Читать книгу That Marriageable Man! - Barbara Boswell, Barbara Boswell - Страница 8

Two

The moment Holly pulled her overpacked Chevy Cavalier into the driveway of 101 Deer Trail Lane, a young boy came running across the front yard to meet her.

“I’m Lion,” he announced as she climbed out of the car. “I live right next door.” He pointed his finger. “See, our places are connected. If me and my brother pound on the walls, you can hear us real good.”

He seemed pleased by this fact. Holly wondered, a little apprehensively, why and how often the brothers pounded on the adjoining walls.

“Me and Tony—that’s my brother—can do Morse code,” Lion continued, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Not only SOS, either. All the letters!”

“That must have taken a lot of practice,” Holly said politely.

“Yeah. We’ll teach you and then we can send messages. What’s your name?”

“Holly.”

“Can I call you that? Or are you Mrs. Somebody?”

“You can call me Holly. I’m not Mrs. Anybody.” How ironic. to be quizzed on her marital status moments after setting foot in her new neighborhood. Was this child an agent of her mother’s?

Holly smiled and tried to appear more enthusiastic than she currently felt. The exhaustion from the long drive was seeping through her, and the prospect of learning Morse code by pounding on her walls did not enchant her. She felt hungry, stiff, and more than a little frustrated that she wouldn’t be able to move in today as planned.

Lion brandished a golf club like a sword while he chattered on. Holly tried to listen, to respond to his many questions, but her head was still ringing with all the directions and suggestions provided by the friendly real estate agent, who had just given her the keys to her rented duplex town house... Along with the unwelcome news that the moving truck had been delayed and wouldn’t be arriving with her furniture and other household essentials until sometime tomorrow.

Hopefully, the truck would arrive tomorrow. The agent’s perky parting comment, “You know how it goes with moving, there aren’t any guaranteed timetables,” didn’t offer a whole lot of reassurance.

“Watch my chip shot!” exclaimed Lion, placing a golf ball on a wooden tee in the grass along the edge of the driveway.

Holly watched as he whacked the ball with surprising strength. As it sailed through the air, she noticed that an obstacle—her new home—stood directly in the ball’s path. Inevitably, a split second later the ball crashed through a window, shattering it.

“I hate it when that happens!” Lion sounded aggrieved. “How come glass always busts like that?”

Holly stared resignedly at the smashed window. “You have a powerful swing, Lion. But you really ought to practice your chip shots at a golf course or a driving range. In fact, it’s probably a good idea to practice all your shots there.”

“Yeah, that’s what Rafe says, too.” Lion sighed.

“Trent, I heard glass break.” A deep adult male voice sounded behind her.

Holly turned around to see a very tall, dark-haired man in jeans, moccasins, and a white T-shirt approaching them.

“Uh-oh. That’s Rafe.” The boy lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. “Would you tell him that you broke the window?” He shoved the golf club into Holly’s hand. “And can I go get my ball while you’re telling him?”

Rafe joined them before any escape could be attempted. He stared from the broken window, to the boy, and finally at Holly, holding the golf club in her hand. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” There was a wealth of subtext in his tone. “I’m Rafe Paradise.”

It struck Holly as strange that his name was Paradise while his cryptic “welcome to the neighborhood” sounded more like a warning heard at the gates of hell. Or maybe she was simply delirious from all the driving.

Nevertheless, she attempted to maintain conventional etiquette. “Thank you. I’m Holly Casale. Uh, from Michigan.”

“She loves golf!” Trent exclaimed winsomely. “Her chip shot is awesome!”

“Give me a break, Trent, I know you broke her window.” Rafe took the golf club from Holly’s hand. “Now, how are we going to arrange to pay for it?”

“You’re mad at me!” wailed Trent. “You hate me! You’re going to send me away, I just know it!” Howling at the top of his lungs, he raced down the street.

Holly was nonplussed. “Should you go after him? Is he running away?”

“No, he has nowhere else to go and he knows it. Trent’s mother would send him back if he tried to go to her place. Looks like he’s heading for the Steens’, who truly take the concept of neighborliness to the highest level.”

