“Bo…kiss me.”

His conscience, a small voice that had been banished to the far corners of his mind, begged him to stop. To remember who Carly was.

Yet he couldn’t seem to yield to common sense. Not yet. Not until he’d tasted her just this one time. But it had been Carly who came to her senses first, who’d placed her hands on his chest and pushed away slowly.

Her breath was ragged. “I wish we were anywhere but here.”

So did Bo. His bed at home would have been nice. But he couldn’t deal with the reality of what they’d done, the step they’d taken that would change their friendship forever.

Friends didn’t kiss each other like that….

Dear Reader,

When my editor asked me to write book two in Talk of the Neighborhood, I loved the idea of a series based upon the neighbors of Danbury Way. And I was especially pleased to create Carly’s story, since I’d gone through an unexpected divorce, too.

As someone who tried to make everyone happy—sometimes at my own expense—it was difficult to realize I couldn’t fix things, no matter how hard I tried. Yet the months passed, and the lessons I learned along the way made me a better, stronger person.

And you know what? It was all worth it in the long run, because I met my very own hero, a man who loved me enough to take on the responsibility of four children.

No, I’m not a perfect wife. And it’s been ages since I was a size three, but I’ve learned to be myself and not someone others expect me to be.

I hope you enjoy reading about Carly’s journey in The Perfect Wife. And I wish you all a happy-ever-after.

Love,

Judy

The Perfect Wife
Judy Duarte

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JUDY DUARTE

An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy Duarte loves to create stories of her own. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she’s spending time with her somewhat enormous, but delightfully close family.

Judy makes her home in California with her personal hero, their youngest son and a cat named Mom. “Sharing a name with the family pet gets a bit confusing,” she admits. “Especially when the cat decides to curl up in a secluded cubbyhole and hide. I’m not sure what the neighbors think when my son walks up and down the street calling for Mom.”

You can write to Judy c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279. Or you can contact her through her Web site at: www.judyduarte.com.

To my husband, Sal,

who encourages me to chase my dreams.

I love you, honey.

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

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

When the doorbell rang, Carly Alderson was sitting cross-legged on the Italian leather recliner in the den, watching a made-for-TV movie about star-crossed lovers, sniffling back tears and popping the remains of a lemon-filled doughnut into her mouth.

As the elegant gong resonated through the custom-built, plantation-style home her neighbors referred to as the McMansion, she froze in midchew.

Oh, God. Make them go away.

She was so not up for visitors. Not today, and especially not now.

Half of her wanted to ignore the interruption, reach back into the Tasty Dream Donut sack for the last chocolate éclair, sink into the cushions and fall back into a fictional sorrow, rather than think about her own.

But the rest of her, which unfortunately included the eight-and-a-half pounds she’d put on since her divorce had been finalized, hoped it was Greg coming home to tell her he was having second thoughts. That he’d made a big mistake—a huge one—and that he couldn’t live without her.

News like that would be the first step in righting her world—the one Greg had sent spinning off its axis when he’d told her he didn’t love her anymore and that after seven years of marriage he wanted a divorce.

In a fit of bravado, Carly had thrown him out of the house, then had all the locks changed. That bold move, as well as taking back her maiden name, had been Carly’s way of letting Greg know what a divorce meant. That things were final. Kaput. Finished.

Of course, she’d only meant it as a bit of shock therapy, a way for him to see reason.

But so far, nothing had worked.

The gong sounded again, and nervous panic sent her heart rate thumping to beat the band.

What if it was Greg?

Needless to say, the desperate I-need-to-save-my-marriage part won out.

She stood, and when she glanced at the telltale bag in her hands, her breath caught.

Oh, God. She couldn’t let him find her pigging out. So she quickly shoved the incriminating sack, complete with the remaining chocolate éclair, under the chair cushion, a trick she hadn’t pulled in years.

Then she rushed into the guest bathroom that was right off the den to make sure she didn’t have any glaze or lemony goo smeared across her face. But as she looked into the mirror, she nearly collapsed in a frumpy heap on the hardwood floor.

Tear tracks had done a real number on her mascara, making her look like a raccoon with red-rimmed eyes, a pitiful little creature who was a far cry from the I’ve-got-it-all-together woman she really was.

Greg would probably think she was still pining over him, which had been true earlier this week. And yesterday afternoon. But the culprit this time had been a sad chick flick, a real tearjerker and…

The doorbell rang again, this time sounding as though an impatient Girl Scout with an armload of cookies was repeatedly jabbing an index finger at the button. Not that Carly had ever had a run-in with a Girl Scout who wasn’t sweet and adorable.

Oh, for crying out loud. All right already.

“I’m coming,” she hollered, as she turned on the water in the bathroom sink.

She half hoped whoever it was would get tired of waiting and just go away. But she’d neglected to pull her car into the garage after a grocery run this morning, so most people would suspect she was at home and in a back part of the house.

If she found a salesman—the pesky adult variety—at the door, she’d probably practice some of those fancy kickboxing moves and see if they really worked.

Of course, if it was Greg, she’d die of embarrassment. He’d never seen her looking so wretched and pitiful.

There’d been a time in her life when she’d always looked that way, felt that way. But a lot had changed since she’d grown up, left home and gone to college. She’d gotten her act together and gained some self-control.

Yet if truth be told, she’d allowed herself to fall back into a few old habits lately, something she’d have to put a stop to before the extra weight made her feel as ugly and as worthless as she’d felt as a child.

In spite of her ability to shove the ego-shattering memories to the back of her mind, where they belonged, the words of her father crept back to haunt her. To whittle away at the perfect life she’d created for herself.

Damn it, Carly. Are you eating again? You’re going to be as fat as your mother if you’re not careful.

For cripes sake, girl. Can’t you get a rearview mirror? If you ever need to haul ass, you’ll have to make two trips.

“Stop it,” she snapped to the chubby child within who refused to grow up and move on.

She reached for an embroidered linen hand towel, then rubbed at the smeared mascara.

A fist bam-bam-bammed on the door, something she might not have heard in any other part of the house, and a muffled voice yelled, “Open up, Carly. We know you’re in there.”

Okay. It wasn’t Greg.

She nearly slunk back to the den, ready to ignore her guests. But she’d recognized the voice of Molly Jackson, who had a key to the house.

It wasn’t as though the two of them were best friends. After all, Carly didn’t let people get that close. But when she’d been handed two sets of keys, it had seemed like a good idea to give a spare to a neighbor in case of emergency.

And Molly, who lived right next door, seemed like a logical choice.

“I can let myself in,” Molly reminded her. “Come on, Carly. Open up. We’ve been worried about you.”

The fact that someone in the neighborhood cared was a bit uplifting.

Carly took a deep breath, then strode to the entry and opened the door, finding Molly and another neighbor, Rebecca Peters, on the porch. Stepping aside and allowing the women into the marble-tiled foyer, she caught the whiff of tropical-scented sunblock as they entered.

Rebecca, an attractive woman in her late twenties with brown hair and blue eyes, was, as usual, fashionably dressed—even wearing a swimsuit cover-up. “We came to take you to the community pool.”

“Are you kidding?” Carly, who normally didn’t even head downstairs for breakfast unless she was impeccably groomed, glanced at the front of the man’s blue T-shirt she wore, one of Greg’s that had been in the dryer when she’d demanded he pack his things and get out. “I can’t go anywhere like this.”

“You look fine for what we’ve got in mind,” Rebecca said.

