Sizzling
Susan Mallery
The Buchanans—Book Three
Chapter One

Until 6:45 on that Thursday morning, women had always loved Reid Buchanan.

They’d started leaving notes in his locker long before he’d figured out the opposite sex could be anything but annoying. During his sophomore year of high school, his hormones had kicked in and he’d become aware of all the possibilities. Over spring break of that year, Misty O’Connell, a senior, had seduced him in her parent’s basement on a rainy Seattle afternoon, during an MTV Real World marathon.

He’d adored women from that moment on and they had returned the affection. Until today, when he casually turned the page in the morning paper and saw his picture next to an article with the headline: "Fame, absolutely. Fortune, you bet. But good in bed? Not so much."

Reid nearly spit out his coffee as he jerked to his feet and stared at the page. He blinked, then rubbed his eyes and read the headline again.

Not good in bed? NOT GOOD IN BED?

"She’s crazy," he muttered, knowing the author had to be a woman he’d dated and dumped. This was about revenge. About getting back at him by humiliating him in public. Because he was good in bed, dammit. Better than good.

He made women scream on a regular basis. They clawed his back—he had the scars to prove it. They stole into his hotel room at night when he was on the road, they begged, they followed him home and offered him anything if he would just sleep with them again.

He was better than good, he was a god!

He was also completely and totally screwed, he thought as he sank back into his chair and scanned the article. Sure enough, the author had gone out with him. It had been one night of what she described as nearly charming conversation, almost funny stories from his past and a so-so couple of hours naked. It was all couched in "don’t sue me" language. Things like "Just one reporter’s opinion" and "Maybe it’s just me, but..."

She’d also claimed he regularly blew off charity events and kids in need—neither of which was true. He couldn’t blow off what he never agreed to do. And that was his standard rule—not to get personally involved in anything, including benefits.

He studied the name of the reporter, but it meant nothing. Not even a whisper of a memory. There wasn’t a picture, so he grabbed his laptop and went on-line to the paper’s web site. Under the bio section he found a photo.

He studied the average looking brunette and had a vague recollection of something. Okay, yeah, so maybe he’d slept with her, but just because he couldn’t remember what had happened didn’t mean it hadn’t been incredible.

But along with the fuzzy memories was the idea that he’d gone out with her during the playoffs, when his former team had been fighting for a chance to make the World Series and he’d been back in Seattle, in his first year of retirement. He’d been bitter and angry about being out of the game. He might have been drunk.

"I was thinking about baseball instead of her. So sue me," he muttered as he read the article again.

Deep, soul-shriveling embarrassment chilled him. Instead of calling him a bastard to all of her friends, this woman had chosen to humiliate him in public. How the hell was he supposed to fight back? In the courts? He’d been around long enough to know he didn’t have a case, and even if he did, how was he supposed to win? Parade a bunch of women around who would swear he made the earth move just by kissing them?

While he kind of liked that idea, he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. He’d been a famous baseball player once, and there was nothing the public liked more than to see the mighty fall.

His friends would read this. His family would read this. Everyone he knew in Seattle would read it. He could only imagine what would happen when he walked into the Downtown Sports Bar today.

At least it was local, he thought grimly. Contained. He wouldn’t have to deal with hearing from his old baseball buddies.

The phone rang. He grabbed it.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Buchanan? Reid? Hi. I’m a producer here at Access Hollywood. I was wondering if you’d like to make a comment on the article in the Seattle paper this morning. The one about—"

"I know what it’s about," he growled.

"Oh, good." The young woman on the other end of the phone giggled. "How about an interview? I could have a crew there this morning. I’m sure you want to tell your side of things."

He hung up and swore. Access Hollywood? Already?

The phone rang again. He pulled the plug and thought about throwing it against the wall, but the damn phone wasn’t responsible for this disaster.

His cell rang. He hesitated before picking it up. The Caller ID showed a familiar number. A friend from Atlanta. He exhaled with relief. Okay, this call he could take.

"Hey, Tommy. How’s it going?"

"Reid, buddy. Have you seen it? The article? It’s everywhere. Total bummer. And for the record—dude, too much information."

#

If Lori Johnston had believed in previous lives, she would have wondered if she’d been a general, or some other kind of tactical expert in one of hers. There was nothing she liked more than taking a few unrelated elements, mixing them together and creating the perfect solution to a problem.

This morning she had to deal with hospital equipment arriving the day after it was supposed to and a catering service delivery with every single entrée wrong. In her free time, she had her new patient to meet and safely deliver home, assuming the ambulance driver wasn’t late. Where other people would be screaming and threatening, Lori felt energized. She would meet this challenge as she met all others and she would be victorious.

The delivery men finished assembling the state-of-the-art hospital bed and stepped back for her inspection. She stretched out on the mattress to check for bumps and low spots. What might just be annoying to someone healthy could be impossible to endure when one had a broken hip.

When the mattress passed inspection, she worked the controls.

"There’s a squeak when I raise the bed," she said. "Can you fix that?"

The men shared an exasperated glance, but she didn’t care. Trying to get comfortable while in pain was bad enough, but an annoying noise could make things worse.

She checked out the table on wheels, and it was fine, as were the wheelchair and the walker.

While they dealt with the squeak, Lori hurried into the massive kitchen where the catering staff sorted through the meals they’d brought.

"The chili?" a woman in a white uniform asked.

"Has to go." Lori pointed to the list she’d posted on the refrigerator. "This is a woman in her seventies. She’s had a heart attack and surgery on a broken hip. She’s on medication. I said tasty, but not spicy. We want to encourage her to eat, but she may still have stomach issues from all the medication. She doesn’t need to lose weight, so that’s not a problem. Healthy, tempting dishes. Not chili, not sushi, nothing fancy."

She’d been so specific on the phone, too, she thought with minor exasperation.

Still, she would prevail and when the details were handled, she would stop at Dilettante Chocolates for a little something. Chocolate always brightened her day.