They both watched the boy run to the front door of one of the condos halfway down the block. The door was opened by a woman who greeted Trent with a smile and allowed him to enter.

“Yeah, the Steens.” Relieved, Rafe nodded his approval. “God bless them.” He shifted the golf club from one hand to the other. “I want Trent to accept responsibility for breaking your window. How about if he cuts your grass for the rest of the summer? Of course, I’ll assume the expense of replacing your window.”

“I’m confused about something.” Holly glanced up at him. He towered over her, something that rarely happened at her five-foot-eight height. But Rafe Paradise was at least six foot four, and he was definitely towering.

“You have a perfect right to be.” His dark eyes glinted. “Feel free to ask whatever question that needs answering.”

“The little boy called himself Lion. You call him Trent.”

“He’s been Lion for the past few months, since he decided to be a golf phenom like Tiger Woods. But his real name is Trent Krider. He’s my Little Brother.”

“Oh.” Holly was embarrassed to hear how astonished she sounded.

The astute Rafe Paradise reacted immediately. “Think capital letters. Trent is assigned to me by the Big Brother/Big Sister organization. Does that satisfactorily explain how a blond, blue-eyed child could be brothers with a half-breed Indian?”

Holly’s face turned scarlet. As if of their own volition, her eyes dropped to his well-worn moccasins.

Rafe noticed that, too. “They were handed down to me by my great-great-grandfather, Chief Lightning Bolt, who once ruled the Plains,” he drawled. “Being August, it’s too hot to wear my buffalo skins, but I keep them and my headdress in the wigwam out back.”

Holly was aghast. She had unwittingly insulted him and his proud ancestors!

“I—I never meant to imply...or...or...to—to disparage your Native American heritage in any way, Mr. Paradise. I apologize. I—I never intended to be so tactless and I am deeply sorry that—”

“All you said was ‘oh,”’ Rafe said dryly. “How was that tactless or disparaging?”

“I was nonverbally disrespectful,” Holly lamented, horrified by her lapse. She would not spare herself. “I—I looked at your moccasins.”

“Since when is that a crime?”

“Tone of voice, staring, or even silence can be offending and offensive,” Holly persisted frantically.

“I was just kidding, okay? Trying to make a joke, although judging by your reaction, I obviously didn’t succeed.”

Holly wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Look, I don’t feel offended.” Rafe shrugged.

“You are very understanding, Mr. Paradise.”

“It’s Rafe. We might as well dispense with formalities since we’ll be living next door—and my Little Brother has already started breaking your things.”

“Accidents happen.” Holly smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it.”

Rafe stared at her. Suddenly, incredibly, he felt as if fireworks were exploding in his head. That smile of hers affected him viscerally. He had to remind himself to breathe as a fierce jolt of sexual desire blasted through him.

Why? How? Rafe was astonished by his unexpected, involuntary response. He didn’t believe in the fairy tale of love at first sight; actually, he’d never even experienced a bona fide case of lust at first sight. Attraction, certainly. But to become firmly, achingly hard by simply looking at a woman he didn’t know? That had never happened to him before, not even when perusing certain magazines as a curious youth.

Yet he had attained that state right now by looking at the smiling, unsuspecting, and totally unaware Holly Casale. At thirty-two, his adolescence long past, it was disconcerting, not to mention humiliating, to experience a rush of sensual urgency—in public!

Rafe thought of Lorna Larson’s determined campaign to engage his attention on the plane earlier today. Nothing she had seductively implied, said or done had inspired even a sensual twinge in him. But here he stood in the driveway beside Holly—who had done nothing at all to try to turn him on—feeling his jeans become uncomfortably tight from his arousal. He hoped to heaven she didn’t notice.

She didn’t. It should have been a relief to see that she was staring rather bleakly at her car, jam-packed with possessions, the driver’s seat the only empty space within. Instead, Rafe felt irked. She was anticipating the tedious job of unloading her car while he burned with desire!

“Well, I guess I’ll start unpacking,” Holly said, walking toward her car. “Nice to meet you, Rafe.”

“Do you need help unloading your car?” Rafe trailed after her like Hot Dog following someone with a doughnut. His offer was an antidote as much as a wish to help out. There was nothing like prosaic physical labor to quash passion.

