He gave her a light, quick kiss

“That’s what I wanted to do last night, but you were too busy,” Nick said.

“Yes, I was.” But Maggie wasn’t busy now. Now they were on exactly the same page, and the book was about to get very interesting.

He must have been able to read that in her eyes, because his next kiss was different. He still leaned up against the wall, with only his mouth on hers, yet she heated up as though his body was pressed against hers.

“So what were you doing last night that was more important than this?"

Maggie opened her eyes and tried to focus. “It’s a secret.”

Nick withdrew a little and gave her one of his intense looks.

She snagged the front of his shirt with both hands and pulled him back in. “It’s a good secret. When the time is right, I’ll tell you all about it.”

He seemed to relax a little. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Then I’ll just have to be patient, won’t I?”

Dear Reader,

People often want to know how I come up with ideas for my stories, and for the first time I don’t have an answer to that question. All I can tell you is that one day I sat at the computer and Nick and Maggie were clamoring for me to tell their story. Looking back, I suspect Maggie was working a little of her magic on me, the same way she does on the people of Collingwood Station…and on that one special man in her life.

Like Maggie, I’m sure we all want the best for the people we love. But how do we achieve the delicate balance between letting them make their own way in life and trying to share the load with them? At what point does helping become meddling? And what if stepping back will make a bad situation worse? Not easy questions to answer, but one thing is certain. When one person leaps without looking and the other has both feet firmly planted on the ground, we can expect a few laughs and the occasional disaster along the way.

I hope you have as much fun reading this book as I had writing it. Please drop by www.leemckenzie.com for a glass of Maggie’s ice-cold lemonade and a warm chocolate chip cookie. Collingwood Station will always have a special place in my heart and I hope you’ll visit again when my second book set in Collingwood Station, With This Ring, comes out in December 2007.

Lee McKenzie

The Man for Maggie
Lee McKenzie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

For my family

Thanks for believing

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

From the time she was ten years old and read Anne of Green Gables and Little Women, Lee McKenzie knew she wanted to be a writer, just like Anne and Jo. In the intervening years she has written everything from advertising copy to an honors thesis in paleontology, but becoming a four-time Golden Heart finalist and a Harlequin author are among her proudest accomplishments. Lee and her artist/teacher husband live on an island along Canada’s west coast, and she loves to spend time with two of her best friends—her grown-up children.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

Nick Durrance looked at the run-down two-and-a-half-story house and double-checked the address he’d scrawled on a scrap of paper. He’d been surprised—okay, astounded—when his answering service told him that Maggie Meadowcroft wanted an estimate on a remodeling job. Collingwood Station was small enough that there could only be one Miss Meadowcroft. She had been his high-school English teacher, although it had never occurred to him at the time that she had a first name. She’d been positively ancient then, and that had been ten years ago.

Hers was the only house on the block that hadn’t been renovated and it definitely needed work. Paint. A new roof. Here’s hoping old Miss Meadowcroft had a nice bank account, because he really needed this job.

He pushed the gate open and lunged for it after it swung askew on one hinge. The house also needed new front steps, although to his surprise they held his weight. All but the second step, which looked too risky to chance.

The doorbell had an Out of Order sign taped over it. He added new wiring to the long list forming in his head and knocked on the wooden frame of the screen door.

“Come in!” The voice that beckoned from the back of the house had a husky, musical quality that was utterly feminine and startlingly young. Nothing at all like the Miss Meadowcroft he remembered.

“Wait’ll you try this,” the voice said. “You’ll love it!”

Definitely not Miss Meadowcroft. He gave in to curiosity, pulled the screen door open and stepped inside. The hallway was filled with antiques, many of them much older than the home’s owner. He’d have expected the place to be a little on the musty side but instead the air was strangely…fruit-flavored?

“Come on in!” she called again.

The scent of strawberries and that fascinating voice enticed him down the hall to the kitchen. The voice that had conjured up a sultry, mysterious woman actually belonged to a slender redhead who sat at the kitchen table, gazing into a mirror propped against a canister. She was scraping some kind of creamy pink stuff out of a blender with a spatula and smearing it all over her face.

She dumped the spatula back in the blender, spread the stuff around with her fingers and spoke without looking up. “I finally got it right. You will not believe how good this feels.”

She popped the tip of one finger between a pair of very luscious-looking lips. “It even tastes—” She glanced up then. “Oh! You’re not Allison.”

He watched her grab for the nearest kitchen implement and smiled when she ended up arming herself with a wooden spoon.

“Who are you?” she asked. “How did you get in here?”

“Nick Durrance. Through the front door. It wasn’t locked and you did say I should come in.”

“I thought you were Allison.”

“I think we’ve already established that I’m not.”

She glared at him and he chided himself for being a smart-ass. Let’s face it. Most women would be surprised to look up and find a six-foot-four construction worker standing in their kitchen.

She pointed her weapon at him. “Allison lives next door. I called her to come over and test my new rejuvenating pore-cleansing facial mask. She’ll be here any minute.”

The corners of his mouth twitched and he had to cover them with his thumb and forefinger to make them behave. He understood she was startled but she looked perfectly ridiculous. A pencil protruded from the untidy bundle of dark red hair piled on top of her head and almond-shaped brown eyes gazed suspiciously from two circles in the pink stuff she’d smeared on her face. What man in his right mind would attack a woman who looked like this?

“Listen. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He took a step forward, and she jumped to her feet and jabbed the wooden spoon in his direction.

“Watch it, mister. I’ve taken self-defense classes.”

He found that difficult to believe. From the neck up, she looked like a cross between Wilma Flintstone and Lucille Ball on a bad-everything day, but from the neck down…whoa! Even faded denim shorts, a purple tie-dyed T-shirt and a string of pearls couldn’t disguise a body that just wouldn’t…

Wait a minute. Pearls? Who wore pearls anymore? Even his mother had abandoned hers for the kind of bling that Hollywood types wore these days. Apparently pearls were passé. Maybe too reminiscent of the dutiful wife who greeted her husband at the door at the end of the day with a sweet smile and a whiskey sour.

One thing was for sure. This woman was no June Cleaver. If the state of the kitchen was anything to go by, she’d created her rejuvenating cream from yogurt and an assortment of fruit that she’d whipped up in a blender, resulting in the fruit salad scent that had drawn him down the hallway. That, and the voice that felt like the hot-rock massage he’d once experienced at the hands of an even hotter little masseuse whose fear of commitment matched his own. Not that he’d wanted her to commit. He’d wanted her to pay for the work he’d done for her. She’d had other ideas.

