Praise for Myrna Mackenzie:

**** “A fun read with intriguing, emotionally

compelling characters.”

—RT Book Reviews on Riches to Rags Bride

“Myrna Mackenzie writes such fine novels, everyone

should add her to their must buy list.”

—Cataromance

They had barely arrived at what appeared to be a postage stamp size courtyard of grass behind the twin white buildings when the bride and groom appeared.

“Congratulations!” the pretty woman in pink called, opening her little white container of bubbles and blowing, her lips pursed in a way that some men might have called sexy. Parker wasn’t calling it anything. This woman was messing up his carefully planned day and his escape from all things wedding-related.

She gave Parker a stern look, which only made him more aware of those amazing and seriously sexy eyes of hers. That was wrong. He wasn’t in the market for a woman of any kind, especially not a petite pirate who had boarded and was taking over his …

Wedding chapel, he thought, then quickly changed it to building. Darn it all, given the situation with his business and the board, the very last thing he needed in his life was a wedding chapel. Or interlopers. Pretty trespassers with full berry lips. And bubbles.

About the Author

MYRNA MACKENZIE grew up not having a clue what she wanted to be—she hadn’t been born a princess, the one job she thought she might like because of the steady flow of pretty dresses and crowns—but she knew that she loved stories and happy endings, so falling into life as a romance writer was pretty much inevitable. An award-winning author, with over thirty-five novels written, Myrna was born in a small town in Dunklin County, Missouri, grew up just outside Chicago, and now divides her time between two lakes in Chicago and Wisconsin, both very different and both very beautiful. She adores the internet (which still seems magical after all these years), loves coffee, hiking, attempting gardening (without much success), cooking and knitting.

Readers (and other potential gardeners, cooks, knitters, writers, etc.) can visit Myrna online at www.myrnamackenzie.com, or write to her at PO Box 225, La Grange, IL 60525, USA.

Inherited:
Expectant
Cinderella

Myrna Mackenzie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

“THIS wasn’t exactly what I was thinking of when I decided I needed some time away from Boston,” Parker Sutcliffe muttered to himself as he climbed from his black Rolls Phantom. He had stopped in front of a large old white frame building in a low-rent part of Las Vegas where there were no casinos or tourist attractions. The words “Forever and a Day Wedding Chapel” marched across the building in lurid pink neon. The building next door lacked signage but was otherwise a twin and appeared to be connected. He noted that there was no number on the door.

No matter, he thought. This is the place. These structures had belonged to a relative he’d never even heard of, but he’d been given the keys and told that he could take possession of the two empty buildings. The whole situation had been a surprise, and he disliked surprises, but the timing was right. This past year, after all that had happened …

He shied away from the thought, concentrating only on Sutcliffe’s. The business had been his lifeline for as long as he could remember. It was failing now, and he wasn’t going to let it slip away. So maybe what he needed was this. Coming here to claim his inheritance gave him a chance to get away, think, work and come up with an idea that would save Sutcliffe’s. Plus, it was an excuse to escape the incessant suggestions by his board that he should marry to create some badly needed positive buzz about the company and himself now that his father had passed on.

Their insinuations that he wasn’t a dynamic substitute as the company representative, but that he could be its savior if he’d only listen, had been a source of tension. This trip offered a viable excuse for his absence while he grasped the opportunity to brainstorm away from the fray. He desperately needed some quiet alone time.

But when he turned the handle of the abandoned chapel, it wasn’t locked. And when he entered, he discovered that the building wasn’t abandoned, either. Or quiet.

Immediately, a wall of off-key sound hit him. He was standing at the back of the chapel, and a wedding was taking place. In the front, on a cramped raised stage, an Elvis impersonator who looked as if he’d been in the business a decade too long was belting out the ending to “It’s Now or Never.” A bride and groom, who clearly weren’t hearing the music, were smiling.

For half a second, Parker wondered if he had walked into a reality show. Or maybe someone was playing a joke on him. But if his associates in Boston hoped to talk him into a wedding by throwing him into the midst of one, they had obviously chosen the wrong wedding.

That was all he had time to think. As the last of the lyrics died away, a blur of pink came rushing at him from the side aisle.

“I’m so sorry. You missed most of it.” Parker looked down at a tiny woman with long copper curls and a hideous bright pink dress. She glanced at his dark suit. “You must be a friend or relative of the bride or groom, but don’t worry. They’re usually so excited that they won’t notice a late guest. Unless you’re family. Are you family?”

“Not at all. I—”

“That’s okay, then. Here they come. Take this.” She shoved something into his hand. “The reception is right down that hall and out the door.”

Parker frowned. “Reception? You’re mistaken. I’m not—”

“Quickly,” she said. “They’re coming, and with these smaller weddings, we need as much of a cheering section as we can get.” Grabbing him by the hand, she tugged, trying to steer him toward the door.

He resisted. “Look, Ms…. I don’t know who you are, but we need to talk.”

“Mr…. I don’t know who you are, either, but this is a wedding. They paid. This is the most important day of their lives, and talking can come later.” She turned to go, then whirled back, a sudden look of fear in her big brown eyes. “You’re not a bill collector, are you?”

Parker scowled. “No, but—”

“The police?”

“Do I really look like a police officer?”

She glanced at his suit. “Right. Not unless officers are wearing Armani these days. Okay, let’s go, then. Talk later. Bring your bubbles.”

“Bubbles?” he said half to himself, but the wedding party was closing in behind him, so he strode after the pretty, if bossy and insane, redhead.

They had barely arrived at what appeared to be a postage-stamp-sized courtyard of grass behind the twin white buildings when the bride and groom appeared.

“Congratulations!” the pretty woman in pink called, opening her little white container of bubbles and blowing, her lips pursed in a way that some men might have called sexy. Parker wasn’t calling it anything. This woman was messing up his carefully planned day and his escape from all things wedding-related.

She gave Parker a stern look, which only made him more aware of how amazingly expressive her eyes were. Immediately, he squelched that thought. He wasn’t in the market for a woman, especially not a petite pirate who had boarded and was taking over his …

Wedding chapel, he thought, then quickly changed it to building. Damn it, given the situation with his business and the board, the very last thing he needed was a functioning wedding chapel or distractions from the very real problems he needed to solve. He certainly didn’t want to have to deal with pretty trespassers with full berry lips. And bubbles.

Parker frowned, eager for this fiasco of a wedding to end so that he could find out what was going on. As he watched, the Elvis impersonator, the man who had officiated at the wedding and the woman who had played the piano made their way outside, the pink beauty gave them their containers and wands, and the bride and groom were treated to a rainbow of bubbles floating down on them and popping sloppily as they kissed.

The pink lady, aided by an elderly woman with a cane, turned on some soft music and uncovered a small wedding cake. Then the pretty redhead shifted gears, grabbed a camera and began shooting pictures as the bride and groom fed each other cake and shared a dance. Somewhere along the way, the papers were signed, the bride and groom left, and Parker found himself standing next to the pink princess.

