“You heard me, Paige. I asked if you’ll marry me.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to explain why on earth you think it would be a good idea.”

Austin frowned. “I thought it would be obvious.”

“Maybe you could hit the high spots,” Paige suggested hopefully. “Just so we’re both clear on what kind of a deal we’re talking about. I mean, you wouldn’t want me to get the crazy idea that you’ve fallen madly in love with me the last few days. Would you?”

“That would be a little uncomfortable,” Austin agreed.

“So why do you want to—” she hoped he’d miss the tiny quaver in her voice “—marry me?”

Three single women, one home-help agency—and three professional bachelors in search of…a wife?

*Are you a busy executive with a demanding career?

*Do you need help with those time-consuming everyday errands?

*Ever wished you could hire a house-sitter, caterer…or even a glamorous partner for that special social occasion?

Meet Cassie, Sabrina and Paige—three independent women who’ve formed a business taking care of those troublesome domestic crises.

And meet the three gorgeous bachelors who are simply looking for a little help…and instead discover they’ve hired Ms. Right!

HUSBAND ON DEMAND #3600

BRIDE ON LOAN #3604

WIFE ON APPROVAL #3608

Wife on Approval
Leigh Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

THE deli had obviously been busy through the lunch hour, for when Paige came in, the serving counter looked as if it had been ravaged by a horde of hungry sailors. She eyed the feeble remains and said, “Just a cup of soup, please.”

Looking doubtful, the woman at the counter stirred the contents of the big black soup kettle. “There’s not much left but broth, I’m afraid, Ms. McDermott. Now that the lunch rush is past, I’m just starting to restock the sandwich bar, if you’d rather have something heartier. The pastrami is extra good today, the mustard’s really hot, and the rye bread is so fresh you can smell it across the room.”

Paige’s stomach churned at the very idea of the spicy combination. “No, thanks. The soup will do just ne.” She carried her thick stoneware mug over to a table where her two business partners were already seated.

Sabrina looked up with a smile and pushed her sandwich wrappings aside to make room for Paige, tipping over her half-full iced tea glass in the process.

Cassie fielded the glass, set it upright without losing a drop, and said without rancor, “Perhaps I was being foolish, Sabrina, to hope that falling in love and settling down would make you just a little less—”

“Clumsy?” Sabrina asked brightly.

“I was going to say, exuberant.”

“You don’t need to hesitate for fear of hurting my feelings, darling. Caleb doesn’t—he says he’s going to have his tuxedo tailored out of the stuff they use for bulletproof vests, just in case I trip over the train of my gown and slam into him at the altar.”

“Not only knocking down the groom but pushing all the ushers over like dominoes, I suppose,” Cassie mused.

Ushers. Paige didn’t want to ask who Sabrina’s fiancé had ended up asking to accompany him at his wedding; she was afraid she already knew the answer. “Have you ever thought of eloping?” she asked.

“Frequently,” Sabrina said dryly. “Especially since my mother got into the act and started coming up with ideas to make my wedding truly unique. But do I sense a little personal tension in that question? You can tell me, Paige. You don’t like the bridesmaids’ dresses I chose?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Paige said. “I haven’t had time to get to the shop to look at them.”

Cassie gathered up the remains of her lunch. “They’re absolutely luscious—but have you ever known Sabrina to choose something that’s not?”

“Not exactly,” Paige murmured. “Sabrina’s taste is flawless—as long as we’re leaving Halloween costumes out of the discussion.”

Sabrina sipped her tea. “You looked great in that costume, and you know it. Besides, Halloween is ancient history. Let’s not be distracted from the real news of the day, which is that Paige is half an hour late for a business meeting. I’m not lecturing you, mind, just pointing out that this has never been known to happen before.”

Paige shrugged off the question. “You wouldn’t believe the crowd at the supermarket. It’s hard enough to try to stock a kitchen from scratch, but having to fight through the aisles in order to do it—”

“Austin Weaver’s kitchen?” Cassie asked.

Paige nodded.

“Tough job,” Sabrina sympathized. “I wouldn’t have any idea what to buy.”

“That’s an understatement,” Cassie murmured. “When was the last occasion when you spent any time in a kitchen, Sabrina? Other than walking in to refill your coffee cup, I mean.”

“That’s easy. Just this morning.” Sabrina grinned. “Of course, I was hanging new blinds for a client, I wasn’t cooking, but—”

“The client should be grateful. And Austin should thank his good fortune that Paige is the one who drew this assignment.”

Paige stared at her soup and thought that Austin Weaver was unlikely to do any such thing. Of course, if she had any luck at all, he might not ever know who had arranged the pantry shelves in his new apartment.

“That reminds me.” Cassie pulled a bundle of cards from her leather tote bag and flourished them. “I had a great idea last week.”

“New business cards?” Paige reached for one. “I thought we had plenty of the old style yet.”

“Job cards,” Cassie corrected. “To leave after each job is completed.” She held up one of the bits of paper and read, “’Your service today was happily provided by Rent-A-Wife. Every working person needs a wife!’ And then there’s our phone number and a spot to sign, so each client will know exactly who did the errand and how to call for additional service.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t have individual cards made, with the names already printed,” Paige said.

“Should I have? I thought the actual signature would be more personal. Don’t you like the idea, Paige?” Cassie sounded downcast. “We’re proud of our work, so why not share that fact with our clients?”

“It’s a good idea.” It’s just the timing that’s bad. Of course, because the cards existed didn’t mean she had to use them, Paige thought. She could conveniently forget—at least at certain job sites…. “I have to be going.” She pushed her soup aside. “I have Austin’s groceries in the van.”

“You haven’t finished your lunch,” Sabrina pointed out. “Not that it was adequate in the first place.”

Paige shrugged. “I’ll be cooking this afternoon, so I’ll no doubt nibble.”

“What are you making for the Weavers to eat on their first night in Denver?” Cassie asked casually.

“A chicken and rice casserole. I can leave it in the oven so it’ll be ready whenever they arrive.”

Cassie looked doubtful. “Will Austin’s little girl eat rice? Didn’t he say she’s five? Sometimes kids that age are awfully picky about their food.”

“How should I know what she’ll eat?” Too late, Paige heard the sharp edge in her own voice, and she saw Cassie’s eyebrows climb. “The request was to leave a meal that will be ready to serve when they arrive this evening. Nobody specified the menu. Besides, if what’s-her-name doesn’t eat rice, there will be peanut butter in the cupboard.”

“So there,” Sabrina said under her breath.

Paige tried to smile. At least she’d been successful in making it appear that her irritation concerned five-year-olds in general rather than this one in particular. “Sorry to sound so prickly about it. But it isn’t exactly easy to come up with a menu that’ll be all right in the oven for hours, in case they’re delayed.”

“To say nothing of cooking for someone you’ve never met,” Sabrina sympathized.

Paige braced herself. You’re going to have to say it sometime, she reminded herself. You should have told them long before now.

Cassie was smiling. “If it’s the same wonderful casserole you made for my bridal shower, Paige, don’t forget to leave one of your new cards. That way Austin will know who to call when he wants another one.”

Or he’ll know for certain who not to call, Paige thought. And maybe that’s a better idea yet.