“I’m sure your friend is eager to have her grocery store facial but I’m here to see Miss Meadowcroft, so if you could—”

“I’m Miss Meadowcroft.” She still stared at him warily but lowered the spoon a few notches.

“Are you?” This time he let the corners of his mouth have their way. “Then I have to tell you, that miracle product of yours really seems to work. You look much younger than the last time I saw you.”

She laughed at that. Not the contrived halfhearted giggle that masqueraded as laughter in so many women. Hers was deep and exuberant and it flowed over him like honey on warm toast.

“I’m her niece,” she said. “Her great-niece, actually. Miss Maggie Meadowcroft, makeover specialist.”

“I see. Is Miss Meadowcroft—retired high-school English teacher and tormentor of teenage boys—here?”

She went serious. “You were one of Aunt Margaret’s students? She did have a way of always making you want to try harder, didn’t she? To do better.”

That was one way to put it. “I wasn’t one of her ‘do better’ students, but apparently she wants to renovate this place, and that’s something I can do.” Although Shakespeare was still way beyond him, he’d like to show Miss Margaret Meadowcroft that he was good at something.

Maggie tipped her head to one side and looked him up and down, taking her time about it. “I’ll bet you’re a Capricorn. Determined, distrustful, a little on the cynical side.”

“So I’ve been told. It takes most people longer to figure it out though.”

She smiled again. “I knew it. I have a kind of sixth sense about these things.”

Give me a break. “Listen, is your aunt—” Some of the yogurty goop dripped off her chin and plopped onto the worn linoleum.

She laughed again. “Oops! I’m dribbling.”

He grabbed a towel off the back of a kitchen chair and tossed it to her.

“Thanks. I’ll go wash this stuff off.” She flung the wooden spoon onto the table and dashed out, holding the towel under her chin.

She was back in less than two minutes and all Nick could do was stare. Why would anyone cover such a beautiful face with…food?

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No. No, everything’s fine. I should probably talk to your aunt though.”

Her eyes went moist. “Aunt Margaret died six months ago.”

Add clueless to his list of Capricornian flaws. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

She grabbed a tissue out of a box on the table and wiped her eyes. “It was a heart attack—quick as could be, the doctor said. She didn’t suffer at all. I still miss her like crazy but she’s in a happy place now so I try not to feel badly for her.”

A “happy place”? How was he supposed to respond to that? She talked as though she had some kind of inside information.

She brightened a little. “She left everything to me. That’s pretty wonderful, don’t you think?”

Wonderful for his bank balance. “So, you want to renovate this place?”

“Yes. Lucky for me she left enough money for me to fix up the house and start my business.”

Lucky. So why was his conscience niggling at him? “It’s going to need a lot of work. I think it should be rewired and it definitely needs a new roof. You know, you could always sell it and buy yourself a nice condo.”

“A condo?”

He might as well have suggested she cut off an arm.

“I don’t think you understand,” she said. “I don’t just want to live here. I’m going to open a day spa and do natural makeovers. It’ll be called Inner Beauty.” She smiled up him. “‘Making the most of what you’ve got, naturally.’ That’s my advertising slogan. What do you think?”

“Catchy.”

“I thought so, too! Most spas just work on the person’s external appearance but I do makeovers from the inside out. If a person feels good about themselves, then they’re naturally beautiful. You know what I mean?”

He didn’t have a clue.

“Everyone’s always said I have a way with people. Even Aunt Margaret thought so.” She waved a hand around the kitchen. “This will be my workspace where I’ll create all my beauty products.” She ran a hand over her cheek. “Like my rejuvenating pore-cleansing facial mask. It works like a dream. Feel.”

She wanted him to touch her? No way.

“Go ahead.” She took his hand and guided it to her face. “Amazing, huh?”

Their gazes locked and for a few seconds, maybe longer, he couldn’t answer. Amazing indeed.

She leaned closer. “Would you like to try some?” She smelled like strawberries and cream.

He snatched his hand out of hers and stepped back. “No. Thanks. I think we better stick to business.”

Her smile suggested she could see right through him. “I’ll also need to use the kitchen for making meals because I plan to live upstairs. There are three bedrooms so I’ll have lots of space. Come on, I’ll show you.”

He followed her down the short hallway.

“The spa will be here, in the living room and dining room. I’ll need a divider or something to make a change room. I want to put a massage table over there and lots of plants. Over here I’ll have one of those chairs that can be raised and lowered and a big mirror. I want to keep the fireplace, of course, and these wonderful old light fixtures, and most of the antiques and…”

She paused and he thought it was to catch her breath until he saw that her eyes had filled with tears. Aw, jeez. He wasn’t good with weepy women. He grabbed a box of tissues off a side table and handed it to her.

“Thanks.” She dried her eyes and gave her nose a healthy blow. “I’ve only been here for a week and all this stuff still makes me kind of emotional.” She took a deep breath. “I was going to say that I want to keep the photographs on this wall. Family is so important, don’t you think?”

How to answer that? Truthfully, or tell her what she wanted to hear? But then she was talking again, so it didn’t matter what he thought.

“I love looking at these old portraits. That’s Aunt Margaret and my grandfather. They were brother and sister. My grandparents died ten years ago, three weeks apart. Don’t you think that’s romantic? Grandma went first, then poor Grandpa died of a broken heart.”

Nick bet that’s not what the death certificate said.

“My father died in a car accident on my sixteenth birthday. Since then, it’s just been me and my mother. And Aunt Margaret, of course. My mother still lives in Greenwich Village. You know, in New York.”

Yes, even a small-town guy from Connecticut knew about Greenwich Village, and finding out that’s where she came from was no surprise.

“I love the city but now that Aunt Margaret’s gone and this house is mine, I can finally open my spa. So you see, I can’t possibly sell it.”

Right. And he now had way too much information. Never mind that the people of Collingwood Station would look down their aristocratic noses at someone doing natural makeovers. She could always sell the place and go back to the city after this crazy business scheme failed. “So, about the renovations. Do you just want the interior refinished? What about the roof and the wiring?”

The look she gave him was wide-eyed and innocent. “Since you’re a former student of Aunt Margaret’s, I’m sure I can trust you. If she thinks you’re the wrong person for the job, she’ll give me a sign.”

A sign? From old Miss Meadowcroft? For a few seconds he had a strange feeling that a bolt of lightening was about to strike him. Dead aunts didn’t have that kind of power, did they? Oh, man. He must be losing it. “Tell you what. I’ll come by first thing tomorrow, do a full inspection and give you a quote for everything that needs to be done. You can look it over and decide if you’d like to hire me and what you want me to do.”