“So …” she said, gazing up at him and finally losing the smile she had maintained for the past thirty minutes. Her brown eyes looked worried. “If you don’t know anyone from that wedding party and you’re not a bill collector or a police officer, who are you?” Then her eyes suddenly brightened and the smile reappeared. “I know. You must be a prospective groom. You want us to conduct your wedding. Forgive me for not thinking of that sooner. It was just … your suit … I’m not quite used to seeing that kind of quality, but don’t worry. We know how to step things up a notch when we need to. I guarantee you won’t regret coming to the Forever and a Day chapel.”

“Too late,” he said, frowning down at her. “I already regret it.” He looked down to where some bubble solution had landed on his cuff.

“Oops, I’m so very sorry,” she said, reaching out to rub it off. Her slender fingers brushed the back of his hand. As she moved closer, trying to undo the damage, he breathed in the faint scent of lavender, of … woman, and his entire body tightened. Ridiculous. She was a total stranger, and even if she weren’t, he’d made too many mistakes with women. Serious, life-changing mistakes that had left him reeling and had nearly caught others in the crossfire. So … no. Definitely no.

The beauty must have felt the same way, because she quickly jerked her hand away. A pink smudge of cake frosting remained on the sleeve of his suit where her fingertips had slid against him, and he almost felt the small gasp whoosh out of her.

“I’m ninety-nine-percent positive that will come out,” she promised with a blush. “You could give it to me. I could fix it.”

Parker felt an unfamiliar urge to smile, but he restrained himself. There appeared to have been a lot of “fixing” going on, given the fact that the building was supposed to be unoccupied.

But the outcome of this wasn’t going to be fun or funny. He lost the urge to smile. “I think not. We’re done here,” he said.

Those pretty brown eyes blinked. “Excuse me? Does that mean you won’t be having your wedding here?”

“If I were ever going to have a wedding in this lifetime—and I don’t plan to—then no, it wouldn’t be here.”

“Because we’re not up to your style?”

“Because I’ll be selling the building and I doubt that the next owner will leave it intact.”

Parker would have sworn that those big brown eyes couldn’t have opened any wider or looked more distressed, but he would have been wrong.

“Sell the building?” Her words came out on a whisper. “But this is Tillie’s building.”

He thinned his lips. “I assume you’re referring to my aunt Mathilda and she’s …”

“She passed away,” the woman said quietly. “You’re her heir? She had an heir? A real live heir?”

The woman was clearly distressed to learn of his existence … and possibly the fact that he was still among the living. “I’m Parker Sutcliffe,” he said, “and I never met my aunt. And you are …?”

“I’m … well, I’m …” She had a look in her eyes that Parker recognized from experience. She was searching for a good story to tell him, so he gave her his best don’t-even-bother-trying-to-lie icy aristocratic stare, the one he’d learned to use on the servants before he could even talk.

She blew out a breath that lifted those pretty copper bangs, took a deep breath and stood tall, or at least as tall as someone whose head barely reached his shoulder could. “I’m Daisy Lockett. I live here.” She pushed her chin up. “We live here,” she said with a touch of defiance. She gestured toward the woman with the cane, the minister and the organist who were gathered on the other side of the room looking worried.

“You live here,” Parker repeated as if his brain had gone dead. And maybe it had. He’d been expecting an empty building and when it hadn’t been empty he’d assumed that someone was simply borrowing the facilities, but … tenants? And not just tenants but a too-pretty woman with eyes like melted chocolate along with three frail elderly people?

Parker narrowed his eyes. He didn’t care for this turn of events at all. Unpredictable, possibly messy situations were at the bottom of the list of things he liked. After all the drama of the past year and his disastrous personal relationships with women, he was ready for something a bit more boring.

But that was apparently not an option. Parker looked down into those worried dark caramel eyes. Daisy Lockett’s hair looked soft and disheveled, the way a woman’s hair would if a man had just taken her to bed and plunged his fingers into it. She had her index finger between her lips, either nervously chewing on her fingernail or not so nervously licking cake frosting off her pink fingertip.

He caught himself wondering which it was. Stupid. Did it matter? What mattered was that she was living under his roof. Admittedly a roof he hadn’t even known about until last week, but one that he now possessed. Which meant that anything that went on inside this building could be tied to him, and right now—especially now—he didn’t need any bizarre or provocative stories circulating about him.

“My aunt passed away a couple of months ago,” he said. “So why are you still here? And why didn’t the authorities or the real estate agent know that there were people in the building? Would you like to explain all that to me, Ms. Lockett?”

Parker crossed his arms over his chest and frowned down at Daisy Lockett. It was a look that had cowed employees much bigger than she was.

But to his surprise, the woman called his bluff. Tiny as she was, she stood taller. She crossed her arms, too, something which was, he surmised, supposed to make her look fierce, but given the generous curves of her breasts only made her look … interestingly hot.

Stop it, Sutcliffe, he warned himself. The woman’s hotness quotient was the very last thing he needed to be thinking about. He and she were, after all, about to terminate their fleeting acquaintance. She would be leaving just as soon as he could hustle her out of here. And soon enough he would be returning to Boston and his business. A business that, despite its current difficulties, he could depend on and control.

It was obvious that Daisy Lockett was totally out of control. He needed to get rid of her, not examine her more closely.

“Well, Ms. Lockett, what’s your explanation for this?” He held out his hand toward the remains of the sad wedding cake with its toppled plastic bride and groom, several half-used containers of bubbles, a puddle of foaming bubble solution forming on the cheap paper tablecloth and an MP3 player that needed new batteries. The low, distorted tones of a song playing on dying power sounded like a cow in distress.

“You don’t like weddings, do you, Mr. Sutcliffe?” she asked suddenly, not answering his question. “I’ve met men like that before.”

And clearly it hadn’t been a pleasant experience.

He raised one eyebrow. “You’re right. I’m not a huge fan of the institution of marriage, but that’s completely beside the point. The point is that you’re living in my building. Trespassing. What did you think would happen when someone found out you were here?”

She raised her chin. “I just … I hoped it wouldn’t happen.”

He blinked. A good businessman never made decisions based on hope alone. “Well, here I am. It’s happened,” he pointed out. “The question is, now that our paths have crossed despite your best hopes … what am I going to do about you?”

It would still be months before Daisy signed up for her first Lamaze class, but she knew that proper breathing was at the core of the program, so if she were in a class right now, she’d be failing. Fear was playing havoc with her breathing, and she was alternately forgetting to breathe and then having to suck in big gulps of air while trying to appear perfectly calm to this man who claimed to be Tillie’s nephew. The man who also claimed to own this building.

“Tillie never spoke of you,” she said, grasping for a lifeline. Surely Tillie, who had been like a mother to her, and also her best friend in the world, would have mentioned that she had a nephew….

