Dan All Over Again

Two brand-new stories in every volume…twice a month!

Duets Vol. #53

Popular Ruth Jean Dale takes the spotlight with a special Double Duets book on the theme of “animal passion.” This writer has a “talent for combining comedy with romance…and creating memorable characters,” says Romance Communications. Ruth also writes for Temptation and Superromance.

Duets Vol. #54

Quirky Tina Wainscott is back with another delightful Duets novel about a gorgeous hero determined to land his ex—hook, line and sinker! Ms. Wainscott tells “a charming story full of love and laughter,” notes Rendezvous. Completing the month is Golden Heart winner Barbara Dunlop, who makes her debut with a funny tale in the spirit of Due South. Enjoy!

Be sure to pick up both Duets volumes today!

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Contents

Dan All Over Again

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

The Mountie Steals a Wife

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

“If I’m wrong, prove it”

Dan continued, “What’s the big deal about spending the night on the boat with me, your own ex-husband?”

“There is no big deal,” Cassie replied.

Ha! She wasn’t going to admit she couldn’t handle spending the night with him, because it wasn’t true. Okay, there was a spark, a…something. But not some irresistible force.

“Pam’s coming to meet me at the dock. I need to let her know I won’t be back tonight.”

Dan tossed a cellular phone to her. “Be my guest. I’m going to catch me some fish.”

Cassie left a message for Pam and then found Dan casting from the back of the boat. His muscles flexed beneath his tanned skin, and his cute little derriere wiggled as he reeled in his lure. Cocky son of a gun. She’d show him. If he had any notion of a fling to, ah, refresh her memory of them together, he had something else coming. No, scratch that, he had nothing coming!

No way, uh-uh.

Dear Reader,

Fishing probably wouldn’t come to mind when you think of romantic situations. Probably it would come under watching wrestling. But picture being out on the Gulf of Mexico under a cloudless sky, alone on a boat, and not doing a whole lot of fishing. Sounding better, isn’t it? Add the gorgeous guy you thought you were over, but really aren’t, and it gets even better.

Naples, Florida, is my hometown, and I hope I’ve captured even a bit of the beauty of our waterways and wildlife. I had a lot of fun writing about the places where I’ve spent my whole life. I’ve done my share of fishing, though I’ve never caught a Snook. I have caught the occasional catfish, a rare seaweed-covered rock and, once, the derriere of an unlucky fellow fisherman. Lucky for me, he still married me!

Enjoy!

Tina Wainscott

Books by Tina Wainscott

HARLEQUIN DUETS

34—THE WRONG MR. RIGHT

Special thanks to Jackie Bielowicz, who has given me much guidance over these past few years and who has been an invaluable help.

Stacy Mullendore, who taught me about fishing and tournaments, and who generously took me out on his fishing charter boat, The Bimini Twist, so I could see it all firsthand. And I can’t acknowledge Stacy without acknowledging his adorable wife, Nettie, who let me borrow her husband before she even knew me. For research purposes only, of course.

My best friend, Pam Kraft, who let me honor her by putting her in my book and who gave me the very special gift of making me a godmother to her beautiful daughter, Alyssa. And I can’t acknowledge Pam without acknowledging Andy, who’s also a great friend and a funny guy to boot.

1

“I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE that little weenie is trying to steal one of my accounts. And I have to find out after five on a Friday.” Cassie Chamberlain stopped at the chart hanging in the hallway of Nicholson’s Advertising Specialists. She looked at her best friend, Pam Kraft. “Roger just moved ahead of me into the Market Buster Contest’s number-one spot. I still have a chance to win the five-thousand-dollar bonus, money that’s going to get me one step closer to—” she dropped her voice “—opening my own marketing firm. At least Chamberlain Marketing will appreciate my talent and hard work. And maybe winning this contest will gain me some respect at Nicholson’s in the meantime.” And maybe it would make her feel complete, or at least satisfied. “I feel like they’ve cast me in the dumb blonde role.”