“That’s right,” Molly, who sported a white sundress, added. “You’ve been licking your wounds long enough, and we’re taking you with us.”

Oh, no. Carly wasn’t going out in public. Besides, why should she join them at the community pool? She had a lovely pool of her own, complete with a stone waterfall, an outdoor fireplace, a hot tub, lush green plants and a colorful garden. “If you want to lie in the sun or swim, come on inside. We can spend the afternoon in my backyard.”

“Not today. You’ve been holed up inside the McMansion for too long, and it’s time to get out into the world again.” Molly, whose long brown, curly hair was swept up in a stylish clip, pointed to the circular stairway. “Go get a towel and a swimsuit and come with us.”

“I’m not holed up in here,” Carly lied.

Rebecca, her blue eyes sparkling with determination, crossed her arms. “There’s life after divorce, Carly. And the sooner you accept that the better.”

“I accept it.” But what she really had trouble accepting was the fact that a month ago, Greg had started dating. And to make matters worse, he was seeing Megan Schumacher, a woman from the neighborhood Carly had once considered a friend.

It still stung, still hurt.

And it was so very hard to understand.

Carly had worked her butt off, trying to make Greg proud of her, trying to be the perfect wife in every way.

And Megan, a full-figured woman who could stand to lose twenty pounds, wasn’t all that pretty.

So what did Greg see in her?

The small voice asked, Better yet, what does Megan have that you don’t?

For a moment, Carly faltered, her pride taking a direct hit. But she refused to believe there was something in her that might be lacking. Not when she’d tried so hard to be everything a wife should be.

Maybe her handsome, hardworking, successful ex-husband was going through a midlife crisis, assuming men did that when they turned thirty. Of course, she’d always thought something like that happened a decade or two later in a man’s life, but nothing else explained what had made Greg decide he wanted out of the marriage. Not when Carly had worked so hard to stay in shape, to make him proud of her. To be the perfect wife, the kind of woman he deserved.

Why, even Greg’s snobby mother, Vanessa, who’d been impossible to please, had begun to accept Carly—sort of. She’d come to Carly’s defense after they’d separated, and tried to convince Greg to go home, to make things work.

But he hadn’t wanted to.

“We’re not leaving without you,” Rebecca said as she placed her hands on Carly’s shoulders, then turned her around, pushing her gently but firmly toward the stairs. “Go get your suit and a towel. We’ll wait.”

Carly would rather finish off that chocolate éclair, even if it was now smooshed by the cushion of the recliner, but she reluctantly did as her neighbors suggested. She wasn’t entirely sure why, though. Maybe because they were right. She had been hiding, licking her wounds. And it was time she got back on track.

She had a lot going for her. A nice house, a generous divorce settlement. A body that, after she starved herself for a couple of weeks and worked out like a fiend, would soon be back in shape.

God forbid she keep oinking out on Tasty Dream Donuts. She’d be as big as her mother in no time at all.

A twinge of guilt reared its head.

Carly hadn’t meant that in a bad way. She loved her mom and missed her, but the weight the middle-aged woman had been carrying for the past twenty-five years wasn’t healthy and could lead to heart disease or a stroke. It had also kept her housebound.

Years ago, Carly, her sister and their mom had been close, clinging to each other through difficult times. But they’d all developed eating disorders, although Carly had overcome hers.

Oh yeah? that pesky, small voice asked. What about that smooshed éclair resting in the paper bag under the cushion of the recliner?

Okay. So maybe she might not have kicked hers completely. But with Greg gone, she’d rebelled from her rigid daily workouts and those brutal carb and fat restrictions. And to be honest, she was enjoying the temporary break. Maybe a bit too much.

But she’d get back on track.

As Carly climbed the circular stairway to her bedroom, she made a mental note to call her mother again this evening. It had been a week, and Carly wanted to check on her, maybe find out if the new diet program, a special study her doctor had encouraged her to take part in, was still working.

Her mother’s obesity was slowly killing her, the doctor had told her during her last visit. Her knees were giving out on her, her cholesterol and triglycerides were dangerously high.

But that was something only her mom could do something about.

Carly had, of course, gone to great lengths not to let history repeat itself. And she wasn’t about to let her eating habits get out of control.

But she wouldn’t put on a swimsuit without a cover-up, either. Not with the tummy pooch she’d developed over the past month. It had been a long time since she’d been anything but toned and lean. And the thought of having anyone see her imperfections was enough to make her sick.

Not in a binge and purge sort of way. That had been her sister’s routine.

But Carly’s divorce had blindsided her, hitting her hard, pulling the proverbial rug out from under her. Greg and their marriage had been her whole life, but it was time to right her world and restore her battered self-esteem.

Besides, who would see her at the community pool?

Bo Conway glanced up from his work on the bathhouse at the pool as three women strolled through the wrought-iron gate and chose a couple of lounge chairs just a few feet away from where he’d set up his tools. He nearly shrugged them off, along with the other sunbathers and swimmers, until he recognized a sweet, sexy Texas drawl and recognized the stunning blonde with blue eyes and a dynamite smile.

Carly Banning—or rather, Alderson now—was a beautiful woman who worked hard at her appearance.

Too hard, if you asked him.

She even had a state-of-the-art gym built in the basement of the McMansion, which had cost her ex-husband, Greg Banning, a pretty penny. But unlike a lot of wealthy housewives with too much time and money on her hands, she actually used her gym.

Bo had done a lot of work at the Bannings’ place, a major renovation that had been the talk of the town, so he had some insight regarding the recently divorced couple that their neighbors didn’t have.

In fact, Bo was one of the few people who hadn’t been surprised to hear of the breakup. Not that he’d heard them fight. But he’d felt the tension between them and sensed the loneliness that permeated the walls of the McMansion, even when Greg and Carly had been in the same room.

Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t like them both. Or that he wasn’t sorry to hear of the divorce. Marital commitments were meant to last. And that was something Bo had strong feelings about—enough that he often observed couples, watched the way they treated each other, the way they showed affection. It had been something his uncle Roy had told him during one of their many discussions about life, love and the pursuit of happiness.

“A guy can learn a lot by just opening up his eyes and ears,” Roy had said.

So Bo made a habit of people watching, couple watching. And he’d decided Roy had been right.

A few months ago, while working at the McMansion, a house that was entirely too big and gaudy as far as Bo was concerned, he’d come upon a teary-eyed Carly—or Mrs. B., as he’d called her then—sitting in an easy chair with a glass of milk and a bag of Oreo cookies.

“My drug of choice,” she’d said.

For a woman who was damn near perfect and who worked out like crazy, it seemed counterproductive to be wolfing down a jillion calories.

He’d also been taken aback by the vulnerability in her gaze, by the waif who seemed to peer out at him from eyes glistening with raw emotion.

Originally, Bo had pegged Carly as being self-centered. But she’d always treated him kindly and never patronized him as some of his clients did. And soon his heart had gone out to her—as it was doing again today.

A couple of times, out of the corner of his eye, he caught her glancing his way, yet not in the form of a come-on. They’d kind of…well, he didn’t know exactly. Connected, he supposed.

Her husband had a business to run, so she’d spent a lot of time overseeing both the construction and the remodel of the McMansion. But not in a bothersome way. She’d been truly interested, involved. And she’d also listened to reason when he had to tell her one or another of her ideas wouldn’t work.

There was something else that had tugged at his heart, played on his sympathy.