Who looked more gorgeous than any man has a right to look. With great shoulders and great … other stuff, and a deep voice that—

Daisy blinked. What was wrong with her? Seriously. This man wasn’t even nice.

She frowned. “It just seems as if Tillie might have mentioned a nephew if you were her heir,” she said, glad that the man couldn’t read minds. Or … he probably couldn’t. Tillie had always tried to claim she was psychic and that Daisy was as transparent as they come. If this man was related to her …

“My aunt and I never met,” the tall, dark-haired stranger said. “But according to her attorney, she died without a will and I’m her only living relative.”

No. No. No. No. No. That couldn’t be true, but … oh, just look at him. Look at the strong line of his jaw, the arch of his eyebrows. If she were playing a matching game, those features would be a perfect fit for Tillie’s. Still … she needed time. She needed to think, to see if there was some way out of this crazy rabbit hole she’d fallen into when this man had stepped through the door.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to need more proof than just your word.” Men had told her so many lies over the years, they had hurt her so much. If she was going to get kicked out on the streets—please don’t let me get kicked out—she wasn’t going to go down meekly. Still, the look in those I’m-in-command green eyes told her that he was confident he would win. She tried not to think about what losing would mean for her and her friends and her—

She resisted the urge to curl a protective hand over her abdomen. Panic made breathing even more difficult. Her hands felt clammy.

The man looked decidedly irritated, and Daisy discovered that, even irritated, he looked just as devastating, a fact which really ticked her off. Life could be so unfair sometimes. “I don’t generally carry around those kinds of documents,” he told her with an imperious air.

A small sliver of hope grew within her. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, she ordered herself. Maybe all of them could be safe for a little while longer.

And maybe a miracle could happen, a beam of light could lift me into an alternate universe where pink unicorns frolic and chocolate bars grow on trees, she chided herself. Or at least to a universe where there were no rich, handsome and, yes, rightful owners with the law on their sides wanting to throw her and hers out on the street. Think, Daisy, think. You need real ammo here. You need to be smart.

Okay. Here was the deal, all that she had. “Tillie was my very best friend,” she said as forcefully as she dared. “She wanted me here. And I have proof, neighbors who will vouch for me.” With the last bit of courage she possessed, Daisy lifted her chin.

The man ran a hand through his hair. Hair that had obviously seen the services of an expensive stylist. He turned those cold, deep-green eyes on her and frowned. “All right, you have me there. I never knew my aunt and I don’t know anyone in Las Vegas. I’m not from here, but I assure you, Ms. Lockett, the law is on my side. I intend to come back and dispose of my aunt’s effects. I’m going to do something with this building, and I’m afraid that you won’t be allowed to stay unless you can provide legal papers that trump mine, the ones that really do exist. I’ll be back tomorrow with proof of ownership, and if you’re still here, I’ll expect there to be a very good reason. A legal reason.”

Daisy looked up into the man’s gorgeous eyes and saw nothing that could give her hope. Tillie had been a total sweetheart, a surrogate mother and a friend, but she had also been a bit of a procrastinator. She’d disliked lawyers and anyone with authority. And like so many people, she’d thought she’d live forever and probably had never even considered making a will. In fact, given Tillie’s spontaneous nature, it would be beyond surprising if she’d left anything legal that could save her friends now. And Daisy wasn’t the only one at risk. Panic—sheer, terrifying panic—ripped through her. The others were too frail and old to deal with this stuff. She had to be the strong one now, the leader, the helper.

So, closing her eyes and biting her lip, she sent one swift wish for guidance into the ether. Reaching out, she touched the man’s sleeve.

“Please don’t send us out on the streets. We have nowhere to go.”

She wasn’t even touching his skin at all, but she felt as if a lightning bolt had ripped through her and left shimmering sparkles of electricity filling the air around her. As if she was somehow electrically linked to this man who was looking at her as if she had just declared that she was going to give birth right in front of him. The fact that that thought wouldn’t be too terribly far from the truth if this was seven months into the future made Daisy blanch, but she held on. “Please,” she added. “Not yet. I’ll … I’ll get proof about Tillie and all of us somehow.”

“All of you,” the man said. “There are more of you?”

“Just us four.” She decided that it might be best not to mention the dog right now. Or … her pregnancy. “We just need a little time.”

“Four. There are four people living in this building,” he said, as if she hadn’t told him that already.

Daisy nodded. “I’m sorry you didn’t know before you got here. We didn’t try to hide it.” Although they had all known that the building didn’t belong to them and that this couldn’t last forever. They had been mailed a notice to leave and they just … hadn’t left. But she wasn’t sharing that with this man. He might have her cuffed and thrown into jail right now, and then where would the others be? She had to—somehow—gain them a little time.

She hazarded her best hopeful smile. “I guess … I guess you’re our landlord now, Mr. Sutcliffe. We could start paying you rent.” Even though she had no idea how they could scrounge together enough money for that.

For half a second, something that looked a bit like a smile lifted his lips just a touch. “You say that as if it’s a novel idea. Were you paying my aunt rent?”

“We were working for Tillie. And we all contributed our share. We were kind of like a … sort of like a commune.”

“A … commune? I see,” he said, and it was obvious he didn’t like what he saw.

“We could continue to be useful, running the chapel,” she offered. “We make people happy. In a way, we make their dreams come true, and it pays a little.”

If anything, Parker looked even more concerned. As if she’d just suggested that they take up raising rats. “I’m not a big believer in dreams, and I’m not interested in getting involved in the marriage business,” he said. “But despite how things appear, I’m not totally heartless, either. I’ll think things over tonight. Then tomorrow we’ll start looking for somewhere for you to go so that you’re not all homeless.”

And just like that he turned to go. But she was still holding on to his sleeve. Daisy heard a tiny rip as he stepped away, and she let go, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. “I’m really sorry about that. I could … get it fixed for you.”

“You’re quite a resourceful woman, aren’t you?”

That didn’t sound like a true compliment, but then, Daisy had experienced more than her share of criticism in her lifetime. She’d had men turn their backs on her more than once. Men she should have been able to trust and depend on. She lifted her chin and stared straight into his eyes.

“You have absolutely no idea, Mr. Sutcliffe.”

“I don’t,” he agreed. “I don’t know a thing about you. But I know all I need to know.”

And clearly he didn’t like what he knew.

She opened her mouth.

“Tomorrow, Daisy.” He cut her off, which was just as well since she didn’t know what she would have said. Possibly something that would have made the situation worse, if that was possible.

As he walked away, Daisy couldn’t help thinking that most women would probably get all excited at the prospect of a visit from a man who looked like Parker Sutcliffe. Under other circumstances she might have joined their ranks and at least enjoyed looking at him. But these were not other circumstances. Her next meeting with Parker was going to turn her life upside-down even more than this one had.

She had better start preparing for their next meeting. Had she really handed the man—make that the obviously rich man—a homemade bottle of bubbles and a bubble wand? And gotten frosting on what had to be an incredibly expensive suit?