Paige parked her minivan in the loading zone in front of Aspen Towers apartments and eyed the assortment of grocery bags in the back. The small folding cart she always kept in the van was less than adequate for the task, and she wasn’t looking forward to making half a dozen trips with it up the service elevator to the topmost apartment in the tower. So she locked the van, bypassed the doorman, who was absorbed in handing a tenant into a taxi, and paused in the open doorway of the building superintendent’s office.

The super was talking on the phone, but she made an impatient gesture inviting Paige to step in. While she waited, Paige leaned against the nameplate on the door. Tricia Cade, it proclaimed.

The super turned her chair at an angle and kept talking. Sunlight streaming through the narrow window behind her highlighted her severely cut, platinum-blond hair—a color, Paige knew from the darkness of the woman’s eyebrows, that nature had never intended her hair to be. Paige wondered exactly how old she was. Probably only slightly past her mid-thirties, Paige guessed, and it was apparent that Tricia Cade had no intention of ever looking a day older. Perfectly colored hair, sleekly manicured nails, subtle makeup and fashionable clothes were her weapons—and effective ones they were, too.

Beside the super’s elegance, Paige felt just a little dowdy. Of course, she’d deliberately chosen her tweed slacks and dark turtleneck for their practicality on a day which involved far more physical work than public appearance; nevertheless she couldn’t help feeling inadequate in comparison.

She glanced at her wristwatch. How long was the woman apt to keep her waiting while she talked to what was obviously a friend, not a business contact? By now Paige could have had one load all the way upstairs and be coming back for another. At least, she told herself, with the outdoor temperature hovering at freezing, she didn’t have to worry about finding a pool of ice cream in the back of her van. Still, the minutes were ticking by, and a whole afternoon’s work remained to be done.

The super obviously saw the restless movement of Paige’s hand, for she said into the phone, “Hold on a minute, will you? No, it’s not important, it’s just my newest tenant’s maid needing something.” She gave a light laugh at something her friend said and cupped a hand over the mouthpiece.

“That’s a common misunderstanding,” Paige said. “That Rent-A-Wife is really just a glorified maid service, I mean. Sometimes I wish we’d named it At Your Service instead, because we’re actually more like the concierge staff at a big hotel.”

The super looked unimpressed. “Is that what you came in to tell me?”

“No, it wasn’t.” Paige kept her voice level. “I’d like to borrow a cart—a luggage cart or something of the sort—to haul things up to the penthouse.”

“I thought the movers did all that earlier in the week.”

“I’m sure they’d have taken care of this, too,” Paige said sweetly, “if Mr. Weaver had just thought to ship his sugar and coffee and eggs and ice cream along with his furniture, all the way from Atlanta.”

The super waved a hand. “There’s a cart down the hall in the storage closet. The doorman has a key, if the room’s locked. You should have asked him instead of bothering me, anyway.” She put the phone back to her ear and then paused. “Ice cream? That must mean Mr. Weaver is arriving soon—right?”

“How should I know when to expect him?” Paige murmured. “As you so graciously pointed out, I’m only the hired help.”

She regretted the jab as soon as the words were out. She knew better than to make catty remarks to someone in a position to do favors for her, that was sure. Don’t make anyone into an enemy—it was the first and most basic rule of a service business. What was wrong with her anyway?

She considered apologizing, but decided that the super would be even more annoyed by what she would probably see as yet another interruption, so Paige went in search of the cart instead.

When she let herself into Austin Weaver’s apartment a few minutes later, pushing the cartful of grocery bags, she found herself fancying that the spacious rooms held an expectant hush—as if they realized that the new residents would be turning up soon.

She dismissed the notion and hurried toward the kitchen. The logjam at the supermarket had put her well behind schedule, and Tricia Cade hadn’t helped a bit. There was still a meal to fix, flowers to arrange, towels to put out, and all the last-minute touches which went so far toward making an impersonal apartment into a home. Touches which all took time. Touches which were particularly important in this case, since Austin Weaver and his daughter Jennifer hadn’t yet seen their new residence.

Their first impressions of it could have a dramatic impact on Rent-A-Wife, as well, Paige knew. If Austin Weaver liked the arrangements which had been made for him, Rent-A-Wife would have not only an enthusiastic new client but a good recommendation. If he didn’t, the business would be the one to suffer, especially since all three partners had been involved at one stage or another in getting the Weavers settled in Denver so Austin could take on his new job as the chief executive officer of Tanner Electronics.

Cassie had blitzed every real estate agent for miles around till she’d located the best available apartment in the city. Sabrina had whipped the place into shape by organizing the cleaning team and the painters, and then supervising the movers as they arranged Austin Weaver’s furniture.

Until today, Paige had managed to stay away from the entire project. But it was only fair that the finishing touches had fallen to her; not only had the other two already done their share, but she was the most domestically inclined of the three, the best cook, and the most detail-oriented. And since she hadn’t found just the right occasion to explain to her partners why she’d much rather keep her distance from Austin Weaver, here she was.

With the casserole safely in the oven, Paige took another look at the clock and gave a sigh of relief. It was just midafternoon, so she’d be well out of the way before the Weavers’ arrival. She put the flowers, their stems freshly cut, to soak in cold water and went looking for vases. Where would Sabrina have put them? The topmost cabinets in the super-efficient kitchen were entirely empty, and the linen closet yielded nothing more promising. Of course, there was no guarantee Austin owned anything of the sort, she reminded herself.

Paige paused at the doorway of the smaller bedroom and looked in at the sunny yellow carousel horse, the white-painted bookcase crammed with volumes of all sizes and dimensions, the small bed dwarfed by its headboard—an enormous three-story-high dollhouse.

Austin Weaver had a daughter.

She’d known the fact for weeks, of course, since even before he’d actually accepted the job at Tanner Electronics. But it wasn’t until Paige was faced with the hard evidence of Jennifer Weaver’s existence—the carousel horse, the bookcase, the dollhouse bed—that the child seemed real.

Austin Weaver’s daughter. Five years old, and—if the photographs were accurate—a budding beauty.

Paige walked slowly back toward the living room, where a few silver frames were grouped atop a shiny black baby grand piano. The piano was leased, Sabrina had told her, since Austin thought shipping a grand piano cross-country was hardly practical. Paige had had to bite her tongue to keep from saying that she wouldn’t be surprised by anything Austin chose to leave behind, and that the only really amazing thing was that he’d collected as much baggage as he had.

She’d settled, instead, for commenting that since Tanner Electronics was paying the bill for his move, and since Caleb Tanner’s attitude seemed to be that whatever his new CEO wanted he was to get, regardless of the cost, leaving a baby grand piano behind had been a needless economy.

She paused to straighten the silver frames, which were a fraction of an inch out of line. Austin with an infant in his arms. Austin swinging a toddler over his head. The toddler alone, perched on the carousel horse. A slightly older child, her arms and legs just starting to stretch out of chubby babyhood.

But there was no photograph anywhere she could see of a woman who might be the mother of that toddler…

Paige wondered if that meant the woman’s picture was so precious that Austin was carrying it with him instead of shipping it ahead with the rest of his possessions. On the other hand, she thought, there might not be a photograph at all. If it had been a divorce…

Though surely in that case, she mused, wouldn’t it would be more likely that the child would have remained with her mother, instead of being placed in the care of a business executive so high-powered and so driven that companies across the country had competed for his services?

