Dreams Don't Wait

Chapter 1

Evan North looked toward the restaurant entrance—again. Then she looked at her watch—again. Twelve-forty-five. She had to get back to work, and he wasn't here yet. Maybe he'd changed his mind. Maybe he wasn't coming. She wished it didn't matter either way, but, damn it, it did. Where was the man? Distractedly, she began a rhythmic tapping on the rim of her water glass.

"Evan, will you cut that out?"

"What?" Evan was mystified.

"That." Caressa Stewart nodded toward the tapping fingers. "You're starting to make me nervous."

"Sorry." Evan pulled back her hand and tucked it under the table, giving her blonde luncheon companion a quick smile as she did so.

When she started to chew on her lower lip, Caressa put her coffee down and gave an indulgent sigh. "What's the matter with you? He's my brother. I told you everything will work out, and it will," she said. "He may be stubborn, arrogant, and irritatingly unpredictable, not to mention that he has the temperament of a sick troll, but you don't have to worry about that."

"Thanks. I feel so much better now."

Caressa smiled and went back to sipping her coffee.

Evan twisted her napkin. "Anyway, how can I not be nervous? This is a genuine, gold-plated opportunity. There's no way I want to blow it. It's too important. Besides, it's not every day I sit in the poshest restaurant in Victoria waiting to meet the famous Lincoln Stewart."

Caressa made a gesture of dismissal with a well-manicured hand. "So he's designed a few buildings. I'd hardly call him famous."

"Caressa Stewart, you are the queen of understatement. A few buildings? Like in Paris, Brussels, Madrid, and Mexico City, not to mention he'll probably be selected to design that new office/theater complex on the Thames next year." Evan shook her head. " 'A few buildings,' the woman says."

Caressa paused before taking another drink of her lukewarm coffee. "How in hell do you know all that?"

"I Googled him," she admitted. "Plus, the architectural trades in the library are full of him."

"Still haunting libraries, I see. Wanted to make sure you weren't going to live with Jack the Ripper, huh?"

"Something like that. Besides, we're not sure yet that I am going to 'live with him,' as you so indelicately put it. He may not like me. You did say he's—"

"Hard to please, bad tempered, dominating, distrustful, and demanding? Yes, I did, and despite all that, you want the job."

"Remind me to tell your brother not to let you handle public relations for him."

Caressa shrugged her expensively suited shoulders before adding, "I calls 'em like I sees 'em. Besides, I want you to be prepared. Linc can be a... trial."

Evan was beginning to wonder if Caressa wasn't kidding about her brother's unruly temperament. Surely he couldn't be as hard to get along with as she made him out to be—not that it mattered. For all she cared, Lincoln Stewart could be first cousin to Attila the Hun. If she got what she wanted, she'd cope. Coping was something she was very, very good at.

"I need that cabin, Caressa," Evan said after a short pause. "Free rent for a year will go a long way towards Cal's tuition."

Evan knew she wouldn't understand. Neither she nor her famous brother had known a moment's want in their lives. They were born to money, then went on to forge highly successful careers that brought more of the same. Evan couldn't conceive of their world any more than they could hers.

"And for a little free rent, you're willing to take on Linc—and Jenny." Caressa cocked her head and gave her a direct gaze. "She could be a challenge, you know. She's a darling, but Linc does tend to indulge her. I don't know much about kids, but from what I see, Jen can be a handful."

"She's only four. She's probably just a normal, active little girl. And besides, I'm not going to be a full-time baby-sitter. Just back up. I'll handle it. No problem." I'll handle anything for free rent and a chance for Cal to have his own room. A man and his daughter? Piece of cake.

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you. About Jenny—or Linc. I love them both madly, but—" Caressa's eyes shifted to a point behind Evan, and she lifted a hand to wave. "Get ready, honey. The man of the hour has arrived." Her gaze swung back to Evan. "And don't worry. That cabin is as good as yours. He's going to love you, you'll see."