"You could beat them. That would get their attention."

That voice. Lori didn’t have to turn around to know who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. They’d only met once but everything about him was burned into his brain, including the sound of his voice. It made her want to consider a lobotomy.

She braced herself for the impact of the dark, knowing eyes, the handsome-but-just-shy-of-too-handsome face, and the casual slouch that should have annoyed the heck out of her, but instead made her want to melt like a twelve year old at a Jesse McCartney concert.

Reid Buchanan was everything she disliked in a man. He’d always had it easy so nothing had value. Women threw themselves at him. He’d had a brilliant career playing baseball, although she’d never followed sports and didn’t know any details. And, he’d never once in his entire life bothered with a woman as ordinary as her.

"Don’t you have something better to do than just show up and annoy me?" she asked as she turned toward him.

Her reaction to his physical presence was immediate. She found it difficult to breathe, let alone think.

"Annoying you is an unexpected bonus," he said, "but not the reason I’m here. My grandmother’s coming home today."

"I know that. I arranged it."

"I thought I’d stop by to visit her."

"I’m sure knowing you stopped by four hours before she was due home will brighten her day so much that the healing process will be cut in half."

She pushed past him, ignoring the quick brush of her arm against his and the humiliating burst of heat that ignited inside of her. She was pathetic. No, she was worse than pathetic—one day she would grow enough to achieve pathetic and that would be a victory.

"She won’t be here until this afternoon?" he asked as he followed her back into the library.

"Unfortunately, no. But it was thrilling to see you. So sorry you can’t stay."

He leaned against the door frame in this room. He did that a lot. He must know how good he looking doing it, Lori thought grimly. No doubt he practiced at home.

She knew Reid was shallow and selfish and only interested in women as perfect as himself, so why was she attracted to him? She was intelligent. She should know better. And she did...in her head. It was the rest of her that was the problem.

She was a total and complete cliché—a smart, average-looking woman pining after the unobtainable. The bookstores probably contained an entire shelf of self-help books dedicated to her condition. If she believed in self-help books, she could go get herself healed.

As it was, she was stuck with enduring.

"Don’t you have to go away?" she asked.

"For now, but I’ll be back."

"I’ll count the hours."

"You do that." He stayed where he was, apparently unmovable.

"What?" she asked. "Are we waiting for something?"

He smiled, a slow, sexy smile that caused her heart to actually skip a beat. It was a new low.

"You don’t read the paper, do you?" he asked.

"No. I go running in the morning and I listen to music."

The smile brightened. "Good. I’ll see you later."

"You could wait until the evening nurse shows up and visit then. Wouldn’t that be a great plan?"

"But then you’d miss me. Snarling at me is the best part of your day. Bye Lori."

And then he was gone.

#

"You’re Gloria Buchanan’s home care nurse?" the woman at the main nurse’s station asked. "Oh, honey, you have my sympathy."

Lori was far more interested in getting her patient home and settled than chatting with the rehab facility staff, but she knew the importance of getting as much information as she could up front. The more she knew, the better plan she could develop.

"Cranky from the pain?" Lori asked as she glanced at the name tag on the other woman’s scrubs top. "That’s fairly typical. As she heals, her mood will improve."

"I don’t think so. She’s more than cranky," Vicki said. "Miserable. She complains constantly. She hates her room, the food, her treatments, the staff, the sheets, the temperature, the weather. Let me tell you, we’re all so grateful to get her out of here." Vicki leaned close. "If you have another job offer, take it. Even if it pays less. Trust me, whatever you’re making, it’s not enough."

Lori was used to patients who were frustrated by their condition. "I’ll be fine."

"You’ve already met her?"

"Ah, no."

It was Lori’s practice to visit her patients before bringing them home. Establishing a good working relationship ahead of time often smoothed the transition process. However both times she’d stopped by the rehab facility to meet Gloria, she’d been told that "Mrs. Buchanan was refusing all visitors." Calling ahead to make an appointment hadn’t changed the fact.

Vicki shook her head. "It’s your funeral, hon. You haven’t met anyone like this woman before. But that’s for you to decide. I’ve made copies of her chart. She’s already signed out by the doctor. He was as happy to get rid of her as the rest of us. She had her lawyer call and threaten to pull his license—twice. I hope they’re paying you a lot."

They were, which was why Lori had taken the job. She was saving up so that she could take a few months off next year. But even without the high pay, she would have kept the job—just to prove everyone wrong about Gloria Buchanan.

Lori took the thick folder. "She’s making progress with her physical therapy?"

"If the screaming is anything to go by." Vicki sighed. "Yes, she’s healing. We took x-rays of the broken hip yesterday and she looks good. The heart attack was minor, the blockage is gone and with her new medication, she should live another twenty years...God help us."

Lori knew very little about Gloria personally. From researching her, she’d found out that the woman had been widowed at a young age. She’d taken a single restaurant and, during a time when women were more likely to either stay at home or be a school teacher, created an empire. Gloria’s only son had died in his early thirties and his wife had been killed in a car accident a few years later.

Despite what must have been overwhelming grief, Gloria had taken in her four grandchildren and raised them herself, all the while managing four restaurants. Anyone who had suffered that much had earned the right to be a little difficult.

"I’ll go introduce myself, then," Lori said. "The ambulance is already here to transport her home. I’ll pick up the paperwork on the way out."

Vicki nodded. "Sure thing. I’ll be right here. Good luck."

Lori waved and walked toward Gloria’s room.

The poor woman. Everyone was determined to see her as difficult. But from what Lori had been able to find out, no one in her family wanted anything to do with her. Gloria was injured, lonely and probably feeling frail. Isolation was never good under any circumstances.

She found the right room and knocked once before entering.

"Mrs. Buchanan," she said as she smiled at the small, white-haired woman lying in the hospital bed. "I’m Lori Johnston. I’ll be your day nurse while you’re convalescing."