Too late, Paige heard the click of a key and then, as the front door swung wide, the soft purring voice of the super. “I’m sure you’ll find everything just as you ordered, Mr. Weaver,” Tricia Cade said.

Paige froze. Not yet, she wanted to say. I wasn’t expecting you till evening, till long after I’ve gone. You can’t come yet.

Her first instinctive reaction was to dart a look around the apartment, hoping to see an escape route. But the only path from living room to kitchen—and to the service exit where she’d left her belongings—led directly past the front door. For a fleeting instant, she even considered trying to huddle in the shadow of the baby grand piano and hope the coast would clear long enough to let her slip out.

But to be discovered in hiding would only make things worse; she couldn’t take the chance. And she had nothing to conceal anyway, Paige reminded herself. No reason to run away.

Maybe it would be just as well to get this first encounter out of the way right now. Even with the super as a witness, it would be a whole lot better to face Austin Weaver now rather than encounter him for the first time in public—maybe even at Sabrina’s wedding, when it would feel as if half of Denver would be watching.

Besides, though it wasn’t going to be exactly easy, facing him was really no big deal, she told herself. At least it wouldn’t be for Paige, since she was forewarned and prepared. Austin would be surprised, no doubt—perhaps even shocked to see her. There would probably be a little uncomfortable small talk. Then they’d both move on—and that would be it.

She tried to take a deep breath to prepare herself, but her chest was so painfully tight that she couldn’t seem to draw air into her lungs.

The super pushed the door wide and made an expressive gesture with both hands. “Welcome home! We’ve all done our very best to make things comfortable for you and your little girl, Mr. Weaver. And I just have to tell you what a darling Jenny is.”

Paige hardly recognized the woman’s voice; it was a husky, sweet drawl which bore no resemblance to the clipped, irritable tones she’d heard in the office downstairs just a few hours ago.

“My name is Jennifer,” said an insistent small voice, and like a magnet Paige’s gaze was drawn past the super to the child who was standing just inside the door, her hand tucked into her father’s.

Jennifer Weaver was tall for five, Paige thought. She was wearing a red parka with fur trim around the hood. The coat wasn’t fastened, and beneath it, Paige could see jeans and sneakers and a sweater with a picture of a cat appliquéd on the front. The little girl’s dark hair was tied back in a pair of ponytails, and there was a watchful, almost mulish look on her face.

Tricia chuckled and reached down to ruffle the child’s dark hair. “How formal you are, my dear. But I’m sure we’re going to be the greatest of friends.”

The child sidestepped the touch and moved away from the door and into the entry hall, where she paused, halfway out of her parka. She made Paige think of a ruby-throated hummingbird—delicate and dainty and full of motion even though at the moment she wasn’t going anywhere.

It took a moment before Paige realized what had stopped the child. Jennifer Weaver was staring at her. “Daddy,” she said, without taking her gaze off Paige. “Who’s that?”

Paige squared her shoulders and stepped forward.

The super turned to stare. “Oh, Ms. McDermott. You’re still here.” Her voice was full of disdain.

“Just finishing up,” Paige said. She was proud of herself; her voice didn’t even tremble. She looked beyond Tricia to where Austin Weaver was standing in the shadow of the doorway.

She’d caught just a glimpse of him a few weeks ago, when he’d been interviewing for the job at Tanner Electronics. Even that transitory glance had been enough to make her feel hollow. Still, with the first shock past, the worst was over, she’d told herself.

And now she’d had weeks to get used to the idea of him living in Denver. To ready herself for the inevitable. To get her psyche in shape to meet him once more…

But she had been wrong, she realized as she got her first good look at the man. That single fleeting sight hadn’t done a thing to prepare her for coming face-to-face with Austin Weaver. And a whole year of thinking about it wouldn’t have done the job, either.

Paige could feel her heart slowing until each beat was like the pounding of a gong, echoing and reverberating through her body. It wasn’t fair, she thought. The only change in his face—the only sign that he might be startled—was the slight lift of one dark eyebrow. But then, she thought, Austin Weaver had always been a poker player at heart…

His photographs didn’t do him justice, she thought. It wasn’t a matter of looks, though indeed the chiseled lines of his face were far more handsome in person than on paper, his dark hair softer-looking, his eyes almost silvery instead of the chilly gray they sometimes appeared in pictures.

What was missing from the photographs was the force of his personality. No camera could begin to capture the magnetic field which seemed to surround him. At a glance, it was apparent that this man not only possessed power, but that he wielded it easily and without hesitation.

It was no wonder the super was practically drooling, Paige thought. Power, money, and good looks all wrapped up in a package and practically delivered to her doorstep…she must have taken one glance and gone straight into vamp mode.

Not that it appeared to be doing her any good. Without turning his head to look at the super, Austin said, “Thank you for bringing us up, Ms. Cade.”

“Oh, call me Tricia.” The super laid a hand on the sleeve of his leather coat. “It’ll be so much more comfortable if you feel you can call on a friend for help.”

More comfortable for whom? Paige wanted to ask.

“Now I must show you through the apartment,” Tricia coaxed. “Every place has a few eccentricities, you know. Not that there’s anything wrong, because we’re very careful about maintenance here at Aspen Towers. But I’d be shirking my duties if I didn’t show you around.”

Paige wanted to applaud. Not only had the super neatly circumvented Austin’s attempt to get rid of her, but she’d provided Paige with a line of retreat, as well. The moment the two of them were out of sight, Paige decided, she’d burn a path to the kitchen, jam the flowers into a drinking glass, and get the heck away from Aspen Towers and Austin Weaver….

Coward, she told herself. Running away would only create questions that she didn’t want to answer. It would be far better to stay and act casual. As though this sort of encounter happened every day.

Though of course, she reflected, she could always say—and honestly, too—that with her work done there had been no reason to stay longer.

The child dropped her parka in the precise center of the hallway and started toward Paige.

Austin said, “I don’t see a coat hook on the floor, Jennifer.”

She grinned at him. “But it’s all new, so I don’t know where it goes.”

“Perhaps you should try looking behind that door.” He pointed. Then, without checking to see whether she obeyed, he followed the super down the hall.

Jennifer picked up her parka and opened the closet door. “There aren’t any hooks my size,” she complained and turned to Paige with wide-eyed helplessness.

Unable to resist the appeal in those big brown eyes, Paige took the parka. The soft fur trim tickled her hands as she hung it up. “This is a very pretty coat.”

“It’s new. I didn’t need a thick coat in Atlanta.”

“I suppose not.”

“I don’t like it here. It’s cold.”

“Yes,” Paige said. “It is definitely cold at times. But there are good things about Denver, as well. The mountains, for one, and the wildflowers in the spring—”

“We had a mountain in Georgia. Stone Mountain—with faces carved on it.”

“It’s true,” Paige admitted, “that none of the Rocky Mountains have faces carved on them.”

“Told you Atlanta’s better,” Jennifer said, as if there was nothing further to discuss. “What’s your name?”

“Paige,” she said reluctantly.

“You mean like in a book? That’s funny. Are you like a housekeeper?”

“Not exactly. Aren’t you going to go look at the apartment?”

Jennifer wrinkled her nose. “She’d just try to pat my head again.”

Paige tried to smother a smile. “You don’t like Ms. Cade much, do you?”

“She’s sticky.”