Pam smoothed down her blue sheath dress with orchids spilling down the side. “Maybe it was from sending a cascade of water down the hallway when you tried to replace the water bottle.”

“Oh, sure, but nobody remembers that I was trying to be independent and not bug one of the guys to do it.”

“And I’m sure it wouldn’t be because the mail cart bounced down two flights of stairs and showered Mr. Shavely with envelopes.”

“That was three and a half years ago! Do they still talk about it?”

“Only in the same conversations as other natural disasters.”

Cassie wrinkled her nose at Pam. “Gee, thanks.” She hadn’t goofed up in three years, since she’d taken The Supreme Seminar on Being Orderly, but she still hadn’t lived it down. She needed a game plan to (a) confront Roger-the-weenie Pinkle (b) make—Her ears perked at the sound: Squeak, squeak, squeak.

“Roger! Wait’ll I get my hands on him.”

“Get him, girl, in the name of womanhood and co-workerhood! Smear him! Trample him!” Most people thought they were sisters, with their blond, shoulder-length curls and close friendship. “’Course, don’t create too much of an uproar or Roger might retaliate and that could get ugly—ugly indeed. He could burn down the building. Or do something worse.”

Cassie waved away her friend’s overactive imagination. “No, he wouldn’t.” She turned down the hallway in time to see him duck into the bathroom. She pounded on the door. “Roger, I heard your lifts squeaking. Come out before I come in there to get you.”

The door slowly opened and he appeared. He tried to look surprised to see her, and even forced a smile. “Did you, er, need to use the facilities?”

Even with those thick lifts he’d had installed on his shoes, he still stood at about her 5’7” height with heels. “No, I need to talk to you about stealing my fishing lure account.”

He lifted his hands in supplication. “Now, now, I didn’t steal the account. I can’t help it if my talents lie within the fishing realm, and you weren’t there to take the call, after all. Mr. Nicholson thought I should handle the account, or at least the initial contact.” He sounded so logical, even in his whiny voice.

“I’m not going down without a fight. I need this account to have a chance at the contest.”

“Well, Cassie, I need it, too. I’ve got important things to buy with that money.”

“Like what?”

“I think that’s my own personal business.” He rubbed his flat nose. “All right, if you must know, I’m going to have my sinuses worked on. And a nose job while they’re at it. It’s the only way I’m going to get a pretty girl like you to go out with me.”

“Your nose has nothing to do with your overall appeal, Roger.”

“Then you’ll go out with me?”

She nearly choked. “I mean, it’s…more than your nose.”

He bounced up and down on his lifts, squeaking each time. “I’ve got one of those stretching machines that’s going to make me taller. I’ve already gained a fraction of an inch.”

“And lost a pound of common sense. It’s not your height, either.” It was probably one of his curls that had gained him the fraction. “It’s…” She glanced down over his plaid shirt, his Looney Tunes plaid tie, and bright green pants. In addition to bouncing up and down, he was jingling his keys in his pocket. “I’m not here to assess you, Roger. I’m here to ask for the account back.”

He raised his eyebrows. “We could discuss it over dinner. I discovered that the electrical device I purchased to stop my receding hairline roasts a great hot dog.”

“Weenie.”

“I don’t think we need to argue over the term for a hot dog. So, are we on?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Er, no, thank you.” Interesting, though, that the weenie liked weenies. “Just hand over the account and I won’t have to hurt you.”

He shrank back at those words and inched around her. “Don’t hurt me! I bruise easily!” And with a squeak, squeak, squeak, he was gone.

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to chase him down. Not in these heels, anyway. Maybe the old Cassie would have done that, whipped off her heels and gone after him in full-tilt mode. But that’s not what the (a) dignified (b) sensible and (c) responsible Cassie was going to do. Even if her body was leaning toward that attack. Her narrowed eyes focused on her boss’s door. She pushed up her jacket sleeves and knocked.

“Cassie.” Mr. Nicholson’s smile quickly faded. “Uh-oh, you’re upset. You know how I am about confrontation.”

