Читать книгу Daddy By Surprise - Pat Warren, Pat Warren - Страница 10

Devin turned off his computer with a nod of satisfaction and leaned back. It was working just fine, thank goodness. His computer was the only item he’d carried up the stairs and into his spare room with the same care he might have shown delicate bone china, if he had any. In a way, computers were just as fragile. Unexpected jarrings or, God forbid, a near-drop and all that intricate wiring inside could cause the loss of a great deal of important data. Whole files could be erased or be extremely difficult to retrieve.

With all the many moves in his travels, fortunately he’d never had a problem. But he’d heard horror stories about systems crashing and motherboards that needed replacing after relocation. So he babied his equipment as if his livelihood depended on each and every component part. Because it did.

Stepping back, Devin gazed around his new office. The computer desk was in place along with his lucky chair, a somewhat beat-up old leather swivel that he’d sat in to pound out his first fiction pieces back when he was writing short stories on an ancient portable Smith-Corona. He had a sleek electric typewriter now as backup on the long table that also held his printer, copier and fax machine. Amazing the machinery a person had to have to write today. He’d read that Ernest Hemingway had carted an old portable Underwood all over Europe and done fairly well on it. But this was the nineties.

Devin strolled over to his bookcase filled to overflowing with reference material, books dating back to his college days and a shelf of well-read paperbacks he couldn’t seem to give up. With a sense of awe that was still very present in him, he reached to the top shelf and picked up his first published book, Murder at Oak Creek Canyon. Never had he seen anything more beautiful than his name above the title or his words and thoughts inside.

For as far back as he could recall, Devin Gray had wanted to write. And he had—essays, a journal, stories, even some very bad poetry—for his eyes only. Then, as a student at the University of Southern California, he’d met a professor who’d recognized his talent and encouraged him. In the beginning, he’d written short stories, nine his first year after graduation as he’d traveled all over the southwest, working all sorts of odd jobs to pay for rent and food. After two years, they’d finally begun selling. The income wasn’t much but the euphoria of seeing his name in print kept him going.

Devin lovingly ran his hands over the dust jacket. He’d kept moving, traveling, learning, researching. A hundred short stories later, he decided to try a novel. His love of the west combined with his fascination with mysteries led him to concentrate on western mysteries, which only a handful of authors were writing at the time.

He’d hired an agent who’d begun submitting his work to various publishers. It had taken three years—three long, hard years—before his first book sold. The following year, he’d published the second just as the first was published in paperback. Now, at long last, he was on his way, contracted for two more for more money than he’d dreamed possible.

Replacing the book alongside his second novel, Devin anchored them between two brass owl bookends, gifts from his father. He strolled into his living room, stopping to look out the large double windows. He could see Camelback Mountain in the near distance, serene as always under a clear, sunny sky. He’d visited many parts of Arizona in his travels, and fallen in love with the redrock country he used as the backdrop for some of his books.

Recently, when he’d decided it was time to leave the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles for a variety of reasons, he’d picked Scottsdale on the eastern border of Phoenix. Because it was small enough, western yet hardly provincial, classy yet homey. And it was only an hour’s flight to visit his family if he got the urge.

Here he could live quietly with a minimum of interruptions and only an occasional pang of guilt for not being at the beck and call of his huge clan. Devin loved his parents and five siblings and their spouses and his eleven nieces and nephews. But there was total bedlam when all the Grays got together, which was often enough to distract him big-time. They all seemed to thrive on chaos where he preferred quiet solitude. He’d decided to rent for a while and see if he liked the area well enough to build his dream house here. Already Scottsdale felt like home.

The almost constant sun rose early these days, and he’d been up with it, arranging his television set across from another old favorite, a stretch-back leather lounger. He’d hooked up his stereo in his bedroom and unpacked a few family pictures he set out in every apartment he’d ever occupied. Devin took a moment to study one framed photo of the entire clan taken at his parents’ anniversary party last year. There was no denying the Grays, for they all resembled their father with his black hair, green eyes and that prominent cleft in a square chin.