As Caressa again waved to catch her brother's attention, Evan crossed her fingers under the table and closed her eyes. She wasn't averse to some silent begging now and then, when the cause was important. And nothing in the world was more important to her than Cal.

When the begging was done, she opened her eyes on Lincoln Tremayne Stewart.

She blinked. Talk about pictures not doing someone justice!

"I don't have a whole lot of time, Caressa, so let's get this over with. Is this her?" He took the chair beside his sister's and glanced across the table at Evan—into her would be more accurate. The look was sharp but careless, the eyes were deeply—intensely—blue. She blinked again.

Caressa rolled her eyes, then planted a light kiss on her brother's cheek.

A tanned, beautiful, clean-shaven cheek. This time she swallowed.

The Internet pic hadn't shown his dark gold hair and a face drawn from a woman's dream. His features were clear, bold, and except for the tenseness around his mouth, nearly perfect. He wore jeans and a soft navy blue sweater, and he sat in his chair as if he owned the restaurant. No. The entire city block.

"Linc, you're being rude—as usual," Caressa said. "But, yes, this is Evan North. The woman I told you about."

He nodded in Evan's general direction and turned back to his sister. "And you checked her out? Carefully."

Caressa gave a long-suffering sigh and poked his arm.

His well-muscled arm, Evan judged, still a bit dazed by his extraordinary appearance. A muscle tightened along his jaw, and her eye was caught by the indentation it made near his mouth. It was either a dimple or smile crease, or maybe—

Get a grip, woman!

Giving herself a mental shake, she willed herself to focus on Caressa, feeling as though she were fighting her way back from anesthesia.

"For heaven's sake, what's to check?" Caressa said. "I've known Evan for years. I told you she's exactly who you need. Perfect."

"Perfect, huh?" Lincoln eyed his sister suspiciously.

Brother and sister stared at each other as if they were rivals in a chess game. Evan let Caressa's wild exaggeration about how long they'd known each other pass and coughed lightly, half to clear her throat and half to get their attention. Past time they included her in this conversation.

"If you have any questions, Mr. Stewart, I'll be happy to answer them," she said, in a voice just a shade off normal.

His blue gaze fixed on her, and he paused before saying, "Linc."

"Pardon?"

"Call me Linc."

Evan nodded. God, his eyes were blue. Her mouth went dry.

"Why do you want this job, anyway?" he went on. "You're aware there's no salary involved?"

"I'm good with children, Mr. Stew—Linc, and I already have a full-time job. I assumed Caressa told you that."

"Maybe. I can't remember. My sister told me damned little. Other than she has this—what was it, Caress?—'dynamite friend" who needs free rent. Hardly a sterling reference for someone who'll assume at least partial responsibility for my daughter."

Evan's eyes shot to Caressa, angry and questioning.

"I told him everything he needed to know. Believe me. Adding to his many deficits, he obviously has a bad case of selective hearing." Caressa gave her brother an irritated look. "And I told her that you were a rude, misanthropic, dominating troll. Thank you so much for not proving me wrong, dear brother." With a careless flourish, she picked up her bag, tossed the lunch tab in Lincoln's general direction, and stood. "I'm leaving. You two work it out. Or not." She gave her brother another quick kiss before adding. "She's perfect, Linc. Don't be an ass."

"I don't intend to be. Not this time, sister mine. So if you're trying to pawn off another one of your—"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Caressa's sigh was long and dramatic. "Good luck, Evan. You're going to need it. I only hope the cabin's worth putting up with the ugly brute. Catch you later."

When the "ugly brute" turned his attention back to her, Evan was struggling to control her temper. Pawn off! The words blistered her brain.

"So. Do you think I'm a troll?" His voice was low, rich with challenge. He shoved aside the water glass standing between them and leaned back in his chair, giving her a long, thoughtful look. If he liked what he saw, he didn't show it.

"I think—" Evan clamped her mouth shut. There was no way she could tell this guy that he was one toss short of the nastiest human being she'd ever met.