“I sure do!” Holly smiled again.

Rafe stopped in his tracks, his eyes riveted to her once more. To her slim figure with soft curves and long legs accentuated by tan shorts and a sky blue T-shirt tucked neatly inside the waistband of her shorts. Her complexion had an iridescent ivory glow and her hair, a rich brunette shade, was thick and curly and tumbled nearly to her shoulders. He gazed at her dainty features; her wide-set brown eyes and well-shaped generous mouth were particularly riveting.

And while he studied her, she was opening both doors of her car to more easily unpack it. Rafe shook his head. He wanted her, but she didn’t seem aware of him at all. What a stupid predicament !

Get your ego in check! Rafe commanded himself. For all he knew, Holly Casale was happily married with eyes for no other man but her husband. Which made his sharp sudden desire for her even more unseemly.

His lack of female companionship of late was finally taking its toll on him, Rafe decided grimly. When he began lusting after strangers and begrudging their lack of response, it was definitely time to resume dating, however daunting the logistics. He tried to remember where he’d put Lorna Larson’s business card. The trash compactor in the kitchen? The wastebasket in his bathroom?

“Trent says he lives here,” Holly said conversationally as she reached into the car for her canvas overnight bag.

“That’s right. His little brother Tony does, too.” Rafe watched the material of her shorts hug the sweetly rounded curve of her bottom as she bent to lean inside the car. His mouth went dry.

“Your Little Brother and his little brother both live with you? How did that happen?” Holly was curious. “I know it’s not usually the case in the Big and Little Brother program.”

Even her voice was sexy, Rafe thought dazedly, unable to tear his eyes away from her. Her soft husky tones managed to sound both soothing and stimulating, an unexpectedly arousing paradox.

He looked at her left hand clutching her bag, at her long elegant fingers, the rounded nails painted with pale pink polish. She was not wearing a wedding ring or an engagement ring. Rafe found himself fantasizing about her lovely, ringless hand doing all sorts of things...

He forgot what she’d asked him, what they were talking about.

“I was a Big Sister when I lived in Ann Arbor,” Holly continued chattily, grabbing a black bag with her other hand. “It was a nice break from the craziness and pressure of med school and my residency. My Little Sister, Stephanie, is all grown up now, but we plan to stay in touch.”

Rafe’s eyes darted to her black bag, the traditional physician’s bag. And she’d mentioned med school. His jaw dropped. “You’re a doctor?”

“And you’re incredulous that I am. Should I be insulted?”

“You look too young to be a doctor. And way too pretty,” Rafe said bluntly. He gathered a huge pile of clothing on hangers into his arms.

“These days everybody pretty much accepts the idea of women doctors,” she said dryly.

They walked side by side to the front door of her condo.

“I accept the idea of women doctors,” Rafe said in defense of himself. “What I said was that you looked too young and pretty to be one.”

Holly rolled her eyes. “That kind of pseudo-compliment is impossible to respond to.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, pseudo or otherwise, it was simply an observation. I have nothing against women doctors. In fact my little sister is in her third year of med school right here in Sioux Falls, and doing really well, too.”

“Does she look young? And pretty?”

“Touché, Doc.” Rafe conceded her point with a chuckle. “Yes, to both questions. Eva is young and pretty and very capable.”

Holly inserted her key in the lock and opened the front door.

Rafe followed her into the empty condo and glanced around. “It’s the mirror image of my place.” He thought of the gang inhabiting his half of the duplex, the kids, the dog. “But a lot neater. Certainly quieter.”

Holly set down her bags on the floor of the L-shaped living room and fixed her gaze upon one long wall. “That must be the adjoining wall Trent said he and his brother use to pound out messages in Morse code.”

“And you wondered why the real estate agent was so eager to give you such a great price on this place.”

He guffawed rather slyly, Holly thought. He was kidding again, right? “I’m renting, with an option to buy,” she hedged.

“So you have a safe out. A wise choice.” Rafe peered at her from around the mountain of clothes he was holding. “Where do you want me to put these?”