Best to leave the dear old aunt out of the equation. Back in high school, he’d been a bad student with a bad attitude and an even badder GPA. The Miss Meadowcroft who’d made his high-school career a living hell wouldn’t have trusted him anywhere near her home. And who could blame her? But she was now among the dearly departed and he did not believe in signs from above or beyond or wherever. Business was business.

“Tomorrow will be perfect. What time—”

The screen door squeaked open, taking them both by surprise.

“Hello-o? Sorry it took me so long to get here.”

The voice was too real to belong to a spirit. It sounded more like…

No. No way.

Allison Peters. Or Allison Fontaine, if she was using her husband’s name. It hadn’t occurred to him that this was the Allison that Maggie had been talking about, since it was hard to imagine two people who had less in common.

“What did I tell you?” Maggie asked. “This is my friend Allison.”

Go figure. Who would have guessed Allison would befriend someone who wore tie-dye?

Nick watched Maggie embrace the woman from his distant past and hoped the past didn’t come back to haunt him.

“I’d like you to meet Nick Durrance,” she said. “He’s a contractor and we’ve been talking about renovating the house.”

For a minute it looked as though Allison might go along with the introduction and pretend she didn’t know him. Then she seemed to decide against it. Probably just as well, since it wouldn’t take long for Maggie and her sixth sense—with the help of the local gossips—to figure out the truth.

“Nick and I already know each other,” Allison said, although she didn’t seem to want to look at him. “Sorry I’m late. I waited until John came home from the office so he could stay with the kids.”

“How do you two know each other?” Maggie asked.

Nick cleared his throat.

Allison shot him a quick glance and looked away. God, he couldn’t believe she was blushing. After all these years…

Maggie grinned. “Ah, I see. Does John know about this?”

“How is John?” he asked, since he was pretty sure Allison would want to avoid Maggie’s question.

“Very well, thank you. The kids are fine, too. Oh, and—” she hiked up her chin “—John’s just made senior partner, but I’m sure your sister told you.”

“I guess she forgot to mention it.” Which wasn’t exactly true. She hadn’t mentioned it because she never talked to him, and Allison damned well knew it. “I’m glad you managed to get your lawyer, after all.”

“John is a great husband. And father.”

“Congratulate him for me.”

She eyed him suspiciously.

“On making senior partner.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Maggie, he could see, was watching the exchange with a lot more interest than the situation merited. After all, he and Allison were ancient history. Prehistoric ancient history. She’d spent their senior year trying to make him into someone he wasn’t. When it hadn’t worked, she’d gone off to college and by Christmastime that year, she and John Fontaine were engaged.

He took a card out of the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to Maggie. “I’ll let you ladies get on with your makeovers. I’ll be back in the morning to start on that estimate. Meanwhile, if you think of anything else, Miss Meadowcroft, give me a call.”

He headed for the front door, uncomfortably aware of two pairs of eyes on his back.

Chapter Two

The finest-looking rear end Maggie Meadowcroft had ever seen had just walked out the front door and she hadn’t done anything to stop it.

Stop him.

Right. As if a man like him would ever be interested in a woman like her. Besides, he’d be back in the morning to give this old house a good going-over. She finally had the place and the money to make her dream come true—and now she had the world’s sexiest contractor to help her do it! She couldn’t wait to find out more about him, so it was a lucky thing Allison had shown up when she did. Who would know more than an ex-girlfriend?

“It’s great that you could come over,” Maggie said. “I know how busy you are with the kids and everything.”

“Don’t be silly. That conditioner you gave me the other day is incredible. My hair has never felt softer.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Why was everyone always so amazed that natural products were, well, more natural?

Natural or not, Allison looked fabulous. How the woman did it, Maggie would never know. She took care of that big house, her husband and two kids and she always looked liked a cover model. Never a hair out of place. Beautiful clothes. Make that beautiful, expensive clothes.

Maggie would always remember her mother’s reaction when she’d admired a dress in the window of an exclusive shop on the Upper East Side. “Designer clothes will make anyone look good, Maggie, but they don’t change how a person feels about herself. That’s something that comes from the heart.”

She fingered the string of pearls around her neck. Her mother was a wise woman. “Come on into the kitchen,” she said to Allison. “I’m dying to have you try my new mask. It’s pure heaven.”

She seated Allison at the kitchen table and draped a plastic cape over her shoulders. It was one thing to spill this stuff on herself, but ruining Allison’s silk shirt would not be good. “So,” she said, trying to sound casual, “Nick Durrance is a friend of yours?”

“Not anymore. We dated in high school. Of course, at the time I was convinced he was ‘the one.’ I did my best to help him get his life on track but some men just can’t be changed.”

“Hmm. There’s no doubt he’d make an interesting project,” Maggie said, as much to herself as to Allison. She brushed Allison’s hair away from her face and clipped it in place.

“Trust me. Nick is way beyond help. His mother and his sister—even his grandmother—have all tried. God knows, I did. He breaks the heart of every woman who tries to reform him.”

Silly women, Maggie thought. That wasn’t the kind of project she had in mind. “Are you wearing makeup?” she asked.

Allison shook her head. “On the phone you said you wanted to try out a mask, so I thought I should take it off. I can’t imagine what Nick must have thought, seeing me like this.”

That you look as beautiful as ever? “So, tell me about you and Nick,” she said instead.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Allison said a little too quickly.

“Does John know you dated him?”

“Of course. We all went to high school together.”

“I see.” What would Nick have been like back then?

Oh!

Aunt Margaret had a whole collection of Collingwood High School yearbooks upstairs. “When did you graduate?” she asked casually, applying an even layer of the strawberry mask to Allison’s forehead.

“It seems like so long ago. We just had our ten-year reunion. Of course, Nick didn’t bother to show up.”

Interesting. That meant he was about four years older than she was. She smoothed the mask over the rest of Allison’s face.

“What’s this stuff made of?” Allison asked. “It smells good enough to eat.”

“Well, it is edible. I really believe that what we put on our bodies is as important as what we put in them.”

Maggie set the container in the sink and filled it with water. To be totally effective, the mask should stay on for fifteen minutes. She set the timer for ten. She could hardly wait to get Allison out of here so she could go upstairs to find that yearbook.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked.

“I’m fine.”

“These kitchen chairs are pretty unforgiving. I’ll have one of those nice adjustable, reclining chairs in the spa.”

Allison smiled. “How did you come up with this idea?”

“I’m not sure, exactly.” She climbed onto a stool and hooked her heels on the top rung. “I’ve wanted to do this for as long as I can remember but I couldn’t afford to rent a shop in New York.”

“Did you live there all your life?”

Maggie nodded. “Yes, my whole life. My mother lives in the Village. My father was a musician and she is a…” How would Allison react to the truth? Only one way to find out. “She does readings.”