"Go on," he urged.

She took a breath. "I think we have a limited time to decide if this arrangement will be beneficial for both of us, and we shouldn't waste it," she said. "I have to be back at work in fifteen minutes. If you don't approve of me, simply say so. Please don't feel any obligation because Caressa spoke on my behalf."

"I don't." He paused for a moment, and his gaze turned boldly appraising. "You don't look like one of her usual friends. No designer wardrobe, no plastic fingernails and"—his eyes swept over her long dark hair, tied loosely at the back of her neck—"no mousse or whatever that goo is women use to make hair sculptures."

"I don't see that how I look is—"

"And no overload in the makeup department either. At least you'd be easy on a man's pillowcases."

Pillowcases! Okay, that had her steaming...not to mention oddly tingly. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Stewart. But you definitely have the wrong—"

"I said call me Linc." He stopped, gave her a speculative look. "Caress says you have a boy. I assume he's part of the bargain."

Evan gritted her teeth and nodded. Cal was most definitely part of the bargain.

"Is he well behaved? I detest brats."

She took in a breath. "He's very grown up for his age. I did not raise a 'brat.' "

"Good. Do you like dogs?"

"Adore them."

"Can you make cookies? Big, gooey ones with chocolate chips?"

She stared at him in amazement before nodding. He'd come dangerously close to smiling. It was a crease! And it curved close to his mouth like a one-sided bracket.

"That last was Jenny's question." He studied her for a moment, then added, "I'll send a truck for your things on Saturday. The place isn't much, but then neither is the job. If you're lucky, you'll only have to look after Jenny one night a week, tops. Can you handle that?"

Evan's heart pounded. The cabin was hers. It was truly hers. She smiled for the first time since this awkward meeting began. "I can handle it."

"Good. It's settled then." He stood, picked up the check, then tossed it back on the table along with some bills before looking down at her. "Your name—Evan—it's unusual for a woman."

"It comes from Evangeline."

"Interesting."

She had no idea what to say to that, and apparently he expected no response.

"Saturday morning, then. Ten. Ten-thirty. And for God's sake, be ready. It's moving day for all of us, and it's going to be hell." With that he headed for the door. He might as well have been a marching band; not a female eye in the place missed his passage. With his dark golden hair, lean hips, and lazy, confident grace, Lincoln Stewart was six full feet of spectacular male.

He probably went through a lot of pillowcases.

* * *

Evan carefully removed a large blowup of a Harley-Davidson from over her bed. Ugly thing, she thought, rolling it into a tight wand. It was in here because Cal treasured the dumb thing, and he didn't have a room of his own to hang it in. Since coming to Victoria six months ago, he'd been sleeping on the sofa. Libby, her soon to be ex-roommate, wouldn't allow the poster in any areas they shared—a living room the size of a tabletop, a bathroom with every second tile missing, and a stamp-sized kitchen.

Her smile broke through. Sharing, accommodating, compromising—all that was behind her now. Tonight Cal would be in his own room and so would the motorcycle poster. She tucked it carefully down the side of a box.

She hoped the troll would tolerate Cal's taste in decorating. If they were lucky, Cal and her, Linc wouldn't even see it. Caressa said he was a very busy guy, and the cabin was a good distance from the main house. Once he'd satisfied himself she was taking care of the place, he would probably keep his distance. Linc Stewart struck her as a man who valued his privacy.

A look at her watch told her it was almost ten-thirty. The truck would be here any minute. Excitement flowered in her chest and she started to hum. A house. A real house for her and Cal. She corrected herself. Not a house, a home. A real home at last.

"Mom, I forgot my Harley—" Cal made a hurried entrance. He stopped when he saw the poster in the box and grinned at her.

"Did you finish packing the books?" she asked.

"They're at the front door. Libby says she hasn't finished the one you lent her, so I left it with her. Oh, and she wants to keep the toaster until she can buy a new one. Is that okay?"