He watched her. She was all huge eyes and translucent skin and long, long legs. Much to his consternation, he remained in a state of acute arousal despite hauling a hundred pounds of clothing. But he obviously conjured up no sexual interest in her.

Rafe groaned.

Holly reacted at once. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Here I am rambling on, and you’re standing there with that cumbersome load.”

She’d completely misinterpreted his tortured groan. If she only knew! Rafe was tom between laughing and groaning once again.

He did neither.

“I guess the clothes should go upstairs in my bedroom.” Swiftly, Holly led the way up the narrow staircase to the largest of the three bedrooms.

On the other side of the inner wall was the wall of his own bedroom. Rafe tried not to think about how close—the proverbial so near yet so far—he would be to her when he was in his bed and she was in hers. Without waiting for further instruction, he dropped the hangers over the steel rod in the closet. The clothes swung wildly.

“Thank you so much,” exclaimed Holly. “I know how heavy those—”

“Don’t thank me yet. There’s still most of your car to unload. When does the rest of your stuff get here?”

“According to Mrs. Yoder, the agent who took the message from the moving company, hopefully tomorrow.”

Rafe rubbed his jaw. “Anytime I hear ‘hopefully’ I fear the worst. Expect that truck to show up sometime next month.”

“I thought the same thing. Fortunately, I brought some basic necessities with me in my car. Towels, clothes and shoes, some kitchen stuff. It won’t be so bad.”

“You do have a Pollyanna view of things.” He liked that, Rafe decided. It was a refreshing contrast to his own outlook that sometimes bordered on pessimism and gloom. Often bordered on pessimism and gloom, he conceded. “Never mind that you might not have a bed or a chair or even a plate to eat from, you’re all ready to heal the sick. What’s your branch of medicine? Are you joining an established practice or going solo?”

“I’ll be with the Widmark family practice. I start on Monday, so I have a few days to get settled in my house—if the truck arrives on schedule. I’m a psychiatrist,” she added.

“A shrink?” Rafe was taken aback.

Did shrinks have some kind of secret tricks of the trade to get people to confide their inner thoughts? The idea spooked him.

He looked less than thrilled, Holly noted. She was accustomed to some people’s uneasy reaction to her profession and strove to put him at ease. “Don’t worry, I don’t analyze every word of everyone I meet. I don’t go trolling for prospective patients, and I promise not to try to bulldoze you into psychotherapy.”

Rafe saw the open friendliness in her expression, the shining warmth of her eyes. He was lusting for a psychiatrist who could probably explain why, tracing his feelings back to the womb or something. Worse, not an iota of sexual tension was evident on her part while it hummed through his body like electricity across the wires.

He ran his hand through his hair, making a few renegade strands stand on end. Though her profession dealt with interpreting dreams and fantasies, the classy, personable Dr. Casale would probably faint from shock if he were to reveal the erotic images chasing through his mind right now. Because she starred in every one of them.

Rafe glanced again at her ringless hand. Not all married women wore wedding rings. And might not a psychiatrist be unconventional enough to do away with defining symbols like rings?

“So when will your husband be joining you?” Not his smoothest opening, but Rafe gave himself points for being direct. Well, it was worth half a point at least.

“I’m not married,” replied Holly.

“Your fiancé, then. Is he moving here with you?”

“I don’t have a fiancé.”

“How about your boyfriend? A live-in, or are you doing the long-distance bit?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, either.” Holly shook her head. “You’re beginning to sound like my mother grilling me for information.”

“Feel free to grill me right back,” he invited.

“I’d better not. You got so nervous when I told you I was a psychiatrist, you’d probably suspect me of diagnosing you if I started to ask questions.”

“I’m not nervous. Or married or involved with anyone.” Rafe supplied the answers anyway. “Are you in—”

“If you ask me if I’m looking for Mr. Right, I will not be responsible for my actions,” she warned lightly.

“Is that what all your mom’s grilling is about, finding Mr. Right?” Rafe laughed.

“It’s not only my mother. My sister and my aunts and cousins are just as persistent,” Holly admitted. “They all love to play matchmaker and so far I’ve been their only failure.”

“You present the ultimate challenge, huh?”

