. Or maybe he was reassuring himself. Then he sat up straighter, thumping the list that was still in front of him. “Well, I guess some things better change or all this is a pipe dream.”

She grinned at him, her very best friend as long as she could remember. “I’m not losing a friend, I’m gaining family.” She’d missed having ‘family’ since her parents’ death in a freak weather accident when she was fifteen years old. “Who would have guessed,” she forced a lighthearted tone into her voice, “that I would ever know someone as important as you, let alone be related. I guess it’s kind of unrealistic of me to expect to hear from you more. I do keep track, though,” she added. “I saw the interview on CNN last month.”

“You did?”

She nodded. “You were great.”

“I sounded like a total egghead.” He was still studying her with that bemused and confused look.

“You sounded very impressive, PC,” she said. “You managed to make the interviewer laugh a couple of times. I was proud of you.”

“I was proud of me, too,” he admitted, quieter than he’d been. “I am getting better at that sort of thing.”

“Do you have any choice with all the practice you’re getting?”

“Nah, I guess not.”

Cindy got irritated with herself. She was sounding as if she were the charter member of his Admiration Society again. She stiffened her spine and returned to their original subject. “You’ll never be my brother-in-law if you don’t marry Mallory.” She somehow managed to keep the bittersweet pain out of her voice as she pointed to the list. “We’d better get busy with the stuff you aren’t so good at.”

His smile faded and he turned his attention to the second item. “Clothes?”

“We’ll go through your closet in a little while,” Cindy suggested.

Parker pointed to the next item and scowled. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

Cindy pulled the list over and added Habit of Scowling to the bottom of it. “You need a decent haircut, PC. You need something with a little style. We’ll get you an appointment with someone really good. I know a stylist downtown who’d be perfect... has great taste and a good eye,” she raved enthusiastically.

Parker looked skeptical. “The guy does your hair?”

Cindy knew him too well to think he was insulting her; he must be trying to figure out how she knew him. “He bought my last house,” she explained.

“A definite sign of great taste.” Parker grinned and moved on, showing exactly how unimportant he thought his hairstyle was, despite his initial response.

“We should check into getting you contacts,” she said as his finger tapped at the next word: Glasses. It had a question mark beside it. “Or if you don’t want contacts, surely your eye doctor has more fashionable frames than those.”

“What’s wrong with these?”

“Nothing if you don’t mind looking like you bought cheap magnifying eyeglasses at the discount store.”

Parker looked up at her, flushing, then down at the nail he’d been flicking against the list.

“You don’t, PC,” Cindy protested. “Tell me you didn’t buy those glasses off a display rack in some drugstore.”

“They work.” He met her gaze. “My eyes aren’t that bad. I broke my prescription glasses a couple of years ago when I was out of town and bought some like this to get me through the emergency. I discovered I didn’t really need much, just something when I sit staring at a computer screen all day.”

“You’ve worn glasses all your life, Parker Chaney.”

“Mom used to make me go to the eye doctor at least once a year,” he said. “But when mine broke and I didn’t have time...”

“In how many years?”

“Five, maybe six,” he muttered.

Cindy pointed to the pad in front of him. “Put that on the list, PC. Top of the list. First thing Monday morning. You have to get an appointment with an optometrist.” She rolled her eyes. “And I wondered why you were getting such geeky glasses the past few years. I couldn’t imagine that your doctor didn’t have more fashionable ones.”

“But you think I should get contacts,” he pointed out.

“If you can wear them,” she said. “You have beautiful blue eyes, PC. You should let—”

“You think so?” he interrupted. The beautiful blue eyes narrowed. His voice lowered. “You think I have beautiful eyes?”

If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was flirting. She willed herself not to flush but wasn’t certain she was successful. “I’m guessing,” she said sarcastically. “It’s hard to tell behind those things.”

“Should I get colored lenses?”

“Why mess up such an interesting shade?”

He laughed and she realized she’d fallen into his trap. Okay, she’d admitted she thought his eyes were beautiful. They were a very normal blue, except they were flecked with gray. It made them seem the color of the sky on a beautiful day. Studying his gorgeous eyes was exactly the kind of habit she had to break. She looked away.

He finished perusing the list as Flo stuck her head in the door to check on them. “How’s it coming?”

“What do you think?” Cindy invited her in to look over the items they’d come up with.

Flo read over his shoulder, looking as skeptical about some of it as Cindy felt. “You’d better do something about his manners, too.”

Parker looked indignant.

“I don’t mean manner manners,” she said before he could protest. “I mean...you know.” She waved toward Cindy. “The way he moves.”

“You mean mannerisms,” Cindy said, frowning herself.