Gloria put down the book she’d been reading and glanced at Lori over her glasses. "I doubt that. Reid was going to be choosing the nurses who would care for me. I’m sure he found the idea hilarious. He only likes beautiful women with large breasts. Unfortunately they have IQs smaller than their waist. You’re neither attractive nor well-endowed. You have the wrong room."

Lori opened her mouth, then closed it. She was too surprised to be insulted, which was probably a good thing. "I don’t doubt your grandson’s taste in women. In fact it fits everything I already know about him. I may not be his ideal, but I’m still your nurse. At least during the day. You’ll have an evening and a night nurse."

"You’re not anyone I want to work with."

"How do you know?"

"I have a sense about people. I don’t like the look of you. Go away."

Now this was a level of crabby Lori could relate to. She smiled as she crossed the room to the bed. "Here’s the thing. I have an ambulance waiting right outside. There are a couple of burly guys who are going to drive you home. At your house, there’s a bed waiting downstairs, food and privacy you never get in a place like this. Why don’t you wait until we’re there before firing me."

"You’re humoring me. I loathe that."

"I’m not thrilled about being insulted, but I’m going to go with it. What about you?"

Gloria narrowed her gaze. "You’re not one of those perpetually cheerful people, are you?"

"No. I’m sarcastic and demanding."

"Have you had sex with my grandson?"

Lori laughed. In her dreams, perhaps, but never in real life. After all she was neither attractive nor well-endowed. Talk about being dismissed. "There hasn’t been time. Is it a requirement?"

Gloria sighed. "The man has no off switch. If it has a vagina, he’s probably been in it."

"Not mine. I’ll agree he’s shallow but pretty. Isn’t that always the way? So are you packed?"

Gloria’s expression tightened. "I do not pack my own belongings. Even if I did, my condition would prevent any such activity."

So the momentary rapport was gone. Well, it had been good while it lasted.

"No problem. I’ll collect everything. Do you have a suitcase? If not, I’m sure there are some shopping bags in the staff’s lunch room."

The older woman practically crackled with outrage. "You will not put anything of mine in a shopping bag. Do you know who I am?"

Lori was careful to keep her back to her patient as she pulled a suitcase out of the closet by the bathroom. Gloria knowing she found this conversation kind of funny wouldn’t help things. "Sure. You’re Gloria Buchanan. Speaking of which, I think I’m going to call you Gloria. Mrs. Buchanan is so formal and we’re going to be getting really close."

"Not after I have you fired."

Lori set the suitcase on the only chair in the room and opened it. "You don’t want to fire me, Gloria. I’m really good at my job. I have experience with both heart and orthopedic patients. I’m tough enough to bully you into doing everything you should be doing. That’s going to get you on your feet faster. Because here’s the thing. Old ladies who break their hips have one of two outcomes. They get better or they die. My patients don’t die."

Gloria glared at her. "You’re not a very nice person."

"Neither are you."

Gloria stiffened. "How dare you? I am incredibly polite and thoughtful."

"Really? Want to hear what the staff here has to say about you?"

"They’re a group of incompetent fools. Everything about this place is substandard."

"Then you’re going to love my standards." She leaned close and lowered her voice. "I’m a real bitch about getting it right. You should respect that."

"You will not swear in my presence, young woman. I won’t tolerate it."

"Fair enough. I won’t swear and you won’t act annoying."

"I’m never annoying."

"Should we take a vote of your peers?"

"I have no peers."

Which, Lori remembered a little too late, was sadly correct. From what Reid had told her when he’d hired her, Gloria didn’t have any friends at all and her grandchildren rarely had anything to do with her. No wonder she was so difficult. It was heartbreaking.

Lori finished packing Gloria’s belongings. There had been a few nightgowns, some undergarments, the clothes she’d been wearing when they’d brought her in, two books and a few cosmetics. Nothing else. No flowers, no get well teddy bear, nothing personal. Nothing from family.

It was one thing if the elderly were alone, Lori thought, getting really annoyed with the Buchanan grandchildren. But when there was plenty of family hanging around but they were all just too busy with their own precious lives, it really pissed her off.

Lori pushed aside her feelings and moved next to the bed.

"So here’s the thing," she said, lightly touching Gloria’s arm. Physical contact helped with healing. "I’m going to get the nurse to give you something for the pain. The trip home is going to jar you and that will hurt. The stuff she’s using is pretty strong, so expect to be a little out of it for a while."

Gloria’s eyes narrowed as she jerked her hand free of Lori’s touch. "There is no need to speak to me as if I’m eight. I’m completely capable of understanding without a lengthy and moronic explanation. Fine. Get the nurse in here. She’ll be delighted to indulge her sadomasochistic tendencies on my person one last time."

"Okay, then. Be right back."

Lori walked to the nurses station where Vicki was ready. "We’re good to go. If you want to give her the shot, we’ll head out."

Vicki stepped from around the counter. "So? What did you think?"

"I like her."

Vicki stopped in mid-stride and stared. "You’re kidding. You like her? Gloria Buchanan? She’s mean."

"She’s alone and in pain and scared."

"You’re giving her way too much credit, but hey, if it gets her gone, I’m all for it."

#

Reid sat in his houseboat and wished he’d bought a condo in a security building instead. Here, on the water, he was too exposed, too accessible. He’d closed all the blinds and pulled all the shades, but that hadn’t kept the press away, dammit. They were everywhere—setting up cameras on his dock, crawling up to his balcony. Speed boats kept zipping by outside.

They wanted a story and they wanted it now. No one cared that he was totally humiliated. His manager had told him the interest would die down in a few days and to just lay low until then. Great advice, but where was Reid supposed to go? This was his town. Everyone in Seattle knew who he was.

His cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen before answering it, then frowned when he saw his grandmother’s name and number. If she’d read the morning paper, he was going to verbally beaten and left for dead.