There was a certain note in his voice... Holly was quite perceptive when it came to the nuances in tone or language, a necessity in her profession. She comprehended subtext—and knew he wasn’t talking about her mother’s matchmaking anymore.

Holly lifted her eyes and saw him, really saw him for the first time. She knew there were all sorts of subconscious reasons why she’d remained immune to his striking masculine appeal until this moment. She’d been fatigued from the drive, preoccupied with her new surroundings. Uncertain of his eligibility and unwilling to be attracted to another woman’s man?

Bingo. Forget about being tired and preoccupied, now that she knew his status her feminine radar had been fully activated. Holly took in every male detail.

His hair was thick, straight, and black as coal, worn a little longer than the very short, very trendy cuts currently in vogue. He had a long straight nose and well-shaped sensual mouth. His smooth shaven jaw, his skin the color of polished bronze, was strong and firm with high, sculpted cheekbones. And his eyes...

Holly felt herself being drawn into his gaze. He had the most fascinating eyes. Arched by jet-black brows, they were almondshaped and very dark. Compelling eyes, burning with intelligence.

And something else. Something alluring. Daring.

She pulled her eyes from his, yet her gaze didn’t leave him. It lingered on his broad shoulders and muscular arms. He was so tall. Though she’d always tried to reason away such a superficial concern, a man’s height mattered to her. She was attracted to tall men; Rafe Paradise fulfilled that requirement quite well.

Where was her mind taking her? An unnerving combination of excitement and alarm tingled through her. Holly tried to shake it off, but a slow heat began to suffuse her, kindling in her midsection and spreading upward to her face and lower, lower—Her heart jumped. This primitive physical reaction was so unlike her. She was not the sort of woman who looked at a man and felt her insides turn to jelly. She was sensible, logical; too much so, according to her family. Far too prone to rational explanations and intellectualizing, also according to them.

But right now, sensible, logical Holly felt the totally irrational urge to run away from Rafe Paradise and the internal chaos he’d incited in her. Suddenly she was as jittery as a shy eighth grader face-to-face with her first big crush. It was appalling!

“I—I’d better go unpack the car.” Her voice, breathless and higher than usual, sounded strange to her own ears.

Rafe cocked his head and stared at her. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing rapidly. He watched the outline of her breasts rise and fall beneath the sky blue cotton of her shirt.

Holly felt as if he were looking through her, that he could see the riotous confusion taking place within her and was fully aware of his potent effect on her. Maybe he thought she was coming on to him! After all, she’d blatantly revealed the lack of a boyfriend, fiancé, or husband in her life. She’d let him know that she was single and available! Mom and the rest of the family cupids would be thrilled. Holly winced.

She fairly raced out of the room and down the stairs. When Rafe joined her outside, resentment shot through her. He had effortlessly accomplished something that no other man in her life had ever done. Rafe Paradise had reduced her—a self-confident, self-assured professional woman—to the level of a quivering adolescent!

“Are you okay?” he asked.

His voice—deep, gravelly, and low, the same voice she’d previously been listening to with no untoward effects—suddenly affected her like a physical caress. Holly shivered.

“Y-yes, I—” she tried to think of something to say. Some excuse to offer for her manic bolt from the house. And couldn’t She felt like an idiot. Maybe she really ought to read The Rules to learn some clever quips to disguise this sort of wildly emotional reflex. Not that she expected it to happen to her again—not ever again!

She and Rafe stared at each other for a long moment.

The silence was shattered by the sound of a young, very disdainful voice coming from the vicinity of Holly’s car. “Hey, know what? Your music really sucks! I mean, totally.”

Startled, Holly and Rafe turned to stare at the teenage girl who was sitting behind the wheel of the Chevy Cavalier, going through the container of compact discs that had kept Holly alert and entertained during her long drive from Michigan.

“Camryn!” Rafe rasped through his teeth. He strode to the car, Holly at his heels.

Camryn continued to riffle through the CDs. “Yuck, what is this crap? Guys and Dolls, Finnegan’s Rainbow, Annie Get Your Gun? Even you have better stuff than this, Rafe.”