“Oh. You mean, she’s a writer? A poet?” Allison actually sounded interested.

Maggie shook her head. “She’s a clairvoyant.”

Silence. “I see,” she said finally.

Maggie very much doubted she did, since she couldn’t imagine Allison ever consulting one. “She’s very good. She even helped the N.Y.P.D. solve a missing persons case.”

Allison perked up a little. “Oh, now that is amazing. I’ve heard about people who can do that. I’d love to meet her sometime.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will. Gabriella hates leaving the city but now that I’m living here, she’s bound to visit once in a while.” But try as she might, she couldn’t imagine her outlandish mother and her straitlaced neighbor having anything in common. “Tell me more about you and Nick…and John, of course…when you were in high school.”

But apparently Allison didn’t want to reminisce. “Are you really going to hire him to renovate this place?” she asked.

“Would it cause problems for you and John if he’s working here?”

“Not at all. Don’t be silly.”

But Maggie saw the color creep up Allison’s neck. “I like Nick,” she said. “He seems to know a lot about renovating old houses, but he wants to give me an estimate before I make a decision.”

Allison’s eyes widened. “I should hope so. Don’t let him take advantage of you.”

What a strange thing for her to say. “I’m a very good judge of character and I can’t see him doing that.”

Pencil-thin eyebrows arched beneath the pink mask.

“It’s true,” Maggie said. “I can tell he’s honest, but for some reason he’s not happy.” And although he was about as good-looking as a guy could be, he didn’t seem to have a lot of confidence when it came to women. In spite of her track record with men, she’d like to think she could fix that. “You know, I envy you.”

“Me? Why?” But Allison did not sound surprised.

“You’ve been in love twice. Well, twice that I know of.”

“Are you saying you’re interested in Nick?”

“No! I just met him. All I’m saying that being in love twice, first with Nick and then with John…do you know how lucky that is?”

Allison suddenly seemed preoccupied with the cuticle of one perfectly manicured nail. “Are you saying you’ve never fallen in love?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve fallen in love, but I’ve never been in love with anyone.”

Allison looked up at her. “There’s a difference?”

“Of course. I’ve fallen in love twice. Three times if you count sixth grade, but I don’t. I’m pretty sure I was too young. But I fell seriously in love when I was a senior, with a boy who didn’t even know I was alive.” Her insides startled her by contracting unexpectedly. Nick reminded her of that boy. Jeremy… Hmm. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten his name.

“And the second time?”

“The second time was when I moved into my own apartment and became friends with the guy across the hall.”

“But?”

“Just when I started to think he might fall in love with me, a woman named Debbie moved into the apartment down the hall. Six months later he asked her to marry him. So although I’ve fallen in love, I’ve never been in love with someone who loved me back.”

“That’s an interesting distinction. I’ve never thought of it that way.”

Yeah, well, Allison had probably had dozens of boys—and men—fall in love with her, so the odds were that she was bound to love some of them back.

Maggie sighed. “Someone fell in love with me once, in high school. He was so sweet and I did everything in my power to fall in love with him, but nothing worked. I even begged my mother to cast one of her spells on us, but she said a love spell would only work if love was destined to be. In my case, she was sure it wasn’t, and, of course, she was right.”

“Your mother does love spells?”

Watch what you say around these people, Maggie.

Aunt Margaret? Is that you?

Allison was watching her, waiting for an answer.

Now that she’d blurted the stuff about love spells, she couldn’t think of a way out of it. “Yes, she does. But apparently there’s nothing she can do to help me. I have a habit of falling in love with the wrong men. Not bad men—” she hastened to add “—just men who don’t fall in love with women like me.”

“And what kind of woman are you, Maggie Meadowcroft?”

“Me?”

Watch what you say around these people.

“Well, let’s see. I have a tendency to leap before I look. I always have good intentions, but sometimes I rush into things and they don’t always turn out the way I planned.”

There, that sounded safe enough.

“You’ll fall in love someday, Maggie, and when it happens, it will have been worth the wait. But—” she studied her cuticle some more “—just a word of advice. You mentioned falling for the wrong ones. Nick’s one of them.”

Maggie jumped down from the stool and started to clear things off the kitchen table. “I’m sure you’re right.” She wanted to say, “Give me a little credit.” She might be impulsive, but she always learned from experience. Nick Durrance was definitely one of the many, many men who would never fall in love with her.

But she could be curious, couldn’t she?

She decided to change the subject. “Nick said Aunt Margaret was his English teacher. Were you in her class, too?”

Allison seemed to relax a little. “Yes. And trust me, she could have told you stories about Nick Durrance.”

“Really?” Note to self. Find out what Aunt Margaret thinks of him now.

“Miss Meadowcroft loved Shakespeare,” Allison said. “Of course, you probably know that.”

“Yes. Hamlet was her favorite. Whenever she suspected I was up to something, she’d say ‘Maggie Meadowcroft, something’s rotten in the state of Denmark.’ It was years before I understood what that meant. I used to imagine Denmark filled with piles of rotting garbage. Kind of like New York one summer when the garbage collectors were on strike.”

Allison gave her an odd look. “I doubt that Nick ever tried to figure out Shakespeare. He spent more time in detention than in English class. Or any class, for that matter.”

That opinion seemed grossly unfair. Shakespeare wasn’t for everyone. Just like not everyone could renovate a house. “He must have been good at something.”

“Nick was very charming in those days and he didn’t take anything, or anyone, seriously. Not even himself. From what his sister tells me, that hasn’t changed.”

Everyone had strengths and positive traits. Maggie couldn’t tell if Allison had ignored her point, or if she just didn’t get it. She decided to try a different line of questioning. “You mentioned his family. What are they like?”

“You haven’t heard of the Durrance family?”

“Hmm. No, I don’t think so.”

“I thought you used to spend summers up here with your aunt.”

“I did, but she wasn’t into…” Gossip. “Um, she made a point of not talking about her students.”

“That makes sense. Nick’s father was a judge and so was his grandfather. Everybody assumed Nick would go into law, too. He was at the top of the class when we were freshman, then overnight everything changed.”

“How strange. What do you think happened?”

Allison shrugged. “Well, his father died. It was totally unexpected, but still, most people get over things like that. But it seemed to turn Nick into a different person and he never got back to normal.”

Hello? A young, teenage boy lost his father and everyone expected him to just “get over it”? Maggie had only been a little older when her father died. She’d missed him like crazy, but on another level, he’d still been there with her and her mother. That was when she’d first become aware that she had what Aunt Margaret called “the gift.”

