“We should get better acquainted,”

Mike said, a boyish grin curving his mouth. “We’ve never really done anything together, not even when we were kids. We don’t even know each other well.”

Hallelujah, Callie cheered silently. Maybe he’d stop dismissing her as the sweet but annoying kid sister type. “At least you know I won’t steal the silver,” she teased.

“True.”

To her amazement, Mike reached out and brushed errant strands of hair from her forehead. He was so close, Callie could smell the warm, masculine scent of him, and a piercing ache went through her body. She’d like to cuddle…feel welcome to slide into his arms and put her head on his chest.

She wanted to marry the man, for heaven’s sake! Ever since she’d been a girl…

Callie, Get Your Groom

Hannah Gets A Husband

Jodie’s Mail-Order Man

Dear Reader,

March roars in in grand style at Silhouette Romance, as we continue to celebrate twenty years of publishing the best in contemporary category romance fiction. And the new millennium boasts several new miniseries and promotions…such as ROYALLY WED, a three-book spinoff of the cross-line series that concluded last month in Special Edition Arlene James launches the new limited series with A Royal Masquerade, featuring a romance between would-be enemies, in which appearances are definitely deceiving….

Susan Meier’s adorable BREWSTER BABY BOOM series concludes this month with Oh, Babies! The last Brewster bachelor had best beware—but the warning may be too late! Karen Rose Smith graces the lineup with the story of a very pregnant single mom who finds Just the Man She Needed in her lonesome cowboy boarder whose plans had never included staying. The delightful Terry Essig will touch your heart and tickle your funny bone with The Baby Magnet, in which a hunky single dad discovers his toddler is more of an attraction than him—till he meets a woman who proves his ultimate distraction.

A confirmed bachelor finds himself the solution to the command: Callie, Get Your Groom as Julianna Morris unveils her new miniseries BRIDAL FEVER! And could love be What the Cowboy Prescribes…in Mary Starleigh’s charming debut Romance novel?

Next month features a Joan Hohl/Kasey Michaels duet, and in coming months look for Diana Palmer, and much more. It’s an exciting year for Silhouette Books, and we invite you to join the celebration!

Happy Reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

Callie, Get Your Groom
Julianna Morris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Books by Julianna Morris

Silhouette Romance

Baby Talk #1097

Family of Three #1178

Daddy Woke Up Married #1252

Dr. Dad #1278

The Marriage Stampede #1375

*Callie, Get Your Groom #1436

JULIANNA MORRIS

has an offbeat sense of humor, which frequently gets her into trouble. She is often accused of being curious about everything…her interests ranging from oceanography and photography to traveling, antiquing, walking on the beach and reading science fiction. Choosing a college major was extremely difficult, but after many changes she earned a bachelor’s degree in environmental science.

Julianna’s writing is supervised by a cat named Gandalf, who sits on the computer monitor and criticizes each keystroke. Ultimately, she would like a home overlooking the ocean, where she can write to her heart’s content—and Gandalf’s malcontent. She’d like to share that home with her own romantic hero, someone with a warm, sexy smile, lots of patience and an offbeat sense of humor to match her own. Oh, yes…and he has to like cats.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Chapter One

I’m late.

Michael Fitzpatrick cursed as he turned into the Kachelak airfield, gravel spinning beneath the wheels of his Dodge Dakota. Across the airfield he saw the small Cessna, and two people still standing in the plane’s shadow.

A wry smile curved Mike’s mouth. It was fairly obvious the pilot was flirting with the woman, and the woman was flirting right back. He’d have to warn his sister that Donovan Masters was an infamous ladies’ man.

“Hey, sis!” he called, jumping from the Dakota and striding toward the couple. “Sorry I’m late. I got held up.”

But it wasn’t until Mike was within ten feet of the plane that he realized the diminutive female definitely wasn’t his sister…not unless she’d shrunk several inches and colored her hair to a riotous chestnut.

“Oh, hi,” the woman said, casually glancing at him as he approached. “Surprise. It’s me, Callie.”

Callie Webster? Mike shook his head. What was prim-and-proper Callie doing in Alaska? He circled around the wing…and suddenly his jaw dropped so hard it practically hit the airfield tarmac.

Prim-and-proper?

“Uh…Callie,” he said stupidly, staring at the skimpy red tube top barely confining her breasts. A whole lot of creamy skin was exposed above and below that narrow band of red—which only seemed to draw attention to the lush curves within.

“Yup.” She’d been leaning against the plane, but now she vaulted forward and threw her arms around his neck for a hug. “It’s great to see you. Gosh, it’s been a long while.”

Automatically his arms had risen to catch her, and almost as instinctively he pushed her away. “Why are you dressed like that?” he demanded, then realized it wasn’t any of his business. “The weather isn’t warm enough to…er…need something so…cool.”

“It’s summer.”

She shrugged her shoulders and he gulped. The tube top seemed glued in place, but that wasn’t reassuring. And he wasn’t the only one staring at Callie’s bustline. Donovan was looking, as well. Mike ground his teeth—business partner or not, Donovan had better watch it. Callie and his sister had been friends all through childhood and he felt the same protective instincts for Callie that Elaine would have aroused in him.

Mike peeled off his outer flannel shirt and handed it to Callie. “Here. You’ll be eaten by mosquitoes.”

She slung the shirt over her arm. “Thanks, but I never get bitten,” she said cheerfully.

His brown eyes narrowed in warning. “Callie, we have over twenty-five varieties of mosquitoes up here. Put the damn thing on.”

“Why, Mike,” she said, hurt tingeing her voice. “That isn’t polite. You haven’t even said hello.”

“Hello. What are you doing here?”

Callie glanced at Donovan and shrugged again. “Mike and I grew up together—he’s just like a brother. They’re never glad to see you, either.”

Donovan’s face gleamed with amusement. “Don’t pay him any attention. I’m delighted, and so is everyone else in the company. Mike doesn’t count.”

She grinned and a dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. “You’re sweet.”

“Sure,” Mike muttered. Sweet wasn’t an appellation he would have attached to his partner, especially when it came to any female under ninety. As for Callie…He looked at her again, unable to believe his eyes. It wasn’t just her clothing, it was the way she acted—confident and sexy and pretty damned sure of herself.

And she still wasn’t wearing his shirt.

The last time he’d seen Callie Webster was over a year ago, on one of his rare trips home to Washington. Following their holiday tradition, the entire family had gone to the midnight candlelighting service on Christmas Eve. Callie had been playing the organ in a voluminous choir robe, with her long hair pulled into its customary braid.