Daisy groaned. She had. And then, despite her precarious situation, she couldn’t help smiling just a little remembering how horrified Parker had looked holding that bottle.

“The man probably never blew a bubble in his life,” she muttered. “I could certainly teach him a thing or two about having fun.”

Immediately she blanched. She’d be better off trying to think of ways to convince him that he’d be better off letting all of them stay here. Despite what she’d said, she could tell that he wouldn’t be moved by her neighbors’ opinions that Tillie would surely not have meant things to turn out this way.

What would Tillie do? she thought.

But all of the ideas that came to her were too preposterous … or illegal.

Maybe a miracle would happen, and a great idea about how to outwit Parker Sutcliffe would come to her in her dreams. Or maybe she’d just end up having a nightmare, one with a gorgeous but cruel villain … one who didn’t like bubbles.

“Still, I need a plan. A fast plan,” Daisy whispered. One that would help her save her family.

CHAPTER TWO

PARKER had called his secretary to tell her that he might be in Las Vegas an extra few days, and now Fran, who had worked for his family for years, was lecturing him.

“You know, you could simply hire someone to take care of that Mathilda situation.”

He knew … even though his late aunt wasn’t the only or even the main reason he was here.

Sutcliffe’s is failing. I have to stop it. The thought slipped in. No surprise. The words had practically become his mantra. Still, he did need to take care of his aunt’s belongings. Something was very wrong here, and it wasn’t just the luscious and bold Daisy.

“No, it’s up to me,” he said, “because clearly someone else took care of Mathilda’s situation years ago or I would have known that I had an aunt before she passed away.”

“Parker, I’m sure that your parents had good reasons,” she began.

“I’m sure they did.” And he had a good idea what those reasons had been. “But they’re both gone now, and I don’t intend to leave here without getting what I came for. I don’t like surprises, I didn’t like this surprise and I intend to make sure there aren’t any more. By the time I leave Las Vegas, I plan to know all there is to know about Aunt Mathilda including why the family didn’t acknowledge her existence, and I’m going to sort the situation out myself. If I hire someone, important personal information may be missed. Or if there’s anything incriminating—which I assume there is—it may become public knowledge and I don’t want to risk having anything floating around out there that would be bad for Sutcliffe Industries.” That was all that was needed to push the company off its fragile golden pedestal.

He also didn’t want to think about the fact that Daisy might know things about his aunt that he didn’t know. The wrong information in the wrong hands …

He frowned. There was something undeniably intriguing and enticing about Daisy, but that only made her doubly dangerous. He didn’t want to be intrigued or enticed. His life had been devoted to his business, the one thing that had never let him down until now, and that was how he liked things. All he had to do was contain the trouble with Sutcliffe’s. Then his world could return to its uneventful but satisfying path.

“You know,” Fran began, breaking into Parker’s thoughts. “Jarrod thinks this trip is a sham and that you’ve simply escaped to Vegas because he and the rest of the board have started picking out potential wives for you.”

Well, there it was. Leave it to Fran to get right to the heart of things. Too bad she couldn’t see his scowl through the phone lines, because she was definitely partly right. Jarrod, his cousin, had recommended an administrative assistant candidate to him last week who was clearly Boston royalty and knew nothing at all about the job.

“Jarrod may think that the board knows what’s best for me and Sutcliffe’s,” Parker said. “But he and the rest of the board are way off base. Marriage isn’t a good idea.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Remember how the stock of Ensign, Incorporated, shot up for months while Lloyd Ensign and his fiancée were engaged and inviting the public to sign in to their website and become part of the wedding-planning process? The company became a household name overnight.”

“I remember. And I remember thinking that Lloyd Ensign was an even bigger ass than I’d always known him to be. Opening my emotional doors to the public for money? Not my style, Fran.”

“I know, and you wouldn’t have to take it that far, of course, but … people love the fairy tale, Parker. You know … billionaire bachelor finds the love of his life, his own personal princess, and has a romantic wedding with all the bells and whistles. And you and the board have agreed that you want to snag the public’s attentions when you launch the new spa complex.”

Which was true. Opening the Sutcliffe Spa Complex was the first major change in the company’s long and successful history, definitely the first since Galen Sutcliffe had died and Parker had taken full control.

Parker’s grip tightened on the phone. His father had been larger than life, a friend to every television screen. His image and voice had launched a hundred hotels and kept people coming back for more. Now there was a hole in the company where he had been, and Parker wasn’t completely confident that the new spa complex could fill that hole. But this plan to boost the company’s ratings by painting him as a Prince Charming in search of the perfect bride …?

“You, too, Fran? Trying to convince me the way everyone else is?”

“Why not me?”

“Because you know me.”

She sighed. “Yes.” And what Fran knew was that Parker wasn’t interested in emotional entanglements. He’d had a lonely childhood until he’d found solace in work, and his solitary ways hadn’t translated well to his relationships as an adult. Women found him too restrained, but they liked his money; they wanted his name. And after the incident when Evelyn had tried to manipulate him into marriage by pretending he was the father of her unborn child … Parker’s blood nearly froze at the thought. Besides the obvious betrayal and lies, the thought of raising a child … no. No. Children needed so much more than he was capable of offering.

“I know you don’t want to get married, and I see your point, but Jarrod won’t give in as easily as I will,” Fran warned. “He’s planted the idea of a big Sutcliffe wedding in the minds of the other board members and it’s starting to take hold.”

Parker didn’t want to tell her that even he had examined the idea. Because while he’d been burned by women and didn’t want to try again, still he understood that his father’s personality had been the secret to Sutcliffe’s success. If a meaningless wedding could breathe life back into the business he’d built his life around … It was just one of the things he needed time to think about, and he couldn’t possibly think with Jarrod and the board singing the Wedding March twenty-four hours a day.

“I have to go now, Fran. I’ll tend to the spa situation from here, and I’ll keep you posted on what’s going on,” he promised.

“All right. I’ll keep you posted, too. Just don’t …”

“What?”

“I don’t really think you should be handling this Mathilda thing yourself. Now that you know there’s something odd going on and some strangers living in her house … it’s just … there might be dirt. The kind that might harm you or Sutcliffe Industries.”

He laughed. “I’ve been expecting dirt from the moment I learned that I had a secret relative. Doing damage control is part of why I’m here. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to bury anything unsavory and make it disappear before the reporters find out anything.”

“Good luck with that. You know how they were with your parents’ divorce.”

He did. It had been ugly, brutal and had torn his young world apart, so he wasn’t letting anyone from the press get close. Maintaining a low profile was part of why he was here alone.

Well, not exactly alone, he thought as he hung up. There was one impetuous redhead and her three pale sidekicks lurking in the shadows. What in the world was he going to do about his … tenants? About one tenant in particular?