"Yes?" he said, his voice clipped.

"It’s Lori Johnston. Your grandmother’s day nurse. Your grandmother is leaving the rehab facility now and should be home within the hour."

He grinned. "Let me guess. You want me to stop by and cheer her up." So much for Miss Priss’s distain. She needed him. Eventually they all did.

"Not exactly. She’s been given some medication and is pretty out of it."

"You’re drugging my grandmother?" he asked in outrage.

Lori sighed. "My God, don’t be such a girl. Of course I’m not drugging her. I asked the doctor to prescribe some pain medication. In her condition a car ride can be excruciating. Not that you would care."

He ignored that. "How did you get her phone?"

"I took it from her purse and before you start squealing in protest, I did it because I need to get in touch with you. No one sent the woman flowers or anything. There wasn’t a get-well card or note in her room. I find that astonishing. I’m surprised any of you could bring yourself to actually give her medical care. Why didn’t you just put her on an ice floe and push her out to sea?"

Reid opened his mouth, then closed it. To anyone who didn’t really know Gloria, the actions, or lack of actions, were pretty horrible.

"She’s not a flower kind of person," he said at last.

"Is that the best you can do? Claiming an allergy would have been a lot smarter. So you’re the rich baseball player, right?"

"Ex-baseball player. I was a pitcher."

"Whatever. Order your grandmother some flowers. A lot of flowers. Have them delivered at regular intervals. Do you hear me? Throw in a few stuffed animals. Bears, cats, giraffes, I don’t care. Something to give this poor woman the illusion that her family cares if she lives or dies. If you don’t, you’ll be answering to me and you won’t like that."

Her concern was misplaced, but he respected her enthusiasm. "You don’t scare me."

"Not yet, but I will."

Irresistible
Susan Mallery
The Buchanans—Book Two
Chapter One

The great unwelcome truth is that there are times when a woman needs a man...or at the very least, an unnatural level of upper body strength. Unfortunately for Elissa Towers, this was one of those times.

"Something tells me you won’t be impressed by my to-do list, or the fact that Zoe has a birthday part at noon. Birthday parties are very important for the five-year-old set. I don’t want her to miss this one," Elissa muttered as she leaned all of her weight into the lug wrench.

She had been lamenting the extra ten pounds she carried for at least three years. One would think they would come in handy now, say for leverage. But one would be wrong.

"Move!" she yelled at the lug nut on her very flat tire. Nothing. Not even a whisper of budging.

She dropped the lug wrench onto the damp driveway and swore.

This was completely her fault. The last time she’d noticed the tire getting low, she’d driven to Randy’s Brake and Tire Center where Randy himself had patched the nail hole. She’d sat in his surprisingly tidy waiting room indulging herself in gossip magazines—a rare treat in her world—not even giving a thought to the fact that he was using some stupid machine to tighten the lug nuts. She always asked him to tighten by hand, so she could take off the flat herself.

"Need some help?"

The question came from nowhere and startled her so much, she sat right in a puddle. She felt the wet seeping through her jeans and panties. Great. Now when she stood up, she would look as if she’d wet herself. Why couldn’t her Saturday start with an unexpected tax refund and an anonymous chocolate delivery?

She glanced at the man now standing next to her. She hadn’t heard stealth guy approach, but as she looked up and up further still, until their eyes met, she recognized her semi-recent upstairs neighbor. He was a few years older than she, tanned, good looking and at a casual glance, physically perfect. Not exactly someone who tended to rent an apartment in her slightly shabby neighborhood.

She scrambled to her feet and brushed off her butt, groaning as she felt the wet spot.

"Hi," she said, smiling as she carefully took a step back. "You’re, um..."

Damn. Mrs. Ford, her other neighbor had told her the guy’s name. Also that he had recently left the military, kept to himself and apparently had no job. It wasn’t a combination that made Elissa comfy.

"Walker Buchanan. I live upstairs."

Alone. No visitors and he didn’t go out much. Oh, yeah. Good times. Still, she’d been raised to be polite, so she smiled and said, "Hi. I’m Elissa Towers."

Under any other circumstances, she would have found another way out of her dilemma, but there was no way she could loosen the lug nuts herself and she couldn’t just sit here praying to the tire gods.

She pointed. "If you could be burly for a second, that would be fabulous."

"Burly?" The corner of his mouth twitched.

"You’re a guy, this is a guy thing. It’s a natural fit."

He folded his impressive arms over a rather impressive chest. "What happened to women wanting to be independent and equal in the world?"

Hmm, so there was a brain behind those dark eyes and maybe the potential for humor. That was good. Neighbors of serial killers always said the guy was so nice. Elissa wasn’t sure Walker qualified as nice, which was, in a twisted way, a bit of a relief.

"We should have worked on our upper body strength first. Besides, you offered."

"Yes, I did."

He picked up the wrench, squatted down and in one quick movement that left her feeling both inadequate and bitter, loosened the first nut. The other three followed just as fast.

"Thanks," she said with a smile. "I’ll take it from here."

"I’m already involved," he told her. "I can put on the spare in a couple of seconds."

Or so he thought. "Yes, well, that’s a funny story," she said. "I don’t have a spare. It’s big and bulky and really weighs down the car."

He straightened. "You need a spare."

His statement of the obvious irritated her. "Thanks for the advice, but as I don’t have one, it’s not very helpful."

"So what do you do now?"

"I say thank you." She glanced pointedly at the stairs leading to his apartment. When he didn’t move, she added, "I don’t want to keep you."

His gaze dipped from her face to the large nylon bag on wheels, lying next to her on the driveway. His mouth tightened in disapproval.

"There is no way you’re going to carry that tire somewhere yourself," he said flatly.

Definitely not nice, she thought. "I don’t carry, I drag. I’ve done it before. The tire place I go to is less than a mile from here. I walk there, Randy patches it for me and I walk back. It’s easy. Good exercise, even. So thank you for your help and have a nice day."