The picture-perfect preacher’s daughter.

After the service he’d said “hello,” returned her quick hug, then promptly forgotten about her. After all, she was his sister’s friend, and they’d both been a terrible nuisance when he was growing up. The fact that he’d gotten a lot closer to Elaine since reaching adulthood didn’t change things.

“Callie,” Mike said insistently—he needed to get some control back into the situation. “Where is Elaine?”

“Oh…” She waved her hand. “I realize she offered to be your office manager for the summer, but she’s awfully busy. It isn’t easy for her to just pick up and leave like that, you know.”

“I know, but—”

“And since I didn’t have any special plans for the summer, she asked me to take her place,” Callie said, blithely disregarding the interruption.

“I see.” A hint of Mike’s reaction must have shown on his face, because she bristled.

“I’m perfectly capable of managing an office,” she snapped.

“I’m sure you are,” he said diplomatically. “But church work isn’t the same as handling clients and taking cargo orders—or coordinating flight schedules and following up on billings, for that matter.”

“I’ll consider it a challenge.” She tossed her head, sending her hair flying. Fiery strands covered her bare shoulders with a lacy pattern of light, and worse…it clung to her breasts, caught by static electricity to the red cotton knit. He groaned, hardly able to believe he was fixated—however briefly—on Callie Webster’s body.

She was an innocent. A sweet kid who took care of her saintly father and taught Sunday school. She wouldn’t be able to deal with their tough customers, or anything else in the air-transit business. Moreover, Alaska wasn’t an easy place to live, even in summer. He’d have to spend most of his time taking care of her.

Mike thought hard, trying to recall what Elaine had told him about Callie’s sheltered life in Crockett. “But what will your father do? I know how much he depends on your help. He probably can’t manage without you…or neither can the church, for that matter.”

She didn’t look concerned. “Pop is fine. And the church finally got enough money to renovate. With all the plaster dust and construction right now, they won’t even miss me.”

Besides, I don’t plan on going back, Callie added silently. And blinked.

She couldn’t tell Mike that she planned to stay in Alaska, could she? He’d run the opposite direction if he knew she wanted to get married. Of course, it wasn’t very honest not telling him the truth.

I don’t care, Callie told her conscience crossly.

If she couldn’t vamp Mike, then she’d find someone else. She was tired of being the quiet, dutiful preacher’s kid who behaved the way everyone expected. This was a new-and-improved Callie Webster. A woman of mystery. Bold. Provocative. Daring. A woman who knew what she wanted, and went out to get it.

Everybody knew Alaska was full of single men. It was an ideal place to change her image.

Right.

Mike wouldn’t know what had hit him.

“I think Callie will be wonderful,” Donovan said, warm approval in his tone and eyes.

“You would,” Mike grumbled.

“Thanks,” Callie said to Donovan, ignoring the other man as though he were an irritating gnat. “We’re going to get along great. I’m glad you picked me up in Anchorage—Mike probably would have left me at the airport.”

“I aim to please, ma’am.”

“Look, Callie, this won’t work,” Mike interrupted. “There’s no place to stay in Kachelak. The motels are too expensive and there aren’t any rentals.”

Callie plastered an innocent look on her face. “But I thought Elaine was going to stay with you.”

“Yeah. Well…that was the original plan. But you’re not Elaine.”

You’d better believe it, buster. She didn’t intend to be treated like a bothersome kid sister. Not anymore. “I don’t understand, I wouldn’t be any trouble.”

“That isn’t the poin—”

“You can stay at my place,” Donovan volunteered. He put an arm around her waist and smiled. His wolfish leer didn’t fool Callie. Donovan was smart. He’d already sized up the situation and knew she was out for blood…Fitzpatrick blood to be exact, on a blood test for a wedding license.

And it was obvious he approved of the endeavor, which only went to show that dedicated bachelors thought marriage was just fine…for the other guy.

“That’s a terrific solution.” She glanced at Mike and shook with inward laughter. He appeared ready to explode. “Are you certain I won’t be any trouble?”

“No trouble at all,” Donovan assured. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

“No, it won’t,” Mike snarled. “She’s staying with me.”

Donovan shook his head, undaunted. “Now look, buddy. You didn’t want Callie, and I do. You wouldn’t want her to feel unwelcome when she’s come all this way to help us out, would you?”

“It’s not that I don’t want her,” Mike said, sounding so utterly frustrated that Callie almost felt sorry for him. “Of course I want her.”

Though it didn’t mean anything…romantic, the words sent a pleasant warmth through her body. She’d had boyfriends before—she’d tried to put Mike out of her mind by dating other men. A long time ago she’d even gotten engaged, more out of affection and friendship than love. They would have had a good marriage, too, if Keith hadn’t died in a car accident.

For an instant, regret dimmed Callie’s excitement. She’d genuinely cared for Keith, only, there hadn’t been any spark. No heat. Nothing to equal what she felt just thinking of Mike…and of the one time he’d kissed her.

Boy. It had happened the night of his college graduation, and he’d been so drunk, he didn’t even remember that kiss. Callie pushed all distracting thoughts from her mind and hardened her heart. Vamps didn’t let anything get in their way. They moved in and got what they wanted.

“You’re kind to offer,” she said with seeming reluctance. “But I’d better stay with Donovan.”

“No, you won’t.” Mike split a glare between them that could have fried eggs. “You’re my responsibility. Where is your luggage?”

“Well…okay. It’s in the plane.”

Muttering beneath his breath, he collected the three suitcases she’d brought and stomped toward his vehicle.

“That was gracious,” Callie murmured reflectively. “I hope he remembers I go along with the luggage.”

Donovan chuckled. “Poor guy. He doesn’t have a chance, does he?”

“Why, Mr. Masters, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.”

They watched as Mike threw the suitcases in the back of the Dakota with more force than necessary. Then he slammed shut the truck door and leaned against the fender, impatiently tapping his foot. Callie swallowed.

What had she talked herself into?

Michael Fitzpatrick wasn’t a boy anymore. The muscled lines of his tall body were from hard work. His hair was still brown, though she’d detected a few threads of silver. For a moment, uncertainty filled her, because Mike was more like a stranger than a friend. For all her talk of growing up together, the three years separating them made a big difference.

She was thirty-one now. Hardly a kid. Mike was thirty-four. High time he got married and started a family. High time she got married and started a family. She just needed to find out if they were going to be the two halves of a single equation. It was one thing to fantasize about the boy you’d grown up loving, and quite another to discover if you still loved the man he’d become.