His mother was a lovely woman, but not one of her six offspring had inherited her blond hair, fair skin and blue eyes. Yet she’d been the guiding force of the family, working long hours alongside her husband at the family hardware store, making sure it succeeded, then grew from one store to two, then three and finally six. She’d run the household of six children strictly, relying heavily on the help of her eldest, Devin. She’d piled a lot of responsibility on him at an early age and he’d come through, always there for household chores, baby-sitting, often discipline. Even attending college, he’d lived at home because the family had needed him. Perhaps that was why he’d escaped into travel soon after graduation.

It had felt good, being on his own. Yet even on his travels, he’d been constantly called home for this emergency or that disaster where his help was needed. When he’d settled down in an apartment clear across town, they’d taken to inviting him over or dropping in constantly, hanging on the guilt if he begged off. He’d felt hounded, smothered. He’d simply had to get away.

At the moment, he didn’t even have a phone, though they’d promised him service Monday. He’d put in an address change at the post office, but he was going to guard that information for awhile. He wouldn’t put it past several members of his family to come charging over to check out his new digs. An unmarried son, no matter what age, was always fair game.

Through the window, he saw Molly’s Honda turn into the drive followed by a truck stacked high with furniture. Molly pulled up close to the back door, then quickly jumped out and walked over to the two men getting out of the pickup. One was tall and thin, young enough to still be in his teens, wearing a baseball cap backward. The other was middle-aged and balding with the start of a pot belly. Quickly the three of them began unloading furniture.

Should he go down and offer to help? Devin wondered. Last night, he’d helped her in the kitchen because he was curious about her more than anything else. She’d made it perfectly clear that she didn’t want his assistance, as she probably would again if he went down. If solitude was what he wanted, if noninvolvement was what he’d decided on, if being left alone to do his work was his primary goal, then he’d best stay away. After all, she had two guys to give her a hand.

Who were they? he wondered idly. People she’d hired? Relatives? Friends? Surely Molly wasn’t romantically involved with either. He watched as the teenager’s eyes followed her as she reached into the truck and hauled out a lamp. Devin couldn’t blame the kid. She was wearing another loose cotton shirt over jeans and white canvas shoes. Her face was free of makeup and her hair was pulled back and anchored with some sort of plastic gizmo. She looked about sixteen. Devin saw her smile at the boy before walking away and noticed the teenager’s face redden. Poor kid had a crush on her.

Stepping back, Devin decided he could spend his hours more gainfully than watching his neighbor move in. He walked into his office, pulled out his chair and stared at the computer. From somewhere below, he heard a laugh drift up. Female, smoky, mellow.

What the hell! They’d finish faster with another pair of hands. He started for the stairs.

Devin saw that the two guys were in the pickup untying a dresser before unloading it. “Hi. I thought you could use a hand.”

The kid wearing the baseball cap turned toward him. “Uh, yeah, sure, I guess.” He glanced over at his uncle.

Hank glanced at the newcomer. “We can handle it, but thanks.”

Real friendly, Devin thought. “I’m a neighbor,” he said by way of explanation.

“Uh-huh.” Hank concentrated on untying a snagged knot, obviously hoping the man would go away.

Annoyed, Devin picked up a kitchen chair that was standing alongside the truck and carried it onto the porch. The screen door had been taken off the hinges and placed off to the side. Giving a quick warning knock on the doorjamb, he walked in and spotted Molly in the kitchen. He strolled closer and saw she was setting up a small bowl that held an assortment of colorful stones, a hunk of fern and a blue fish nervously swimming around. “Hey, there,” he said, not wanting to startle her.

Wiping off the bowl, she looked up. “Hey, yourself. Meet Jo-Jo, my beta fighting fish. My niece named him.”

Devin set the chair down and leaned over for a closer look. “He doesn’t look very scary like a fighter should.”

“He would if you were another fish. These little guys are so mean you can’t put more than one in a bowl or they’ll kill each other.” She scooted the bowl into the far corner of the kitchen counter and stood admiring him.

“So you got him for protection, eh?”