“Mannerisms,” Flo agreed. “It won’t be as hard as it sounds,” she added a promise for Parker. “He’s very graceful when he’s relaxed or not being self-conscious. You’ve seen him dance,” she added as Cindy nodded. “Like a stick figure. Stick legs.”

“You think we can do something about that,” Cindy wondered aloud, adding Mannerisms to the list.

“He isn’t that bad. Just self-conscious—like he’ll be if all this comes off—he’ll get stiff and awkward. You’ll just have to figure out some way to make him relax. Take him dancing. Practice until he’s comfortable.” Flo danced around the table, holding an imaginary partner. “But not just dancing,” she warned. “You’ll have to take on all those things that make people think he’s a computer geek. Like walking across a room with his shoulders scrunched when he’s concentrating. Or squinting continually,” she pointed out as he did it again.

Cindy tapped the end of her pen at Scowling on the list. “It might help if he got the proper glasses,” she stated.

“You need to practice all of this on Cindy.” Flo snapped her fingers as if the idea had just struck her. But her expression was too smug.

Cindy felt a knot grow in the pit of her stomach. That’s all she needed, someone playing matchmaker while she was trying to fix him up for Mallory.

“Practice on Cindy,” Flo reiterated. “Call her. Take her out. Wine and dine her. Go dancing.”

“Lousy idea,” Cindy protested.

“Practice makes perfect.” Flo ignored her and directed the remark at Parker.

“It’s brilliant,” he said, sprawling back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. His feet tangled with hers under the table.

She shifted uncomfortably and straightened the pad as if it were a stack of papers. “It’s silly. You’ve been comfortable with me forever,” she said. “So how is that going to help you with Mallory?”

Parker fixed her with those intent eyes. “I‘ll—” he searched for a word “—woo you. It would make me plenty uncomfortable and awkward. It will be great practice.”

“It would make us both ‘plenty uncomfortable and awkward.’ And what good would it do? I’m not at all like Mallory.”

He compressed his lips, studying her. “But you know what you like. What one woman likes in a man can’t be that much different from another.”

“Sure. That’s why Mallory’s been married twice and I don’t even have a boyfriend. See? We don’t think alike. Besides, how am I supposed to react to being ‘wooed’?”

“What do you mean?”

“Am I supposed to playact, too? Play like I’m falling in love with you,” she added when he scrunched his face into an incomprehensible mess.

“Just tell me what I do wrong and what I do right.” He spread his hands as if it made all the sense in the world. “That’s all you’d have to do. I learn best from experience.”

She continued to shake her head.

He covered her hand with one of his, letting the corners of his mouth turn up slowly. “If you’re concemed that I’ll get some weird, romantic notion...” He let the statement finish itself.

He’d said it in his most sincere, totally clueless way. It was the remark of the true Parker she knew and loved—the Parker Chaney she had to quit loving. And probably the best way to do that was to turn him into exactly what he wanted to be: someone Mallory would love. “Don’t worry, PC,” she said softly, disengaging her hand from his. “I’m not concerned about anything like that.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“What does trust have to do with anything?” It wasn’t him she didn’t trust. It was herself. “But you can’t experiment with people like you do one of your computer programs.”

“You’re right, Cindy.” Flo met Cindy’s gaze across the top of Parker’s head. “It was a lousy idea. I take it back,” she said, an apology in her eyes.

Cindy sighed and picked up her pen. “Now, shouldn’t we figure out how to deal with all of this realistically if we want to rescue you from geekdom?”

“I’ve done rather well with it,” he said, lifting his straight, perfect nose and showing an arrogance Cindy had seen more and more often the past couple of years. His success hadn’t gone to his head exactly, but he had slowly changed, gained an inner confidence that had been missing when he was younger. He no longer slinked into a room and lurked on the fringes as he had when faced with a crowd back in high school.

Just last week, she’d seen a clip of him on the nightly business news on TV. Some company had just signed a contract with his company and the cameras were there, witnessing the agreement. There had been a presence, a proud swagger, a tall assurance in the way he’d held his shoulders as the camera caught him shaking hands with that company’s CEO. She’d noted his easy grace at the time and felt proud for him. Other people must have seen him the same way because stock in PC, Inc. soared more than four points the next day. But business was different. Social situations tied him in knots.

“You’re right. You’ve done extremely well,” Cindy told him primly, laying the pen back down with a snap. “Anyone who isn’t impressed with who and what you are can just go to hell. Who cares what anyone thinks.”

“Except...” He looked confused.

“Mallory?” Winning the point didn’t give Cindy a bit of satisfaction. Poor Parker. And poor Mallory if she didn’t appreciate what she was getting, Cindy decided.

“She does like heads to turn when she makes an appearance on the arm of some man,” he stated after a moment. The analytical, problem-solving, stepback-and-view-things-from-a-distance side of him had returned.