She reached for the tire in question. He stepped between her and it.

"I’ll take it," he told her.

"No, thank you. I’m fine."

He topped her by at least seven or eight inches and he had to outweigh her by a good sixty pounds...every ounce of them muscle. As he narrowed his gaze and glared at her, she had the feeling he was trying to intimidate her. He was doing a good job of it, too, but she couldn’t let him know that. She was tough. She was determined. She was...

"Mommy, can I have toast?"

Why was life always about timing?

She turned to her daughter standing at the entrance to their apartment. "Sure, Zoe. But let me help. I’ll be right in."

Zoe smiled. "Okay, Mommy." The screen door slammed shut.

Elissa glanced back at Walker, only to find that stealth guy had used her moment of inattention to pick up her tire and walk toward his very expensive, very out-of-place-for-this-neighborhood SUV.

"You can’t take that tire," she said as she hurried after him. "It’s mine."

"I’m not stealing it," he said in a bored tone. "I’m taking it to be fixed. Where do you usually go?"

"I’m not going to tell you." Ha! That should stop him.

"Fine. I’ll go where I want." He tossed the tire into the SUV and slammed the back shut.

"Wait! Stop." When, exactly, had she lost control?

He turned to her. "Are you really worried I’m going to disappear with your tire?"

"No. Of course not. It’s just... I don’t..."

He waited patiently.

"I don’t know you," she snapped. "I keep to myself. I don’t want to owe you."

He surprised her by nodding. "I can respect that. Where do you want me to take the tire?"

So he wasn’t giving up. "Randy’s Brake and Tire Center." She gave him directions. "But you have to wait a second. I need to get a pair of earrings."

"For Randy?" He raised his eyebrows.

"For Randy’s sister. It’s her birthday." She drew in a breath, hating to explain. "It’s how I pay for the work."

She waited for the judgment, or at the very least, a smart-ass comment. Instead Walker shrugged.

"Go get them."

#

The trip to Randy’s Brake and Tire Center took three minutes and when Walker parked, he found a short, beer-bellied older man waiting for him.

Randy himself, Walker would guess as he opened the car door.

"You got Elissa’s tire?" the man asked.

"In back."

Randy eyed Walker’s BMW X5. "Bet you take that to the dealer," he said.

"I haven’t had to yet, but I will."

"Nice wheels." Randy walked around to the rear of the SUV and opened the back. When he saw the tire in question, he groaned. "What is it with Elissa? They’re doing construction across from where she works. I swear, she finds every loose nail hanging around on the road. Always in this tire, too. There’s more patch on it than rubber."

More patch than tread, Walker thought as he stared at the worn tire. "She should replace it."

Randy looked at him. "You think? Thing is, you can’t get blood from a rock. Hey, times are tight with everyone, right? Got my earrings?"

Walker took the small envelope out of his shirt pocket and handed it over. Randy looked inside and whistled. "Very nice. Janice is gonna love them. Okay, give me ten minutes and I’ll have this ready to go."

Walker hadn’t wanted to help his neighbor in the first place. He’d taken a short-term lease on the apartment to give himself time to figure out what to do with the rest of his life in quiet and solitude. He didn’t know anyone in the neighborhood and he didn’t want anyone to know him.

Except for a brief but surprisingly effective interrogation from the old lady living downstairs, he’d kept to himself for nearly six weeks. Until he’d seen Elissa struggling with the lug nuts.

He’d wanted to ignore her. That had been his plan. But he couldn’t—which was a character flaw he needed to work on. Now, faced with a crappy tire that was likely to blow the second she hit sixty on the 405 freeway, he found himself unable to walk away again.

"Give me a new one," he muttered.

Randy raised his bushy eyebrows. "You’re buying Elissa a tire?"

Walker nodded. Best case scenario, he would replace both rear tires. But he only had the one wheel with him.

The older man puffed out his chest. "How, exactly, do you know Elissa and Zoe?"

Zoe? Walker blanked for a second, then remember the kid he’d seen around. Elissa’s daughter.

He owed this guy nothing in the way of explanations. Still, he found himself saying, "I live upstairs."

Randy narrowed his gaze. "Elissa’s a friend of mine. Don’t you go messing with her."

Walker knew that even after an all night bender, he could take the old guy and have enough left over to run a four minute mile. Randy’s posturing was almost funny—except it was sincere. He cared about Elissa.

"I’m just doing her a favor," Walker said easily. "We’re neighbors, nothing more."

"Okay, then. Because Elissa’s been through a lot and she doesn’t deserve to be messed with."

"I agree."

Walker had no idea what they were talking about, but anything to move the conversation along. Randy picked up the flat and carried it toward the garage.

"I’ve got a couple of good tires that’ll be a whole lot safer than this one. Because it’s for Elissa, I’ll give you a good deal."

"I appreciate it."

Randy glanced at him. "I’ll even throw a little dirt on it so maybe she won’t notice what you did."

Walker remembered her defensiveness about not having a spare. "Probably a good idea," he told the other man.

#

"You’re pounding, dear," Mrs. Ford said calmly as she sipped coffee. "It’s not good for the crust."

Elissa slapped the rolling pin onto the dough and knew her neighbor was right. "I can’t help it. I’m annoyed. Does he really think I’m so stupid I won’t notice he replaced my old tire with a new one? Is it a guy thing? Do all men think women are stupid about tires? Is it specific? Does he just think I’m stupid?"

"I’m sure he thought he was helping."

"Who is he to help me? I don’t know him from a rock. He’s lived here, what, a month? We’ve never even spoken. Now suddenly he’s buying me tires? I don’t like it."

"I think it’s romantic."

Elissa did her best not to roll her eyes. She loved the old woman but jeez, Mrs. Ford would think grass growing was romantic.

"He took control. He made decisions without speaking to me. God knows what he’s going to expect for it." Whatever he was expecting, he wasn’t going to get it, Elissa told herself.