When she was deep in thought or stressed, she had a habit of gnawing on her bottom lip in a way that made her porcelain outside peel away, revealing a flesh-and-blood woman inside.

Still, he’d minded his own business, knowing better than to stick his nose where it didn’t belong.

Besides, he had a dream to chase, a future to secure.

Yet at this particular moment he couldn’t help eavesdropping on the women’s conversation, words not meant for his ears.

“I think it’s time we go out to dinner and open a bottle of champagne,” the attractive brunette told Carly. “We need to celebrate your freedom and christen your new life.”

His former client didn’t look too happy with that suggestion.

“All you need to do is find another man,” the other woman added. “You’ll be back on track before you know it.”

“That’s a lot easier said than done.” Carly, who wore a large blue T-shirt that masked a shapely body, covered a lounge chair with a bright yellow-and-red-striped beach towel. “I’ve been married so long that I wouldn’t even know what to do on a date.”

“It’s like riding a bike,” the brunette said, taking a sip of her bottled water. “It’ll all come back to you. And you’ll realize there’s a lot to be said about being single.”

“I still feel married,” Carly said. “And I poured so much of myself into my marriage that I’m not even sure who I am anymore.”

Too bad, Bo thought, as he continued to work out of sight, but within hearing range. It was important for a person to know who she or he was, what they wanted out of life. In fact, he’d figured that out a long time ago.

He’d just purchased a piece of property where he would build a custom home for himself and the big family he hoped to someday have—all boys, if he had anything to say about it.

Of course, he’d need to find a wife first. But not just any wife.

Bo wanted a woman who would be not only his lover, but his best friend and a committed partner in life. Someone like him who would be willing to work hard and make a marriage work. A team player who would go the extra distance and wouldn’t see divorce as an option.

Over the years, Bo had met plenty of women who seemed to be ready to settle down. But they usually lost interest when they found out he wasn’t a suit-and-tie kind of guy, a man they could mold into someone else.

But he wasn’t in any hurry. He’d find the right woman someday.

Still, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for Carly. Or feeling as though he ought to reach out to her, offer a few suggestions. Give her some insight into what might have gone wrong in her marriage.

She’d have to ask, though.

And that wasn’t likely. She was a beautiful woman who wouldn’t be single for long.

Besides, Bo was practically a stranger and didn’t hobnob with her circle.

He studied his handiwork on the extension to the bathhouse. Not bad. His work here was done for the day.

As he packed up his tools, he heard a vehicle drive up, and glanced out into the parking lot. He didn’t give much thought about the car that pulled in beside his pickup. Not until Greg Banning got out with an attractive blonde, a couple of kids and another woman.

Damn. He hoped things didn’t blow sky-high, because it was pretty obvious neither Carly nor Greg expected to see the other at the community pool.

A part of him wanted to give Carly a heads-up, a friendly warning. To rescue the lovely damsel in distress.

But who was he to interfere?

It was best if he got his crap together and headed out to the parking lot before things got…ugly.

“Hey,” Rebecca said as she prepared to climb into the hot tub, removing her cover-up and revealing a new black swimsuit and the body to properly show it off. “Did you see that cute guy working on the bathhouse? I wonder who he is.”

Carly looked toward the brick building and spotted Bo Conway, one of the carpenters who’d done the renovations on her house a couple of months ago, folding up a ladder.

“Actually, I know him. His name is Bo,” she told them. “He’s a carpenter. And a very good one.”

He was also an attractive man, with a glimmer in his eyes and a single dimple that formed on one cheek when he smiled. He was rugged in an artsy sort of way. Solid, dependable, down-to-earth.

When he’d worked at the McMansion, Carly had often studied him from a distance, although she didn’t think he knew she found him…interesting. Appealing.

More than once she’d wondered if he was seeing anyone or if he’d like to meet a nice, single woman. If so, she would have been happy to set something up. Yet whenever she tried to think of someone suitable, the woman fell short.

Molly, who had yet to take off the sundress that hid her bathing suit, reached into what looked like a briefcase and carried a couple of files and her reading glasses to the hot tub.

“You brought work with you to the pool?” Carly asked.

“Just some material I need to look over.” Molly took a seat beside Carly on the edge of the tub and dangled her feet into the hot, bubbly water. “Your friend the carpenter is good-looking. Is he single?”

“I assume so. He doesn’t wear a ring.”

“A lot of construction workers don’t for safety reasons.” Rebecca lowered herself into the tub, grimacing slightly at the temperature. “Either way, he’s sure been watching you, Carly.”

“Me? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Bo had always treated her with the utmost respect and been very professional. There’d never been anything even the slightest bit flirty going on between them. Not even after Greg moved out and it was apparent Carly was single. And vulnerable.

But the thought that he might be looking at her caused her heart to flutter in an adolescent way.

She glanced his way, caught his gaze, then quickly turned her head.

Had he been watching her?

Nah. Couldn’t be.

Yet even though there was no reason in the world why she should be so uncomfortable about making eye contact, why her heart would kick up a notch…

Oh, for Pete’s sake. She tugged at the hem of her extra-large T-shirt, which hid a multitude of sins…or rather, doughnut binges. If anything, Bo probably wondered why in the heck she’d come out in public looking like this.

“You know what?” Molly asked. “I think he’s interested in you. He keeps glancing your way with this…I don’t know, kind of a sweet, puppy-dog look in his eyes.”

“Bo?” Carly didn’t have to feign her surprise.

“That’s the one.”

Carly shrugged off the comment. After all, Bo, a self-employed artisan, was so completely down-to-earth he didn’t seem interested in the drama of suburbia. And Carly had fought long and hard to be queen of Danbury Way.

Yeah, right. Queen of an enormous mansion in New York State where her only companion was an echo of the haunting voice of a father who still pointed out her deficiencies within the cold silence.

Rebecca nodded her head toward the bathhouse. “Why don’t you make the first move. Before he leaves.”

“Oh, cut it out.” Carly rolled her eyes. “I’d never do that.”

“Why not?”

For a lot of reasons. She wasn’t that bold, for one. But she offered the one that seemed the most logical. “Because I still feel married, remember?”

Before either of her friends could counter with an argument, the wrought-iron gate swung open and several children dashed inside, followed by three smiling adults.

Carly’s heart pounded in her chest as she recognized Megan’s sister, Angela, and her kids.

That in itself would have been enough to cause Carly to make excuses and skedaddle.

But when Greg walked through the gate, with Megan on his arm—the woman he’d chosen as her replacement—all Carly wanted to do was slip into the hot tub and drown a lobster’s death.

The paunch in her belly seemed to swell and fold into Jabba the Hutt proportions. And all she could think of was getting the heck out of here. Quick.

Okay, so Greg and Megan, whose smiles had completely evaporated into the summer breeze the moment they’d spotted her, were probably uncomfortable, too. But they had each other to commiserate with. Carly was alone. And not up for any of this.

“Oh, my God, Carly. I’m really sorry about that. I never expected them to come here today.”

Whether it was Rebecca or Molly commenting, Carly wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had to escape before she fell apart.

And she had to do it now.

She quickly looked at her right arm, where her wristwatch was supposed to be. “Gosh. I can’t believe how late it is. I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll take you home,” Molly said.

“Don’t bother. Enjoy the sun.” Carly forced a hollow smile. “I’d really prefer to walk. I need the exercise.”