It hadn’t seemed so urgent until she’d turned thirty; then she’d started imagining being alone the rest of her life. No kids. No husband. No Mike. When the trip to Alaska had come up she’d leapt at the opportunity.

“Here goes nothing,” she mumbled, squaring her shoulders and heading toward the truck.

“You can still stay with me,” Donovan offered.

“Separate beds?” she teased, comfortable with the charming pilot in a way she’d never been comfortable with Mike. Love and sex appeal certainly complicated relationships.

“Only if you insist.”

She laughed and kept walking.

Mike watched Callie smiling and flirting with Donovan and he clenched his fists. It wasn’t his concern if she wanted to get burned. But he’d warn her about the risks, the same way he’d warn Elaine.

“I’ll see you tonight,” she called back, waving goodbye to the other man.

“Six sharp. Don’t dress, unless you think it’s absolutely necessary,” Donovan replied with a wink.

Mike growled. He actually heard it, rumbling from his chest. A date? She’d already made a date?

“You’re going out with him? I thought you came to manage the office,” he said when she reached the Dakota. “To help us out. Our regular manager is having a baby, so she can’t come in when you’re not available.”

“Yes.” A catlike smile curved her lips.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I came to manage the office, but it isn’t a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. I can manage a little socializing between shuffling papers.”

Mike sighed. They both knew managing the Triple M office required more than shuffling some paper. Callie was getting back at him for doubting her ability. Hell, at least she was better than nothing. They’d gotten the office into a real tangle since losing Delia, and now Delia was hinting she wouldn’t return at all.

That’s what getting pregnant did to a woman. They wanted to stay home and take care of their kids, and never mind the desperate men they deserted. Maybe it wouldn’t matter someplace else, but it wasn’t easy finding a replacement in Kachelak. That was one of the drawbacks of establishing their headquarters away from the higher-population centers, like Fairbanks or Anchorage.

“Never mind,” he said, opening the door of the Dakota for Callie. “I was just trying to warn you about Donovan. He’s a confirmed bachelor.”

“No kidding?”

Mike walked around to the driver’s side of the vehicle. “This isn’t a joke, Callie. Donovan’s a great guy, but as soon as he thinks you’re serious he’ll be out the door faster than you can blink.”

“Oh?” She lifted one delicate eyebrow. “Who’s to say I won’t be the one out the door?”

In the process of fastening his seat belt, Mike gaped. Callie sounded serious, as though she engaged in lighthearted affairs all the time. Which he knew wasn’t true. That is, he was pretty sure it wasn’t true. She couldn’t get away with acting uninhibited, not in Crockett, Washington. Crockett was a nice little town, but it certainly wouldn’t tolerate the preacher’s daughter running around with a lot of different men. Besides, she wasn’t that kind of woman.

So he told her so.

“What did you say?” she gasped, sparks leaping from her green eyes.

“I said you weren’t that kind—”

“I know what you said. For your information, I’ve had plenty of men interested in me. You’re insulting. Just because my father’s a preacher, that doesn’t make me the antidote to romance.”

How the hell had he gotten into this?

“I didn’t mean to say you weren’t desirable,” Mike soothed. Her glare indicated she wasn’t soothed, or even mildly appeased. “But you’re…uh…a nice girl.”

“Nice? That tears it. I’m staying with Donovan. Nobody calls me nice.”

Mike took a deep breath. “That was a compliment…and you’re not staying with Donovan.”

“Some compliment. How would you like me to say you’re a nice man?”

The question threw him. Certainly, it was death to a man’s ego to be called nice. Nice was boring. Nice was a sucker’s description. As soon as a woman called a man “nice,” he could hear the death knell coming. A man wanted to be big, bad and a little dangerous.

Not nice.

Damn. He’d never imagined a woman would feel the same way, especially Callie.

“Okay, you’re not nice.” Now that hadn’t come out right, either, and he could guess what she’d say about his awkward attempt to apologize.

“Thank you.”

Contrary to his expectation, she sounded genuinely pleased and Mike rolled his eyes. Women. He was better off with his planes and the grumpy old moose who fed behind his house every evening.

“Shouldn’t you show me the office?” Callie asked as he started the engine. “It’s located here at the airfield, isn’t it?” Despite her question, she yawned and settled back against the seat, closing her eyes as she did so.

He hesitated. They really needed a warm body occupying the office—to answer the phone if nothing else—but her flight had left Seattle at one-thirty the previous morning. Under the circumstances he wouldn’t have expected Elaine to jump into work immediately, and the same applied to Callie. On the other hand, it would be nice to have an excuse to put off the inevitable. Callie living in his house? It gave him a queasy sensation of looming catastrophe.

“I’ll show you the office tomorrow. You probably need some sleep,” Mike said finally. Before your date, he added in his mind. Sheesh, that really irritated him. Donovan should have shown some consideration for their new employee.

Employee? Yeah, that’s how he could treat Callie. Like an employee, even if she wasn’t. Not really. She was doing a favor for Elaine, which translated into a favor for him. Still, it was all very disturbing.

“Callie?” he said.

She opened her eyes. “Hmm?”

“Why didn’t someone phone me? To explain you were coming instead of Elaine?”

“It was all decided at the last minute. Besides—” her sleepy smile flashed at him “—we thought you’d get all blustery and say no.”

Of course I’d say no, Mike growled inside his head.

He would have guessed Elaine’s game right off…namely, that his baby sister was trying to fix him up with Callie. The thought made him wince. He didn’t want to get married. He spent most of his time away from home, flying cargo or tourists around the state. A free and easy life, that’s what he wanted—no wife nagging him, asking why he wasn’t home when the plumbing burst or the kids got the measles.

Mike killed the engine and twisted in his seat. “Look, Callie. I think Elaine is trying to do some matchmaking.”

A knowing grin curved her lips. “Of course she is, but don’t worry about it. I’ll keep out of your way, and you keep out of mine.”

“Then you’re not…” He paused, unsure of how to phrase his question.

“I might look for a husband,” Callie said thoughtfully, “but you’re safe.” She yawned again and wiggled in her seat, making him aware of every inch of exposed skin above and below that ridiculous tube top. “Elaine can plot all she wants. That doesn’t mean we have to go along. I mean really, the two of us together? It’s absurd.”

His brows drew together in a scowl. Everything Callie was saying should make him feel reassured and comfortable with her. Only, it didn’t.

“Why absurd?”

She chuckled and curled her legs beneath her. “I don’t know…you’re six-two and I’m five-four. We’d look silly together. Besides, we’ve known each other forever. No thunderbolts here.”