Mrs. Ford shook her head. "It’s not like that, Elissa. Walker is a very nice man. An ex-marine. He saw you were in need and helped out."

That’s what got Elissa most of all. The "being in need" part. Just once she’d like a little extra put by for a rainy day or a flat tire.

"I don’t like owing him."

"Or anybody. You’re very independent. But he’s a man, dear. Men like to do things for women."

Mrs. Ford was nearly ninety, tiny and the kind of woman who still used lace-edged handkerchiefs. She’d been born in a time when men took care of life’s hardships and the most important job for a woman was to cook well and look pretty while doing it. The fact that living like that drove many women to alcohol or madness was just an unhappy by-product and not anything to be discussed in polite society.

"I called Randy," Elissa said as she slid the pie crust into the pan and pressed it into place. "He told me the tire cost forty dollars, but he’d lie in a heartbeat if he thought it would protect me, so I’m thinking it had to be closer to fifty."

She had exactly sixty-two dollars in her wallet and she needed most of them for grocery shopping that afternoon. Her checking account balance hovered right around zero, but she got paid in two days, so that was something.

"If I could afford a new tire, I would have bought it myself," she muttered.

"It’s more practical than flowers," Mrs. Ford offered. "Or chocolates."

Elissa smiled. "Trust me, Walker isn’t courting me."

"You don’t know that."

She was fairly confident. He’d helped because... Because... She frowned. Actually she didn’t know why he’d come to her aid. Probably because she’d look pathetic as she’d wrestled with uncooperative lug nuts.

She rolled out the second crust. Flats of blueberries had been ridiculously cheap at the Yakima Fruit Stand. She’d pulled in after dropping Zoe off at her party. She had just enough time to make three pie crusts before she had to be back to pick up her daughter.

"I’ll finish up the pies after I come back from the grocery store," Elissa said, more to herself than her neighbor. "Maybe if I take him one..."

Mrs. Ford smiled. "An excellent idea. Imagine what he’ll think when he gets a taste of your cooking."

Elissa groaned. "You’re matchmaking, aren’t you?"

"A woman of your age all alone? It’s just not natural."

"I like being a freak. It keeps me grounded."

Mrs. Ford shook her head as she finished her coffee. She set down the mug, then slowly pushed to her feet. "I need to get back. There’s a Beauty by Tova hour starting on QVC. I’m nearly out of her perfume."

"You go girl," Elissa said.

Mrs. Ford walked to the door that connected their two apartments, then paused. "I left you my list, didn’t I?"

Elissa nodded. "Yes. I have it in my purse. I’ll bring everything by when I get back."

The older woman smiled. "You’re a good girl, Elissa. I’d be lost without you."

"I feel the same way."

Mrs. Ford stepped into her own kitchen and closed the door behind her.

Elissa had been a little disconcerted to discover that her neighbor had access to her house when she’d first moved in to her apartment, but that had quickly changed. Mrs. Ford might be elderly and old-fashioned, but she was sharp and caring and adored Zoe. The three of them had quickly become friends, with Elissa and Mrs. Ford working out a system that benefited them both.

Mrs. Ford got Zoe ready for preschool in the morning and fed her breakfast. Elissa handled her neighbor’s grocery shopping, got her to doctor’s appointments and checked in on her regularly. Not that Mrs. Ford was home all that much. She was very active in the senior center and one of her many friends was always ready to pick her up for bridge or scrapbooking or a quick trip to an Indian casino.

"I want to be just like her when I grow up," Elissa said as she carried the three pie crusts over the oven.

But until then she had to figure out where she would find the money to pay for a new tire and what to say to her neighbor to make sure he understood that she would never, ever, under any circumstances be interested in him.

Not even on a bet. Not even if he showed up naked. Although, to be honest, if he showed up naked, she would probably look because she hadn’t seen a naked man in years. And he was more spectacular than most.

"I don’t need a man," Elissa murmured as she set the timer. "I’m fine. Empowered. Only thirteen more years until Zoe is grown and in college. Then I can have sex again. Until then, I will think pure thoughts and be a good mother."

And, very possibly, think about her new neighbor naked. Because if she had to be tempted, she wouldn’t mind him doing the job.

#

Zoe was in bed by eight and sound asleep by eight-thirty. Elissa collected one of the blueberry pies and her last five dollars and headed up the stairs to Walker’s apartment.

Despite the absolute silence from overhead, his SUV was parked in front, so she knew he had to be there. She hadn’t seen anyone arrive to pick him up—not that she’d been watching. She hadn’t. She might have been observing the comings and goings in her community as a way to stay alert for trouble and be a good citizen. The fact that she was fairly confident Walker was alone was only a side benefit of her altruistic civic activity.

Not that she cared if he was dating—she didn’t. But showing up with a pie and five bucks was weird enough to explain to him, without having to deal with a significant other hovering. Not that any woman Walker dated was likely to consider her much of a threat. Elissa knew exactly what she looked like—the wholesome girl next door. She didn’t mind. Her appearance meant her customers were far more likely to be protective than to come on to her, which made life a whole lot easier.

"Procrastinate much?" she asked herself as she forced her brain back to the task at hand. Namely her standing at the top of Walker’s stairs, inches from his front door. If he’d heard her climbing, he could be watching her right now, wondering why she’d come this far without knocking.

So she knocked, then waited until the door opened and he stood there, right in front of her.

He looked good. His T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders and a muscular chest. No doubt those muscles were the reason he’d been able to twist those lug nuts into submission without breaking a sweat. His jeans were worn, loose and faded. His dark eyes seemed expressionless, but not in a scary axe-murderer way. More like he kept the world at bay.

"Hi," she said, when he remained silent. "I, ah, made pie." She thrust it toward him and added, "It’s blueberry," in case his confusions about the type of fruit made was the reason he didn’t take it from her.