She had plastered her most calm expression on her face. “How could you tell I was upset?”

“You’re crunching those Lifesaver things, same way you did when you had to swap offices with the new guy. In fact, throughout the whole move. But you were real good about it, giving up your corner office with the great view and without a fight, and I appreciate that. You’re a team player, Cassie, and that’s going to get you places. So I know you’ll understand about the Lure ’Em In Tackle Company.”

Loud crunching echoed in her ears, and she swallowed the sharp pieces with a grimace. “You’re letting Roger steal my account.”

Mr. Nicholson lifted his fat hands before running them through what was left of his hair. “Now, now, he didn’t steal it. He was standing by the receptionist’s desk when the call came in. You weren’t available, so he talked to them. Turns out he’s quite the little fisherman.”

“The client asked for me!”

“They’re looking for someone to design an ad campaign for their lures. Fishing lures.” As though she couldn’t have possibly made the connection. “Now, what do you know about fishing?”

It used to capture her ex-husband Dan’s attention more than she could. Where had that come from? “I could learn. That’s what I always do, make my lists and research every aspect of the company and its products. How hard could fishing lures be to understand?”

His deep chuckle rubbed on her nerves. “Now, I’m not saying a woman can’t know about fishing. It’s got nothing to do with gender and everything to do with having the product here.” He fisted his hand to his chest. “Like me and Cheesecake Galore. You’re not a fishing type of girl. You’re banks and florists. Roger said he knows fishing inside and out, so he’s the likely candidate. The next new account that’s suitable for you, it’s yours. If you’ll look past your pride, you’ll see that we’re all here to service our customers the best we can. We’re a team. Be a gentleman, Cassie, and step aside so Roger can win this new client over to Nicholson.”

Her shoulders bunched up as she realized how often she’d stepped aside gracefully. “It’s kind of hard to step aside when you’ve just been stepped on.”

“HE’S GOING TO LET that loser keep the account?” Pam asked when Cassie relayed the conversation.

“Yep. Because, hey, what do I know about fishing?”

“What do you know about fishing?”

“You throw something in the water, the fish grabs it and you wrestle it in and try not to get so excited that you rear back and knock your husband right out of the boat in front of all his buddies.” Cassie’s face flushed. “Never mind that.” She tapped her jaw with her forefinger, her mind searching. “I’ve been a pushover for too long. He doesn’t know how much of a quitter I’m not. I’m mean, how much I’m not a quitter. I mean—you know what I mean.”

“Scarily enough, I do. Between your lists and charts and goals, you’re the most determined person I know.”

“Yeah, (a) determined not to be like my mother, and (b) I’m certainly no gentleman.” To prove it, she rifled through the receptionist’s desk and snagged a key. “And (c) I’m tired of being a rung on the ladder that everyone else uses on their way up.”

“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” Pam said with a grin. “Even when you’re pulverizing butter rums. So what are you going to do, insist that Mr. Nicholson let you present a campaign, too?”

“Hah! And let him pat my head and tell me how ungentlemanly that would be?” Cassie gave her a slow smile. “I’m simply going to walk into the presentation and show them my stuff.”

“What if he fires you on the spot?”

“He won’t.”

“Uh-oh. This is starting to sound—dare I say it?—impulsive.”

Cassie stopped. “This isn’t impulsive. No, not at all. It’s going to be a well-planned attack in the name of all that’s fair and good in the world. And I’m going to be honest about it. You know I can’t stand dishonest people.” She slid the key into Roger’s doorknob.

Pam whispered, “Wouldn’t breaking into Roger’s office fall slightly under that category?”

“Of course not. I have a key. No breaking anything.”

“Cassie, what if someone catches you and you’re arrested? We’re arrested? We’ll be in the Police Beat section of the paper. We could be shot by a trigger-happy cop who’s out to prove himself!”

“We won’t.” Cassie opened the door. The office smelled like Roger’s last splash of cheap aftershave. “When I chose a career in marketing, I decided this was something I was going to stick with, follow through on.” She flicked on the light.