For half a mad second, he wondered what the board would think of Daisy. They’d probably all start hyperventilating, scared to death that she might tarnish his shiny aristocratic most-eligible-bachelor image.

Or hand them a container of bubbles.

Parker almost smiled at that thought. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Sutcliffe’s had saved him when he’d desperately needed saving, and, with the company teetering, he had to do everything right. If Daisy had been living here illegally, what other secrets was she harboring? Was there something about the situation that could further harm Sutcliffe’s if it came to light?

Probably not. He had, after all, been unaware of Daisy’s presence before today. Still, this was a delicate situation and a possible PR nightmare. He didn’t want to harm anyone, but the truth was that he was planning on relocating an entire crew of elderly people.

Parker blew out a breath. “Fine, it’s delicate,” he muttered. It was also ludicrous for a man who had eschewed marriage to inherit a wedding chapel. He would just have to deal with the situation.

“So get on with things,” he muttered. “Do what you came to do.” Make a quick sweep of your aunt’s possessions, hire someone to place Daisy and her brood elsewhere, make them disappear from your life and sell the building. Then figure out what’s gone wrong with Sutcliffe’s and fix it.

Parker frowned. Clearly, he had plenty to keep his mind occupied, especially since the spa would open in a month. So, why were his thoughts stalling on Daisy’s smile and the way she had stood up to him? The woman certainly made a man take notice. Even if he didn’t want to.

Daisy was rushing. No surprise. She spent a lot of time rushing … from her part-time job as a tour guide to her even more part-time job as a freelance reporter for a local newspaper to organizing weddings. She also did her best to oversee her group and make sure that no one starved to death or forgot to pay a bill. And when they did forget, she wasn’t too proud to try to schmooze the bill collector. Or evade him. Today shouldn’t have been so different from that.

Except it was. Parker Sutcliffe was no ordinary bill collector. He had caught them in the act of mooching off him, and now he was going to put them out on the street. And it was clear as anything that she was the one who would have to try to get him to change his mind.

But, there had been no light-bulb moments in her dreams last night. Just a few erotic images of Parker with his suit off.

“Oh, that really helped a lot,” she had grumbled when she woke up and remembered—vaguely—what she’d been dreaming. Undressing the villain didn’t make him less a villain. It just made her look pathetic. Besides, she didn’t have time for any of that.

“Lydia, help me make these pew bows look a little perkier. We weren’t at the top of our game yesterday when Mr. Sutcliffe dropped by, so we’ve got to make this place shine before he shows up today.”

“Do you think he’ll like us better today, Daisy?” Nola asked, and Daisy wanted to cry. Or scream at Parker and beat her fists against his broad chest. Honestly, the man must go to the gym every day. What rich guy looked that fit without a personal trainer riding his butt all the time? He probably lived off arugula and bean sprouts while she and the gang ate a lot of mac ‘n’ cheese. The discount kind.

“Daisy?” Lydia sounded worried.

“He might like us better,” Daisy said, trying to sound confident. “If we can wave some dollar signs in front of his eyes. I’ve met Mr. Sutcliffe’s type before, men who are all about getting what they want. If we can convince him that the Forever and a Day has the potential to be profitable for him, he might want to leave things as they are. Maybe he’ll agree to hire us and let us stay on here.”

She looked at the cheery but inexpensive bows she and Lydia were affixing to the pews, but a part of her couldn’t help seeing them through Parker’s eyes. They weren’t real silk. She remembered how his suit had looked … and felt. The man was not going to be impressed by this.

But he’s not going to sneer, either, she vowed. She would punch him in the nose before she would let him make fun of Lydia or John or Nola. They had had tough lives and now they were old, but they had their pride. Tillie had been proud, too. And Daisy was not going to let some pompous rich guy look down his nose at them.

Just because they were squatting in his building. Breaking the law.

The truth hit her. It nearly did her in. They really had no right to be here. Parker Sutcliffe was completely within his rights to throw them all out.

She had three elderly people dependent on her … and her baby. Her baby. She still had trouble believing that she was going to be a mother. It was a scary thought, but she was determined not to mess up. Having no home for her baby would be messing up in a major way. So, what on earth was she going to do?

Something foolish, most likely, she thought. And that kind of thing had gotten her in trouble in the past. Big trouble. Put-you-in-handcuffs-and-write-bad-stuff-on-your-permanent-record trouble.

But that’s not going to happen today. I’m not going to let things get out of control. Come on, Mr. Sutcliffe. I’m putting on my tour-guide face. I can fake it with the best of them. Let’s do this thing.

The first thing that Parker noticed when he entered the Forever and a Day, documents in hand, was that someone had made an attempt to make the inside of the chapel shine. The pink bows affixed to the ends of the pews were more attractive than the ones that had been on display yesterday, there were two potted plants on the small staging area at the front and the cream-colored curtains that had been closed for privacy yesterday had been tied back to let the morning sunlight stream in. Unfortunately, while the sun made the place much brighter, it emphasized the fact that the pews were rather old, their upholstery somewhat shiny with age.

And apparently his inspection hadn’t gone unnoticed. “We’ve been meaning to reupholster them when we get the funds, but we wanted you to see that this is a nice place to have a sweet, old-fashioned wedding. With just a small infusion of cash, it could be even better. We fill a niche that the bigger, flashier places don’t. People who want something homey, loving, not overly commercial or expensive seek us out,” Daisy said, walking toward him down the center aisle of the chapel. She had a determined smile on her face, but her eyes looked wary.

“Daisy,” he drawled. “I told you—”

“I know. You’re not interested in the marriage business. I went to the library and looked you up on the internet last night. I know what your company does, the properties you own and some of the women you’ve … um … dated. You’re not exactly into small fish, are you?”

“I have nothing against small fish.” He heard a giggle coming from his left. Daisy turned slightly and shook her head at whoever had been giggling. “I just have no interest in becoming the owner of a wedding chapel. It’s not the kind of business I … invest in.”

“You were going to say ‘want to be associated with,’ weren’t you? Because I’m not criticizing. I know we’re not exactly posh or anything like that. But I want you to know that we have real potential, and we’re not too tacky, either. We’re not one of those we’ll-do-anything-you-want places. We don’t do … I don’t know … half-naked weddings. No one gets married in a bikini, even if it’s a white one,” she said, just as if this was a normal conversation. “At least, not anymore.”

A slight pink flush turned Daisy’s creamy skin rosy, and every male cell in Parker’s body responded in a way that was completely inappropriate and unwelcome.

All right, this whole situation was totally preposterous and impossible. Parker managed to maintain his stern look, despite the fact that part of him wanted to smile. He held up one hand to stop Daisy, just in case she continued talking about women in bikinis. Already his thoughts were wandering into forbidden territory, wondering what Daisy would look like in a tiny white bikini. He needed to head her off. “I’m not worried about the tackiness factor,” he said.

She gave him a you-have-to-be-kidding look. “Your family came over on the Mayflower, and you … you wear those suits that probably cost more than this building does.”