And that, Paige thought, was a pretty good description. Tricia Cade had certainly clung to Austin like caramel on an apple. Paige closed the closet door and started for the kitchen. There were still the flowers to deal with, and then she could escape.

Jennifer dropped into step beside her. “If you’re not the housekeeper, who are you?”

“I’m just helping put things in order so you and your father will be comfortable here.” Paige took a heavy glass mug from the cabinet. “Will you hang on to this to keep it from upsetting while I arrange the flowers in it?”

From the doorway came a quiet voice. “There you are,” Austin said.

Paige’s hand slipped and water splashed across the counter. She hadn’t heard him come down the hall, but that was partly explained when she realized that he was alone. She wondered how he’d managed to dislodge Tricia so quickly.

“Go explore, Jennifer,” he said.

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t recall asking if you wanted to,” Austin said gently. “Your room is just past the front door.”

With her lower lip stuck out and her feet dragging, the child went off. “Not my real room,” she muttered.

Paige put a shaggy mum into place in the mug.

“So it is you,” Austin said.

Puzzled, she shot a look at him. Had he not recognized her immediately? Surely she hadn’t changed so much that he hadn’t known her—though perhaps, since he hadn’t been expecting her to reappear in his life…

And yet, he’d almost sounded as if he had expected to run into her. So it is you, he’d said, as if he was confirming a hunch.

But of course, she thought, both Sabrina and Cassie had talked to him—frequently, in fact—during the weeks they’d been looking for and preparing his apartment. One of them might have mentioned her, and if they’d done so casually, using only her first name—well, it stood to reason that Austin wouldn’t have asked pointed questions about a woman who just happened to be named Paige, any more than she’d rushed to volunteer the facts the moment she’d heard he was in line for a job at Tanner. But of course, he would have wondered, and even been watchful.

“It’s me.” She felt incredibly foolish for not being able to think of anything else to say.

Austin folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter. “How have you been?” he asked genially. “And what have you been doing with yourself in the last…let me think, how long has it been, Paige? Six years, I suppose—since our divorce?”

CHAPTER TWO

PAIGE’S voice sounded so taut that Austin wouldn’t have been surprised if it had cracked under the strain. “Seven,” she said. “It’s been almost seven years since the decree was final.”

“Has it really?” Deliberately, he kept his tone lazy. “How time does get away.”

“When one is having fun, I suppose you mean to say?”

He moved across the kitchen and perched on the edge of a tall stool pulled up to the breakfast bar. Besides being more comfortable than standing, the seat had the advantage of being a safe distance from the counter where Paige was arranging flowers. The downside was that from the breakfast bar he could see three of her—the real one and two hazy blonde reflections in the highly polished stainless-steel doors of the refrigerator.

She didn’t look much different, really, than the last time he’d seen her all those years ago. She didn’t even look older. Her face was a bit thinner, the fine bone structure more prominent. But perhaps even that change was simply the result of her hairstyle—shorter than he’d ever seen it before, like a fluffy mane that looked as if she could run her fingers through it in the morning and be done with it for all day.

How typical of Paige that would be, he thought, with her almost-Puritan practical streak. While she’d always taken care to look neat and attractive and feminine, Paige had never put much emphasis on the glamorous extras.

He almost laughed at the understatement. In fact, he thought, she’d practically gone out of her way to avoid them…

It seemed to him that outlook of hers hadn’t changed in the least, despite the passage of time. Her attitude showed not only in her hairstyle—for flattering though it was, the cut had obviously been chosen for convenience as well as looks—but in her manicure. He watched her slim fingers as she worked with the flowers. Even from across the room, he could see that though her nails were evenly trimmed and buffed to a shine, they were completely innocent of polish.

She’d always avoided bright nail polish, he remembered. He’d told her once it was a shame not to emphasize the delicate grace of her shapely hands by painting her nails red, but she’d simply shaken her head and said brilliant nails were a waste of time, requiring almost constant care and upkeep, with attention to each minuscule chip or scratch.

Yes, he thought, she was the same old Paige….

He drew himself up short. She wasn’t the same old Paige, he told himself. If anything, she was probably even more set in her ways than she’d been seven years ago—and he’d be wise to remember it.

She stabbed another stem into the mug. “I should have thought our divorce would be an easy date for you to remember.”

Austin frowned. “I don’t celebrate it, if that’s what you mean.”

“Of course not. I’m certainly not saying that our divorce is important enough for you to recall it for its own sake.”

She’d gotten better at sarcasm, Austin reflected. More controlled, far more subtle. It flicked him on the raw nevertheless.

“But you can surely remember how old your daughter is,” Paige went on sweetly, “and how long it was before she was born that you met her mother. From there it should be no step at all to recall—”

“How long I’d been free at the time. I see what you mean now. If we’ve been divorced nearly seven years, and Jennifer’s soon going to be six…You’re quite right, Paige.” He let a congratulatory note creep into his voice. “It was very nearly the same time as when you filed for divorce.” He saw her tiny, almost-concealed shudder. “What’s the matter? Are you jealous because I moved on with my life, and you haven’t?”

“Of course I’m not jealous. Your choices have no significance for me. Besides, why would you think I’m stuck in a rut somewhere?”

“Your name, for starters,” he said. “The super called you Ms. McDermott—just as you asked of the judge in the divorce petition, when you got tired of being Paige Weaver.”

She shrugged. “I made the mistake of giving up my name once, when I married—and it was terribly untidy to get it back. Perhaps the next time around I was just wiser.”

“And perhaps,” he said curtly, “if you were talking about the truth instead of vague possibilities, you’d be making definite statements instead of subjective ones.”

She tilted her chin up. It was a gesture he remembered well; in the old days it had usually meant she knew she was on less-than-solid ground. “All right, so I haven’t married again. At least I learned my lesson.”

“Meaning what? That I didn’t?”

“What other conclusion is there? You got yourself mixed up with a woman while you were on the rebound—”

He picked up an apple from the polished fruit bowl on the counter and rubbed it against his sleeve. “You’re giving yourself quite a little credit there, I see.”

“If you’re talking about your bad choices, they’re not my responsibility.”

“No. I mean your assumption that I was on a rebound from you,” he said gently, and watched with slightly malicious pleasure as the dart hit her dead center. He bit into the apple with a satisfying crack.

Irritation flared in her big hazel eyes. “Oh, come on, Austin. Even bad marriages—especially bad marriages—have aftereffects. People do crazy things after a divorce, no matter how much they wanted to be free.”

“You sound as if you’re speaking from personal experience. What crazy things did you do?”

“None,” she said crisply.

Austin shook his head sadly. “What a shame—to be so repressed that you’ve forgotten how to let your hair down.”

“Attacking me doesn’t change the circumstances. It’s obvious just from the timing what happened to you—to say nothing of the fact that the relationship obviously wasn’t successful. You’re here, with your little girl, and her mother is—do you even know where?”

He said wryly, “I don’t have a forwarding address, no.”

“As I said, at least I learned my lesson.”

“Have you.” He didn’t intend it to be a question. “How is your mother, by the way?”

Paige looked wary. “She’s fine.”

“Still enjoying her invalidism, I suppose?”

“There’s nothing fictional about Mother’s disability.”

“Only about her dramatic way of coping with it.”

“I don’t have any idea why you would think I’m interested in your opinions about my mother, Austin.”