“Get out of there right now, Camryn!” Rafe grabbed the girl’s arm and yanked her out of the car. “You have no right to—”

“Believe me, I’m sorry I did,” Camryn cut in sarcastically. “I’ll have nightmares for weeks about what I saw here. The soundtrack from Brigadoon? You gotta admit that’s scary, Rafe.” She stared at Holly, incredulous. “Do you actually listen to that? Or maybe you have your real CDs in those faux covers because—” Camryn paused, trying to think of a possible reason why anyone would resort to such a scheme.

“Thanks for graciously offering me an out, but no, what you see is what you’ll hear,” Holly said wryly. She shrugged. “I love Broadway show tunes, maybe because I was in the spring musical every year, from middle school through high school. We put on all those—”

“Oh, God, you were one of those perky, girly types who sings in school musicals and sells candy bars to raise funds for the big class trip!” Camryn accused. She stared at Holly with the horrified revulsion most people reserve for cold-blooded killers.

Holly’s eyes swept over the girl, taking in her chopped-off black hair, greasy with styling mousse, bobby pins stuck in at haphazard angles. She wore the definitive punk makeup, anemic white face powder, at least three coats of black mascara, smudged black eye shadow, and ultra-pale lipstick.

Camryn’s attire was the urban decay look: black spandex leggings—never mind the August heat—and a tiny black T-shirt that exposed her midriff and most of her stomach. Naturally, she had a belly button ring. Holly would’ve been surprised if she didn’t.

But the ghastly makeup and hacked-up hair couldn’t conceal an indisputable fact: Camryn possessed an exotic beauty. Minus the startling diversion of her cosmetics, clothing and hairstyle, her looks would ascend to the traffic-stopping level.

Holly’s professional interest was piqued. Why had the teenager chosen to look alarming rather than attractive? There could be any number of reasons, ranging from normal teenage rebellion to a multitude of pathologies.

“Who are you, anyway?” demanded Camryn, still glowering at her.

“I’m moving in—”

Camryn erupted with a disgusted, “Duh!”

Rafe heaved an exasperated sigh. “Holly, this is my half sister Camryn. She and her sister Kaylin live with me. And I apologize for her rudeness because she never will.”

“Notice how he said half sister.” Camryn was sardonic. “Making sure you know that me and my sister are only half related to him.”

“I did notice that,” Holly said quietly.

She’d also noticed that Rafe was eyeing his younger half sister as if she were an alien from some incomprehensible galaxy. She’d seen that same look on the faces of the frazzled relatives of her angry and confused young patients back in Michigan.

“Oh, wow, get ready to apologize to our new neighbor again, Rafe. ’Cause here comes your other half sister to embarrass you, too,” Camryn taunted as Kaylin emerged from the duplex and walked toward them.

Rafe’s lips thinned to a grim straight line. Camryn had scored a direct verbal hit. He’d never realized it before, but he always did refer to the two girls as his half sisters. He always thought of them that way.

His half sisters. Never his little sisters. They’d shared the same father, Ben Paradise, but their mother had not been his. Maybe the fact that he had Eva, whose parents were also his, who had always been his adored “little sister,” kept that “half” firmly affixed in regards to Camryn and Kaylin.

Certainly all those years spent apart from the pair made him feel less connected to them. And the big age difference between himself and the girls didn’t make things any easier. Nor did their rebellious personalities.

He’d really enjoyed Eva as a teenager. Maybe if Camryn and Kaylin were more like her...but they were the antithesis of Eva. They scorned their older half sister as one of those “perky, girly” types, the same despised category Camryn had just assigned to Holly.

Rafe looked at Holly, saw her glance from Camryn to Kaylin and back to him with the alert intensity of a microbiologist who’d just discovered a new species of pathogens. That flare of sexual awareness he’d seen in her soft brown eyes was gone. Her interest in him now was as a prospective case study. One of the dysfunctional Paradise kin. He conceded they could give an ambitious shrink plenty of material to work with.

“Hey,” Kaylin greeted them cheerfully, and returned Holly’s welcoming smile with a shy one of her own.

Holly introduced herself.

“I’m Kaylin. Cam’s my little big sister.” The girl amiably slung her arm around Camryn’s shoulder, and Holly observed the four-inch difference in their height.