Fortunately, Greg and Megan had made their way through the gate and found a place to sit near the shallow end of the pool. So Carly quickly climbed from her seat at the edge of the hot tub, strode toward the lounge chair, slipped on her sandals, grabbed her things and shoved them into the canvas tote bag she’d brought. Then she marched out the wrought-iron gate and headed for the parking lot.

It was going to be a long and miserable walk home, but she didn’t care. There was no way she’d stick around here a moment longer.

Heck, she could call a cab along the way.

But as she strode through the parking lot, just past a white Chevrolet sedan, she ran head-on into a wall of hunky flesh.

Oomph.

She gasped for air, only to catch a musky whiff of an earthy cologne.

Her eyes opened, and her gaze locked on Bo’s.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Her lips parted, but words deserted her, and she bit down on her bottom lip. As a single tear slipped down her cheek, Bo brushed it away with a work-roughened knuckle.

Then he slipped an arm around her and guided her toward his truck. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride home.”

Carly wasn’t able to find the words to object—even if she’d wanted to. And as he led her to his truck, she felt a tad more bold and a bit less married.

Chapter Two

Bo opened the passenger seat of his dual-wheeled Chevy pickup and watched the blonde of goddess proportions place her canvas bag on the seat, then scoot inside the cab.

An oversize, blue T-shirt, the comfortable, broken-in type most guys liked for puttering around the house or garage, covered her swimsuit, yet couldn’t hide a pair of long, shapely legs.

But her flip-flops…?

Nothing comfy or laid-back about them.

The white sandals added about two inches to her five-and-half-foot height. And the faux diamonds on the V-shaped strap drew his attention to pretty feet, with toenails painted cherry-red.

All in all, Carly Alderson was one head-turning package. But Bo knew better than to gawk and stare. She might think he had ulterior motives about driving her home. And that couldn’t be further from the truth. No matter how empathetic he felt, he didn’t get involved with classy, high-maintenance women like her.

“A wise man can’t afford to,” Uncle Roy had always said, before adding, “and I ain’t just talkin’ about money, son.”

Bo climbed into the driver’s seat, then started up the engine.

Under normal circumstances, he would have avoided getting even remotely involved with Carly, but in spite of his reluctance, he was a sucker when it came to tears—sincere ones, anyway.

That divorce had taken a toll on her, and seeing her ex with another woman must have been tough.

Of course, Greg Banning hadn’t looked too happy about seeing Carly at the pool, either. The smile he’d worn in the parking lot had sure disappeared the moment he’d laid eyes on his ex-wife.

No telling what was going on in his mind. Embarrassment, Bo suspected. Or guilt, maybe.

Whatever it was, he’d appeared to be just as uneasy and uncomfortable as Carly had been.

Maybe Greg was regretting the divorce. After all, he’d been more than generous with the settlement and had signed the house over to her. At least, that’s what Carly had told Bo the day he’d found her with red, puffy eyes and eating a bag of Oreos.

Divorces could get nasty. Bo had seen cases where once happy couples morphed into vicious, self-centered fiends when splitting up—even when there were kids involved, sad little victims looking for love and stability.

But Bo didn’t think a man would be as generous as Greg had been with Carly if he didn’t still have feelings for her.

In spite of his determination to keep his mind on driving, Bo glanced her way and caught her looking at him.

She offered him a smile. “I really appreciate this.”

“No problem. I’m glad I was able to give you a quick escape when you needed one.”

As he backed out of the parking space and pulled onto the street, he kept his focus fixed ahead rather than on his pretty passenger.

Or her bare legs.

“I can’t believe Greg showed up at the pool,” she said. “And in the middle of the day. He never used to take time off from work.”

Bo didn’t know what to say. “He probably didn’t expect to see you there, either, Carly.”

“Yeah, well, my neighbors thought it would do me good to get out.” She blew out a battered sigh. “And I can’t believe I let them convince me to do something so stupid. Boy, there’ll be a raging blizzard in August before I trek down to the public pool again—especially looking like this.”

“Like what?”

She glanced at the faded blue shirt she wore, then clicked her tongue. “Like something the cat dragged in.”

“Nah. You don’t look that bad. My mom has a couple of cats. And you’re a heck of a lot better to look at than the mangled remains they dump on her front porch.”

“Thanks.” A wry smile tugged at Carly’s lips as she crossed her arms, arched a brow and slid him an exasperated glance. “What a charming thing to say. You certainly know how to make a woman feel good.”

She was talking tongue in cheek, but his thoughts took an unexpected and unplanned sexual detour.

Bo did know how to make a woman feel good, but he wasn’t about to go that route with Carly. She was too vulnerable. And she was also the kind of woman a simple, middle-class guy ought to avoid.

But if, even for a few moments, he could help take her mind off her troubles this afternoon, he’d consider it his good deed for the day.

So he said, “I’m not sure why you’re feeling so self-conscious.”

She again tugged at the top she wore, a T-shirt like several he had in his chest of drawers and refused to get rid of. “Just look at me.”

He had been looking at her—more than was prudent for a guy who was adamant about not getting involved with a high-maintenance beauty into designer clothes, custom-made jewelry and luxury cars.

“I should have thrown this out years ago,” she added.

“Clothes don’t make the man or the woman, Carly. It’s what’s under them that counts.” Again, his thoughts drifted to the body that shirt covered up, those legs that could wrap around a man.

Damn. That wasn’t the direction he wanted his mind to go. So as a means of getting things back on track, he added, “You look real, as well as pretty. So what’s the problem?”

“Nothing. It’s just that…well, thanks for trying to make me feel better, but I’m not wearing any makeup, I haven’t spent any time on my hair and I should have found something different to wear over my suit.”

She didn’t know him very well, and he decided to set her straight. “I’m not blowing smoke, Carly. And I never say anything I don’t mean.”

He didn’t?

Carly’s gaze locked on Bo’s.

There was something in his eyes, something honest and solid. Something that made him more attractive, more appealing. For a moment, Carly wondered whether her friends might be right, wondered whether Bo might be interested in her in a male-female sort of way.

Or was he just being a nice guy?

He’d managed to tease her and coax a couple of smiles from her when she was such a pitiful mess, inside and out. And she hadn’t found anything remotely funny in months.

The small voice suggested it had been much longer than that, but Carly wouldn’t take the bait.

“I’m sorry,” she admitted. “I didn’t mean to sound unappreciative, but I don’t feel very pretty today, and there’s not much anyone can say to change my mind.”

“Beauty comes from within, Carly.”

She was familiar with the saying, even if she had trouble buying it. Her mom had told her something similar when she’d been a geeky adolescent, when a stupid kid at school had called her Bucky Beaver. But Carly had known getting her teeth straightened would help her feel better about herself. And she’d even approached her dad about it, knowing the family had a dental plan.

Are you nuts? he’d asked. Insurance doesn’t pay for cosmetic stuff. Besides, if you keep your mouth shut, people won’t focus on your teeth.

She’d gotten braces eventually—after she and Greg were married. And it had really bolstered her self-esteem.

So had a set of expensive white veneers.

“It’s more important to be pretty on the inside,” Bo added.

“You sound like a therapist.”

He shrugged. “Common sense comes easy to me. And so does looking beyond a person’s exterior.”

Oh, great. She sure hoped he couldn’t see beyond hers. There were things she’d never shared with anyone, not even with Greg. Things she didn’t want people to know.

“You’ve got a lot going for you, Carly.”