Pam took up a lookout position near the door. “You’re thinking about your ex-marriage, aren’t you?”

“Of course not. I’m thinking of that cross-stitch thingee I started five years ago. It sits in my wicker basket and reminds me of all the puzzles, paintings and hook rug kits I didn’t finish. Every Sunday, I put three stitches in the thing. At least I’m making progress. Oh, stop looking at me with that I-know-you-better-than-you-do smirk of yours. Okay, yes, I am thinking about my ex-marriage. You don’t know how scary it was for me to realize I’d become my mother. She’s hopped into and out of so many marriages, I’m surprised she isn’t perpetually dizzy. As a matter of fact, she is, God love her.”

“You’re nothing like your mother.”

“Not now, but I was then. I was suddenly married to a gorgeous stranger. The first blush of excitement turned into the reality of bills, routines and the mention of babies, and I panicked. Probably the same way Mom did in her seven marriages. I wasn’t ready, I ran away and…I hurt Dan.” She was sure the thickness in her throat was the result of eating too many butter rums. “I swore I would never start something I cared about and not finish it.” She consulted the small, leather-bound notepad she wore on a chain around her neck. “I have $12,420 to save before I can escape this place and start my own company. In 1.4 years, I should be able to bring you aboard. This is what being sensible does to a person: (a) concrete goals and (b) no broken hearts.”

“Sensible. Yeah, well, I know you’ll never have a broken heart again.”

Cassie smiled. “Thanks for your vote of confidence.”

“Because you’ll never find anyone who’ll fit that compatibility list you have.”

“Hey, you’re supposed to support me.”

“I’m not your bra, I’m your friend. I’m telling you, you’re going to be a lonely old woman before you find a man who matches the criteria on that list, watching The Rockford Files reruns and conversing with your nine cats. You’ll be one of those people who never throws anything away and you’ll be dead a week before anyone knows it. They’ll have to wade through thirty years of trash to find you. Or something worse.”

“No, I won’t. At least I won’t be a seven-times-divorced lonely old woman without goals or a career.” Like her mom, dragging her daughter all over as she skipped from place to place, living wherever an acquaintance or boyfriend would permit until she got bored or wore out their welcome. No roots, no traditions, and no sense of being able to depend on her mom when she needed her. Not even a father to provide a speck of stability, since three years after her mother had divorced him, he’d died in a sailing accident. She blinked back the thought and opened one of Roger’s drawers. She pulled out a wrinkled tube of Preparation H. “Would I be totally evil if I put Ben-Gay in here?”

Pam screeched in laughter, then quickly sobered. “Yes. Totally.”

Cassie tossed it back in with the other junk in the drawer: wart remover, corn pads and an assortment of nasal sprays. After rooting around in the papers on his desk, she held up a brochure for the Naples Snook Rodeo, a fishing tournament starting the next morning. “Ugh, at seven o’clock. The weirdest thing in the world is for someone to get up before dawn all excited to go fishing. It was a phenomenon I never could figure out.” She flipped open the brochure, pushing away the memory of Dan tiptoeing around their bedroom in all his naked glory as he got ready. “Whew, is it warm in here?” She fanned herself, forcing her attention back to the brochure and not Dan’s bare butt in the early morning light. “Hey, it’s sponsored by the Lure ’Em In Tackle Company. Isn’t that handy-dandy?”

“Perfect! So you’ll go talk to some of the fishermen, maybe even the company officials?”

“Talk?” She wrote down details on a receipt for Dramamine. The box was still sitting on the desk. “I’m going to learn everything I can about fishing lures, fishing and fish by hanging out with one of the contestants.”

“What if the guy gets fresh, and you’re out there by yourself? Dangerous, dangerous indeed.”

“He won’t. Besides, all I’d have to do is show him my egret legs, and all thoughts of seduction would go flying out of his mind.” She lifted a leg sheathed in dress pants.