Camryn was a petite five-two, thinner and smaller-boned than her younger sister. Kaylin was cute with long, dark, straight hair and bangs. She wore no makeup at all, and was dressed in baggy oversize pants and an equally huge shirt that rendered her completely shapeless.

“You’re the big little sister,” Camryn amended affectionately. Then she looked back at Holly and Rafe, and her dark eyes flashed with anger. “Wait till you see the sainted Evita. You’ll know why Rafe and—”

“Camryn, drop it, okay?” Rafe cut in impatiently. “And since you’re both out here, make yourselves useful and help Holly unload her car.”

Holly was confused. “Evita? You mean the movie? Or the CD soundtrack? I haven’t gotten around to purchasing it for my collection.”

Camryn and Kaylin looked at each other and snickered. “Evita is no soundtrack—she’s Rafe and Flint’s wicked sister,” explained Camryn. “Not a half one, a whole one.”

“That would be Eva, the medical student?” Holly recalled Rafe’s mention of her.

It took no special intuitive powers to ascertain that the diminutive used by the girls was not based on fondness. The teens’ hostility toward their half sister was palpable.

Kaylin nodded her head. “That’s her, Evita the Witch Doctor. And Flint is Rafe’s Evil Twin.”

“Are you really a twin?” Holly looked at Rafe in genuine surprise. Or were the girls playing word games with her?

“Yes,” Rafe muttered.

He wasn’t about to deny his own brother, though he guessed what his admission would mean. Studies of twins were highly valued in the fields of both psychology and biology; he and Flint had certainly been invited to take part in enough of them by eager university researchers. As Native American identical male twins, they were coveted as a resource treasure. Rafe scowled. He did not appreciate Holly Casale viewing him as a potential lab rat.

“And Eva is not a wicked witch and Flint is certainly not evil,” he added, in defense of his siblings.

He reached inside the car and pulled out Holly’s bulging, battered old suitcase that she knew must weigh about eighty pounds. The muscles of his arms rippled as he carried it.

Kaylin pulled out a hanging shoe rack, the compartments stuffed with shoes, and dragged it toward Holly’s front door.

Camryn didn’t move. “You can see how much Rafe doesn’t like us,” she said, sensing Holly’s interest, watching her stare at Rafe and the suitcase. She smiled her angel smile. “Still, he’s the good one. When our mom called to tell him she was sick, he promised that Kaylin and me could live with him after she died ‘cause there was nobody else. And he came and got us when she did. Flint and Eva wouldn’t’ve even—”

“Stop stalling and get to work, Camryn,” Rafe called, feeling his anger rise.

He never discussed private family matters with anyone. And Holly was a shrink! That was easy to forget when his mind was fogged by her potent allure, but the appearance of his half sisters had cleared his head as effectively as a whiff of old-time smelling salts.

“I don’t have to!” yelled Camryn as Rafe lugged the suitcase into the condo. “And I’m not throwing a pity party for myself, either,” she added, as if to fend off that particular accusation.

Holly had no intention of making it. “From what I’ve heard so far, you have every right to.” She lay her hand on Camryn’s forearm. The girl was trembling. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother’s death.” Her training and her own natural instincts kicked in; she wanted to interpret and diffuse the rage and discord plaguing this family.

“Our dad is dead, too,” Camryn said flatly. “Kaylin and me didn’t know him at all. He got divorced from Mom when we were one and two years old and we never saw him again. We didn’t see Rafe or the others again, either, not till last year after Mom died.”

Holly found the information tragic and disconcerting but was skilled enough not to show it. “You and Kaylin hadn’t seen your brothers and sister from the time you were one and two years old until last year?” she calmly restated the essential facts she’d been told.

Camryn nodded. “And now I’m seventeen and Kaylin is sixteen, so you do the math.”

Holly accepted the challenge. “You hadn’t seen them in fourteen years.”

Which meant Rafe had last seen his half sisters as babies, but had taken in two distinctly individualistic teenagers. No wonder he’d stared at them as if they’d been dropped from outer space!

“Yeah, fourteen years. You’re a regular math genius,” Camryn drawled. “Color me impressed. But they’re our half brothers and half sister, don’t forget that. They never do.”