“I did,” she corrected. “But my husband and my marriage were my whole life. And now I’m not sure who I am anymore.”

“Probably the same person you used to be, only older and wiser.”

God, she hoped not. She’d left the overweight, geeky teenager with crooked teeth behind years ago.

Before the memories could draw her back in time, Bo pulled into the long drive, then circled to the front of the house and stopped.

As eager as Carly was to get inside, to slip into something more comfortable and dig through the freezer for a quart of cookie-dough ice cream she knew was hidden in a corner, she hesitated, not ready to let herself out.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime.”

She risked a glance across the seat, only to spot warmth in his smile, compassion in his gaze.

Or was it something else? A bond of some kind?

Over the course of the remodel, they’d spent time together, mostly just chatting. But today their conversation had taken a personal turn. More intimate.

She had no intention of voicing her thoughts, but the question slipped out anyway. “Are we becoming friends?”

He seemed to ponder the idea for a moment, then shot her a smile that went straight to her chest, causing a gentle stir, a healing touch. “I guess so.”

Molly and Rebecca had suggested that Carly find another man. A lover to set her life back on course. But the only life she knew was the one she’d created with Greg. Well, it wasn’t the only one she knew, but it was the only one she wanted.

Yet it was nice to know another man found her…attractive. Even if she didn’t feel that way.

“I’ve never had a female friend before,” he said. “This will be a first.”

Well, Carly hadn’t had a lot of friends, period. Especially not men. “I guess that means a friendship between us will be kind of unique.”

“Yeah.” He tossed another grin her way, making the friend thing sound nice. And the male-female stuff sound…interesting. Or at least possible—someday.

“Thanks, Bo. And not just for the ride. For the pep talk, too.”

“You’re welcome.”

She nodded, then let herself out of his pickup and headed for the front door.

It was, she supposed, an intriguing concept—having a male friend.

But as she stuck her key into the lock, she couldn’t help thinking about all the friends who’d let her down in the past.

And the two men in her life who should have loved her unconditionally.

Her father and her husband.

That evening Bo stood before the front door of the McMansion with a grocery sack in his arms. As he lifted his hand to ring the bell, he pondered the wisdom of stopping by to see Carly, in reaching out to a woman who, no matter what they’d discussed earlier, could never really be just his friend.

But he rang the bell anyway.

And he stood there for what seemed like hours.

He was just about to turn and walk away when Carly answered.

She peered out from behind the partially opened door, pulling it to her chest, hiding behind it like a shield and looking at him as if he were that big purple dinosaur little kids watched on TV.

Okay. So she was surprised to see him. He was a bit surprised he’d come by, too. But when Carly had asked him if they were becoming friends, he’d realized how badly she needed someone who’d be honest with her, and he’d decided to step up to the plate.

Not that he expected to maintain any kind of real friendship for long, but he would give her some sage advice, maybe on how to get her husband back—if she wanted him.

Either way, Bo hoped she’d end up having better luck in a relationship next time around.

She cleared her throat. “Hey.”

He shrugged, then lifted the brown grocery sack. “I thought you might need some company tonight. And something to make you feel better.”

“What’s that?”

He reached into the bag and whipped out a large package of Oreo cookies. “A few months back you told me this was your drug of choice.” Then he pulled out a bottle of merlot. “And this is mine.”

Carly laughed, a soft bubbly sound that made him glad he’d come by, after all.

“So,” he said, tossing her a crooked grin and tipping his chin at the fancy doorknob she gripped. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Sure.” She stepped aside, and when he entered, she closed the door and led him to the den.

As he followed, he couldn’t help studying her comfortable attire, appreciating the casual way about her, the natural sway of her hips. How her pretty bare feet padded against the expensive hardwood floor.

She wore a pair of gray sweatpants that rode low on her hips, and a white, cropped T-shirt that flashed a bit of midriff. He liked that style on women, but Carly tugged at the hem of her shirt as though uncomfortable, embarrassed to show her flesh.

He couldn’t understand why she’d feel awkward. She looked good this evening, even with her hair pulled up in a messy kind of ponytail. And although he’d seen her looking a lot more glamorous in the past, he preferred her like this—down-to-earth and approachable, rather than all dolled up and model-perfect.

Once inside the den, which no longer looked as though it had been on the cover of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine, she turned and faced him, tugging at the hem of her shirt again. “If I’d have known you were coming by—”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Apologize. It’s getting old.”

She shot him a possum-in-the-headlights look. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re far more attractive and a lot more appealing when you let your guard down.”

It was true—but a real understatement.

When he’d first met her while working on the McMansion, he’d initially thought she was too caught up in herself, too wrapped up in her appearance. But tonight she looked sexy as hell—and she didn’t have a clue.

Apparently, there was a lot more going on inside of her than he’d realized. More than most people realized.

He’d heard the sincerity ringing in her apologies, heard the honesty in her critical self-appraisal.

God. She had no idea. And the fact that she didn’t realize she could turn a man’s head, even Bo’s if he’d let her, was mind-boggling.

He felt compelled to help her figure it out and he couldn’t help teasing her, couldn’t help the grin that pried at his lips. “So where is he?”

“Who?”

Bo let the smile he’d been holding back run its course. “You look like you’ve been entertaining a lover and just sent him out back to avoid being caught in the act.”

Her eyes widened, as though she was taking his joke way too seriously. “I don’t have a lover.”

Maybe not yet. But she deserved one. And he suspected the dry spell wouldn’t last long.

He set the wine on the glass-topped coffee table, next to a TV Guide, a crossword puzzle book, a ball-point pen, a wadded up napkin and a nearly empty glass of milk.

“The cleaning lady comes tomorrow,” Carly said.

Bo hoped she wasn’t going to apologize for not having things spic-and-span.

Back when he’d been working at the McMansion, the place had always been picture-perfect and more like a model home than a place where someone would want to kick back and relax.

But it looked as though she’d been spending a lot of time in this small downstairs room, rather than wandering around the big, empty house.

Heck, he couldn’t blame her for that. He’d get lost in a mansion like this. Most people would.

He wondered if that’s how she felt, now that she was living alone.

“The rest of the house is in good shape,” she added, glancing around the den.

“If you apologize for one more thing, I’m going to start pelting you with Oreos.”

She smiled in that waiflike way, and he wondered where it came from. But he knew better than to pry.

He nodded toward the merlot. “I don’t suppose you have something we can open this with?”

“Sure. I’ll be right back.”

While she was gone, he opened the package of cookies. And when she returned, carrying a couple of glasses and a corkscrew, he offered her one.

“No thanks.”

“Cutting back?”

“Cookies and wine don’t go together.”

He shrugged, then uncorked the bottle, poured them each a glass and handed her one.

Carly took the wine Bo offered her, and when he chose one side of the leather sofa, she sat on the other.

“So what’s with your obsession with perfection?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t reiterate, and she was glad.

Yet knowing she might be missing something left her wildly curious. “You make trying hard sound like a character flaw.”

“Taken to an extreme, it can be.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I’d like to.”

She paused for the longest time, trying to figure out how to explain. She might appear vain on the outside, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“All I wanted to do was make my husband happy he married me.”

Bo didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. It had to be obvious to him and the entire neighborhood that her efforts to please Greg hadn’t worked.

She thought long and hard before explaining. She wanted to answer honestly without revealing too much. It was a tricky row to hoe, but she’d give it her best shot.