She smiled at that. “Actually, I got him because I wanted something alive in the house…” She waved toward the other side of the room. “…other than my plants.”

She did have plants, Devin thought, gazing at two hanging baskets, a tall ficus in a red pot and several small containers along the two windowsills containing African violets. “They must keep you busy watering and trimming.” He didn’t have a plant or a fish at his place. Only his dog who right this minute was whining in the fenced yard wanting to inspect the men unloading the truck.

Devin set the chair he’d carried in next to a white pine table, noticing in the sunlight that poured in through the windows that she had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, something he hadn’t seen last night. They made her look even younger. “I came down to see if you needed another pair of hands.”

“Molly,” came a gruff voice from the open front doorway, “you wanna come show us where you want this dresser?” The burly older man was sweating profusely and staring at Devin none too friendly-like.

“Sure, Hank.” She hurried ahead of the men, moving into the bedroom and pointing to the wall where she’d decided her dresser would go. Stepping aside, she waited until they’d set down the heavy piece, Hank grunting with the effort. “That’s perfect. Thanks.”

Wiping his broad forehead with a soggy handkerchief, Hank made his way back to the living room. “We’re going back for the living room stuff. You coming, Molly, or are you staying here?” His eyes shifted to Devin as if reluctant to leave her here with him.

“If you don’t need me, I think I’ll stay and make up the bed and put things away.” She noticed Devin standing in the archway. “Devin, this is Hank Thompson, the owner of the Pan Handle, and this is his nephew, Jerry. They volunteered to move me. Hank, this is…”

“Yeah, I know, your upstairs neighbor. We met.” Wondering why this guy was so curt with him, Devin decided to give it one more shot. “You sure I can’t help? I’d be glad to go along.” He tried a smile. “I’ve got a strong back.”

“We’ve got things under control. Be back soon, Molly.” Stuffing his kerchief into his back pocket, Hank followed his nephew outside.

Frowning, Molly watched them get into the truck. “That was a little rude,” she commented softly, wondering why her boss was being so unfriendly. “Hank’s usually not like that.”

“Maybe we were enemies in another life.”

“He’s a little protective of his girls, as he calls the three waitresses who work for him.” Molly checked several boxes on the floor, searching for the one filled with linens.

Or maybe good old Hank had designs on Molly himself and wanted to issue a warning. “Is he married?”

“Divorced. The Pan Handle seems to attract divorced people. Every one of us except Hector, the evening shift cook.” Hoisting the box, she headed for the bedroom.

Curiosity had Devin following her. “Do you and Hank…you know…date?” The man surely was acting territorial. Of course, it was none of his business.

Molly removed the mattress pad from the box and tossed it onto the bed before raising her eyes to Devin’s face. Studying him, she recognized that unmistakable male-female interest in his eyes that she’d become aware of last night on the back porch, and wondered what to do about it. She didn’t want to be as rude as Hank, but that sort of thing could become a problem, living so close as they would be. And it had absolutely nowhere to go. Perhaps it would be kinder to lay it all out for him once and for all.

“No. I don’t date Hank. He’s a good friend and old enough to be my father. I don’t date anyone else, either, for that matter.” She waited for the disbelief, the inevitable questions. She’d been down this road before.

Moving to the opposite side of the bed, Devin automatically grabbed one end of the mattress pad and began pulling it into place. “You don’t date anyone? I guess your ex really did a number on you.”

Intent on making him see, Molly adjusted her side of the pad to fit. “Actually, my decision has little to do with him.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but close enough. “I simply don’t have time. My work at the café, including quite a bit of overtime some weeks, keeps me very busy. I take night classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays at Arizona State, except the summer session. During tax season, I work part-time for a CPA. With all that, I scarcely have time to get in six hours of sleep, much less a date.” She reached for the pale-peach fitted bottom sheet, wondering why she was bothering to explain herself to this stranger.

Maybe because he was so damn persistent. Grabbing his side of the sheet, Devin bent to maneuver it into the upper corner. “C’mon, Molly. Everyone needs a little R-and-R now and again. Haven’t you heard about all work and no play making Jack—or Jill—very dull?”