Probably more than ten of these buildings did. “I’m not concerned about it because you won’t be holding weddings here much longer. I thought I made that clear. I’m selling this place, going back to my life and my real business, and when I do …”

“You’ll evict us,” Daisy whispered. “But you said you weren’t totally heartless.”

“I also told you that I’d help you relocate.”

“I know but … to where? Do you really think it’s going to be easy to find affordable housing for all of us together? At least give us some time.” She crossed her arms over the lilac fabric of her sundress, which only drew his attention to the curve of her breasts. Again.

He frowned. What was wrong with him? He’d never been one of those guys.

“I’ll help you find someplace suitable,” he insisted, glancing down and away, but not before he noted that the woman was wearing flip-flops. With lilac plastic flowers between her pretty and very bare pink toes. Did he even know another woman who would be caught out in public in those things?

She shook her head, sending those long red curls flying. “I was hoping you would reconsider once you got past the shock of finding us here, but since you haven’t …”

Daisy looked toward the wall. “All right, you three, come on in.” She turned toward Parker. “We’re like family, and this concerns them every bit as much as it does me.”

Parker turned as the three elderly people shuffled out. The harsh sunlight wasn’t exactly kind to them, but he could see that they had done their best to dress to impress. Nola had taped a red ribbon around her cane. Lydia had a silk flower in her hair, even though it was beginning to slide out of its clip and droop a bit, and John was wearing a different threadbare suit from the threadbare one he’d worn yesterday.

“Mr. Sutcliffe, sir, I heard what you said about us having to leave, but … can you keep us together?” Nola asked. “Because we’re a … a team. We stay together no matter what. Daisy says so.”

“Yes,” Lydia said, her head nodding non-stop. “Daisy leads tour groups and writes articles to help keep us in food, and we’re really good at doing the weddings with her. She organizes things and takes pictures, I make cookies and play piano, Nola helps sew costumes and fixes flowers and sings and John …”

“John performs the services,” Parker said. “Yes. I know.”

“And sometimes Romeo serves as a ring bearer,” John added. “He’s very well behaved.”

“Romeo?”

“My puppy,” Nola said. “Romeo, come here, dear—”

“No!” Daisy called out, but it was apparently too late. A monster “Woof!” echoed through the walls, followed by the sound of something large pounding down the stairs. Within seconds, a huge German shepherd bounded into the room, ran up to Parker and gazed up at him, cocking his head.

“Romeo?” Parker asked.

“He was a groom’s dog, but the bride didn’t want him even though Romeo did his best to woo her,” Daisy said. “He’s one of the reasons we can’t relocate just anywhere.”

“He’s rather large,” John offered. “Too large.”

“Don’t say anything bad about my Romeo!” Nola said, and she looked as if she might cry. Daisy shot John a look, and he quickly apologized to Nola and patted Romeo’s head.

“The thing is, we are a team,” Daisy said, fiercely. “We go together. Everywhere.”

And they had most likely been coached by Daisy to say all those things, to try to make him feel guilty. Daisy had her game on, all right.

“It’s very nice that you’re a team,” Parker said, feeling a reluctant hint of admiration for Daisy’s devotion to her aging friends. “But it’s not really my concern.”

“Mr. Sutcliffe,” Daisy said, moving forward, and now all of that luscious flesh and intensity was much closer to him. His chest felt a bit tight.

Irrelevant, he told himself. He’d made some mistakes with women before, but getting any more involved with Daisy than he already was would be a much bigger mistake than he’d ever made … for so many reasons. Besides, she didn’t exactly like him. And that wasn’t going to change. He was still selling the building. In the end, she would have to leave her home.

Parker looked down into her unhappy brown eyes. He knew that his own were cold. He’d been told that before.

Daisy blew out a frustrated breath. Then she turned and whispered something in John’s ear. Together the three elderly people and the dog wandered back into the other part of the house. “They can’t go just anywhere,” she said, fiercely. “Between them they don’t have enough money to survive.”

“You’re the money-maker?”

“I work two part-time jobs, and between them and the chapel, we make enough to keep us from starving, but that wouldn’t be true if we moved somewhere else. Besides, this place gives their lives meaning.”

Parker looked around at the wedding chapel, a study in cotton-candy pink and white.

“A wedding chapel doesn’t fit your image, does it?” she asked.

He wasn’t going to lie. “It’s definitely outside my realm of experience. My father built Sutcliffe Industries brick by brick, banking on a name, a reputation and a fortune that goes back generations. All my energies go toward making the business a success. And while we started out in the beverage industry and have our fingers in many pies, at the heart of the business is the subsidiary that provides luxury accommodations for people who happen to like their entertainment sanitized and their lives shielded from anything …”

“Common?” Daisy gestured to the slightly gaudy chapel.

“I’m not judging you, Daisy. I’m merely saying that I’m not planning on changing my line of work. Right now I’m on the cusp of an expansion into new territory, and that’s the only business I’m interested in. Still, I’ll do this much. I’ll give you a little time. Two weeks. That should give you enough breathing room to find a new home and make some new plans.”

She looked at him as if she had just found out that he was really a vampire intent on drinking her blood. He’d never had a woman look at him with that much distaste.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

It did, but that still didn’t change things. He’d learned at a young age how dangerous it was simply to follow one’s emotions and impulses. He wasn’t doing it. Not ever again.

“Two weeks rent-free,” he reiterated. “And I’ll get someone—a professional—to help you relocate.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I thought you might have a change of heart. They’re fragile.”

“I see that they’re fragile,” he told her. “I don’t intend to harm them.”

Despite his desire to remain uninvolved, he couldn’t help being moved by the sadness in her voice and her concern for her friends. He felt an unfamiliar urge to make a promise that he couldn’t possibly keep, to tell her that her world wouldn’t change. But he knew all too well how damaging lies could be. He resisted the urge to touch her.

“This is the only home they’ve known for years,” Daisy said. “They fit here. They don’t fit just anywhere. They’re not interchangeable parts that you can plug into any old socket.”

She was reproaching him. He couldn’t blame her, not when she was clearly in pain. Still, he wasn’t going to defend himself, either. That had never been his way.

“We’ll find a suitable place. Or two,” he said. “In a month it will be just like home to all of you. Better than this place.”

She stared at him with those big accusing eyes and he felt as if a part of him he didn’t even recognize had been seared. But he knew better than to let regret or … or feelings enter into this. That path offered nothing but disaster.

“I’ll help you, Daisy,” he reiterated. “Because you can’t stay here. I’ll be leaving soon, and when I go, this building will be empty and it will be sold.”

Daisy stood there and stared at him as if she were taking a beating, not moving, not talking, just … letting his words rain down on her. But at last she gave a brief nod. “You didn’t come to Las Vegas for us. You came because Tillie died and her property passed to you. You’ll want to see what she left you,” she whispered. “I’ll take you there now. I’m afraid there’s not much in the way of personal treasure.”