“I was brought up in a blue-collar home where we didn’t have money for extras. And when Greg took me to meet his parents, I just wanted to fit in. To be accepted.”

“Greg wouldn’t have married you if he hadn’t seen something of value in you. If you hadn’t been good enough already.”

There was some truth to Bo’s words, but he had no idea how imperfect she’d been, how hard she’d had to struggle to prove herself.

“You don’t know the Bannings,” she said. Nor did he know the Aldersons. The families were complete opposites.

Bo took a sip of his merlot. “Tell me about them.”

“Greg’s parents? They are ultrawealthy and have high expectations for their son, for his wife.”

“Did they treat you badly?”

“Not really. Gregory was all right, I suppose. But Vanessa was almost impossible to please.”

“But you tried.”

She nodded. “Yes, I did. And it was a constant struggle.”

Her thoughts drifted back in time, to the only memories she was willing to share.

“For example, as a wedding gift, my mom and sister sent us a fancy coffeepot. But the Bannings gave us enough money to purchase a house on Danbury Way.”

“You can’t measure love by the cost of a gift.”

“I don’t. Believe me. My mom loves me as much or more than the Bannings love Greg, but she’s on permanent disability, and it’s a struggle for her to get by each month.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

So was Carly. But she did what she could to help out. “I send her money regularly, but she hates taking it from me.”

“I can understand that. I’ve always wanted to build my folks a new home in a better part of town, but they refuse to leave the old neighborhood. Still, I’m not sure if it’s because they really don’t want to move, or if their pride won’t let them accept my help.”

“It sounds like we have something in common.”

“Maybe so.” He took another drink.

She followed suit, then fingered the stem of her glass. “Within two years, Greg was a rising star at his father’s company and a great provider. I didn’t have to work, so I had plenty of time to focus on the house and on becoming a good wife.”

But a lot of good that had done.

Carly had started by working on her physical appearance—something she actually had power over. She’d even gone so far as to have a nose job, but she didn’t mention it to Bo. Nor did she tell him about the grueling daily workouts with a personal trainer, the regular visits to the salon, the shopping trips that kept her wardrobe constantly updated with stylish clothes and shoes.

“I threw myself into decorating the house,” she admitted. “And as Greg gained a more prestigious position in the company, we bought the lot next door, tore up both houses and rebuilt a larger, fancier one.”

Plans for a deck turned into plans for a pool, and soon they had the biggest, most impressive house in town.

All right. So Carly was the one who had pushed for the renovations, but Greg had been happy with them. At first, anyway.

“But the new construction wasn’t enough,” Bo said. “Was it?”

“Apparently not.” She lifted her glass, took another sip of wine. “The neighbors all came to ooh and aah, but there was talk behind our backs that our house was too ostentatious for the neighborhood.”

“Does it bother you that people refer to this place as the McMansion?”

“No. I guess not.”

Thanks to the gourmet cooking classes she’d taken, Carly was soon known as the Martha Stewart of Danbury Way. Everyone looked forward to coming to one of her parties or get-togethers. Well, at least they used to. She hadn’t issued any invitations in ages.

“It sounds as though you took great pains to be the perfect wife.”

She had. “And a lot of good that did me.”

“Maybe Greg would have preferred you to be yourself.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. He told me that marriage wasn’t about how pretty I was, how perfect our house was or whether we had a baby ‘on schedule.’ He wanted someone who really cared about him, someone he could be himself with.”

And Carly had failed him in that respect.

She’d been devastated by the rejection she’d been afraid of all along.

“My pride took a hard blow when he said he didn’t love me anymore, and I threw him out of the house. Maybe if I hadn’t…”

She didn’t continue, but didn’t suppose she had to. Bo was a man. And he probably understood where Greg had been coming from, even if Carly was still struggling with it all.

“If you hadn’t, then you wouldn’t be alone,” Bo murmured.

“That’s about the size of it.”

“How many brothers and sisters do you have?” he asked.

“Just a sister. Shelby.” That’s about all Carly wanted to offer.

“Is she in Texas?”

Carly nodded. “How did you know?”

“Just a guess. But I figured that’s where you’re from because of that soft Southern drawl you have.”

“Dallas, born and raised.”

“You don’t have to be alone, Carly. Reach out to your family.”

It wasn’t quite as easy as he made it sound. Her family was so far away. And besides, her mother didn’t leave the house much these days. “I suppose I could fly to Texas.”

“Or bring them out here.”

She’d tried that once. For the engagement party.

At first she’d made excuses to put off having her family meet Greg’s, which wasn’t hard since they lived so far away. But when she couldn’t put it off any longer, she’d prepped her mom and sister on the “right” way to behave. And then she managed to keep everyone apart until the dinner party at the Bannings’.

But even though Antoinette had been thrilled that her oldest daughter had truly “made it” and would never have to worry a day in her life, she’d found the formal dinner to be nearly overwhelming.

Yes, thanks to Carly’s coaching, Antoinette and Shelby had faked their way through it all. But trying to be someone she wasn’t had been entirely too stressful for Antoinette, and she’d made no secret about dreading the actual wedding.

Carly had been on pins and needles the whole time, too. She was afraid Greg and his family would learn that she was a phony and didn’t belong in his circle.

That evening had passed without any serious problems or social blunders. But when it came time for the wedding, neither Antoinette nor Shelby had been able to attend.

Shelby, who’d always had one crisis or another while growing up, had gotten pregnant, which was a problem in itself, since she didn’t know who the father was. But to make matters worse, she’d started spotting right before she and Antoinette were to fly out for the wedding.

They’d had a good excuse for not attending, Carly supposed. But it was still weird seeing the Bannings’ family and friends fill the pews on both sides of the church.

She’d been disappointed, of course. But she’d also been relieved, knowing she wouldn’t have to stress about Shelby acting up and creating a scene during the wedding.

However, Bo was right.

“I’ll give my mom a call tonight,” she told him.

But she wouldn’t push too hard about her flying to New York. A part of Carly liked keeping her past at a healthy distance from her present.

“How about you?” she asked, wanting to get the focus off her family, her humble beginnings. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“Only brothers. Three of them. Pete, Jr., Rick and J.J.”

“Are you close?”

“Yeah.” He grinned, fondness for his family lighting up his eyes. “My folks encouraged a healthy competition among us, especially in sports. But they also fostered a strong sense of loyalty. So we might rib each other unmercifully at times, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t cheer each other on—not just in sports, but in school and now in the real world.”

Carly found his love of family touching and decided she’d like to meet them someday, to see what kind of people had created such a nice guy.

As the two of them sipped their wine, they made small talk.

Carly was charmed by Bo’s sweetness, by the sense of humor she hadn’t realized he had.

Before she could offer to pour more wine, he placed his empty glass on the coffee table and stood. “I probably ought to get going.”

“Oh,” she said, not at all ready for him to leave yet. “All right.” She followed his lead, going through the polite, thanks-for-stopping-by motions.

But it had been ages since she’d…well, since she’d felt as at ease with someone. She enjoyed Bo’s company, not to mention his smile and the way her pulse fluttered whenever she caught his eye.

Gosh, maybe Molly and Rebecca had been right.

There was life after divorce.

But what if Bo didn’t come back? What if she’d done something, said something, to run him off?

Her mind scampered around, searching for some reason to invite him back—an excuse that didn’t sound as though she was interested in more than his friendship. After all, she wasn’t entirely sure her marriage was over. But she liked Bo and looked forward to seeing him again.