“Maybe he really missed his father,” she said.

“Anything’s possible, but according to Leslie, Judge Durrance was a workaholic. He devoted himself to his career and other than having high expectations of her and Nick, he pretty much ignored them.”

“Who’s Leslie?”

“Nick’s sister.”

“I see,” Maggie said, glancing at the timer. Only a few more minutes. “How does your skin feel?”

“Great. How long does this stay on?”

“Just another minute or two. So, is Leslie older or younger than Nick?”

“A year younger. She’s an attorney, just like everyone expected her to be. Probably her mother’s influence. Lydia Durrance—Nick’s mother—is an amazing woman. She has a beautiful home and she puts on the most incredible garden parties you’ve ever been to.”

Except that Maggie had never been to one. The Village was well-known for its parties, but they weren’t the garden variety.

Allison was still gushing. “On top of that, she does a lot for the community. There’s even a charity named after her.”

“Really? She sounds formidable.”

Allison laughed. “She is, in a way.”

And yet you’d give almost anything to be her, Maggie thought. Interesting.

The timer buzzed. “All right, then. Let’s take this off.” She gently washed the mask off Allison’s face and patted her skin dry. “What do you think?”

Allison ran both hands along the sides of her face. “Amazing. I don’t know how you do this with just the stuff in your kitchen.”

“Chemical-based products dry your skin and then you need more chemicals to make it moist again. Natural ingredients are all about pampering yourself.”

“When you first told me about this idea of yours, I didn’t think it would work. Now I can’t wait for your spa to open. Will you let me be the first customer?”

Maggie walked her neighbor to the front door. “Sure. Any chance you might tell your friends about it, too?”

Allison smiled one of her rare smiles. “You know, I’m tempted to keep you all to myself.”

Maggie laughed. “Then you’d better plan to give me a lot of business!”

Allison gave her an unexpected hug. “I’m glad you moved into your aunt’s house, Maggie. Miss Meadowcroft was a nice neighbor, but I think I’m really going to like having you here.”

Maggie hugged her back. “What a sweet thing to say. Thank you.”

“I’d better get home. John will be wondering what’s happened to me and the kids are probably driving him crazy.”

“Tell him I said hello.” Maggie gently closed the door, then bolted up the stairs to find those yearbooks.

NICK CRACKED OPEN a beer and tossed a frozen dinner into the microwave. After punching a few numbers on the keypad, he leaned against the counter and took a swig from the bottle.

Images of Maggie Meadowcroft and the sound of her silky-smooth voice kept drifting through his mind. She was one intriguing woman. Damned attractive—for all the obvious reasons, of course—and he’d swear she didn’t have a pretentious bone in her body. In spite of the pearls.

He tried to picture his mother and sister at a place that served up skin-care products made of yogurt and mayonnaise.

Nope. Couldn’t do it.

Nothing but the best for the Durrance women, and everyone knew the best came with a hefty price tag and a designer label. Maggie, on the other hand, wanted to sink her inheritance into converting an old house into a day spa.

What had she called it? Inner Beauty?

Actually he kind of liked the sound of that. It suggested that she intended to work with what a person already had instead of trying to make them into something they weren’t. Admirable intentions but not much of a business plan. Especially not for this town, where people like his mother and sister were the rule rather than the exception.

The microwave pinged just as he finished his beer. He grabbed another from the fridge, fished around in the cutlery drawer for a fork and opened the microwave. Using a dish towel as a pot holder, he slid his dinner out and dumped it on the counter before the heat completely pierced the towel.

He shoved the newspaper and three days’ worth of mail to the side, pulled the cellophane cover off his dinner and inhaled. Man, he really needed to learn how to cook.

Maggie seemed pretty handy in the kitchen.

But thinking about Maggie was not good. Especially since it looked as though she was about to become a client.

He jabbed the remote, thinking the news or even a sitcom rerun would be preferable to thinking about one very sassy little makeover specialist. Five minutes and twenty channels later, he was still thinking about her. He’d also finished his dinner and was halfway through his second beer. Maybe he should take a look at the mail.

Phone bill.

Credit card application.

Something addressed to “Occupant.” He tossed that one straight into the trash.

An ivory vellum envelope. His mother’s trademark stationery, addressed in his sister’s handwriting. He stared at it, trying to figure out what Leslie might have sent him.

An invitation to someone’s birthday? No. His grandmother’s birthday was in the fall. So was Leslie’s. His mother had just had hers and if there’d been a celebration, he hadn’t been invited. He’d sent flowers, though, and a week later had received a stilted thank-you note—in an envelope exactly like this one.

So what could this be? He picked up the envelope, turned it over and studied the flap.

What the hell? Go for it.

It was an invitation to his sister’s wedding. He sure couldn’t have predicted that.

The inner envelope was addressed to “Nick and Escort.” Great. They expected him to subject someone to a Durrance family function. On the bright side, they didn’t want him to be in the wedding party. And if he worked at it, maybe he could come up with an excuse not to go at all.

He read the card. Leslie was to marry Gerald Bedford III. The third in a succession of stuffed shirts. Nick had only seen them together twice and that was all it had taken to know this was not a match made in heaven. It was, however, the blending of two prominent Collingwood Station families. The wedding would be some shindig and it was taking place three weeks from Saturday. For a moment he speculated on the need to hold a wedding on such short notice. Surely his sister wasn’t having a shotgun wedding.

Nah.

Leslie was too cautious and too smart to let anything like that happen.

He slid the invitation under a magnet on the fridge door and snagged another beer while he was there. That’s when he noticed the light flashing on the answering machine.

Three messages.

One from a subcontractor.

One from Leslie, sweetly asking if he’d received the invitation, saying how much she looked forward to having him there on her special day and apologizing for the short notice but it was the only time she and Gerald could clear their calendars and the only time the country club was available and blah, blah, blah.

Poor Leslie. She was too much like their mother for her own good, except she didn’t nag as much. Maybe if he’d been around more after their father died, she wouldn’t have been so influenced by the family matriarch.

The third message was from the matriarch herself, asking him to inform her, at his earliest convenience, as to the name of his date so she could finalize the seating plan and place cards.

Jeez, Mother. Would you like that in triplicate?

He punched the Delete button.

He stared a minute at the unopened beer in his hand and decided to put it back in the fridge. He’d promised Maggie he’d be there first thing in the morning and he wanted to have a clear head.

He unfolded the newspaper and flipped it open. What he needed was a distraction. A good story about an armed robbery. He turned the page. Murder and mayhem. Another page. The daily horoscope. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t resist scanning the list until he came to Capricorn.