Evan sighed, knowing full well she'd probably never see either the book or the toaster again. Roommates. She'd had enough of them to last a lifetime. It was a wonder Libby hadn't asked Evan to leave Cal. The way she'd been eyeing him lately had been starting to make her nervous. The thought made her frown.

"So, what? It's not okay?" Cal asked.

"No, it's fine. I was thinking about something else. Here, take this." She handed him a battered suitcase.

At the sound of the door buzzer, they looked at each other then did a high-five. Evan took a last look around the tiny room before pushing Cal toward the door. "Answer it, my man. Our new horizons beckon."

The truck driver's name was Gary, and with Cal's help, he made short work of stowing Evan's meager belongings in the back of the truck.

* * *

As the truck pulled up to the Stewart estate, Evan felt a rush of nerves. Cal strained forward as they passed through the open gate, but still they couldn't see the house. The long driveway curved sharply before opening up to expose the old English Tudor mansion. It was large. No, huge. At least three stories, Evan guessed, staring out the window of the truck. Dense green ivy twisted up one side, trailing off at the base of the stone chimney. On the left was a rose garden, somewhat in need of pruning but colorfully beautiful all the same. Although the house had an air of neglect, its nineteenth-century charm was proudly intact. The warm, inviting house was not at all where she'd expect Lincoln Stewart to live. When the driver reached the front entrance, he stopped the truck.

"We're not going in here, Gary," she hurriedly told him.

"I know, but Mr. Stewart told me to stop here and get the key. Your place is around back. Closer to the waterfront, I think. I'll be right back."

"Are we going to be near the ocean?" Cal asked.

"I guess so, hon." Evan's answer was distracted. She was still a little overwhelmed by the size of the estate.

Cal was excited. Evan was confused. Caressa hadn't mentioned Linc's place was on the water. She'd only said it wasn't far from the university, and there was an old cabin on the acreage not being used. Apparently, Lincoln didn't want anyone else in the main house, so he'd decided to use it for the extra help. That being her as it turned out. Evan hadn't asked too many questions; the cabin was free, had two bedrooms and no roommate. There was nothing else she needed to know.

"Got it." The driver jumped back into the cab waving a key and started the truck.

* * *

"All right!" Cal leaped out of the truck and headed for the beach. Evan took three deep breaths and followed him. She couldn't believe her eyes; the setting was beautiful. The tiny cabin was mere yards from the shoreline. It was made of logs, with a generous front porch facing southeast. A great place for coffee and sunrises. A rocky outcropping forged out from the shore some sixty feet to form a natural breakwater. Twisted pines and red arbutus bunched randomly across its surface in competition for its sparse, moss-covered soil. Before Evan turned back to the house, Cal was halfway down the beach.

Gary was inside piling up their small store of possessions. She stepped in, looked around, then up, her eyes following a beam of sunlight to its source in the ceiling, a hole the size of a tennis ball.

The place was a wreck.

There was dust an inch thick across the scarred plank floor, and the two broken windows, a scatter of broken furniture, and the pervasive odor brought tears to Evan's eyes.

"Needs a little TLC, I'd guess," Gary said, looking at her as though to gauge her reaction.

"I'd say you guessed right. What do you think that gruesome smell is?" She sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose, and set out to follow it. Gary followed her.

"I think we found it," she gasped, clamping her fingers on her nose. "Yuck!" A recently deceased squirrel.

Gary picked it up with a piece of yellowed newspaper and disposed of it. Most, but not all, of the smell went with it. Evan opened the double doors leading to the porch and stepped outside to take in some refreshing, clean air.

Gary finished unloading the truck and was waving good-bye when Cal returned from the beach. He did a sixty-second tour of the cabin and joined her on the porch.

"Pretty gross. What do you think?"

She smiled for the first time since seeing the house. " 'Gross' about covers it, I'd say." She ruffled his dark, curly hair. "Feel like making a miracle?"

"How?" Cal said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

"That broom over there might help. You can start with your room."