For some reason he was reluctant to follow Daisy, even though this was one of the main reasons why he was here. After all, this building was her home even if she had no legal right to be here. Still, he couldn’t allow himself to be sentimental. He needed to put Daisy on his checklist the way he put all his tasks on lists. In order of priority. Right now, finding her and the others a new home was high on the list of things he needed to check off. Discovering all he could about his aunt was up there, too. He wasn’t really looking forward to either of those, but at least tending to Daisy and her situation and digging into his aunt’s past was a respite from the board trying to entice him with every debutante in Boston. Right?

He gazed down at Daisy. Had he been staring at her for long? She was blushing prettily, that delicious rose color heating her cheeks, her chest and dipping beneath the bodice of her dress …

“Parker?”

He jerked to attention. Caught. “Sorry. My mind was wandering.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I was thinking about real estate,” he lied. “The agent … I’ll send one here tomorrow. You should compose a list of requirements … anything an agent should know about your needs.”

“Such as how many bedrooms?”

“Yes. Such as that, and whether stairs are a concern. For Nola.”

“I’m surprised you care.”

Parker took a deep breath. “It’s not caring,” he insisted. “It’s common sense. I told you that I’m all business, no sentiment.”

“So you don’t want to see any of Tillie’s things before you tear the building down?”

Wrong. He very much wanted—and needed—to see Tillie’s things. Not for sentimental reasons, but for business ones. But he wouldn’t tell Daisy that. Tillie had been her friend, and she wouldn’t want to know that his chief interest in his aunt was protecting his business from … whatever it was that had made his parents turn their backs on her. There was something hidden, something unacceptable. What was it? What had Mathilda done that had gotten her shunned? Knowing how his parents had been, it could have been anything. They both excelled at shunning people. There would be dirt, of course, but it might not even be very bad dirt. It didn’t take much …

“Show me,” he said. And then, looking into Daisy’s eyes and realizing how cold and imperious that had sounded, he added, “Please show me.”

“All right. It’s just at the top of the stairs.” She turned and began to lead him into the hallway that separated the two buildings. There was a set of stairs there and Daisy led the way.

Her hips swayed before him, and he did his best to put a leash on the quite natural heat that inspired. Instead he tried to concentrate on other things … such as her posture. Her back was very straight, very rigid and he knew that she didn’t like doing this one bit. She didn’t really want him to look at his aunt’s belongings.

“Daisy,” he said softly. “I promise I won’t do anything drastic today.”

Daisy suddenly stopped on the stairs in front of him, and he bumped into her, nearly knocking her forward. Automatically, he looped his arm around her waist to steady her.

That brought her body fully against his, and the soft give of her flesh beneath his palm made his pulse quicken. Her pretty little butt was up against him, his chest against her back. Intimate. His body reacted. Instantly.

Wrong.

He hurried to steady and release her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, but her back had become even more rigid, if that was possible. “I hadn’t thought about the fact that you would probably pitch all of Tillie’s stuff.”

He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t, that she could have it, but … how did he know that? Stuff could be hard evidence and could be used against a person.

“We’ll see what’s there, but I won’t do anything right away. Today I’m just looking. All right?”

She nodded, but her body radiated tension, possibly even anger. At the top of the stairs, Daisy pushed on a door that creaked as it opened. She flipped on a light switch and motioned Parker inside. Immediately, a sparkle caught his eye and he turned his gaze to the other side of the room where several clothing racks stood end to end. One of them contained nondescript middle-aged-woman outfits in cheap fabrics. The other two sparkled and glittered with sequins and fake jewels. Some of the outfits sported feathers. All of them were barely there.

He whirled and looked at Daisy. “These were … my aunt’s? She was a …”

Daisy placed one hand on her hips. “Tillie was a showgirl, among other things.” And then she must have noticed his confused look. What did among other things mean?

“Hmmm, I’ll bet that won’t play very well in Boston,” she said. “Or with those luxury-seeking customers who like things sanitized.”

He stepped forward, then froze. “Are you threatening me, Daisy?”

“Threatening?” Looking down at her wide, startled eyes, he realized that he had been wrong. She hadn’t been. And now, once again, he was close enough to touch her. That couldn’t keep happening.

“No, of course not,” he said, backing off. “But you said … among other things. What else was she?” His breath lifted a loose lock of hair at her temple.

Daisy reached out as if to touch him … or push him away, he didn’t know which. “I’m not sure I can explain what Tillie was, and—” She took a big step back. Two steps. One more and she would be tumbling backward down the stairs.

He reached out to catch her again, but she shook her head as she turned and started down the stairs. “I have to go to work,” she said. “I have a tour group, and we have another wedding tonight and one tomorrow.”

And she fled down the stairs.

A short time later he sat staring at a fairly recent diary that—despite the fact that large parts of the book were still blank—left no doubt about at least some of his aunt’s past indiscretions and colorful lifestyle. He was wondering what he should do with the damning book.

No doubt he should pitch it, burn it, shred it. He’d think about that.

But the beep of his cell phone reminded him that this trip—and Daisy—were just detours from his real life. Fran’s text message that Jarrod was trying to finagle Parker’s private phone number in order to discuss some of the female guests the board wanted to invite to the annual Sutcliffe Industries Ball was a reminder of just how intent Parker’s relative-heavy board was on turning him into a living billboard for the company. They wanted him to adopt the role his father had taken as the aristocratic symbol of Sutcliffe’s, a sort of Prince Charming waltzing to the Wedding March, all for the sake of marketing. If he was going to come up with a better alternative to pull Sutcliffe’s out of its slump and make it a household name for the elite, he needed to come up with a brilliant plan fast. Only two things stood in the way of him devoting all of his time to finding that plan: his aunt and one caramel-eyed pixie with flowers between her pink toes.

“So do your research on Mathilda and find Daisy a viable home and get her off your plate,” he ordered himself. “Quickly.”

Good advice. With a little luck and a good real estate agent, Daisy and her “team” would be stirring up trouble for someone else soon. And he would have forgotten that he’d ever met her.

CHAPTER THREE

DAISY waited until Parker had left the building before she slipped back inside. She had lied about her tour. It had been canceled. That was money she couldn’t afford to lose, but right now she was more concerned about what Parker Sutcliffe meant to her and her friends … and her child.

She didn’t want to think about how crazy he made her feel whenever he got too close to her. Letting herself be even mildly attracted to the man could only end badly.

Sure, Parker was being nice by letting them live rent-free while he helped them find a place, but they were worlds apart, he was eager to get away and she had already had far too much experience with men who didn’t stay.

