Second Chance Girl (Happily Inc. #2)

“It’s not the book.”

“You’re right, of course. It’s Mr. Darcy. How I dislike that man. I had several meetings with a production company in Los Angeles and all the women were obsessed with him. I doubt Jane Austen knew what she was creating.”

“Probably not and I would guess that’s for the best.” She lowered her voice. “I suspect our obsession, as you call it, isn’t proper.”

She was delightful, Ulrich thought. Bright, funny, sexy as hell. There was a vitality he found appealing. Violet Lund was so much more than he’d expected. Accusing her of stealing might have been the smartest thing he’d ever done.





CHAPTER SEVEN

CAROL WAITED UNTIL the night staff arrived to pack up for the day. She’d already inventoried the delivery of marionberry leaf-eater biscuits that had arrived. They were ridiculously expensive, but Millie loved them, so they were ordered. If the giraffe didn’t have friends at the moment, she should at least have a happy tummy.

After turning off her computer, Carol got into her car and headed home. The late afternoon was perfect—warm and sunny. It would cool down that evening and by dawn it would be (relatively) cold—fall had arrived in the desert. To her mind, it was one of the most beautiful seasons, not that she had many complaints about the weather in Happily Inc. Yes, summer could be a little toasty, but it was a small price to pay for how great it was the rest of the year.

She drove along the road, only to slow when she saw a familiar man walking a happy, tail-wagging beagle. The man had a way about him, she thought with resignation as he approached the car.

“The cows settled for the night?” he asked.

“They are. Want a ride home?”

“It defeats the purpose of taking my loaner dog for a walk.”

“Is that a no?”

“Just an observation.”

He got in, then patted his lap. Sophie jumped in and scrambled up on him so that she could see out the front windshield. Mathias snapped his seat belt in place, put one protective arm around the dog and smiled at Carol.

“We’re ready.”

The smile hit her like a hoof to the belly with an uncomfortable combination of surprise and impact. No, no, no, she told herself firmly. Thinking Mathias was hunky was one thing—it was more of an intellectual exercise—like appreciating great art. But going further—stepping into that crazy I want him world was not allowed. Not only would it be a complete disaster, she would have to deal with the aftermath for the rest of her life. They were neighbors. She could see his house from her house. The town was small, their lives entwined and no. Just plain no.

She continued down the road, all the while explaining to her wayward emotions that being stupid wasn’t an option. After a couple of minutes, she realized her normally highly verbal passenger hadn’t said a word.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

She glanced at him. “There’s something. Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m fine. Just crap at the studio. I’ve been working on a project and it’s not going well. The last couple of days have been a challenge.”

“What does that mean? I’m the least artistic person on the planet so I have no frame of reference.”

“I can see what I want to create in my head but I can’t make it happen.”

“In glass?”

“Yes.”

“So not dishes.”

“No.” He shifted Sophie so she was leaning against him. “However, it is glass, so when I screw up, I can smash it to bits. I’ve been doing a lot of that.”

“While we lesser mortals have to live with our mistakes.”

“It’s good to be me.”

She pulled into his driveway. Mathias turned to her.

“Want to come in for a drink, maybe stay for dinner?”

Before she could express surprise, he added, “I’d like the company.”

Meaning what? He wanted to be with her or he didn’t want to be alone? Why were men so complicated?

“Um, sure.” She turned off the engine and got her bag, then followed him around to the back door. He pushed it open. Sophie led the way inside, then waited for her leash to be unsnapped. She made a beeline for the sofa in the family room, jumped up and settled right in the middle.

“I see you’ve made it clear who’s in charge,” Carol murmured as she set her bag on the end table.

“Like you’d make her sleep on the floor.”

“Probably not. She seems really comfortable. You two must be getting along.”

“She’s not so bad.” As they spoke, he walked into the kitchen and pulled out a blender. “Margaritas okay?”

She’d been thinking more of a glass of wine, but sure. “Sounds good.”

She watched as he poured ingredients into the blender, then hit the switch. When the mixture resembled a thick, icy temptation, he filled a good-sized glass and handed it to her, then got a beer out of the refrigerator for himself.

“You didn’t have to do this for me,” she said.

“It was easy.”

They settled on opposite sides of Sophie. Carol sipped her drink and found it went down way too easily. Oh, well—her house wasn’t all that far away. If she overindulged, she would simply walk home and retrieve her car in the morning.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “You seem, I don’t know, restless, I guess.” A thought occurred that stuck her like a pin, but still forced her to say, “Is the sexy bridesmaid pool too small these days?”

“I’m giving up bridesmaids.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. But I haven’t been looking lately.”

“Why not?” Because as much as she would want his decision to be about her, she knew it wasn’t.

“Like I said, I’m working on something and it’s not coming out right. I’m frustrated by that. I can see it in my head and when I’m creating it, for a second, I know it’s okay. Then it all falls apart.”

“I have no idea what it’s like to be talented,” she admitted. “I can offer sympathy, but no real course of action. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re nice to listen.”

Nice? She held in a sigh. That was her. The nice girl. Not special, not dangerous, just pleasant. She was like having oatmeal for breakfast. A sensible choice but hardly one that got your blood racing.

“Tell me about Millie,” he said before taking a long swallow of his beer. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s healthy, but still lonely.”

“And the fund?”

She sighed. “Growing slowly. The donation cans I’ve placed around town fill up steadily, but they’re not going to get us there. My dad and uncle’s donation is great, but there’s still a long way to go. I’ve been researching different ways to raise money that get me more than a car wash or bake sale. I need to figure out some kind of fund-raiser.”

“Your goal is half a million dollars?”

He sounded more curious than appalled, which she appreciated. A couple of people had expressed amazement that she would ever consider “wasting” that much on a few giraffes.

“Yes. Some of that covers purchasing the other animals, plus transportation and the new barns.”

“That has to be complicated. Do you call UPS?”