Your life will take a surprising turn today. Whether it’s business or personal, roll with the punches and you’ll reap the rewards. And if you go the extra mile, there could even be a happily-ever-after in your future.

Roll with the punches? Reap the rewards? Who writes this stuff? Come to think of it, though, there had been a few surprises.

Maggie Meadowcroft.

Allison Peters Fontaine.

Leslie’s wedding.

As for rolling with the punches, he’d been doing that all his life. But happily-ever-after? Maggie had been the day’s only prospect. She was new in town so she wouldn’t have heard the mostly unfounded rumors about his bachelor lifestyle. But she also believed in the zodiac and in getting signs from dead people, so in spite of the crazy attraction he’d felt for her, Maggie Meadowcroft was not the woman for him.

So much for horoscopes.

MAGGIE SPRAWLED on the floor of her aunt’s guest room with four of Collingwood High’s yearbooks spread open in front of her. Nick’s freshman photograph had made her laugh. He had a bad haircut, a Star Wars T-shirt and a shaky smile. Over the next few years, an interesting transformation had taken place and by his senior year, Nick Durrance was no laughing matter.

He had probably been the high-school crush of every girl at Collingwood High. He would have been the boy they wanted to go to senior prom with and he definitely would have been the boy their fathers wanted them to stay away from.

Allison Fontaine had been Allison Peters in those days. The girl with movie-star hair and a perfect smile. The girl every other girl wanted to be. Their senior write-ups said that Allison’s favorite pastime was “taming Nick.” Nick’s was “breaking hearts.”

According to what Allison had said that afternoon, some things never changed. Except the part about her taming Nick, of course. The whole world could see that Allison and John were happily married and very much in love, with a gracious home and two adorable children. They had everything they wanted. And Maggie doubted that John had ever needed taming.

She leaned in for a closer look at Nick. Aunt Margaret’s pearls swung forward and she caught them, liking the feel of their smooth coolness between her fingers.

At some point, the sci-fi fan who’d played trombone in the school band had been replaced by a rebel without a cause. If what she’d seen today was anything to go by, the defiance in those dark blue eyes had intensified with time. What had happened during Nick’s high-school years? Had his father’s death been solely responsible for the transformation?

She looked at Allison’s picture again. Maggie hadn’t been cool enough or pretty enough to be a cheerleader or prom queen like Allison but that hadn’t stopped her from having a wild crush on the hottest guy in school. At the time she’d have given anything to have her heart broken by him. That hadn’t happened and if she was careful, it wouldn’t happen with Nick, either.

Her family had always told her that she had a gift for being able to see inside people and to bring out the best in them. Sometimes it was frightening. People kept some scary stuff hidden inside. Maybe… Now, there was an interesting thought… Maybe she could help Nick.

Hmm.

“What do you think, Aunt Margaret?”

She waited for an answer, but either her aunt had no comment or she was preoccupied with something else.

Maggie pondered the thought some more and before she knew it, all kinds of ideas were tumbling through her head. Helping Nick discover himself and bringing out all his positive traits was definitely something she could do. Once she got to know his family—and since this was such a small town, their paths were bound to cross—she’d have even more insight into what was keeping him from being happy.

Yes, her plan sounded better and better the more she thought about it.

Nick Durrance, tortured soul. In need of help.

Maggie Meadowcroft, makeover specialist. To the rescue.

Chapter Three

The next morning Maggie was up at dawn, trying to organize her ideas into a coherent state. Nick had said he’d be here “first thing” to work out an estimate for the renovations. They hadn’t had the best introduction yesterday. He’d made it clear that he thought she was a flake, and he certainly wasn’t the first. She knew her ideas seemed a little strange to some people, but she was more sensible than most gave her credit for being. Really, she was.

She usually didn’t care what people thought but she wanted to convince Nick that she knew what she was doing. She needed him to trust her because, whether he knew it or not, they had a lot in common. He didn’t conform to others’ expectations any better than she did.

He was a Capricorn. She was a Gemini.

Of course, he was a little more down-to-earth and practical. She could be impulsive, even a little rash at times.

While he was absolutely gorgeous, she wasn’t exactly the kind of woman who turned heads. Men like Nick were never interested in women like her. The boys in high school had preferred girls like Allison, and it was something they didn’t overcome with age. Of course, Nick didn’t need to be attracted to her for this makeover to work, but it would help if he liked her.

Or at least trusted her.

A little.

Since yesterday afternoon she’d spent way too much time thinking about him. Studying his yearbook pictures had taken her back to her own high-school days, pining over Jeremy What’s-his-name and settling for being Albert “Einstein” Fedoruk’s prom date. Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with poor Albert? He was now a NASA scientist, which was way more amazing than anything anyone else from her graduating class had done. She had no idea what had become of Jeremy but she hoped he was happier than Nick.

Last night she’d fallen asleep with Nick Durrance on her mind and he’d still been there when she woke up this morning. In between, she’d had one of those dreams that was made up of a collage of bizarre events. Jeremy inviting her to the prom, Albert working on the renovations and a shadowy, ever-present Nick Durrance watching from the sidelines.

She wasn’t even going to try to analyze that. Instead she poured herself a second cup of peppermint tea and thought ahead to the renovations.

Once it was fixed up, this stately old home that had been in her family for three generations would give tons of credibility to her and her business. At least she hoped it would. She’d been in town almost a week and had the impression that the prim and proper people of Collingwood Station thought she was a little odd, even for a city girl. Of course, they didn’t know the half of it, so she still needed all the credibility she could get.

Someone knocked at the front door.

Nick!

She’d kept the door locked on purpose so he’d have to wait until she opened it for him. There’d be no surprises this morning. She smoothed her hair and opened the door.

Okay, maybe just one surprise.

Nick stood on the front porch with a giant schoolboy grin on his face and a huge basket of fruit in his arms.

“Good morning,” she said. “I see you packed a lunch.”

His laugh sounded a little nervous. “I guess it’s a housewarming gift. I stopped at Donaldson’s Deli for coffee and this was sitting on the counter. I figured you can always eat what you don’t use for makeup, or whatever.”

A huge pineapple sat in the middle of the basket, surrounded by peaches, kiwis, strawberries, oranges, a mango, even a passion fruit, all wrapped up in cellophane and tied with a giant purple bow.

The tears that puddled on her lower eyelids made everything go blurry.

“You’re not going to cry again, are you?”

She shook her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Yesterday, after she’d become emotional about her aunt, he’d almost certainly left thinking she was a bit of a nutcase. This morning she’d been determined to show him that she could be a conventional businesswoman with a well-thought-out business plan, and here she was getting emotional over a basket of fruit.

He finally broke the awkward silence. “It’s all organic.”