Why was it that men thought that their mere presence in a woman’s life would change dull to unbearably exciting? “I take time for myself. I have friends, two in particular, former college roommates, and Trisha. I go shopping with my mother, have an occasional dinner out with my sister, take my niece to the movies. Oh, and sometimes I baby-sit Trisha’s little boy when she goes out. I watch television, read, garden. I think my life’s pretty full.” She sent him a challenging look.

He didn’t let her down. “Were you always so reclusive, content with work, family, friends and TV? Don’t you get lonely for a one-on-one with a man? You probably dated a lot before your marriage. You had to have. I mean, a woman like you…”

Molly’s head jerked up from securing her corner. “What do you mean, a woman like me?”

Devin straightened, wondering why she was so defensive. “I mean a woman who’s very attractive and obviously intelligent. Why would you choose to spend all your free time with your mother, old college friends and a couple of kids?”

She had dated a lot in college and some after she’d first walked away from Lee. The problem was that by the second date, indeed if they’d waited that long, they’d been all hands and pressure and a wet, seeking mouth. So she’d stopped dating, stopped hoping there was someone out there who could care for her for all the right reasons, a mature man who was his own person. One who could love a flawed woman with a trampled heart.

After three years, she’d about convinced herself that no such man existed, and she didn’t want the other kind.

“It’s just easier, that’s all.” She picked up the top sheet and shook it out, then realized what she was doing. She was making up her bed with a near stranger, an intimate act if there ever was one.

Molly drew in a deep breath. “Listen, I can do this myself. Don’t you have some work to do?” Maybe rude was all he understood.

He’d watched the play of emotions revealed so clearly on her transparent face. “You really have a great deal of trouble accepting help, don’t you?”

Their conversation was exasperating her. “When I need help, truly need it, I’ll ask. But I’ve been making beds alone for years. Don’t you have a book you need to write, or is this part of your research?”

He smiled at that. “Are you worried you’ll wind up in one of my books?”

“Not really.” She began spreading out the top sheet. “My life is too dull to interest anyone.”

Despite her admonitions, he pitched in on his side of the bed. “I doubt that, not if someone were to dig deep enough. Readers like to read about people’s good points and bad. Genuine people, warts and all.”

“I have as many warts as a pondful of frogs.”

“Toads.”

“What?” She reached for two pillows, then their cases.

“Toads have warts, not frogs.”

“I stand corrected, since you’re the writer. Did you major in English or journalism or American Literature? How does one become a writer?” All right, so he was interesting to talk with. And, Molly had to admit, she had few adult conversations that didn’t center around a menu.

“I majored in Business Administration at my father’s insistence since he was paying the tab. But I minored in English and took all the lit courses I could squeeze in.” He stuffed the fluffy pillow into the case, struggling to get it to fit. “As to how someone becomes a writer, I think it’s something some people just have to do because they have these stories in their head they need to get out. And because they’re unable to fathom holding down a structured job, day after day, doing the same thing over and over. Like my parents did. Or rather still do.”

“What do they do?”

“They’re in hardware. Own and operate six stores in the L.A. area. They’ve worked twelve-hour days seven days a week as long as I can remember.”

“So it’s the long hours you want to avoid and the monotony?”

“Not even that.” He caught his half of the lightweight cotton blanket she spilled onto the bed. “Apparently they love what they do. Different strokes for different folks, as they say. I like to set my own hours. Sometimes I write half the night and sleep all day. Some weeks I work every day, other weeks only three days. Depends on how the book’s going and how close my deadline is. I like the freedom of making my own choices without punching a time clock.” Finished, he straightened, wondering if in stating his preferences, he’d offended her since waitressing was as structured as working in a hardware store.

Stopping to gaze out the window, Molly sighed. “I understand perfectly and I couldn’t agree more.”

Devin walked over to her side of the bed. “Tell me why.”

As Molly turned to face him, they both heard the toot-toot of Hank’s truck horn. “I’ve got to go.”