“She always did that by herself,” Flo said, a touch too wryly.

“But she expects her attachments to be impressive, too.”

Cindy and Flo looked at Parker with amazement. He’d used the word “attachment.” Obviously he was aware that Mallory saw whatever man she was with as another of her accessories. He was coming along.

“Speaking of impressing people. Something else you should think about doing,” Cindy suggested.

“What?”

“You should consider hosting one of the reunion events here,” she told him. The idea had struck when she’d first stepped into his new foyer, though she’d been in too much shock to voice it then. “What better chance to impress everyone?” Including Mallory, she almost heard Parker think as he noted it with a raised eyebrow.

“You don’t think being on the Times cover is enough to impress anyone?”

“Now you’re gloating.”

“He does take extra pleasure out of all his success, doesn’t he,” Flo teased.

“I’ll admit. I look forward to observing a few people’s reactions.”

Cindy chuckled. “Bill Baxter, for one?” He’d been the star running back on the high school football team. He’d dated Mallory throughout their senior year.

“Baxter’s a start.” Parker leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table as he twisted the pen he held between both hands. “What kind of event did you have in mind?”

“A cocktail party maybe? The committee’s tentative schedule said a ‘Get Together’ on Friday evening? But it wasn’t specific. Since nothing was spelled out, I’ll bet they haven’t finalized anything yet. If you called the committee and volunteered to have their Get Together here—kind of a renew-old-acquaintances informal cocktail party—I’ll bet they’d jump on it.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds logical.”

“And that phrase you should strike from your vocabulary,” Flo said, dishing another warm roll onto each of their plates.

“That sounds logical?”

“Yeah.” Cindy shared another understanding smile with Flo. “Strange as it may seem, PC, not everyone in the world functions strictly on logic,” she added. “Mallory will not be impressed when you ask her to marry you by detailing the logic behind it. You might want to mention feelings or emotion or something similar.”

He laughed. Nothing perked him up like the mention of Mallory.

“She’ll see plenty of logic on her own,” Cindy muttered under her breath. Darn him. And darn me for caring.

Flo chuckled. “I gotta get back to work. Sounds like you guys are doing just fine.” She picked up the pan with the rest of the rolls. “It’s good to see you again, Cindy. I’m glad we’ll be doing it a lot more often.”

“Thanks, Flo. Me, too.”

Flo gave a thumbs-up on her way out.

“Why do I get the feeling I’ve invited the two of you to gang up on me,” Parker asked as she closed the door behind her.

“It’s your imagination.” Cindy reviewed their list again. She didn’t need to worry about still being in love with him when all this was over. If they accomplished everything on here, he’d be a totally different man. Someone she wouldn’t recognize, let alone love. That was good, wasn’t it?

Was it the idea of him changing that made her feel so irritable and sad? Or was it that she was making him over for Mallory?

Cindy looked around her at the luxurious apartment he and Flo had christened the master suite. “I was serious, PC,” she said. “You really don’t need to do anything except bring everyone here. You’ll have the undivided attention of every unmarried female in your class.”

“I was serious, too,” he replied as passionately as she’d ever heard him. “I don’t want anyone who’s only attracted to all this.”

Not even Mallory? She clamped her mouth closed over the next question she wanted to ask. How would they know what Mallory would be interested in. Because she would be interested.

Cindy closed her eyes momentarily. She couldn’t protect him from Mallory; she couldn’t even protect him from himself. She could only do her very best for him and let her feelings for him go. They were hopeless. She’d known it as long as she could remember. It was time to start thinking of him as the brother-in-law he wanted to be.

“Then don’t worry. By the time we’re through with you, she’ll be dazzled by just you.” She forced a smile. “So where do you want to start?”

“First things first. Might as well begin at the beginning.” He leaned closer, eager to do whatever he was required. He grimaced and tapped at the word topping the list: Workaholic.

“You’ll have to do that one yourself,” she reminded him, adding, “but if it makes you feel better, I’ll remind you from time to time.”

“It’s surely a matter of concentration,” he said, causing her to shake her head. That’s what got him into trouble in the first place—concentrating too hard.

He scanned the list again from top to bottom. “Is there anything right with me?” he asked ruefully.

Her heart compressed in her chest. There is so much right with you, Parker Michael Chaney! She loved his honesty. His intensity. His dedication and determination. His genuine caring. His way of making whatever he wanted to happen happen. She released a painfully silent sigh. “The problem has always been perceptions,” she said. “Their perceptions,” she clarified. “Your former classmates. The problem has never been with you.”

“But now, fifteen years later, I have an opportunity to make a new first impression,” he said, pleased with the thought.

“Exactly.”