He cringed and made a sour face, but picked up the broom and headed down the hall.

Evan smoothed back the damp hair from her forehead and looked around the dingy space.

Next payday, some paint; and the one after that, curtains, she decided. She'd spend enough to make the place bearable and not a penny more. Cal's college money came first.

"This place is a dump."

Evan spun to face the door. She was in time to see Linc Stewart step in. He looked around in disgust. "There's no way you're going to live here." He tested his weight on the plank floor. His expression was thunderous when the old boards groaned and creaked under the pressure. "The damn place is dangerous."

Evan's surprise at his sudden arrival was instantly replaced with fear. He was going to send them away. He couldn't. She wouldn't let him.

"Pack up your things and—"

"It's fine. Really it is. There's nothing a healthy shot of elbow grease won't fix." Her words came in a rush. "Cal and I will fix everything. There's no need—"

"You heard me. Pack. I can't take the risk."

"No." She lifted her chin. "We made a bargain. This cabin—free—for no less than one year. If I have to, I'll, uh, take legal action, if you try to send us away." Evan was bluffing, but she had to convince him.

His angry look turned to a frown. "I said—"

"Mom, is this any good?" Cal came into the room, holding up a mangled wicker table. He stopped when he saw Linc glaring at his mother and instinctively glared back.

"Cal, this is Mr. Stewart. He's the owner of the cabin," she said.

Cal drew himself up to his full five feet ten inches and eyed Linc warily.

"This is your son?" Linc's amazement was obvious.

Evan steeled herself for the next question, and nodded. She hated this, more for Cal than for herself. Of course, there was the remote chance her landlord troll might err on the side of courtesy.

He didn't. "How old is he?" He gave Cal a quick once-over, taking in the dark, curly hair, the full, strong, young body, the boyishly handsome face that was a harbinger of adult masculine beauty.

"Sixteen."

His gaze swung back to her, questioning. "And how old are you?"

She didn't hesitate. Might as well get it over with, but if he asked her one more personal question after this one, she was going to gut him with her broom handle. "I'm thirty."

If he made any judgment based on that simple calculation, it didn't show in his eyes. "Pack up your stuff."

"I told you, we're not going. We'll make this work."

"I'm not throwing you out, Evan," he said, talking to her much as he would a recalcitrant child. "What I want is for you to stay in the main house for a few days while I get this pigsty in livable—and safe—condition."

"Oh. Well..." Feeling half dumb and a whole lot unreasonably stubborn, she reddened. "I see. That's generous of you, Mr. Stew—"

"Linc, for God's sake," he corrected irritably.

"Yes, well like I said, that's very generous of you... Linc, but Cal and I are fine right here. Aren't we, Cal?"

Cal, who was still glaring at Linc, nodded quickly. His expression said he'd rather spend the night naked in the rain forest than go anywhere with the glowering figure standing in front of them.

"I'm not being kind or generous," Linc said. "I'm being practical. Aside from safety issues, this cabin forms part of an estate I paid a lot of money for. I was assured every part of it, including this place"—he looked around in disgust—"was in good order. My mistake—other than buying a house from across an ocean—was that I concentrated my attention on the main house. I'm not usually so careless. And while you may be willing to live in a hovel, I have an investment to protect. This place needs repairs, and I'll see that they're done. Now, if you'll please just pack up what you need for now, I'll take you up to the house. You can stay there until this mess is made right. If that doesn't suit you, I'll drive you to the nearest Cockroach Inn."

Evan chewed angrily on her lower lip. Rude, obnoxious, bossy—

"Well? Are you coming or not?"

"How long?" She stood her ground. For better or worse this ramshackle cabin was now her home.

"How long for what?"

"How long will it be before we can move back in?"

"Two weeks, maybe a month. Who the hell knows? What matters is that it's done and done right."

She stared at him. "I'd prefer a deadline, not a target, if it's all the same to you."

He scrubbed his chin, the gesture quick and impatient. "If I pull out all the stops and the work goes well, two weeks," he said. "Will that be satisfactory, Ms. North?"