Her lingering smile annoyed him even more. How could she say that? They’d barely spoken since he’d moved north. After college a few hurried hellos and goodbyes were the sum of their so-called friendship since he’d left home. There hadn’t been time for thunderbolts.

Not that he was interested. His curiosity was purely academic. Actually…his curiosity was masculine—no guy liked to be dismissed by a woman, no matter what the situation might be.

All at once Callie gave herself a little shake and sat up. “Now that we have that settled, I was wondering…You made it sound as though I won’t have any time off. This isn’t a seven-day-a-week job, is it?”

“Er…no.” He relaxed. “Unless there’s an emergency, you’ll have a standard schedule—five days on, two off.”

“Oh, good. I want to do some sightseeing, maybe even climb a glacier. And I understand there’s a lot of hiking around here…even in the immediate area. Do you think I’ll see any grizzlies? I’d love to see a polar bear in the wild, but I guess they’re only around the Arctic ice cap. I’ll have to go farther north to see them.”

Subtle tension crept back into Mike’s body. Why couldn’t his sister have come instead of Callie? Elaine wasn’t curious about fifteen-hundred-pound bears, and she’d been to Alaska often enough that sightseeing wasn’t a high priority.

“You shouldn’t go hiking by yourself,” he said shortly. “It isn’t safe.”

“I wasn’t planning to go by myself.”

Mike sighed. “I don’t have time for hiking, Callie.”

“That’s not a problem…you weren’t invited.”

Her obvious lack of interest made the rejection all that more stinging, though why he felt rejected he couldn’t have said. He glanced at her as he started the engine. While visibly sleepy, she gazed eagerly at the scenery as they pulled onto the gravel road that led into town.

Mike cleared his throat. It was pointless to be so unsettled. This was good old Callie, even if she did look like a beach babe from sunny California. “We don’t have any hiking clubs, kiddo. And the tours are pretty expensive.”

“I don’t need any tours.” She gave him a sunny smile, apparently forgiving him. “Donovan is taking me to the Kenai Wildlife Refuge and—”

“Tonight?” Mike almost stomped on the brake so he could shake some sense into her. “You didn’t buy that line, did you? We might have longer hours of daylight up here, but it’s a long drive down and you couldn’t possibly visit the refuge so late.”

“Of course not,” Callie said patiently. “We’re going on the first day we’re both available. Tonight we’re just going to dinner.”

Mike grunted.

She patted his arm. “Not feeling well?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s good. Anyway, Travis Black said he loves hiking and he’ll follow me anywhere. But I think he was just being polite.”

Another line, Mike thought sourly, though Travis was an expert wilderness guide. “How did Travis get into this?”

“On the radio. He asked Donovan to describe me, and when Donovan said I had buck teeth and was wrinkled like a walrus, Travis immediately offered his services in showing me around. I don’t think he believed Donovan about the teeth.”

I wouldn’t, either.

Donovan had been protecting his turf—one look at Callie’s skimpy tube top and he’d gotten the complete wrong impression about her. But while Mike couldn’t do anything about his two partners’ social calendars, he could certainly ensure Travis’s days off didn’t coincide with Callie’s. Travis wasn’t a partner—not yet.

“Of course, Ross McCoy offered to fly me across Prince William Sound so we can climb Worthington Glacier. That’ll probably be a two-day trip,” she mused. “But he said he knows a nice place we can stay in Valdez.”

“Really?” Mike felt the urge to loosen his collar, when all he was wearing was a black T-shirt. “When did you talk to Ross? The radio?”

Ross was his other partner in the business—a great guy, but not for a homebody like Callie. Besides, Ross had gotten burned by his ex-wife and had avoided women ever since. He definitely wasn’t interested in getting married.

Callie bit her lip to keep from laughing. Poor Mike. He didn’t look at all happy. “I met Ross in Anchorage. He was taking a load of fresh veggies to Nome, so he stopped by to say hi. I like Ross. He’s really cute and he’s awfully charming.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“That’s because you’re not a woman. He said I could go to the Arctic Circle on one of his junkets. We might even land on the ice floe so I can get some pictures of polar bears.”

“Terrific. Sounds like you’re all set.” Mike sounded quite disgruntled and she hid another smile.

“Yeah, I’m going to have a great time. At least Donovan and Ross and Travis are glad I’m here, even if you’re not.”

“They think they can get away with more…that I’ll let them because you’re not my sister.”

Callie stretched languidly, aware of Mike’s long sideways gaze. For the first time in her life she felt entirely feminine and sexy.

“You worry too much. They won’t get away with anything I don’t want them to.”

“Oh? How much is that?”

She mused for a moment. “Enough, Mike. Enough.”

“I see.”

From the iron set to his jaw, Callie didn’t think he liked her answer very much…which pleased her to no end.

Chapter Two

Enough?

What did she mean by that?

Remembering Callie’s old-as-Eve smile, Mike was afraid he knew. She hadn’t come to catch him as a husband; she’d come to spread her wings. It was natural, really. He’d never realized it before, but Callie was rather attractive. And thirty-odd years of living in Crockett as “the preacher’s daughter” would have been frustrating for anyone.

Swell. Now he’d have to spend his summer making sure she didn’t do something he knew she’d regret. It was instinctive to protect her. Even the toughest kids in Crockett had watched their mouths around Callie. He’d seen street toughs pummel their buddies for stepping out of line around Preacher Webster’s daughter.

Don’t say that. She’s holy, you jerk.

And there was Callie…looking utterly disgusted at being called holy.

Mike had to grin, remembering those days. He’d done it, too, cleaning up his language, making sure nobody stepped out of line with little Callie, and lumping her into the same category as kid sisters who were more trouble than they were necessarily worth.

He could strangle Elaine for doing this to him. He’d phoned her right after getting back to the house, and received an innocent “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Callie is doing us both a favor. And this way she gets to see part of Alaska.”

Favor?

Right. His baby sister was matchmaking and he didn’t want any part of her little plan. Of course…it was nice that Callie could have a trip. She probably didn’t get a chance to travel very much.

Sighing, Mike continued working. He’d been cutting the next winter’s supply of firewood before leaving to meet Elaine…and getting Callie instead. He would have flown to Anchorage himself, but Donovan had been returning from a hop to Fairbanks, so it hadn’t made sense to make an extra trip. Now he wished he’d gone. He could have turned Callie around and put her on a flight back to Seattle. But no, instead she was here, taking a nap in one of his bedrooms.

Mike positioned a section of log on the chopping block and lifted his ax. It took a lot of wood to get through an Alaskan winter, though the weather wasn’t as harsh in Kachelak as it was farther north.