He touched her arm. “Later, maybe?”

“Maybe.” She walked around him, needing to go outside. Hank wasn’t in the best of moods and she didn’t want to upset him. She also didn’t want to reveal any more about herself right now. Devin Gray seemed able to knock aside her usual defenses and get her to talk about herself far more than usual.

Interesting, Devin thought as he walked toward the back door. He decided to go back upstairs so old Hank wouldn’t get his nose any further out of joint. Besides, he’d discovered that he and Molly Shipman had more in common than he’d thought.

Worth pursuing, he decided as he poured himself a cold drink in his kitchen. Definitely worth pursuing.

It was two o’clock by the time the last of her things had been brought over and unloaded. A grateful Molly opened two cold drinks and handed them to her helpers. “You can’t know how much I appreciate all you’ve both done, guys.”

“No thanks necessary,” Hank answered for both of them before tilting his head back for a long swallow.

Molly couldn’t help noticing how her employer’s mood had brightened after he became aware that Devin had left. She still couldn’t figure out why Hank had been borderline rude. Walking out to the truck with the two of them, she decided there was no point in bringing up Devin’s name.

She smiled at Hank. “Now I’ve got the rest of today and all day tomorrow to put everything away so I’ll be ready for the early shift on Monday.”

Jerry moved closer to the fence enclosing the pool. “You get to use this?”

“Yes, it’s part of the rent. I’m sure Mrs. Bailey wouldn’t mind if you wanted to take a swim, Jerry,” she offered. “You, too, Hank. I know you’re both hot and tired.”

“Nah, we don’t have time,” Hank said, as he drained the soda can.

Molly watched a disappointed Jerry stroll back. She reached up to give him a quick hug. “Maybe some other time, then.” She saw the blush he couldn’t prevent before he turned away.

Hank’s narrowed gaze was on the upper apartment. “He give you any trouble, anything at all, you let me know, you hear?”

Molly almost smiled, but she knew that would hurt his feelings. Not only protective but almost fatherly. If her father had stuck around long enough, maybe he’d have felt the same way. “Why would you think Devin would give me trouble?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t trust him. He’s got shifty eyes.”

She knew he meant well, but at twenty-eight, Molly didn’t think she needed quite so much protection. Nevertheless, she owed Hank a lot. Stepping close, she put her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his.

“Thanks, for everything.”

“Yeah, sure.” Somewhat embarrassed, he climbed behind the wheel.

Molly watched them drive off, then hurried back inside. She still had a lot to do to make that small apartment into a home.

From his upstairs window, Devin stood looking down. He’d seen Hank glare up at his place, guessing he’d then issued a warning to Molly about him. Over what, he couldn’t imagine. Apparently it hadn’t bothered her for she’d given Hank a big fat hug.

Stepping back, he stuck his hands in his pockets, annoyed with himself. Why should he care who Molly Shipman hugged? To be fair, she’d hugged the kid, too. She’d stiffened each time he’d touched her yesterday, but she hugged these two freely. Because she knew them well, he decided.

Maybe he’d get to know her well, too. He wouldn’t mind taking her in his arms, holding her close, feeling her heart beat against his. No denying it, she intrigued him. A man couldn’t spend every spare minute working. He’d operate on the reward system, he decided. He wouldn’t allow himself to check on Molly until he’d finished the chapter that was halfway completed. No guilt that way.

Whistling, he went back to his office.

Sunday morning just before ten, after putting in three less-than-fruitful hours on his novel that suddenly wasn’t going all that well, Devin decided to ride his Harley to the nearby strip mall and pick up the L.A. Times. He felt nostalgic about his hometown newspaper.

Jogging down the steps, he decided he’d pick up some bagels and coffee to see if he could tempt Molly with some breakfast. He’d be willing to bet she was so busy settling in that she’d forgotten to eat.

Leaning over the fence, he rubbed King’s head briefly, not feeling guilty about leaving him behind since he’d taken the dog on a half-hour run around six. As he unlocked his Harley, he saw a vintage blue Cadillac drive up, its horn honking away.