"You made me a pie?" he asked, his voice low. There was a hint of a question in the rumble and more than a hint that he thought she was crazy. Which she resented. She wasn’t the one breaking the rules here.

"Yes, a pie." She thrust it forward until he took it, then held out a worn five dollar bill.

"You’re paying me to eat your pie?"

"Of course not. I’m paying you—" She stopped and drew in a breath. She’d gone from grateful to annoyed in two seconds flat. "You bought me a tire. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that bright, shiny bit of rubber? Is it me in particular or all women in general? Because I know this is a guy thing. You wouldn’t have done this if I were a man."

"You wouldn’t have needed my help if you were a man."

"Maybe." Probably. But that wasn’t the point. "You slunk back here and put on the tire while I wasn’t looking. You even rubbed dirt on it so it wouldn’t look so new. And let me tell you, that’s just strange."

He actually smiled. It was slight—no teeth, but somehow the action made him look open and approachable. "That was Randy’s idea."

"It sounds like him."

He took a step back. "Want to come in a talk about this or do you prefer my porch?"

"The porch is fine. This isn’t a social call."

The smile faded. "Elissa, I get it. You don’t like that I bought you a tire. Yours had so many patches, it was dangerous. I should have let it go, but I couldn’t. I’m not going to apologize for what I did. I didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t want anything." He held up the pie. "Except this. It smells good."

She liked that he wasn’t using her tire against her. Gee, how many times had she been able to say that before in her life?

"I know you thought you were doing a good thing," she said slowly. "But you don’t have the right to meddle in my life. I called Randy to find out what it cost. I think he low-balled me by about ten bucks, so I’ll be paying you back fifty dollars. It’s going to take me some time, but the pie is to show I’m sincere about it and here’s the first payment."

He looked at the tattered bill. "I don’t want your money."

"I don’t want to owe you." She might not have much cash on hand, but she paid her bills on time and she never used credit except in emergencies where there was a risk of death or dismemberment.

"You’re stubborn," he said.

"Thank you. I’ve worked hard to get this way."

"What if I told you the money didn’t mean anything to me?" he asked.

Meaning what? He had plenty? She sighed at the thought. In her next life she was going to be rich for sure. It was right at the top of her wish list. But in this one...

"It matters to me," she told him.

"Fine. But you don’t have to pay me in cash. We could work out a trade."

White-hot anger blew up inside of her. Here it was—the truth. Behind that pretty face was a disgusting, evil, heartless bastard. Just like nearly every other guy on the planet.

Of course, she thought grimly. Why was she even surprised? She’d been momentarily attracted to Walker, and based on her stellar track record, that meant there had to be something wrong with him. She’d expected a massive flaw. But she hadn’t thought it would be this.

"Not even if you were the last man alive after nuclear winter," she said between gritted teeth. "I can’t believe you’d suggest that I would be willing..." She wanted to slap him. "It was a tire. It’s not like you gave me a kidney."

He had the nerve to actually smile at her. "You’d sleep with me if I gave you a kidney?"

"You know what I mean. I’m done here. I’ll mail the rest of the money."

She turned to leave, but suddenly he was next to her and somehow between her and the steps. How on earth had he moved so quickly?

His dark gaze claimed hers and all the humor fled from his face.

"Dinner," he said quietly. "I was talking about a few meals. You cook every night and I can smell it. I’ve been existing on frozen dinners and bumming meals off my sister-in-law. When I said a trade, that’s what I meant. It’s all I meant."

He wasn’t touching her, yet she felt his nearness. He was so much bigger than her—she should have been afraid. She was nervous, but that was different.

Dinner, huh? It, ah, made sense. The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. Because, honestly, who would expect sex after replacing a cheap tire?

"Sorry," she said, dropping her gaze to the center of his chest. "I thought you were..."

"I got that. I wasn’t. I wouldn’t."

Wouldn’t what? Want sex with her? Not that she was doing that sort of thing these days, or for many days to come, but why was he so able to dismiss her? She might be wholesome, but she was kind of pretty. And smart. Smart counted, didn’t it?

Maybe he had a girlfriend. Maybe he was engaged. Maybe he was gay.

That last thought made her smile. Somehow she didn’t think Walker was gay.

"Let’s start over," he said. "I bought the tire because I didn’t think yours could take one more patch. Randy charged me forty-five dollars for it. I’ll accept the pie and money. You can continue to pay me back as slowly as you’d like. Forget what I said about dinner, okay? The money is fine."

He was doing everything right. So why did she want to argue with him?

"That works for me," she said.

"Then we have a deal."

He shifted the pie to his left hand and held out his right so they could shake on it.

She pressed her palm against his and nodded. "Good."

His fingers were warm and strong. She felt a little quiver low in her belly. The unexpected reaction made her pull away and take a step back.

Danger came in all shapes and sizes. This particular form was big, powerful and far too sexy for her peace of mind. She still had thirteen years of celibacy ahead of her. Hanging around with Walker wasn’t going to make it easy.

Not that they were hanging. Nope. Not a single hang here.

"I should, ah, go," she murmured as she edged around him and started down the stairs. "Enjoy the pie."

"I will. Thank you, Elissa."

She raced into her house and quickly closed the door behind her. Once there, she leaned against the wood until her heart rate returned to normal.

It was only then she noticed she was still holding the five dollars she’d tried to give him. There was no way she was going back up there tonight. She would leave it in his mail box or something.

It was painfully obvious she should avoid Walker at all costs. He might be nice on the surface, but her original premise was still true. If she was attracted to him, then there was something seriously wrong with him. Right now, she couldn’t afford another male disaster in her life. She was still paying for the last one.

Literally.

Delicious
Susan Mallery
The Buchanans—Book One
Chapter One

Penny Jackson knew that it was probably wrong of her to be so excited to see her ex-husband come crawling back, but she was willing to live with the character flaw.