Even more important, she was still getting used to the scary reality that she would soon be the source of … everything for a totally helpless baby. So, for now, for the sake of the others and her baby, she would accept Parker’s help, but it had to be temporary. This situation was just more proof that she needed to become completely independent. No leaning on a man, no wanting a man. She had to make something better for her child, to find a secure fulltime job and build a protective cocoon around herself and her baby. Getting dreamy about a rich guy who was on his way back to his rich world and his rich, sophisticated, not-pregnant women would be totally irresponsible. And irresponsible was number two on her list of things she didn’t do anymore.

Number one was putting her trust in a man. She thought of that when Lydia asked her why she hadn’t told Parker that she was pregnant.

“You should tell him,” Lydia said. “You’re not showing yet, but if you told him, maybe he would …”

Daisy shook her head vehemently. “He wouldn’t understand. His type doesn’t. And if he finds out about my past or thinks too hard about the fact that we’re breaking the law by being here, he might report me as an unfit mother or something like that. Then I couldn’t keep the baby.” The thought terrified her.

“So … what are we going to do?” John asked.

Daisy took a deep breath, trying for the thousandth time not to panic at the thought of how dependent her friends were and how afraid she was of failing them. She wondered if Tillie had felt this way. For half a second she wondered if Parker felt that way right now, and she almost felt sorry for the man. He hadn’t asked to have them all dumped on him. But she had no time to mull that over. John was waiting.

“Well,” Daisy said, putting on her what-would-Tillie-do? thinking cap. “First I’m going to go be sick. No big deal. Just morning sickness. The usual. And then we’re going to get ready for tomorrow’s wedding.”

The one thing Daisy could count on to take her mind off things was her role in planning the weddings. Even if she didn’t want a wedding for herself, she loved planning weddings for others. The irony and sometimes the difficulty of creating weddings for people when she would never have a happily ever after didn’t escape her. But she’d been helping Tillie since she was a teenager, and Tillie had loved weddings. Creating special ones made Daisy feel a connection to Tillie. And the next one was a fairy-tale wedding. Literally. Tillie’s favorite and hers. Trying to forget her own troubles, she threw herself into planning a personalized ceremony.

It was only when Daisy got to the part where the groom/prince was supposed to say his special vows and take the bride in his arms that she suddenly remembered how she’d felt when Parker had caught her in his arms to keep her from falling. She’d leaned back against his chest, she’d felt his big palms on her body and—

Daisy’s pen slid across the page. “Darn it! You wanted him to turn you around and kiss you. Having felt his hands, you wanted to know how his mouth felt, too, didn’t you?”

Maybe. For sure she’d wanted to kiss him. It was a horrifying thought, except … it also made her smile. What would stuffy Parker Sutcliffe do if someone like her wrapped herself around him and kissed him?

Probably have her arrested. Or put her out on the street right now.

And that was just one of the many reasons why she had to stay away from Parker’s body. The most important reason was … more basic.

Daisy glanced down at her abdomen. “I don’t know how much you can absorb at this point,” she told her unborn child. “But I want you to know that while you might not have had the best of beginnings—and I’m taking my share of responsibility for that—I’m glad that you’re here and I will do everything possible to make sure that you have a stable life. I’m going to do my best never to do anything irresponsible like falling for men who might hurt us. So you should know right now that except for Nola and Lydia and John, it will always just be you and me, but that’s okay. We’ll be together and we’ll be fine on our own. I’ll see to it.”

Still, Daisy sighed slightly at the thought of never being able to satisfy her curiosity about Parker’s lips. And then, frowning, she pushed that thought aside. And went back to her planning. When she read through her notes later, she realized that in the midst of them she had written “No kissing.”

That might be a problem at a wedding, she conceded as she crossed out the word no and replaced it with lots of.

Lips would be touching at this wedding. Just not hers and Parker’s.

Parker wasn’t happy when he approached Daisy’s building the next afternoon. He opened the front door. Didn’t they ever lock anything? Didn’t they have any idea about basic safety? Adding a lock and a doorbell system? Anyone could walk right in and be inside the building that led to their living space and what would one petite woman and three senior citizens do if that happened?

He frowned, reminding himself that all of that would be moot soon. Besides, why was he even having those kinds of thoughts? Daisy was a stranger, one he really didn’t want to know. Certainly, he didn’t want to feel any sense of responsibility for her, did he?

“Uh-oh. The real estate agent must have told you something awful.” Daisy’s soft voice came from behind the piano, making him blink.

He walked over to the old, battered upright and found her sifting through sheet music. “Why would you say that?”

“Well, for one thing you’re here when I hadn’t expected to see you. And you’re also frowning, but then …”

Right. He’d been frowning a lot lately. “Yes, well I do have some bad news. You were right. The agent said that the apartment hunt might be a challenge. She also suggested that you … consider ditching the dog if at all possible.

It’s definitely easier to place tenants without pets or children.”

Daisy gave a tight nod. “So I hear.” Her voice came out as a whisper. She turned away a bit. “What did you tell her?”

He hesitated. “I told her to keep looking.” He didn’t mention that the woman had told him that a landlord would most likely charge extra for the animal, which might make the price prohibitively expensive for Daisy. Or that the woman had insisted on giving him numbers of prospective shelters. Daisy might be an unwelcome impediment to his plans, but … she was here. He might not be capable of the deeper emotions other people felt, but he also tried to avoid trampling on those feelings whenever possible.

For some reason, he was pretty sure that Daisy would feel things multiplied by three. Which made dealing with her three times more difficult, especially since, sooner or later, she would probably have to face the fact that Romeo would need a new owner. Why he was putting off the inevitable when he didn’t have time to waste was a mystery to him, one he didn’t want to examine too closely. The answer was probably complicated, and he couldn’t afford complications here. Still …

“We’ll keep looking,” he repeated.

“Thank you,” she said, but her voice still sounded slightly faint. “Hopefully, we can find something quickly, and you and I can get past this and end our association.”

“That was … very polite. I know that you don’t like this situation any more than I do.”

“No. I don’t like being indebted to anyone and I’m not happy about the situation, but I appreciate the fact that you had the right to kick us out immediately and you didn’t.”

“Maybe I just didn’t want my name splashed all over the headlines as a greedy jerk who threw old people out on the street.”

She blinked as if she’d never thought of that, and he almost wanted to smile.

“I never thought of that,” she said, confirming his suspicions. “Is that why you let us stay?”

“I don’t know.” It was true. The thought had certainly crossed his mind, but he wasn’t certain it was the only reason, and, like so many things with Daisy, the truth was complicated. Parker wished he’d stop having that thought. He grimaced.

She nodded. “Okay. I won’t probe. Was that all you came for? To tell me about Romeo?”

“Not exactly.” After his brief foray into Aunt Mathilda’s possessions, he’d concluded that there was little of her history to be found here. Absolutely nothing about her link to his family. The diary seemed to point to a chaotic life, but it had been written recently, and most recently his aunt had been running a chapel and housing Daisy and her crew. Nothing was clear … which might slow down his investigation. It also made her more interesting: a secret puzzle piece from his past, but also a possible Pandora’s box.

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