“How did you know I use organic ingredients?”

“Just a hunch.”

She finally remembered her manners. “Please come in. And thank you. This is very thoughtful.”

He stepped inside, letting the screen door bang shut behind him. He looked exactly the same as he had yesterday—white T-shirt, faded jeans and scuffed work boots. Today he also had a clipboard tucked under his arm and a tape measure hooked on his belt.

She took the basket from him. “I’ll just put this in the kitchen.” Then she walked down the hallway, thinking how good Nick was going to look in a tool belt, all rugged and work-manlike.

You’re crazy, she told herself. All construction workers wear tool belts and Nick will look just like any other man on a construction site.

Not.

That’s beside the point, she told herself. You have to be professional.

She took a deep cleansing breath, closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind by picturing herself in a field of wildflowers.

It didn’t work.

Nick stood in the midst of all those flowers, still wearing the blue jeans and tool belt, but the T-shirt was gone. The contours of his bare chest and work-hardened biceps glistened with perspiration.

Her eyes popped open. No way, Maggie Meadowcroft. This has to stop. She absolutely could not let herself imagine Nick in that field, or anywhere else, wearing any less clothing.

No matter how much she wanted to.

She closed her eyes again. Okay, maybe one little peek.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Her eyes flew open.

Nick stood in the doorway, holding her sketches and looking a little puzzled about finding her standing in a trance in the middle of the kitchen.

A wave of heat flashed across her face. So much for being professional. “You weren’t interrupting anything,” she said. “I was just thinking.”

“I see.”

He didn’t say that he wondered what she’d been thinking about. He didn’t have to.

“You have sketches. They’re very good,” he said. “Did you draw them?”

“The sketches? Oh, yes. I wanted to, you know, to get an idea of what should go where and how everything will look when it’s finished and…” For heaven’s sake, Maggie. Stop babbling.

If he thought she was out of her mind, he was too nice to let on. “These are very good drawings.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Maybe you should have been an architect.”

Maggie Meadowcroft, Architect? “I don’t think so. Too many rules and regulations and building codes.”

“You don’t like rules?”

“Rules are fine but I’m not always very good at following them.”

His mouth spread into a wry smile. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“So you think you’ve already got me figured out?” she asked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. But take yesterday, for example. You were wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt and pearls.” His eyes now held a spark of mischief. “When everyone knows the rules of fashion dictate that rubies should be worn with tie-dye.”

She did like a man with a sense of humor. “And how do you know so much about these things?”

The flash of humor disappeared and a hint of the bitterness she’d detected yesterday crept back into his voice. “My mother has single-handedly ensured the success of the jewelry industry.”

Interesting. “Those were Aunt Margaret’s pearls that I was wearing. I’ve never had any real jewelry so I wanted to know how it felt to wear them.”

“And? How did they make you feel?”

She remembered exactly how she’d felt. “Like a princess. There’s something elegant and understated about pearls.”

“But you’re not wearing them this morning.”

“No. They don’t go with faded denim, either.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Princesses must wear blue jeans sometimes.”

She tried to strike a regal pose. “Of course we do, but we prefer to wear diamonds with denim.”

“I see. I’ll remember that.”

And she had a feeling he would. She also liked the way his smile made her feel a little light-headed. It sure made it difficult to be professional though. “You must be very busy, running a big construction company and all. Maybe we should talk about the work that has to be done on the house.”

“Sure thing.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked. “It’s herbal.”

He shook his head. “No, thanks. Do you have any coffee?”

“Sorry.” But she made a mental note to buy some and figure out how to make it.

He studied the two sketches in his hand and glanced at the others spread on the kitchen table. “You’ve drawn quite a few different floor plans. Is there one you prefer?”

“Yes. Actually, I like the two you’re holding but I can’t make up my mind which layout will work best.”

“Why don’t you explain what you want and we’ll take it from there.”

She knew exactly what she wanted. His hands were strong and tanned and rough from work. After experimenting with several essential oils and plant extracts, she had found the perfect blend for softening the skin and relaxing tired muscles.

Would he think she was too forward if she suggested a hand massage?

She looked up, straight into those luscious dark eyes. Yes, he probably would.

Take it slow, Maggie, she chided herself. Once you’ve hired Nick, you’ll have all the time you need to get him to loosen up and reconnect with his feelings. “I was thinking I’d like to convert the living room into an area for doing hair and facials and set up a massage table in the dining room. What do you think?”

“You do massage?” he asked.

It was a loaded question. “Therapeutic massage. It helps people relax and improves the circulation.”

“Right.” He lowered his head and studied her drawings some more, almost as though he was seeing them for the first time.

“So what do you think?” she asked.

“About what?”

She pointed to the sketch. “About this arrangement?”

“Oh. Right. Well, it does create an open floor plan but it has a few drawbacks. Do you want a sink here?” he asked, pointing to a corner of the living room.

“Yes. I thought that would be the best place for it. Is that a problem?”

“Not really a problem. Just more expensive. The existing plumbing is at this side of the house.” He indicated the kitchen and bathroom. “It would be a lot easier to tie into that if we install the sink in the dining room.”

She hadn’t given that any thought but she could see it made sense. “Is there a big difference in cost?”

He named a figure and she sucked in a startled breath. “I see. My preference was to put the massage table in the living room, anyway, but with all those windows it’s not very private.”

He seemed to give that some thought. “We have some old stained-glass windows left over from our last renovation. The owner didn’t want them but they seemed too valuable to throw out so we put them in the warehouse. We might be able to make those work. Should give you lots of privacy and still let in plenty of light.”

“Really? I’d love that!” She sifted through a pile of papers till she found a folder of fabric swatches and color chips. “Do you remember what color they are?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t think it will matter. I plan to use lots of neutral shades—cream and beige with lots of natural wood. And I’ll use purple for the accent color. What do you think?”

“I just paint. I don’t interior decorate,” he told her. “You’ll have to get someone else’s opinion on colors.”

“No problem. I’m pretty sure Allison will help. Her home is beautifully decorated.” Although, come to think of it, there wasn’t a speck of purple anywhere.

Nick sighed. It was a small sigh but still unmistakable. “Will she be spending a lot of time here?” he asked.

Maggie glanced up and looked straight into his eyes. She was usually so good at reading people but at that moment she had no idea what Nick needed to hear.

“Yes, some,” she said, cautiously feeling her way. “I don’t know her very well but she’s been very nice to me since I moved in. She’s busy though, with her kids and her husband and—”

“I wasn’t fishing for information. I was hoping you’d say yesterday was a one-shot deal and we’d never see her again.”

“Oh.”