“I can’t tell you how badly I want to do that.” He squared his shoulders. “So I guess it’s logical... appropriate,” he amended, “to start on this one.” He underlined the second with his finger. “Clothes.” He glanced up expectantly.

“Then I guess we should adjourn to your closet.”

CHAPTER THREE

His closet was the size of her bedroom. Beside it there was another one the same size. Out of curiosity, Cindy opened that door as Parker opened the one he’d indicated was his. She wasn’t surprised to see boxes stacked inside the second one. Boxes, computer keyboards, various pieces and parts of computers. In this huge house, there had to be another place to store those kinds of things.

With an overwhelmed sigh, she closed the second door.

“What?” Parker asked. “What’s wrong?” He was standing just inside the door he had opened.

“You’ll have to clear all that stuff out for Mallory,” she warned.

A can’t-wait-for-Christmas expression spread across his face as the implication of her statement sank in. “I can handle that,” he said and she could almost see the visions of sugarplums dancing in his head.

“PC...”

He looked at her, ready to do whatever she said.

“That’s the first thing we have to change,” she said, suddenly irritated beyond belief with him.

“What?”

“You have to get rid of that eager-to-please, can’t-wait-for-you-to-walk-all-over-me attitude. Mallory’s going to swallow you up for breakfast and throw you away.”

He looked hurt.

“Every feeling you have can’t show,” she softened her tone a bit.

“Make up your mind,” he said. “A minute ago you were telling me I had to express feelings, not logic.”

“I said you had to have feelings. I didn’t say you should wear them on your sleeve. For some reason, women like to be kept guessing just a tiny bit. You have to at least play a little hard to get.” Shoot, maybe that was why she liked him. He’d kept her guessing and wishing and hoping for years. And how much harder to get could you be than madly, blindly in love with someone else?

“You can’t be so...so...eager,” she told him. “Lesson one—when Mallory says something, don’t jump as if her tiniest wish is your command.”

“So you don’t want me to clean out the closet?”

This time her sigh was frustrated because she couldn’t decide if she wanted to hit him or hug him. “Yes. Clean out the closet. But she doesn’t have to know you did it for her. Shoot, don’t do it for her. Do it for yourself! We’re going to buy you a whole new wardrobe. Maybe you’ll be using some of the space by the time this reunion comes around. Surely in this huge house you have somewhere to keep your old modems and stuff besides your bedroom.” She waved vaguely at the door she’d shut.

His expression cleared some, but there were still tiny frown lines between his eyebrows. Cindy resisted the urge to smooth it away. “Don’t take everything so literally,” she snapped. “That’s another problem. You take everything anyone says as gospel. People do say one thing and mean something else.”

The frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...for example, when I said you’d have to clean out the closet, I was talking to you, but I was mostly thinking out loud. In fact, it’s kind of silly to clean it out until you know where all this is going to lead. Mallory may not be interested. Shoot, by the time she gets here, she may be married again.” She wanted to slap the startled look off his face.

“You think that’s a possibility?”

“I think,” she measured her response, “you shouldn’t worry. If she’s madly in love with someone else and already married again, do you really want her?”

She couldn’t bear to see the answer he might have in his eyes and turned away. “Never mind. She would have told me if she was thinking of getting married again.” She changed the subject quickly and promised herself that whatever she felt, she would not make snide remarks about Mallory again. She was her sister. Cindy did love her, even though she didn’t understand her. And she had to admit, she’d always been jealous of Parker’s reaction to Mallory. “It’s your house, and until something changes, you shouldn’t clean out the closet if you want that stuff there.”

“It is convenient,” he said.

“Then don’t clean it out.” She shook her head to clear the confusion he created every time she had one of these literal/euphemistic conversations with him. “If it gets to the point where Mallory is considering settling in here, I’m sure she’ll figure out some way to get you to move those things out herself.”

Cindy pushed past him and looked at the meager number of clothes he had hanging in his own closet. It held maybe ten suits, at least one of them dating back as far as high school—she recognized it from his and Mallory’s graduation. There was a line of white shirts and a hanger with neckties hung haphazardly over it. His clothes took up maybe two feet of the clothing rods that ran at least thirty feet on three sides of the room. The walls were lined with cedar. Built-in drawers and cabinets were interspersed between the rods and shelving of various heights and sizes. Four pairs of sneakers in various stages of disintegration perched neatly on a long low shelf obviously meant for the purpose. He had sweaters and casual knit shirts folded neatly on one stretch of shelves.

Only two suits survived her scrutiny. “What’s wrong with that one?” Parker asked at one point.

“Besides the fact that it’s threadbare?” She reclaimed the suit he looked reluctant to part with.

“That’s my TV suit,” he protested.

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