"Two weeks," she agreed, not above a lift of her chin. "Cal, will you please get my other suitcase and your sport bag? We'll get anything else we need tomorrow."

Linc stood in the open doorway, waiting and tapping his fingers against his denim clad thigh.

When she was closer to him, she stopped and said, "Thank you, Linc. We're all yours—reluctantly—for two weeks."

* * *

The main house was reeling under trade-driven activity. Moving men, drapery hangers, painters, appliance installers, and on the second floor, carpet layers. It was a madhouse. Was the man crazy to have all this going on the day he moved in? She looked at him, certain her bafflement showed on her face. He was as sullen and distracted as ever. He cut her a sideways look before raking a hand through his hair. Obviously he was as put out about her being here as she was.

"Maud," he shouted up the stairs leading to a balcony Evan guessed would be off the second-floor bedrooms.

A head became visible over the banister at the top of the stairs. "I'm up here. Oh, it's you, Lincoln. Just a minute. I'm helping Jenny into her jeans. We'll be right down."

When Maud Cahane and Jenny came down the stairs, both were laughing as though at some private joke. When they spotted Evan, Maud's hazel eyes brightened. She was a pretty woman who exuded warmth and heart. Evan liked her on sight. Her age was elusive. While her hair hinted at sixty, her skin said forty, and her smile, warming as Linc introduced them, would put her at no more than twenty.

But while Maud's smile deepened, Jenny's dropped from her face with the speed of an overripe apple. Wariness replaced it. Ignoring Evan, she turned her attention to Cal, shooting curious glances at him from a safe place behind Maud's hip. Evan crouched down to say hello.

"So you're Jenny," she said. "Your aunt Caressa's told me all about you, but I didn't know how pretty you are. I'm Evan, and this"—she gestured at her tall, handsome son—"is Cal."

Jenny clutched Maud's hand and took Evan's measure with the cautious consideration of a foreman hiring a new recruit. This was not a child who easily gave her affection. Good for you, Jenny. A touch of reticence saves you from a lot of pain. Something I didn't find out until I made one too many mistakes. She touched the girl's light golden hair, a forerunner of her father's much darker shade, she guessed. When Jenny pulled away from her touch, she let it happen. Children liked to do things in their own time.

The introductions complete, Linc asked, "Maud, are there a couple of rooms we can use for a few days? That damn cabin's a shambles."

"So is this house, in case you haven't noticed," Maud said good-naturedly, "but we'll figure something out. Evan can use the room adjoining yours. The carpeting is complete in that one, and"—she tapped a finger against her chin—"if it's all right with you, Cal, you can sleep in the attic playroom. It should do for now. Another bedroom should be ready in a couple of days." She gave him a warm smile. "Will that be okay, or will all those dolls and tea sets up there be too much for you?" she teased.

Cal, who hadn't smiled since leaving the cabin, grinned before answering, "It'll be okay, thanks."

"Good, Why don't you come with me then, and I'll show you where it is. We might have to go on a bit of a treasure hunt for bed linens."

Cal looked at his mother, and then at Linc. When the men's eyes met, Cal's smile vanished and he straightened. "You okay here, Mom?" he asked. Evan sensed his real question was, are you okay with him?

"I'm fine. Go ahead, Cal. I'll see you later."

The trio set off, leaving Linc and Evan alone at the bottom of the stairs. Linc frowned after Cal, then was immediately distracted by a workman asking him a question about the electrical work. Evan took the alone time to look around for the first time.

It was a truly grand house. The wide staircase curved gracefully down to the spacious foyer, where its newel posts rested on aged floors with the patina of polished bronze. Evan couldn't resist crossing the hall to look into what she was sure would be the library. A house like this just had to have a library. She was right. A long, pleased sigh escaped her as she scanned the room.