“Do you sometimes wish they would?” asked Holly.

Before Camryn could answer, Rafe was back, having deposited the suitcase inside the house. “Camryn, it may interest you to know that Dr. Casale here is a psychiatrist.”

Camryn’s expression was instantly thunderous. “I refuse to talk to any shrink! I’m not crazy.”

“No, you’re not,” agreed Rafe. “Don’t let her fool you, Doc. Camryn Paradise is no pitiful Little Orphan Annie. Vampira is closer to the mark.”

“What I am is a wild, in-your-face-brat with a bad attitude,” Camryn proclaimed. “Right, Rafe?”

“So we’ve been told.” Rafe sucked in his cheeks. “Some have claimed you’re the most monstrous brat ever to set foot in the city of Sioux Falls—or maybe the entire state of South Dakota.”

“That’s exactly what my history teacher said and the music teacher agreed!” Camryn was gleeful. “And how about my French teacher?”

“Let’s not get into that.” Rafe remembered the scene with the French teacher. It had gotten ugly; Camryn would not be taking French when she started her senior year the day after Labor Day, just a few weeks away.

“Aren’t you scared I live next door to you, Dr. Nutburger? You should be! You better not try to trick me into any stealth therapy because I’m capable of anything!” boasted Camryn.

Rafe tried to remember who’d made that last quote—“The little fiend is capable of anything!” The outraged home ec teacher? The hostile volleyball coach? Everybody in Riverview High had something to say about Camryn. None of it good.

“I’m not afraid of you and I wasn’t trying to trick you in any way, Camryn.” Holly remained unruffled. “But I am curious as to why both you and your brother are so opposed to the idea of any kind of—”

“Family therapy?” Camryn interjected. She made it sound as appealing as imbibing rat poison.

“So you’re familiar with the concept,” said Holly. “I wish it had been presented to you as a positive aid instead of a negative threat.”

“Forget it, Dr. Headshrinker. I won’t talk to you.”

“Nobody in the Paradise family has ever gone to a psychiatrist,” Rafe added.

“Watch out, Rafe, there are sooo many comebacks to that one!” Camryn was suddenly all smiles again. “She could really zing us good.”

Holly wondered if the duo realized they were both on the same side; she doubted that occurred very often. Unfortunately, they were allied against her and her profession. Still, she was accustomed to looking for strengths to work with and for the first time she saw a bond, however tenuous, between Rafe and his little sister. The insight cheered her.

“Too easy. I think I’ll pass.” Holly grinned.

Rafe found himself staring at her again. When Holly Casale turned on the full force of her smile, her whole face lit up and she was downright irresistible. He swallowed. Incredibly enough, he was starting to get turned on all over again, simply standing there gazing at her.

“Well, I’m not going to help you unpack your car, Dr. Head-case,” announced Camryn. “I have other plans.”

Rafe wondered if he should demand that she stay and help. He hadn’t heard of any plans she’d made for this afternoon—not that he was ever consulted first by either girl. Their modus operandi was to do what they pleased, hope they didn’t get caught, and show no remorse if they did.

His eyes met Holly’s, and he knew that she knew he was totally at a loss in dealing with his young half sisters. Part of him was angry, the other part relieved. He needed help but was loath to seek it, wasn’t sure how and where to look. He guessed that Holly probably knew all that, too.

They both watched Camryn stroll back into Rafe’s side of the condo.

“Don’t say a word,” warned Rafe.

“Who me? I wouldn’t dream of it I already promised I don’t troll for prospective patients.”

“Even though you think we’re a prime collection of basket cases.”

“I don’t think that at all, I just—”

“Uh-oh, this is awful heavy!” Kaylin called from the car. She had managed to get Holly’s television set out of the back seat and stood holding it—while tottering precariously.

“Kaylin, put that down!” commanded Rafe. “It’s too heavy for you to carry. I’ll get it.”

“Okay.” Kaylin panted. She swayed backward, rendered off balance by the television’s weight, then leaned forward in an attempt to put it down.

Holly and Rafe were both watching at the crucial split second when Kaylin’s arm strength completely gave out.

The television set crashed onto the cement driveway.