Two women got out, one on the chubby side and dark-haired, the other older and very blond, artificially so most likely, Devin thought. A curly-headed girl of five or six climbed out of the back and squealed Molly’s name. Molly stepped off the porch, looking surprised. “Samantha!” she cried.

The child hugged her aunt happily. “Mom says you’ve got cable TV now. Does that mean Disney, Aunt Molly?”

“You bet it does, sweetheart.” Molly smiled down at her pug-nosed niece.

“She probably hasn’t had time to get someone to hook it up yet, Sam,” the girl’s mother said.

“I hooked it up myself,” Molly informed her sister, then moved to take a large pan from her mother. “What’s all this, Mom?”

Gloria Shipman withdrew a box from the back seat before answering. “It’s roast chicken and vegetables. I just know you won’t take the time to eat right.” She held up the box. “And chocolate chip cookies.”

“Mmm,” Sam murmured. “We’re having a welcome-to-your-new-home party, Aunt Molly.”

“What a terrific idea.” Although she still had a long list of things that needed doing, Molly smiled her welcome. It was so seldom that the four of them got together, mostly due to her busy schedule. “Let’s go inside. I’ve got coffee made.”

Though he felt a little overwhelmed by four females all at one time, Devin couldn’t very well retrace his steps and sneak upstairs, nor could he continue to stand there staring. As unobtrusively as possible, he walked his Harley down the drive, giving a wide berth to the new arrivals.

But he wasn’t fast enough to escape the notice of an inquisitive little girl. “Wow, a motorcycle!” Samantha abandoned Molly and ran over. “Is it yours? Will you take me for a ride?”

“Sam!” The child’s mother hurried over to clamp her hands on her daughter’s shoulder. “What have I told you time and again about talking to strangers?”

Looking more mischievous than repentant, Sam was ready with an excuse. “He’s not really a stranger if he’s in Molly’s yard, is he?”

Aware of her precocious niece’s friendliness, Molly went over, still carrying the pan her mother brought. “Actually, he’s not, Lucy. He’s my neighbor, just moved in upstairs.” Quickly, she introduced her family.

Devin acknowledged each of them, noting that Molly didn’t resemble any of the three. Her sister and niece had dark hair and eyes, as did her mother despite the obvious fact that Gloria Shipman dyed her short hair even blonder than Molly’s. Both women were several inches shorter and full-figured whereas Molly could be described as tall and willowy. She must take after her father, he decided.

“It’s good to know you’ll be living here with my daughter,” Gloria Shipman said, her approving gaze roaming his tall frame. “Not that this is a bad neighborhood, but a woman alone can’t be too careful.” Her smile was just short of flirtatious.

She can’t help herself, Molly thought, for the umpteenth time. An attractive woman in her youth, Gloria still turned on the charm for every man she met, young or old, tall or short, rich or poor. She basked in the glow of attention from men as much as Molly turned from it.

Molly sent an apologetic look to Devin, but she needn’t have bothered. He’d read Gloria like a book.

“I agree, Mrs. Shipman. I’ll certainly keep an eye on your daughter.” He turned his attention to Sam whose wide eyes were checking out the chrome of his Harley. “It’s not safe for someone as young and pretty as you to ride one of these without a helmet, and I don’t have one small enough to fit you. Maybe one day, we’ll pick one up. Okay?”

“You mean it? Great.” Sam’s mind raced with possibilities. “Is that your dog?” she asked next, spotting King who was pacing along the fence.

“Yeah, but I’d rather you didn’t go over to him until I take you to meet him, and I don’t have time right now. Is that all right?”

Reluctantly, Sam nodded. “Okay.”

Molly had to hand it to Devin. He’d appeased the daughter without upsetting the mother. His people skills, which hadn’t charmed Hank, were more in evidence today.

Her head cocked, Molly’s sister Lucy had been studying the man with the Harley. “Did Molly say your name is Devin Gray? Are you the Devin Gray who wrote Murder at Oak Creek Canyon? You are, aren’t you? I recognize you from the picture on the back of the dust cover.”