“Really? That’s just about the way I feel concerning your opinions about my life.”

She closed her eyes momentarily and he saw a flicker of pain in her face, as if the shaft had gone home.

“It’s ironic,” he mused, “that the woman who didn’t want to be married to me ends up as my hired wife.”

“But not for long.” Paige wiped off the counter and set the mugful of flowers to one side. “I’ve left a chicken casserole in the oven for you, and a salad in the refrigerator. Don’t worry, neither includes anything but healthy ingredients—the last thing Rent-A-Wife needs is a case of food poisoning laid at our door.”

Jennifer bounced down the hall and across the kitchen to fling herself against her father. “It’s exactly like my old room! It’s just like you promised!”

Over his daughter’s head, Austin met Paige’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said stiffly.

She shrugged. “Not me. Jennifer’s room was entirely Sabrina’s doing.” She washed her hands. “The grocery list you sent has been filled and everything stored away. And now that I’ve done all I can to make the place ready for you, I’ll get out of your way and leave the two of you to settle in.”

She brushed past him and picked up her coat from a kitchen chair. “Goodbye, Jennifer.” Her voice grew softer. “I hope you’ll learn to like Denver despite the cold.”

Then she was gone, through a back door Austin hadn’t even seen.

Jennifer stared after her. “Why did she go away?”

“Probably because she had other things to do right now.”

“Why did she sound like she’s never coming back?”

“Perhaps because she doesn’t intend to.”

“Oh. That must be because she doesn’t like you.” The child’s voice was matter-of-fact.

It wasn’t the first time that Jennifer’s precocious insight had set Austin back on his heels. Sometimes, he thought, she seemed to be five years old going on thirty—both perceptive and acute.

And even more dead on target than Paige had been, as she’d so curtly diagnosed his weaknesses. Paige, he thought, had missed the mark in a couple of critical areas.

He’d made his share of bad choices, just as she’d deduced, and he wouldn’t deny it. But not everything he’d done in the months after their divorce had fallen into the category of things to be regretted.

Take Jennifer, for example. She had been anything but a bad choice.

Why, Paige asked herself miserably, had she let herself be drawn into that insane discussion? Why had she allowed herself to voice her opinions at all? And why had she left herself open to that cutting remark about his lack of interest in what she thought of him?

She could have simply refused to take part in the whole conversation. She could have maintained a cool silence. She could at least have avoided any mention of Jennifer’s mother.

But no—she’d had to go behave like a shrew. Not that she didn’t have some cause; Austin must have taken up with the woman practically before the ink on the divorce decree was dry, to have a child who was almost six. And it wasn’t much comfort to tell herself that many men wouldn’t have waited even that long; for all she knew, Austin hadn’t waited, either. Though Paige hadn’t so much as suspected the existence of another woman at the time, perhaps he had just been very careful, very lucky at keeping a double life under wraps—

“At this rate,” she said aloud, “you’re going to drive yourself nuts over something that happened years ago and has no significance now. So cut it out.”

Paige took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind as she steered the minivan out into rush-hour traffic.

At least, she reminded herself, the first and most difficult encounter was over. And now that Austin knew about her, he’d no doubt be every bit as careful to avoid another runin as Paige intended to be.

Her cell phone rang, and she took advantage of a red light to dig it out of her leather tote bag.

Sabrina said, “When are you going to be leaving Austin’s apartment?”

“I’m headed for home right now. Why?”

“Can you stop by Caleb’s house? It’s practically on your way.”

“My mother will be expecting me.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Sabrina wheedled. “That’s all. I picked up your bridesmaid’s dress from the shop this afternoon, because I figured if you were ever going to have time to try it on, it wouldn’t be during regular business hours.”

Paige tried to smother a sigh. Right now, with every inch of her body still smarting from Austin’s words, she didn’t want to face either of her partners. She just wanted to go home and…

Not face your mother, she finished. A few minutes’ respite from Eileen McDermott’s all-observant gaze would be a blessing. In comparison, Sabrina—perceptive as she could be—was downright oblivious. “Sure. I’ll be there in a few minutes if traffic cooperates.”

“Great. I want to talk to you about something, anyway.” Sabrina sounded almost somber.

Paige forgot her own troubles. “It’s not Caleb, is it? I mean, you haven’t had a fight?”

“Too many to count. It’s our favorite pastime.” The bounce was back in Sabrina’s tone. “But nothing serious. It’s my mother that’s the problem.”

“Again?”

“Are you sure you don’t mean still? I’ll tell you when you get here.”

When Paige parked her van in front of Caleb Tanner’s three-story Georgian house, Sabrina opened the door to greet her and while she waited for Paige to come up the walk, idly began picking off fragments of loose paint from the siding next to the entrance.

“It’ll be a mansion again someday,” Paige said as she climbed the crumbling concrete steps. “With your taste and Caleb’s money, anything’s possible.”

“It’s just too bad I can’t buy enough good weather to work on the exterior in the winter.” Sabrina led Paige upstairs to a newly decorated guest room and pulled a garment bag from the closet. “Conversation later,” she decreed. “Let’s get the important stuff out of the way first.”

The dress she displayed was raspberry silk, in an Edwardian style which even included a tiny bustle. It was one of the most beautiful—and impractical—things Paige had ever seen. “Gorgeous,” she said as she turned to the mirror, hands holding the neckline in place while Sabrina started to deal with the long row of buttons up the back of the gown. “But don’t tell me Cassie’s enthusiastic about this color. With that red hair of hers—”

“She’s wearing periwinkle blue, but it’s styled the same.” Sabrina sounded abstracted.

Paige watched her for a moment. “So tell me what your mother’s up to.”

“She invited my cousin and a friend I haven’t seen in at least ten years to be bridesmaids.”

“How thoughtful of her.”

“Wasn’t it, though? And that’s not the worst of it. She invited them before she bothered to tell me. The first I knew of it was when the old friend called this afternoon to tell me how excited she was about being in my wedding and to ask where she should pick up her dress.”

“So what are you going to do? Look around for a couple more ushers to keep the numbers even?”

Sabrina shook her head. “I can’t add more bridesmaids, even if I wanted to. Caleb is edgy enough at the very idea of having a formal wedding. I don’t dare suggest making an even bigger production out of it. Two bridesmaids, two ushers—that’s his absolute limit.”

“Then if you’re wondering whether I’d mind stepping aside for a substitute in order to keep the peace—”

Paige ran a hand over the sleek heavy silk as she thought about Sabrina’s truce with the parents who had once disowned her. It was, she thought, too new and too fragile to risk. And even if Sabrina’s mother had veered over the line from helpful to managing…well, she was still Sabrina’s mother, after all.

Paige half turned to face her friend and went on, “Surely you know you don’t have to ask, Sabrina. I wouldn’t be offended, and I’m sure Cassie feels the same. And it wouldn’t be too late to have the dresses altered if—”

Sabrina’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t dream of asking anything of the sort! You and Cassie are my best friends—if the two of you weren’t standing beside me through the ceremony, I wouldn’t even feel married.”

“It’s nice to be appreciated,” Paige said lightly, but she felt a tremor deep inside. How lucky she was to have friends like this. “So what are you going to do? Tell them there’s been a mix-up, and talk to your mother?”