“You know he’s going to want to hire you,” her friend Naomi said.

“Oh, yeah. The sweet smell of validation.” Penny leaned back in her chair and considered the possibilities. “I want him to beg. Not in a vicious, I hate your guts way, but more as a...”

“Show of support for divorced women everywhere?” Naomi asked.

Penny laughed. “Exactly. I suppose that makes me petty and small.”

“Maybe, but you’re looking especially fabulous today, if that helps.”

“A little.” Penny smoothed the front of her loose sweater and glanced at the clock. “We’re meeting for lunch downtown. A neutral location—no memories, good or bad.”

“Stay away from the good ones,” Naomi warned her. “You always were a sucker where Cal was concerned.”

“That was so three years ago. I’m completely over him. I’ve moved on.”

“Right.” Naomi didn’t look convinced. “Don’t think about how great he looks in his clothes, or out of them. Instead remember how he broke your heart, lied about wanting children and trampled your fragile dreams.”

Easy enough, Penny thought, a flicker of annoyance muscling in on her good mood.

Nearly as bad, four years ago she’d applied for a job as a cook in Buchanan’s, one of Cal’s family’s restaurants. The job had been strictly entry level--she would have been in charge of salads. There had been ten other applicants. Worried she wouldn’t make the cut, Penny had asked her then husband to put in a good word for her with his grandmother. He’d refused and she hadn’t gotten the job.

“This time the job is coming to me,” Penny said. “I intend to take advantage of that. And him. In a strictly business way, of course.”

“Of course,” Naomi echoed, not sounding the least bit convinced. “He’s trouble for you. Always has been. Be careful.”

Penny stood and reached for her purse. “When am I not?”

“Ask for lots of money.”

“I promise.”

“Don’t think about having sex with him.”

Penny laughed. “Oh, please. That isn’t an issue. You’ll see.”

#

Penny arrived early, then stayed in her car until five minutes after the appointed time. A small, possibly insignificant power play on her part, but she figured she’d earned it.

She walked into the quiet, leather and linen bistro. Before she could approach the hostess, she saw Cal standing by a booth in the back. They might have friends in common, and live in the same city, but since she’d done her darnedest to avoid close proximity to him they never ran into each other. This lunch was going to change that.

“Hi,” she said with a breezy smile.

“Penny.” He looked her over, then motioned to the other side of the booth. “Thanks for joining me.”

“How could I refuse? You wouldn’t say much over the phone, which made me curious.” She slid onto the seat.

Cal looked good. Tall, muscled, the same soulful eyes she remembered. Just sitting across from her caused her body to remember what it had been like back when things had been good and they’d been unable to keep their hands off each other. Not that she was interested in him in that way. She’d learned her lesson.

Plus, she couldn’t forgive the fact that in the three years they’d been apart, he hadn’t had the common courtesy to get fat or wrinkled. Nope, he was gorgeous—which was just like a man.

Still, he needed her help. Oh, yeah, that part was very cool. While they’d been married the message had been she wasn’t good enough. Now he wanted her to save the day...or the restaurant, in this case. While she planned to say yes, eventually, she was going to enjoy every second of making him beg.

“The Waterfront is in trouble,” he said, then paused as the waitress came by to take their order.

When the woman left, Penny leaned back in the tufted seat of the booth and smiled. “I’d heard it was more than trouble. I’d heard the place was done for. Hemorrhaging customers and money.”

She blinked, going for an innocent expression. No doubt Cal would see through her attempt and want to strangle her. Verbally, at least. But he couldn’t. Because he needed her. Was, in fact, desperate for her help. How she loved that in a man. Especially in Cal.

“Things have been better,” he admitted, looking as if he hated every second of the conversation.

“The Waterfront is the oldest restaurant in the infamous Buchanan dynasty,” she said cheerfully. “The flagship. Or it used to be. Now you have a reputation for bad food and worse service.” She sipped her water. “At least that’s the word on the street.”

“Thanks for the update.”

His jaw tightened as he spoke. She could tell he was furious about this meeting. She had an idea of what he was thinking—of all the chefs in all of Seattle, why did it have to be her?

She didn’t know either, but sometimes a girl couldn’t help catching a break.

“Your contract is up,” he said.

She smiled. “Yes, it is.”

“You’re looking for a new position.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I’d like to hire you.”

Five little words. Words that weren’t significant on their own, but when joined together, could mean the world to someone. In this case, her.

“I’ve had other offers,” Penny said calmly.

“Have you accepted any of them?”

“Not yet.”

Cal was tall, about 6’3, with dark hair. His face was all sculpted cheekbones and stubborn jaw, and his mouth frequently betrayed his mood. Right now it was thin and straight. He was so angry, he practically spouted steam. She’d never felt better.

“I’m here to offer you a five year contract. You get complete control of the kitchen, the standard agreement.” He named a salary that made her blink.

Penny took another sip of her water. In truth she didn’t want just another job. She wanted her own place. But opening a restaurant took serious money, which she didn’t have. Her choices were to take on more partners than she wanted or wait. She’d decided to wait.

Her plan was to spend the next three years putting away money, then open the restaurant of her dreams. So while a big salary was nice, it wasn’t enough.

“Not interested,” she said, with a slight smile.

Cal’s gaze narrowed. “What do you want? Aside from my head on a stick.”

Her smile turned genuine. “I’ve never wanted that,” she told him. “Well, not after the divorce was final. It’s been three years, Cal. I’ve long since moved on. Haven’t you?”

“Of course. Then why aren’t you interested? It’s a good job.”

“I’m not looking for a job. I want an opportunity.”

“Meaning?”

“More than the standard agreement. I want my name out front and complete creative control in back.” She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I have a list.”

Doing the right thing had always been a pain in the ass, Cal thought as he took the sheet and unfolded it. This time was no different.

He scanned the list, then tossed it back to her. Penny didn’t want an opportunity, she wanted his balls sautéed