Thwunk.

The piece split in two, one of which was still too large to fit into the woodstove. He took the larger half and positioned it again, wishing his other problems were so easily solved.

Sending Callie back to Seattle still seemed desirable, except there wasn’t much hope of replacing their office manager. Kachelak was a great location, but the population was small and already dedicated to their own pursuits; individuality flourished in the frozen north.

He’d jokingly suggested that one of his partners get married and solve their labor dilemma that way. They hadn’t been amused, since they felt the same about marriage that he did.

He swung the ax down.

Thwack.

The wood divided neatly and Mike tossed the two pieces onto a pile, then heaved another log to the block. He hammered a wedge into the grain and used a maul to do the initial split. The physical effort of cutting firewood usually helped focus his thoughts. Only, it wasn’t helping this afternoon.

Callie Webster in a tube top.

His mind still had trouble working around that one. It was blasted inconvenient having her stay in his house. A sister was one thing, an unrelated woman was another. He’d have to watch his mouth, put the lid down on the toilet and be pleasant in the morning.

Mike hated mornings.

He’d rather fly through an ice fog than get up and talk to anyone before 10:00 a.m. On the other hand, Callie probably made delicious coffee. She belonged to that incomprehensible species who rose at the crack of dawn and loved it. And from what Elaine had said, she was a terrific cook, one of her specialties being caramel pecan pancakes.

Caramel pecan pancakes sounded very tasty, and they’d be even better for dinner, than breakfast. Maybe having Callie stay at the house wouldn’t be so bad. Lately he’d gotten real tired of his own cooking.

Callie stepped onto the porch off her bedroom and took a deep breath. The air was fresh, redolent with the scent of the sea and whispering hemlock forests.

Soon after they’d arrived, Mike had gone outside to work, muttering something about her taking a nap. She’d watched him chopping wood from the kitchen window…all masculine grace and power, muscles working fluidly beneath skin slicked with sweat. She still heard the solid thunk and whack of the ax striking, and Callie moaned softly, a restless ache in her breasts and stomach.

Don’t think about it.

Right. Like it was possible to think about anything else. She ought to be asleep, but her mind was too active. And her body…She shivered.

Mike always did that…made her feel things, hot and fast, spinning inside like a whirling top. Inevitably Callie had compared every man to him. They’d always come up short.

“Open your eyes, Michael Fitzpatrick,” she breathed. “You never really came back, so I came to you.”

Finally.

Everything had finally come together like the pieces to a murder mystery—means, motive and opportunity. And a dash of courage, because she’d been raised with the traditional idea that a woman didn’t chase a man; she waited demurely until he noticed her.

Blying Sound glimmered in front of the house, which was perched high above the water out of sight from the town. It was a lovely place—the house old and solidly built, with at least five bedrooms.

Perfect for a family.

Callie smiled and leaned on the railing. Cool air brushed her arms and bare midriff, reminding her of Mike’s reaction to the provocative outfit.

“Serves him right,” she murmured.

It was about time he saw her as a woman, though the tube top might have been a little much. She’d shocked herself when she bought it. Maybe it wasn’t any more revealing than a bikini, but she’d never worn a bikini, either.

She’d expected to blush like crazy the first time she was seen in public, yet it hadn’t worked out that way. The unadulterated male attention had been worth every embarrassed prickle. Not that she wanted to dress like that all the time—just for special occasions.

It had taken her a long time to reach this point. Years of being the sweet-little-girl-next-door, of feeling guilty because she’d never loved Keith the way he deserved. She’d been cast in the role of a tragic, grieving not-quite-a-widow, returned home to care for her father because she had nothing else to live for. Her grief had been genuine, but not the shattering devastation her friends and family supposed.

Another yawn widened her mouth and she strolled inside to inspect the big, comfortable bed. Maybe she should try to sleep. She wanted to look her best for her date with Donovan. Mike mustn’t suspect she had anything on her mind but having a great time with his partners in Triple M Transit.

Besides, if nothing else, she was going to have a great time. They were terrific guys—Mike wouldn’t have gone into business with them if they weren’t.

Still, Mike was her reason for coming to Alaska, and she was gambling a lot on the plot she and Elaine had hatched—her heart most of all.

It was late in the afternoon when Mike sank his ax into the chopping block and decided to call it quits. Summer in Kachelak was pleasantly mild at best, yet perspiration had soaked his hair and body from the long hours of work.

Stopping at the refrigerator, he grabbed a bottle of iced tea and took a long swallow, then stuck his head under the faucet in the sink. Though chilly, it felt good. He scrubbed his upper body, sluicing water over his arms and chest.

“Mike?”

He jumped, bumping his head on the tap and swearing under his breath.

Jeez, he’d almost forgotten about his “houseguest.” A memory of round curves, faithfully outlined by fire-engine-red cotton, rose instantly before his eyes and he groaned. Well, he hadn’t exactly forgotten. But it was tough, reconciling his lifelong image of Callie with the woman who’d hugged him at the airport.

The clothes were a shock, yet the hug had been all Callie. Sweet, affectionate Callie, with the softest heart on the West coast, though as a kid he’d thought it was dumb and disgustingly mushy.

“Mike?” she called again. “Are you here?”

“In the kitchen.” He turned the water off and wiped his face with a dishcloth before turning around. Callie was standing in a pool of gold sunlight only a few feet away. “My God, what the hell are you wearing?” he demanded harshly, forgetting his earlier resolve to watch his mouth around her.

“A dress.”

“That isn’t a dress. It’s another tube top,” he snapped, slapping the towel onto the counter.

She ran the palms of her hand over the clinging black knit. Like the red top, it stayed in place with some kind of invisible magic—no straps, just a sheath of black that exposed her shoulders and a startling expanse of silky thigh encased in sheer black stockings.

“You’re exaggerating,” Callie said, undaunted by his frown. “This is a very stylish dress.”

“Take it off.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Donovan said I didn’t have to dress, but I’d rather have clothes on when he gets here. I don’t want him getting the wrong impression.”

“I…” To his amazement, heat crawled up Mike’s neck and he gritted his teeth. “That’s not what I meant. Go put on something else.”

“Why?”

Why?

What a dumb question.

His gaze traveled over the black “dress.” The fabric was so soft that anything beneath it would be outlined—like the lacy edge of a bra or panties. And except for a faint line about her waist, it was perfectly smooth, which meant she was only wearing those stockings. Mike broke out in another sweat.

No bra. No slip. No panties.