“You think I haven’t already? Their feelings were hurt, and Mother cried and said she was only trying to help.” Sabrina sighed. “I’m just afraid of what this desire to be helpful will make her do next.” A knock at the door made Sabrina break off, and she went to open it.

Paige turned back and forth in front of the long mirror, admiring the play of light and shadow against the distinct weave of the fabric, only half hearing the murmur of the butler’s voice at the door.

Sabrina came back to the mirror, her eyes alight. “Now that’s downright lucky,” she said. “That I called you over here tonight, I mean. Austin’s in town—you must have just missed him at his apartment.”

“Actually,” Paige began.

“He’s downstairs right now, in fact—he stopped by to say hello. It’s so sweet of him, I think, to make a courtesy call on his first night in town. Hurry and change out of that dress so you can come down and meet him.”

“Sabrina, I—” Paige’s throat seemed to swell shut.

“On second thought, don’t change.” Sabrina grabbed her arm. “Come down just as you are.”

Paige said flatly, “I can’t.”

“Why not? You mean, the dress? It only matters that Caleb not see my wedding gown before the ceremony, you know. The bridesmaids’ dresses don’t count. Come on, Paige—oh, I didn’t get nearly all the buttons fastened, did I? Here, turn around and let me finish.”

Paige didn’t move. “Why are you so anxious for me to meet Austin? And why right now?”

Sabrina’s eyes sparkled. “You think I’m trying to fix you up, don’t you?” She chuckled. “Darling, I’ve known you for more than two years, and I’ve learned the lesson well. I would never dare try to organize anything which even faintly resembled a date for you.”

“That all sounds good,” Paige said suspiciously, “but—”

“I just think you should get to know Austin. If Rent-A-Wife is going to keep on taking care of Tanner Electronics’ employees, it wouldn’t hurt a bit for all three of us to be on speaking terms with the new CEO.”

Paige bit her lip. She could hardly argue with that. And it was a little late to start explaining that she’d gone well past speaking terms with Austin Weaver, all the way to ferocious argument and accusation, earlier this very afternoon—to say nothing of sharing the whole history of her relationship with Austin Weaver while the man himself was waiting just downstairs…

“All right,” she said finally. “I’ll come down. But I’ll have to get into my own clothes first. I can’t walk around wearing this elegant dress and my everyday loafers.” And I’ll take my own sweet time about changing, Paige told herself. With any luck, Sabrina would mention that Paige was upstairs, and Austin would set a speed record for the door.

“On second thought,” Sabrina murmured, “if you’re trying to look your best for him, Paige, perhaps I should try to organize a date!”

But Paige’s luck was cold indeed. Either Sabrina hadn’t commented about the friend who’d be coming down in a few minutes, or Austin had seen no acceptable way to excuse himself, for when Paige came down the stairs she could hear the murmur of several voices in the living room. Among them she had no trouble picking out the low, rich tones of Austin’s voice and the high notes of Jennifer’s.

Though why, Paige asked herself, should she leap to the conclusion that he’d be uncomfortable enough to run just because she happened to be on the scene?

You’d better get over the idea that you’re anything more than incidental to him, she told herself. And the sooner, the better.

As the man had said himself this afternoon, he had gone on with his life—and straight on, at that, barely even pausing over the little matter of a divorce. Jennifer’s childish soprano ought to be reminder enough of that; even if Paige had once been the most important thing in Austin Weaver’s life—which seemed increasingly doubtful, from the evidence at hand—she had long since ceased to be significant.

Just as he was no longer significant to her. She’d made a mistake earlier in the day, allowing herself to put too much importance on the past, allowing herself to become shrill over something which didn’t matter at all anymore. Now that she’d realized her error, she could be every bit as indifferent to Austin as he was to her.

She paused in the doorway, taking in the scene at a glance. Austin was seated on the couch, with his back to her and his daughter nestled up against his side.

Knowing she could still walk away, Paige had to force herself to step into the living room.

Sabrina passed a cup to Austin and asked, “You’ve already been to the apartment, of course? How do you like it?”

“It’s very nice. I understand Jennifer has you to thank for the fact that her room looks exactly like the one she had in Atlanta.”

“Does it?” Sabrina asked earnestly. “I hoped it would. All the photos you faxed helped, of course.”

“But there aren’t any right-sized hooks,” Jennifer said earnestly. “My size, I mean.”

Sabrina frowned. “Oh, dear. I didn’t even think of that. It must be because I don’t have any little girls of my own.”

“I wanted to ask about making the apartment a little more child-friendly,” Austin said, “with lower closet rods and coat hooks and shelves that she can reach. Is that the sort of thing Rent-A-Wife does?”

“All the time.” As Sabrina settled back with her own coffee cup, her gaze lighted on Paige in the doorway, and she said with a twinkle, “But that kind of job would be Paige’s department. Both Cassie and I are hopeless with hammers and drills and screwdrivers, you see. Come on in, Paige, so I can introduce you.”

Austin looked over his shoulder, set his cup down, and got to his feet. His expression was bland, Paige saw, showing no recognition, no irritation—and no surprise. He was obviously waiting for her cue, she realized.

She came forward, hand outstretched. Sabrina was watching them fondly, Paige saw, like a matchmaking mama. Annoyed, Paige said under her breath, “Sometimes I wonder what you are good at, Sabrina Saunders!”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sabrina said brightly. “Human relations are my specialty.”

Before she could go on, Jennifer bounced onto her knees on the couch, leaned over the back toward Paige, and said cheerfully, “Hello. I’ve forgotten your name, wasn’t that silly?”

Paige saw Sabrina’s eyebrows soar.

“Do you know what?” the child went on engagingly. “Daddy told me I probably wouldn’t see you again.”

Paige thought she saw a flicker of annoyance cross Austin’s face.

Jennifer’s announcement was interesting, Paige thought, in several ways. Because the child had taken her father’s statement seriously enough to repeat. Because he’d said it in the first place. Because it so obviously indicated that he intended to avoid Paige. And most of all, because he was clearly put out at his daughter for bringing the matter up.

“Again?” Sabrina asked.

“We’ve already met,” Paige said. She tried to make it sound casual. “I was just leaving the apartment this evening when Mr. Weaver and Jennifer arrived.” She offered a hand to the child. “Will you shake hands? I wouldn’t dream of patting you on the head, you see.”

Jennifer giggled. “She tried again when we were leaving to come over here. It’s because my daddy is—”

“Very tired from a long drive,” Austin said smoothly. “And it’s time for us to go. Thank Ms. Saunders again for your room, Jennifer.”

“It’s nice,” the child said dutifully. “I didn’t want to leave my other one, you know, because my mother planned it all for me before she died.”

I don’t have a forwarding address, Austin had said. Paige had thought he was simply being irreverent. Only in retrospect did she hear pain under the flippant words.

Paige closed her eyes and heard in her brain the echo of every catty comment she’d made in that short conversation with him this afternoon. The relationship obviously wasn’t successful…. People do crazy things after a divorce…. Your bad choices aren’t my responsibility…. At least I learned my lesson….

Her head ached at the memory of every one of those statements—all unfounded, all judgmental, all wrong. Dead wrong.

Why had she never even considered the possibility that Jennifer’s mother had died? Why had she so blithely assumed that relationship, too, must have ended in divorce?

Because, Paige accused herself, he divorced you—and you wanted to believe that he couldn’t commit himself to another woman any more than he could to you.