Two walls were bookshelves, from the floor to the ten-foot-high ceiling; a third wall was a mere framework for a magnificently arched, beveled-glass window. The last wall had French doors leading to a patio looking out over Evan's cabin and the ocean beyond. Although the room was a mess, full of tools, drop cloths, and paint tins, it was easy to visualize the finished product. In her thirty years, Evan had only imagined a room like this. She had never seen one. She leaned against the doorjamb as her eyes roamed the still-empty bookcases.

"Like it?" Linc asked from behind her, his voice coolly questioning.

"Love it would be more accurate." Smiling, she made no attempt to hide her feelings. "It's perfect."

He gave her a strange look. "It's far from finished."

"Is that where you'll work?" Evan gestured toward the area in front of the tall window. "The light will be wonderful."

He nodded. "When I'm here. I travel a lot, though I'm hoping that will change now that we're settled. Would you like to see the rest of the house before I show you your room?"

She looked up in surprise. While she was determined to be courteous, she'd given up expecting the same consideration from him. "I'd like that," she said.

"We'll start with the kitchen. Maud made sandwiches earlier, and I'm hungry. You?" He cocked his head. "Or are you into starvation? I've yet to meet a friend of Caressa's who didn't bemoan the calorie count of head lettuce."

He looked so irritable at the thought, Evan laughed. He reminded her of a lion with a thorn in its paw. "Do I look like I starve myself?" The minute the question was out of her mouth, she regretted it. His eyes scanned her boldly, pausing briefly on her full breasts. When his eyes came back to hers, her face was hot. He'd made her shapeless tracksuit feel as revealing as a bath towel.

"No, you don't. You look very... healthy," he drawled. Then, as if an icy wind had just frozen his vocal cords, he took her by the elbow and added, "Come on. The kitchen's this way."

The tour was whirlwind. It was as though Linc regretted his original offer and wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. He walked her through fifteen rooms in what felt like fifteen minutes, ending the tour at the door of the master bedroom. His room. Newly carpeted in a deep forest green, it was dominated by a massive four-poster bed. Boxes lined the walls, and a suitcase lay open on an antique chest at the foot of the bed.

"Your room is through there." Leaning casually against one of the bedposts, he pointed to a door leading off to the right.

"You're kidding! You mean I have to go through your room to get to mine?" She looked up at him in startled disbelief. This wouldn't do. Not at all.

Her reaction seemed to amuse him. "That bothers you?"

"Of course it bothers me. There must be another room I can use. If not, I'll sleep in the den. I noticed a sofa bed there. It will be fine."

Still propped against the bedpost, he nodded his head in the direction of his bed. "Isn't this more what you had in mind?"

Her mouth fell open. She closed it and stared at him. She couldn't have heard right. She absolutely, positively could not have heard right. The man had barely skirted courtesy all afternoon—and now he was propositioning her—or worse yet insulting her?

"Very good." He crossed his arms and nodded his head approvingly. "Just the right amount of shock. And the way your mouth softened? Perfect. Caressa has outdone herself this time. Between this performance and the one at the cabin, you almost had me convinced."

"What"—she swallowed—"what are you talking about?"

His hands dropped to his sides. "Look, sweetheart, I don't have time for games. If Caressa talked you into coming here in the hopes you could warm my heart on a permanent basis, you can forget it. On the other hand, if you choose to warm my bed—temporarily—you're more than welcome. But if you think for a minute I'm going to buy the fact you're here to live in my rundown cabin as a backup sitter, you're nuts, and so is my meddling sister. And another thing; if that tall, good-lookin' kid is yours, I'm the pied piper. I can count, and unless you—"

The feel of his cheek under the palm of her hand was immeasurably rewarding. The jerk of his insolent head was a bonus. Evan was wild with rage.

"You pompous, arrogant bastard! Just who in hell do you think you are?" She swung again, but this time he caught her hand, but that only fired up her rage. "Where do you get off insulting me, insulting my son?" She yanked at her hand, but he held her wrist fast. "Let me go, let me out of here. You self-important, egotistical excuse for a man. Let me go!"