Though she still seemed to be waiting for an answer, Callie opened the refrigerator and bent over, examining its contents. Mike’s lungs froze as he imagined what he’d see if the skirt inched up another two inches. Or what Donovan might see…and touch.

Damn. He was losing his mind and it was all Callie’s fault. He’d been handed a stick of dynamite to protect. Why weren’t her brothers here, guarding her virtue? It wasn’t his job, yet he was stuck with it just the same.

“Do you mind if I have some milk?” she asked, straightening and holding up a carton.

“Sure. After you put on something decent.”

“This is decent,” she said coolly.

“It’s trashy,” Mike shouted furiously.

“Why you narrow-minded chauvinist jerk,” Callie hissed. “You’d think it was perfect if your date wore a dress like this, but it’s unacceptable for me. What a stupid double standard. I won’t be ordered around, not by you or anyone else.”

Mike already regretted his rash words. He knew better than to insult a woman’s clothes. And Callie didn’t look trashy; that was the problem. With her rich abundance of chestnut hair and that creamy complexion she looked like a dream. Classy and sultry at the same time—a combination unsettling to his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean that. But your father—”

“I’m thirty-one, Mike,” Callie said curtly. “Not a child. My father wouldn’t think of telling me what clothes to wear.”

“Yeah, but…”

Callie’s high heels clicked on the floor as she walked to the cupboard she’d examined earlier. She took down a glass and tried to control her temper. At the moment she was reconsidering the plot she’d hatched with Elaine.

Get married to Michael Fitzpatrick?

Right now she didn’t care if he dropped off the face of the earth, never to be seen again.

Trashy.

Ugh.

He had a lot of nerve. Was he forgetting she’d seen the type of girl he’d dated in high school? Granted, teenage boys weren’t usually attracted to “good” girls—and by all accounts his tastes had improved since then—but that wasn’t the point. If she went stark naked, it wouldn’t make her trashy. That came from the type of person you were.

“For your information,” she said, pouring the milk, “Elaine has practically this same dress, only it’s royal blue. She wore it to your parents’ thirty-fifth wedding anniversary party two years ago. I don’t recall you throwing a fit over her looking trashy.”

“I don’t remember.”

From the expression on Mike’s face, she knew he was lying.

“Really?” Callie prompted. “You said she looked great. And my dad thought she looked charming. You seem to be more judgmental than he is.”

“I said I was sorry,” he muttered. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

Callie had every intention of rubbing it all over him. He wanted to keep seeing her as the prim preacher’s daughter, not as a woman. But she was unmistakably dressed like a woman, so she didn’t fit into the neat little role he’d cast for her to play…just like everyone else in Crockett. It was hard enough exploring the real Callie without him fighting her every step of the way.

She took a swallow of milk. “I just want things to be clear between us.”

“How clear would you like them to be?”

Mike crossed his arms over his stomach and stared at her grimly. His shoulders were broad, tanned and intimidating. A dark whorl of hair descended down his chest, narrowing until it was a thin line, disappearing beneath the top button on his jeans. Abruptly the muscles in Callie’s throat had trouble working, so she set the glass on the counter.

“You’re not my brother, Mike. And I stopped needing a guardian a long time ago.”

From the flicker of his eyes she knew she’d hit pay dirt. As long as he could object to her clothing like a brother, he was safe. He didn’t have to see her as anything but his sister’s friend—the preacher’s daughter who was expected to act and dress in a certain fashion.

Criminy. Mike had moved away from Crockett sixteen years ago to attend college and he still had the same ideas as the ninety-year-old widow who always sat in the same pew every Sunday. This was going to be even tougher than she’d thought, and a flutter of uncertainty hit her, stronger than before.

The sound of a vehicle driving up the hill only increased the tension in the air.

Callie drew a deep breath. “That must be Donovan. I’d better go out to meet him.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t wait up for me.”

A bleak, frustrated anger filled his eyes. “Not a chance, doll.”

“Well…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Whatever.”

Mike watched Callie leave, feeling like the ground had been ripped from under his feet. He didn’t know the woman who had just walked out of his house. She was a stranger in a black dress, high heels, and scented with the seductive fragrance of an expensive perfume.

Her legs couldn’t be as long as they looked—her head didn’t even reach the top of his shoulder. She had a body that wouldn’t quit, fiery green eyes and a set of wonderfully kissable lips.

A stranger.

“God, I’m losing it,” Mike muttered and grabbed his tea, draining the bottle. For the first time in his life he really needed a drink. He tried to remember if there was any alcohol in the house. Not being much of a drinker, he couldn’t remember.

None in the pantry.

And none in the refrigerator—not even beer. Mike slammed the door shut and scowled. A vision of Callie bending over and searching the interior made him choke. He backed away from the appliance.

Wait a minute.

He still had the bottle of Glenfiddich Scotch Ross had given him for his birthday. It was a shame to use fine whiskey for the sole purpose of getting smashed, but what the hell—it was medicinal.

The last time he’d gotten drunk was the traditional blowout after college finals. His last finals. Graduation. Freedom from cracking the books. Sometime in the middle of that evening he’d kissed the hottest girl on the face of the earth. He couldn’t remember her name, her face or where she’d come from, but he remembered that kiss.

That’s why he hadn’t gotten drunk since. Too many questions. Too much wondering if she was as hot as he’d thought, or if it was an alcohol-induced fantasy. A fantasy lady for a fantastic kiss.

Mike dropped onto the couch in his living room and poured himself a shot of the Scotch. He wasn’t “waiting up” for Callie, he was just enjoying a pleasant drink as he watched the view. He’d paid a lot for that view and was entitled to watch it anytime he wanted. For that matter, Callie had been awfully impressed with the entire house.

His eyes narrowed. She’d made it clear she didn’t want his protection, but if she came in crying, he’d make Donovan pay.

Hours later Mike was still “not waiting up.” The sun had set shortly after 10:00 p.m. They hadn’t reached the summer solstice yet, but it wouldn’t be long. A wide yawn split his mouth and he realized he was dead tired. They’d been pulling double shifts lately, trying to cover the office and fly and run the business at the same time.

“Mike, why are you sitting in the dark?” Callie asked from behind him.

The question made him jerk upright. He’d fallen asleep and hadn’t heard her come in. Mike lifted the bottle and blinked at it. Almost full. That’s right, he’d only had two drinks. Unfortunately the alcohol had gone straight from an empty stomach to his weary head.

“Just watching the view, doll.”

“In the dark?”