She’d been determined to believe him incapable of forming a lasting bond with any woman. Even though she’d been faced with the fact that he’d devoted himself to his daughter—evidence that he was capable of loyalty—Paige had chosen to consider it unimportant. She’d told herself that to a man, his own little girl was a whole lot different than an adult woman.

She tried to catch his eye, but Austin had focused all his attention on Sabrina, sparing only a nod to Paige before turning toward the door.

“It’s time for me to be going, too,” Paige heard herself say.

Austin paused, a hesitation so brief and so quickly masked that she found herself wondering if she’d imagined it. But as he held the door for her, she saw a speculative glimmer in his eyes.

She didn’t know if she was more annoyed with herself for making a probably rash move, or with him for reading unwarranted meaning into it.

“I do hope I haven’t left you with a wrong impression,” she said tartly as they stepped off the concrete porch and onto the uneven gravel of the driveway. “I certainly wouldn’t want to put myself in the same category as the super at Aspen Towers, coming up with one reason after another to cling to you. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For assuming…” She realized too late that she had an extra—and very interested—listener, and tried to be oblique for the sake of the eavesdropping child. “It never occurred to me…I mean, that it might not have been divorce. Why didn’t you bother to correct me, Austin?”

Austin shrugged. “I suppose because it didn’t matter.”

He obviously wasn’t saying that his wife’s death didn’t matter. So, since it was perfectly clear what he was thinking, Paige told herself irritably, he might as well have just come straight out and said it. Because it doesn’t matter what you think of me.

She felt awkward. “Of course not,” she said quietly.

“As long as…I mean, before it comes up again…perhaps we should talk about how to deal with the past.”

“Our shared past, you mean? Don’t you think it’s a bit late for that? You seem to have made your choice already this evening when you referred to me as Mr. Weaver.”

“Oh. I suppose so, yes.” She paused beside her van, fumbling with her keys. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

Austin walked on toward the Jaguar parked just behind her van, then turned to face her once more. “I don’t suppose it’s any of my business,” he said finally, “but why haven’t you told them? Your partners, at least?”

Paige didn’t look at him. “Because it wasn’t important for them to know.”

“Really?” He opened the back door of the car for Jennifer and closed it behind her. “That’s very interesting.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Just this.” He took a few steps toward her and leaned against the front fender of his car, arms folded across his chest. “If the fact that we were once married isn’t important, Paige, then why on earth are you choosing to make a state secret of it?”

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN Paige came in the back door of the little bungalow, pausing to hang the minivan’s keys on the hook in the entryway, her mother was in the kitchen, stirring a saucepan of soup on the range.

The flickering light of a muted television set reflected off the chrome frame of Eileen’s wheelchair as she turned to face her daughter. “You were in such a hurry to take out the garbage this morning, Paige, that you forgot and left the milk on the top shelf of the refrigerator again. You know I can’t reach all the way up there to get it.”

Hello, darling. Did you have a good day? You look worried.

I am, Mother. Austin Weaver showed up in my life again. You remember Austin? The man I thought I loved?

Paige smothered a twinge of regret at the thought of a conversation that would probably never happen. It was hard sometimes for her to remember the woman Eileen had once been, before the debilitating effects of her illness had made her so negative, so hard to please.

“I’m sorry to have caused you the inconvenience, Mother.” Of course, Paige thought, considering the state of mind she’d been in this morning—knowing she would be spending the day among Austin’s possessions and in Austin’s new home—it was a wonder she hadn’t put the garbage in the refrigerator and the milk on the curb.

“Because of your thoughtlessness, I had to eat my cereal dry.”

“I’m sure Linda next door would have been happy to help.”

“You know how much I hate asking for favors from anyone.” Eileen cleared her throat and went on with a determined note in her voice. “At any rate, it’s done now, and there’s no point in dwelling on it. You were obviously too eager to get away from here even to notice what you were doing. I can’t help wondering, though, what you had on your mind this morning that was so important to you.”

So much more important than I am. She didn’t say it, but the hint was apparent in Eileen’s tone.

Paige picked up a stack of pink message slips from the desk in the corner of the kitchen. “I knew it was going to be a busy day, that’s all.”

“It must have been. You’re quite late.”

“I stopped to try on my dress for Sabrina’s wedding.” Eileen shook her head. “I wish you weren’t going to be part of that circus.”

“She’s one of my two best friends in the world, Mother. And despite the sheer number of guests who’ll be attending, she’s planning a simple and very tasteful wedding. There will be no elephants, no lion-tamers, no cotton candy, and no sequined top hats—I promise.”

Elaine sniffed. “I notice you didn’t bring the dress home. Does that mean you don’t want me to see it till it’s too late to object?”

“No, it just means I forgot it.” Paige flipped through the bits of paper. Most were requests from Rent-A-Wife clients for errands to be run or small jobs to be completed. There shouldn’t be anything urgent in this stack; if someone had called with a time-critical job, Eileen would have passed on the message to one of the partners immediately.

Eileen’s gaze sharpened. “Forgot it? I suppose she chose it at that lingerie place she likes so well. No doubt you’d be better covered in a swimsuit.”

Paige began sorting the messages into stacks. “Thanks for taking such good care of the phone calls today, Mom.”

Eileen shrugged. “What else do I have to occupy myself these days? That pest called again this afternoon.”

“Which pest? Do you mean we’re getting prank calls?”

“I suppose you could call it that. I’m talking about Ben Orcutt. The message he left is in there somewhere.”

“I suppose his dishes need washing again.” Paige sighed. “Sometimes I wish he hadn’t taken Sabrina seriously when she suggested that if he called us more often instead of letting the mess pile up to the ceiling, he’d have visitors on a regular basis.”

“Lately,” Eileen sniffed, “he seems to want visitors about three times a week. It would have been more useful, you know, if Sabrina had taught the man to wash his own dishes—but I don’t suppose she’s practical enough to think of that. You could certainly do without him as a client, now that you have plenty of others.”

“Even if she’d given him lessons, Mother, he’d still be a client. He would just have to come up with another excuse to call. He’s lonely, that’s all.”

Eileen sniffed. “Most men are incapable of amusing themselves. To say nothing of actually seeing and taking care of what needs to be done. Your father, for example—”

With the ease of long practice, Paige sidetracked the conversation. “I can’t quite read this sentence. The message from Carol Forbes—what kind of paper does she want me to pick up? Wallpaper?”

“No—an issue of the Denver Post that had an article about her nephew.”

“Oh, that’s right. I see the date now. If you wouldn’t mind, Mother, we could use a hand with the phones again tomorrow. Cassie’s going to try to decorate Christmas trees for four clients tomorrow, and I have to work on arrangements for the staff holiday party at Tanner.” She set the message slips aside.

Eileen shrugged. “I certainly don’t have anything better to do these days, while I’m sitting at home and waiting for you.”

Paige reminded herself that just because her mother handed her a ticket didn’t mean she had to take the guilt trip. “I thought perhaps you and I could go out this weekend to choose our tree.”

Eileen shrugged. “Not a lot point in having one. I don’t care much about Christmas, anyway, and you’re so tired of the holiday by the time it arrives that the whole thing is more effort than it’s worth.”

Paige took a long breath. “It’s still Christmas,” she said firmly. “We have to do something to celebrate.”