Devin seemed embarrassed. “I guess you caught me.”

Lucy’s round face moved into a big smile as she turned to her sister. “I’ll bet you didn’t even know that this man’s famous?”

Molly was taken aback. Devin had told her he was a writer, yet she hadn’t even bothered to ask what he’d written. She sent him her second apologetic look in as many minutes. “Lucy works at a bookstore in the mall.” She felt she had to say more, to explain. “I don’t have much time to read fiction.”

“You should find the time to read this one,” Lucy insisted. “It takes place here in Arizona, up in Sedona.” Her smile beamed at Devin. “You’ve got a second one just out, something about the Grand Canyon, right?”

“Yes. Death at the Grand Canyon.”

“My, my,” Gloria murmured. “A celebrity in our midst.”

“A very minor one, I assure you.” It was the first time he’d been recognized with the exception of book signings, Devin realized, and the attention made him oddly uncomfortable. Molly’s sister probably wouldn’t have recognized him if she didn’t work in a bookstore. He’d rather people concentrated on searching out his books rather than the author.

“I’ll have to get you to autograph a copy for me,” Lucy went on.

“Any time.” Devin cleared his throat. “Well, nice to have met you all.” He nodded to Molly, winked at Sam, then climbed on his Harley.

All four of them watched him ride off, his dark hair whipping about in a strong morning breeze.

Gloria was the first to speak as she turned to her oldest daughter. “Molly, you didn’t know he was a famous writer?”

She shrugged. “He’d told me he was a writer, but I didn’t ask what he wrote.”

Lucy exchanged a knowing glance with their mother. “Of course you didn’t. I’m surprised you knew his name, as cautious as you are.”

Molly felt she had to defend herself as she led the way into her apartment. “I only met him two days ago.”

“Leave her alone, Lucy,” Gloria admonished. “Now that Molly knows he’s an important writer, besides being quite a hunk, she’ll warm up to him.”

Whether he’d written War and Peace or drove a garbage truck, Molly knew she had no intention of warming up to Devin Gray. Not wanting to have this same old discussion again, knowing full well that both her mother and sister were critical of her hands-off-men policy, she decided to bring a little levity into play. “Mom! A hunk! I can’t believe you said that.” Holding the roasting pan on one arm, she slipped the other around her mother and hugged her. “There may be snow on the roof, but there’s still fire in the heart, eh?”

“Well, I’m not dead nor am I blind. He’s a very attractive man, Molly. And he probably makes a pile of money. You could do worse.” She stepped through the door Molly held open.

“You saw him for five minutes and you think I should set my cap for him?” She loved her mother, but her constant nagging that she should find a good man to take care of her rather than work so hard got on Molly’s nerves. She’d had a so-called good man, and where had it gotten her?

“Who said anything about permanence?” Lucy asked with a grin. “You don’t have to marry him to have a little fun with him. I’m going to have to get his books. I wonder if he’s a sexy writer.”

Molly set the roasting pan down on the kitchen counter. “So, you haven’t read his books?”

“Not yet, but I intend to. I’ll bring them over after I finish so you can read them, too.”

Molly wasn’t altogether sure she wanted to read what Devin Gray had written. It would indicate more interest in him than she was willing to admit to.

Determined to put her neighbor out of her mind, she took Sam’s hand. “How about the grand tour, which should take all of five minutes? The apartment’s not real big, but it’s sunny and clean and close to work.”

“I think it’s charming,” Gloria commented, leading the way.

By four that afternoon, Devin had had it. He had a crick in his neck and his shoulders ached. He’d been at the computer since he’d returned with The Times, leaving it to read later. On his ride, he’d worked out one of his plot problems, an old habit of his, and he’d gone to work immediately after returning. Finally, he was back on track.

Rolling his shoulders, he saved his material and shut off the computer. His rumbling stomach reminded him he hadn’t put anything in it lately except several cups of coffee. In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and examined its pitiful contents. It looked very much like he’d be having canned soup and a glass of milk again. He really had to go grocery shopping tomorrow.