He tried to shake himself wider awake, but his brain wouldn’t cooperate. “I’ll do it my way, and you do whatever you want. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

“Actually…I said we should keep out of each other’s way.” Callie switched a table lamp on and he sighed. While it was dim, the extra light hurt his head, and he wasn’t too tired to ignore the exhilaration in her eyes, or the mussed condition of her hair.

She certainly wasn’t crying, so he wouldn’t have to kill Donovan after all.

Even if he wanted to.

Callie had certainly flung him into a highly illogical state. Of course, women had been doing that to men for thousands of years; why should anything be different now?

“Turn that off,” he ordered. And to his complete astonishment, she complied.

“Have a little to drink?” she asked.

“Just a little, and it’s quality Scotch, not a bender,” he said defensively, though she didn’t seem offended. “I’m just tired.”

“I know. Elaine says you hardly drink at all.”

Had his sister volunteered that information, or had Callie asked? For some reason Mike liked the idea of Callie keeping tabs on him. She’d always been a nice person.

Nice…? Wrong. His brows drew together. She didn’t want to be called nice. “Did you have a good time?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral.

“The best.” Callie sat on the end of the couch and tucked her feet beneath her. “The northern lights were really wild. Donovan said it was unusual this time of year, so he took me up in his plane to see them better. We opened the windows up and the wind blew in…. It was incredible.” She laughed and shook her hair across her shoulders. “I’m all tangled, but it was worth every minute.”

Hmm. Mike felt better. At least Donovan had kept his hands to himself for that part of their date—even Donovan had never mastered the art of flying a Cessna with his feet.

“I hope you wore a coat. It gets pretty cold up there.” He yawned again and his eyelids drooped.

“Don’t worry—I won’t get pneumonia and deprive you of an office manager.” The slight edge in her voice hinted she was still angry over their earlier “discussion.”

“I’m not worried. You’re a pal to help out.”

Callie glared at Mike, getting provoked all over again. He’d been dopey and endearing, and she’d been almost ready to forgive being called trashy—almost. And now he was calling her a pal. She wasn’t his pal. Why couldn’t he simply see her as a desirable woman?

Maybe she could throw herself at him. Kiss him senseless. But that would be rather obvious. And it might ruin things altogether.

What if she got up and slipped on her high heels…? She could fall across him and see what happened.

Yeah, it was a possibility.

Callie stretched. “It’s late. I’d better get some sleep so I can start work early. Donovan says the office is a horrible mess.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mike sounded awfully sleepy, so Callie put her hand on his leg to help herself upright. His eyes shot open.

“Yikes…” She laughed. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize how deep the couch was.”

Trying to make her “fall” look good, Callie twisted her ankle as she tumbled over Mike, letting out a genuine yelp of pain.

That hurt, she informed herself. I hope it was worth it.

The bottle he’d been clutching clunked to the floor. “Are you okay?”

“Sure. I love bruising my dignity.”

His chest rumbled with a chuckle and waves of heat rolled through Callie. Brother, this was disgusting. She got close to the man and her body went crazy. She hated acting like a spinster stereotype, but she did feel rapacious and love starved, especially sprawled all over him.

Mike’s hands slid over her waist and Callie held her breath. He was going to push her away, do the gentlemanly thing and help her up.

Dammit.

Callie ruefully acknowledged her level of frustration with the mute curse. She didn’t often swear, but when she did, it was for a good reason…or at least a strong reason.

But she gulped when Mike’s hands closed over her bottom, hard and sensuous at the same time. She didn’t say anything. Talking might bring him to his senses, and that was the last thing she wanted at the moment.

The unmistakable outline of Mike’s arousal pressed into her abdomen, making her dizzy.

His hands seemed to be urging her up his body. She was glad to comply, especially when one of those hands reached up to stroke her face—strong fingers, combing through her hair, pulling her into a kiss.

Dear heaven…the moan from Callie’s throat was lost in his mouth, drowned in the unique flavor of Mike and Scotch. This is what she’d been craving. Even when she’d succeeded in pushing him from her mind—sometimes for months at a time—she’d craved the excitement and passion of his embrace.

She straddled Mike’s waist and stroked her tongue over his lips, an erotic invitation to deepen the kiss. It was instinctive, a knowledge born of hope and longing and feminine intuition.

He rewarded her urgency, his fingers rhythmically squeezing and releasing her bottom, intensifying the tremor spinning through her core. His tongue delved into the humid warmth inside her mouth, tracing the even edge of her teeth. Velvet on velvet, infusing their lungs with the other’s breath.

Shaking violently, Callie finally tore away and collapsed on Mike’s chest. She couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel and taste him.

Taste and feel…

Callie moaned again, unable to resist exploring the muscled contours beneath her cheek. She tasted the saltiness of his skin, tracing the hard points of his flat nipples with her fingernails, and sensed a deep shudder rising from him. This wasn’t her need alone, it was the mutual desire of two people who were surely meant to be together.

And then…she heard a quiet snore in her ear.

What?

She wanted to hit him. Passion was zinging through her veins and the dope was sound asleep.

Rat.

Louse.

Cretin. How could he fall asleep on her?

When she’d finally called him every insult available, Callie slid to the ground and drew her knees against her chest. She’d be glad in the morning that nothing happened, but it wasn’t morning and she was hurting. Unrequited love was bad enough, but unrequited passion was physical torture…not that she should complain. More than one boyfriend had pointed out the discomforts of such a condition.

She wished she’d been more sympathetic.

Mike probably wouldn’t remember this kiss, either. He’d been kissed by so many women, what was one more?

Callie scowled.

The northern lights still danced across the sky, spinning pink ribbons of light that eclipsed the stars. No wonder Mike loved Alaska so much. She’d love it, too, if she got the chance.

Right. Callie nodded. She hadn’t grown up managing her family for nothing. Those skills must be good for something…like winding Mike around her little finger.

At the same time a sigh welled out of her chest. Mike wasn’t easily convinced. By tomorrow he would have shored his defenses and she’d have to tumble them down again.

Well, too bad.

The trick was not letting him affect her so easily.

The ghostly lights continued to dance as Callie repaired her resolve. She might not succeed, but Michael Fitzpatrick was about to take one heck of a ride. Maybe along the way he’d discover his heart…and the girl he’d left behind.

Chapter Three

His neck hurt.

Mike opened sandpapery eyes and gazed blearily at his world. It didn’t look right. Then he realized he was in the living room, rather than his bed.

It still didn’t look right.

Damnation. He’d fallen asleep in the middle of talking to Callie. Yet, there was something else…a vague memory of Callie falling and landing on his chest.