“I think you’re a little hard on yourself and those legs of yours.”

Cassie knew Pam was also picturing the white bird with spindly legs and an S-shaped neck.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to approach just anyone. I’ll ask one of the officials to hook me up with someone reputable. Hook—get it?” Cassie giggled. “I am going to be so good at this. If you’re worried, come with me.”

“No can do. I promised Andy I’d help him do yard work this weekend. But I’ll go to the docks with you.”

“That’d be nice,” Cassie said as she closed up Roger’s office. Besides Marion, a neighbor in her apartment building, Pam was her closest friend. Cassie didn’t mind that they both tended to mother her a bit. She stopped in front of the chart. “Roger, you little weenie, you don’t know it yet, but I’ve just declared war.”

DAN MCDERMOTT double-checked his fishing poles, making sure each one was snug in its holder. Then he checked the cooler—enough beer to last him the weekend. Checked the rods again. Something was missing. He poked his head down into the cabin where his little dog, Thor, was studiously chewing his pig’s ear—a gruesome gift from Granny.

So it wasn’t Thor or the beer, or his poles, sunblock, shades or anything else he could think of.

Maybe he needed a bigger boat. Women were always saying size didn’t matter, but a guy could never have one that was too big. A boat, that was.

“Hey, Dan, gonna be weird you not competing this year,” Jessie said, stopping on the way to his boat.

The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, but the city dock was crowded with men who definitely had a say about bigger being better. Fish, that was.

“Yeah, it’s killing me.” But it wasn’t. And it should be. He should at least be excited about spending a whole weekend fishing. But he wasn’t. He should be pleased as punch with his life as a successful, freewheeling bachelor. The damned of it was, he wasn’t.

Jessie laughed, his brown hair blowing over his face in the breeze. “Well, gotta let some of the other guys have a chance.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. Good luck, Jess.”

Dan had a feeling the Rodeo committee would have made him retire even if he hadn’t voluntarily backed out of the official competition; he’d won the last four years in a row.

Champion. Yeah, that’s what he was. The Snook Rodeo champion. The fishing god.

“Dan, you look like an ant,” his father Hal said as he paused by the boat. Not many people remembered that Hal was Dan’s dad. Not even Hal and Dan. Hal had only been seventeen when his girlfriend took off for Las Vegas—and left their baby with him. Even when Dan was just a kid, they were more like friends than father and son. So much so that Hal preferred to be called by his name than “Dad.” “I just don’t feel like a dad,” he’d said when Dan was six. Dan had agreed. Even Hal’s mom, Granny, hadn’t been the typical grandma.

As usual, Hal looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. “You’ve checked that cooler five times. Are you brewing your own beer in there, or what? I haven’t seen you this edgy in a long time, and you ain’t even competing.”

“I’ll still catch more fish than you, even if they don’t count.” Better to divert the conversation than admit he was restless.

Hal wagged his finger and laughed that deep laugh of his. “Put your fish where your mouth is, buddy. See you on the water.”

He gave Hal a halfhearted wave, and then caught himself checking the poles again. He didn’t like this restlessness. It had started a few weeks ago, when he’d seen Cassie’s picture in the paper. His ex-wife, the woman he’d woken up next to for seven whole months, and there was her picture, as though she were a virtual stranger.

He didn’t know she’d gotten into marketing, but she’d won some kind of award for one of her campaigns. He’d started thinking about her, wondering what else she’d been doing in the last five years, like getting married, and whether she still had Sammy.

Whether she thought about him.

Her beautiful face smiled at him from the refrigerator door every morning when he fixed his egg sandwich, and every evening when he checked to see what leftovers were waiting within.

Those seven months had been crazy, full of stormy seas and lightning. Now his life was on an even keel, no waves, nice and calm just the way he liked it. Or the way he should like it. They’d had little more to their name than a marriage license, yet he’d been happy. In love for the first time. For the only time. He hadn’t realized it until he’d seen her picture. The damned of it was, he was still in love with her. And so he’d put his plan into motion….