She wasn’t sure how to orchestrate something like that, other than come up with a bogus project she could hire him to do.

“You know,” she said, creating a feasible ploy on the spot, “I’ve been wanting a built-in bookcase in this room. I don’t suppose you have time to make one for me?”

He scanned the den, eyeing the walls, the ceiling. “Sure, I can do it. Why don’t I come by on Monday? I can measure the area and show you some wood samples.”

“Sounds good,” she said, feeling as though she’d scored, even if it was by default.

She led him to the front door, and as he stepped past her, his gaze snagged hers. Something—God only knew what—passed between them. Something she could almost touch.

“But it’ll have to be bright and early on Monday morning,” he added.

“That’s not a problem.”

“It isn’t?” he asked. “You’re not an early bird by nature.”

No, she wasn’t. But she hadn’t been sleeping well lately and often had the coffee brewing before dawn.

“I’ll be awake.”

And looking forward to seeing him again.

Chapter Three

On Saturday night, Carly, Molly and Rebecca sat at a linen-draped table at Entrée, a charming bistro-style eatery that specialized in nouvelle cuisine and provided jazz in the lounge on weekend evenings.

With its warm yellow walls, dark wood trim and massive stone fireplace, Entrée provided romantic ambiance, as well as great food.

Their neighbors on Danbury Way, Ed and Marti Vincente, owned the restaurant and worked hard to make sure everything ran properly. Marti, an attractive redhead in her thirties, was the hostess and provided a friendly welcome to all who entered.

Ed, who’d been in the kitchen when Carly and her friends arrived, stopped by the table and dropped off a basket of bread. “Hello, ladies. Marti said she’d seated you back here. Can I get you a drink?”

“We’re celebrating,” Rebecca told the thirtysomething owner. “Can you please bring us a bottle of your nicest champagne?”

“Certainly.” Ed grinned and quickly scanned the table. “Did someone get a promotion?”

“I suppose you can call it that.” Rebecca laughed. “Carly’s been promoted to single and available.”

Ed gave Carly a supportive smile followed by a playful wink. “Something tells me a lovely woman like you won’t remain unattached very long, so I’d better hurry and get that bottle of champagne before you don’t need it any longer.”

When he disappeared, Carly said, “He’s sweet. Marti’s a lucky woman.”

“I agree.” Molly reached into the breadbasket, pulled out a baguette slice and dipped it into a saucer of olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

Out of habit, Carly took the basket and peered at a mouthwatering variety of oven-fresh breads. Needless to say, it was all beyond tempting, but she quickly rewrapped the linen and set the basket back on the table, opting to skip the additional calories and carbs.

“You know,” she admitted, “I’m not sure why I let you talk me into celebrating. I’m not looking forward to dating. Most of the good men are already taken, and with my luck, I’ll be looking for Mr. Right only to find Mr. All That’s Left.”

“You don’t have to date the first man who asks you out,” Rebecca said. “Be particular. Some women are so desperate that they jump at the chance to have a lover.”

Been there, done that, Carly realized.

In high school, she’d never been popular with the boys—or the girls, either, for that matter. She’d always blamed it on being overweight and geeky.

Without the distraction of friends and extracurricular activities, she’d concentrated on her studies. And thanks to good grades, she’d received a full scholarship to North Carolina University at Chapel Hill.

When a nasty bout of intestinal flu hit the dorms during that first winter, Carly couldn’t seem to kick the bug, and had lost more than twenty pounds—enough to fit into her stylish roommate’s clothes. And almost immediately men began to notice her—something that made losing that last ten pounds easy.

On a whim, she’d visited a salon near campus, where she’d lightened her dishwater-blond hair and received tips on makeup application. And suddenly she found herself in a brand-new world, the Mars-Venus world of dating.

“Marry money,” her mother used to tell her and Shelby. “It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is to fall for a poor one.”

Carly hadn’t been too sure about that.

She’d made the mistake of going out with a couple of jerks at first, but learned to be more particular about the men she dated.

Before long, she’d met Greg at a party. The handsome, bright and personable grad student was pursuing a master’s degree in business administration. And he also had a wealthy family.

Miraculously, they hit it off immediately.

Landing Greg Banning had been an incredible stroke of luck for a poor girl from Nowhere, Texas, and Carly was soon the envy of all the girls in her dorm.

But now her luck had run out.

And she was alone again.

The entire singles scene seemed to be one big crap-shoot, so she wasn’t sure why Molly and Rebecca had insisted she celebrate.

“You know,” Molly said, turning her attention to Rebecca, “while we’re on the subject of men and dating, are you going out with anyone yet?”

“No. Not yet. I’m still settling into the neighborhood.”

“Then maybe we ought to organize another block party,” Molly said. “That way we can be sure you get to meet everyone.”

“I’d like that.” Rebecca took a sip of her water. “But just out of curiosity, what do you two know about Jack Lever?”

Jack was an attorney who lived on Danbury Way. He was also a handsome, thirtysomething widower with blond hair and brown eyes.

“He’s a nice guy,” Molly said. “But I think he’s still grieving for his wife.”

Carly agreed. “Patricia Lever died in a car accident right after their second child, a boy, was born. I’m sure losing his wife and being left with two small children has been tough on him, especially since he’s with a busy firm. But he has a nanny to help.”

“He’s had several,” Molly said. “I heard he can be pretty demanding.”

“But if you’re interested,” Carly added, “why not take a chance?”

If Rebecca had any thoughts about the suggestion, she kept them to herself. But Carly suspected the cogs and wheels were turning.

“Speaking of giving guys a chance…” Molly’s gaze scored a direct hit on Carly. “Why don’t you pursue something with Bo? He’d make a nice transitional relationship.”

“The whole dating thing is pretty overwhelming,” Carly admitted. But she wasn’t about to let on that she actually found Bo interesting—to say the least.

Rebecca reached into the breadbasket and took a slice of pumpernickel. “Maybe, if you decide to have that block party, you should invite Bo, too. There aren’t that many good men out there, and he seems like a decent sort. He’s also nice looking if you’re into the rugged, outdoorsy type.”

Before either of her friends could push the issue, Ed returned with a bottle of champagne, an ice bucket and three crystal flutes. After popping the cork, he poured a bit for Rebecca to taste.

“It’s fine. Thank you.”

Molly placed her hand over the top of her glass. “No, thanks. I’m having water this evening.”

Ed complied, then returned to the kitchen, leaving the women alone.

“You’re passing on champagne?” Rebecca asked.

Carly was going to ask the same question. Not that she was in the mood to celebrate anything, but Molly’s lack of participation was odd.

“I, uh…” Molly cleared her throat, and a sheepish expression crossed her pretty face. “I’m pregnant.”

Rebecca nearly choked on her bite of bread. “Are you serious? I didn’t even know you were dating.”

“I’m not.”

Carly wasn’t sure what to say, other than ask who the father was. Would it be rude of her to do so?

Of course, if Molly wasn’t dating… “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to,” she said. After all, she valued her own privacy and owed her friend the same respect. “But did you go to a sperm bank?”

Molly’s cheeks flushed, but she apparently took Carly at her word and didn’t respond.

So Carly let it drop and offered her neighbor her full support. “You’re braver than I am to go it alone. But congratulations, Molly. You’ll make a wonderful mother.”

“A fabulous one,” Rebecca added. “How far along are you?”