"You're trying to tell me you don't know what I'm talking about?" He cocked his head suspiciously. His cheek painted red by her handprint.

"I'm telling you I think you're an insulting, depraved egomaniac, and I wouldn't warm your damn bed, as you so crudely put it, if you were Adam and I were Eve and the future of the human race depended on us. Is that clear enough?" She yanked at her hand. This time he let her go, but he still looked unconvinced.

"This wasn't something you cooked up with Caressa?" he asked.

"Are you paranoid or what?" She barely restrained herself from belting him again. "I barely know her. I met her three months ago when she joined my reading group."

"Reading group? Caressa? Hah!" His distrustful frown returned "Tell me another one. Besides, she told me she'd known you for years."

"For some reason the poor, misguided woman thought she was doing me a favor." She rubbed at her wrist. "Boy, was she wrong. This kind of favor, I don't need." She turned toward the door. "I'm out of here."

"Wait."

Her hand was on the doorknob.

"Just a minute," he added.

She turned as he took a step away from the bed. He used two fingers to rub distractedly at his right temple. "If what you say is true..."

She straightened, turned the doorknob, and gave him a murderous stare.

"Wait. One damn minute, will you? I didn't mean that." He held up a hand. "I'm... sorry. It's just that..." He stopped as if considering what else to say, how far to go.

As far as Evan was concerned, he didn't look one bit sorry. He looked petulant. Yes, that was it. Like a boy forced to make an apology to a girl after he'd gleefully put a frog down her dress. It was obvious apologies didn't come easy to him. But she was enjoying his discomfort. He deserved every minute of it. She waited.

"It's just that, well, I thought you were another of Caressa's attempts to... She swore you weren't... but I didn't believe her. You wouldn't, either if you knew her better," he added with a touch of belligerence.

"Run that by me again. Caressa's attempts to what?"

He sucked in a fortifying breath and raked a hand through his hair. He looked as though he'd just swigged sour milk. "Attempts to—as Caressa puts it—find me the right woman."

"Caressa is trying to fix you up?" Instantly intrigued, Evan's hand came off the knob.

He scowled at her. "That's a charming way to put it."

"We're long past being charming."

He rubbed his cheek. "Yeah, I guess so."

Evan was unrepentant. "Not that I can't see why you'd need help in that department... being fixed up, I mean." She smiled sweetly to spike the barb. "But why me? I'm hardly in the market for a husband—or child," she added. That's about the last thing I want. I might never have had a husband, but I've been a mother over half my life. My time is coming and I plan to live it—alone.

"Does my meddling sister know that?"

"Probably not. We like each other, but we haven't exactly reached the heart-to-heart stage."

"She hasn't been, uh, promoting me then?"

"She told me you were bossy, quick-tempered, distrustful, and rude. Does that count?"

He smiled grimly. "Reverse psychology?"

"Not as I see it."

When the silence between them advanced to awkward, Evan again reached for the doorknob. "Look, your love life, or lack of it, is endlessly fascinating, but it's getting late. If I'm going to find a place to stay tonight, I'd better get going."

She was nearly out the door when he spoke.

"The door to your room is down the hall, Evan. That one"—he nodded in the direction of the adjoining door—"locks from your side. Now that we understand each other, maybe we can start over. I still need someone to fill in for Maud, and you still want the cabin. Right?"

She hesitated, gave him an openly dubious look. "You honestly think we can salvage a working relationship out of a tasteless pass and a hard right to the jaw?"

"We can try." He offered his hand.

She looked at it; at the long fingers, wide palm, deeply furrowed line of fate. Wordlessly she slipped her hand into his. Sensation and heat eddied up her arm with a swiftness that caught her off guard. She reclaimed her hand. It wasn't so easy to reclaim her calm. Avoiding his eyes, she opened the door. "I hope this works," she muttered, half to herself, half to him, as she stepped through the door.

"It will. And I promise no more tasteless passes," he said, closing the door.