“Go through the motions, you mean.” Eileen stirred the soup again. “Or are you feeling a little sentimental?”

“Christmas used to be my favorite holiday.”

“I know,” Eileen said dryly. “Back in the old days. You surely aren’t thinking about trying to patch things together with Austin, are you, now that he’s in town?”

Paige spun around, and her sleeve caught the stack of message slips and sent them whirling into a blizzard of pink snow. “How did you know—” She caught herself, but it was too late.

Eileen looked pleased at the reaction. “I saw a story on the business channel about his new job. You weren’t even going to tell me he’d come back to Denver, were you?”

Paige said stiffly, “I didn’t think you’d be particularly interested.”

“How could I not be interested in the man who used my daughter and then tossed her aside? You’re not having any foolish ideas, are you?”

“About wanting him back? Of course not.”

“That’s good,” Eileen said with satisfaction. “Because, of course, it can’t be done. And if, instead of rose-colored romantic notions, you’re really cherishing any feeble ideas of taking revenge for the way he treated you—well, I don’t think you could possibly pull that off, either.”

Her mother’s blithe assumption that she would fail—that she wasn’t attractive enough, feminine enough, or smart enough to succeed—acted on Paige almost like a challenge. So she couldn’t possibly win Austin back, could she? And she couldn’t possibly figure out a way to get even with him for dumping her? Or, best of all, to accomplish both things at the same time?

Paige was half tempted to take on the dare, not to put Austin in his place but simply to prove that her mother was wrong about her.

Except, of course, she reminded herself, that it would be such a childish thing to do.

Austin had only been inside the offices of Tanner Electronics once before, and that had been just a walk-through to get the lay of the land in order to help him decide whether he wanted to take the job. On that visit Caleb Tanner had been beside him all the while. It was time, he thought, to get a real sense of the people and the business and the surroundings, with no one interpreting or interfering.

So when Austin came into the big glassed-in atrium lobby at the front of the building shortly after lunchtime, he deliberately didn’t head directly for the executive wing. He strolled up and down the halls instead, peeking into office cubicles and conference rooms, studying computer screens and listening to discussions.

Tanner was a young firm, small and intimate and suffering from growing pains. That much Austin had known before he’d ever considered associating himself with the business, and it was part of what he’d found so attractive about Caleb Tanner’s offer. The challenge of grooming a new company beyond financial success into a position of status intrigued him.

By the time he eventually arrived at Caleb Tanner’s corner office, however, Austin found himself frowning. There was no secretary in the outer room—there hadn’t been on the day he visited, either, Austin recalled—so he strolled over to the open door of the inner office and knocked softly.

Caleb’s back was to the door; he was leaning over the once-gleaming surface of his teak desk, where a no-longer-identifiable electronic device lay in a million pieces, and he was whistling softly as he studied the bits. He turned at Austin’s tap, looking startled. “I didn’t expect you till Monday,” he said, stretching out a hand in warm welcome.

“I got Jennifer enrolled in school this morning, and since she wanted to stay and get started, I thought I might as well come in for a few hours and begin to get acclimated.”

“Sabrina said you’d stopped by last night, but I thought you’d take the rest of the week to settle in.”

“I intended to,” Austin said. “But there’s not much settling left to be done. Your Rent-A-Wife team did wonders.”

“Not mine,” Caleb said. “Or, at least, not all mine. I suppose I have to take responsibility for Sabrina, terrifying as the idea is, since I’m marrying her in a couple of weeks. But the other two—”

“An interesting business,” Austin said. “Rent-A-Wife, I mean. I wonder what inspired it.”

“It was Paige’s idea, I guess. You’ve met Paige?”

Austin nodded. He wondered what Caleb would say if he told him exactly how long—and how well—he’d known Paige. But he’d closed that door behind him last night. She had made a misleading statement—not a lie, exactly, but a good long way from the whole truth—and by not correcting it then and there, he had in a sense promised that he would continue to be silent.

Besides, he told himself, perhaps that approach was the best one, anyway. Their marriage had been so brief as to be almost nonexistent, and it was so far in the past that dragging it up now would create nothing more than shock value.

“She wanted a more flexible job,” Caleb said, “to allow her to take care of her sick mother, so she started up the firm and then the other two partners signed on a few months later. So what do you think of Tanner now that you’re on board? The first thing, I guess, is to get an office set up for you. I intended to move out over the weekend so this fancy desk would be waiting for you Monday morning, but you beat me to it.”

Austin couldn’t see the whole surface because of the electronic gadgetry scattered over it, but the part he could see was covered with deep scratches. The desk, he thought, was teak, and it had once been a showpiece. Now it looked more like a workbench. “Thanks, but I wouldn’t want to put the chairman of the board out of the space you’ve grown accustomed to. There are a couple of rooms down the hall that will do fine for me. I’d rather be just a little off the beaten path, anyway—I get more work done that way.”

Caleb grinned. “My point exactly. This corner of the building is like dead center of the target, and I’ve been looking forward to getting out of it. I’ll just move out my personal stuff and leave everything else, and you can settle right in to the executive suite and get to work.”

On the contrary, Austin thought; moving Caleb out looked like a fairly big job. There were boxes, books and papers—to say nothing of electronic bits and pieces—scattered everywhere in the big room. And the physical clutter might not be the worst of the debris that Caleb had collected, Austin suspected. If the employee who was supposed to occupy the outer office was as inefficient as it appeared, he or she wasn’t likely to be a success at working for Austin. “I’d rather hire my own secretary, Caleb,” he said firmly. “Fresh start, new loyalties, all that stuff.”

Caleb frowned. “What are you talking about? Oh, you thought I was leaving mine for you? I’ve never had one.”

At least, Austin thought, that explained why the outer office was always empty. “I see. Well, even hiring a secretary isn’t the first thing on my list. Security is.”

Caleb’s eyebrows rose. “You mean things like new locks and guards around the building?”

“And some other measures, as well. If you aren’t suffering a leakage of information, it’s only a matter of time.”

“My people are loyal.”

“That’s beside the point, when a stranger can loiter in the hallway till an office is left empty and then go look at the specs still blinking on the computer screen.”

“Industrial spies, you mean? What makes you think they could get by with that kind of behavior?”

“Because I did.” Austin’s tone was uncompromising. “I’ve been here for a couple of hours already, walking the halls, and no one challenged me or even asked where I was headed.”

Caleb shrugged. “Maybe everyone recognized you and knew you belonged here now.”

“I think it’s more likely they didn’t even notice me.” A flash of movement in the outer office caught his eye, and with sudden suspicion Austin leaped up to check it out. If that room was supposed to be empty, who was listening at the door?

He burst into the outer room and pulled up short at the sight of Paige standing at the desk, arranging a plate where the blotter ought to be.

“What are you doing?” The question came out more sharply than Austin had intended.

“My job,” she said crisply. “I’m delivering Caleb’s weekly order of cookies. I’d have brought the plate into his office because he prefers to have them while they’re still warm, but I heard voices inside so I didn’t interrupt.” Her gaze flicked over him without apparent interest. “You’re not wasting any time getting into the part, are you, Austin?”

“What do you mean?”

“Acting bossy. It didn’t even occur to me that you’d have taken over Caleb’s office quite this fast—but if that’s the case, you will tell me where to take the cookies, won’t you?”

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