He set the sketches on the table. “So what did Allison tell you about me?”

Maggie hadn’t expected him to be so direct. “Not much. Nothing at all, actually. We were busy trying out the new mask and, of course, she couldn’t stay long because she had to get home and make dinner for John and the kids and, well, we didn’t really have a chance to talk about you.” Shut up, Maggie. You’re babbling again.

Nick folded his arms across his chest and stared at her. “Yeah, right. So why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?”

“Okay, fine. She said she tried to reform you and that you broke her heart.” She’d always been a lousy liar. Unfortunately she also had a tendency to blurt the whole truth when only part of the truth was necessary.

He gave his head an exasperated shake. “My father was a lawyer and his father was a lawyer. My little sister is now a lawyer and everyone assumed I’d be a lawyer. Everyone. My parents, my grandmother, my sister. Allison.” He gave her a cynical smile. “Come to think of it, though, Miss Meadowcroft seemed to know I wasn’t destined for law school.”

That poor boy was never allowed to explore his real talents. It’s time someone gave him a chance, Maggie, my dear. Aunt Margaret’s insights were never a surprise but her unexpected presence caught Maggie off guard.

Most people believed the voices she heard were just her imagination but she knew they were real. Otherwise they wouldn’t always be right. “You’re good at what you do now, that’s what’s important. I’m sure your family is very proud of you.”

“My family is proud of its longstanding affiliation with this country’s justice system. They weren’t prepared for a son who made a living by using his hands instead of his head.”

Aunt Margaret was right.

And Nick’s makeover was about to begin.

By the time he finished renovating her house, she’d have him believing in himself. She picked up the folder of sketches and color samples, already feeling a smug sense of accomplishment. “Maybe we should get back to work.”

Two hours later they had measured and remeasured the rooms on the main floor and roughly sketched out a new floor plan. Nick went down to the basement to check the electrical panel and, finally, he listened patiently to her ideas for updating the bathroom.

“I want this room to be really special,” she said. “There’ll be a separate dressing room here, with a shower and a soaker tub at the far end.”

Nick was shaking his head. “Except for one problem. Your sketch isn’t to scale. The only soaker tub that’ll fit in here will be about the size of your kitchen sink.”

She looked at her drawing, then at the bathroom, then back at the drawing. Disappointment set in. “You see? This is why I can’t be an architect.”

He laughed. “What are your plans for the den?”

“I’d like to use it as an office.”

“If we move this wall, you’ll still have a small office and there’ll be enough space to do the bathroom reno the way you want it.”

“You can do that? Just move the wall?”

“Well, there’s a little more to it than that. We’ll actually have to tear out this wall and build a new one, but it’ll only take a day or two.”

He said it as though he had no idea how amazing that was. “Let’s do it! I only need enough room in the office for a desk and filing cabinet and I really, really, really want this bathroom.”

He glanced at his notes and her sketches and took a few more measurements. “I think that’s it. I’ll redraw these plans to scale and have the estimate ready by tomorrow afternoon.”

“When will you be able to start?”

“If you decide to go ahead, I can get some of the materials delivered this week and we should be able to begin on Monday.”

“Perfect.” She had complete confidence that he’d quote a fair price and she’d already made up her mind to hire him. After all, he needed her as much as she needed him. But it would look more professional if she waited till she saw the estimate before she offered him the job.

She gathered her papers and glanced up at the hall clock. The morning had flown by. Nick had patiently listened to all her ideas and made suggestions when he thought something else would work better. Such as his suggestion for expanding the bathroom. And best of all, he didn’t seem to think she was completely crazy for doing this.

“Would you like to stay for lunch? I have stuff for sandwiches and there’s lots of fruit for dessert.”

He glanced at his watch and at the notes on his clipboard and she fully expected him to say no. Then he looked at her and smiled that heartbreaker smile of his. “Sure. Why not?”

NICK RAN WATER into the ancient pedestal sink in the bathroom and picked up a bar of purple soap. Obviously one of Maggie’s creations. He sniffed it suspiciously. Too flowery for his liking but it was all he could find.

Staying for lunch was probably a bad idea, he thought as he dried his hands on a bright red towel. Mixing business with pleasure always seemed to land him in a tight spot.

On the other hand, why shouldn’t he stay? Maggie’s refreshingly off-the-wall conversation made him laugh, and God knew he didn’t usually do a lot of that. She was easy on the eyes and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had lunch with a beautiful woman who wasn’t trying to use her looks to get her hooks into him.

He’d also lost count of the number of women who thought he had access to the Durrance fortunes, and who quickly hit the road when they found he didn’t. Either Maggie didn’t care about the money or she didn’t know about it. For now, either option worked.

He found her standing at the kitchen counter, assembling two enormous sandwiches. “Can I help?”

“Sure. There’s a pitcher of lemonade in the fridge and glasses in the far cupboard.”

He grabbed the glasses and opened the fridge. One shelf was completely filled with labeled plastic containers.

Oatmeal Cleanser.

Banana-Honey Anti-Aging Mask.

Cream of Wheat Body Scrub.

Cream of Wheat? Oh, man. She really was something.

He closed the fridge door, his amusement tempered by pangs of guilt. Ten years ago this neighborhood had been filled with run-down old houses like this one. Thanks to the town council’s ambitious program to attract tourists, most of the houses had been restored to their original elegance. Many were still private residences but others had been converted into antique shops, art galleries and cafés. Renovating an old house in this posh neighborhood was a good investment but no matter how he looked at it, converting it into a food-based beauty parlor was the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

It’s none of your business, Durrance. She’s an adult and she can do whatever she wants with her money. He hated having anyone meddle in his life and he wasn’t about to meddle in anyone else’s. Although, he was curious how she thought she could make a living at this. And asking a few questions didn’t make him a busybody.

He poured the lemonade into the two glasses. “Have you ever heard of one these kinds of spas before? I mean, one that uses fruit and stuff to make…you know…stuff?”

“I’ve seen them in the city, but I knew Collingwood Station didn’t have one. That’s what makes it such a good idea.”

Interesting logic. “So you really think a natural spa will work here?”

“I’m sure of it,” she said, adding sliced tomatoes and carrot sticks to each plate. “Everyone likes to be pampered and to feel they’re doing something good for their bodies.”

“You’re probably right.” And if she wasn’t, well, it was no concern of his.

“Besides, I have a way with people. I think this town is a perfect place for the kind of makeovers I do.” She set the plates on the table.

After she sat, he took a seat and he raised his glass of lemonade. “Here’s to a prosperous business venture.”

She clinked her glass against his and smiled like Mona Lisa. “And to a successful makeover. I mean, renovation.”