He’d bet it was those idiotic spike heels she’d been wearing. They weren’t safe, even if they did make her legs look a mile long. It had to be the heels doing that. Amazing what the right clothing could do for a person.

Mike raised his head and sniffed hopefully. A blanket had been solicitously tucked around him, but he smelled nothing resembling caramel pecan pancakes…or coffee, bacon or any other hint of domestic comfort coming from the kitchen.

Great, not only had he slept badly, but he’d have to make his own coffee.

“Callie?”

Silence reigned.

He climbed to his feet and stumbled to the kitchen. He needed a shower, a toothbrush and a bottle of aspirin. And coffee most of all. He’d fight one of Callie’s polar bears for a cup of coffee.

“Hey, Callie?”

The kitchen was spotless except for a square of white paper on the counter, the corner weighted down with an empty bottle. He lifted the note and squinted at the letters.

Mike,

Ross is picking me up, and he offered the loan of a truck so I’ll have my own transportation. Isn’t that great of him?

Hope you feel better.

Callie.

First Donovan, and now Ross. Mike crumpled the note and tossed it into the sink. If they had their way, he’d never see the woman.

Don’t forget Travis.

Yeah, he’d forgotten Travis. The expert in hiking, who’d follow Callie anywhere. It had to be a terrific boost to her ego, being chased by three different men…which left ol’ Mike Fitzpatrick hanging around like a sore thumb to make sure she didn’t get caught.

Damn Elaine and her schemes. He’d never interfered with her life…at least not very much. There was that louse she’d been dating in college whom he’d scared off, but she couldn’t still be holding that against him, right? Okay, so the guy had made it big with some computer circuit doohickey and was now worth seven or eight figures. Big deal.

Mike rubbed his face and made a cup of coffee in the microwave. Peanut butter on toast would suffice for breakfast—it wasn’t like he was used to anything else. Another morning of peanut butter wouldn’t kill him.

By the time he’d showered and swallowed a handful of aspirin tablets, the morning looked a lot brighter. Maybe he’d wander down to the airport and take Callie to lunch. Looking at his watch, Mike amended that to dinner. It was the polite thing to do—he hadn’t exactly been welcoming when she arrived. Besides, a few carefully directed words of warning might be all she needed to watch her step.

After all, he trusted his partners and employees…just not with Callie.

“I’ll check the flight schedules and get back to you,” Callie said into the phone, then set the receiver back in the cradle.

Her work was cut out for her—the office wasn’t just a mess, it was a certifiable disaster area.

Callie looked around and plotted her next course of action. Both Ross and Donovan had said she had carte blanche to change things to her satisfaction.

What would they say to a bulldozer?

It might be her only prayer.

Their former office manager obviously had a higher tolerance for grunge than she did. An ancient typewriter and adding machine vied with empty oil cans, engine parts, cargo orders and billing receipts. Boxes—containing everything from an unused computer to a bundle of girlie magazines—were stacked haphazardly throughout the cluttered space.

Actually, the magazines had been already removed. Hastily. To the red-faced embarrassment of both men, with a fumbling explanation that it was popular in the bush areas of Alaska.

What? Did they think she’d never heard of adult magazines? Men were so predictable.

Callie made some notations on a pad of paper. She needed to tell Mike to keep quiet about her father being a preacher. A lot of guys treated her different when they knew—as though she’d already been fitted for a halo and was headed for a nunnery.

Yuck.

The sight of a blue Dodge Dakota being parked outside lifted her spirits. It was about time Mike showed up—she’d been hard at work since 7:00 a.m.

“Callie?”

“Is that you, Mike?” She bent over the desk, scribbling furiously on her pad. It wouldn’t be smart to let him think she’d been waiting for him, wondering if he’d remember a certain sizzling kiss….

“Of course it’s me. Who were you expecting?”

You…of course. “How are you feeling?” she asked, watching him from the corner of her eye. “You were sound asleep when I left this morning.”

“Asleep? Try unconscious.” Mike grinned wryly, showing his sense of humor hadn’t been impaired by a night on the couch. “Honest, that was completely out of character. I only had two drinks…but they didn’t sit well on an empty stomach.”

“I know,” Callie said. Disappointment warred with relief in her chest. Mike was too comfortable, sliding into his joking mode. He probably didn’t remember kissing her.

“Good.” He sat on a stack of boxes and looked around. “Say, this place looks better already. I’m impressed.”

You should be, buster. Callie had no illusions. Mike saw her as an appendage of her father, better equipped to organize ice cream socials than run an office. He had no idea she’d created a small but successful business as a management consultant. As she’d told Elaine, let Mike find out the hard way. Meaning, she wanted to see how far he’d stick his foot in his mouth.

“I’m just getting started,” she murmured. “But I almost had heart failure when I got here. How can someone who’s so meticulously neat at home be such a slob at work?”

A dull red crept under Mike’s tan. “Things got out of control. It’s been a rough month without Delia.”

“Oh, yeah?” Callie found a pencil and used it to lift a greasy black something from the desk blotter. “It took longer than a month to become so disreputable. This is a long-term condition—I only hope it’s treatable.”

He snatched the whatever-it-was and threw it into the wastebasket. “Delia never minded.”

“Delia must be a saint. I, however, am not. Frankly, I think she got pregnant as an excuse to bail on you guys.”

She lifted the stained blotter and sent it sailing through the window. After a couple runs to the exterior Dumpster, she’d taken to pitching everything through this convenient opening. Ross was servicing an engine in the maintenance hanger, and he periodically appeared to collect the discarded items.

When she turned around she saw Mike frowning. “What?”

“You’re limping.”

“I know.” Callie grimaced. While her ankle wasn’t badly injured, it was a pointed reminder she should think before acting. “I…uh, fell last night.”

“Yeah, I kind of remember.”

Wonderful. Did he “kind of” remember kissing her? This could get downright humiliating—a blow to her self-esteem, and she’d only been in Alaska for a day.

“These things happen,” she mumbled.

“I should take a look,” Mike announced, and promptly lifted her to the desktop, with her legs dangling over the edge. “We can’t be too careful.”

“I’m fine.” But she wasn’t, because her breathing got all erratic when he touched her. What about her resolve not to let him affect her so much?

“No, I’m responsible for your safety.”

Mike sounded like a beleaguered great-uncle, so Callie considered kicking him in a vulnerable spot. But she sucked in her breath when he sat on the desk chair and put her sandal-clad foot in his lap. Thank goodness she’d shaved her legs. He removed the sandal and gently rotated her foot.

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