As he grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table, he heard King give out several playful barks. The German shepherd was three years old and not much of a barker. Chewing, Devin sauntered out onto his back porch. He couldn’t have been more surprised at the sight that greeted his eyes.

Molly was hanging sheets on the clothesline with King trailing her every step. Devin could hear her talking to him, though he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He saw her reach to take the stick from King’s mouth, then throw it across the yard before bending to her clothes basket for a pillowcase.

The big dog raced across the grass, picked up the stick and hurried back to her. Smiling down at him, she petted his large head, then reached to secure the pillowcase. Devin could swear he saw King move close to Molly and nuzzle up against her bare legs. How had she managed to win his dog over in a couple of short days?

She was wearing a long yellow top that came nearly to the hem of her white shorts. She had incredibly long and very shapely legs. Definitely a distraction, one that got his juices flowing every time he looked at her. Watching her bend down to hug King’s head, Devin felt a foolish flash of jealousy. How far gone was he that he was beginning to envy a dog? he wondered.

As Molly gathered up her basket and spare clothes-pins, Devin went down the stairs and met her at the gate. “Don’t you ever let up, take a break, maybe sit down and relax? I hear you moving around down there constantly. I would imagine you’re exhausted.” She didn’t look exhausted, just a little warm. The temperature had to be over ninety.

“Not really. I needed to get settled in since I have early shift tomorrow morning.” He was wearing a black T-shirt over gray knit shorts and hadn’t bothered to shave. The word hunk that her mother had used floated back to her. Yeah, it fit. “I hope I’m not making so much noise I’m disturbing you.” The house had to be at least thirty years old with a few squeaky floors and air vents that allowed some sounds to travel between the two units. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from writing the great American novel.”

He saw her mouth twitch and realized she was teasing him. “Not to worry. My books will never become required reading in school. Purely escape stuff. And you’re not disturbing me.”

“Good.” He seemed genuinely modest, had seemed uncomfortable at Lucy’s comments. She liked that about him. She felt King’s wet nose at her back through the cyclone fencing, turned and smiled before raising a hand to acknowledge him.

“I see you made friends with King.”

“Yes. He’s quite the sweetheart when you get to know him.”

Devin glanced over at the pool, shimmering in the late afternoon sun. “I was just thinking of cooling off with a swim. Want to join me?”

Molly had no trouble picturing that hard, masculine body in a swimsuit. “Thanks, but I’ve still got some things to do.” Carrying her basket, she walked off. “Have a good swim.”

Damned if he wouldn’t, Devin thought. It would have been nice to have company, but he’d go alone. He needed the exercise.

Molly stood at her kitchen window, gazing out through the gauzy curtains she’d brought over from her former apartment, watching Devin do laps in the pool. He was big and looked very strong with not an ounce of fat on him. She’d been counting and was up to twenty. Finally, he eased out and brushed his wet hair back with both hands as water dripped from the dark curls on his chest and legs. He turned to straighten a lounge chair while Molly admired the smooth skin of his back, the muscles rippling as he moved. He sat down in the chair and leaned back, closing his eyes and letting the hot sun dry him.

Her hands trembled ever so slightly as she wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers over those broad shoulders, to examine that deep cleft in his chin. It had been so long since she’d touched a man, or allowed one to touch her. That brief moment when he’d first introduced her to his dog, the nearness of his big body close to hers, the way his hand had lingered on hers, had awakened a dormant need. She would deny it if asked, often denied it even to herself, yet there were times like now that she longed for that strong male touch that was like no other. A man who could make her want and need and ache.

Like she was aching now.

Four years she’d been married to Lee Summers, and there had been some good times at the beginning. He’d been very attractive, too, and very aware of it. Yet she’d learned the hard way that even strong, attractive men have their weaknesses. Lee’s had killed any feelings she’d had for him.

Gazing now at Devin Gray, she could easily see his attraction, his strengths. And she couldn’t help wondering what his weaknesses were.