Until We Touch (Fool's Gold #15)

Until We Touch (Fool's Gold #15)
Susan Mallery



CHAPTER ONE

“YOU KNOW WHY I’m here.”

Mrs. Nancy Owens made the statement with a firm voice and an unyielding stare. All of which were impressive.

Unfortunately for Jack McGarry, he didn’t have a clue as to what she was talking about.

He knew a lot of things. He knew the L.A. Stallions wouldn’t get to the Super Bowl this year, that his right shoulder ached when it was going to rain, that there was a saucy merlot waiting in his kitchen and that while every part of his being wanted to bolt right now rather than have this conversation, he couldn’t. Because Mrs. Owens was Larissa’s mother and even if she wasn’t, she was old enough to be his mother and he’d been raised better.

“Ma’am?”

Mrs. Owens sighed. “I’m talking about my daughter.”

Right. But the woman had three. “Larissa?”

“Of course Larissa. Who else? You moved your business to this godforsaken town and my daughter moved with you and now she’s here.”

An excellent recap, he thought, struggling to find the point.

“You don’t like Fool’s Gold,” he said, stating what was probably the obvious.

“I neither like nor dislike the town.” Her tone implied he was an idiot. “That’s not the point. Larissa is here.”

He knew that, what with signing her paycheck—figuratively rather than literally—and seeing her every day. But Mrs. Owens already knew that, too.

“She is here...with you.” Mrs. Owens sighed heavily. “She loves her job.”

Okay, fine. He was willing to admit it. He was just an average guy. Maybe a little taller, with a used-to-be-better throwing arm and a strong desire to win, but at his heart, he was pretty much like every other beer-drinking, truck-driving man in America. Ignoring, of course, the merlot in his refrigerator and the Mercedes in his garage.

Nancy Owens, an attractive woman in her early fifties, smacked her hands palm down on the table and groaned. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Apparently so, ma’am.”

“Larissa is twenty-eight years old, you moron. I want her to get married and give me grandchildren. That is never going to happen while she’s working for you. Especially not after moving here. I want you to fire her. That way she’ll move back to Los Angeles, find someone decent to marry and settle down.”

“Why can’t she do that here?”

Mrs. Owens sighed the sigh of those blessed with intelligence and insight most could only aspire to.

“Because, Mr. McGarry, I’m reasonably confident my daughter is in love with you.”

* * *

LARISSA OWENS STARED at the blue-eyed cat standing in the center of her small apartment. Dyna was an eight-year-old Ragdoll, with big, beautiful eyes, a sweet face and a thick coat. She had white fur on her chest and front paws and bits of gray on her face. She was the cat equivalent of a supermodel. It was kind of intimidating.

Larissa’s instinct was always to rescue. Cats, dogs, butterflies, people. It didn’t matter which. She knew her friends would claim she jumped in without thinking, but she wasn’t willing to admit that. At least not without prompting. So when she’d heard about a cat in need of a home, she’d offered to take her in. She just hadn’t thought she would be so gorgeous.

“You’re a little overwhelming,” Larissa admitted as she crossed to the small kitchen and put water into a bowl. “Should I dress better now that we’re roommates?”

Dyna glanced at her, as if taking in the yoga pants and T-shirt that were Larissa’s work wardrobe, then continued to explore the small apartment. She sniffed the sofa, checked out corners, studied the full-size mattress in the bedroom and totally ignored the small bathroom.

“Yeah, I know,” Larissa said, putting the water on a place mat by the back door and then trailing after her. “The bathroom is really tiny.”

There wasn’t a counter—just a pedestal sink, a toilet and a stall shower.

Okay, so the apartment wasn’t grand. Larissa didn’t need much. Besides, the place was clean and the rent was cheap. That left her with more of her paycheck to give to her causes. Because there was always a cause.

“The windowsills are wide and you’ll get a lot of light,” Larissa told the cat. “The morning sun is really nice.”

The small apartment came with one unexpected feature—a laundry room. She’d tucked Dyna’s litter box next to the dryer. The cat perused the facilities, then jumped lightly onto the kitchen counter and walked to the sink. She glanced at Larissa, her gaze expectant.

Larissa knew this was why she’d always resisted actually adopting an animal before. She’d told herself it was her lifestyle—that she was so focused on saving them all that she couldn’t be with just one. But in her heart, she’d been afraid she simply didn’t have it in her. Now, as she stared into big blue eyes, she knew she’d been right.