“About four months.”

That was a long time to keep a secret like that, especially from friends. Carly leaned forward. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

Molly fingered the stem of her empty glass, then blessed Carly with a sympathetic gaze. “I knew how badly you’d wanted a baby. And…” She shrugged.

Carly had wanted a baby, but not until she realized her marriage was in trouble and she’d been desperate to do whatever she could to hold things together.

In the early years Greg had been the one to bring up the subject of children. But Carly had put him off, telling him she wasn’t ready. The truth was she’d actually been afraid to get pregnant, afraid of the weight gain, the stretch marks. However, even more terrifying had been the fear of losing Greg to someone else if she became fat and frumpy. Losing him to someone who was more his class and style.

Yet Greg had left her, anyway.

Carly placed a hand on top of Molly’s. “It’s okay. Really. I wanted a baby, but for all the wrong reasons. I’d hoped a child would make things better between us.”

But by that time, Greg was no longer interested in having a child. Or at least, he didn’t want to have a baby with Carly.

She wouldn’t rain on Molly’s parade, though. So she gave her friend’s hand a warm squeeze before releasing it. “I’m happy for you.”

And she was. Really. But it was a struggle to smile warmly when Molly’s joyful announcement reminded her how vast and sterile her house was, how empty her life.

But Carly let the subject die a dignified death.

For a woman who kept her fears and worries close to the vest, she’d opened up more with her friends during the past few months than she ever had, especially to Megan Schumacher.

Megan had listened endlessly as Carly poured out her heart about her husband, her failing marriage. And at the time, Megan, who yearned for a family, had seemed sympathetic.

Trustworthy.

But Megan was dating Greg now.

And since Carly had been burned by the woman she’d thought was a friend, she was leery about sharing too much with anyone else.

“I think it’s great,” Rebecca told the expectant mother. “You didn’t flounder around waiting for the right man to propose marriage. Instead, you decided to have a child on your own.”

“Well,” Molly admitted, “to be honest, I didn’t plan this pregnancy. But I have decided to make the best of being a single mom.”

Okay. So Molly hadn’t found the father at the sperm bank.

“Sometimes the best things in life aren’t planned,” Rebecca said. “Isn’t that right, Carly?”

Carly nodded.

But sometimes the worst things were unplanned, too.

“Just think.” Rebecca smiled wistfully. “In five more months you’ll have a baby boy or girl to hold and love.”

That, Carly supposed, would be nice for Molly.

Too bad she and Greg hadn’t conceived a baby years ago—when he’d still wanted one. Having a son or daughter to fill the McMansion with love and laughter, instead of silence and emptiness, certainly would have made Carly feel better about being divorced and single.

Her thoughts drifted to Bo, to the bookshelf she’d hired him to build. The bookshelf she didn’t really need and probably wouldn’t use.

But at least the handsome carpenter would fill her days for a while and make her smile again.

Hopefully that would suffice until Carly could accept the fact that Greg was gone for good.

True to her word—and what was becoming habit— Carly woke early on Monday morning. But instead of rolling over, socking her pillow and grumbling about the hour and the insomnia that had been plaguing her nights, she jumped right up and headed for the shower.

The pounding spray of water felt good and refreshing, so she took her time lathering up with a new aloe-and-pear body soap she’d purchased on her last trip to the mall. Then she shampooed her hair and shaved her legs.

After drying off with a white, fluffy bath towel, she took her time in choosing an outfit.

Initially she pulled out several of her favorite slacks and tops, each one expensive, stylish and protected by a plastic dry-cleaning bag. But when she remembered Bo’s comment about her looking real and more attractive when she was dressed casually, she went back to the walk-in wardrobe. Digging through scads of hangers, she finally found a pair of jeans she hadn’t worn in ages, then pulled out about a dozen blouses until she spotted a simple white cotton T-shirt with a scooped neckline that ought to work.

Next she blew dry her hair in a free and easy style, letting it curl at the shoulders, rather than sweeping it up in a neat twist or chignon like she usually wore.

She was reaching for her makeup when her hand froze.

Apparently Bo liked a simple, no-fuss woman.

Well, that’s what he’d see today.

Carly put on a light coat of mascara and applied a quick but neat layer of pink lipstick—minus a contrasting liner.

When she entered the kitchen, a designer masterpiece that Emeril would love, she went to work mixing up a batch of zucchini muffins. As they baked, she squeezed oranges for juice, then ground fresh coffee beans and brewed a full pot.

It was, she decided, a simple continental style breakfast that Bo wouldn’t be able to resist, even if he’d already eaten at home.

But she’d no more than pulled the muffins out of the oven when she began having second thoughts.

Guilty thoughts.

What in the world was she trying to do?

First she’d ordered a bookcase she didn’t need. Now she was trying her best to impress a man she had no intention of attracting.

Before she could ponder her motives, the doorbell gonged throughout the house.

Uh-oh.

Bo wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when Carly answered, but certainly not a gorgeous girl-next-door wearing denim and a heart-stopping smile.

“You’re up,” was all he could manage to utter.

“You said bright and early.”

That he had. But last fall, when he’d brought a crew to work on various projects at the McMansion, Greg had asked them to start as late in the day as possible. And when they’d arrived, they’d all tried to tiptoe around the place until Carly managed to wake up and exit the master bedroom, all dolled up, with every hair in place and looking like a model ready to walk down a Paris runway.

“Do you have time for coffee?” she asked.

He’d planned to get a cup along the way, between this estimate and the start of another project down on Whistler Lane.

He glanced at his wristwatch. He’d allotted an extra half hour at Carly’s, since he hadn’t expected her to be ready for him. And he didn’t need to ask if the coffee was ready. Heck, the fresh aroma wafting through the house was enough to tempt a tea-and-crumpets man to ask for an extra-large cup. “Sure. I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

Carly led him through the vast interior of the house and into the spacious kitchen, where the warm scents of sugar and spice accosted him, making him wish he’d grabbed a bite to eat on the way out of the house.

“How about a muffin with that coffee?” she asked.

“Sure. Thanks.” He watched as she puttered around in a pair of tight jeans. Funny, but he’d never expected to see her in denim. She’d always come across as the linen-and-pearls type.

She’d also filled out some. In his opinion, she’d been too skinny before. But now?

Dang. She ought to wear jeans more often.

Moments later, Bo was seated on one of the pewter barstools that overlooked the kitchen work space, and Carly took the stool next to his.

She wasn’t wearing much makeup today, which he found refreshing for a change. And revealing.

He hadn’t noticed the light scattering of freckles on her nose before. And quite frankly, they lent a girl-next-door appeal.

Her scent, something fresh and feminine, mingled with his aftershave and the coffee-and-spice aromas that could rival any bakery on a Saturday morning.

“I didn’t expect to be fed,” he admitted.

She tossed him a playful smile. “Consider it a bribe so that you’ll give me a better price on that bookshelf.”

He chuckled. “If all my clients went to this much trouble, I’d be cutting deals and struggling to make ends meet.”

They chatted for a while about a lot of inconsequential things, like the weather and how well the South Rosewood Razorbacks were doing this year.

“My family is big on Little League,” he admitted, “even though my youngest brother is now in college.”

“Do you have nieces and nephews who play?”

“Nope. Not yet.”

Carly placed an elbow on the black Corian countertop and studied him as if he were a novelty of some kind. “Then why the interest in Little League? I’d think men like you would be into professional sports.”

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